We arrived in the city today. It was a long one-way flight from Chicago to SF, measured not by time in the air but by what is involved when traveling with kids, luggage, carry-ons, rental car, and a dog. It is not fun. Thank goodness Dave was here to keep the kids in tow while I handled the dog and rental car. It is not until bags are checked, security cleared, plane is boarded, carry-ons are stowed, and seat belts clicked that I can breathe for the first time. Ahhhh.
Never thought airline tea tasted so good.
Breathing stopped when we landed and found out that our luggage was put on another flight. Great, now we have to sit around for a couple hours waiting for our luggage to arrive. Thank goodness Daisy made it ok. We asked, "How is it that our luggage didn't make the flight but the dog did?" They (United Airlines) responded curtly, "Animals are not treated as mere luggage ma'am." The outrage! No duh...just put our luggage on the right plane next time...do YOUR job...I mean, what is the point of checking in two hours early, then? And we have to pay an extra $25 per bag to boot. I was seething.
We made them deliver our luggage to the apartment. We were not going to wait around. Daisy rode off with Grandpa Jack who is taking her in for now, as the apartment does not allow pets. Thank you Grandpa Jack!
Breathing resumes as we drive to our new apartment and the landscape is filled with tall buildings and the bay bridge. Oh, there is so much to be explored. And we can't wait!
Showing posts with label airport. Show all posts
Showing posts with label airport. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Me time in an airport
Every year around this time (end of January), we have a black tie event to attend. President's Club. Elite group of top sales reps nationwide gather and are honored for their amazing sales performance for the previous year. The chosen location for this year's event is the St. Regis Monarch Beach Resort & Spa in Dana Point, CA. Mostly work-related starting from the cocktail party on Friday night to the President's Club formal affair on Saturday night. Time off in between to steal some alone time with my husband. But game faces are on those Friday and Saturday nights. Even though it is business, and Dave is there to support his top sales reps, we have a fun time catching up with our once-a-year acquaintances (at least for me--Dave sees the other VPs, managers, and reps more often). I like to hang with the other "management wives" and the reps' better halves. Time to chat nonstop over cocktails that are flowing nonstop. The wives get to dress up in party smocks and gowns, wear make-up for a change, and sip frou frou drinks without having to worry about kids, cooking dinner, and cleaning up.
So, today, I felt a strange, almost forgotten sense of independence as I walked through Chicago O'Hare airport en-route to Los Angeles to meet my husband who was already there for business. Even in the middle of a bustling airport like O'Hare, there was a quietness inside and all around me. No little feet padding quickly to keep up. No tiny fingers to hold onto. No stroller to push. No husband with whom to eat a quick bite or linger and browse the airport bookstore.
Just myself. By myself. An endangered species these days when you wear different hats--mom, wife, amateur chef, laundress, cleaning lady.
Alone, I sipped tea quietly while actually reading without interruption more than a page of a long neglected book ("The Quiet American" by Graham Greene, waited patiently, unfinished, on my nightstand for about three months). I had no crayons to pull out or snacks to pass around. No urgent potty emergencies to deal with. No one to talk to. No one to listen to. A quiet sense of self reemerged. This was my mini-vacation away from noise, duty and responsibility.
I was eighteen again, having just moved away from home and living in a tiny apartment with three roommates off campus at UCLA. I had no ties to anyone except myself. Those days, all I had to do was get up, listen to music (probably Lenny Kravitz, 10,000 Maniacs or Sinead O'Connor) while I dressed and prepared for the day's one or two classes. Walked the hilly streets of Westwood Village to encounter more mini slopes and paths on campus. My legs were super toned back then. Famously so.
Grab a Snickers bar for lunch--or when I could afford it, splurge on sushi at Ackerman Union. Listen to a noon time concert--I remember the Soup Dragons vividly. Groups of students walking to and fro--rushing to class or meeting friends for lunch. I could people watch for hours.
Blissfully self-sufficient, confident, young, beautiful and smart. The future was wide open.
So, in the middle of the crowded food court between American Airlines gates A & H, I sat alone and people watched. Formed quick opinions about the older southern couple next to me who were loudly arguing about their grandchildren. The lone business man on his Bluetooth contraption and laptop simultaneously while barking orders to someone on the other line. The teenage girl slumped over her iPod and ignoring her parents. The Polish lady with too much make-up wiping down tables after people.
If someone was watching me, what opinion would they form? Quiet, bespectacled Asian lady (no longer a girl) sipping tea and reading a book. What is her story? Is she married (she has a ring on--so, yes)? Does she have kids? How old is she--probably in her early to mid 30s (oh, I'm being so kind to myself here). Maybe she's a famous actor from Asia that no one recognizes in the States. She is a mystery! Can't figure her out!
Wait--is she alone--a sole explorer for the day? Well, I was, at least for a few hours until the plane landed in LAX and my husband was there waiting for me. But then, another adventure ensued, as we were a couple again (and without kids for the weekend)!
So, today, I felt a strange, almost forgotten sense of independence as I walked through Chicago O'Hare airport en-route to Los Angeles to meet my husband who was already there for business. Even in the middle of a bustling airport like O'Hare, there was a quietness inside and all around me. No little feet padding quickly to keep up. No tiny fingers to hold onto. No stroller to push. No husband with whom to eat a quick bite or linger and browse the airport bookstore.
Just myself. By myself. An endangered species these days when you wear different hats--mom, wife, amateur chef, laundress, cleaning lady.
Alone, I sipped tea quietly while actually reading without interruption more than a page of a long neglected book ("The Quiet American" by Graham Greene, waited patiently, unfinished, on my nightstand for about three months). I had no crayons to pull out or snacks to pass around. No urgent potty emergencies to deal with. No one to talk to. No one to listen to. A quiet sense of self reemerged. This was my mini-vacation away from noise, duty and responsibility.
I was eighteen again, having just moved away from home and living in a tiny apartment with three roommates off campus at UCLA. I had no ties to anyone except myself. Those days, all I had to do was get up, listen to music (probably Lenny Kravitz, 10,000 Maniacs or Sinead O'Connor) while I dressed and prepared for the day's one or two classes. Walked the hilly streets of Westwood Village to encounter more mini slopes and paths on campus. My legs were super toned back then. Famously so.
Grab a Snickers bar for lunch--or when I could afford it, splurge on sushi at Ackerman Union. Listen to a noon time concert--I remember the Soup Dragons vividly. Groups of students walking to and fro--rushing to class or meeting friends for lunch. I could people watch for hours.
Blissfully self-sufficient, confident, young, beautiful and smart. The future was wide open.
So, in the middle of the crowded food court between American Airlines gates A & H, I sat alone and people watched. Formed quick opinions about the older southern couple next to me who were loudly arguing about their grandchildren. The lone business man on his Bluetooth contraption and laptop simultaneously while barking orders to someone on the other line. The teenage girl slumped over her iPod and ignoring her parents. The Polish lady with too much make-up wiping down tables after people.
If someone was watching me, what opinion would they form? Quiet, bespectacled Asian lady (no longer a girl) sipping tea and reading a book. What is her story? Is she married (she has a ring on--so, yes)? Does she have kids? How old is she--probably in her early to mid 30s (oh, I'm being so kind to myself here). Maybe she's a famous actor from Asia that no one recognizes in the States. She is a mystery! Can't figure her out!
Wait--is she alone--a sole explorer for the day? Well, I was, at least for a few hours until the plane landed in LAX and my husband was there waiting for me. But then, another adventure ensued, as we were a couple again (and without kids for the weekend)!
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