Back in May, I had an appointment to have a tooth pulled. The tooth has been broken for years but recently has presented some problems with minor pain due to (I think) infection. The dentist that I went to in that dental practice was wary of doing the job because the tooth had roots going every-which-way, based on the x-ray. She referred me to another dentist in the practice. I made the appointment, but then had to reschedule it because my dear friend Patrick died. His funeral was to take place on the same day as the appointment.
Well, Monday was THE rescheduled day. The appointment was for 4:00 PM (not 2:30 as the title of this post suggests. Tooth-hurty...get it??). I dreaded it. Did everything I could think of to find a way to cancel it. I mean, the tooth wasn't causing problems right then, but I knew I was living on borrowed time. Little pockets of infection would actually show up on the outer section of my gums. I popped them and the pain would go away. (I know...too much information!) When I made the original appointment, I was trying to save myself problems for my Seattle trip, but I had to reschedule for after my return. While in Seattle, I did have to take Tylenol once for throbbing. That took care of it for the entire rest of the trip.
So, Monday, I girded my loins and prepared myself for the inevitable. The tooth had been broken for several years. Because of the situation with the roots, I was afraid that it would come out in pieces and require more digging than I wanted. There were a few minutes of consternation when this dentist's office couldn't find the other dentist's office's copy of my records and x-ray. When that was resolved, the original dentist came in to see me. And off we went. I was given the usual numbing shots. (I HATE the ones in the roof of the mouth!!) Then there is the wait for the numbing to take place and the wait for the operating dentist to find time to do the job. It was taking forever!
Finally, he came in and started his banter. He's a hoot. He started talking about how he was going to wiggle the tooth to make room in the socket and that some teeth come out in pieces, then said "But this one isn't!" It was out, completely, in ten seconds or less. I mumbled, "Already?" He said, "Who do you think you're dealing with here? Amateurs??" He left me to the care of his hygienist. I wanted to see the tooth, and so did the original dentist who was in the office. The tooth had three crooked roots--not four as usual molars do. I was delighted that it had come out in one piece and took no time at all to remove.
I was sent home immediately with a prescription for Norco and instructions for post-op care: no sucking on straws or cigarettes, icing 20 minutes on and 20 minutes off, soft foods, etc. But here is the bottom line: In my lifetime, I have had five teeth pulled. Two were baby teeth that had no replacements. One was an impacted wisdom tooth that was causing problems. That one, according to the dentist, was a difficult extraction, complete with stitches. In fact, he called the next day to see how I was doing. How was I doing? Great! In all five extractions, I never have experienced any post-op pain. This latest one bled a little longer than I liked but didn't hurt, and there is, once again, no swelling. I didn't even use ice! Either I am blessed with a high pain tolerance or good dentists. I figure if I were going to get hit by the odds, it would have happened by now!
My tooth history isn't all that great. There were no permanent teeth to replace two molars and one incisor. One wisdom tooth emerged, straight. Two were impacted. One doesn't exist. I grind my teeth at night and clench my jaw. It's no wonder that my teeth break! I don't take proper care of my toofers but am happy that most of them are still "mine". Not sure how much longer that will last!
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
Seattle Observations
We Americans live in such a huge and diverse country, yet unified. It is easy to forget that parts of the country are nothing like our own because it is still part of the same nation, right? I was Midwestern born and bred but did live in other regions, off and on. In that regard, I was lucky. Still, I'm always just a little bit shocked to see how much different certain areas are from the flat-lands I call home.
I just got back from three weeks of visiting my family in Seattle and environs. Can't help but make observations about the place--things I didn't know; things I should have known but never paid attention to; and things I knew for sure. Here is a compilation of all of them.
1. Climate in the Pacific Northwest is ocean/mountain-driven. With the Pacific on the west and two mountain ranges on the east (the Olympics and the Cascades), the weather is controlled by ocean temps and mountain altitudes and the effect that both have on the atmosphere. The Seattle area doesn't get too cold or too warm. It is known for seasonal rainy/gloomy days, but I have to say that (while I was there, at least) there were only about four days with rain, and most of those had some sunshine, as well. In fact, the weather psyched me out. I had packed mostly cool-weather clothes but found myself more in need of a cooler wardrobe. I'm not complaining!
When my daughter lived in Sunnyvale, CA, I noted that the climate went from sunny and naturally air conditioned, to cold/foggy/rainy, to hot--all within a distance of 150-200 miles. It's the same in the Seattle area. I watched Seattle news and weather forecasts every morning, but what was predicted for them (just a few miles away) wasn't true for us in the suburbs.
2. Washington has real rain forests. In fact, just the Olympic Peninsula alone has three of them. I was in one! Honestly, I didn't know that the US had real rain forests, but there it was.
One "funny" of the visit took place as we were entering the Hoh Rainforest National Park. I had been noticing moss hanging from the trees and wondered if it was the same stuff called Spanish Moss that hangs off trees in the Deep South. As we were waiting our turn at the entrance gate, the car ahead of us was taking a long time. The driver even got out of her car, etc. Not sure why. Meanwhile, I had my Access Pass and driver's license ready for when it was our turn. (A word about the Access Pass. I picked it up at Mono Lake in California a few years ago. It provides handicapped seniors--a whole carload--to enter any national park in the country free of charge for life. Saves $25 a pop!)
When we finally had our turn at the gate, the spunky ranger in the shack--maybe in her 50s--apologized for our wait and thanked me for having my pass/ID ready. She confessed that she was in training. It was her first day on the job. I said, "So I'm going to test your training. What is the name of the moss I see hanging from the trees?" The gal didn't bat an eye. She responded, "Fred. It's name is Fred. And if you see any that is particularly pretty, that's Frederika." She obviously didn't know the answer to my question, but her response was so charming, we laughed and moved on. My prediction is that anyone who has to greet the public and can think that fast on her feet will do well on that particular job! (While in the park, we found signs that told us that the moss is called Club Moss, but it will always and forever be Fred to me!)
3. Because of the ocean/waterways and mountains, and the growing population in the area, traffic in Seattle and suburbs is quite congested. I didn't expect that. Meg and family live in Bothell. There are no neighborhood grocery stores, or even convenience stores where you can stop in and bring home a gallon of milk in a pinch. Everything is at least ten minutes away. The nearest Walmart with groceries is more like 20-30 minutes away in good traffic--far enough that your frozen pizzas and ice cream can thaw, big time. If I were an independently wealthy entrepreneur, I'd buy an Aldi's franchise and plunk it down in the middle of Bothell near where the Microsoft Connector (bus) picks up and drops off!
4. Washington loves its trees. They call themselves the Evergreen State, and where there might be no trees, they plant some. From the very moment we left the airport upon my arrival, Robin asked me what I thought. What was to think? All I saw was roadway and trees. All views are blocked by trees in urban areas. In the Midwest, we have strips of trees that are planted as windbreaks. In Washington, trees are planted to block the views of commercial sprawl. Seriously! Sometimes, it's frustrating to an outsider. I didn't go there to see trees!
5. The area where my daughter lives is a little Silicon Valley. It is where Microsoft has its home location. The Microsoft campus is in Redmond and is huge...actually bigger than a college campus with over 100 buildings. As a result, the area is culturally diverse with folks of all nationality backgrounds...many of whom were born right here in the good ol' USA. (Indiana just doesn't know what that's all about.) It's a whole different cosmos.
6. There are many homes/buildings in the Seattle area that look like cubes. Denis tells me that is because they don't have to have peaked roofs due to not much winter snow. They get frost and/or black ice, but not lots of snow.
7. My daughter lives in a neighborhood that is on a hill. Basically, there are no yards for kids to play in...just landscaping (and not a lot of that). I'm told that these large homes are actually free-standing condominiums but without paid outside maintenance. Meg and Den had a big yard in Illinois. Where they are now almost warrants not owning a lawn mower! I watched a neighbor mow his front yard one day. Took him two minutes, tops. So different from the Midwest!
8. Seafood in the PNW is plentiful and fresh. You'd think it would also be cheaper than here in the MW, but it isn't. Crab is just as pricey out there as it is here in Indiana, even though we can't get much by way of really fresh fish here. Go figure!
9. My granddaughter's school has an outdoor covered walkway to go from gym to cafeteria and other places. Doesn't happen here in the MW!
I totally enjoyed my stay. Had my own room, complete with my computer, a TV, clock, fan, and comfortable bed. It feels good to be home...but I miss my family!
I just got back from three weeks of visiting my family in Seattle and environs. Can't help but make observations about the place--things I didn't know; things I should have known but never paid attention to; and things I knew for sure. Here is a compilation of all of them.
1. Climate in the Pacific Northwest is ocean/mountain-driven. With the Pacific on the west and two mountain ranges on the east (the Olympics and the Cascades), the weather is controlled by ocean temps and mountain altitudes and the effect that both have on the atmosphere. The Seattle area doesn't get too cold or too warm. It is known for seasonal rainy/gloomy days, but I have to say that (while I was there, at least) there were only about four days with rain, and most of those had some sunshine, as well. In fact, the weather psyched me out. I had packed mostly cool-weather clothes but found myself more in need of a cooler wardrobe. I'm not complaining!
When my daughter lived in Sunnyvale, CA, I noted that the climate went from sunny and naturally air conditioned, to cold/foggy/rainy, to hot--all within a distance of 150-200 miles. It's the same in the Seattle area. I watched Seattle news and weather forecasts every morning, but what was predicted for them (just a few miles away) wasn't true for us in the suburbs.
2. Washington has real rain forests. In fact, just the Olympic Peninsula alone has three of them. I was in one! Honestly, I didn't know that the US had real rain forests, but there it was.
One "funny" of the visit took place as we were entering the Hoh Rainforest National Park. I had been noticing moss hanging from the trees and wondered if it was the same stuff called Spanish Moss that hangs off trees in the Deep South. As we were waiting our turn at the entrance gate, the car ahead of us was taking a long time. The driver even got out of her car, etc. Not sure why. Meanwhile, I had my Access Pass and driver's license ready for when it was our turn. (A word about the Access Pass. I picked it up at Mono Lake in California a few years ago. It provides handicapped seniors--a whole carload--to enter any national park in the country free of charge for life. Saves $25 a pop!)
When we finally had our turn at the gate, the spunky ranger in the shack--maybe in her 50s--apologized for our wait and thanked me for having my pass/ID ready. She confessed that she was in training. It was her first day on the job. I said, "So I'm going to test your training. What is the name of the moss I see hanging from the trees?" The gal didn't bat an eye. She responded, "Fred. It's name is Fred. And if you see any that is particularly pretty, that's Frederika." She obviously didn't know the answer to my question, but her response was so charming, we laughed and moved on. My prediction is that anyone who has to greet the public and can think that fast on her feet will do well on that particular job! (While in the park, we found signs that told us that the moss is called Club Moss, but it will always and forever be Fred to me!)
3. Because of the ocean/waterways and mountains, and the growing population in the area, traffic in Seattle and suburbs is quite congested. I didn't expect that. Meg and family live in Bothell. There are no neighborhood grocery stores, or even convenience stores where you can stop in and bring home a gallon of milk in a pinch. Everything is at least ten minutes away. The nearest Walmart with groceries is more like 20-30 minutes away in good traffic--far enough that your frozen pizzas and ice cream can thaw, big time. If I were an independently wealthy entrepreneur, I'd buy an Aldi's franchise and plunk it down in the middle of Bothell near where the Microsoft Connector (bus) picks up and drops off!
4. Washington loves its trees. They call themselves the Evergreen State, and where there might be no trees, they plant some. From the very moment we left the airport upon my arrival, Robin asked me what I thought. What was to think? All I saw was roadway and trees. All views are blocked by trees in urban areas. In the Midwest, we have strips of trees that are planted as windbreaks. In Washington, trees are planted to block the views of commercial sprawl. Seriously! Sometimes, it's frustrating to an outsider. I didn't go there to see trees!
5. The area where my daughter lives is a little Silicon Valley. It is where Microsoft has its home location. The Microsoft campus is in Redmond and is huge...actually bigger than a college campus with over 100 buildings. As a result, the area is culturally diverse with folks of all nationality backgrounds...many of whom were born right here in the good ol' USA. (Indiana just doesn't know what that's all about.) It's a whole different cosmos.
6. There are many homes/buildings in the Seattle area that look like cubes. Denis tells me that is because they don't have to have peaked roofs due to not much winter snow. They get frost and/or black ice, but not lots of snow.
7. My daughter lives in a neighborhood that is on a hill. Basically, there are no yards for kids to play in...just landscaping (and not a lot of that). I'm told that these large homes are actually free-standing condominiums but without paid outside maintenance. Meg and Den had a big yard in Illinois. Where they are now almost warrants not owning a lawn mower! I watched a neighbor mow his front yard one day. Took him two minutes, tops. So different from the Midwest!
8. Seafood in the PNW is plentiful and fresh. You'd think it would also be cheaper than here in the MW, but it isn't. Crab is just as pricey out there as it is here in Indiana, even though we can't get much by way of really fresh fish here. Go figure!
9. My granddaughter's school has an outdoor covered walkway to go from gym to cafeteria and other places. Doesn't happen here in the MW!
I totally enjoyed my stay. Had my own room, complete with my computer, a TV, clock, fan, and comfortable bed. It feels good to be home...but I miss my family!
Monday, June 20, 2016
The Dungeness and I
I have a love affair with crab legs. Crab legs to eat, that is. This came about when I was dating my former husband. We were in a nice restaurant that served king crab and escargot--neither of which I had ever had--and since we were experimenting with new dishes, I had both. The escargot did nothing for me. The crab legs, however, once I got the hang of how to get the meat out of the shell, were a real treat.
Unfortunately, king crab is horribly expensive, and since I live in the Midwest where seafood isn't exactly fresh, I came to love snow crab--not nearly as meaty but every bit as good. Still expensive, however!
So there I was in Seattle, Washington, where seafood is part of the culture, and I wanted crab legs. I should probably point out here that my daughter won't touch anything that comes out of the sea or a seafood can, but she does appreciate my love of crab legs...so she did a bunch of research.
What did her research tell us? All of the locals swear by dungeness crab. Catch your own. Cook your own. Clean your own. Piece o' cake, right? Or buy them live at a local market and dispatch them by cooking them live, but first poke a screwdriver into a couple of places in their bodies so they won't shed their claws during live cooking. (I'm sorry. It gets ugly.) After they're cooked, remove their hard shell cover, then the gills and their mouth parts and their guts--if you can recognize all of those--and enjoy! It didn't take me long to figure out that I'd rather pay the high prices for dungeness in a restaurant than attempt it at home. (If I were a local and practiced in this, it would have been no problem. But I'm not. And neither is my daughter.)
Meg located a fairly local sports bar that serves all-you-can-eat dungeness crab for a reasonable price on Mondays. We decided we'd do that. Minors are not allowed in the place, so we were going to have to leave the kiddos behind with some kind of other food. On Sunday, however, we went to Pike Place Market and found a little French restaurant near the waterfront, so we went in for lunch.
This place was typically French. Our table was tiny. So was the menu. Wine or water were the only drink choices...and the water was served without ice. Since they served dungeness crab, Meg insisted that I order it. I could have a half-crab for $25, or a whole one for $50. Thinking Denis might like to try it, I was urged to get the whole crab. I did. (There were only four of us a la table, since Ryan had chosen to stay home.) Meg ordered a bowl of French onion soup, with cheese. Denis ordered some kind of spicy beef over noodles. Robin ordered a bowl of oyster stew, thinking it would be like clam chowder, which she loves. I ordered dungeness.
My first shock was that the dungeness was served cold. There was melted butter on the side (which wasn't warm) and some sort of dill tartar sauce which was actually pretty good. Meg ate her soup. Denis choked down his spicy hot dish. Robin took one taste of her oyster stew and decided to eat my dungeness! I tried to teach her how to get the meat out of the legs, etc. She liked it! It was good; however, it certainly wasn't worth $50--especially cold!!
There were no "sides" served with these meals. Only bread. In order not to waste food, I took Robin's relatively-untouched oyster stew and took a sip. It was awful!! So then Denis took a turn. He had an even worse reaction. When the stew went back at the end of the meal, the sweet little waitress asked, "Was it too rich?" Uh...no. Honestly, it had no saving grace!!!!
Thus endeth my relationship with dungeness crab. Yesterday, here in good ol' Plainfield, IN, I got a craving for crab. After fighting with myself for hours, I drove to Meijer and bought three frozen king crab legs...then could hardly eat them all. I had to use pliers to crack into the legs. I'm happy for now.
By the end of the day, we decided to give up the sports bar thing for Monday, since "we" had already had dungeness.
But the funniest thing, I think, is the question--and Robin voiced it as we ate in the French restaurant--is, "What human in ancient culture took a look at these creatures and thought they'd be good to eat??"
Excellent question!
Unfortunately, king crab is horribly expensive, and since I live in the Midwest where seafood isn't exactly fresh, I came to love snow crab--not nearly as meaty but every bit as good. Still expensive, however!
So there I was in Seattle, Washington, where seafood is part of the culture, and I wanted crab legs. I should probably point out here that my daughter won't touch anything that comes out of the sea or a seafood can, but she does appreciate my love of crab legs...so she did a bunch of research.
What did her research tell us? All of the locals swear by dungeness crab. Catch your own. Cook your own. Clean your own. Piece o' cake, right? Or buy them live at a local market and dispatch them by cooking them live, but first poke a screwdriver into a couple of places in their bodies so they won't shed their claws during live cooking. (I'm sorry. It gets ugly.) After they're cooked, remove their hard shell cover, then the gills and their mouth parts and their guts--if you can recognize all of those--and enjoy! It didn't take me long to figure out that I'd rather pay the high prices for dungeness in a restaurant than attempt it at home. (If I were a local and practiced in this, it would have been no problem. But I'm not. And neither is my daughter.)
Meg located a fairly local sports bar that serves all-you-can-eat dungeness crab for a reasonable price on Mondays. We decided we'd do that. Minors are not allowed in the place, so we were going to have to leave the kiddos behind with some kind of other food. On Sunday, however, we went to Pike Place Market and found a little French restaurant near the waterfront, so we went in for lunch.
This place was typically French. Our table was tiny. So was the menu. Wine or water were the only drink choices...and the water was served without ice. Since they served dungeness crab, Meg insisted that I order it. I could have a half-crab for $25, or a whole one for $50. Thinking Denis might like to try it, I was urged to get the whole crab. I did. (There were only four of us a la table, since Ryan had chosen to stay home.) Meg ordered a bowl of French onion soup, with cheese. Denis ordered some kind of spicy beef over noodles. Robin ordered a bowl of oyster stew, thinking it would be like clam chowder, which she loves. I ordered dungeness.
My first shock was that the dungeness was served cold. There was melted butter on the side (which wasn't warm) and some sort of dill tartar sauce which was actually pretty good. Meg ate her soup. Denis choked down his spicy hot dish. Robin took one taste of her oyster stew and decided to eat my dungeness! I tried to teach her how to get the meat out of the legs, etc. She liked it! It was good; however, it certainly wasn't worth $50--especially cold!!
There were no "sides" served with these meals. Only bread. In order not to waste food, I took Robin's relatively-untouched oyster stew and took a sip. It was awful!! So then Denis took a turn. He had an even worse reaction. When the stew went back at the end of the meal, the sweet little waitress asked, "Was it too rich?" Uh...no. Honestly, it had no saving grace!!!!
Thus endeth my relationship with dungeness crab. Yesterday, here in good ol' Plainfield, IN, I got a craving for crab. After fighting with myself for hours, I drove to Meijer and bought three frozen king crab legs...then could hardly eat them all. I had to use pliers to crack into the legs. I'm happy for now.
By the end of the day, we decided to give up the sports bar thing for Monday, since "we" had already had dungeness.
But the funniest thing, I think, is the question--and Robin voiced it as we ate in the French restaurant--is, "What human in ancient culture took a look at these creatures and thought they'd be good to eat??"
Excellent question!
Saturday, June 18, 2016
My Travel Day Back to Indy
Thursday, June 16th, was to be Fly Day to the Midwest for both me and my grandchildren. Megan had scheduled our flights so that they only had to make one trip to Sea-Tac. My flight to Indianapolis would have two legs: Seattle to Houston, then Houston to Indy. The kids' flight, scheduled for an hour's departure time later, was a direct flight from Seattle to Milwaukee where their father would pick them up. They were flying unescorted, due to their ages. (Meg had already called the airline to be certain she would be allowed through security in order to take them to the gate.)
The family dropped me off at the Southwest curbside check-in, knowing that I would have wheelchair support, then went on with the kids to park the car. Since there would be time to kill, they planned to meet me at the gate for my plane. The checked baggage is taken at curbside, so all I had with me to go through security was a small suitcase on wheels and a soft bag about the size of a large
purse. And me, of course. At Indy, they didn't even look twice at me. I hadn't had to remove my shoes and was only required to walk through a metal detector. My carry-ons came through with flying colors. Smooth. At Sea-Tac, however, the whole picture changed. I had to remove my shoes, take off my hoodie, stand in a full-body scanner in spread-eagle position for a split second. They kept asking how old I was. Apparently, if you are 75 or older, you are exempt from some of this. But, of course, I am "only" 69 so still suspect. All I had to do then was wait on the other side of the scanner for my carry-ons to clear before moving on.
But they didn't. My purse-sized bag did, but the little suitcase "alerted". Now I was in the hands of a very polite African-American woman who knew the routine by heart. (My wheelchair pusher seemed annoyed.) She opened the suitcase to inspect. Inside were: my laptop computer and power cord, a leather mousepad, a wireless mouse, my nebulizer machine with tubing, and (in a clear plastic bag) the mouthparts for the nebulizer and an open foil pack of Albuterol Sulphate cartridges (my breathing meds). Oh...and a dish towel and dirty nightgown for padding. The gal took a piece of some kind of test paper and ran it around the inside edges of the suitcase, then stuck the paper in a machine. She said it alerted for gun powder! This is where it gets amusing. Here I am, an old gray-haired balding lady, barely able to walk, with a little suitcase (purchased just for this trip) that has gun powder residue in it, and already made it through security at Indy once???
Okay...so the suitcase went somewhere else for more screening of some sort, but then there was ME to deal with, little terrorist that I am. Although I had already been through the scanner that shows everything but your bones, I now had to have a full-body pat-down. The TSA gal asked me if I wanted to have it done in a more private location. (You mean other than right there in front of God and everyone else going through security??) I told her no...let's just get this done right here. She explained what she was going to do. I couldn't have cared less. She looked in my hair. (What hair??) Then she moved down. I was felt in the crotch, down the legs, under the boobs, in the armpits, up and down and over and under, all the way to my fingertips, etc. (Felt good, actually!) Had to pull up my shirt so she could secure my waistline, front and back. Then she started in on the wheelchair (which was the airport's). I wasn't offended...just a little bit annoyed because I knew what the outcome would be. I just wanted to get through it. And I did. Shortly thereafter, my little suitcase came back, cleared, and I was free to go.
What was so amusing? By now, you surely know how my mind works. All I could think of were the lyrics to Jan and Dean's old song, The Little Old Lady from Pasadena. "The terror of Colorado Boulevard. Go, Granny! Go, Granny! Go, Granny, go!"
My "pusher" took me to the gate where I waited for my family to show up, which they did. We chatted and visited until it was time for me to pre-board. I departed from gate B6. The children were slated to leave from B12 an hour later. We said our good-byes on a sunny morning, praying for each other to reach our destinations safely. I had already informed Megan that we all needed to be out of Seattle air space before their cheer went up! (Truth be known, she's a weeper. More likely she would cry to be shed of her mommy and her babies on the same day, no matter for how long.)
I got a window seat on the left side of the plane on Meg's recommendation if I even hoped to see Mt. Rainier on the way out. I'd already seen it from the ground several times during my visit, but from the air? Hmmm... There was a lot of cloud cover as we ascended. Nothing on the ground could be seen. Nothing but lovely white clouds below us. And then, suddenly, there was this huge mountain covered with snow above it all. FAR above it all, in its glory: Mount Rainier! Meg had advised me to take pictures with my phone, but I was so entranced by the sight that I never even thought of it! I'm kicking myself now. Megan sees Mt. Rainier on a daily basis. I, however, don't...and I blew my last chance to have it as a memory. Damn!
My seat-mates on the first leg of the trip were both women and both sleepers. I caught myself nodding a number of times but never did actually sleep. Lots of fluffy clouds below. Not that much to see.
When we landed in Houston, it was 93 degrees on the ground. The pilot said, "If you have a connecting flight, bless your heart." I wasn't sure what that meant but figured it out soon enough. There weren't enough "pushers", so I was taken up the ramp and into the terminal, and left there for a few minutes. One mobile passenger bystander finally alerted someone that I had been abandoned. I appreciated his concern, but I really wasn't stressed and hadn't asked for his assistance. Shortly, a pusher showed up to take me to the restroom, Chick-fil-A (my choice), and to my next gate. It was a LOOONG trek. (I should have known I was in the south because he kept saying, "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am". For us Yankees, it almost seems artificial.)
When I boarded the flight for Indy, there was a spunky little lady there who said she would push me to the plane. The boarding agent had other ideas, but since she also had a pre-boarding pass, she followed us down the ramp and into the plane. I took a window seat. She chose the aisle seat next to me. The plane had three seats abreast, and it was 100% booked. We had an empty seat between us which was soon taken by a very attractive Indian woman, probably in her early 50s. The spunky lady turned out to be a gabby retired teacher from the southern Indy 'burbs who flies to Houston every six weeks or so for health reasons. The Indian woman was crocheting a baby blanket for a child for whose baby shower she would attend in Indy. In the course of our flight, we women all talked. The Indian woman lost her husband to cancer five years ago. She is still grieving. As she talked to us, she cried and we listened. I supplied the tissues so she could. (Thanks, Meg, for buying me more pocket-sized tissues. You never know who will be comforted by such a simple thing!!) She did manage to finish the edging on the baby blanket before touchdown. She lives in Houston. Her husband had worked for NASA. She is very attractive and young enough, I hope to God she gets beyond her grief to find someone of the Indian persuasion to take care of her. I feel bad that I didn't get her name!!!!
Once we hit the ground, around 10 PM, my pusher took me to baggage claim to get my stuff (which came out early, for once), then took me outside where we pushed the button for a taxi. Instantaneous! My driver from Crown Taxi Service was Kenyan. Once he figured out where he was taking me...correctly...we chatted all the way home. My plane had hit the ground just before 10:00. I was in my driveway no later than 10:30. The cost? Twenty dollars, plus tip. The driver brought my bags into the house. I gave him $30 and told him to keep the change. He was happy. I was happy. It was the best $30 I ever spent! (Well...maybe that's an exaggeration, but you get the idea.)
The house was just as messy as I had left it, but it had been a looong day. I got word that the grandchildren were on the ground and in the clutches of their father by the time I hit Houston. All went well for them.
In retrospect, I had a glorious time in Seattle. I'm not sure that my family had the same experience, but we all left on a happy note. My grandchildren will be with me, off and on, in the next couple of weeks. I just need to get with the program!
The family dropped me off at the Southwest curbside check-in, knowing that I would have wheelchair support, then went on with the kids to park the car. Since there would be time to kill, they planned to meet me at the gate for my plane. The checked baggage is taken at curbside, so all I had with me to go through security was a small suitcase on wheels and a soft bag about the size of a large
purse. And me, of course. At Indy, they didn't even look twice at me. I hadn't had to remove my shoes and was only required to walk through a metal detector. My carry-ons came through with flying colors. Smooth. At Sea-Tac, however, the whole picture changed. I had to remove my shoes, take off my hoodie, stand in a full-body scanner in spread-eagle position for a split second. They kept asking how old I was. Apparently, if you are 75 or older, you are exempt from some of this. But, of course, I am "only" 69 so still suspect. All I had to do then was wait on the other side of the scanner for my carry-ons to clear before moving on.
But they didn't. My purse-sized bag did, but the little suitcase "alerted". Now I was in the hands of a very polite African-American woman who knew the routine by heart. (My wheelchair pusher seemed annoyed.) She opened the suitcase to inspect. Inside were: my laptop computer and power cord, a leather mousepad, a wireless mouse, my nebulizer machine with tubing, and (in a clear plastic bag) the mouthparts for the nebulizer and an open foil pack of Albuterol Sulphate cartridges (my breathing meds). Oh...and a dish towel and dirty nightgown for padding. The gal took a piece of some kind of test paper and ran it around the inside edges of the suitcase, then stuck the paper in a machine. She said it alerted for gun powder! This is where it gets amusing. Here I am, an old gray-haired balding lady, barely able to walk, with a little suitcase (purchased just for this trip) that has gun powder residue in it, and already made it through security at Indy once???
Okay...so the suitcase went somewhere else for more screening of some sort, but then there was ME to deal with, little terrorist that I am. Although I had already been through the scanner that shows everything but your bones, I now had to have a full-body pat-down. The TSA gal asked me if I wanted to have it done in a more private location. (You mean other than right there in front of God and everyone else going through security??) I told her no...let's just get this done right here. She explained what she was going to do. I couldn't have cared less. She looked in my hair. (What hair??) Then she moved down. I was felt in the crotch, down the legs, under the boobs, in the armpits, up and down and over and under, all the way to my fingertips, etc. (Felt good, actually!) Had to pull up my shirt so she could secure my waistline, front and back. Then she started in on the wheelchair (which was the airport's). I wasn't offended...just a little bit annoyed because I knew what the outcome would be. I just wanted to get through it. And I did. Shortly thereafter, my little suitcase came back, cleared, and I was free to go.
What was so amusing? By now, you surely know how my mind works. All I could think of were the lyrics to Jan and Dean's old song, The Little Old Lady from Pasadena. "The terror of Colorado Boulevard. Go, Granny! Go, Granny! Go, Granny, go!"
My "pusher" took me to the gate where I waited for my family to show up, which they did. We chatted and visited until it was time for me to pre-board. I departed from gate B6. The children were slated to leave from B12 an hour later. We said our good-byes on a sunny morning, praying for each other to reach our destinations safely. I had already informed Megan that we all needed to be out of Seattle air space before their cheer went up! (Truth be known, she's a weeper. More likely she would cry to be shed of her mommy and her babies on the same day, no matter for how long.)
I got a window seat on the left side of the plane on Meg's recommendation if I even hoped to see Mt. Rainier on the way out. I'd already seen it from the ground several times during my visit, but from the air? Hmmm... There was a lot of cloud cover as we ascended. Nothing on the ground could be seen. Nothing but lovely white clouds below us. And then, suddenly, there was this huge mountain covered with snow above it all. FAR above it all, in its glory: Mount Rainier! Meg had advised me to take pictures with my phone, but I was so entranced by the sight that I never even thought of it! I'm kicking myself now. Megan sees Mt. Rainier on a daily basis. I, however, don't...and I blew my last chance to have it as a memory. Damn!
My seat-mates on the first leg of the trip were both women and both sleepers. I caught myself nodding a number of times but never did actually sleep. Lots of fluffy clouds below. Not that much to see.
When we landed in Houston, it was 93 degrees on the ground. The pilot said, "If you have a connecting flight, bless your heart." I wasn't sure what that meant but figured it out soon enough. There weren't enough "pushers", so I was taken up the ramp and into the terminal, and left there for a few minutes. One mobile passenger bystander finally alerted someone that I had been abandoned. I appreciated his concern, but I really wasn't stressed and hadn't asked for his assistance. Shortly, a pusher showed up to take me to the restroom, Chick-fil-A (my choice), and to my next gate. It was a LOOONG trek. (I should have known I was in the south because he kept saying, "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am". For us Yankees, it almost seems artificial.)
When I boarded the flight for Indy, there was a spunky little lady there who said she would push me to the plane. The boarding agent had other ideas, but since she also had a pre-boarding pass, she followed us down the ramp and into the plane. I took a window seat. She chose the aisle seat next to me. The plane had three seats abreast, and it was 100% booked. We had an empty seat between us which was soon taken by a very attractive Indian woman, probably in her early 50s. The spunky lady turned out to be a gabby retired teacher from the southern Indy 'burbs who flies to Houston every six weeks or so for health reasons. The Indian woman was crocheting a baby blanket for a child for whose baby shower she would attend in Indy. In the course of our flight, we women all talked. The Indian woman lost her husband to cancer five years ago. She is still grieving. As she talked to us, she cried and we listened. I supplied the tissues so she could. (Thanks, Meg, for buying me more pocket-sized tissues. You never know who will be comforted by such a simple thing!!) She did manage to finish the edging on the baby blanket before touchdown. She lives in Houston. Her husband had worked for NASA. She is very attractive and young enough, I hope to God she gets beyond her grief to find someone of the Indian persuasion to take care of her. I feel bad that I didn't get her name!!!!
Once we hit the ground, around 10 PM, my pusher took me to baggage claim to get my stuff (which came out early, for once), then took me outside where we pushed the button for a taxi. Instantaneous! My driver from Crown Taxi Service was Kenyan. Once he figured out where he was taking me...correctly...we chatted all the way home. My plane had hit the ground just before 10:00. I was in my driveway no later than 10:30. The cost? Twenty dollars, plus tip. The driver brought my bags into the house. I gave him $30 and told him to keep the change. He was happy. I was happy. It was the best $30 I ever spent! (Well...maybe that's an exaggeration, but you get the idea.)
The house was just as messy as I had left it, but it had been a looong day. I got word that the grandchildren were on the ground and in the clutches of their father by the time I hit Houston. All went well for them.
In retrospect, I had a glorious time in Seattle. I'm not sure that my family had the same experience, but we all left on a happy note. My grandchildren will be with me, off and on, in the next couple of weeks. I just need to get with the program!
Friday, June 17, 2016
I Wrote This Back in June, But...
We live in a marvelous country that is so full of beauty that people of all races and countries visit the sweet spots. Residents of the Midwest are somewhat insulated from the diversity that the rest of the country has. Or maybe I should just say that Indiana is. The Pacific Northwest, however, is loaded with cultural diversity. My grandchildren's friends are of many races--Indian, Oriental (both considered Asian), some African-American, Hispanic, and more. I welcome that. But....but...things happen that cause us to make generalizations sometimes. I trying to fight it. Here's what I'm talking about:
One weekend when I visited, we drove up to Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic mountains. There is a meadow there where deer graze seemingly oblivious to people. The meadow area had a lot of paved trails. It also had signs everywhere saying, "Stay on the trails". As we were watching the deer feed and interact, one deer stupidly decided to rest. He/She was lying down...when along came an Indian family: Mom, Dad, and grandparents, plus a toddler no more than two years old. They were NOT on the paved trail. They were on the meadow, and their toddler was running after the reclining deer. The parents did nothing to stop the kid. They were too busy taking pictures. As the child got too close to the deer, it got up in fear and moved away, but the toddler continued to chase...and the parents still did nothing. Finally...FINALLY...the parents scooped up the child and let the deer move on, but it was not a stellar moment in tourist awareness.
On that same note, a couple of days ago, Meg drove me to see Snoqualmie Falls up in the Cascade Mountains. As it happened, there was a search-and-rescue thing going on when we got there, so certain areas of the parking lot and viewing area were blocked off by yellow tape. With a lot of effort, we walked up to the part that wasn't blocked. We found, however, that a bunch of people had breached the yellow tape to get a better view of the falls, only to be ignominiously pushed back by a park official. At least 30 people were chased out of the area, and every single one of them was Asian. Some were overheard to say that the yellow tape just said "caution"...not "stay out". I honestly don't think we really need to be that specific.
Look folks, I don't care what your culture or nationality is, but I DO expect you to abide by the rules. They apply to you! They happen for a reason...for your protection, but more for the protection of the animals and other humans that frequent each place. Disney isn't responsible for an alligator taking off your 2-year-old toddler. The Cincinnati Zoo isn't responsible for your kid falling into the gorilla exhibit which caused the death of the gorilla. It isn't cute when a newborn bison has to be put down because a human decided to intervene in Nature's way. It just gets ugly.
I hope our country's amazing places continue that way...but people need to get a whole lot smarter.
Common sense just doesn't seem to exist anymore....
One weekend when I visited, we drove up to Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic mountains. There is a meadow there where deer graze seemingly oblivious to people. The meadow area had a lot of paved trails. It also had signs everywhere saying, "Stay on the trails". As we were watching the deer feed and interact, one deer stupidly decided to rest. He/She was lying down...when along came an Indian family: Mom, Dad, and grandparents, plus a toddler no more than two years old. They were NOT on the paved trail. They were on the meadow, and their toddler was running after the reclining deer. The parents did nothing to stop the kid. They were too busy taking pictures. As the child got too close to the deer, it got up in fear and moved away, but the toddler continued to chase...and the parents still did nothing. Finally...FINALLY...the parents scooped up the child and let the deer move on, but it was not a stellar moment in tourist awareness.
On that same note, a couple of days ago, Meg drove me to see Snoqualmie Falls up in the Cascade Mountains. As it happened, there was a search-and-rescue thing going on when we got there, so certain areas of the parking lot and viewing area were blocked off by yellow tape. With a lot of effort, we walked up to the part that wasn't blocked. We found, however, that a bunch of people had breached the yellow tape to get a better view of the falls, only to be ignominiously pushed back by a park official. At least 30 people were chased out of the area, and every single one of them was Asian. Some were overheard to say that the yellow tape just said "caution"...not "stay out". I honestly don't think we really need to be that specific.
Look folks, I don't care what your culture or nationality is, but I DO expect you to abide by the rules. They apply to you! They happen for a reason...for your protection, but more for the protection of the animals and other humans that frequent each place. Disney isn't responsible for an alligator taking off your 2-year-old toddler. The Cincinnati Zoo isn't responsible for your kid falling into the gorilla exhibit which caused the death of the gorilla. It isn't cute when a newborn bison has to be put down because a human decided to intervene in Nature's way. It just gets ugly.
I hope our country's amazing places continue that way...but people need to get a whole lot smarter.
Common sense just doesn't seem to exist anymore....
I'm Not a Racist, But....
We live in a marvelous country that is so full of beauty that people of all races and countries visit the sweet spots. Residents of the Midwest are somewhat insulated from the diversity that the rest of the country has. Or maybe I should just say that Indiana is. The Pacific Northwest, however, is loaded with cultural diversity. My grandchildren's friends are of many races--Indian, Oriental (both considered Asian), some African-American, Hispanic, and more. I welcome that. But....but...things happen that cause us to make generalizations sometimes. I trying to fight it. Here's what I'm talking about:
One weekend when I visited, we drove up to Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic mountains. There is a meadow there where deer graze seemingly oblivious to people. The meadow area had a lot of paved trails. It also had signs everywhere saying, "Stay on the trails". As we were watching the deer feed and interact, one deer stupidly decided to rest. He/She was lying down...when along came an Indian family: Mom, Dad, and grandparents, plus a toddler no more than two years old. They were NOT on the paved trail. They were on the meadow, and their toddler was running after the reclining deer. The parents did nothing to stop the kid. They were too busy taking pictures. As the child got too close to the deer, it got up in fear and moved away, but the toddler continued to chase...and the parents still did nothing. Finally...FINALLY...the parents scooped up the child and let the deer move on, but it was not a stellar moment in tourist awareness.
On that same note, a couple of days ago, Meg drove me to see Snoqualmie Falls up in the Cascade Mountains. As it happened, there was a search-and-rescue thing going on when we got there, so certain areas of the parking lot and viewing area were blocked off by yellow tape. With a lot of effort, we walked up to the part that wasn't blocked. We found, however, that a bunch of people had breached the yellow tape to get a better view of the falls, only to be ignominiously pushed back by a park official. At least 30 people were chased out of the area, and every single one of them was Asian. Some were overheard to say that the yellow tape just said "caution"...not "stay out". I honestly don't think we really need to be that specific.
Look folks, I don't care what your culture or nationality is, but I DO expect you to abide by the rules. They apply to you! They happen for a reason...for your protection, but more for the protection of the animals and other humans that frequent each place. Disney isn't responsible for an alligator taking off your 2-year-old toddler. The Cincinnati Zoo isn't responsible for your kid falling into the gorilla exhibit which caused the death of the gorilla. It isn't cute when a newborn bison has to be put down because a human decided to intervene in Nature's way. It just gets ugly.
I hope our country's amazing places continue that way...but people need to get a whole lot smarter.
Common sense just doesn't seem to exist anymore....
One weekend when I visited, we drove up to Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic mountains. There is a meadow there where deer graze seemingly oblivious to people. The meadow area had a lot of paved trails. It also had signs everywhere saying, "Stay on the trails". As we were watching the deer feed and interact, one deer stupidly decided to rest. He/She was lying down...when along came an Indian family: Mom, Dad, and grandparents, plus a toddler no more than two years old. They were NOT on the paved trail. They were on the meadow, and their toddler was running after the reclining deer. The parents did nothing to stop the kid. They were too busy taking pictures. As the child got too close to the deer, it got up in fear and moved away, but the toddler continued to chase...and the parents still did nothing. Finally...FINALLY...the parents scooped up the child and let the deer move on, but it was not a stellar moment in tourist awareness.
On that same note, a couple of days ago, Meg drove me to see Snoqualmie Falls up in the Cascade Mountains. As it happened, there was a search-and-rescue thing going on when we got there, so certain areas of the parking lot and viewing area were blocked off by yellow tape. With a lot of effort, we walked up to the part that wasn't blocked. We found, however, that a bunch of people had breached the yellow tape to get a better view of the falls, only to be ignominiously pushed back by a park official. At least 30 people were chased out of the area, and every single one of them was Asian. Some were overheard to say that the yellow tape just said "caution"...not "stay out". I honestly don't think we really need to be that specific.
Look folks, I don't care what your culture or nationality is, but I DO expect you to abide by the rules. They apply to you! They happen for a reason...for your protection, but more for the protection of the animals and other humans that frequent each place. Disney isn't responsible for an alligator taking off your 2-year-old toddler. The Cincinnati Zoo isn't responsible for your kid falling into the gorilla exhibit which caused the death of the gorilla. It isn't cute when a newborn bison has to be put down because a human decided to intervene in Nature's way. It just gets ugly.
I hope our country's amazing places continue that way...but people need to get a whole lot smarter.
Common sense just doesn't seem to exist anymore....
Monday, June 6, 2016
My Travel Day to Seattle
Last Saturday, after weeks of preparation, fretting, and stewing, it was THE day to fly to Seattle from Indianapolis, to visit my daughter and family. I hadn't seen their new "digs", although I had seen a lot of pictures and had a fairly good idea of how it all looked. I was unsure of the climate, though, and hardly knew exactly what kind of clothes to pack. After much ado, I finally had myself ready to fly.
One of the things that I worried about was how I was going to get through the airports with my mobility problems. I had called the airline (Southwest) in advance and was assured that they would take good care of me. Still, I wasn't sure how it would work, so I was nervous. Truth be known, I'm a nervous flyer anyway. Always, always, I am fine as soon as I get going. It's the "getting going" that gets to me.
There were two legs of the trip: Indy to Las Vegas, with a 3-hour layover, and Las Vegas to Seattle. The first leg was scheduled for takeoff at 8:20 AM, which meant getting to the airport in Indy by 6:30. I had two bags to be checked, a carry-on, and a purse. ("Bags fly free" on Southwest, as long as you only have two and they are under 50 pounds.) One of my checked bags was a suitcase on wheels. The other was a duffel...and both were heavy enough that I was concerned they'd be overweight and I'd be charged. (I was prepared for that, but it didn't happen.) The larger problem was how to wrestle the duffel in the line at the curbside check-in. Standing without support is not something I do well. I did my best. Fortunately, the line moved fairly quickly.
The Skycap at the curbside took my bags and gave me my boarding pass. Just about that time, I spied a young man in the area pushing an empty wheelchair. I asked him if he was going anywhere in particular. He asked if I was in need of a wheelchair. I was! Just as I was finishing up with the Skycap, he asked if I had located a wheelchair. I assume he asked because my ticket had been flagged for handicapped assistance, and when I assured him that I had it, I was free to go.
The fellow pushing me around was named Ken. He did a good job. He managed to push me AND pull my carry-on case at a reasonable pace with ease and without scaring me or hitting anyone. He asked if I needed to stop at the restroom, which I did, then pointed out some fast food restaurants in the concourse. Did I need a breakfast sandwich or something? Yes, please. He took me and the wheelchair through security. (He took my bags and asked if I could walk through the metal detector. I didn't even have to take off my shoes!) As soon as the wheelchair passed inspection, we were on our way to the gate. Ken wheeled me in position at the gate to wait for pre-boarding--about 50 minutes away. I tipped him well. If I had known how much better his service was than the other wheelchair pushers I would deal with that day, I'd have tipped him more!
As is always true for me, once I got in the plane and got situated, I was fine...not at all nervous. The flight was smooth, and I was sitting next to a nice couple on one of their many jaunts to Vegas. That particular leg of the trip was about three hours long. There were some clouds, of course, but I was able to see ground most of the way. I'm afraid I chattered a bit because I am always so enamored of this great land of ours. Seeing the USA from the air is pretty special!
When we landed in Vegas, there were wheelchairs just outside the plane for those of us that were too disabled to walk far, but there was only one "pusher". She had already taken one fellow and parked him at the top of the gate ramp, then came back for me. As far as I knew, she had others to push, too. She plunked my carry-on bag on my lap and just started wheeling me to my next gate, fast, nearly bowling over people walking ahead of us, including children. It was very uncomfortable for me! I had a nearly-three-hour layover before boarding for the next leg of the trip, and had just come off an over-three-hour flight. She didn't offer to take me to a restroom or suggest a place to eat. (Inside the secure area, they have you by the whing-whang. $10 for a simple sandwich? I don't think so!) Long story short, she parked me by the gate and left. Period. For the next several hours, I found a way to use the restroom while keeping track of my carry-on, buy something to eat, and find someplace to charge my phone so that it would still work when I got to Sea-Tac. Needless to say, I didn't tip her particularly well. In fact, it annoyed me to tip her at all!
The trip to Seattle was as uneventful as the first leg of the trip. Smooth sailing, once I got on the plane--a nice young couple in my row with me. More clouds on this leg so not that much to gawk at. Meg tracks the flights online, so when I texted her with "Touchdown", she sent the same message to me! She told me they were waiting for me at the baggage claim area. All I needed to do was get there!
Just outside the plane on the ramp was a fleet of wheelchairs. This time, there were more pushers. The guy that took me once again plunked my carry-on suitcase on my lap and started speeding me up the ramp. He managed to ram the chair into something, narrowing missing pinching my fingers. I yanked my hand out of the way just in time. Another pusher saw it and told the first guy, "Be careful!" And then the second pusher-guy took over my care, which was okay with me!
Sea-Tac is a big airport. I still had my suitcase on my lap, but at least this guy wasn't speeding. He took me here and there, then in an elevator....and when the elevator door opened, there was my family waiting with yet another wheelchair! I tipped the guy and transferred to the arms of my loved ones. I made it!
It took awhile for my bags to come down the belt. When they did, Meg, Denis, and the children took over. After we secured my bags, Meg started to take me to the parking lot. I wondered if the airport would allow their wheelchairs to leave the terminal...when Meg informed me that they had purchased that particular wheelchair for me! Leave it to my daughter to plan ahead so well!
It wasn't too long before we were home. Grandson Ryan gave me a tour of the house. It's a very, very nice home! Meg made my bed and fed us, and our venture began! Guess what? I survived the trip! I was plenty tired but knew that I was starting a vacation with the family that I hadn't seen since Christmas. I love them! It took me a few days to adjust to the time changes, but I'm happy!
One of the things that I worried about was how I was going to get through the airports with my mobility problems. I had called the airline (Southwest) in advance and was assured that they would take good care of me. Still, I wasn't sure how it would work, so I was nervous. Truth be known, I'm a nervous flyer anyway. Always, always, I am fine as soon as I get going. It's the "getting going" that gets to me.
There were two legs of the trip: Indy to Las Vegas, with a 3-hour layover, and Las Vegas to Seattle. The first leg was scheduled for takeoff at 8:20 AM, which meant getting to the airport in Indy by 6:30. I had two bags to be checked, a carry-on, and a purse. ("Bags fly free" on Southwest, as long as you only have two and they are under 50 pounds.) One of my checked bags was a suitcase on wheels. The other was a duffel...and both were heavy enough that I was concerned they'd be overweight and I'd be charged. (I was prepared for that, but it didn't happen.) The larger problem was how to wrestle the duffel in the line at the curbside check-in. Standing without support is not something I do well. I did my best. Fortunately, the line moved fairly quickly.
The Skycap at the curbside took my bags and gave me my boarding pass. Just about that time, I spied a young man in the area pushing an empty wheelchair. I asked him if he was going anywhere in particular. He asked if I was in need of a wheelchair. I was! Just as I was finishing up with the Skycap, he asked if I had located a wheelchair. I assume he asked because my ticket had been flagged for handicapped assistance, and when I assured him that I had it, I was free to go.
The fellow pushing me around was named Ken. He did a good job. He managed to push me AND pull my carry-on case at a reasonable pace with ease and without scaring me or hitting anyone. He asked if I needed to stop at the restroom, which I did, then pointed out some fast food restaurants in the concourse. Did I need a breakfast sandwich or something? Yes, please. He took me and the wheelchair through security. (He took my bags and asked if I could walk through the metal detector. I didn't even have to take off my shoes!) As soon as the wheelchair passed inspection, we were on our way to the gate. Ken wheeled me in position at the gate to wait for pre-boarding--about 50 minutes away. I tipped him well. If I had known how much better his service was than the other wheelchair pushers I would deal with that day, I'd have tipped him more!
As is always true for me, once I got in the plane and got situated, I was fine...not at all nervous. The flight was smooth, and I was sitting next to a nice couple on one of their many jaunts to Vegas. That particular leg of the trip was about three hours long. There were some clouds, of course, but I was able to see ground most of the way. I'm afraid I chattered a bit because I am always so enamored of this great land of ours. Seeing the USA from the air is pretty special!
When we landed in Vegas, there were wheelchairs just outside the plane for those of us that were too disabled to walk far, but there was only one "pusher". She had already taken one fellow and parked him at the top of the gate ramp, then came back for me. As far as I knew, she had others to push, too. She plunked my carry-on bag on my lap and just started wheeling me to my next gate, fast, nearly bowling over people walking ahead of us, including children. It was very uncomfortable for me! I had a nearly-three-hour layover before boarding for the next leg of the trip, and had just come off an over-three-hour flight. She didn't offer to take me to a restroom or suggest a place to eat. (Inside the secure area, they have you by the whing-whang. $10 for a simple sandwich? I don't think so!) Long story short, she parked me by the gate and left. Period. For the next several hours, I found a way to use the restroom while keeping track of my carry-on, buy something to eat, and find someplace to charge my phone so that it would still work when I got to Sea-Tac. Needless to say, I didn't tip her particularly well. In fact, it annoyed me to tip her at all!
The trip to Seattle was as uneventful as the first leg of the trip. Smooth sailing, once I got on the plane--a nice young couple in my row with me. More clouds on this leg so not that much to gawk at. Meg tracks the flights online, so when I texted her with "Touchdown", she sent the same message to me! She told me they were waiting for me at the baggage claim area. All I needed to do was get there!
Just outside the plane on the ramp was a fleet of wheelchairs. This time, there were more pushers. The guy that took me once again plunked my carry-on suitcase on my lap and started speeding me up the ramp. He managed to ram the chair into something, narrowing missing pinching my fingers. I yanked my hand out of the way just in time. Another pusher saw it and told the first guy, "Be careful!" And then the second pusher-guy took over my care, which was okay with me!
Sea-Tac is a big airport. I still had my suitcase on my lap, but at least this guy wasn't speeding. He took me here and there, then in an elevator....and when the elevator door opened, there was my family waiting with yet another wheelchair! I tipped the guy and transferred to the arms of my loved ones. I made it!
It took awhile for my bags to come down the belt. When they did, Meg, Denis, and the children took over. After we secured my bags, Meg started to take me to the parking lot. I wondered if the airport would allow their wheelchairs to leave the terminal...when Meg informed me that they had purchased that particular wheelchair for me! Leave it to my daughter to plan ahead so well!
It wasn't too long before we were home. Grandson Ryan gave me a tour of the house. It's a very, very nice home! Meg made my bed and fed us, and our venture began! Guess what? I survived the trip! I was plenty tired but knew that I was starting a vacation with the family that I hadn't seen since Christmas. I love them! It took me a few days to adjust to the time changes, but I'm happy!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)