I did, indeed, survive the Logan Airport experience. Thank you for your concern.
However, boo to the Massachusetts highway dept for the 45-minute detour that led me through the scenic downtowns of Athol and Gardner and made me nearly miss my flight. And whose idea was it to screw the subway in favor of an underground bus to the airport from South Station? Not so bad, but totally bizarre.
Also boo to the highway signage that suggests that a gas station is just here, right off this exit, don't worry! It's not like we would put that sign there to maliciously tease you into thinking there's a gas station nearby when really there's just a maze of darkened office parks in which you will probably get lost and needlessly run down what's left in your tank, just so you'll have to get back on the highway and pray until the next exit. Where there won't actually be a gas station either.
But yay for gas prices being down, so that when I finally limped into an open gas station in Leominster and put more gas in my tank than has ever gone in at one time before, it cost less than $25 (I have a small tank).
And now for the part of the story that most of you are probably not actually all that interested in: the wedding and associated weekend activities in Minnesota were WONDERFUL. I realized just how fun the wedding would be when the usher, a college friend, semi-jokingly asked "bride's side or groom's side?" and I was at a total loss as to how to answer (until, of course, he laughed and told me where the rest of our friends were sitting). Our friend The Reverend led a beautiful ceremony, complete with Thais' Meditation played on cello (which is, literally, my favorite piece of music in the world... or at least tied with Kol Nidre played on cello) and a surprise musical tribute from the bride's sister that couldn't have been more emotional had we been in a Meg Ryan movie.
And then, as we were being escorted across campus from the chapel to the reception hall by a bagpiper (both the groom and the college we went to are Scottish, OK?), the women stepping gingerly in our high heels through the remnants of the morning's snow, I realized that we had become Those People. The people who we used to gawk at as they walked across campus in fancy clothes for no apparent reason on random Saturday nights. I also realized a dream that I never even knew I had, which was to be escorted across campus by a bagpiper. I'd put that on the wish list in case I ever have a wedding, except I think that would mean my mother wouldn't come.
We outlasted all the other guests and the reception itself and headed out to the neighborhood bar - with, and at the specific request of, the bride and groom, because they are awesome. But before that came the real moment of glory, which involved weaseling our way into our old freshman dorm and trooping up to the top floor where we all met, and having a Group Nostalgia Moment (aka a 'Were The Rooms Always So Small And The Hallway Always This Narrow?' Moment). And only slightly scared the surprisingly gracious first-years as we peered creepily into their rooms and reminisced.
Except that my freshman year dorm room is now a bathroom. They renovated the dorm a few years ago and added a wing, and turned my room into a bathroom. Some other people's old rooms are just gone now, so I can't really complain. And I'm not really complaining anyway, because a dorm room is a dorm room and it's not like I miss living there.
But I do miss that group of people, crazy as we all were and are. Thank God they happened to me and that we stuck together in our random ways. So much so that now I'm not only still close with most of them, but with their parents too (as evidenced by the Saturday brunch where I spent more time talking to the parents than the friends)... and now, in a few cases, with their gorgeous children.
The Piano Man, the friend that The Reverend and I stayed with in St. Paul for the weekend and who came to the wedding as sort of date to both of us, asked me during the reception if the bride and I had been close. It was strangely hard to answer. I finally said "well, we didn't spend much time one-on-one, but you know, I'd throw myself in front of a bus [not the one that goes to Logan Airport, though] for her, and all that."
Which might not sound like the highest compliment of friendship, but really, when you haven't seen someone in years but you know they'd lay it on the line for you, that if you were desperate tomorrow you could call them and they'd get on a plane, that's about all that really matters in life, don't you think?
All this and it's not even Thanksgiving yet. This weekend in Washington DC promises to be great too, though it can't possibly quite match up. I'm flying out of Hartford.
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4 comments:
[raises his glass to Honda Civics, The Scots, good weddings, and dorm-forged friendships that last]
I know pregnancy makes me emotional, but reading your tale of our wonderful weekend is choking me up. We do have amazing friends and I'm thrilled to be counted in the band. We have so much to be thankful for this day and everyday.
Love ya
Good God! I'm emotional too! Does that mean I'm pregnant?
Yes. Excellent deductive reasoning, sir.
Maybe I just write good, huh??
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