It’s incredible how you can seemingly lose an entire day.
This morning, I woke up to find Macy staring at me and purring contentedly before pouncing onto my chest and settling in—just as I needed to get up. After I permitted her the 8-minutes my alarm awards me with a tap of the “Snooze” button, I hopped up, cranked up my iTunes, and hit the shower. It’s a big day, after all: Mom and I are headed to Venice, Italy.
We arrived at the Huntsville airport around 9 this morning (Monday), checked our bags, and said our goodbyes to Dad. At the security checkpoint, I was pulled aside and had my hands checked for trace amounts of explosives. They swabbed my hands and inserted the swab into a machine, like they were checking them for Strep throat. I suppose something about my short stature and beach blonde hair is threatening, who knows.
After an uneventful flight from Huntsville to Charlotte, things started getting a little frantic in the Charlotte terminal. First of all, our boarding pass said Gate E31; however, Gate E31 informed us that we would have to look elsewhere—she was sincerely that specific. We chased down an agent who, as luck would have it, directed us back to Gate E31. The fourth person I asked was finally able to tell me that our flight would be leaving from Gate E35B, in a tone that made it sound like it was so obvious, and would I please step back from the podium until they call for boarding. I mean, really, I don’t know how I wasn’t able to put the pieces together that E31 was really code for E35B, and the signing saying “Charlottesville” should have conveyed to me that my flight had a stop in Charlottesville on the way to Philadelphia. Duh.
A bit miffed but happy to move on with the second leg of our journey, Mom and I boarded our plane to Charlottesville (and later to Philadelphia). My first concern was that there were ashtrays in the armrests on this plane, immediately suggesting that it’s a mite antiquated. Clue number two was that the plane had propellers. I immediately felt like Ilsa boarding a plane to escape Casablanca—only we weren’t fleeing from Nazis; we had boarded this death trap voluntarily.
I was no less assured of my safety as the propellers cranked up and filled the tiny vessel with a sound like a combination of a weed-eater and a dial-up Internet connection. At some point I wondered if the noise would ever die down, but I quickly realized that should the mechanical grinding stop, the silence would surely be immediately followed by a free fall from 10,000 feet.
Our two-part flight was punctuated by dips and shaking and other disturbing bits of turbulences, causing my mother to close her eyes in what I assume was silent prayer and me, the considerably less silent of our duo, to audibly gasp from time to time. Here we are trying to go on a great adventure, and there’s Death… waving in a black tuxedo. I couldn’t help but think of the things I’ve made it through lately just to be dropped from the sky in a flying cracker box, circa 1964: outrunning a tsunami, a legit earthquake, the most devastating tornado our state has ever seen. I wondered if my dad would remember to feed Macy after I was gone, if my last text to the new boy was funny or sweet or sarcastic, if Auburn would win the Iron Bowl this year, if I remembered to turn my straight iron off this morning… you know, very important life or death stuff.
Mercifully, we came to a shuttering halt on the landing strip at the airport in Philadelphia before I had time to scrawl out the details of my funeral, should any of my personal effects be found in the wreckage. Shaken but no worse for wear, we emerged onto the tarmac and onto land—glorious land.
After a quick stop in an airport gift shop—bargains!—for a $12 pack of gum and a neck pillow, we boarded our final plane, an enormous vessel many years removed from her maiden voyage, and were at last on our way to our first European destination: Venice.
As I write this, I’m somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, though I couldn’t say if I’m closer to home or Iceland. I’ve had dinner—TV dinner-style chicken with rice, yummm—and a sleeping pill, though both have done nothing more than make me lethargic. I thought if I got these things off my mind, I might sleep better… More likely, I’ll drift off about 20 minutes before we land on Italian soil.
My game plan for Venice is to claim our bags (fingers crossed), take a water taxi to our hotel, check in, shower and freshen up, and hit the streets of Venice for Mom’s first genuine Italian meal, a gondola ride, a frenzy of pictures at San Marco’s, and casual ambling through the Venetian streets. Lousy flights or not, life could be worse.
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