1. My dreams are strange and thin. I think it’s because I was afraid to miss saying good-bye to my parents before they leave for work. 

2. I get downstairs in just enough time to say good-by to my mom.  

3. Dad is down. I rub the dog’s back while Dad makes coffee and gathers his things.  

4. I didn’t realize how much I missed having a dog. I mean, I don’t want one now—my children are my pets—but their faces and the way they look at you and the way one’s movement up and down the back are so meditative. 

5. I’m sad. I’m always sad on my last day.  

6. The sun is playing peekaboo with the palm trees. The air smells swampy, kinda like the air at grandma’s townhouse in Charleston.  

7. Airport food. 

8. As we begin to descend all I see is gray.  

9. Home. The house still smells new.  

10. Frozen pizza but I make candied walnuts for the salad. Early to bed.