SJP NYC & Letters from the State Department

Saturday, in all of it's glorious overcastness...found Lynsey & I in her yard. Planting.
She bought the  most amazingly stunning Azalea. Whom we named Eleganza. Partly because of Rupaul, mostly because it is literally the essence of eleganza. Yeah. It's that gorgeous.
So, there we were, two sisters and a shovel, digging up her rocky soil.
We got Eleganza safely in the ground and started digging the hole for her wine cup plant, named Martha.
Michael called, and I sat on the porch to talk to him. As he told me the news about why his buddy Carl called me at 1:30am, my time, looking for my husband, Lyns kept digging the hole for Martha.

(picture it...1:30am...phone rings. Strange number. I answer immediately and in my sleep daze I'm thinking it's Michael. Cell reception here is horrible I say in my "hey! i was asleep" voice "hello?" bad connection..."Hello? hello, honey? Michael? Honey? hello? can you hear me?" Dead connection.
I call back "I just got a call from this number..."
"Yeah...I'm looking for Mike...Michael...This is Carl...His buddy."
I said "Michael's in germany. this is his wife."
Carl says "Germany? How long's he there for?" Clearly Carl was bright eyed and bushy tailed and to his alertness I responded "3 years. I'm drowsy."
He said "3 years! Wow. I guess I forgot about the time difference. I called to tell him about a guy from our old unit."
I said "ok. I'm drowsy. but I'll tell him you called, because...he has a magic jack...and I don't know the number. but when he calls you...it's a washington state number. And...I'm drowsy."
Which, clearly the re-announcement of my drowsiness was part of my I-can't-keep-my-eyes-open-ness.)

So, there I was sitting on the porch listening to the scuttlebutt as to why Carl called me so early in the A.M.
And my sister is cussing. And throwing rocks out of the hole she was digging. Jumping on the shovel, and basically digging to china.
Then she announces with glee and a slant of pride "I DID IT!" She had proceeded to dig a rock...no scratch that...a boulder out of her yard.

After digging, and talking...we went to Ft. Meade. To shop the PX, to check the mail, and to get groceries at the commissary. In. that. order.

We skip out of the PX with our new fragrances in tow....SJP NYC. And it smells Y.U.M. We walk down to the P.O.
As I put my key in the box I say to Lyns "I am not getting my hopes up that there will even be a passport in there."
She said "yeah. don't blame you."
I pull out out some junk mail and a letter marked United States State Department Washington Passport Agency.
My eyes are like saucers. I rip it open. Heart beating faster
I see it's just a letter.
My heart starts to sink.

I unfold it and read the first line:

Dear Mrs. Suman (Since when am I "dear" to them???)
Thank you for your recent passport application. We need your help in order to continue processing your request. (My eyes scanning the letter faster. I started to gasp for breath.)
You will need to provide your permanent street address ( I started to struggle to breath. I don't have a permanent street address. I don't even have a home...but I could use mom's address, but that's in GA and I need this passport to show the no-fee passport angel lady that I have it...and I need it soon...and...)

If we do not receive .....blah blah blah... your application will be denied....blah blah blah...

Although the letter in itself doesn't warrant a sobbing breakdown right in the middle of Ft. Meade Post office. The letter wasn't bad or worded wrong. Or offensive, or even boasting any typos.
But it was the straw that broke the camel's back.
So, right there, in Fort Meade post office... Right by the window that looks out into the parking lot... While SJP NYC still lingered fragrantly on my arm where I'd spritzed a sample on not 20mins before.
While gasping for breath I began to sob.

People came in the post office. And I continued to sob. Some cries you can't stop just to be polite and spare other people from witnessing your moment of weakness. And this was an all-get-out-can't-stop-it-cause-the-dam-done-broke cry.
Lynsey read the letter. She listened as I sobbed. She walked with me out to the car while I sobbed my way to my paint chipped ford, in the drizzle.
I got inside and said
"It's..." gasp "just" gasp "So" gasp "MUCH to put" gasp "on one person." SOB.
I apologized for sobbing 'like an idiot'
I said I was never going to get to Germany. I was releasing all the stress that a had piled onto me since Michael left.
My eyes were puffy. I stopped crying and sobbing and got hold of myself.
I said to Lyns, before going into the commissary "Does it look like I've been crying?"
She said "yeah. A lot. Here...put on some more make up or something."
So i did.
I said "What about now?"
she said "Hmm...try on my glasses.. that may help."
I put them on and looked at her "well?"
"Hmm.." she said looking at me. Her face an open book. Clearly, my break down was still visible to anyone who chose to look at me..
I said "well, let's just go in anyway."
I entertained her with my antics walking in her glasses into the commissary.