My house does the funniest thing when it knows it’s about to be left behind for a few days. It takes on a rosy glow that makes it hard for me to leave. It’s done this for years now, long enough that I’m wise to its wiles. The only way around this is to put myself on auto-pilot, to clean, gather and pack, so that when the taxi arrives, I can walk out the door knowing the house and dog are taken care and we can escape.

This time, it’s to Seattle, just minutes away from Celia and Matt’s place. The city rolled out the red carpet over the weekend, giving us “the bluest skies you’ll ever see” — which, unlike in this spoof of the old song, really were cloudless and azure.

Today it’s a return to the more typical gray firmament— but the city beckons as it always does, with its lush foliage, bustling market and funky vibe that is such a welcome contrast to the button-down culture of the “other Washington,” the one I left just two days ago.