These are the words that were shouted at @heyitsbriancook as we crossed the street last night on our way to meet friends. The driver, angry that we crossed without the light, screamed and honked at us, then stopped his car to really get into it. That’s when he labeled Brian with that age-old slur of a ‘Harvard professor’. We laughed the rest of the walk and I offered to buy B a sweatshirt at the Harvard Co-op. But when I woke up this morning thinking about it, I wasn’t laughing.

Previously, whenever we moved to a new state, switching our driver’s license was way down on the list; somewhere between locating a dry cleaner and buying new address labels. However this is an election year. And yes, I know I now live in the bluest state in the nation, but as we all painfully learned in 2016, to assume is to make an ass out of the Office of the President and me, so you can be damned sure I’m voting in this one.

Our life in Southern California was lived in a spectacular bubble. Every day we woke up the sun was shining. Waves peeled along miles of pristine beaches, lined with stately homes positioned to view pods of dolphins and gasp worthy sunsets.