Pudgy jumped into the suitcase as if defying me to leave without her again.Â She was fine, but copped an attitude.Â Had she actually missed us while we were in New Orleans? Maybe. My son had graciously agreed to care for her in our absence and I know he did a great job, but she still walked the walk of one offended.
Thereâ€™s something both fun and irritating about unpacking after a vacation. Bits of memories come out with the dirty laundry mashed and mangled in the suitcaseâ€¦thatâ€™s a blade of grass stuck to a pant leg from the parkâ€¦thereâ€™s a folded map in my husbandâ€™s pants pocketâ€¦and that is a stain I donâ€™t want to know about.
Order is slowly regained, but it comes served with a side order of sadness. The tripâ€”so eagerly anticipated– is now in the past, a memory card of images clashing with everyday life, with the more ordinary days.
I look through my photographs, now just small echoes on the back of my camera, and decide which to keep, which to delete.Â The sorting process takes hours as I linger over the highlights, replay laughter, and hold onto something special. It was the best part of my day.