I’m heading out toward Boston tomorrow to take my mom to see her great grandson for the first time. Even at 2 months, he’s starting to look like a little boy instead of a generic baby. My mom and I are going to stay over one night at a motel, since there’s really not enough room for both of us now that they baby’s here. Of course, my mom’s already complaining about having to stay in a motel, so I picked one near Bloomingdales, where I promised to take her shopping before we leave the area.
And also before we leave, we’ll be picking up three pizzas to take home from this little place in Jamaica Plain that my mom insists is the best pizza she ever had. (And she lived most of her life just outside NYC. Go figure.)
No sooner did I finish editing last month’s Dance Scene magazine, then I find myself in the middle of editing the next issue. We’ve come up with some innovations for the magazine, including running a condensed serialized version of an original mystery novel set at a ballroom dance weekend. The novel was written several years ago by one of my former Significant Others (with considerable editing help from me) whom I had taken to a ballroom dance weekend. Needless to say, the main characters are loosely based on us. Heh. I guess that’s one way to get noteriety.
So, now I’m off to get stuff ready for the trip. Of course, we’re loading ourselves up with food, stuff for the baby that I can’t resist buying, and all of our “support systems” (hair curler, makeup, medications etc. etc.). It gets worse as one gets older.