The Journey Begins
May 13, 2011
Evidently some group has determined that "The End" is going to be on May 21st. THIS May 21st. So let me get this straight... I win a trip to Ireland. The Queen decides to make a trip there as well the same time, upsetting the IRA, but should that end in a big nothing, several days later it is the end of the world as we know it? Almost EVERYONE I know is going to be whisked away while I'm in the passenger seat of a rented Ford Fiesta? Well that is just terrific I tell you. Just terrific. Further, I'm to be in Ireland. So like 90% of the people there are going to be gone. First let me say, I do not believe this is going to happen. I'm not discussing religion here or trying to offend anyone. I mean specifically on May 21st. HOWEVER, as once or twice in my life I've been mistaken, in the event it is indeed "End Times" starting this May, I would like to go on record that I will continue my vacation (alone on a nearly deserted island) for as long as possible. 99% of the people I know will be gone. Including my husband. There's a good chance Ben will be there to take care of the dogs until I get back, but who really knows what that kid is thinking? If not, I'm hoping Nick will make his way to the house and take care of them until I can figure out how to get back to the states. This is called a contingency plan. And yes, I will certainly change my tune around and extend full apologies to all... when I get to seeing you all again.
All things considered, I'm more worried about the IRA, and even at that I'm really more worried about my camera getting wet. Just sayin'.
Was there ever a period when flights were on time? Flight has lost its marvel, and it has turned from a glamorous adventure to a hot, sweaty, cattle-cramped requirement to traverse long stretches of miles in a relatively short period of time. I create my own problems by dragging my camera and a laptop (and associated wires, cords, plugs, accessories) in a near bursting messenger bag. My husband however, is built for first class at least but more for a private leer jet. This flight from Denver to Newark will be his longest yet, and he's in misery, though so far uncomplaining. I secured him an aisle seat which helps a bit. A bit. Airlines, to compliment their complete inability to move from the gate to the sky in a timely fashion, now charge to sit in the emergency exit row where Bill could at least have some leg room. Yet his shoulders, lovely though the are, reach out to the aisle where with every passing of a snack or beverage cart he must hunch his wide frame together or suffer bumps and bruises. I, being to his other side, scrunch in as much as I can to afford him the suggestion of a relaxed pose. Packed in like the proverbial sardines, I of course have someone to my other side. As I type I'm sure I strike some praying mantis like pose in order not to bump my elbow into my seat mate. She is a dear old gal lost in a Suduko book. About the age of my mom, and similarly built.
I hope Michael isn't going to be waiting around too long, and I know with each tick of the clock past 9:30 will give rise to anxieties in my waiting sister, but the claim made by Continental is we had a last minute route change due to some bad weather up north.
The woman to my right, the dear old gal, lands in Newark and then has a short layover before climbing aboard a plane for an eleven hour flight to Israel. Yikes. I've lent her my Bose noise reduction ear phones for the last hour of our ride. Don't get mad, but I won them at a conference several years ago. I guess they run a couple hundred bucks, but they would be worth it. She looked at me like I was nuts when I explained what they did, but once she flipped the switch her face lit up. It really does help you relax having that loud droning noise toned down.
The three of us, row mates are we, all got up to use the facilities. Makes for a nice break and all being up at once keeps the shuffling and standing to a minimum. I'm a bad, terrible spouse, for I find it humorous to watch my husband push his way out of the seat and into the aisle. I catch eyes watching him rise up, and up. Then watching him unfold out of that tiny bathroom is down right hilarious. I won't describe to you the Chinese Acrobat like contortions he performs to use said bathroom. Ask him sometime, really genius on his behalf.
Are we there yet? My anxieties of last night peeled away as I shuffled off the last work tasks, and they blossomed into bouncy, flouncy excitement. Worries and cares have been shelved, I get to see my NJ Peeps (my bro Michael will show you a REAL Situation!), and then we are going to IRELAND BABY!
Oh, and, my bag weighs 46 pounds. Four pounds to spare. Bill's bag, smaller but similar, tipped the scale at 41 pounds. I know you've all been losing sleep over this problem. Hope everyone needs doilies for souvenirs... cause that is all we'll be able to bring back! Nah, kidding,they have mail there.
I'm in trouble deep people, the man just turned to me and announced he is "getting hungry". I sure hope Michael won't mind stopping and getting some food. Or risk seeing Bill have a melt-down.
That's all for now. Unless something exciting happens between being told I have to power down and when I can post this, I'm out of rambles (did I just hear a collective sigh?).
History: NJ - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Jersey
Mount Arlington (where we’ll be staying with Donna) - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Arlington,_New_Jersey
http://www.landingnewjersey.com/bertrand.htm (what the island was before Donna lived there and where I spent much of my childhood; rode my first roll coaster with Nana. Now THAT is history baby!)
Carmine's Pizza: http://maps.google.com/maps/place?oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=carmine%27s+pizza+netcong+nj&fb=1&gl=us&hq=carmine%27s+pizza&hnear=0x89c3761b80a0144f:0x362d65b4217e484e,Netcong,+NJ&cid=15042030997110678270 (where we ended up eating on the way to Donna's. Another childhood memory.)
On the horizon for tomorrow: Mani Pedis for me and my sisters; fishing for the boys; lunch at Alice's Restaurant; long haul to JFK.