I'd hoped the tone of the day was set as I sit cross-legged on the floor of the Denver airport near a pillar with an outlet, allowing my iPhone to charge.  As I read my new book about Joseph Jaworski's early life as the son of the renowned Watergate prosecutor, and rub the inside of my right big toe to stave off a sore throat (an acupressure technique Dad taught us when we were kids), a passerby remarks in a sexy and somewhat playful voice, "Your thong is showing, Dandelion."

As I look up, cringing in certainty that she was directing her comment to me, I see a beautiful Black woman peering over her shoulder down at me as she strolls by me with her roller bag. With a wink and a big, generous smile she proceeds to make her way down the endless corridor of B-gates, holding my gaze until she has to turn to dodge a fast-approaching oversized golf cart shuttle carrying two obese men.  

When she turns to look back at me with the smile returning to her face, I mouth a silent, "Thank you" and get another wink from her. This would be the best most slightly awkward moment of today. I figure that in 3.5 hours when I land in Madison, Wisconsin, the slightly awkward moments will entail a very different sort of charm. I am right.

Sleepy-eyed from my in-flight nap, yet excited to see my parents, I ramble down the lobby stairs of the Madison airport to two smiley-faced familiar people, one waving enthusiastically and looking as though he is refraining from jumping up and down.  

As I've mentioned before, my father is a 5-year old little boy trapped in an aging man's body, and there's nothing more exciting to him than the sight of the fruit of his loins. Even I have to admit, it's pretty freaking adorable. I was just waiting to hear his customary resounding, "There's my baby girl!" To no avail. He just continues smiling like a crazed chimpanzee and keeps waving. I silently chuckle and make my way around another chubby dude who is taking up too much room on the staircase.

It's been a challenging couple of months, and it's been admittedly difficult to not be in the presence of my family while my heart has been sad. As I approach Mom and Dad and feel four of the most loving arms collectively envelop me, tears well up in my eyes, and my heart expands inside my ribcage. I love these crazy-ass people who brought me into the world, and there's not a moment in life that I question their love for me.  

I sink into my daddy's arms and finally hear the anticipated "There's my baby girl."
Suddenly, all is right with the world again. At least for the time being...

I am seated comfortably in the backseat of the rental car as we make our way north down cornfield-laden highways, listening to Mom and Dad discuss the vastly different aspects of their very same model of iPhone. It's beyond hilarious to hear Mom attempt to convince Dad that she has a completely different maps app than he, despite the fact that hers also entails Siri's voice commands and looks identical to Dad's. This is the woman, if you will recall, who worries that cars might explode if you insert the iPhone USB into the stereo system. Dad throws me an impish glance in the rearview mirror, and I just shake my head and turn to stare out into the vast Midwest nothingness.

Mom interrupts my calm alone time with my thoughts to inform me that her co-worker Ann's husband has just passed away. As serendipity would have it, the funeral is in Green Bay while we are here. The funeral sounds more like a roast for Jerry Lewis: 3900 people are attending and 27 speakers are giving eulogies. Mom drops this on me like it's another possibly over-the-top fun-filled activity in our already gripping itinerary. She even assures me that the funeral reception will be quite lovely, as her co-worker Ann (the widow) is cooking for all those in attendance (???), but that we won't be able to visit long afterwards because Ann has to rush off to a Packers stock-holder meeting (????). I decide this is a good time to take a nap.

When I wake from my 20-minute power nap, Dad greets me as though I've been asleep for years.

"Hey, Née, you get to shave the back of my neck since I still don't have full range-of-motion in my arm."

Wondering if I'm still asleep (hoping), I respond, "Isn't that one of the lovely privileges you should grant my mother, your wife?  I'm not shaving your neck, Dad."

"Honey, your mom won't do it. She's afraid she'll cut me."

"Yeah, well, I hope you two find a way to work that out. I'm not married to a man nor do I live with a man for a litany of reasons. Not having to shave them sounds like a pretty good one to add to the list." I make a throwing-up-in-my-mouth noise as if I am 13 years old.

Tone of the day is reset. Here we go.