"A pocket-full of patience"

After sharing a cup of Starbucks coffee and saying good-bye to my sister, Lezlie, at FAT (Fresno Air Terminal) in Fresno, California, I made my way toward security.  Along with everyone else, I started removing my jacket and shoes to place in the gray bin.  Relieved to survive my rite of passage, I headed down the long walkway to my assigned gate.

However, upon arrival at my gate, I became suspicious.  There was no signage indicating my flight number, departure time, or destination city.  Hum, should I be concerned?  Being uncharacteristically early, I decided it was premature for worry and that, in time, the electronics would kick in and all would be well.  For now, I’d just center down amidst the gaggle of other passengers and recall the wonderful time I’d had going home for the holidays.

However, as you may know from your own travel experiences, things don’t always go peachy at airports.  In fact, packing a pocket-full of patience along with food and water in your carry-on is paramount.  Stuffing in a sense of humor too can also be fruitful.

 By now, a crowd had gathered with people intermittently glancing at the still empty information board.  No flight attendants, pilots, or other officials were to be seen.  It was time to get answers.  That’s when I fished out my cell phone from my handbag, dug up my itinerary, and called the 800 number for the airlines. A couple of ladies standing around me were smiling and nodding while giving me thumbs up.  One of them, Theresa, who was also going to Newark, became my new best friend.

I learned from customer service that our flight was delayed due to high winds in Las Vegas.  Humph.  Not good.  At least I wasn’t stuck in Denver trying to get home for Christmas like my sister had been.  She didn’t make it home until Christmas night!

Thus began many trips over the course of the next few hours for supplies.  I made one trip downstairs for a bottle of water.  Another trip was upstairs for milk to go with the half of peanut butter sandwich my niece, Merri Elizabeth, made.  Then, back downstairs for a toothbrush and tooth paste.  Must be prepared.  My sister suggested getting a book.  I had my journal but decided she’s right.  I might need a good book for distraction!  That meant a trip back upstairs.  Since I’d already eaten the persimmon cookies mom tucked in, I’d need more snacks.  By the time it was all said and done, I’d worn myself out with travel and I hadn’t gone anywhere except to the concession stands!

  Finally, the information board lit up.  Flight attendants and pilots appeared.  And, an announcement was made that we’d be boarding shortly. 

My concern now was making the connecting flight in Las Vegas to Newark.  Earlier, when I was on the phone with the airlines associate, she assured me our since no planes were taking off or landing due to the high winds, our plane would wait for us.  It didn’t. 

            The next plane to Newark wasn’t until midnight … seven hours away.

Now just where did I pack that pocket-full of patience? 

Until next time…Jennifer

 

"Beyond the Door"

Rounding gentle curves that make up Rt. 304, we were headed to our favorite Nyack nook for brunch.  Though my “to do” list was expanding off the page, I’d agreed to some holiday merriment and was enjoying the easy Sunday sensibility.  After all, it was only December 3.  What better way to spend quality time the special man in your life than having brunch at The Strawberry Place, a decades-old, charming café on South Broadway? 

But, after settling into our seats, my thoughts went haywire.  A cloud of heckling guilt attempted to jinx my joy.  My stress level was demurely elevating and soon my toe was a-tapping.  And, it wasn’t to the tune of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

That is, until December brought a burst of crisp, clean artic air.  Not the freezing kind of oxygen but the invigorating kind that makes you want to breathe in every conceivable wonder that life holds.  The kind that puts you in the Christmas spirit have fun kind.  It was that kind of North wind that had swept into the Northeast making it hard to not go with the jingle of the season.  Especially, when the man you’re with is that rare mix of gentility from a bygone era.  You know the kind…debonair, kindhearted, and handsome, a sense of humor, agreeable and who still has hair and teeth.

When my Rob, my chivalrous escort, extended an invitation following brunch to continue celebrating the season by driving up to Cold Spring, I’d hesitated answering.  What was that about?  It wasn’t like me to not want to see what’s around the next corner, see how the day might unfold, or see what’s beyond the door.  But, there is all that work waiting at home for me to tackle.

However, once outside the café and the pristine air brushed my face there was no stopping the hitherto festive mood.  Soon, we were crossing the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Bear Mountain Bridge.  We passed Boscobel, then Garrison.  In a short time we were approaching the quaint historic village of Cold Spring nestled on the banks of the scenic Hudson River and driving down picturesque Main St.   

    Stepping back outside after a particularly engaging experience with the sales help in an outdoor kayaking type store, we felt as if we’d bumped into old friends we hadn’t seen in a while.  We met Teri, the owner who, like me, is a native Californian and who introduced us to the performance enhanced features of Merrell footwear.  Then, we met Bevan, the clerk, whose natural charm and joviality while ringing us up had us almost registered for a kayak class!  Their home spun friendliness and fireside like charm brought us so much fun they had us dancing with laughter on our way out the door.  

The cold dusk of early evening and an almost full moon glowed against the darkened night.  It’s funny.  We hadn’t won the lottery, found a pot of gold or stumbled upon an endless pile of Christmas presents.  But, as we buttoned up our coats and I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck, I realized the earlier guilt that tried to stifle my spirit had completely dissipated.  And now I couldn’t have been more ecstatic that I’d not only stepped out of my box but also risked stepping beyond the door.