Let's talk about flying, shall we? That is getting into an airplane, strapping yourself in to a seat that could have been used in the Spanish Inquisition (only not quite as comfy), making sure that your tray tables are in the locked position and that your inquisitee's seat is in the full upright position and that everything with an off/on switch is fully switched OFF. Oh, and that everything you need to keep yourself occupied on your flight is stored securely in the overhead matchboxes. In the past month, I have been on ten such flights. Three of them, just yesterday. Yup, yesterday I was in Minneapolis, Phoenix, LasVegas and ended this perfectly charming little adventure here in Salt Lake City. Now I realize that I'm being REALLY whiney here . . . after all I had a great few days in New York with all of my girls (except the missionary), some wonderful family time in Vancouver, Canada with my mom, dad, sibs and their families and then had another great week in Minneapolis with Mike, Erin and kids for Abbie's baptism. I'm complaining about NONE of that, however. Just the flying. Does anyone out there enjoy the actual experience of flying in an airplane? (any pilots reading this don't get a vote) So yesterday, I sadly left Mike and Erin's place at about 2:00 PM (Minnesota time) to leave myself plenty of time to check in early on my Southwest flight where it's kind of a first come, first served sort of set-up. If you get there early, you get a more forward position in the cattle chute so that when you're herded aboard, you have a bigger selecton of uncomfortable seats to choose from than the schmucks at the back of the chute. Actually, in defense of Southwest, I think that they actually do give you a little more leg room than, say, Delta. Yessss, Delta. "May I have your attention ladies and gentlemen . . . will all Platinum, frequent flying types please step around the struggling mothers of small children and elderly infirm types to take your place in the first few rows of the airplane where we will pretend that you're someone important." But . . . I digress. Where was I? Oh yes . . . arriving early for the cattle chute. As I'm taking off my shoes, coat, scarf and underwire bra in the security line and checking to make sure that all dangerous items (i.e. hand cream and tweezers) are removed from my bag, my cell phone rings and I'm informed by a recording that my 3:40 PM flight has been delayed until an estimated 4:55 PM. Okay . . . I can live with this. I have my ipod with me and I can sharpen up my Angry Birds game. But wait . . . what about my Phoenix connection? The nice young man at the gate check-in informs me that I will miss my original Phoenix connection and the only way they can get me home is Minneapolis to Phoenix to Las Vegas to Salt Lake. Arriving in Salt Lake at midnight. Only a couple of us are affected by this. Most of the people on this flight are escaping the sub zero temperatures of Minnesota and their final destination IS Phoenix. AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHH! Three cattle chutes, three complimentary drinks and bags of peanuts, and three take-0ffs and landings later I arrived in Salt Lake City, a shell of my former self. Kind of jittery, not exactly sure where I was in place and time, slightly blurred vision, roiling stomach and a bladder that's had it. Brent picked me up at the airport (bless him) and asked, "How was your trip home"? I told him I didn't want to talk about it . . . I wanted to repress it into some dark corner of my mind where it could never be retrieved because I know I will always have to fly to see the people that I love and I want to just forget this whole experience.
A tad dramatic, perhaps. However, I've found this little blogging interlude to be quite cathartic so I thank you all (who are still reading this drivel) for indulging me. End of diatribe.
I know you're all dying to know if I improved my Angry Birds game. Well, no, I didn't as a matter of fact. Who do you think I am . . . Abbie and/or Landon, my eight and five year old grandchildren? (please see my previous post).
