I Have Arisen from My Jet-Lagged Coma

Here I am in my own kitchen again, glad as I always am after a trip, to be home among my own things again.

I was just wondering aloud to myself how I should start this blog entry, my first since returning from Africa and England. "How about...", said Jeffye, placing a steaming mug of tea at my elbow, "...saying how nice it is that your husband is bringing you a cup of tea in the middle of the night?"

It is, indeed, a very nice thing. Other nice things in the past twenty-four hours have been relaxing in a bath-tub for the first time in three weeks, and having my lost cat come home again.

Colby jumped off the balcony over a week ago and ran away. My mother, who was taking care of the cats while we were away, was beside herself and alerted everyone (except for me thank goodness)including the local media that my kitty was on the lam. But as I was drifting off to sleep I heard small mews coming from outside and wandered out in my bare feet to find Colby running toward me to our mutual relief.

So all is well again. And except for one arm that remains bandaged, my trip was also most enjoyable.

Yes, there is always ONE thing that has to happen on each trip that makes me wonder if NOW is the moment to use my coupon good for "ONE credit to go Back in Time and Change One Thing". I thought I'd get the sordid tale out of the way now because when my friends see me they will probably notice that my arm is done up like an Egyptian mummy.

That thing would be a moment on a paradise-like beach in Zanzibar when I sat on the glistening white sand and let a nice lady paint a delicate design in black henna on my right arm.

I had a henna pattern applied on my trip to Morocco a few years back (and at least five belly-dance parties since) so I was not expecting to end up riding in an ambulance from Heathrow Airport in London to the nearest hospital after an allergic reaction on the flight from Nairobi in which my arm mutated and blistered to an alarming degree and I contracted blood-poisoning (again).

I found out later that black "henna" is illegal in Britain for just this reason and it's not henna at all but a cunning mixture of: coffee, black hair dye, lighter fluid, acetone, who knows really. Maybe one in ten people react to it (apparently) and being the delicate flower I am.....

And I thought it would be lions and hippos I'd have to watch out for. :)

To make a long story short (for now, I'm sure I'll expound upon the subject later), after being treated for a chemical burn(because that's what it is) and realizing firsthand that the British medical system is just one of the top-notch ones there is, I got better and went on to tour London and attend musicals and museums and have a great time there despite all the kind blokes who would spy my swaddled arm and say, "So did you fall off your bike, luv?" to which I would laugh and nod.

Stay tuned to my blog in which I will regale you with my tales of all the OTHER days of my vacation in which I didn't even go NEAR a hospital. It really was a wonderful trip. Really. :)

For now, I am going to while away the rest of these early morning hours reading and surfing and enjoying my house (perhaps another hot bath) and then perhaps go to bed around five a.m. and set the alarm clock for eight. My attempt to get my internal clock on Canada time again instead of Greenwich Mean.