So I’m picking up where I left off last time. As you’ll recall, I’m recounting our adventures in Durham, NC, which we visited in late May of 2022. And, as a new twist, I’m trying to reproduce (sorta) the notes I took along the way in my little steno pad.
With luck, they’ll even make some small amount of sense.
Anyway, picking up from when we were on the plane to Durham.
About the photo: as per norm, nothing to do with the story. This is Martha on a cold day in Santa Fe in 2018. Today, here in Texas, we are entering our third week of 100+ F. temperatures. That’s about 38 degrees Celsius. And its dang hot no matter what you call it. In fact, I could really go right now for a nice cold day in Santa Fe...
About an hour to go. Oof! We just hit a patch of rough air. Ah, and there’s another. They warned us it wouldn’t be a smooth trip. ‘Fraid they were right.
How to describe it? Sort of like flying over a washboard. Only, I realize, you can’t say any more. Who’s seen a washboard in this age of Bluetooth-controlled smart washing machines with their own LED dashboard that let you check social media while the delicates tumble?
Might as well talk about taking your laundry down to the river and whacking it on a rock.
Ker-bumpy-bump! More rough air. Love it. Okay. I don’t really love it. I hate it. But, complaining won’t help. So I’ll pretend to be unaffected. That’s cause I’m such a seasoned traveller.
The seasoning in question being, alas, ground rats’ whiskers marinated in Ipecac.
Anyway, worried about Martha. We had forgotten what it was like to fly while we were in Lockdown. We had forgotten how tight and cramped everything is. That’s bad enough at the best of times, but when you’re only a few months removed from a potentially devastating fall, it is far worse.
I watch her as she shifts and moves about in her seat, desperately attempting to find a comfortable position. Again, I wonder if it was wise for us to take the trip right now. Again, I remember that it is too late to worry about that.
Bump. Crunch. Thump. Lovely. Like a roller coaster. In an earthquake. On a very bad day. Oh, did I mention that I don’t really like to fly? I know that’s a surprise. You’d never think it. Would you? Of course not.
I look around me. It seems like every third passenger is watching a movie on an iPad or other tablet. Ahead of me, costumed superheroes. Across the aisle, an aging action star blows away street thugs with a machine gun. Up on the right, what looks like a rom-com.
Think of it. Hollywood and the networks have come to this. Today, Ben Hur would have pounded his way around the Colosseum in a chariot the size of a matchbox drawn by stallions no bigger than rabid hamsters.
And they say there’s no such thing as progress.
Hey, it is starting to smooth out. Fewer bumps. What’s happening? Ah, we’re starting the descent. At last, we’re headed into Durham.
The question is, what’s next?
And will we like it?
More to come.
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