Waiting for dinner.

Ross got home right on time yesterday. I realized I hadn't left the house since I got back until I drove to the airport to pick him up.

We now have houseguests.

Some people we know in San Miguel de Allende have started this Mexican house exchange on the Internet. We joined sort of as a favor to them. I'm ready to de-list now.

I had a nice email exchange with the woman. I told her I was picking up Ross at the airport, so could they arrive before 4 p.m., or after 7? She said they'd come shortly after 7 and they'd love to take us to dinner. I assumed that meant when they arrived. I still think that's what she meant, but they didn't get here until 9:30.

I went through all the phases of grief.

First there was denial. "I'm sure they'll be here any minute."

Then anger. "I'm starving!!! Don't these people know how to use a phone?"

The bargaining part was really Ross's role. He had to call three restaurants to find one that stayed open that late. (Yes, I know. Ajijic rolls up its sidewalks around 9 p.m. on a weeknight.)

Where's the part of grief where guilt and fear come in? There was about an hour where I was sure they were in a horrible accident and couldn't call. I felt terrible for all the awful things I'd been thinking.

Acceptance came when we finally opened a can of soup and ate.

Finally they called. I don't know how long they spent looking for the place . . . I haven't actually talked to them yet. Ross went to get them and sent them off to the 10 p.m. restaurant on their own. I went to bed. I hear them beginning to stir now.