I’m back home.
And now it feels like I never left. Last weekend was warm sunshine, the brightest greenery, red tulips, the tallest trees, and only myself to consider. I came home to cold rain, dirty dishes in the sink, and laundry piled high.
I had a rental car in California. I gave myself plenty of time to drive to the airport which is a good thing because on the curvy rolling highway an SUV (with two surfboards strapped to the roof) tipped over and slowed us all down. I arrived at the San Jose airport and dropped off the car. Then I purchased a “People” magazine and a burrito and enjoyed an hour to myself.
Finally, I meandered down to C-8 where I joined a crowd waiting to board the plane. I didn’t rush to the front of the line which was a mistake because every single overhead compartment was full by the time I tried to get to my seat at 17A. The flight attendant finally tucked my back into some little secret compartment.
Then I had to ask my seatmates–a woman and a man holding a baby–to let me into my window seat.
I assumed they were together, but when I asked “Are you going to or away from home?” they had different answers. She was going to Seattle on business. He was going home to see the baby’s mother.
And thus began our two hour flight with a fussy one-year old baby.
The man seemed competent–just before the plane took off, he hurried to dump powdered formula into the bottle and added water. The baby was happily drinking a bottle when we lifted off.
But, the bottle was quickly drained and the baby fussed off and on, sometimes squealing in distress and sometimes outright crying. The dad did what he could, but I heard that whoever packed for the baby forgot his pacifier and the poor little guy couldn’t fall asleep.
Two hours later, the plane bumped down in the cold rain of Seattle. Between the time we landed and the time we reached the gate, that baby fell asleep. It was 8:37 p.m.
I think I speak for all of us when I say we were all glad to be off that plane.
I’m glad to be home.