Laine emailed from Madrid this morning-- already with the ham and the whole bohemian European adventure thing. Brushing the sleep out of my teeth and hair-- coffee brewing, ready to be fully swallowed by the wicked routine of the busiest work day-- my mind wandered to that place over there.

Four years ago today, I was landing in Stuttgart, Germany for my first continental European journey-- fully anticipating the looming gray skies and the lilt of foreign conversations and the bitter cold train stations and the uncomfortable sleeper seats. But of course it's always so much more-- so much out there waiting that you could never have dreamt in one million nights of peaceful sleep: mohn kugen; butter-colored buildings; the click of heels on marble; dark cathedrals launching themselves out of the ground like jagged stalagmites in a cave; handsome, dark, German strangers; trendy East Berlin coffee shops; the tiniest Swiss elevators; 90 minutes in Lucerne; the veins in David's hands and feet; gold-ornamented boxes in a Prague opera house; the ungodly speed of a moped in Pisa; haunting mountainous peaks after dark in Innsbruck.

I sent postcards home and journaled furiously in an attempt to capture all of the awe and wonder circulating inside: "This morning on the train to Pisa, the first hint sun in a week graced Tuscany hillsides. Il Duomo reflected sunlight onto the green embankment and young students shed their bulky coats for the pleasure of spring air on tired skin. But coming out of a tunnel on a train from Firenze to Milan, gloom and fog persist, trapped within the confines of the Apenines. I press my hand against the window, chilled and frosty, and stare into the periwinkle afternoon."

And this morning with homemade, baked apple cranberry oatmeal and dark Swedish coffee, I sifted through those words and recollections before getting down to work. And all the while I found myself trying to touch the person there in la Piazza della Signoria, walking slowly-- so very calmly-- on all those rough stones under her feet. But she seemed so unique, so foreign, and so out of reach.

Four years doesn't always seem like a long time-- but this morning it was the furthest place away from today.