For the first half of Wednesday, I packed and vegged at T.J. and Cindy’s (with lunch comprised of the rest of the Mexican takeout). The second half of Wednesday got more packed, a different kind of packed, because I had to get to my flight. The cab took extra-long to get to the house, because when I spelled the street name to the dispatcher, he replaced the first “E” with an “A.” My poor cabbie was entering the one-letter-off name into the GPS and got a street in Hampton, Virginia. That’s 180 MILES AWAY from Chantilly. It took a phone call between the driver and me to straighten it out, and then of course it was much easier to get to Washington Dulles International Airport.
I did my best not to feel a leetle rushed as I finally got my ride, got checked in, got security-screened, and got a shuttle ride to the correct concourse. I didn’t have to be rushed: the plane loaded late. Then the plane launched late, because a storm skirted Dulles Airport, almost mockingly, and our departure route was closed. We sat on the tarmac, then taxied from the east side of the airport to the west side (I think the west-side north-south runway, but I couldn’t see enough outside the windows to be sure and my sense of direction gets wobbly when I’m tired) and finally, launched. We arrived in Portland nearly two hours late; I was home at exactly 11 p.m. after my third cab ride of the trip (and the third cab ride I’ve done in my adult life).
Today has been a vegging day, because I’ve earned one. I walked up to Genie’s at 11th and Division and ate one breakfast item (a side of granola) and one lunch item (a veggie pot pie), because I don’t care so much about breakfast-lunch distinctions. Plus both sounded good. And I saw several examples of Portland’s highly fine specimens of female humanity. Yes, I’m back in the presence of Portland hotness.