The hostile stares couldn't stop me from stuffing my face with sugar cookies. Mid-bite, half-eaten cookie in hand, I noticed a woman of a certain age staring at me as if I were a public offense, or worse, a person who’d killed her dog. Grandma, trust me, the only harm being done here was to the cookie. I was at the airport, en route to a country that raised me as much as my parents did. Unlike Kevin from Home Alone, my family can’t leave me behind. I’m the human equivalent of a navigator. This time around, I didn’t even have a phone. Just my one-of-a-kind memory and a city where the pigeons could probably walk me home. So much for being the middle child. Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid, Donner and Blitzen. Rudolph was conspicuously absent. I was doing a fair impression. Two days ago, I was at the doctor’s office. I stocked up on enough cold medicine to rival a small pharmacy. I don’t even feel particularly ill. Just the usual cough, sore throat, and red nose. The people in front of me were strangers making polite conversation about where they were from. It was mostly one-sided. An old man spoke at length, while a man in his mid-thirties answered without looking up from his book. His replies were limited to things like “damn.” He also, apparently, worked at NASA. There was a time I dreamed of becoming an aeronautical engineer there. In my bag was my notebook, with a page I dedicated to Santa. “Dear Santa, I’ve been a really good kid. This Christmas, I hope to receive…” Yeah, right. What I’d written was a list of things I’m sure I’ll get during my holiday trip. Who am I kidding. My guinea pigs are in the care of a pet sitter. I look at their pictures like a soldier to his wife. My stomach is churning in a very unexplainable way. Must be the medicine. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be with my sugar cookies until they drag me out of here.