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I love rain. I love green. I love Virginia. I've been home about three and a half days now and it's rained 60% of the time but it's amazing. Everything is far greener and more beautiful than I remember which is a wonderful surprise.

I don't have pictures because I don't have my computer/ camera connector chord thing so you'll just have to use your own imagination. Summary: East coast kicks West's trash, easy.

I flew in on Saturday last and promptly drove to NY where I saw my little sister star in her summer theater camp's performance of "All Shook Up." Pretty much, Hannah rocks it. People sitting around me were commenting on how good she was and I felt a little tingle up my spine. I'm afraid it was pride but don't tell her. I can't be getting soft in my old age.

We spent time in Liverpool (no, no Beatles. Apparently they only hang out in English Liverpools, not American ones...), Syracuse, and Binghamton until finally making out way to the city. The big NYC! We did some shopping, putted around Times Square, and saw "Lion King." Shopping was pricey and fun, "putting" was enjoyable as usual, but Lion King was pretty much incredible. I've seen it in London's West End (man, don't I sound like a rich spoiled snob?) but the American Broadway rendition was much better. Call me uncultured, but I prefer to hear Simba sing "Just Can't Wait to be King" with an American accent. Don't actually call me uncultured, please, you'll hurt my feelings.

The highlight of the trip, however, was the journey from the theater to the parking garage to get our car. We left the theater singing Circle of Life, wiping the emotion from our eyes into a clear, hot night. We had gone maybe a block when the entire city is lit up with the biggest and scariest lighting blot I've ever seen and followed promptly by an ear splitting thunder clap. This, of course, was joined by a downpour of rain so tremendous that vision was unclear ten feet in front of you. We ran another block or two but decided it was probably more dangerous to run in those streets than to jump in any little dive so we dove under the first awning we saw. (Awning? is that the right word?)

To our luck and delight it happened to be a fire station and the boys were gracious enough to allow my family and a few others to hang out with them and their fire trucks for a while. Very nice guys (no, I didn't get to try on a coat, or play with a dog, or get pictures with them) but they kept getting calls to leave and would have to get in the truck and get ready to leave then they'd get called off. We stayed with them for about 20 minutes until it let up and we finished the two block jog to the car. Firehouse 54 was one that was right there on 9/11. There was a beautiful memorial in the station with copper plaques and pictures honoring 15 men who died that day. It was a sobering moment of tenderness in the raging thunderstorm around us and I'm grateful for it and for those brave men.

It even mellowed my dad out enough that he didn't get angry at all during the traffic out of the city. NYC rocks. It smells, but it also rocks.

I'm now in Lynchburg where I've been hanging with the family, catching up with old friends, and helping to put the finishing touches on my parents awesome cabin. (it's so cute.)

So get ready for a ton of pictures when I get back to Provo and I apologize for the grotesque length of this post, but I commend you for reading all the way through it. I also commend you for skipping most of it and reading the end because I know some of you did that too.