One of the rudest things about moving is that life doesn't stop while you do it. You still have to make the thing for the school bake sale and halloween costumes actually can't be put off until next month. You get to what you think is the end of packing the kitchen and then realize that the dishwasher is full of clean dishes because people around here still insist on eating, and the plates and cups pile up accordingly. What to do with dirty laundry the day before moving day? Wash it now and stay up late folding it into boxes? Chuck it dirty into its own box labeled "Eew"?
A note to my few but highly esteemed readers. This entry marks the first of a handful of entries engaging in a practice I call back-blogging, which is to say I wrote them a couple of weeks ago and I'm just posting them now. Generally I'm opposed to the process, however, as you will shortly see, the last couple of months I've been going through a substantial business transaction, which is the sort of thing I feel it is unwise to provide live public commentary on.
Halloween has come and gone, and with much less fanfare than is usual in the house of Swingbug. With all that's going on right now, I didn't do much. I mean, really not much. I carved one pumpkin, that I bought at the grocery store no less, and that comprised the whole of the house decorations. I'm pretty sure The Great Pumpkin doesn't show up to the sincerest shopping mart to bring presents to all the good girls and boys, but sometimes, you have to go easy and stay sane.
I'm sitting in the airport waiting for a plane to show up and take me home. It's the end of the day and officially dear-god-I-want-a-cup-of-tea o'clock.
Still, it's chill enough. Terminal's not crowded. My day went quick. Lots of meetings. Traffic wasn't too bad.
Haven't been blogging much lately. Don't take it personal. The bulk of what I've had going on isn't blog-appropriate, or at least isn't blog-appropriate yet. (Stay tuned.)
My lunch break found me passing a Whole Foods today with a grumbling tummy. I ducked in, bought a slice of pizza from the deli counter, and headed for the check stand. I passed another shopper in the produce department, walking competently, if not speedily, in three-inch heels.
So I'm back from outer space. Back in my home with my family and my cat. And now that I'm not in the midst of a long day at the airport, I can tell you about the conference and how cool it was.
Checked out of the hotel, got a cab to the airport. Waited in line to check my bag, waited in line to dump out my water bottle, waited in line to take off my shoes and do the TSA shuffle, waited in line to refill my water bottle, waited in line for food, waited in line for the bathroom. Settled at gate and cracked open paperback. The PA system announced a gate change. Resettled at new gate and recracked open paperback. The flight is delayed. Not rare. The flight is completely full. Not rare.
I am tired. Not. Rare.
My grandfather's name was Poppy. Actually it was Ferdinand, and Fred to his friends, but it was Grandpops to the kids. And I, the youngest of four grandkids, couldn't figure out how to say that when I was small, I guess. So to me, he was Poppy.