I hate to fly. I believe that if God had wanted man to fly he would have given him 20,000 pounds of thrust. But he didn’t. Instead we travel around in an aluminum tube like we are part of a large, coarsely ground human sausage.
The lady who sat next to me had a foreign accent and she must have hated flying worse than I did. As soon as the plane pushed back from the gate she started praying. Not in some quiet murmur that only God could hear but in a pitch that increased as the speed of the plane increased. Before we got to the runway she had reached her highest sustainable note so she buried her face in her hands and sobbed loudly until we got into the air. I don’t hate flying that much. I save my sobbing until they serve the food.
We arrived in Seattle in a misting rain. This mist passes for sunshine in Seattle. The rain never really starts and it never really stops in the Pacific Northwest. That is not completely true. I spent a sunny weekend in Seattle in 2001. I am sorry that you missed it.
I headed out across the state in my Costco rental car and spent the next hour or so in the rain before getting over the Cascade mountains and onto the high desert that leads to Spokane. The eastern side of Washington state is pretty dry and I find that more to my liking.
I arrived at Leo and Meryl’s house and got to the important business of visiting. Son Brent was there with his wife YaYa and their two children, Spencer (5) and Erin(3). Great kids. Apparently grand kids now come powered by nuclear reactors because these two had limitless energy.
We had a good dinner of gumbo and potato salad. Yummy. We visited until the wee hours, at least for me. Spencer and Erin were still going strong when I went to bed at one.