Idahonaker.

Today I flew across the country to purchase sweatpants.
I may do other things as well while I'm here- such as tap dance, comb the mountains looking for moose, and goggle at the bright, bright stars- but mostly, I'm here for the sweatpants.
I wake up this morning in Virginia at 2:32 AM when the undercarriage of my bed starts shifting around. I'm too tired to be concerned, so instead of rolling over, I lie there and wait to see what imposter or boogy-creature pops up.
It's my cat. Suprise. Spelled as such because that is how it's usually pronounced.
I'm flattered, and cuddle Suprise until it's time to get up and go.
In line at the airport, I scrutinize the dimples on a baby's knuckles. I love a good dimply baby. But I'm confused. When the hands of a baby are plump enough to have knuckle dimples, the dimples seem to fall directly atop where the knuckle bone would be. It seems to me that the dimples would fall in the valleys betwixt the knuckles. But what do I know about baby fist cartilage.
Upon boarding the plane, I am delighted to discover that there are touchscreen TVs affixed to the backs of all the seats. More so, I am thrilled to find that an option on this touch screen TV is the sequel to "Independence Day." Which I've been really wanting to see for months. I missed it at the Byrd awhile ago and seethed for a solid three minutes about that. I contentedly watch Jeff Goldblum be attractively intelligent and a small gaggle of highly accomplished fourteen year old fighter pilots attempt to save Bill Pullman all the way to Atlanta and only convince myself to leave the plane in the middle of the movie secure in the knowledge that I'll be able to continue the film on my next flight.
If you're ever curious- Concourse F at the Atlanta airport is located just three miles south of Houston. Got plenty of exercise traipsing briskly between terminals. Rode the moving walkways much of the time. I like those. I stop and take a photo of a huge ceramic cat figurine composed entirely of tiny ceramic cat figurines. I am very eager to show it to my friends. But, I sadly discover, my phone deletes the photo immediately because it contracted some virus a few months ago when I irresponsibly tried to order cookies in the middle of the night from a less than respectable website.
I board my flight to Salt Lake City. My eyes widen when I discover that my magical seat back TV isn't functioning properly and so HOW am I going to finish the sequel to "Independence Day" which I really wasn't enjoying at all. I search for, locate, and press the Call button. I watch the girl sitting next to me take a nap by resting her head on her dinner tray. I am told by the flight attendant responding to my distress call that I may take one of the vacant seats in the back of the plane so that I may discover if Will Smith really isn't going to be in the movie after all.
I change seats.
I eat four Twizzlers.
I finish the movie and watch consider ordering from the touch screen menu a platter of cheese cubes and jelly packets for $49.99. I decide instead on watching "Father of the Bride." Which is good every single time.
I land in Salt Lake City. I disembark. I notice outside the window beautiful and scenic snowy mountains. I don't care because I didn't order the cheese cubes and jelly and am hungry and cranky as a result. I follow signs to my next assigned terminal. I sit in this terminal for 3 hours because it's snowing in Sun Valley and we have to wait and see if we are going to fly straight there or fly somewhere entirely different and take a bus for hours and hours. I buy Hannah a Christmas present. I stare at a wall full of books for a long time trying to decide if any of them tickle my fancy to the point I should purchase one. I settle on a book about the making of "The Princess Bride."
Finally, we board a wee, thin and spiny aircraft with no TVs to be found and fly for an hour. The pilot comes over the speaker and whispers very softly - it is never made clear why he whispers - that we might land in Sun Valley and we also might not. We will have to wait and see if the plane in line to land before us makes it successfully. I try to take a nap, but cannot, as now I can see out of the window. Idaho from here looks like a sandbox someone has been doodling in with a silver Sharpie.
We drive around on top of Idaho for half an hour and then, with no word at all from our pilot, descend into the Hailey airport, which could easily be mistaken for a gas station.
I am fetched by our stage manager and driven to my house. It's awesome. It's old and has high high wallpaper embossed with golden lions and flowers on the ceiling. Beautiful stained glass lamps. Sitting rooms, parlors, closets full of toilet paper and quilts, more televisions than make sense, and a snowy front yard boasting a tiny green apple tree blossoming by the sidewalk. It's the birthplace of a poet. Ezra Pound. Books of his work as well as many other novels fill dozens of shelves throughout this place.
I grin until my cheeks hurt - I had forgotten exactly how happy this place makes me - and hustle my buns to the grocery store before I'm due at play practice. In unloading my multiple boxes of cereal, I meet my housemate. Who is lovely. If my friends Sam, Colin, and JS got stirred together, that would be him. We intend to go sit in a hot spring he's read about in one of the pile of brochures in our kitchen.
Rehearsal occurs. I'm late to the proceedings so get three dance numbers tonight. Such good choreography. By brain turns into boiled guinea pig liver at 9:30; it's been many hours since I awoke. Tomorrow we have a Thanksgiving feast. We probably will not infuse our turkey with tequila- as I was advised to do by a young woman in line with me at the grocery store.
I think a turkey would be a fascinating pet.