I just returned to my apartment in the city after spending the entire weekend out in the country with my family. My sister and her two kids are visiting from Israel, and one of my older brothers and his wife are visiting from Colorado, so it's been a busy but fun weekend. Our family is pretty international. This afternoon, with all four of my siblings present (plus a few wives, kids, and a pregnancy), the conversations around the table were a mix between Norwegian, Hebrew, English - and Polish. It's fun, but after a while you learn to just block it all out and focus on the food. You have to. You'd go insane if you didn't.

Listening to Counting Crows. The cat's asleep on the floor, exhausted from a long day of doing absolutely nuthin'. A load of laundry's in the washer. That long, drawn-out teatime of the soul is coming to an end. Sunday nights are the best and the worst of what the human experience has to offer us. There's a slight desperation to the way we want this day - and the weekend - to last forever, with Monday lurking just behind the curtain. But then there's a wonderful calm and quiet - a stillness of heart and mind - that we only ever experience on those long and lazy Sunday afternoons and evenings.

The cat has moved. She's now sleeping in a completely different spot. I don't know how that happened. Cats have magic powers. I'm absolutely convinced that they do.  ¶ 21:58