Aug. 21st, 2006

livingdeb: (Default)
The flight out

Midwest Airlines is now my favorite airline. Except for the part about how they don't fly out of Austin. Out of Texas, they have flights only from Dallas and San Antonio.

But they have huge seats. I think they're business-class sized, but Mom's flown first-class, and she thinks they're first-class size. And they have little footrests like buses do, although you can't use them during take-offs and landings.

And the other cool thing is that they serve warm chocolate-chip cookies. You get two! They are yummy. And unless you are at the wrong end of the plane, you can get milk, too. They even have skim milk.

The bad part is that it was a really loud plane during the take-off and landing, but that might be because we were sitting right next to one of the engines. I was glad to have ear plugs, though.

The other bad part was Alex. I first met him in the bathroom before the flight. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say I'm very glad I'm not his mother.

The flight back

We really pushed our luck in getting to the airport, but the lines at security were short. When we got to the gate, there were no passengers waiting to board. They wanted us to get on already because they were trying to leave early. And we did, in fact, leave five minutes early. The pilot explained that they had been instructed to fly pretty far out of the way instead of directly there, so we were still scheduled to arrive later than what was printed on our ticket.

My sister noticed that there was nothing in the seat pocket in front of her. No magazine, no safety card, no barf bag. I said the person before her must have used everything up already. She must have the enchanted airline seat.

We were in the back again, but this time there was one milk left when it was our turn to get cookies. My sister got it, and she shared it with me.

And after the cookies were passed out, my sister asked what they do with the leftover cookies. The flight attendant explained, "Open your barf bag." (I gave her mine.) Then she motioned for her to take some cookies, and some more, and some more. No, the flight attendant does not want to save any cookies for herself. (My sister could not bring herself to take every last cookie, though.)

My sister did have the enchanted seat after all.

Near the end of the flight the pilot explained that they had gotten to take a short-cut and so we would be arriving earlier than our officially scheduled time. Then he said to check the gas prices because we had saved 300 gallons of gas by taking this short-cut and had thus reduced demand in the international market.

[Wikipedia explains that planes are comparable to cars in passenger miles per gallon (assuming one and a half people per car). However, "airliner exhaust is more dangerous compared to pollution from land transportation, since the jet exhaust is directly spewed into the stratosphere, where NOx is especially active in ozone layer destruction."]

At the baggage claim area, three of us got our checked-in bags. We don't yet know what happened to Dad's bag, which was actually checked in before mine and my sister's. It was a direct flight. I really don't understand.

When I got home, I saw that my suitcase had been searched by hand. I think this because the zippers met at the middle instead of one side and because things that were inside interior pockets were now near the interior pockets. I wonder if something in Dad's bags caused some concern and thus delay.
livingdeb: (Default)
Everyone in my immediate family has decided that we prefer a typical La Quinta to the particular Sheraton we stayed at. They cost less and come with free breakfast and free internet access. This Sheraton does, however, have very non-cutesy art. Just pencil or charcoal drawings.

I like lots of cheap hotels better. For example, both the Victorian in Waco and the hotel next to it have free internet access.

So, for this trip, we ate breakfast away from the hotel and did not play on the internet.

To deal with no internet access, I had planned to write a couple of entries and back-date them (and warn you I had done this), but this time I decided to just upload a lot of (relatively) short entries with different themes.

Youth

Aug. 21st, 2006 08:53 pm
livingdeb: (Default)
When I was a kid living in Chicago, we once went on vacation to Wisconsin Dells where I got to see a real (Native American) Indian, from whom I got a signed postcard. And I got a wooden pencil box. And I saw my aunt Grace. I thought she was so pretty that I asked her if she could give me a picture of her. She said she could send me one in the mail. I was surprised and happy that I would get a picture of her.

And she did send me a picture, but she sent me a photograph and I had been wanting a painting. Still, it was nice, and I kept it.

I thought of her then as being old, but more than thirty years later she's still around and she was at the reunion. She said she feels a lot older than at the last reunion.

That surprised me. I said, "But that was only two years ago."

She said, "There's a big difference between eighty and eighty-two."

I told her about Robin's grandpa who had that phrase I like, “When I was a young man of seventy ...” Aunt Grace said, “Yes, back when I was seventy I could still do everything, couldn't I?” And she looked around the room for help. But they were no help because they thought she could still do everything now.

Since I was ten, I've told myself that you're not old until you're eighty years old. So now I have some supporting evidence for this belief: two actual pieces of data from people who think that age 70 is still young.

So if you are thinking you're old, and you're not even seventy yet, you might want to re-think that.

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