We had been planning for a couple of weeks to make a trip today to visit a friend we don’t see often. She and her eight-year-old son live about a hundred miles (American miles, that is) southwest of us, and making the trip down there is a pretty big deal for us. We have to arrange for Olof’s parents to take care of our dogs for the day, then we have to get everybody up early and fed and dressed and then gather up what you’d think would be enough provisions and such to sustain us in the wilderness for weeks but really will last only one afternoon away from home, then head out the door and into the car, where the real fun begins. The anticipated two-hour trip with a backseat full of kids would have been more than enough to try my patience, so when a wrong turn at Albuquerque added more than an hour to our drive, the result was not pretty. To say that I was frazzled when we arrived would be a gross understatement. I’m sure that at least half of the words out of my mouth during the last fifteen minutes of the trip–when I missed yet another turn and finally just gave up and pulled over to the side of the road, making Olof take over driving duties–were of the four-letter variety, the one that starts with “f” figuring prominently. (Sidenote: If it hasn’t become abundantly obvious yet, let me just say outright that the man I married is a saint. Truly.)

Fortunately for all of us, my mood took a sudden turn for the better as soon as we pulled into Andrea’s driveway. She was out front waiting for us as we drove up, and after a round of enthusiastic hugs and exclamations over the kids, she shepherded us all into the house, a place she’s only recently rented and that we hadn’t seen before. It’s an old farmhouse out in the country, probably at least a hundred years old, and it’s just gorgeous. I fell completely in love with it, and I was kicking myself for having forgotten my camera at home. It’s the first place I’ve seen since I moved to Sweden that I liked better than my own house, and I would love to have some pictures to share.

We had a nice visit, and even squeezed in a trip to a flea market, where I found a few pieces of porcelain to add to my china cabinet. I would have liked to stay longer than we were able to, but our late arrival meant that we had to pack up again and head home after just a couple of hours. And that “shortcut” didn’t get a second chance to mess with us, either — we stuck strictly to the main highway on our return trip. No flies on us, you know.