One minute we are lounging around the Palace trying to ignore the stench of stinky damp feet, then the airport calls and gives us ten minutos to haul our butts over there. We all giggled and skipped along our way.
The crowd at the airport was getting grim. Girls crying over their ruined Thanksgivings, guys darting around trying to find a way, unwilling to except their fate. Some groups had been camping out there for days. There were some stinky people there. Even worse than the stinky feet smell. But then we passed through the metal detectors and went into the happy room. The happy people cheered when our plane landed and then almost trampled each other to board the beloved rescue plane.
We barely made our connecting flights. Barely, as in they closed the door as soon as we boarded.
We are now in Houston, and the culture shock is hitting me in small strange ways.
-I have to fight the impulse to say Hola, Gracias, and Chao to everyone I see.
-Walmart left me a bit breathless- the floor was SO clean, the bathroom was fully stocked with toilet paper, and the whole place was just so big!
-I have an irrational fear of tap water.
-I had to drive across Houston to help drop off a rental car and found that my driving skills are, um, shall we say rusty? Going over 40 and backing up are now terrifying to me, and I can't multi-task. There is no changing the radio station or the air or looking at or talking to the kids. My brain was on overload. I am sure my long lost skills will return someday soon and I will be able to eat, talk on the phone, apply make-up, discipline the kids, and drive all at the same time just like every other American. But not today.
-I am cold. For the first time this year.
-I miss the sound of the ocean.
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