"This is your lucky day!"

What the Northwest airlines rep told us after finding two standby seats on a flight to Minneapolis. After we'd spent the night in the Philadelphia airport sleeping on benches that were nailed to the floor. Without our lost luggage.

We left for our long weekend in Minneapolis on Thursday afternoon, but didn't arrive until Friday. Absolutely everything that could go wrong did go wrong during that very unpleasant 19-hour period.

Yeah, lady. We're so lucky.

She's lucky. Lucky I was too broken-spirited to reach across the counter and take her down.

Friendly skies my ass.


If I lay here

If I just lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Certain songs speak to you when you're in love, or when you're out of love. You wouldn't imagine many love songs would remind someone of her deceased grandmother, but for me so many of them do. The songs about loss, and missing someone who was as constant to you as breathing. Longing to be with that person again. Remembering that perfect connection. I guess it's not that surprising really. The loss of a romantic partner is vaguely similar to the loss you experience after someone dies. The ex is usually dead to you, in a manner of speaking. Except they're just not dead to anyone else, so you're mourning solo. And then for some there's the added complication of wanting to run them over with your car...

I miss my Grandma. I know it'll get easier. I'm just not sure it'll ever get easy enough.


The definition of "great" has varying parameters

Mine might be a little too liberal.

Last night at the SC I met with my new personal trainer. She asked me what my fitness goals are. I don't have a defined goal. I don't want to lose weight, I don't want to train for anything. I don't want to have any less body fat than I have right now. So I told her: "I've always been in great shape. So I guess I'd like to be in amazing shape. How's that for a goal?"

"Great shape to amazing shape," she repeated as she carefully wrote it down in my file.

After taking a health history and assessing my blood pressure (perfect) and resting heart rate (top notch), she led me upstairs to show me some abdominal exercises. I told her I'd love to learn some new, challenging stuff since my abs are already in prime condition. She told me she was going to teach me a routine called 10-10-10. Named so because you do 10 repetitions of each of the 3 components of the movement. She demonstrated briefly and then set me to it.

After a few painful (for me and for her) moments, she looked a little surprised.

"Huh. Um, okay. Maybe we'll need to modify a little bit for you. How about if we call this one 10-7-5? It's okay, everyone's different."

I looked at her and frowned.

"Maybe you're just tired today...?" she volunteered.

She was being very generous.

"Can I change my goal? I guess I want to go from good shape to great shape. I think I overestimated a little."

"I'll just make a note of that alteration," she offered.

How embarrassing.

Always under-promise and over-deliver. It's better for the ego.


Oh captain my captain

My Grandma died last Thursday. I wouldn't even know where to begin in describing her to you, except to say that she is the most kind, decent, unconditionally loving person I have ever met. She was like a mother to me because she raised me beside my own mother. I've never felt this much grief. And yet when I realize that she is so strong within me, I know I've gained everything I'll ever need in my life during these past 31 years. For that precious time with her, I can be nothing but grateful.

But I would sell my soul for five more minutes. One last moment. One more touch. For that I would give anything. I guess that's what mourning is. Wishing. Yearning for what we've lost. Even if it was more than any person could ever hope for. Maybe even moreso because of that. Something so perfect you don't want to let it go.


It's getting hot in here

This week I'm in Austin visiting my sis, her husband, and my nieces. Right now Mookie's with us too - he's staying through to Wednesday - so it's a regular family reunion. And man is it hot. I mean HOT. Like suck your lifeblood and leave you begging for water HOT. I kinda like it, because I'm always COLD so it seems like a natural solution. But it's a little startling. Luckily, there's an outdoor pool 5 minutes away and there's nothing better than swimming when you're roasting.

My family's putting some subtle pressure on me, trying to get me to move to Texas so we can all be in one place. The problem is, the idea of permanently moving to Texas is as hard for me to swallow as the idea of moving to Boston is for C. So we might just keep American Airlines in business and have everyone stay where they are, at least for the foreseeable future.


Knowing you

On Monday the weather was beautiful, so BF and I packed up the car and drove to Horseneck beach. On the way home, we stopped at Handy Hill for some ice cream. BF got a milkshake, and I got a softserve cone using a free token. We hopped back in the car and BF took the wheel. After a few minutes I was tired of eating the ice cream part of my ice cream cone and just wanted the cone part. So I decided to throw the ice cream part out the window as we sped along Route 88. I stuck my hand out and gave the cone a good flick, and the ice cream went flying. Then, I was curious to see if it had hit our car. So I leaned out the open window to have a peek and my sunglasses got snatched off my head by the wind and smashed into about a billion pieces on the road behind us. They were my favorite pair. I feel like the universe has a pretty close eye on me, because retribution is always in the form of a promptly delivered slap on the wrist.

The ice cream did hit the car, which for some reason I thought was really pretty funny. And note, it hit OUR car, not the cars behind us or the animals on the side of the highway.

On Tuesday, BF and I did some grocery shopping to get ingredients for a salad to bring to a friend's bbq. We threw the bags in the trunk, and I fished out a carton of Jersey blueberries to eat on the ride back to Cambridge. I sat in the passenger seat, picking out the best looking blueberries: one for me, one for BF, one for me, etc. At some point I came across a squished, fat, wrinkled blueberry in the bunch and decided to chuck it. I had just fished it out of the carton when BF warned me "There's a car behind us honey - don't throw that, okay?"

How did he know? I didn't even LOOK like I was getting ready to fling it out the window. It was like he read my mind!

When I asked him about it, he just said "I know you."