I woke up this morning in Texas, in my bed, the house a muddle of mail and boxes and suitcases. My Sudanese taxi driver, Abraham, drove me home--I was too tired to text Uber or even call one of my generous friends who offered to pick me up late.
Jan had left sweet welcome home presents, including a box of incredible flower soaps that are way too pretty to use to bathe in. And I opened my package from Amazon, knowing it was Gerlinde's book--and it was--so I will soon begin immersing myself into tales of a childhood in Bavaria by a dear friend and excellent writer.
For now, however, I plan to sink into the deep pillows on my bed that Carlene gave me for Christmas and sleep as much of the day as I can. Air travel is exhausting, especially when you have to get to the airport three hours early to get yourself and your suitcases scanned.
When I travel, it's as if I'm a novice every time. I had two rolling suitcases and checked a rolling duffel bag. Getting through the terminals was a bugger with all those wheels, and I will never again plan a walking tour through an airport with two bags, a sweater, and a pocket book. I found good men to help me up and down escalators and lift my bags into the overhead compartments.
And I had a good man drive me all the way to the airport--my brother Bob.
Jocelyn offered to spend last night with Carlene, but she was ready for her first night solo. Except for visit number two to her cardiologist to figure out why her blood pressure spiked on Monday, she's doing very well--strong and optimistic and ready to get on with the journey of "getting back to normal and better."
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