Things I wrote down. Like with a PEN. And PAPER...

I didn't take my laptop to San Francisco, so I had to rely on old technology to capture a few random things that were running through my head. You didn't think I still knew how to use a pen, did you?

Dear CoCo: I know. I know you're old and the bladder just ain't what it used to be. But seriously. 4:45 AM is NOT a cool time to get up, flap your ears around the room, and stand panting by Dad's side of the bed, begging to be let out RIGHTNOW so that you can come back in and get down to the business of an early morning nap. And then when someone does get up to let you out, it's still NOT cool to come back up an hour later panting and ear flapping AGAIN so you can go outside for the first poop of the day, and can subsequently be all set for your morning activity, which consists of a nap and maybe a little begging a bagel off Mom. How about you combine those two going outside events in to one, that is at a more reasonable time of oh, say, 6AM?

Note to Self: Lots of layers = pouffy hair. And you don't do pouffy hair...

I put the pump on the security belt at BWI. It goes in to the little x-ray machine. The security guys stops the belt, looks closely at my pump. Looks again. Puzzled look on his face. I can see the pump in the x-ray picture, a tangled mess of tubes, containers, and electric cords. I tell the puzzled man the bag is mine. He says "Is it a clock or something?" No, I say, it's a breast pump. Ahhh, he says, with a look of understanding and perhaps a bit of embarrassment. And sends it right through.

My text to John, upon arrival in Houston to change planes: Welcome to planet Houston.
John's reply, with a tell-all photo: Houston, we have a problem
A few seconds later, with another tell-all photo: Nevermind all is well
The boy really doesn't like tummy time...

There's a baby two rows in front of me on the plane. Maybe 6 months older than Dexter. He's standing on his mom's lap, looking around and giggling hysterically. It makes me cry. I miss my boy.

I tear myself away from watching a craptastic movie on the plane (with no sound because headphones are a DOLLAR) to look out the window. Astounding. The setting sun lights up the west faces of rock outcroppings. The plane rolls over the hills and valleys. It's like my own personal relief topo map (you know, the raised up maps you can run your fingers over to feel the mountains) rolling out underneath me. Except that the rivers are not blue.

At the Golden Gate Bridge overlook on Friday night. I was here seven years ago with John, when we drove across the country. It makes me miss him to be here again. It's pretty much the same place, although this time I am here at night. And I don't remember such a strong urine smell the last time I was here.

Muir Woods. There is no way to capture this place on film. No way to capture the grace, the silent beauty, the size, the soaring height. I tried. But it's impossible.

Laughing kids. Laughing friends. Loving family. Loving vows. Happy tears shed. Music with meaning. I am privileged to watch two beautiful women profess their love in front of friends, family, and God. An amazing wedding.