We spent Monday morning organizing and packing, the most challenging aspect being trying to find a way to make prominent anything we thought we might want to have Greg’s parents send us. The dance shoes, for example, weren’t being taken on the honeymoon, but could we do without them until Christmas?

For lunch, Jake and Craig joined us on a jaunt to Kreme ‘n’ Kone, where Craig discovered too late that he doesn’t actually like fried clams. Then, cake! Greg and his mom packaged the top of the cake and stowed it in the freezer, and I continued moving things around. Martin West filmed every moment of the departure, including the exit down the long driveway.

The drive to Logan was much faster than we anticipated, which meant we had more than enough time to really experience the anarchy at the rental car return. We took the shuttle to the terminal, checked in (hours early) very easily, went through security, and had dinner at a Houlihan’s near our gate. I called my credit card companies to warn them I was traveling, the importance of which I learned the hard way on a trip to Canada about ten years ago, and then we walked around and around and around the terminal until our flight boarded.

Every time I fly an international airline, I’m reminded how crappy domestic airlines are. Icelandair was a class act. The flight attendants were dressed like it was 1957, and the meal was Swedish meatballs, shrimp salad, and a fabulous brownie. Greg slept virtually the whole flight, whereas I was glad to see the in-flight magazine was in English.

Pedometer count: 6412