Our weekend sojourn South to my roots, Central New Jersey, went well over the weekend. Michelle and Sigrid enjoyed Suzanne's bridal shower as did the guest of honor, always the most important part and the weather held off being drippy and moist until we were home again, home again, jiggity-jig.
Patrick and I had a bit of a close call on Saturday after the Free Because No One Would Pay Money for It Continental Breakfast with the wood nymphs and the troll re-enactors from North Carolina, West Virginia, and Queens in time for we never did figure out what.
We decided to walk off breakfast and took off retracing by foot the route we had taken in the dark the night before in search of dinner. Fifty-seven minutes later in what we thought would be a twenty minute walk we found our way back to the hotel, but it was dicey for a couple of minutes.
Luckily our son has his levelheadedness from his mother. I'm not someone who finds things when he gets lost, like where he should be going. I end up in Westerly heading for Waterford or can see the skyline of New York City while driving towards Derby. History not hyperbole. In other words, skills, but not the kind you put on the resume.
That old adage about take only pictures and leave only footprints didn't work out at all. However, the old saw, out of sight, out of mind certainly did. Because, and I will insist on this forever, because the door to the room blocks the hideaway closet in the room to the right, when we opened the door to leave and check out, we managed to leave our jackets on the hangers in the closet, out of sight.
Standing at my back door Saturday evening, about thirty minutes after we returned, I flashed on the realization, I had no idea what had become of my new Members Only jacket that Sigrid special ordered for me for my birthday so she could finally bury perhaps in the backyard the green one I had worn since very close to the birth of our first child.
Sigrid called the hotel and their housekeeping people rang us back Sunday morning to confirm they were hanging out in the old room waiting for the guys who'd dropped 'em off. No worries-Patrick is sending them a UPS label and they'll ship them back to us. I'm starting to get a hankering for cable cars and Tony Bennett, so I'm wondering where I left my iPod.