Home from Greensboro

I can't tell you a thing about Greensboro, because I barely stepped outside of my hotel, which was located somewhere that was not downtown Greensboro. However, the weather was nice (upper 70s), and the hotel was nice (the O. Henry).

The trip was a whirlwind; my flights were delayed both coming and going, and so I spent as much time at airports and in the air as on the ground. It was not in the least bit relaxing, but I'm still glad that I went. The Genentech and Snow reps seemed to like my presentation a lot, and hinted that there were more opportunities to come. I appreciate the opportunity to make a little money for my family, but just as much, I appreciate the opportunity to channel some of my negative breast cancer feelings into something so positive.

I am home alone, as Tessa is still with my mom & dad, and Ryan's still at work. Time to catch my breath, and even possibly take a nap. (I never take naps, but I got up at 2:30am Seattle time, and given my fatigue in general that's a little over the top.)

On the second leg of the trip, there were several soldiers in chamoflage uniforms. I was surprised to notice that the chamo was in shades of tan and light gray, not the shades of green I expected...until my brain engaged, and I realized that these soldiers aren't fighting in green jungles, but on brown sand. My connection to the war in Iraq is a very distant one: I don't know anyone fighting there, I'm politically opposed to the war, and as a mother I just grieve for the loss of life of so many mother's children on all sides of the conflict. War is incomprehensible to me. I turn off the TV when visions of war - imaginings of Hollywood, or the news - come on, because I can not tolerate the images; they seep into my soul and sear my eyes and make me ache.

Maybe it was just a fanciful imagination, but it seemed like the soldiers on my flight were particularly handsome. They were also very quiet. They averted their eyes. As we disembarked, I asked one next to me, "Are you returning from overseas?" and he softly said, "Yes, ma'am." All I could think to say was, "Welcome home." No political agenda here. These are boys returning to their mothers, and the mother in me wishes nothing more than for all of the soldiers to be reunited with their families.

(And I will just mention briefly how old that "ma'am" made me feel. Ancient, actually. Grandmotherly, without the benefit of grandchildren.)

My problems are small in the face of the world's problems, and yet, they are my problems.

I am grateful that I am not a soldier. I am grateful that my husband, father, and brother are not soldiers. My heart goes out to every soldier and their families.