January 16, 2011

Up, Up, and Away

Don't know my license tag or the odometer reading.  Out into the breath-taking cold to get thinformation so that Abby will have a place to stay.  Off to the airport.  Tickets in hand; ready to be patted down, scanned, whatever they have in store.  I haven't flown in a coon's age; therefore, I only know the horror stories which appear in the media.  It was a breeze.  Why was I so apprehensive?  Now, it is hurry up and wait. SF checks in to say that everything is a go on his end.  We'll hook up in Miami.

Boarded with no problem.  Got the book, the crossword puzzle, the mints to suck on in anticipation of the ears giving a major problem.   The plane is a puddle-jumper and I'm seated alone.  Wonderful!  No having to move, elbows hitting, hips touching.  Need a tissue; need my pen; need paper; need, need.  What did I do with the passport?  The tickets?  I dug into my bag so often until I got tired of me. 

Have only flown into Memphis once since I've been here and that was during daylight.  Now, I'm flying out in pitch blackness.  Wow, what an awesome sight!  I know that the area is huge but there are little jewel lights spread out as far as you can see.  People around me are trying to sleep; my face is glued to the window.   Headed east and here comes the sun--a brilliant scarlet streaking the horizon.  The sun casts a red under-glow to the clouds as it rises higher.  Think up-lighting.  The clouds are a solid mass of white.  Makes you think that you can step out of the plane and start walking on them.  Then a dense fog.  Excuse me, I can't see a damned thing so I know that the pilot can't either.  Hope his instruments are working just fine. 

Coming into the Miami area.  Huge expanse of deadness.  Ugly greenish-gray mass of lumps and flat ground.  Must be The Everglades.  Towns come into view and we start to descend.  Houses and cars look like toy models that you set around train sets or the Christmas tree.  As we get closer to the ground, I'm able to make out names on the buildings.  Bump and we're down.  Thank you, Jesus, for traveling mercies.

Now the hard part.  Find the flight announcement board and see that SF's plane has arrived before mine.  But where is he?  I start walking.  Common sense kicks in and says:  "Call him, stupid."  Well, the trusty cell threw up the ubiquitous "check call restrictions."  Give me a break.  Didn't I say that it never works when you want it to?  While I'm standing there cursing the phone, the carrier, and anyone else connected to this useless instrument, it rings.  "I'm at D-60."  Well, at least it let me get an incoming call and I'm walking. Yes, indeed.  MIA is huge.  Walk right past SF.  Never saw him.  Someone beside me tells me that a man is calling me.  I look back and there he is.  I've gone clear past D-60. 

SF is off to check seating, etc.  My interest is food and the rest room.  Clue into the conversation being held at the counter.  Blondie and 2 other females are engrossed in a conversation.  Blondie is clearly ticked that she has to interrupt her conversation to deal with SF.  She blows him off with a shooing motion of the hand, much like when you tell a child to go away, and I am ticked.  Yes, SF, I did get her name and yessss, I will be writing that letter.

Food, restroom, and its time to board for the next leg of the trip. I'm excited and glued to the window. 

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