Elle stumbled out into the living room this morning in classic Elle fashion, underpants and bedhead, flashed her index and middle fingers in a sign of victory, and announced with a big grin, “Two more days…!”

Sure she has been missing her dad all along, particularly when Mom dishes out punishments, but since the extended phone conversation yesterday, our requisitions for goods and clothes, Elle has been especially excited. Dad is bringing back her one special request: Her white high heel sandals (actually Grice’s hand-me-downs from three flowergirl stints.) Totally impractical, I know, but Elle has a shoe fetish. Has ever since she could grasp objects in her chubby, dimply hands. Clothes? Toys? Who needs those when you can strut around in high heels and underpants?

Chris, our house and cat sitter extraordinaire, has officially usurped me as the Queen of Packing. All hail Chris! She was on hand to help Jorge with his transcontinental treasure hunt and managed to fit all the books, clothes, special stuffed animals, and blankies into two, small, airline-sanctioned boxes. Jorge has a few more last minute special items to secure before boarding his flight, namely a tube of Neutrogena Anti-Acne, Anti-Wrinkle Cleanser, because you don’t know how many years it took me to finally find a product that keeps my skin in manageable condition and one that targets that narrow demographic of women with zits in their crow’s feet and my current tube is just about empty; some Dell Crossword Puzzle books, because crossword puzzles here have incomprehensible Australian references; and maybe a Vanity Fair, because you can only occasionally find the UK version here, which unfortunately does not include US editor Graydon Carter’s fabulous anti-Bush tirades.

Two more days…!


You are eternity’s hostage
A captive of time.

-- Boris Pasternak

[Ed. note: Today at the newsagency I Iocated an International edition of Vanity Fair, only two months behind, but it did contain Graydon's Editor's Letter.]