Airports

I am writing in the Colorado Springs Airport, as I sit at the gate, 90 minutes before my flight.
 
90, and not a more reasonable 30, because this is how I was raised. More by Dad than Mom. He can be compulsive about these rules.

Going to a meeting?   5 minutes early.

Class?  5 minutes early.

Party?  What kind of person keeps a host waiting?
(And those who say they aim to be "fashionably late?"  "That's not fashion.  That's bad manners.")

Flight?   2 hours early, domestic.

International?   Are you kidding me?   You got to get there the night before.

***

Love this airport. A "crowd" at security means a 10 minute wait.

Baggage comes out before you can get to the claim.

True, I often have to connect through Denver to get to places, but DIA is a pleasant place if you don't have to tread outside of security. Man. That airport is such a disaster all of the time that Bryan and I would rather pay more for a ticket and connect through than start or end a trip there.

***

At the gate, the chairs are lined with power outlets and USB jacks for charging. That feels like a great perk, and I'm sure it's everywhere.

There is no free wifi, however.  So I'm writing to my Word program and will post it all later.

Wifi. I was in second grade when my teacher told us that one day, we would write a message on one computer and it would show up on a second computer half-way around the world the next instant.

I didn't believer her. I just couldn't. But I deeply wanted it to be true.

And she hadn't even said anything about wifi.


***

This blog is saving me money, by the way. I didn't spend 7 bucks on a magazine to read while waiting 90 minutes for my flight to take off because I knew I could kill the time by writing.

"Kill time."  From whence did that violent phrase come?

***

Why not bring a book from home?

Whom am I kidding, at this point?   I don't read when I travel, once I get to the hotel.   I watch TV.

***

As I came through security, a woman called down to her husband, about whatever question, "It's a 'yes.'"

I said, "The children in my cul de sac use that phrase all the time now" -- as in, Mom, can I play in Gemma and Joshua's backyard? "It's a yes"; Can we have Popsicles outside today, it's so warm i can take my hat off? "It's a no" --

"Where," I asked this lady, "Did that phrase come from?"

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Probably something on TV."

***

I am wearing my pressure garments/sleeves on my right hand and arm. This, to prevent lymphedema from setting in when I fly--weird air pressure and such.

(Oh?  Further explanation?  I don't have lymph nodes above the right arm to pump extra lymph out.  Air pressure often causes the body to push around extra lymph.  The pressure garments keep the extra lymph circulating, which prevents my arm from swelling.)

I don't have to wear any kind of pressure treatment at any other time, for which I am so totally praising God. There was a season when I had to wrap my fingers and wear a sleeve everyday, taking it off only for special occasions.

But now, my right arm is as normal as the left.  Gosh, it feels great to be healed.

***

The sleeve does, however, make my hand and wrist work a lot harder to type. I'm working against resistance, after all.

Time, therefore, to stop this post? But then what would I do with the remaining 60 minutes?


(Part II to follow)



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