Tears on a Plane

So, I recently flew home from Kenya. It takes 24 hours from Nairobi to Chicago, so needless to say I always dread my flights abroad...especially when I'm flying them alone. One of the great features is the individual television screen that offers a large selection of new release movies and television shows.

I had completed the first leg of my return flight (Nairobi to London). After a 7-hour layover in the London Heathrow Airport, I boarded my second flight home to O'Hare. The flights home are difficult for me for many reasons:
1) The change in time zones really throws my body out of whack. I'm completely exhausted and it is difficult to sleep sitting upright.
2) Flying makes me cranky. It is so hard to sit in one place for so long.
3) I've just said goodbye to Rosa (again) and my mind begins to wander back to last July and the failed adoption.

Needless to say, I look forward to watching several movies to get my mind off of these things.

I found my seat...in the bulkhead...in the aisle. Perfect. I would have plenty of room to move. The flight attendants eventually began their familiar spiel on nearest exits, flotation devices, yada...yada...yada. Most of these procedures were demonstrated on our personalized television screens. Mine suddenly went blank.

I informed the flight attendant of my malfunctioning screen before take-off and he said he'd take care of it right away. The head flight attendant reset the entire screen, but still no luck. He tried again. Nothing.

Two hours later, the head flight attendant came by. He explained that they had tried everything and, for some reason, I had a dysfunctional system. He apologized and offered me some magazines.

Within seconds of him walking away, uncontrollable tears fell from my eyes. I wasn't even really sure why I was crying, but I figured it had to be because this was "the straw that broke the camel's back." I wanted to keep my mind off things and now I had 8 1/2 hours of sitting and thinking ahead of me. Complete torture.

My flight attendant approached me and asked if someone had been by to explain what had happened. I nodded my head and said, "I understand. It is difficult to have any control over technological problems." He asked, "Are you crying? Are you all right?"

Oh my gosh. I was so embarrassed. "Follow me." I wasn't sure where I was supposed to go, but I thoughtlessly followed my new friend to the galley of the plane. He unfolded his special flight attendant seat and directed me to sit down. "Now, what can I get you? Chocolate? Coffee? Tea? How about a bottle of water?" I declined his offer, but I was given water anyway. He sat down next to me and asked, "Tell me what's wrong. Is it the television? I'm so sorry about that!"

The tears started flowing! Have you ever cried and wanted to stop so badly, but you weren't able to? I explained to him how I had left my daughter in Nairobi. He asked all about her and told me of his frequent flights to Nairobi, hoping that would offer me some peace. "My name is Arwon. If you need anything, let me know!"

I returned to my seat and attempted to look at borrowed fashion magazines for the next eight hours. Arwon continually checked on me to make sure I was OK (and not crying). It was nice to know I had someone looking out for me with a shoulder to cry on...literally!

Sinks Road

When we were still dating, Casey and I decided to drive cross-country. My best friend needed someone to go with her as she drove her car back to Phoenix. Casey and I figured it was a great opportunity to see the country and see if we could stand being around one another for an extended period of time.

We decided that our first stop would be Lake of the Ozarks, where Casey's grandparents lived. We would spend the day tubing and water skiing at their lake house. Before arriving at the Ozarks, however, we had to make a vital stop in Florrisant (a suburb of St. Louis).

Casey grew up in Florrisant. I was often told about his warm memories growing up in his childhood home on Sinks Road. The road was called, "Sinks Road" because it was paved around giant sink holes that had formed in the ground.

His family lived on a large piece of property and Casey would tell me about how it would take him and his brother 3 days to mow the lawn. Or how he and his brother would build forts in the surrounding woods.

I knew it was important for me to see this place that had held such a special place in his heart....

As we drove along Sinks Road, it was almost as if Casey were a young boy again. He couldn't sit still knowing that it had been at least ten years since he had been there. I was wondering what we would tell the new tenants when they saw us trespassing on their property, but apparently Casey wasn't too concerned.

We rounded the curve and pulled into his driveway. It was surrounded by overgrown weeds. Whoever lived here, obviously wasn't taking good care of the property. His driveway was long and we continued on until we reached the house.

I watched Casey's expression, kind of like when you watch a groom's reaction as the bride walks down the aisle in her wedding dress. Casey looked as if he were going to cry....and these were not tears of joy.

The house was gone.

Nicole and I looked at each other. We didn't know what to do. Then suddenly, I burst out laughing. "Where's your house?" I asked him.

"I don't know." He sounded six years old again. He slowly got out of the car and began walking the property with a confused look on his face. We followed. A few minutes later, Casey began giving us a "tour" of the house.

"This is where the living room was."

"This is where our pool was."

I didn't know what to say. So, I suggested taking a photo of him in front of the house. What else could we do?

Here's that photo....I think he's standing in the kitchen.

Sheer Laziness

I was over at my best friend's house one day. Her mom needed to run some errands and asked us to do some chores around the house while she was gone. She offered to pay us for our efforts, so my friend agreed.

My simple assignment was to vacuum the living room floor. I asked Nicole for the vacuum cleaner. She said it was down in the basement. Knowing how heavy it was, I wasn't too excited about lifting the heavy beast up the stairs.

So, I improvised....

I walked into the living room and began dragging the side of my foot along the carpet in straight lines. Up and down. Up and down.

When I had finished, the living room carpet looked striped and "vacuumed." I was so proud of my accomplishments.

Nicole's mom returned from the store and I was excited to show her my work. She asked me if the vacuum was broken. I asked her, "Why?" with a pained look on my face. Had my new vacuuming method been discovered? She responded by saying, "Look at the floor! Nothing was picked up by the vacuum. The floor is still filthy." She looked stressed. She obviously didn't want to splurge on a new vacuum. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to confess my lazy ways. "Great! Now I need to go get a new vacuum!"

"WAIT!" I cried. "I didn't use the vacuum. I just dragged my foot up and down across the carpet to make it look as if I vacuumed!" I had to confess. A puzzled look came over her face. I know she was wondering why in the heck I would go through such trouble. But all in all, she was relieved that the vacuum still worked.

In the end, it took me twice as long to drag my foot in neat rows rather than using their dumb vacuum. It sounded like a good idea!?!?