That's been Michelle's daily refrain now for a couple of weeks, almost ever since Christmas when she sprang on me the all-time amazing surprise gift -- tickets for Rome and Paris, timed for the end of this month when I'm between chemo rounds and most likely to be feeling up to traveling. Awesome.
It didn't occur to me until last night, when Michelle posted about booking our Paris hotel, that our plans have gone otherwise unremarked here, except for a stray hint or two in the comments. My bad. Of course we're totally psyched for the trip, and I can't believe it's coming up so fast.
I've been to Italy several times, including once with Michelle, but never to Paris, and I'm really excited. We leave Sunday.
(Note to burglars: Don't even think about it. We've got the guard guppies, plus people looking in on the place, and the security system thoughtfully installed by the previous owners. Not much worth stealing anyway.)
We've been getting some great trip-preparation help. First, Kaye sent us a couple of cool books -- "The Secrets of Rome: Love & Death in the Eternal City," by Corrado Augias; and "Pudlo Paris 2007-2008," the Paris restaurant guidebook, by Gilles Pudlowski -- and put together an awesome post on NiteNote with all her favorite Paris spots. Very nice.
Then yesterday Mom sent another good-looking book, "Paris to the Moon," by Adam Gopnik, who is The New Yorker's correspondent. Thank you everyone.
But anyway, as I said, Michelle has been nagging me to put fingers on my passport. I get that; it would be a total drag to head off to the airport on Sunday and have to just wave goodbye as Michelle traipses through security. And if you're Michelle, you think that way. I've never seen her go anywhere without searching for her wallet and keys for 20 or 30 minutes. When you don't know where anything is it makes sense to start looking right away.
Me, I've got systems. I know where stuff is. Even so, knowing that Michelle would interrogate me again soon, I decided this morning to get the passport out of its spot in my dresser drawer.
... What? Not there? What?
After a few minutes of panic, including looking in the other couple of places it must be if it wasn't in the place it was supposed to be, I looked in the dresser drawer again and, yes, there it was. Whew. The last thing I need, on top of blowing the trip, would be listening to I-told-you-sos for the rest of my life.
Just now, Michelle called from work to say hi and give me an update on a couple little things. "Have you found your passport yet," she said.
Sheesh. Of course, dude. It's right here.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Have you found your passport yet?
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8 comments:
hah
Mine's in my file drawer, under P.
Just sayin'.
I love it!
As Dad always said, "A place for everything and everything in it's place."
yes, and he had a way of making sure the lesson stuck.
I'm still looking for my baseball bat, and it's been gone 40 years now.
whew
guard guppies - why didn't I think of that.
Good one, Mark.....you DID find your passport.
A couple of years ago I went fishing in Nova Scotia by airplain. Now, If I drove back then no passport was necessary. I got on a plane and no passport was necessary. I got off in Toronto to make a connecting flight, suddenly my fishing companions are waving goodby while I try to talk someone into letting me in the country armed only with a diver's license. It worked after a sureal interrogation about fishing techniques to make sure I really was going fishing. Doubt it would work today.
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