Happy trails
This week, I've had travel on the brain. I'll offer up a more detailed explanation tomorrow; tonight, I'm much too enthralled with the distant past to chat about the near future.
Unfortunately: my memory is, as a general rule, incredibly spotty and unreliable. And the distant past, it is so very distant that I find myself easily confused.
Was it me who sat alone in a cafe in Florence, scarfing down pizza after inspecting every inch of the Galleria degli Uffizi? Or have I just borrowed the memory from a movie seen long ago?
And so I turn to a small stack of woefully incomplete travel journals.
...
EDIT: But before I can blather about the scintillating details held within said journals, my daughter awakes. Sobbing. Calling out for me.
And so I fetch her. Carry her back to my bed. Snuggle her up between her daddy and me, and begin to snooze.
Within minutes, I hear the sound of her brother, staggering through the dark house, weeping that he has been left alone. And so it is that he joins us in bed.
The two of them wriggle and squirm between the two of us until their daddy, who is a patient man who still, has his limits, carries the two escapees back to their room.
And they actually stay put, for a couple of hours, until the process, it repeats again.
So my travel memories from another life will have to wait for now.
Unfortunately: my memory is, as a general rule, incredibly spotty and unreliable. And the distant past, it is so very distant that I find myself easily confused.
Was it me who sat alone in a cafe in Florence, scarfing down pizza after inspecting every inch of the Galleria degli Uffizi? Or have I just borrowed the memory from a movie seen long ago?
And so I turn to a small stack of woefully incomplete travel journals.
...
EDIT: But before I can blather about the scintillating details held within said journals, my daughter awakes. Sobbing. Calling out for me.
And so I fetch her. Carry her back to my bed. Snuggle her up between her daddy and me, and begin to snooze.
Within minutes, I hear the sound of her brother, staggering through the dark house, weeping that he has been left alone. And so it is that he joins us in bed.
The two of them wriggle and squirm between the two of us until their daddy, who is a patient man who still, has his limits, carries the two escapees back to their room.
And they actually stay put, for a couple of hours, until the process, it repeats again.
So my travel memories from another life will have to wait for now.
posted by mrsf5 at 11:50 PM
2 Comments:
Girlfriend, I hear you.
Every once in awhile, my year abroad comes up in conversation (usually in the context of my husband never having left the country...not that he's bitter). And it truly does seem like a dream. Was that me, along with several other Hoyas, who vowed to stay in Prague during March Madness when we found a little smoky sports bar that stayed open 24 hours a day and broadcast the tournament? (and we did...changing plans mid-trip and sleeping all day and drinking all night in the bar...because of the time change, the games were on at like 3am). Was that me who was in the Vatican at midnight on Christmas Eve listening to Pope John Paul drone on in Latin (while I fell asleep on the floor. He may have been the Pope, but he was boring as shit). Was that ME, wholesome ole ME, who visited the..uh..shops in Amsterdam?
Surely not this 33 year old mother of 3 who has been married for 10 years.
It must be a dream.
I realized as I was typing that sweet walk down memory lane that karma's a bitch and THAT'S why I didn't get the job at the Catholic school. Damn that boring midnight mass at the Vatican. Shoulda stayed awake.
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