This trip to Williamsburg is over. We are home. The dirty clothes from the trip have been laundered. Drying is next. I am exhausted, so I will nap. J had been resting since we got back.

I wish she wasn’t so attached to Williamsburg. I knew Charlottesville was an armpit from the day I first laid eyes on it, Mr Jefferson’s architecture being the exception. I never want to see my alma mater again, ever.

But we drive around in the congested streets, clogged with the Yuppie alumni on pilgrimage, plus the Colonial Williamsburg tourists, checking things out.

I need a nap.