Heading Homeward... first step, fly to Boston. And don't die.

So after a month on the road, we began the journey back around the world. Yes-- we traveled exactly to the opposite side of the world. Hawaii is 12 hours behind Europe. But by airplane, we're what, 2 days away.

We made our way to the CDG airport with all our wobbly, bust-wheeled, bursting at the seams roller luggage, our full backpacks, and our kid on her monkey leash. In spite of CDG's every effort, (i.e. no indication of which terminal to go to for our airline, no cash OR credit cards accepted at the train ticket booth, no signs or useful information anywhere in that luminous architectural Form-eez-bettah-zan-peedly-function space) we managed to make it to the right spot for our Air France flight, from Paris, on Sunday, May 31st.

Does that date ring bells with anyone?

As we were sitting comfortably in our roomy bulkhead seats on the 2nd floor, 30,000 feet in the air, another Air France flight full of people coming the opposite direction disintigrated into the ocean, just south of us.

What do you do with that?

It reminds me of the feeling I had when I tested negative for the breast cancer gene. I couldn't even feel relief, it was too big. Just, oh. Good.

It's such a roll of the dice-- dead, not dead. Coulda been but wasn't. Can't even think about the what ifs-- such a narrow line between this and that, happily ever after, or not.

So that was the flight home-- or rather, wasn't. We didn't know about it until we landed, of course. But the tragedy of that other flight has sort of absorbed our safe one.