Came home yesterday after daughter Hope and Kristian’s week-long, delightful wedding cum family vacation, happy, tired and eager to resume my normal life.
After hours of laundry and putting a carload of stuff away—on Friday night, David and I hosted the rehearsal dinner for fifty and basically schlepped our entire kitchen’s tools plus ingredients for lots of Mexican food—I thought I was ready for that resuming-my-normal-life bit. Half-way through returning a phone call, however, I realized how tired I was. And maybe a little cranky? So when the woman on the other end of the line wanted to talk about Troy Davis, I begged her to change the subject. After a week of hanging out with family, a week when I’d purposely NOT discussed politics, a week without newspapers or checking my e-mail, a week of being MOB, doting Grandma, sou chef and scullery maid and avid novel reader, I didn’t want to hear it. I wasn’t ready.
I wanted to bask in the glow. I wanted to look at wedding pictures. But where the hell were they? How come the wedding photographer, Scott Langley, hadn’t posted them yet? May I confess to a few, cranky, entitled, hissy thoughts?
This morning, after a good night’s sleep, I get it. Oh! Right. Besides doing weddings, Scott Langley documents death row moments. He’s been in Georgia.
Take your time, Scott.