Jet lag

Oh, jet lag.  You are the price we pay for the kind of travel that I love . . . but how I loathe you.

I made it to 10 p.m. last evening.  And was wide awake at 2.45 a.m.

By 5.30 a.m., after a nap with Auggie snoozing beside me, I gave up and pulled on the heavy robe and ventured downstairs.

Laundry awaits.  As does the put-up-Christmas activities.

But first, biscuits for breakfast, then Morning Prayer for The Feast of the Epiphany!

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