It was a great weekend.

Walking out of the airplane and through the terminal has become somewhat familiar, and I like that. It's comfortable. But it doesn't compare to the emotional draw that I get the moment Non puts his arms around me after weeks of being apart. More than anything, it leaves me with an overwhelming sense of relief -- like when I've been trying to figure out the name of a movie/book/person for hours and it comes to me, finally. I just stand there, relieved, knowing that it was in my mind all along, not too far off, but just out of my reach. Then, I've remembered. And everything is as it should be.

Yeah. It's like that each time I see him again.

So, the weekend itself was crazy busy for us. It seems like we had somewhere to go, somewhere to be every waking moment. Our last night together, we finally had time to relax, to not have our time scheduled. And it was very, very nice. But, the real task of the weekend was the Meeting of the Parents thing.

Meeting HIS Parents:

Actually, I only met his parent. Singular. (Non's father passed away when he was only 12.) So, Non and I had dinner with his mother, his sister (whom I'd met before), his sister's husband, and their daughter. We went to a great Chinese restaurant that's a family favorite. It's the kind of restaurant where you're on a first-name basis with the owner, Adam. In fact, I don't even know the name of the restaurant, come to think of it. We just say, "let's go to Adam's." Instead of perusing the menu, Adam simply asks you what you're in the mood for that day -- Spicy? Mild? Vegetables? Meat? Seafood? Nuts? -- and based on what you want (or adamantly don't want), he whips you up an entree or two (or four, like during this particular dinner).

I thought the dinner went fine -- not bad at all, but not particularly fantastic either. So, as we walked to his truck, I wasn't expecting Non's announcement that I'm "in" with his family. I asked him how he knew, and as in tune with them as he is, he mentioned a few tell tale signs.

1.) His mother hugged me goodbye. Apparently, this isn't something she often does.

2.) His sister and brother-in-law stayed all through dinner. With a small child, they've been known to cut evenings short if they're not thoroughly enjoying themselves.

3.) His niece kissed me goodbye. Non was holding her, and she looked at him, puckered her big, baby girl lips and leaned in. I was standing next to him, and though I could tell she was sizing me up all night, she looked at me, puckered her lips and leaned my direction.

And let me tell you, that girl is so adorable. She's a mix -- Jewish and Hispanic -- and she encompasses the best of both. She is beautiful and animated and darling. All through dinner it was as if my ovaries were magnetically drawn to her.

Meeting MY Parents:

As we walked though the airport terminal in Portland and finally came to the crowd of people waiting for their respective loved ones who'd just flown in, Non leaned over and said,

"Do you see them?"

Strangely, I didn't. My parents are the type to make sure they are clearly visible, whether that means they be front and center or toward the back but off to the side. As we made our way through the crowd, I kept scanning, expecting to find them around the next corner, past the next set of people. Just when I was starting to worry that they'd gone to the wrong airport, I felt Non let go of my hand and out of the corner of my eye I saw him break into a jog. As I start to turn my head in the direction toward which he was running, I heard him shout out,

"Mom!"

There they were. Standing directly in front of me, albeit 20 feet away. I hadn't noticed them because they weren't part of the crowd -- they had their OWN crowd. Non ran up to them and threw his arms around them. As they stood there, my mom in a highlighter-yellow afro wig and a pair of those glasses where the eyes are on slinky-s so they bob up and down (you know the kind I mean), my dad in a pair of Groucho glasses (complete with the nose and moustache), they held a sign that read:

JASON

Welcome to

"Meet-the-Parents"

Weekend

The crowd that had waited with them to see what sort of reaction they'd get applauded and took turns patting Jason on the back. As I walked toward them -- half shocked, half mortified -- I heard whispers,

"That must be the daughter"

they said. And they were right. Let that be an indication of how the rest of the 48 hours in Oregon went. It was great. Non (yes, Jason is his actual name) loved my parents. My parents loved Non. And I love them both, which works out very nicely for me. On Saturday, Non and I went tailgating at the Ducks game (the University of Oregon Ducks' Football game, that is) with my best friend from high school and her brother and other friends, all of whom happen to be religious Ducks fans. I'm known as "Dirty Betty" among the Duck Crowd, for a yellow and green homemade jersey I found at a vintage clothing store a few years ago (yellow and green, coincidentally, are the Ducks colors). The front of the jersey says, in those velvet, iron-on letters, "DIRTY BETTY", and on the back is a big 38 with a smaller "DD" next to the 38. Ironically, I am quite busty, though not quite a 38DD. With my Dirty Betty moniker, Non was musing on making his own shirt for future Duck games, with "I'm with Betty" and "Well-hung Harry" topping his list of possible t-shirt personas.

Another thing we did on Saturday was to go on a mini-tour of ducks in the city of Eugene. Apparently, several different local artists were given the same, eight-foot-tall duck (plaster? metal?) to decorate and display on a particular street corner. There were all sorts of ducks -- everything from "Cadi-Duck", a duck riding in a Cadillac, to "Dead-Duck", a duck reminiscent of the late Jerry Garcia, who, along with the rest of the Grateful Dead, made annual stops in Eugene on their concert tour. We took photos with several of the duck statues, one of which is here for your gazing enjoyment. It is called "Psychedelic-Duck" and has a picture of the late Ken Keasey (a Eugene favorite) on its chest.

And there we are. Well, us and a duck. How often do you get a chance to see an eight-foot duck, let alone get a picture with it? Not often, to be sure. We had to seize the opportunity. And seize we did.

Like I said, it was a great weekend.