Bustin' Outta Burbland

Wolfie, traveling companion extraordinaire -- airline employees love him.

Yeah, Ima tearin' outta Tundra Town just as soon as I can snag a seat down to the Sunshine State ....

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Ok, I just made reservations to spend a week visiting my folks and get some respite from this sub-freezing, snowy, New England January.

Look, flying is a pain but fortunately we can get sweet flight connections here so I can visit my parents with minimal stress and suffering in transit. I've done this countless times (Ok, maybe a dozen) so I know the drill.

The airline flies out of the local airport, which sits atop a hill located zero interstates and only 27 red traffic lights away from our house. The flight arrives at a small airport amid the Florida flatland only 20 miles from where I'm staying. This is significant, eliminating airport limos, rental cars, 90-minute round-trip airport runs with tolls, $10-a-pop Logan shuttle tickets, and feelings of abandonment when said shuttle fails to show up after a 25-minute wait underneath the chilly cement pillars supporting the ring road at Logan. Where the temperature never exceeds a cave-like 50 degrees F and it's always dark since the sun never, ever reaches the concrete-canopied pavement outside the terminals ....

... This local airline of ours is convenient and cheap -- as long as you never have to actually contact it by phone, because that involves literally two hours on hold. Before that, the tape lies to you, announcing that all circuits are busy when I happen to know from experience there is only one circuit with one female employee who has a Southern accent and adds $5 per flight just for taking your call.

Fortunately my bag always flies free on our airline since I never check it, and the attendants always confiscate it if the plane is crowded. I probably look like I couldn't press the 45 pounds necessary to stow a carry-on in the overhead. The attendants look like they'd rather 'courtesy check' it than lift it themselves. They don't know I have perfected a one-armed, clean-and-jerk move which propels my trusty black bag straight into the appropriately empty niche between the folded-up stroller and the folded-up walker.

My second carry-on is a 2-gallon drum to store all my liquids. It's disguised as a purse. Look, there's no way a quart bag gonna hold all the liquids I need to keep all my hair and skin cells hydrated for a week ..... You might think this causes trouble with security, but TSA is too busy snickering at my shirt, which I'm inadvertently wearing inside out and backwards because I had to rise before dawn and dress in the dark ..... Or possibly, after wanding my underarm flab, TSA takes pity on me and so lets me off with a warning about my gels, creams, oils and scrubs .... Anyway, it all does fit snugly under my seat ....

... So finally I will board the plane and then text Husband, 'I boarded the plane.' Sometimes, if I have a window seat, I will hold Wolfie, my special Beanie Baby traveling companion, up to the window so he can wave to the crew outside. Sometimes they wave back. Sometimes Wolfie waves to restless toddlers. Sometimes they stop their tantrum and wave back. Wolfie's a lot of fun to travel with.

Look, when you are a middle-aged female, sometimes the flight attendants will ask everyone but you whether you want refreshments or have any trash to get rid of. Personally, being repeatedly ignored leads me to conclude I am invisible. This makes me feel like such an atavistic intangibility. That's when Wolfie again comes in handy, since he is not middle-aged and female nor human nor even alive but nevertheless gets asked more than I do if he wants refreshments. (Now if only he could call the airline ....)

... Wolfie and I love a window seat on planes. Seat reservations cost $20 extra per round-trip, but I don't like being stuck in the middle seat like some invisible loser, crowded by anonymity .... I am also a bit unhappy about the $15 Extortion Fee each way which the airline euphemistically calls the Convenience Fee but is really an Ante Up $30 More Or Else You'll Have To Go Through Logan Fee. Yet how can I complain? ....

Husband, meanwhile, will watch while I take off from our provincial air strip and then text 'I just watched u take off.' He will be tracking my flight from his smartphone as he drives back home. He has researched the history of the flight and aircraft and recited it to me during the drive to the airport, between traffic lights 13 through 18. It's all very reassuring and keeps my mind off the asshole drivers in front of us who will be to blame if I miss my flight.

So no, I don't like the travel part of traveling, but I like the arrival and what happens after. And I must admit it could be much worse. At least I don't have to go to Logan!

Countdown to departure: 7 days.


Florida, Here I Come!

Weather permitting, of course .....

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'Bustin' outta burbland,
Tearin' outta this town,
Tearing this town outta me,
Breakin' free.

Life here's a rip-off
Damaged goods and damaged deeds,
Danger: Falling expectations,
Accusations ....

Curses fly, spit good-by
Toxic town and cesspool streets,
Kick the door shut behind me --
Never find me.

Fire up a new ID,
Steal a little room to breathe.
Throw my bones into the ocean --
Waving, not drowning, motion ....'




Ok, so maybe the above verse isn't completely relevant but I like it and it's my blog ....








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