After three months of waiting and distractions, tomorrow I fly back east to reunite with the husband for four days. Four days! And then a worst-case scenario of six weeks before we reunite yet again for a friend's wedding. For three days! Butters will come along at least and make me happy-go-lucky by osmosis. This time, 11 are coming along. A support network for the ages yet a little daunting when it comes to planning, entertaining, and catching up for lost time. But every time I get stingy, I think, every single one of those people made Cary possible, made my huge hope possible, and made him, him. A patriot. The gratitude has a bottom you never hear anything hit.
But forget Cary for a second. Back east! Boston, Providence, Newport! I've only taken a whirlwind trip in junior high through Philly, D.C., and New York. Brown and Harvard Square and watching crew boats on the Charles River, and now a sprawling military base with a 360 degree view of Atlantic bays. Mild weather, traipsing around like we're back in Europe, and, back to Cary, feeling like we just met at Newbold all over again. I'm thrilled at the thought of this recapturing. Goosebumps, infatuation. It's all back, baby.
On the vainer side of things, I'm really excited to don the new hat and messenger bag I recently purchased, as well as a pair of broken-in Addidas Samba sneakers ($12 on Ebay! Hey, they look germ free). What is it about trips and events that court shopping? Why is it that ceremonies and planes, trains, and automobiles evoke images of living and laughing and walking and enjoying, clad in newly thought of items? Well, pictures are a good reason, I suppose. And confidence, my mom would say. I agree. It's nice to feel attractive and fresh with only a suitcase of choices and maybe being a bit out of the zone. The rub is that I often like what's in my closet more than what's on the racks (especially when you're looking for something specific like a dress for graduation that keeps you warm yet curvy rather than cute for the husband that likes this--FYI, this is impossible.) And then of course when I'm actually staring at my closet in the morning, there's not a thing to wear. I'm not such a girl though; Cary does this too. Seriously. In fact, I'm beginning to feel guilty that my closet has grown nicely while Cary's has remained stagnant except for dress whites and dress blues and a poopie suit (yes, they actually call it this).
But I've put in my time at the office. Speaking of which, someone moved into a new office this week. Instead of being in a hole where cell phones go to die, in the very center of the marketing writers, I am now on the outer rim, the interior of the outer hall, receiving light from the outside world from across the way. Next stop, the moon.
So bon voyage for now, sweet office. Stories and pictures will ensue. (And I'm not blogging from the office but taking a break from the Sophie's Choice of graduation dresses by the way.)
And is it just me, or were there too many parenthetical phrases in this post?