airport blues

My dad was here this weekend, and now I’m suffering from a bit of the “had to say goodbye to my male parent blues.” (Much preferred to the “what am I doing with my life” blues I was experiencing last week). It was a short visit, but we crammed a lot into 48 hours. I wrote a little something over at about the Phillies game we went to on Saturday night with the (mostly) Unitarian crew. I think, had I been interested, that I could have picked up a guy on the subway on the way down to the game. It’s quite a skill, I must say.
Today, we had brunch with my dad’s cousin in Phoenixville, I sat on the couch with the toy poodle and read a book while my dad and the cousin whopped each other with their intellects over a game of cutthroat Scrabble. Then we headed down 252 to New Town Square for lunch with my 86 year old Aunt Anne (who once, after mentioning that she thought I should lose a few pounds, started chanting at me, “lose weight, lose weight”). Ah, the priviledge of old age.
Then it was off to the airport with my dad. He lost his cell phone on the way out here three weeks ago, and was planning on checking the exact seat in the Denver airport where he was sitting when he lost it, thinking maybe, just maybe it was still there. Ah, the insanity of middle age.
And now, it’s Sunday night, I still have to make my lunch, brush my teeth and get my butt into bed. Ah, the insanity (tomorrow morning) of the sleep deprived.

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