I don’t like to fly. It isn’t fear. Knowing that the only thing between me and the ground is 33,000 feet of air doesn’t thrill me, but I’m not a white-knuckled, afraid to look out the window because I might see a monster on the wing, kind of passenger. The inconvenience of standing in line, removing my shoes and every iota of metal from my person, holding my arms up as if I were under arrest and allowing a complete stranger to view my body inside and out isn’t the reason, either. It isn’t traveling with a child who gets air sick before we’re even in the air (thank God he’s grown, now) Or even lost luggage. Usually, lost luggage turns up somewhere and it eventually gets returned to you. Unless your favorite dress, favorite sandals and favorite necklace are all in that lost bag. Then, chances are good that you’ll never see those items again and that the airline will reimburse you pennies on the dollar and take ten weeks to do it. (I should probably let it go, but I really liked that dress.) Even my bizarre experience as a suspected terrorist isn’t the reason that I hate to fly. I suppose I should probably explain…
A few years ago, I was pulled out of line at the Honolulu International Airport in Hawaii. My left arm was in a sling (I’d fallen over the dog and fractured my arm the week before) and my sling was searched and the contents of my luggage dumped out and examined. To be fair, I have to add that my luggage swab tested positive for TNT. But do I look like a terrorist? I don’t think so. They didn’t find any bombs in my suitcase or my sling, but they did find a rather embarrassing, um… large, wooden, pickle-shaped, gag-gift for a friend who was constantly complaining about her lack of sexual activity. I guess they’d seen it before, because no one paid too much attention. We found out later there was a reasonable explanation for the TNT. There had been a fireworks display on the beach in Honolulu the night before. What goes up must come down and evidently some of it came down on my suitcase which had been sitting next to the open door of our hotel room balcony.
One more rant and I’m done. Maybe. A few weeks ago, my husband and I went to Texas and for the first time in ages, we didn’t fly Southwest. Southwest gets a lot of flak because the seating is unassigned. Well, our assigned seats on this flight sucked mightily. The plane was small and our seats were at the very back, only inches away from the bathroom. We spent two hours listening to the toilet flush and not enjoying the aroma of the blue stuff they use to sanitize the water. I covered my nose for most of the flight because the smell was so awful. My husband placed his hand against the lavatory door when it was unoccupied to keep it shut and the aroma contained. We were cramped, our seats didn’t recline and no one handed out snacks. I was so unimpressed, I don’t think I’ll ever travel
U.S. Airways that particular airline again.
I still haven’t gotten to the real reason I hate to fly. It’s because my eustachian tubes never progressed to adult size and no matter how much gum I chew, or how many lemon drops I suck, I usually spend at least a week holding my head and weaving around like a drunken sailor after I get home because my equilibrium is shot. It isn’t fun, but for the most part I get through it with nothing worse than a few bruises and a week of down time.
Now to the one and only reason I tolerate spending a single moment of my life in an airplane. There’s nearly always a wonderful prize at the end that makes the vertigo worth putting up with. It comes in the form of family, friends, people I love, but rarely get to spend time with because we live so far away. Our prize on this last flight was extra special. We attended our grandson’s wedding and got to meet this precious little bundle for the first time. Her name is Payton and she is absolutely, awesomely, perfectly beautiful. And I never exaggerate. I mean, can you look at that face without smiling? It’s impossible. We’re already looking forward to the next time we can see her. But next time, we’re flying Southwest.
We always knew our oldest grandson would make us great-grandparents, some day. What we didn’t know was that he and his wife would do such a beautiful job.
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Until next time…
Have a GREAT week!!!!!!