The news predicted a nasty storm. I lumbered around the house packing my suitcase and imagined people scurrying to the market before the snow hit. Stockton and I left on time for the airport. When we parked, the garage rates seemed fair when it meant upon return, there would be no need to shovel out the car.
Anticipation soared as we buckled our seat belts for the flight well ahead of the winter weather. I didn’t want to miss the weekend in Boston. Not because of things like the wine and Cambodian veggies and savory rice croquettes that would fill my belly downtown. No, it was after dinner when we hopped into my brother-in-law’s minivan and those three bright little faces smiled at us.
On Friday, my niece wanted to travel with her baby dolls. We gathered scarves and combs and books into bags and boarded the plane/bed to the sunny destination in our imaginations. We overheard many flights home were cancelled amid reports of snow accumulation. Oh well. Instead I praised my nephew’s drawings and counted hug accumulation. What’s more interesting than a blizzard? The first time you stare into your youngest nephew’s eyes and feel him wriggle around in your arms.
On Saturday, we celebrated our older nephew’s second birthday. He’s
into obsessed with basketball, so we partied on the family church’s indoor court. Giggling children next to animated adults dribbling and passing and taking shots competed with crafts and snacks and a nifty orange basketball cake. A warm dose of humanity sure beats the cold outside.
On Sunday, we journeyed to Logan airport. Princess songs played on the sound system and excitement built for the possibility to spot airplanes landing. At the curb, Stockton and I waved goodbye. It’s hard to leave. We made our way to the gate and learned our plane was the first flight in two days to travel back to snow-blanketed Baltimore. We felt lucky that evening. Not so much for our seats, but for the extra cargo in our hearts.