Refugee

Bump and I were planning to pack up half the condo and move it to a storage unit this weekend. The place needs less furniture to show well, and we thought it would be easier to paint and recarpet with less stuff around.

At around two o'clock, my mother called to tell me my father is having open-heart surgery tomorrow. My office had to pull me off the House floor to deliver the news.

I hopped on a 5:30 flight to Sioux Falls and didn't have time to stop at home to pack. I bought some tee shirts at the Minneapolis airport, and had the cabbie stop at a drug store for underwear and socks.

I had a new toothbrush and some toothpaste in my desk drawer, courtesy of my last dentist visit. I have an extra script for prenatal vitamins in my briefcase which I'll fill from the pharmacy in the hospital.

My mother is a mess. Bump is overwhelmed at the prospect of caring for two kids while packing and moving large pieces of furniture. My dad is subdued by the thought of serious surgery and his own obvious mortality.

I haven't had time to think. I have never gotten on a plane with literally no luggage and only the clothes on my back. I'm holed up in an hotel room straight out of 1962, but it's surprisingly clean and even more shocking: wi-fi enabled.

Bright side? Other than the wi-fi? I'll buy a few more clothes here as I am able, and maybe the new ones will actually fit me right now - as opposed to everything I currently own. In the meantime, damn am I going to be sick of this suit.