So, here is the thing about me and airports . . .

Normally getting on the plane is an adventure. Actually, when it comes to flying, everything from check-in to boarding is some sort of crazy circus experience. Losing my temper and my dignity are usually part of the routine. Today, things have gone surprisingly well. There was laughing, there was smiling, and at no point was I strip-searched. The only tense moment was getting my all my crap on the scale. I’ve never enjoyed activities that involve scales. The check-in lady noticed I was getting a little tense as I put my stuff on the scale, so she asked me if I weighed it before I left. I said, “No, do I look like the kinda girl who thinks a scale will contribute to my happiness?” She laughed. And my crap was underweight. Yahoo British Airways!

The only problem with not participating in the Pearson International Circus is that all the energy that I would normally spend losing my temper and my dignity was channelled into missing everyone. My Pearson adventure began with Kelli driving me (and all my crap) to Terminal 3. Normally I ride the Rocket to Pearson. Yes, me and all my crap, above ground, then underground, then above ground, then on a plane. With the subway/bus experience I am so focused on keeping all my crap nearby, and then getting all my crap on and off various modes of transportation (and worrying that I left your passport at home, in spite of the fact I’ve checked a billion times and it is right there in my purse), and not missing a stop or forgetting some of my crap, that I can’t think of much else.

The car ride, on the other hand, is such a wonderful, low stress experience. Unfortunately, by the time I reached the airport, I spent all my time thinking about how wonderful my people are, and how much I am going to miss them. In a very nearly teary moment, Kelli promised to watch YnR religiously and send me regular updates. I promised to come home soon.

I am an experienced enough flier that I can now recognise the teary farewell warning signs early enough, so I can avoid having an actual teary moment and being that embarrassing red-faced, sloppy mess by the time I reach check-in. You know that person, the sobbing, hiccupping mess that ends up using her loved one’s shoulder as a hanky. I was that embarrassing person in Brazil. This time I demonstrated some airport grace and class.

So, here I sit (with about 65 pounds of my crap making its way to the plane), looking at my seriously cool carry-on bag (I took a picture that I will post when my laptop and phone want to play nicely together) that my mum gave me. It has wheels and it turns into a backpack, making it the perfect piece of luggage for the London Underground. In the front pocket is my airplane pillow/down throw (another very thoughtful gift from my wonderful mother who really thinks of everything!) and my airport reading, a book from my fairy godmother Lindsay (she also gave me a million useful goodies for my trip).

That is all to report for now. Miss everyone already!