Home again, home again!

After a trip where things went as well as could be expected, I'm still extraordinarily grateful to be home again.

The trip to K.C. was uneventful, unless you count the predictable adventures that accompany any Southwestern flight. Their unique system (no seat assignments in advance--get in line and take your chances) does facilitate quick boarding. In spite of the fact that the plane arrived late, we took off on time. I wound up stuffed into a window seat, next to "James," a chatty and informative bus driver. I've never talked with a professional bus driver before--I don't generally chat with strangers on airplanes, preferring to bury myself in a book and pretend I'm not squished into a metal tube flying 35,000 feet above ground--and James was very nice.

We discussed airports around the country--taking off and landing over the water at National, taking off over a sheer cliff face in Steamboat, seat assignments (this was his first Southwestern flight and he was wondering, with some trepidation if all airlines were switching to "no seats in advance" since, as a 6'+ guy, he was far from comfy when wedged into one of Southwestern's skinny center seats)--and tourism in general.

The R.C. and I splurged on a mid-sized car for the rental for the pleasures of a really good air-conditioner (Kansas! In summer! Heat and humidity!) and driving it made me determined all over again to buy myself a new(er) car once I'm employed again. The drive from K.C. to Lawrence was, again, uneventful, thanks to Mapquest and a good navigator.

Once in Lawrence, we checked in and were reminded, all over again, of why we don't stay in low-budget hotels. Granted, there aren't a lot of choices in this Midwestern college town, but Holiday Inn? Turns out half the place was shut down for renovation too, and there weren't more than half a dozen guest cars in the parking lot. Still. Air conditioning, a bathroom, and a bed to sleep in--those are all we really needed for such a short trip, and those were available.

Having neglected to provide myself with the cell phone number of the relatives I tentatively thought we might have dinner with, the R.C. and I were free for the evening. We drove "out east" (euphemistic in my family for going to the cemetery) and then "shot the square" in a flashback to my squandered youth. When I was young, there wasn't much to do in town. "Shooting the square" or driving endlessly around the four main roads that boxed the major part of the town back then, was a major source of amusement.

The experience was somewhat surreal this time. At moments, it felt as though we'd never left the 70's (Look! Taco Johns is still there, on the same corner, in the same building!) and at other moments, it felt like we were somewhere we'd never been before.

After the additional thrill of a hamburger dinner, we gave up for the evening and went back to the hotel to rest and prepare for Monday.

We both turned in early and, after tossing and turning for a couple of hours, I managed to fall asleep, only to awaken at 4:15 a.m. Granted, I refused to actually roll out of bed until 5:30, but laying there, wide awake, wasn't really that restful.

The service itself was very nice, I think. There were few flowers, most people choosing donations* these days, but the L-i-K-S and her girls had planted some very pretty white flowers in the planters and had chosen a gorgeous big spray of white flowers to deck the headstone. About 30 people showed up, more than we'd expected given the short notice and the fact that few family members live locally any more.

I have to say that it was nice to see some members of my father's family I've seen only rarely since he passed away, as well as some family friends who were close enough that we were all like part of one extended family when I was growing up. We all agreed that we should try to see each other more often--one of those meaningless promises you make when you all know you'll go home and become immersed in your own life again within 48 hours.

Offers were made for lunch, dinner, and additional visiting but I'm so lame that I'd forgotten about "waking" and hadn't scheduled time in the trip for the necessary after-ceremony visiting. The R.C. and I were scheduled to fly back to Denver that afternoon, so we swung by the hotel, changed into clean shirts (we were drenched with sweat), and took off for the airport again.

In retrospect, it sounds as though we were rushing through it all like a visit to the dentist. In my own defense, all I can say is that maybe I wasn't thinking things through clearly last week, when we talked about scheduling the trip and what should be done. I think I was so focused on what needed to be done, that I forgot about everything else.

Anyhow.**

The drive back to the airport was, again, uneventful and that was apparently the point at which we used up our quota of good-travel vibes. Our return flight was delayed on account of not having an airplane, then we sat around waiting for another flight to land so three people could make their connection, then we flew to Denver only to encounter a massive, slow-moving storm sitting on the airport, forcing us to circle for twenty minutes, at which time they threatened to divert us to Pueblo or Albuquerque.

The pilot, in an unusual burst of conviviality, gave us quite a discourse on micro-bursts and wind-shear, directing us to watch colliding and passing rain bands out the window and describing how tricky it was to try and land in contrary winds. Apparently when you're moving fast, it's not a big issue, but when you're moving slower, like when you're trying to land, being buffeted by unexpected winds from opposing compass points is very dangerous.

He convinced us. When the plane was finally allowed to land, we gave him a round of applause, both for the lecture and for his smooth landing performance.

"Thank you," he said over the intercom. "I'll be here all week."

Earlier today I went to the grocery store and bought a salad and a small ham.

That's my week so far.

______________________________

* Donation information here and here.

** Please don't think I'm lacking in grief for my mother, or undisturbed at her passing. I remind myself that she made choices, and that we honored those choices. I'll never forget about her, or cease to think of her, any more than I've forgotten or stopped thinking about my father.