Saturday morning at o-dark-thirty, Mike and I embark on an adventure: we have a 6:20 a.m. flight to Philly.
Our mission: To attend the wedding of klingonguy and his lovely bride. The event promises to be traditional, rather than Klingon. I suspect, however, he’ll manage to slip in a few Klingon toasts before the party is over.
We’ll be staying with our friends Barb and Joe. They recently moved into a wonderful property in Bucks County that includes an old farm house and a working stable of boarded horses. She promises (threatens) to put me on a horse — something I haven’t done in about 25 years. She also promises (and that’s not a threat) to feed us well, as her husband Joe is a gourmet chef. And, as some of ya’ll know, put me and Barb together with a couple of bottles of wine, and we’re nothing but Trouble. With a Capital “T”.
Our obstacle: We’re flying U.S. Airways, which is notoriously unreliable, and there are storms passing through tonight and into the morning. Argh.