When I was a child, somewhere between four and six, I participated in a study at the local university. I was asked to bring along a friend of every age for as much as I could. That is to say, bring along a friend who was three, one who was four, one who was five, six, seven, etc.

The study asked questions about what was important to me. I assumed the other participants were asked the same questions I was, but that's an assumption made after the fact and later in life.

I remember sitting there with the paper in front of me explaining to the researcher (or rather, more likely the researcher's assistant) about how I wasn't able to find a friend who was 8 years old, but I had managed 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9 and 10, but they would be in later.

Only much later did I begin to wonder if the researcher understood how much more important my chatter was than her questions. To this day, I wonder if she understood that gaining my mother's approval, by finding these friends and fulfilling the request she made to me, was important to me, not the abstract "did you take my toys?"

I was reminded of what is important to an eight year old this afternoon, when Jenn's daughter handed me a wedding program. She had to nearly butt the other girl handing out programs out of the way to get to me first, insisting that I take the program, take it, take it, taaaaaaaaake it.

I smiled, took the program when I realized what was happening and immediately began looking for a bathroom.

At eight, your mother's approval may be one of the most important things in your life, but after twenty-nine, it's the bathroom.

I have to say that I'm surprised - surprised at how much I like the time just beore winter starts in the Midwest. Instead of taking a bus from the hotel to the church this morning for Jessie's wedding, I decided to walk. Initially I wasn't sure if I left enough time to arrive before the wedding actually started (a serious embarrassment that I am, unfortunately, experienced in), especially when I met other wedding guests on the elevator in a rush and slight panic.*

I wanted to walk, however, since the church was only 1.2 miles away, 20 minutes should be plenty of time to walk over. That assumes, of course, that I know where I'm going.

I didn't, actually, but managed to find my way despite myself. Even this suburb of Chicago had that painfully Midwest feel to it, complete with a grumpy old man waving a fist, yelling at the youngsters. Ah, how much I missed this place.

I can honestly say, it's been a long time since I've been in a Catholic Church. If think about it hard, maybe I'll come up with a time that wasn't circa-high school. Maybe. Probably not. Even my church time has been limited to weddings and baptisms and the fly-through visit. I can't say I'm upset about this, though. More an observation.

* The other wedding guests ended up taking the shuttle that went from the hotel to the church, when I walked. I arrived at the church a good five minutes before those guests, and ended up opening and holding open the church upon their arrival.

Automobile is not always faster, especially when there's overhead.

While straightening up and readying myself for braving the cold on my way to the chapel this morning (walking distance, though only just barely in this weather!), I found a visitor in my room.

I had to wonder how it managed to be in my room. I moved it close to the heater, and hoped it would live. I'm not sure it will.

For the record, Chicagoland Starbucks do not know how to make oatmeal properly.

Not at all.

The oatmeal at Starbucks has recently replaced my previous breakfast favorites of chocolate croissants and pumpkin loaf. The croissants make my stomach hurt, and the pumpkin loaf, though very tasty, isn't available enough. Few things are worse in the morning than being disappointed at the lack of pumpkin loaf availability.

Okay, that's not true, there are hundreds of thousands of things worse, if not millions of things worse than a pumpkin loaf disappointment, but that's really beside the point of the oatmeal, isn't it?

Every time I'm outside of a Starbucks with a Starbucks oatmeal, I'm asked, "I've always wondered about the Starbucks oatmeal. Is it any good?" EVERY. TIME.

To which I will say this: IF you also receive the brown sugar, the nuts and the dried fruit (which is to say, ALL of the oatmeal add-ons), then the Starbucks oatmeal is FABULOUS. I love it. It's great. I recommend it whole-heartedly with gusto.

Except maybe in Chicago. Then I recommend it, just not whole-heartedly, nor with gusto, as I'm not convinced they understand the concept of oatmeal at these Starsbuck.

Instead of filling the oatmeal with enough hot water to thicken the oatmeal and soften it, they added just barely enough water to cover the oatmeal. Which meant that both the oatmeal cooled very quickly since it didn't have enough thermal mass to battle the cold weather back to the hotel effectively, and that the oatmeal lacked any moisture to soften the dried fruit.

My only consolation was the glass of milk I nearly always get with my oatmeal. Now THAT at least was done right.

Well, okay, so Kris and I aren't travelling for Thanksgiving specifically. I am, however, travelling. In particular, back to Indiana (shock there, eh?) for a lifelong friend's wedding. I've known Jessi Klein since she was born, having been friends with Jenny, her older sister, for a year or so by the time she was born. Not that I remember that far back, since that friendship started when I was three and Jenny was one.

You know, if Jenny and Jessi are able to switch to calling me Kitt, the least I can do is call them by their preferred names of Jenn and Jessica. Gah. It's like calling Mark's brother Matt 'Matty' because he's been Matty so long that it's hard not to. Time to learn to switch!

So, off I flew today, the day after Thanksgiving, back to the Midwest, where it's cold, and blustery, and unpleasant. But a wedding is happening, so it can't be all that bad, right? Right?

What I didn't realize when I boarded my flight, however, was that I was flying down to Los Angeles first, then on to Midway. I really wish I could keep my flights straight.

When I booked this too long flight, I decided that I was going to skip renting a car. I'm not sure why I decided that public transportation in a city I'm mostly unfamiliar with was a good idea. However, checking Google maps which now has the "public transporation directions" gave me confidence that renting a car only to drive for 30 minutes then park it for three days, paying for both renting it and parking it, was a dumb idea. Public transportation and $2.50 was the way to go. I printed up my Google directions, tucked them into my bag with a billion magazines and a couple books to read, and didn't think much more of them until I arrived in Chicago.

I actually had packed light this time, and rolled straight out of the plane, down the jet way, out the gate, along the terminal, through the security check point, down the escalator and out the hall to the trains. I pulled out my instructions, verified I wanted on the orange line, tucked page two back into my bag, went through the airport out door which doubles as the station in door, and realized I forgot to pull out my wallet.

So, out came the wallet, and $10 later, I had a ticket. I took enough time trying to figure out how to get through the turnstiles to show that I was, indeed, a visitor to the area, but eventually managed to feed my ticket through the slot and wander down to the trains. I recalled I wanted the orange line, and knew there was only one direction for the trains to go from the airport station, so wandered through the open train doors.

Only to realize I had lost my directions.

I was in Chicago with the directions out for no more than 15 minutes, and had already lost my directions.

CRAP!

I quickly tried to figure out my options. The passenger a few rows away said the trains came every 10-15 minutes or so, so I wouldn't have long to wait for the next one. My cell phones had web access, but it wasn't very google map friendly. Crap! Think! Think!

Kris to rescue.

In a panic, I called him up and had him relook up the train directions. I had my destination still, because page 2 was still tucked into my bag. The rest, Kris had to look up and recite to me, which he did without hestitation.

Well, without MUCH hesitation. There was that WoW battle that needed to be completed before he brought his web browser up.

Or something like that. Here's hoping I don't lose my current directions, too!