Last night, I slept very badly. Part of it was feeling down about not seeing Susie for a month, but part of it was worry about if (or how) I would drop the ball in the pre-flight and -boarding logistics in getting Susie aboard her plane this morning. I have not flown since December 1983, when I was still living in Boston. This is partly because I wholeheartedly agree with a line in Cervantes' Don Quixote: "The road is always better than the inn." I don't really feel like I'm traveling when I get into a sealed aluminum tube and overlook clouds, little houses, and golf courses, and then disembark at my destination.
The other reason is financial. Greyhound is cheaper than flying, usually, and the experience of moving from one town to another is much more exciting and fulfilling to me.
Susie's trip through customs and onto the plane was flawless. My co-worker Janice and her husband Steve picked us up just before 7:30 this morning and drove us to Port Columbus, and Susie and I came prepared. She had her new state-issued ID in hand, with a backup document (a notarized copy of her birth certificate). It was smooth sailing from the Southwestern Airlines check-in counter to the boarding area. I had to show my ID to get an "escort's pass," so I could stay with her until she was airborne, and we had to put our shoes and our pocket contents into little plastic buckets to pass through the metal detector and fluoroscope machine. (This was nothing new to me. You often have to jump through these identical hoops to go to the post office across the street from where I work. This has been in effect at a heightened level since 9/11, although shades of it began to appear after the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995.) Susie didn't carry any bottles of liquid. Her laptop was the only item she had to remove from her backpack and put through the scanner. I had deliberately left my keys behind, because I was afraid that my ring knife--that constant souvenir of my job at the Cincinnati post office--would raise some red flags.
Susie's flight left on time, at 8:55. While she waited, she drank a big cup from Starbucks, and sat on the floor writing in her journal. I stayed in the boarding area until I saw her plane actually lift off. (I texted Steph at 8:56 a.m.: Susie's plane is taxiing down the runway. Departing on time!) Steph texted me at 11:04: We have her. By the time that text arrived, I was back home trying to nap, since I had slept so badly last night.
Susie and I did get some respite from the heat, with a little help from our friends. The air conditioning in our half-double is the Calvin Coolidge variety: It does not choose to run. So, we spent Thursday and Friday evenings at Pat and Tanya's, and I surprised everybody at Olympic Swim and Racquet by not only getting into the pool, but by immersing myself completely underwater for about 45 seconds. The water was not cold at all around 6:30 or 6:45, since the sun was shining directly down onto the pool. (Pat made comments about "the Great White Whale" as he saw me in the water. No doubt he was alluding to the title of this blog, which honors the creator of said Great White Whale. He, of course, resembles Michelangelo's David.) We were all so exhausted that once we got to Pat and Tanya's house, everyone--adults and kids--were fast asleep by 10:30. On Friday, I worked the sound system at Trinity United Methodist Church in Marble Cliff, for the 10th annual dinner of the Mid-Ohio Workers' Association. After the meal ended, I had planned to meet everyone at Olympic for the 9 p.m. showing of The Karate Kid, but Pat texted me a little before 8 to let me know the pool was closed and the movie postponed. (Susie enjoys the nighttime swimming more than the movies. She would have gone even if the movie had been Marmaduke, just for a chance to swim in the pool under the lights at night.)
Pat and I ate lunch at the Columbus Jazz and Rib Fest on Friday. It was on the site of the old Ohio penitentiary, which played host to O. Henry and Confederate General John Hunt Morgan, and was the site of a horrific fire (322 inmates dead, 150 injured) in April 1930. The combo, led by Brian Olsheski, playing on the AEP stage was quite impressive.
I am typing this at the OSU Library. According to my cell phone, it is 5:52 in the afternoon. I had considered going up to Olympic and immersing myself for awhile, since it is just as miserable out as before, but I have seen several people coming inside the library with wet umbrellas, and there is a sound I keep hearing. I cannot decide whether it's thunder and wind, or someone pushing a book cart. Either way, it looks like no pool for me tonight.
I changed my iGoogle page slightly to reflect Susie's journey to see her mom. On the opening page, I display Columbus weather. It says the current weather here is 88 degrees, with thunderstorms. (That answers the question I asked in the previous paragraph, doesn't it?) Until Susie returns, I have New Port Richey's forecast in the display as well. Currently, it's cloudy and 93 degrees there, but the forecast says there will be thunderstorms for the next several consecutive days. I feel for Susie, because I know she had visions of relaxing on the beach during her visit, and that won't be happening for the next few days.
No doubt about it--that's thunder I'm hearing.
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| This table appeared in The Columbus Dispatch's Website. The mercury has been climbing quite a bit these past weeks! |
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