Y’all, Jack and I apologize for the sporadic nature of this blog lately but we’re getting slowly back into the saddle. Or out of it. He’s in Scotland, leading his annual tour exploring the delights of Orkney and Skye, and I’ve been everywhere but at the bookstore this month.

Today I’m in a Starbucks in Manchester, New Hampshire airport, waiting on a rescheduled flight. Could be worse; the Internet is free, and when I said to the lady behind the counter, “I just want a cup of coffee,” she smiled and helped me sort through the bewildering display of options. I had been wishing for my friend Cami, who speaks Seattle AND Coffee. Last week it was her place and the SeaTac airport. Much bigger than this sweet little place.

However, this airport does have a haunted bathroom. I availed myself of a stall and found to my chagrin that the door which swung so willingly open with a slight creak to invite me in as I entered, was now stuck. Just as I contemplated the plague risks associated with crawling out under the door (the place was clean, but hey, it’s a toilet) it swung open again with that air of mystery. As I stepped to the sink, all the hot air blowers started. At the sink, the soap squirted without invitation. I began to feel nervous and beat it outta there, relieved that a secret barrier didn’t slam down. In the regional airport bathroom at 6:30 am, no one can hear you scream.

I wonder how many people they lose that way?

Anyway, from here I go to Richmond for a two-day series of meetings, and then back home to the beloved bookstore, ably staffed by Erin Kay and her son Bryant. Bryant is Keeper of the Kittens while Erin minds the shop. They’re stuffing some tourism fun between serious bookselling and cat cuddling.

Me, I’m delighted my flight was delayed in this quiet little airport with ample tables and power sources, because I’ve got some writing on my mind.  As soon as this nice grande whacha call it kicks in.

Have a good day, everybody.