I always love the day we come home from California on the red eye. There's something other-worldly about it. This time was no exception.

Friday morning, our flight got in at 6:30 am and we took an Eastern Car Service to a very quiet Third Street. Our neighbors were either asleep or away. Once we got all the suitcases up the stairs I went straight to my bed and fell asleep because I hadn't slept a wink on the plane.

Truth is, during the late night flight I couldn't stop watching True Life, a very entertaining documentary series on MTV about a variety of milieus, including girls who summer at the Jersey Shore, southern belles in Mississippi, female alcoholics, girls from Staten Island.

How do you spell addictive and a great way to stay up all night on an airplane?

I love the return to our bed. My pillow—the downy, squishy one. The weight of our comforter, the bright orange comforter on the bed. And to sleep: it is blessed.

No one called. No one knew we were back for at least two hours. That's the feeling I love: the sneaking back into town. The unpacked suitcases. The pile of fresh mail on the dining room table. The empty refrigerator.

It's a real clean slate kind of feeling.

Then the phone rang and it was time to get back to real life. Slowly. Slowly. You don't want to rush it those first few hours back in town. Take it slow.