It’s been a long time. I was starting to think that the day would never come. But finally, after days and weeks and months of absolute agony, the moment has finally arrived:

I am in a good mood.

A genuinely good mood.

Welcome, Fall. You have been missed.

The people of Nashville tell me that this summer was mild. These words feel like a frying pan to the face – a disorienting blow that leaves me dazed, confused, and frankly, a bit pissed off. What do you mean, “mild”? This summer was the most miserable season OF MY LIFE. I didn’t sleep because it was too hot. I didn’t exercise because it was too hot. I didn’t do my hair because it was too hot. I didn’t smile because it was too hot.

You might call me a weather wimp. But I say to thee, HOLD YOUR JUDGMENT: you never see me scoffing at the people who become depressed in the dark and cold winter months – mostly because I am gleefully drinking tea and being cozy. I’ve never really liked the summer – but this is the first year that I genuinely hated the summer. I honestly do not know if I will willingly choose to live through another Nashville hot-season – not on purpose.

But the doleful summer days are now gone. Or at least – almost gone. I know that it’s supposed to get back into the 80’s tomorrow and for the remainder of the week, and who knows what next week will bring. But today, I am wearing a scarf. I am back to my lunchtime walks. I am feeling the change in the air.

What is this strange feeling?

Oh. Happiness. Long overdue, honest-to-God happiness.

Many cool things happened this weekend. In what is becoming a regular occurrence for me, I met up with a blog stranger who turned out to be awesome in real life as well as on the interwebs. I went to the Bluebird, which never disappoints. I got my car washed for the first time in years. I imbibed a margarita AND sangria. I laughed a very genuine laugh:

Spin from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

And on Saturday night, I went dancing in the park.

Every Saturday night, a Big Band dance is held outside at Centennial Park (yes, where the full-scale replica of the Parthenon is… Nashville is so weird). Hundreds of people of all ages – from youngsters to oldies – come out to socialize and dance to the live music. From swing to tango to line dancing, people show up ready to groove beneath the stars and the twinkly lights strung around the dance floor.

Within the first 5 minutes, I was asked to dance by a physics professor. Not having any idea how to swing dance, I still said yes – and trust me. It is IMPOSSIBLE to swing dance without grinning. I promise – you can’t do it.

And when I returned to my friends, I proved that the Tennessee grammar is creeping in when I gleefully proclaimed, “I just swung danced!”

It was special and magical and good, old-fashioned, innocent fun. There is something so right and life-giving about multi-generational mingling. And partner dancing is a fabulous way to interact with others, having some really cool elements to it: leading, following, touch, communication, and of course, the aforementioned GRINNING.

I wish I had known about this before – they only do it during the summer. But that leaves me 3 more Saturdays to show up in a cute dress, since that’s what Nashville girls wear. Which makes me think: maybe I belong here after all?

What I mean is “Welcome home,” but I’m pretty sure that means “Welcome house.” Dang it.

It’s been a long haul, but the day is finally here. After 5 weeks of gallivanting through Europe (France, Switzerland, Italy, Ireland), GRETA IS COMING HOME TODAY!

I say “home” like she and I live in the same place, but the truth is that I don’t know the next time that I will see her. Separated by 2,500 miles and the Continental Divide, it’s not like her return to the US will be met with me at the airport and an immediate outing for wine & cheese (she’s probably wine & cheesed out, anyway – AS IF THAT’S POSSIBLE). But simply knowing that she is within Verizon reach is a huge relief; apart from my mom, she has been my main long-distance support person for the past year.

In fact, when she returns, she will find several voicemails from me – things that I just had to tell someone in the moment, and it just made sense to call her. For example, there was the time about a month ago that I was down to $24, and happened to need both gas and groceries. What to choose? I opted for $20 of gas and $4 worth of airplane-sized vodkas. Greta simply HAD to know that.

Her blog and her long emails have done a good job of keeping me abreast of her adventures, her rendezvous, and most importantly, her meals. I have been living vicariously through her pastry consumption. She and her darling sister Heidi have had some amazing experiences, and I can’t wait to hear more about them.

Upon her return, she will be walking back into “real life,” which, for her, currently holds more than its fair share of hardship, stress, and pain. But I know that if anyone can deal with some enormously tough circumstances with grace and aplomb, it is Greta Freaking Weisman. Welcome home, Greta girl.