I thought I would just “listen” this morning and read the blogs I have missed due to almost zero internet availability.
Also, I’m here, alone, while my husband is off to work, and the vampires have finally roosted for the day. Wait—that’s bats—do bats roost? Anyway, the vampires have retreated to their coffin/room.
BUT, today is scan result day. I usually have a babysitter, but I insisted my husband go to work. He has missed far too many days assisting his dad.
…..and I have to “talk”, before I leave.
A lot of you know that I don’t like to fly. Well, “don’t like” is a nice way to describe it. I had my babysitter, and of course my handy-dandy, emergency supply of Xanax. I have to kind of laugh at myself that I needed these crutches for a shorter flight–after all, we weren’t traveling from coast to coast, or over an ocean–but panic begins to bubble when I see the airport in the distance, it’s just easier on everybody around me if I’m a little zoned out.
That being said, most of my flying has been between Seattle and Atlanta. Atlanta is one of those (excuse me for my language) bat-shit crazy airports. Something to do with the largest airport in the east, or a description along those lines. You know—the Atlanta airport has giant fake ants across the ceiling? Yeah, they call it art.
This time we were travelling to Kansas City. For some reason, I was chosen to have a TSA Precheck both ways. When we left Atlanta, and the TSA agent told me I was a Precheck, that I was chosen at random…I would have to go through a different security chute than my husband—I guess I must have had the proverbial deer in the headlight look, because he said I could go with my husband. So off we went, like all good little cattle should.
I still have to Google what Precheck status is, but on the way back, I got to wear my shoes, didn’t have to remove anything from my bag, such as the liquid baggie, and I could wear my sweater. I went through the metal detector, and Bam–done. I had to wait for my husband to go through the machine which details our jiggly parts, as well as get a pat down, and put his shoes back on. Bahahaha! Maybe I will check again to see what they do at the Atlanta airport, because the Kansas City invasion of privacy was much more pleasant.
I apologize in advance to any of the Kansas City natives, but y’all have a dinky airport. I take note of almost every detail of airports I fly through. It helps to focus on something other than the inevitable entry of the tin tube. I do have to say that the Kansas City airport created a much more calming environment for me. Even the Hippie-Laid-Back Seattle airport is full of way too much activity. Oh, and the art in Seattle, I have yet to figure out what it is–odd structures which I suppose art lovers appreciate.
Anyway, since our tickets were last minute, and for a personal family loss, we received a dinky reduction in the prices of our tickets, but we were placed in exit rows. You know, the rows that have the door that the people sitting next to, and have to open to bail out in case of a crash. Me, the Xanax induced, seriously relaxed person, would have to kick into overdrive, open the door and lift it out of the way, and help people out of the plane. The same door I use as a “pillow” to sleep.
I was semi-okay with the situation, until the flight attendant came around asking us if we were okay with being the coordinators, along with them, to get all souls off the plane, in case of an emergency. Wut? An EMERGENCY? ACK!
I told my husband he was going to have to wake me up in case something happened.
You know, we kind of liked nowhere Missouri. There may not have been a, Dunkin’ Donuts, Starbuck’s, Michaels, JoAnn’s, Hobby Lobby, independent fiber/yarn store, but—they did have drive-up-window liquor store…..now we’re talking. 😉
Anyway, we have a ton more to do. My father-in-law left his belonging to three of his children and two of his step-children. This includes the house he built 18 years ago. By himself…in a beautiful area.
You know…a simple life sounds so nice.
Well, I have to pull on my big girl panties and toddle off to the Cancer Center (If I were to say Cancer Center, instead of typing, it would sound like James Earl Jones–in a loud echo-y sound). That doesn’t seem to translate with the typed word. Maybe I need a few writing lessons.
Anyway, I shall be thinking positive thoughts all the way to the Center, I will divert my eyes from the bald heads and oxygen tanks. If my news isn’t perfect…well, I will deal with it IF it happens.