Catastrophic weekend failure.
I had really hoped my three hundredth post would be more chipper, but there you have it. Things started going downhill shortly after I woke up Saturday morning on my cousin's couch. What woke me was a text that my friend's death is imminent. Weighed down with that news, I nevertheless started firming up plans for Sunday, rumoured to include all manner of fantastic supper and shenanigans post-gig. I was excited.
Until it started snowing.
Point made, universe. You are drunk, you are mean, and you are not giving up the keys.
Short version: flights cancelled, band stranded in California, promoter cancelled, three-quarters of the band engaged in a round-robin of incoming messages that were alternately supportive, laden with rude but amusing sound effects, and delirious from having to drive 200 miles to Oakland for a 5 am flight back to Nashville. Without me. Though we did manage to tweet the Oscars at each other, which was a wee bit of consolation (though not much).
I am now home, having barely averted a full-blown stress meltdown Sunday afternoon at Gate C29 (which would have been mortifying) when my flight was delayed three times resulting in almost not being able to find someone to fetch me from the airport. And no, the bus does not run to Doodlehem after midnight.
I expect that any moment my phone will ring telling me Ruby's gone. It won't be long. She is receiving no nourishment, just morphine and oxygen and a sedative for anxiety. Her husband manages to persevere with so much grace I am ashamed to breathe the same air, to be called the same species.
I manage to be astonishingly grateful, however, at the bright spots--and there are many. My cousin and I made endless pots of Earl Grey tea and drank them out of our grandmother's Wedgwood that she inherited while reminiscing about being Henry women. Her children, though exceedingly high energy and often bewildering as they express their teenage frustration, are bright and thoughtful when you least expect it, and often screamingly funny. I managed to meet Mer for cafe au lait and beignets Monday brunch before she drove me to the airport, am utterly smitten with her, and remembered how much I adored living in the western half of the country, in the mountains. I still seem to have one of the best friends a girl could have, even though I'm a manipulative asshole when I'm grieving and I still miss him more than I can express. Lastly, I'm in student conferences all this week, so it will go relatively unnoticed that my cheese has temporarily slid off my cracker and wandered several hundred miles south of here.