Thoughts on other travelers

I just love observing folks at the airport, and I'm always left with so many questions, many of them totally vacuous and unimportant.For example, why is the adult woman at my ten o'clock wearing an enormous, appliquéd, v-neck Tweety-Bird shirt. Why?

And what is up with the guy whose head is lazily shaved except for the fringe of greasy curls cascading down his neck? It's a bald mullet gone wrong, and that is really saying something.

At my seven o'clock is a man who looks like he's doing his very best to channel a smarmy 60s/70s used car salesman who fancies hitting the disco at night. Velvet blazer, oversized and tinted glasses and more greasy curls.

Oh MY on the ill-fitting floral-on-black denim jeans worn with puffy black high-tops. Ditto for the blousy, MC Hammer pants in a gray-scale leopard print with navy Converse kicks and a lacy, knit cardigan.

My delicious little boys, at the airport!

I am at the airport checking in for my flight to Florence via Frankfurt. As I felt last time I flew alone, I feel acutely light: haven't I forgotten something? I hope not, but in the meantime, I believe it's just the surreal weightlessness of traveling without the kids. I'm not used to it yet. And while I'm decidedly skilled at saying goodbye when a sitter comes for a few hours or the boys spend a weekend with my in-laws, I find it difficult -surprisingly so, really- to get on a plane without them. Perhaps because a plane trip suggests I'm really going somewhere, probably for more than 48 hours, certainly further than a 20 mile radius from home. Too I noticed that after I married Tom, then following Jack's birth and then Oliver's, flying started to make me not a little nervous. There was -is!- so much to lose. So, the actual point at which I kiss each of those treasures goodbye is the hardest moment.

This morning, in the throes of packing and nearing the last goodbye, I baked cookies for the boys and left them wrapped at the end of a scavenger hunt I made up. There are only four or five clues, but I know they'll love solving each one. Look how cute the final scene is!

Now that I'm in the cog of the airport's wheel, it's back to business. I'm armed with all manner of reading and listening material, an eye mask and my toothbrush. And I'm very much looking forward to seeing all the family and friends swooping into Florence for Elia's wedding. Whee!

Leaving soon

I've still not finished packing but have a few hours to finish and get ready. The boys are at school, T's off to work, Percy needs a walk, but one thing at a time. Last night's dinner was fab. I pulled two collard/chorizo hand-pies from the freezer and cooked them until golden and toasty. For our sides, I made stewed okra and tomatoes (so easy, so good!) and a grilled radicchio and tomato salad with garlic-butter toasted breadcrumbs, a mustard vinaigrette and parsley. To die for. T shuddered at its bitter factor, but I groove on bitter. Oh yes!

Did you know that the ability to taste and enjoy/not enjoy bitter is actually related to a single gene -the PTC gene- the codes a taste receptor on the tongue? It was discovered in 2003 though suspected of existing long before that. How does it work? "The shape of the receptor protein determines how strongly it can bind to PTC. Since all people have two copies of every gene, combinations of the bitter taste gene variants determine whether someone finds PTC intensely bitter, somewhat bitter, or without taste at all." Interesting, huh!

So, clearly, T and I have differently shaped receptors! These pics are not good but by the time we sat down to eat, it was dark outside and so flash photography inside it had to be.