Schneller! Warten Sie!

Here Kess and I sit in the Manchester Airport, waiting for Drae to arrive. it's been a rather eventful afternoon and evening. the laste after noon and early evening we spent at my parents house for a combination my birthday/brother-in-law's birthday and getting his US citizenship shindig. Was nice. had much fun, given it was a family event.

Then we headed off to the wilds of Barnes and Noble to kill some time before coming here to the airport to wait for Drae. Well, actually, we went war-driving for a bit to see if we could log into my home machine so that I could get the flight number off it.

This turned out to be a failure, but only because I had to reboot the home machine and the guy whose house we parked in front of was looking out the window.

So now, we're here, at the airport. For once, with plenty of time to spare, and indeed, to outright kill. which is why I forked up the 8 bucks for network access here...

Voiceover: "The curbside is for immediate loading and unloading only. Vehicles parked at the curbside will be ticketed!"

The bloody flight has been delayed 2 hours. An 11:00 pickup delayed to 1:00 Ack-Fucking-Emma. And worse, there's all sorts of conflicting info on the arrival/departure boards, and nobody at the courtesy phone knows shit.

I find this frustrating. Not only am I being confronted with will full ignorance, but dammit, I have to wait two extra hours to see my Draephon! Bastards!

Let's see what else happened to day...

I got my birthday gifts from my parents today, much to my happy surprise. 2 really nice shirts, and some cash. and my grandfather's straight razor. Alfred L. Clark's farking razor. How cool is that? (Slight Aside: I prefer to shave with a straight razor, given the choice. cleaner shave, more meditative, and a great way to tell if I'm awake enough to drive to work yet.)

I never knew my grandfather as well as I might have liked to. I remember him as important to me. I remember that he tried to talk American, but could never quite shake his Aberdeen accent. I remember him in nickels and head pats, and rides in his dark sedan. I remember him a thin giant, of infinite patience with my sister and I, and of no patience with my father.

I remember the razor that he put away, trading it for an electric because his hand was no longer steady enough to wield the bright steel.

I remember him a shadow and a ghost, dying in hospital of brain cancer.

I remember that I stayed with Frank, my neighbor, and his best friend, during the funeral. I was eight years old. Frank and I smoked cigarettes and drank Gin and tonics, and talked about my grandfather- and I learned that Frank had been my father's grade school principal, and that Frank and Grandpa had been friends ever since Frank had called grandpa in over some trouble with my Da, and Grandpa had made him last.

I'm adopted. The blood that runs in my veins did not run in his. But it is inevitable that I will nick myself shaving with that razor, as I'm sure he did. And somehow, that seems right, and good.

30 minutes to Drae and counting.

I'm all written out.

I've missed her toothbrush in the cup near the sink.