July went by slow and fast: each day blurring into the next, but every hour scheduled and delimited by the books to be read and crossed off the list; the tasks to be completed; the judiciously allotted "fun times" to be had. I spent my days reading, reading, reading, and sometimes typing up notes and that made every daily tedium all the more pleasant (the uncharacteristically mild summer weather helped as well). I shopped for groceries in a happy daze, watched the dappled sunlight move through my tiny little house, and was almost obscenely gleeful on Upland Tuesdays and Blammo weekends. And I mustn't forget to mention the square dancing, fly fishing, or visit to the
Exotic Feline Rescue Center. Summer is usually my least favorite season, but this summer, in a surprise twist, has been the best one I can remember.
I can't say it was the best of all my 31 years because I've just been going through some old baby pictures at my mom's house and I don't know if I'll EVER be THIS happy again in all my days:
But I digress.
Between leaving Bloomington and hunkering back down to the books (um, kind of) at my mom's new house in Seattle, a few things happened:
- Carly and Eric got married, but I missed the ceremony due to plane issues in Indy and a missed connection.
- I spent a night in a Phoenix hotel without cash, credit cards, or any luggage.
- I was tearfully reunited with my luggage at the lovely PDX airport.
- I got to the reception in time to eat cake, drink Marionberry Courvoisier, and play pinball with a guy called Sauce (short for Applesauce, of course).
I won't dwell on my travel fail aside from relating one tiny moment in Phoenix that kind of made my night.
It was 8:30pm and I had just left the US Airways customer service desk after failing to convince them to help me find my luggage or put me on an earlier flight out. The nice man at the desk gave me a dinner voucher and directed me to a cafe on the other side of security where I ordered a soup & salad from a visibly embittered middle-aged man in a corporate-logo emblazoned apron and ball cap. Rarely have I come across an individual whose every word and movement were so resonant with scorn. I can't imagine working at the Phoenix airport is a particularly sweet gig.
The man asked if I wanted tortilla chips or sour cream in my tomato soup and when I expressed interest in the latter he reached for a squeeze bottle and began aggressively squirting it into my bowl. I considered asking him to go easy on it, but truthfully, he frightened me a little. "I don't know if you can see the smiley face I drew," he said, after fitting a plastic lid to the top of the bowl and handing it to me over the counter.
I took a look at the now squashed down white squiggles. "Actually, I think it's a more accurate representation of how most people in the airport feel", I said. "Yeah", he conceded, evincing nothing so obvious as a smile but seeming to soften a bit in the shoulders, "it's more like a snarl". I think I would have hugged him if I had the chance but instead I just said thank you and hustled off to find the hotel shuttle.
I spent less than 24 hours in Portland, boarding a train after sharing a Bloody Mary brunch with the new couple and the family of the bride, wonderful people I've known for almost 20 years now.
I had hoped to get some work done during the journey seeing as I've gotten well behind on my quals reading and prep after the last week of packing/moving/traveling, but the scenery was just so pretty! I know I'll be taking the same route in a few weeks on my way to San Francisco but that wasn't enough to keep my attention from constantly drifting out the window to the heavenly Northwest summer. It's so good to be home.
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