to get where we want to be.
I type this as I am sitting on the floor of my friend Jer and Bob's office. The ceiling fan circling rapidly and air set at a nice 73 degrees. Jer needs a quick nap so we can carry on with the rest of our day and I am happy to oblige him. He works hard. I work hard. Time out is a wonderful thing.
I arrived in Georgia yesterday morning at 6: 20 am. What struck me on my way here is all the things we go through, maneuver around, plan for in order to spend time with the people we love. I could almost here the orchestra playing, and it began when...
...I just couldn't get focused or organized to finish packing an hour before I had to leave. (Hear slow, rhythmic strings playing as if continuous waves were rolling). Yes, I kept walking around looking in drawers, closets, etc...but I just couldn't quite figure out what to bring and what to leave behind at home. I think it was mainly due to the fact I was trying to pack light (amazing, for me!) and only take one bag. In the end, this idea was abandoned since I had to pay to check my bag, why not take a big one and just have spare room (shopping intended!).
(Hear the strings start to pick up pace, now!) It's not only 7:00 pm but past it and I need to get on the road. So, I casually dump (I could say place, but I'd be lying) all my packing to the big suitcase and April takes the bag out to the car. Heavy strings, quickly chirping with a big othello sound among them at this point).
April has a wicked cold and taking 2 hours to drive me to the airport and back seems like too much so I drive. Luckily for us, her cousins live a mere 4 blocks from the airport so I can park there and leave my car. The plan is to call a cab to drive me over since they are not home.
My big ol' bag loaded in the front seat, we hug for a long time (given the circumstances) (drums start to beat, now adding more pressure to the soundtrack). Love assured, I hop into my car and take head away for the 5 freeway. (Back to strings, with quick but rhythmic sounds).
I then proceed to break the newly passed law and dial the cab company on my cell phone. Static ridden connection and all I arrange for a cab driver to meet me at Jim and Alda's in less than one hour. (Here music take on a festive, joker like laughter.) I am not certain I will be there by then, but I am hopeful. Traffic and conditions be damned, I am determined to make it. I hang up and zoom along, wondering all the while if I will get to 33rd Avenue by 8:15pm. It feels good to let my car zip along, traffic is sparse. Less than two miles down the highway and there sits a Mr. Highway Patrol. (Hear cymbals banging and clanging!!) SLOW DOWN, I cannot get a speeding ticket every time I go on vacation!! Like a resigned old woman, I set the cruise control for 65mph, and relax. (Back to strings with light piano.)
I decide to take the 405 rather than stay on the 5 because one never knows if you will hit downtown traffic. I opt for what seems like the long way around but is not, it actually shaves time off my drive. As I get closer to their house, it is 8:04. (Piano starts a quicker rhythm, with high notes.) I am not off the freeway yet...should I call the cab company? No!! (More clanging with the symbols). I decide to just go for it! I zoom off the freeway, down International Blvd., take a quick left up to their neighborhood and left on 33rd Avenue. I am there with minutes to spare. (Victory strings, piano, and orchestra at full throttle, heard now!)
Just as I go to open my car door I see the taxi cab in my rear view mirror. I laugh. Perfect timing, he pulls up as I take my bags to the curb and lock up my car. Thank goodness for the kindness of family. Short term parking was $130 plus.
The cab driver places my big ol' bag in the trunk and we head towards the airport. With his heavy Nigerian accent he asks me if I have change. I finally figure out he is trying to tell me his changed his pants (why, in the middle of the day??) and forgot to transfer his cash. No, I brought all twenties. We stop at the corner where he rolls down the window. He asks the big, bulky Russian men in shining suits for change. They practically ignore him, so I pipe up. Even if they did have change for a twenty, they shake their heads no to us. I later ask April why they are all there standing out doors at the end of a residential block, they own the limo company that is on the corner, she explained.
We fly down the hill and pull into the gas station where he quickly gets change. (Strings and orchestra are at a nice pace, not frantic but still pushing and present.) As we pull into the departure area I remind him that Delta is at the very end (since he is driving slowly and I am still not quite on time.) He disagrees, and keeps looking. I sigh, and just decide I will be patient. We arrive at the curb (happy, giddy strings and obo for effect!). My phone rings and it is Jer. I pay the cab driver and head into the airport.
I fumble along with my great big bag and small duffel carry on where I find my way to the kiosk and check myself in for the flight. A nice Delta agent awaits me to help me check my bag, and as planned, it weighs in light. (Light, happy cymbals clang!). She asks to see my license, where she immediately comments, "You cut off all your hair!" I am surprised she doesn't comment on the fact that is no longer all blond either! I smile and tell her I did, I love it! It is easy as can be (4 minutes at most to get ready) (hear strings like chirping crickets as we chat back and forth). She tags up my bag and wishes me a safe flight.
From there I head to "security". (Hear deep dark resonating othello and drums together.) You know the place where the TSA makes sure I have not Mc Givered a bomb out of my tube of Loreal' lip gloss or visine! That I make it through the face matches the id, matches the ticket, okay you pass now move ahead please line. The line it long, but I've seen it much longer. I pass through and head my way toward the "partially undress and pack all your belongings in this bucket for us to x-ray line." As I stand there, and older (what my fight attendant friends call a dinosaur) flight attendant barges ahead of me and grabs a bucket, she quickly looks at me, and after making the decision I wouldn't protest places her gear (three bags, a purse, shoes, pillow, computer, etc..) in the buckets ahead of me. Prior to this I had asked if she was on her way to work which she had replied not only with a yes, but a yes, and I am late as usual. So, without any fuss let her in line ahead of me. Because in my mind, I am officially on vacation!!!
It takes us some time to get through this final inspection area (hear quite strings now, and no obvious beats because I am officially mentally on vacation) since there is a woman who cannot seem to pass through the gate without setting off the beeper. I get through and leave as she is taking her fourth trip through with tears in her eyes and becoming very visibly upset.
I head off for parts unknown. The S gate seems to be located in what once was the dungeon of the airport. I turn back and get bottled water and earplugs before taking the underground escalator and following tram to said S gate. There is some excitement on-going with the airport security and they block off the section I am in and the one I am headed to in order to board the tram. (Music is more for her now, but excited strings with the sounds of questioning by one lone violin.) In less than 10 minutes the security breach is resolved and we are allowed to enter the escalator down to the under ground train to the S gate.
I type this as I am sitting on the floor of my friend Jer and Bob's office. The ceiling fan circling rapidly and air set at a nice 73 degrees. Jer needs a quick nap so we can carry on with the rest of our day and I am happy to oblige him. He works hard. I work hard. Time out is a wonderful thing.
I arrived in Georgia yesterday morning at 6: 20 am. What struck me on my way here is all the things we go through, maneuver around, plan for in order to spend time with the people we love. I could almost here the orchestra playing, and it began when...
...I just couldn't get focused or organized to finish packing an hour before I had to leave. (Hear slow, rhythmic strings playing as if continuous waves were rolling). Yes, I kept walking around looking in drawers, closets, etc...but I just couldn't quite figure out what to bring and what to leave behind at home. I think it was mainly due to the fact I was trying to pack light (amazing, for me!) and only take one bag. In the end, this idea was abandoned since I had to pay to check my bag, why not take a big one and just have spare room (shopping intended!).
(Hear the strings start to pick up pace, now!) It's not only 7:00 pm but past it and I need to get on the road. So, I casually dump (I could say place, but I'd be lying) all my packing to the big suitcase and April takes the bag out to the car. Heavy strings, quickly chirping with a big othello sound among them at this point).
April has a wicked cold and taking 2 hours to drive me to the airport and back seems like too much so I drive. Luckily for us, her cousins live a mere 4 blocks from the airport so I can park there and leave my car. The plan is to call a cab to drive me over since they are not home.
My big ol' bag loaded in the front seat, we hug for a long time (given the circumstances) (drums start to beat, now adding more pressure to the soundtrack). Love assured, I hop into my car and take head away for the 5 freeway. (Back to strings, with quick but rhythmic sounds).
I then proceed to break the newly passed law and dial the cab company on my cell phone. Static ridden connection and all I arrange for a cab driver to meet me at Jim and Alda's in less than one hour. (Here music take on a festive, joker like laughter.) I am not certain I will be there by then, but I am hopeful. Traffic and conditions be damned, I am determined to make it. I hang up and zoom along, wondering all the while if I will get to 33rd Avenue by 8:15pm. It feels good to let my car zip along, traffic is sparse. Less than two miles down the highway and there sits a Mr. Highway Patrol. (Hear cymbals banging and clanging!!) SLOW DOWN, I cannot get a speeding ticket every time I go on vacation!! Like a resigned old woman, I set the cruise control for 65mph, and relax. (Back to strings with light piano.)
I decide to take the 405 rather than stay on the 5 because one never knows if you will hit downtown traffic. I opt for what seems like the long way around but is not, it actually shaves time off my drive. As I get closer to their house, it is 8:04. (Piano starts a quicker rhythm, with high notes.) I am not off the freeway yet...should I call the cab company? No!! (More clanging with the symbols). I decide to just go for it! I zoom off the freeway, down International Blvd., take a quick left up to their neighborhood and left on 33rd Avenue. I am there with minutes to spare. (Victory strings, piano, and orchestra at full throttle, heard now!)
Just as I go to open my car door I see the taxi cab in my rear view mirror. I laugh. Perfect timing, he pulls up as I take my bags to the curb and lock up my car. Thank goodness for the kindness of family. Short term parking was $130 plus.
The cab driver places my big ol' bag in the trunk and we head towards the airport. With his heavy Nigerian accent he asks me if I have change. I finally figure out he is trying to tell me his changed his pants (why, in the middle of the day??) and forgot to transfer his cash. No, I brought all twenties. We stop at the corner where he rolls down the window. He asks the big, bulky Russian men in shining suits for change. They practically ignore him, so I pipe up. Even if they did have change for a twenty, they shake their heads no to us. I later ask April why they are all there standing out doors at the end of a residential block, they own the limo company that is on the corner, she explained.
We fly down the hill and pull into the gas station where he quickly gets change. (Strings and orchestra are at a nice pace, not frantic but still pushing and present.) As we pull into the departure area I remind him that Delta is at the very end (since he is driving slowly and I am still not quite on time.) He disagrees, and keeps looking. I sigh, and just decide I will be patient. We arrive at the curb (happy, giddy strings and obo for effect!). My phone rings and it is Jer. I pay the cab driver and head into the airport.
I fumble along with my great big bag and small duffel carry on where I find my way to the kiosk and check myself in for the flight. A nice Delta agent awaits me to help me check my bag, and as planned, it weighs in light. (Light, happy cymbals clang!). She asks to see my license, where she immediately comments, "You cut off all your hair!" I am surprised she doesn't comment on the fact that is no longer all blond either! I smile and tell her I did, I love it! It is easy as can be (4 minutes at most to get ready) (hear strings like chirping crickets as we chat back and forth). She tags up my bag and wishes me a safe flight.
From there I head to "security". (Hear deep dark resonating othello and drums together.) You know the place where the TSA makes sure I have not Mc Givered a bomb out of my tube of Loreal' lip gloss or visine! That I make it through the face matches the id, matches the ticket, okay you pass now move ahead please line. The line it long, but I've seen it much longer. I pass through and head my way toward the "partially undress and pack all your belongings in this bucket for us to x-ray line." As I stand there, and older (what my fight attendant friends call a dinosaur) flight attendant barges ahead of me and grabs a bucket, she quickly looks at me, and after making the decision I wouldn't protest places her gear (three bags, a purse, shoes, pillow, computer, etc..) in the buckets ahead of me. Prior to this I had asked if she was on her way to work which she had replied not only with a yes, but a yes, and I am late as usual. So, without any fuss let her in line ahead of me. Because in my mind, I am officially on vacation!!!
It takes us some time to get through this final inspection area (hear quite strings now, and no obvious beats because I am officially mentally on vacation) since there is a woman who cannot seem to pass through the gate without setting off the beeper. I get through and leave as she is taking her fourth trip through with tears in her eyes and becoming very visibly upset.
I head off for parts unknown. The S gate seems to be located in what once was the dungeon of the airport. I turn back and get bottled water and earplugs before taking the underground escalator and following tram to said S gate. There is some excitement on-going with the airport security and they block off the section I am in and the one I am headed to in order to board the tram. (Music is more for her now, but excited strings with the sounds of questioning by one lone violin.) In less than 10 minutes the security breach is resolved and we are allowed to enter the escalator down to the under ground train to the S gate.
The orchestra is now at an ending creshindo, where every instrument is playing along to the final scene...
The train takes me to the waiting area, to the S gate, through the temporary tunnels to board the plane, to the eventual boarding of the place, to get my seat, to sit on the tarmac for an hour (wow, Delta), and eventually mid marital argument between the couple to my left, we take off. We are in flight. I am excited, relived, and happy. I am heading to Georgia to see my dearest friend in the world.
