Blythe Spirit

Well! That was fun.

I’ve been in the USA for less than 48 hours and your assumptions that I’ve already cranked up the air conditioning, consumed nachos AND a tamale, and tooled around town in not one but two different SUVs are correct. I deserved some hedonism (woo-hoo, I’ve always been such a party animal, look at me wasting gas and downing the trans fats) after being told on Wednesday night by the Lufthansa ticket agent that our flight had been canceled and our best bet would be to drive to Amsterdam(!) and try to get on a plane (any old plane? I guess?) there. At least fifty new grey hairs sprouted from my scalp during the next twelve hours as we huddled once again in the bathroom – but this time at the hotel since Theo was asleep in the main room – with the cell phone and laptop, frantically calling and searching for a way to get the heisse scheisse out of there. And so we did.

And since there’s really nothing more boring than hearing about the long long security lines and the delightful French ticket agent at Charles deGaulle, and the SIX HOURS we spent in the Salt Lake City airport, I’ll just say it’s good to be here, even if I’m befuddled every time a stranger speaks to me which seems to be all the freaking time. Yesterday some guy jay-walked in front of me and then stopped to apologize to me for crossing against the light.

There’s no place like home.