It's always a little troubling to hear of an air traffic control strike at the destination airport of your flight. I weigh the possibilities of complications. Hmmm. Is it going to be one of those trips?
I shrug it off.
It's my last morning for a while at the farmette. Ed and I repeat the same questions again and again:
He says -- you're not really going, are you?
I say -- you're not really staying behind, are you?
He says -- it's so beautiful here now!
I say -- it was so beautiful traveling with you!
We both understand, of course, each others need. We accept it, even as it can be tough to accept.
He walks with me through the morning chicken rounds. I tell him my routines. For three weeks they will be his routines.
Breakfast on the porch is lovely, in a bittersweet way.
I have time to attend to all the packing details -- I never take much anymore. This time it's bulky, but still compatible with my small carryon: hiking boots, warm jacket, hiking stick, rain gear and some change of clothing, including stuff that would be fitting for cities. Yes, it all fits.
I'm a tad weepy by the time we set out for the airport. There is so much to stay for here, at the farmette! But, I am programmed to feel that home tug to Europe. Out of the many reasons I took early retirement, one prominent one was so that I could take time to be there without guilt or work worry.
Ed tells me - have fun! You'll love your travels, your Air France flights!
I shake my head -- don't you know? I don't really love the getting there. Especially when I fly alone, next to a stranger whose shoulder I cannot lean on. I make the best of it, because it is the only way to be where I need to be.
One last look at my beloved gardens...
He drives me to the airport.
The flight to Minneapolis is on time, the flight to Paris is delayed. I'm not staying in Paris. But I have purchased a train ticket north and even greater delays will make for tight connections. That's okay. Once on the ground, I am fine with whatever comes my way. Indeed, more than fine: I slip easily into my second side, my other face. In some small way, there too I am home.
I shrug it off.
It's my last morning for a while at the farmette. Ed and I repeat the same questions again and again:
He says -- you're not really going, are you?
I say -- you're not really staying behind, are you?
He says -- it's so beautiful here now!
I say -- it was so beautiful traveling with you!
We both understand, of course, each others need. We accept it, even as it can be tough to accept.
He walks with me through the morning chicken rounds. I tell him my routines. For three weeks they will be his routines.
Breakfast on the porch is lovely, in a bittersweet way.
I have time to attend to all the packing details -- I never take much anymore. This time it's bulky, but still compatible with my small carryon: hiking boots, warm jacket, hiking stick, rain gear and some change of clothing, including stuff that would be fitting for cities. Yes, it all fits.
I'm a tad weepy by the time we set out for the airport. There is so much to stay for here, at the farmette! But, I am programmed to feel that home tug to Europe. Out of the many reasons I took early retirement, one prominent one was so that I could take time to be there without guilt or work worry.
Ed tells me - have fun! You'll love your travels, your Air France flights!
I shake my head -- don't you know? I don't really love the getting there. Especially when I fly alone, next to a stranger whose shoulder I cannot lean on. I make the best of it, because it is the only way to be where I need to be.
One last look at my beloved gardens...
He drives me to the airport.
The flight to Minneapolis is on time, the flight to Paris is delayed. I'm not staying in Paris. But I have purchased a train ticket north and even greater delays will make for tight connections. That's okay. Once on the ground, I am fine with whatever comes my way. Indeed, more than fine: I slip easily into my second side, my other face. In some small way, there too I am home.
