The eagle has landed.
Or atleast, the Kelly and her two children have stumbled into Lake George, New York. I love it here, I love it, I love it. Currently, I am sitting inside the den of a two-story golf course home. The windows are open, the fans and air conditioner are off. It might be 70 degrees. Or less. It's amazing. While shopping today, it was shocking to walk out of a store and not be inundated with a level of humidity that makes your hair flatten to your head and your shirt seem to become a part of your skin. The temperature is very cool, regardless of the absence of any breeze.
The weather is amazing. The scenery is even moreso. Apparently we are situated somewhere within the Adirondack Mountains, which appear to be nothing more than giant-size hills covered with lush green trees. I'm not even certain when a hill becomes proud enough to call itself a mountain, but in the case of the Adirondack, it has much more to do with beauty than size, and that is fine by me. The town seems to be a miniature collection of golf course communities, a tiny shopping area called the village, a marina which includes a man that is building a floating house in order to annoy the locals, and many winding forested streets with names like Pickle Hill and Maid Marion Court. I could live here. I could die here.
And I can definitely see why Shannon wanted to get married here. It's going to be beautiful.