Spent

an inordinate amount of time waiting in airports this past weekend. Due to "weather" my flight to Detroit was 2.5 hours late Friday night. Wouldn’t you know it, the flight home was way too early and now I’m waiting for Jim to rescue me from the baggage claim at O’Hare.

It is 7:45 a.m. on Monday.

Sitting inside by entrance 3C, getting ready to launch into a serious piss and moan session because I don’t have any observations to share, when two little birds land at my feet.

It was as if they were saying “Hey you, wake up! You’ve done and seen a lot this weekend! Think about it.”

Okay. Here’s a summary:

The late flight was worthwhile because I got to see the crisp full moon lighting up the clouds beneath me.
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I love being a Hertz #1 Club member because it makes me feel special – my name appears on a sign telling me which car is mine. I don’t have to bother with checking in or any other bullshit, I just hop in and go go go.

Actually, any service that makes me feel special is good. I can't think of any others right now. Can you?
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"She woke up every day like it was the first day of her life." - Da, regarding my maternal grandmother, Alma.
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Cheerios with a banana for breakfast was nostalgic like most everything else over the past two days.

As planned, spent most of Saturday on my hands and knees in my parents' attic.
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“I spend more time on my knees than you realize, Mom.”
“Right, Monica.”
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Cleaning out the attic makes a nice allegory for the mental cleanse needed to continue my Year of Traveling Lightly.

It was deeply therapeutic.

The simple physical labor of moving boxes and bags and furniture. Combined with uncovering childhood relics.

Sorting, organizing, discarding.

A lot came down. Dusty junk that lost its purpose long ago.

Old ways of thinking, old habits developed to cope with another time that got stored away for some reason. Now just wasting space.

I’m imagining my mind like the attic Saturday afternoon: an open, clean space with just a few boxes of memories too precious to throw away.
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The speed bag in the garage reminded me how satisfying it is to hit something.
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As a reward for my good behavior I visited my old college roommate and her family Saturday night. The time just flies with them.

As well as we know each other, we still learn things about each other that are surprising, funny and deeply moving.

As always, they remind me Who I Am.
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“I just like hearing their stories. I like asking them questions.” - Susie on the old, the poor and the homeless.
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Went to St. Peters for Mother's Day Mass.

Yes, I did. Kindly keep your wise-ass comments to yourself.

A few things: Father Cooney was as interesting and funny as my parents said he would be. The church was just as I remembered it. And surprisingly highly conducive to meditation – I lost my feet within the first 10 seconds.

Lots of songs about mothers. Ave Maria is of course, the best.

But there's too goddamn much sit/stand/sing/kneel/sing/stand/sit going on. Too much ceremony and not nearly enough message.

I felt closer to God/the Universe/Whoever in the five minutes I spent meditating before the whole thing started.
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It was so good being home for Mother's Day this year.

A nap. Visits from old friends and neighbors. Navy cake. A trip to my brother's house.
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Now I’m home cuddled on the couch with the Best Dog in the World eating peanut butter toast.
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I am reading: Work e-mail
I am listening to: Ben Folds - Landed
And I am: Spent