Writing, Pedicures, Mullets, Missionaries and Regret

I've been pretty busy getting ready for a writer's conference I'm attending this week, so my blog has suffered from some neglect. As have my children.

But there's a lotta stuff that's gotta get done before you can jet off to spend three days with a bunch of authors: some famous, some not. Stuff like cleaning the house--but still not the floor because what would we do with all of our socks if we didn't use them to keep our feet clean while walking across dirty floors?

And then there was the pedicure and eyebrow shaping (which is a fancy way of saying "fixing my monobrow") that had to happen. Plus the outfits to be picked out, including the one I'm going to wear to pitch my book I would like to be published. Hopefully my clothes alone will convince him to read the manuscript, because I haven't really prepared the pitching part of my pitch.

I also had to spend some time going through the syllabus and picking out which classes I want to attend. Even though I'll probably change my mind once I get there.

Then there was the episode of Who Do You Think You Are? that I had to catch up on. Because I love to see famous peoples' hearts turned to their fathers. Especially when they are famous people like Rob Lowe who is nice to look at. But I'm sure I would have been just as moved watching an ugly man hop on a plane to both Washington D.C. and Germany to do a little family history research that could have just as easily been done online.

And maybe there was some writing that had to get done to take with me to boot camp. Which, contrary to what I first thought, is not an exercise class that makes your body hurt but an exercise class that rips apart your writing so it can be better. And maybe if I had done the writing before the painting of my toenails, I wouldn't have been quite so stressed out the last few days.

But this color on these toes has put a smile on my face. Sometimes you gotta go for inspiration before perspiration.

And no. The dirty floor under my feet is not my own but that of the Salt Lake airport where I am waiting for one of the famous authors, Melanie Jacobson, who is on a later flight than mine. Which gives me an hour and a half to blog. And also to people watch.

So far I've seen one mullet and two missionaries being welcomed home. I mean the missionaries, not the mullet. Because no mullet should be welcomed in any way.

But missionaries definitely should be. Which is why I love flying into SLC on a Wednesday night. The two tonight came home from Tonga in their white shirts and ties and those skirt things that Polynesian people wear  that I don't know the name of. And flip-flops.

That's my kinda mission.

And the blonde missionary and his family keep standing here reunionizing. Like maybe they're not going to see each other again for another two years. But it's pretty fun to watch because other people--Polynesians mostly--keep coming up to him and asking him about his mission. One lady asked him if he had come home from Hawaii because that's where her daughter is serving.

And I wanted to yell to her that I know the mission president in Hawaii because his daughter is one of my best friends. Then we would have had a nice chat where I would tell her what great people the mission president and his wife are and how they have one heck of a great daughter.

But I didn't. Because I'm blogging. Which I haven't done in a while, but it probably shouldn't be an excuse not to tell a mother who misses her daughter that she's in good hands.