Monday, November 1, 2010

Angels in the Airport---revised for complete honesty.

What can you say? There's no time to completely rest your guard: in the moment, there's people every where, another terminal, another destination, another leg of the trip.

My crazy Mom. She meant well. She got up at 4 am to give us a ride, after one last late night playing Sorry. We'd told Dixie and Charlie goodbye, had a fun time talking about our church experiences while we waited on Mom to come back to the house from church herself. On little sleep but much excitement, we closed off that last night we'd given to the lady who made our trip possible...and discovered she underestimated the time it'd take to get to the the drizzle...oh, my.

So, the day we'd planned to arrive in San Diego and then hit the beach to close off the holiday with rest turned into a ten hour stay at the airport. I remember sleeping in places only the desperate can make sleepable, if that were a word. I wanted to ask someone to come rescue us, but we stuck it out, with texts to Sabrina and a call to Mom that went to her voice mail, though we found her visiting at 2012, as we talked to Poppa and laughed off the inconvenience. Good enough we were safe and sound, and so was Mom.

We talked about the night Angela stayed up to visit with her Mom, who's not always awake these days. We looked back on the whole trip, still part of our addled minds, read about Laurence O'Donnell's new show we've been waiting to see and a NY Times review of the Michael Douglas thriller. In our haze, we looked up and saw as beautiful a woman as you could ask to see, in her nice travel close, who smiled down at us as she passed, understanding. We enjoyed people watching until we slept away some of the time. My chinese lunch hit the spot, and I stayed awake with Bodhisatva. We had a fun conversation with the book store attendant, about her time in Georgia and our upcoming comic book, D'n'A.

On the flight out to Denver, I watched Karate Kid silently over the shoulder of the fellow in the next row. Sleepless still, we happily boarded the flight from the flat planes into the remainder of twilight over the Coast. I drew our funny, cool stewardess on my bev nap, which so flattered her she offered me my choice of drinks, finally bringing me a beer, affably. I tried my next profile of another, to be fair,only to watch her throw it away unconsciously, then tease me, "I see you made one for her, how about one for me?" "That was it that you just threw away," I said, grinning sheepishly. I knocked out a third as we gazed out over the lights of San Diego. Balboa Park looked close enough to touch as we glided lower and lower towards Charles Lindbergh Field by the harbor.

We finally got touchy and cranky before finding the bus away from the airport, as we tried the walk she'd suggested. Well, you could chalk it up to me being an asshole to a tired person; I was just as tired myself, but I had given in and given myself a little disadvantage in our tough physical situation.

What set me off? Well, the security guy said the bus was picking up back there (where we shoulda gone) and over there...but we didn't find the over there. Then Sweetie gave a call back to tell someone we'd made it.
But then she mentioned someone was "mad for us" that we'd been stuck at the airport all day and missed our first flight. I didn't want anyone mad for us. That made me mad. No one's perfect. The subconscious churns.

The beer probably brought me down just a little too much---not just after being awake and travelling most of the past 20 hours, only hydrated as little as possible, being nowhere too comfortable---and nine days without being naked except in the shower---and I knew, I passed on it more than once: waay too tired to process a beer. But I wanted to complete the vignette; I let her bring me that. She offered me whatever mixed drink I'd like, and I nearly made it a juice instead. You have to know your limits.

My explosive overture of irritation couldn't have come at a worse time; my throat was already packing up from exposure to some crap in Georgia, well-used Saturday singing all evening, and ruined the rest of the way by sleeping in the airport. But it didn't last. I like her too much.

And I had to admit, Mom had genuinely pissed me off, too, being late with us. You want to give a person space for making a mistake; you have to laugh...if I'd been p.o.'d the whole time I was stuck, I would've had a bad day. I mean you try to live with some grace and dignity and humor, you know?

And Jaysis, were we tired and hungry. Being such pals all day was just shy of amazing! But not a complete surprise.

The things that made me sad about my trip came falling from my mouth, but we both knew what we were talking about...and what is any of that? My sickness of demeanor would translate into a pretty tough crash---but at least the crash came at home sweet home. And, stepping off at 9th and Broadway, we had some good Valentine's food before we even made it to the Apartment of Ideas. I hated being pissy. I sure love that girl.

The next morning, the sweet music of Woodstock, the sound of the Who, the afterglow o
our time together with our loved ones leaving one final ...oh, what would you call it, when you're awake but wrapped in the stuff of dreams? You know in that moment, as day to day life carries you from those treasured days, you will look upon those moments together, the precious hospitality, the laughs, the hugs and kisses, the sensation of living with them in the moment, and choose never to forget.

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