Seven of Books
from the Nunnery
to the Famous Carroll Street Cafe *
to the airport **
to Philadelphia ***
to Boston
to a shuttle
to my father's car
to my parents' home
* I was spotted at the cafe by Cara, whom you'll remember from earlier. Coincidentally, this was her last day in Atlanta - she was moving to Boston the following morning. We exchanged numbers.
** Moments before takeoff, the gentleman in the seat next to mine wordlessly took hold of my seatbelt and ever-so-gently tightened it for me. This, it turns out, was a mistake; he thought it was his seatbelt, not mine.
*** As I was boarding, I asked the flight attendant where I could hang my suit:
Flight Attendant: You can hang it right here.
Sabitathica: Oh, thanks.
FA: Just make sure you don't forget it when you deplane.
Sabitathica: (looks at him)
FA: I know what you're going to say next: "I won't."
Sabitathica: I won't.
FA: Ha! Famous last words...
And so I would like to suggest that flight attendants (or anybody who is even remotely associated with air-travel) be banned from saying such things as "famous last words," or from using any similar phrases which effectively amount to prophesying my imminent doom.
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Wednesday:
awake at 06:45
to my grandmother's wake *
to the funeral mass
to the burial
to my parents' home
to the reception
to my parents' home
to my father's car (with my wonderniece)
to Logan airport
to Philadelphia
to Atlanta **
to my car
to the Nunnery
to wine and reacclimatization with L.
* On Monday the hospice called my uncle to update him on my grandmother's condition. They (lied and) said they'd just checked on her, that she was fine - alive and well - looking good, etc. Of course, she'd passed away two days prior. Apparently they hadn't gotten the memo.
** Making four planes in under 36 hours. As of today I've been on 15 planes so far in 2008. Have I mentioned how much I dislike air travel?
Fun facts I learned from the in-flight edutainment movie-mercial:
1. Ninety percent of the country's lobsters come from New England;
2. Fenway Park opened in 1912, the same week the Titanic went down;
3. Paul Revere's house is the oldest wooden building in Boston.
The moon was out, nearly full (actually waxing slightly gibbous), and kept me company on the final leg of my travels:
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