Thanks, everyone, for your supportive comments over the last two days. I feel fortified. And not quite so dull.
Yesterday was . . . not fun. The daughter and I were traveling to my family’s annual family reunion in Kentucky. I had to get up at 3:30 a.m. in order to leave on time to make our flight. Ever noticed when you have to get up really early and really need what sleep you can get, you can’t sleep at all? My mind wouldn’t turn of. I checked the clock every ten minutes, thinking the alarm was going to go off. (Checking the clock’s easy—all I have to do is stare at the ceiling. We have one of those handy-dandy clocks that project the time and outside temperature up there in large red numbers.)
I get a total of two hours’ sleep.
So. We’re on time to the airport. Long security line. Flight’s late. Which doesn’t matter, because we’re on a ridiculous schedule anyway. Instead of the typical flight to Chicago, then to Lexington, we’re have to go to Phoenix first. Don’t ask me why. And we have a long wait there. So we get to Phoenix. Whoa, feel that heat through the jetway. Then the airport’s freezing from air conditioning.
We have breakfast. We have time, you see. A two-hour layover. Yes, this is after being late.
Our plane leaving for Chicago is also late.
Oh, we board on time. Then we sit there. Don’t ask me why.
Finally, after a three-hour flight, we arrive in Chicago. Late. But no worries. We have plenty of time to kill. You see, we have a two and a half hour layover. Yes, even after being late.
We pass the time in a restaurant, eating. Figured, okay, we’ve survived this. Almost there. Next flight’s only an hour. We’d forgotten that we were in Chicago, only the most late airport in the universe. And, of course, we have to walk from terminal B to F. So we get to F. Have another hour to wait. The gate’s hopping. I mean people everywhere, waiting for four different flights at the same gate. Time passes. Nobody calls our plane. The take-off hour slips by. Still no announcement. Meanwhile other planes are announced—how late they are. One flight’s cancelled. Another is two hours late. Still no word on ours.
Then we hear it’ll be an hour late. Then another. After sitting there for three hours—still no word. I’m calling my Mom with updates. Basically saying I don’t know anything. I am very tired. I’ve been working on the computer—rewrite of Coral Moon—and I’m really drooping.
Next up—they start asking for volunteers on our flight to wait until tomorrow. This is without even announcing when our flight is leaving.
A Chicago hotel room is starting to sound real good.
Finally, finally, our flight is announced. Only it doesn't show up. It's announced an hour later. Same thing.
We finally boardat 10:15, three and a half hours late.
We can't take off. Why? Well, I've never heard this one before. Because there's a tour of high school kids on the plane, and all their luggage has been lost somewhere between here and Europe. So the plane doesn't have enough luggage in the back to equalize the weight of passengers in the front.
We sit at the gate until 600 pounds of sandbags can be located in the O'Hare Airport.
That takes a half hour. Do we leave then? No. We sit on the tarmac another half hour. I don't know why.
We land in Lexington after 1 a.m. The bags take a long time coming. No doubt due to ALL the MANY flights landing at 1 a.m. at the little Lexington airport.
We reach my mother's house at 1:40. Exactly 18 hours after we left our California house.
Isn’t flying fun?
All I can say is--this better be a great family reunion.