The Patience of Job

Dear all,

My ray of sunshine has arrived. 

My dear friend, Elizabeth, has arrived in England and not a moment too soon.  Literally. 

I got the guest room ready and I organized day trips.  Finally, after months of planning J took the day off to drive to Heathrow (two hours away) and collect her.  He called with status reports: her plane landed, baggage claim assigned.  Then nothing.  No more updates.  Finally, I called him assuming they’d be on the way home, but still no Elizabeth.  A little worry set in.

More time, more pages over the airport intercom.  No Elizabeth.  Now near panic.  She must have been pulled in immigration, I thought. What could she, the mother of five and a soon to be grandmother have smuggled into England?  I chuckled (I swear, only a little and very quietly) at the thought of her being roughed up while jet lagged and quite possibly without lipstick, by some scary immigration officer.  J, bless him, was searching endlessly to get information.

Well, wouldn’t you just know?  I put the wrong date down on the calendar.  Sometimes I do the darndest things.

This brings me to admit a fact that I have been denying to my friends and family on a regular basis for over 17 years:  J is a saint. I now admit it:  J is for Job.  

It is a bad week for me when I have to apologize twice in one week, but it has happened.  One fit of PMS insanity and the other, sending him on a wild goose chase at Heathrow.  I hate when I do that.

Glad he is the forgiving type. 

And so happy to have Elizabeth by my side.

With love from England,

T-Ann