Pudgy jumped into the suitcase as if defying me to leave without her again. She was fine, but copped an attitude. Had she actually missed us while we were in New Orleans? Maybe. My son had graciously agreed to care for her in our absence and I know he did a great job, but she still walked the walk of one offended.
There’s something both fun and irritating about unpacking after a vacation. Bits of memories come out with the dirty laundry mashed and mangled in the suitcase…that’s a blade of grass stuck to a pant leg from the park…there’s a folded map in my husband’s pants pocket…and that is a stain I don’t want to know about.
Order is slowly regained, but it comes served with a side order of sadness. The trip—so eagerly anticipated– is now in the past, a memory card of images clashing with everyday life, with the more ordinary days.
I look through my photographs, now just small echoes on the back of my camera, and decide which to keep, which to delete. The sorting process takes hours as I linger over the highlights, replay laughter, and hold onto something special. It was the best part of my day.
Hey there Sweet Melissa! I got nosey last night about your FB post and then ended up reading all of your blogs .LOVED them!! 32? This is why I love you so! I’m turinng 40 this year, been in the trenches of menopause for almost 2 years now since my hysterectomy in 2009. That very first night of the night sweats .OMG! Disgusting, none of those books told me it was going to be like THAT! I was in the hospital for a week and didn’t know until the last day that I’d had the thermostat set at 60 degrees the entire time, I didn’t even notice the people wearing jackets in my room in June. I also never knew that a human head could be used as a mop just as quickly as turinng a fan off. Head sweat, boob sweat, someone else can take it all!! As far as the time on my hands .PCG released’ me a couple of weeks ago. Oh well.