Skip to content

Goodnight, you moonlight ladies

February 6, 2010

I am in the fancy hotel in the town where I went to college and I’m kind of overwhelmed with being here and the conference and everything. I will write about it. I will. But tonight, I think I have to digest. But I will say this: Your professors remember you a lot better than you think they do. My undergraduate counterpoint exercises were invoked in a post-dinner speech. Seriously. I have spent the day in the company of some mighty intelligent and interesting women in a place I love dearly. Needless to say, I am having a marvelous time. Tomorrow I’ll spend a few too many hours on two busses and two subway trains and a short walk and then I will be at Cranky‘s house, which I am also very much looking forward to. In the mean time, here is something I wrote on the plane on the way here.


Travelling provides the perfect opportunity to ponder some of life’s more important questions. For instance,

• Was I so distracted by the mother and daughter wearing matching leopard patterned Uggs that I nearly went to the wrong concourse? Should I have blamed Lindsay Lohan for the fashion don’t?

• Did you know that it costs $5.50 to buy a tiny tube of toothpaste in the airport? Shouldn’t the people making money on the security regulations have to fork some over to pay for the security?

• Why are all airline captains basso profundos?

• Did you know the Target closest to O’Hare has an enormous red target painted on its roof? Do you think helicopters ever accidentally land there?

• If you realized, as you were waiting in line to get on the plane, that you were standing one soldier, two nuns and three joking Jamaicans, would you a) try to find a punch line? or b) expect the first words the captain will speak over the loudspeaker will be, “Don’t call me Shirley!”?

• Will I make it through this bumpy flight without impaling myself on my own fingernails? [Reader, I did – it helps to type]

• O Connecticut River, how could I forget how beautiful you are?

• Is this where I was from in a former life? How else can I explain my need to weep every time I arrive or leave from this place? Is it joy or relief?

• O Hartford airport, how quaint that you have only two stalls in your bathroom and you have to do your own flushing.

4 Comments leave one →
  1. February 7, 2010 6:06 am

    How sad that you can’t nip down to Panda Garden for the Garlic Brocolli. It closed quite a few years ago. I have not been able to talk Himself and Little Bro into going 45 minutes up 91N from the farm to try any other eateries in our old stomping grounds — even with promised of chocolate from Main Street’s shops. Sigh.

  2. February 7, 2010 7:03 am

    I know! Peppy pointed out Panda Garden’s absence as we drove into town. But it was okay, since they fed us a lot at the conference. I really haven’t had time to go eat anywhere, not even to see if they still have Bay State muffins at the Green St. Cafe, which I last had 15 years ago and still think about because they were the paragon of muffinness. But I did stop by Faces long enough to see that they still had the light-up penguins that I remember filled its window on the day I drove into this town for the very first time. I’m so sad to be leaving today.

  3. February 8, 2010 12:25 am

    I loved the Hartford Airport and dreaded the times I was forced to fly through Logan instead. You are in my old stomping grounds too, I haven’t been in that neck of the woods in over 10 years. I always loved the drive up from Hartford and the beauty of Western Massachusetts. I’ve thought a lot lately that it’s time for trip back.

  4. February 8, 2010 10:54 am

    I’ve been trying to tell you and Lemming that professors remember you more than you think they do for years! Now I feel vindicated.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: