How much do I love being home?

Karsten and I had a long weekend in Minneapolis to visit some friends. Minneapolis is a great place and it was lovely to see our friends, don’t get me wrong, but I’m thrilled to be back home and I’ll be glad if we don’t travel for a while.

To begin with, we got a flat tire on the way to the airport on Friday and missed our flight. Karsten insisted on changing it himself rather than calling AAA to do the job, and no amount of teasing him about how silly it is that we even have the AAA service could make him change his mind. So he went to work on that while I called American Airlines to find out what our options were. The 800 number guy told me we should just get to the airport and they’d take care of it there. Much sweating in the hot sun later, we scrambled to the airport to see if they could squeeze us onto another flight. They did, but it meant an additional $50 and flying from here to Dallas and on to Minneapolis from there, adding several hours to our travel day.

Whatever — we finally made it to the Scorching North. We stayed with one of our friends in the Powderhorn neighborhood of Minneapolis, and enjoyed ourselves in spite of sleeping on an air mattress that felt like one of those inflatable Moonwalk things you see children jumping around in at street festivals. Karsten and I are used to sleeping on a platform bed, which is almost too soft for us after years of using a pile of blankets on the floor as our makeshift bed. With this big balloon-like thing, every time either of so much as moved a finger, it sent the bed into spasms of bounciness.

So yeah, we didn’t do so well on sleep. And after a fun weekend, we were very much looking forward to getting home and settled and going to bed early.

But fate still had some tricks up its sleeve as we tried to make our way home yesterday.

Our plane from Minneapolis to Chicago was delayed enough that we worried we’d miss our Chicago – Nashville flight. We needn’t have worried. The Chicago – Nashville flight was even more delayed. Then we found ourselves stuck in the construction traffic west of the airport on I-40. At that point, it was 9 PM and we hadn’t eaten yet. So we called in a dinner order for pickup to Germantown Cafe, fought our way through the rest of the traffic, grabbed our food and cruised up the street, elated to be so close to home and the ultimate goal of Going To Bed.

When we pulled up in front of our house, there was a cat sitting on the top of the front steps by the door. Not unusual, since there are many neighborhood cats who like to taunt our six indoor cats. But I had a sick feeling that this was actually one of our cats, stuck outside. Sure enough, there was about a 4″ by 10″ hole in the wood door frame and Bonnie must have squeezed out and not been confident she could get back in. She was certainly eager to get back in — no idea how long she’d been out there.

We ate quickly, Karsten patched up the hole in the doorframe, I unpacked everything, and we both collapsed into bed. And you know, it didn’t bounce at all.

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