Powerless Lines, Quality Time and Running in the Dark

Despite the devastation in the Gulf states, Dad and I soldiered on to Texas on Thursday. Which was probably not the best plan, but I wasn't about to question BigJohn. (A word on the ultracatastrophe that is Katrina: I am not, and have never claimed to be, a journalist. Therefore, I am not going to pretend to be now. If you guys want to donate, you know where to look, and that's not why you're here anyway. My saying more on the subject seems only to minimize it, which I refuse to do.)

We stayed in Alabama Thursday night, then nearly ran out of gas Friday in Mississippi. We were too far north to witness the worst of it, but there were trees and huge road signs down all over the place, and the power was out at most of the exits. When we stopped for lunch at 1:00, we saw a mile-long line at a gas station that didn't even have gas. We were told some of the people there had been waiting since 5:30. I had to wonder what made these people panic; most of those we saw were not evacuees, but North Mississippians scrambling. The picture at left is of our gas line. It was at least a mile long when we found the end of it, and we sat for three hours. We could only use the air conditioner whenever we moved the car (sometimes an hour passed in between moves). We still felt fortunate to have gotten gas at all, as there was no guarantee that, at the end of the line, we wouldn't just be stuck.

We caught up with brother east of Dallas near 11:00, where I had three harrowing insect encounters within five minutes. They're not lying about the fire ants, I can tell you that. A night in a run-down motel (not too much choice regarding accommodations), a quick lunch with brother and his pals and a trip to Best Buy (their favorite place to play), where Danny grabbed my face and said, "Stay here as long as you can," and we were already off to the airport. So no QT with the bro, but it was good just to see him and that he is happy. Dad and I were the last two to check in, but we boarded in time and spent the last of our quality time together-- and I do not use that phrase in jest. Amid conversations about politics and consequences, engagements and mistakes, baseball and God, Cat Stevens and credit, I found my relationship with Dad never really got lost, even if I did. So, thanks be to God, time, The Boy, and Dwayne Johnson for that.

Sunday brought lots of showing off (the aforementioned) Dwayne Johnson to various churchmembers who "just knew," then Little Sister and I began our, as she put it, "significant plans." We went semi-successfully shopping and packed a snack to eat in the park, where I saw not one but two Sunday brides who made me act like a crazyheaded woman and get jealous that it wasn't me. (I don't know if you picked up on it, but I'm not so much digging the planning of this blessed event.)

Little Sister and I cooked dinner and watched movies and made each other laugh. Monday's great plans were shot to hell with a migraine, but we managed to get some discount shopping in, where Little Sister purchased an outfit for picture day that didn't quite pass my fake-maternal inspection. I reported it to the Grand Poobah of these issues (aka, Little Sister's real mom), at which Little Sister got angry. I had to tell her that, although I am always on her side, it may not always feel like it. I think she's starting to figure out that I'm actually on Mom's team. I feel like Darth Vader. (I apologize, I really don't care enough for that series to make vague references to it.)

In all of this meantime, The Boy spent the weekend in Connecticut at various picnics and what have you's, even managing to get his father to offer to contribute to our (thus far non-existent) honeymoon fund. The hearty laughs at "Fiji" as the answer to the question, "Where are you thinking about going," confirmed my thoughts that that might be a better anniversary destination. I have yet to see The Boy since last I posted, and, given the choice between the company of him or Dwayne Johnson, I definitely choose him. The Boy maintains that that's not what I might have said two weeks ago, but he is incorrect. And anyway, even if he isn't, sometimes we say things we don't mean.

All of this engagement has inspired me to try to act like a grown-up. Which is fine and good until someone notices, and then it's just embarrassing. For example, at 7:45 am in the 5th floor cafe.

Hawaiian Shirt Guy: "WHOA!" (pretends to faint) "Christina?" (looks at his watch) What are YOU doing here?"

Me: You know, getting married, have to be responsible, etc.

Undaunted by the mocking, this morning I went running at 5:30. At first, I feared that the other runners might shun me, since they have not seen me before and have no guarantee, even from me, that they will ever see me again. But they spoke to me. It was like being accepted into an exclusive club. It felt good. Maybe I'll even do it again someday. Because, let's be honest, I am getting married. In college we called the pre-marital scramble for fitness the LGN (Look Good Naked) plan. I'm not trying to brag or anything, but I've also never had terrible issues with self-esteem, so I've amended the plan to LBN (Look Better Naked). And so, I should get on that.

Tomorrow brings a morning meeting with an events coordinator at Reception Option #2 and dinner with the would-be caterer. Hooray for progress, because I can't wait until these details are ironed out. Raise your hand if you'd like to be on my list of "delegates" (i.e., people I delegate the rest of my wedding planning to)...