Why are days before trips fraught with interruptions and unforeseen time-takers? After the long Friday workday, I had promised to meet my husband at a nearby restaurant by 6:30. Breaking several speed laws, I arrived on time. We ate a leisurely meal and also visited with four long-ago friends who chanced to be seated two tables away. Finally coming home, I was greeted by three hungry students who were still waiting for me to fix them dinner at 8:00 p.m. So, along with laundry and cleaning and packing, there was dinner and dishes.
But by 11:30 p.m. all was packed (including a lovely baby shower gift for my daughter, purchased in the Netherlands, wrapped in a separate gift bag to be carried onto the plane). I fell into bed and into the arms of my waiting husband, and by midnight was in the arms of sleep.
But what lingers about this day is not the busyness, nor the small rise of irritation at unexpected interruptions. Not even the restaurant meal (oh, the luxury of having someone else cook for me). What lingers is the pleasure of seeing friends whom I had not spoken to in ten years. Of an unhurried, meandering conversation with Phil. Of the pleasure on the students' faces at the sight a custom-made pizza, savory and piping hot. Of the warmth of my husband's body.
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