I’ve written before about my planning abilities. They are being severely taxed this week, as we gather the family for my father-in-law’s funeral.
Throughout the week, we are coordinating the arrival at the Kansas City airport of my two adult children, and my husband’s sister and her husband, cousin, niece and her husband (with two toddlers), and two nephews. They are arriving from Boston, Missoula, Richmond, Seattle, Spokane, State College, and Washington (D.C.).
That list is in alphabetical order by city of origin. I have another list by estimated time of arrival, cross-referenced with which vehicle and driver will pick up which passenger(s) to convey them to the small town in central Missouri where the funeral will take place, and whether they need an intermediate layover at our house.
(And, of course, the list also describes how we will reverse the process after the funeral.)
I have become obsessed with these lists. Something to focus on in a difficult time. My husband is traveling and can’t get home until Friday, and I want him to feel good about the arrangements the rest of us are making for his father. So I am compensating by becoming Secretary of Transportation.
But I don’t mind. I’ll handle travel.
And let someone else deal with the sleeping arrangements. Managing the logistics of age, gender, and marital status is worse than taking on air traffic control responsibility.