I suppose there are many reasons I haven't posted to my blog in, like, forever. One is that Facebook is really a lot easier. Another is that in converting to hermit-ism, nothing really happens to me anymore. A third is that I'm lazy. There are probably more reasons why I haven't posted to my blog, but I refer you to reason three.
When I leave my life of hermit-ism, things happen to me. For example, we take family vacations. This summer has been the summer of roaming for us. We spent a week at the Redneck Riviera in Orange Beach, which was great. Water was beautiful, my sister and her husband came with, and we had friends to visit us, as well. We went to Yellowstone, which was everything a family road trip is supposed to be, plus an added fee for returning the rental car with a completely trashed back seat. Monday, we leave for Chicago, on a !train! and are going to get to see long lost friends and savor the nostalgia of our college years. In two weeks, M is heading off to London for the Olympics. Go Canada! At the end of September, I get to go to Puerto Rico. ALL BY MYSELF. I will hoist a drink at the Bacardi distillery for every one I know.
As great as all that is, traveling, as everyone knows and discusses extensively everywhere, is just not what it used to be. Flying, especially, isn't the glorious adventure we all hope it to be. Fortunately, the 8 hour flight to Salt Lake City followed by the 6 hour drive to Yellowstone, was relatively painless. (Unless, apparently, you were the back seat of a Hyundai Sonata with 4 miles on the odometer, in which case the trip was apparently very very painful.)
The trip home started out promising, as well. We drove the 6 hours from Wyoming to Salt Lake City the day BEFORE our flight, which was smart. We had an afternoon to check out the Mormons' Temple Square and relish the culinary happiness that is Cheesecake Factory. We did get stood up by the hotel shuttle after returning the rental car (and getting lectured on its soiled appearance), but we stayed in a supremely crappy airport hotel the night before our flight, which was FINE. We woke up the next morning, did not get stood up by the shuttle, and made it to the airport well in time for a Starbucks and a nap in the gate area.
The trouble really started in Houston.
First, you know that I'm pretty cynical and occasionally morose. So the first thing I always do upon arrival in the Gate Area is to survey my fellow passengers. These fine specimens are the people who have some, however tangential, common interest with me. We are bound together by our destination. These are also the people whose families will be mourning with mine in the event of air disaster. These are the people with whom I could spend my last waking moments. So, I like to know what I'm up against.
Invariably, (sorry Alabama friends) the Gate Area for Mobile-bound flights looks like Darwin's waiting room. Far too many men in sleeveless shirts. Far too many children in camo. It doesn't help that these flights are in the "regional flights" section of the airport, which is just marginally above a bus depot. (I'm guessing. I've never ridden the Dog anywhere.)
This time, there were abut 16 people of assorted ages, but homogeneously white and Wal-Marty in matching tee shirts, 2 guys headed down for the fishing rodeo, and the four of us.
The tee shirts touted the group's involvement in a week-long Guatemalan mission trip.
And us.
Ok. So we board the flight. The missionaries are VERY chatty among themselves. They are so very excited to get back to Grand Bay, Alabama after being in a fowr-in country for a week. I guess the endless variety of God's vast world is slightly lost upon them.
The Chicago-based flight crew welcomes us onboard, apologizes for a brief delay while we add some more fuel (Alabama sized asses?) because there is "weather" in Mobile that may require us to take alternate routes or circle. I tap M on the back of his head with my SkyMall catalog. "We're effed."
But wait. The missionary woman says, and I swear this is true, "Well, isn't this a blessing? We'll all get to visit a little."
No. No no no no no no. Not a blessing. A blessing, by definition in EVERY faith on earth, is a good thing. A delay, by definition of every human on earth, is NOT a good thing.
I hit M on the head a second time with my SkyMall.
The group starts rehashing their visit, and what an amazing journey it is and how all their family'll be waitin' on 'em at the airport. They talk and talk and talk.
I consider praying.
We finally push back from the gate. As we taxi out to the runway, the plane is making a horrible chachunking noise. Bad even for an over-taxed, under-maintained regional jet. Eventually, our Chicago based flight crew announces that there are mechanical difficulties with the plane. We will be returning to the gate and either waiting for maintenance to fix the problem or swapping planes.
M really gets walloped with the SkyMall this time.
This is the reaction of the woman next to me: "This is God answering my prayers for a safe flight home. He's saved us from an unsafe flight."
Me to M: "Couldn't he have just maintained the plane well in the first place?"
We wait. And wait. And wait. Nearly 3 hours.
Meanwhile, the shallow end of the gene pool is waiting in the bus-depot section of the airport. Flights to such metropolitan destinations as Omaha, Oklahoma City, and Little Rock are all delayed because of mechanical difficulties. Are the airlines EVEN trying anymore? I'm eating an Otis Spunkmeyer chocolate chip cookie to console myself. S is watching Lego Star Wars.
Finally. We get to reboard the questionably safe aircraft. Welcome back aboard. I instantly re-arm myself with the SkyMall.
Then, it happens. The unbearably fantastic, pathetic, unbelievable. The 18 year old young missionary sitting in the row behind me begins to cry. Audibly cry. He's afraid the plane hasn't been fixed. He's never sat next to the window before. He's had an emotional week.
The decrepit woman next to him pats him, actually pats him, and tells him not to worry. "We all know whose hands this flight is in."
M: "Yeah, the red headed pilot and my Chicago based flight crew."
He's crying?!? Best case scenario, he winds home back on his farm in beautiful Grand Bay, Alabama. Worst case scenario, he gets to be reunited with Jesus! Either way, this kid's day is ending well.
Me? Worst case scenario, I wind up back in Mobile, Alabama.
