Sitting at the airport…
Traveling makes me hopelessly nostalgic and sentimental.
I blew dramatic air-kisses to my freckle-nosed tow-head as the school-bus pulled away, and shed a few tears after squeezing my pig-tailed wonder goodbye.
And then I almost hugged my cabby.
My heart is swollen and I feel love for the world and all in it.
If Andy were here he’d groan, roll his eyes, and put a chair of distance between us.
I almost wish I could do that myself.
I’m off to see my dear Mandy – inside her belly my goddaughter has kindly waited 5 days past her due date for my arrival, and I hope not to wait too long for hers. I’d like a few days of nuzzling and sniffing her before I have to take a plane home.
I checked the world’s largest suitcase, stuffed to near-splitting seams with all manner of tiny, feminine clothing, shoes and hats, and the gate agent politely looked the other way when the scale read a bright “51 lbs”, rather than charging me $75 for the extra pound. For a split second I imagined myself rummaging through the thing and removing one pound’s worth of onesies and miniature leggings and stuffing them all throughout my pockets, carry-on and computer bag…thumb-sized socks dropping out of my purse in the hallways of the Lindburgh terminal as I rushed to catch my flight.
Thank you, Kind Gate Agent.
When I travel with my children I am the picture of efficiency and control, managing all manner of travel predicament with resourcefulness and economy. Alone, I am fumbling, meandering, taking forever to reassemble my strewn-about self and baggage after the security screening, bumping through airport shops and forgetting which pockets hold what items. Unencumbered, and untethered, I also feel small and quick if not a little haphazard, and I must seem young because every single uniformed person today has called me, “Miss.” I'm buzzing with anticipation, zeroed in on my goal; I'm a godmother on a mission. Get there before she does. And then hope she comes quickly. I'm coming baby Sloan... are you?
Tonight we plan to eat at Scalini’s. Their famous Eggplant Parmesan is credited with inducing over 300 babies – whose photos are displayed under the title “Eggplant Babies” on a wall of their dining room.
Come tonight, sweet Sloan. Don’t you want to be an Eggplant Baby too?
The plane is boarding now, Lord help the poor person seated next to me.
Eggplant Babies at Scalini's