And she's back.

As I had hoped, the weekend in Connecticut was precisely what I needed to feel completely like my old self again.

Of course, credit is also owed to the phenomenal weather (showing no end in sight), the fact that my parents are back from the West Coast and my brother is blissfully planning his nuptials with a woman I adore, the Yankees' more-than-respectable showing in spite of their loss at Fenway's opening day yesterday (and the rapidly approaching opening at the House That Deej Built), and the fact that I'll be in Spain in exactly one month with the man I love. Credit where credit is due, friends.

But there is something about good old Wilton, CT...about cruising through the twists and turns of back roads you could swear were hundreds of miles from any city...about jogging a path that showcases the three schools I attended between the ages of 10-18...about being in my car with the windows down, flipping back and forth between z100 (and the same old morning show I listened to day after day throughout my entire adolescence) and 95.9 (better known as the station that made me fall in love with classic rock)...about kicking back with wine and friends under the strangely incomparable security of our parents' houses...about singing in the church that cured my stage fright...about hilarity-inducing reflection on the early days of the internet over belated corned beef at dining table that has seen so many holiday dinners...

It's impossible not to become swept up in a sea of sense memories, almost all of which awaken a sense of comfort, consistency, and overwhelming gratitude for the fact that some things will indeed never change.