here's to learning, kissing yaks and statues of benjamin franklin, and dining with the amish

I'm back. I'm tired. And no, I didn't buy a bonnet or a t-shirt reading "I heart Intercourse, PA" (although I assure you that the absence of either purchase wasn't for lack of serious back-and-forth deliberation). But along with some history I did learn me some life lessons and stuff, and since I know you care about such things, here are a few learnings I took home with me from the great state of Pennsylvania:

• Riding on a chartered bus as it zips through the winding, wooded mountains of PA is both equal parts breathtakingly gorgeous and white-knuckle-ingly terrifying; the balance, however, tips decisively in favor of the latter when the sun has nearly set, the bus begins a steep decent into the valley and four different warning signs are posted, the final one reading "Warning, Aggressive Drivers. High Crash Area." Yikes.
• While on that chartered bus, it will take exactly three hours for me to lose all feeling in my right foot, four hours for my left, and I will completely lose all track of my bum around hour five. (I am happy to report that all feeling has returned, however, it was certainly disconcerting at the time.)
• (Almost) Everyone looks insufferably cute in a bonnet, including yours truly.
• If you ever need to verify the authenticity of 1700's Georgian brickwork and/or need to discern the difference between Belgian block and cobblestone streets, please let me be your girl.
• Since I found endless amusement in Amish communities named "Intercourse," "Virginville," "Fertility," and "Blue Ball," I have come to the conclusion that despite owning both a uterus and a birth certificate verifying my age at 29, when it really comes down to it I'm basically a twelve-year-old boy.
• Whenever I think my parents were too stifling when I was a teen (0r whenever my future teenagers bemoan my future stifling parenting), I will recall that kid whose mother sent him off on his weekend adventure with post-it notes on every single bill in his wallet instructing him on what day and for what purpose each may be used.
• In the unlikely event that I ever feel ambitious enough to undergo a religious conversion, I think I'll choose Quakerism.
• If I find myself on a overpriced nighttime walking tour of downtown Philadelphia where the battle for independence is being reenacted through a combination of projected images on the side of historical buildings whilst Walter Cronkite dryly provides narration through a set of hastily disinfected headphones covering my ears and when, at the conclusion of said narration, "God Bless America" begins to play, I'm a gonna stand stoically in the middle of the city's center and sing loudly, poorly, and completely unashamedly, because folks - that's just how I roll.
• Finally, there are two sorts of chaperones: one naughty, one nice. The nice one comes prepared with band-aids and aspirin and gives extra money to kids who ignore their mothers' post-it notes. The naughty one, amongst other scandalous acts, can easily be swayed after only two funny text messages and a cheese and crackers bribe to let her underage students watch Scarface on the bus, encourages alarmingly disgusting petting-zoo behavior, and throws dozens of pamphlets for Intercourse, PA under the hotel room door of a group of students who mistakenly think they turn into ninjas after midnight. She also takes pictures of most of these occurrences. (Sure, you may be shaking your head right now in both disapproval and disgust, but for the sake of the world maintaining its proper balance I am convinced that both sorts of chaperones are absolutely necessary and it's unlikely you will convince me otherwise so no point in trying, buster.)

And with that, I'm spent. Pictures to come whenever I get around to it. Missed you. Love you. Kisses and such.