I wonder what that means about watching people at the departures area?
I just got back home from dropping off my parents at the airport so that they could fly out to Los Angeles to spend Christmas with their grandkids (oh -- and my sisters and brothers-in-law, too). They've been staying with us in Minneapolis since Thursday evening (you can blame them for the 3 non-blog-posting days), as a kind of "stopover" on the way.
We've spent some quality time hanging out, seeing the holiday sights (including a Christmas concert by the Valley Chamber Chorale, and an afternoon screening of the British Television Ad Awards at the Walker Art Museum), and eating WAY too much. Yes. I even dragged them to the Hopkins Center for the Arts to see the photography exhibit I wrote about a few days ago.
But, tonight, after just over 3 full days of having them, here, I drove them to the airport. I parked the car and walked in with them, then watched their bags as they got all checked in. Finally, I hung out while they worked their way through security, then phoned my sisters to say that they were on the way, and headed home to Christopher and a more normal, but much emptier, house.
On the plus side, they'll be back in just about 2 weeks, spending one night with us before heading home. And, at least at that trip to the airport, I'll get to be one of the overly-happy people who are meeting friends or family at the arrivals gate.
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