Zipping

Jen and I are at Logan waiting to board an obscenely early (6:15!) flight to Pittsburgh. Once we touch down we’ll rent a car for the two hour drive to my father’s small town, arriving somewhere around 10. It takes longer to motor from the airport to Pop's hamlet than it does to fly from Boston to Pittsburgh.

Transporter beams. Dammit, why haven't they been invented yet!

Helen and the girls will also be in town. Lunch will be a great big party. YEA! Here’s a mega cool thing—everyone knows a little ASL. Communication-wise, I do extremely poorly in party situations (defined as any gathering of more than three people)—too many lips to read, speakers overlap, conversation's run at a bright, convivial clip. That is, the rate of speech is just too quick for me to follow reliably.

Madison and Juliana get better at fingerspelling all the time and remember signs that Helen or I teach them. Daddy, with his crabbed up, achy hands, signs and fingerspells to me and, when Jen and I aren't Vulcan mind melding, we sign. My first choice is for everyone to just speak (a little slower, clearly and no over-enunciation) and I attempt to keep up by reading lips. Not always possible of course.

I’m just thrilled to bits that everyone knows even a small amount of sign. While parties are usually stressful and exhausting for me, this one's gonna be a blast.

Since Jen and I are wham-bam-thank-you-ma’aming it (as uzh), we’ll begin the two hour trip back to the airport around four or five. We’ve booked a room for the night (it’d just be too damn much to fly/drive there and home in less than 24 hours) where we’ll, doubtless, avail ourselves of the hot tub and hotel bar. Those two should really be combined don'cha think?

I wish Daddy lived closer.