In two weeks, we’ll be traveling again. We’ve been told that’s what we do; we travel instead of vacation. I had no idea there was a difference when the elderly Welsh man who asked if we were Americans explained it over our dinner of fish & chips with mushy peas. He was right. That makes me our official travel planner. Although everything is nearly always set in stone with arrangements made and checked, then checked again, our trip doesn’t seem a reality until I feel the butterflies of excitement for the first time. That was yesterday, and since that moment, I’ve thought of little else. After a brief stop in London, we’ll head to Scotland–our first visit there.