Home At Last

This is a somewhat long and complicated story, so bear with me.

Last Wednesday, Mr. W and I flew to Florida from our Connecticut house to help his father move from the rehab facility he'd been in to the nursing unit at the Assisted Living complex where he lives.  During our stay there, Mr. W's mother passed away, so we canceled our return flight and stayed on to do what we could to comfort his father for several more days. 

We had to return to Boston on April 8th, because we had furniture being delivered to the new apartment, and meetings with contractors who were finishing up the work being done there.  I stayed in Boston, and Mr. W flew back to Florida on the 10th for several more days so he could make funeral arrangements and be with his dad. 

The plan was for him to fly back to Westchester County Airport (where we had originally departed for Florida, and where our car was parked), then he would make the hour-long drive to our Connecticut house and pick up the last of the boxes and things that were waiting to be brought to our new place, and then continue on to Boston...

Well.  The best laid plans ... Upon arrival at Westchester, he realized with a sickening moment of clarity that the car keys were safely ensconced in my handbag.  The handbag that was with me.  In Boston.  So the poor man had to rent a car, drive to Connecticut, pick up the spare keys, drive back to the airport, return the rental car, then drive his own car to our house, load up all the boxes and other things, and then drive for another 2 1/2 hours to Boston!  He just walked in the door (at 7:30 p.m.) absolutely shattered.  The poor man.