I have piled up pretty much all my summer clothes in a heap on the bed, and my, what a lot of bright colours there are. There are many random toiletries, hairbands, scarves, swimsuits, beauty products and a travel hairdryer buried in the heap. It's like a lucky dip for someone planning a day trip to the beach.
Mr WithaY is doing ironing. We have an unofficial task allocation system in this house. I do the washing, drying, folding, sorting and some of the ironing; he mows the lawns and puts up shelves. The ironing that I do can be summed up as "all my stuff, plus stuff that isn't too tiresome to iron." This encompasses teatowels, napkins, pillowcases (sometimes), his t-shirts and some of his less complicated trousers. Work shirts and trousers with more than one zip per pair, I leave in the basket.
So, it can build up a bit. He has been known to go and buy new shirts rather than iron anything.
Ha. Just received an email from the airline telling me we can check in online. Hurrah for technology! I followed the complicated and repetitive instructions (enter name, and middle name, passport number...and again...yeah, one more time, oh, and your full name again in case it's changed from 30 seconds ago...) only to be met with the flat "Sorry, we are unable to check you in online, please check in with an operator at the airport." Arse. So, we'll do that, as originally planned.
Airports are unrelentingly stressful until the point where you are actually on the plane, and then all you have to worry about is the fact that you're in the sky. Gah! Up in the sky! Above the clouds! It's just not right. That passes eventually and you can sleep, or watch a film. Mr WithaY watched one about ice climbers being lost in a crevasse for days, last time we flew to the States. I declined.
Once you land, having enjoyed the stomach-knotting terror of seeing the ground rushing up to you, feeling the plane bouncing wildly down the runway, and trying to quell the strong nausea that the changes in cabin pressure give you*, you get to enjoy Immigration and Customs. I am interested to see what will happen when we get to Immigration, what with our shiny new visas and all. We've always just swanned through the normal channel on our previous visits, so this year will be very different. Hopefully we'll just get to swan through the "Visa" channel.
Anyway. This time tomorrow we will be somewhere over the Atlantic, all being well.
Other news: I had my last day in my job yesterday; I start a new one when I get back in late July. The team had bought me some gorgeous presents, which was kind, and everyone had written lovely things in a card, which I had to wait to read on the train as I knew it would make me go a bit wobbly.
I popped out at lunchtime to get a few last-minute bits and pieces, which included a beautiful scarf. It's very fine linen, in a series of muted pinks, greys and lilacs, and will be ideal to wear over a dress, or even over my head in the sun. I proudly showed my colleague what I had been buying, and when I pulled the scarf out of my bag she went a bit quiet. Shortly afterwards she disappeared, and was gone for some time.
Later, when they gave me my gifts, another very lovely scarf was in the bag among the treasures. Apparently they had originally bought me the same scarf I had bought myself, and my colleage had had to frantically rush out and exchange it after I proudly showed her mine. Heh.
Shows what excellent taste they have, I think.
When I got back to the railway station, the briar rose in the car park was looking rather fine.
It's caught me by surprise, feeling sad to miss the garden while we're away. The roses are just coming into full flower, and the peonies will be out next week if the sun shines for a few more days. I hope that some will be left when we get back. The fruit and veg should be well advanced, though, assuming that Mr Mole keeps his paws out.
I will try to blog while we're away, but if not, I'll be back in a month.
*Or is that just me? I feel as though I am going to die when we're landing, all that circling and dropping lower and lower. After I've broken out in a cold sweat, my stomach lurching violently, I often wish I had.