I woke ten minutes before the alarm went off, 4:40am. The house was prepped, my outfit for the day laid out, and everything else ready to load in the car. The shuttle ride was the first of many interesting events. One passenger, afraid of flying, had dealt with his fear logically (in his mind anyway), he drank. During the hour long ride, he alternated between looking at his phone and falling asleep. Once, he turned around and asked the rest of us to please call him, he’d lost his phone. None of us knew him, so of course, none of us had his number in our phones to make such a call, but we were able to help him out when another passenger spotted the familiar rectangle shape sticking out of his breast pocket.
Dropped off with hours to go before his flight, the inebriated fellow told us this flying thing was no problem, he was going to the bar for shots before he caught his flight. I mentioned they might not let him on the plane if he was intoxicated, but he assured me he would get on just fine. “Okay then, good luck.” I have nothing but sympathy for that flight crew, if he made it to his gate.
My flight and lay-over to SC were uneventful. The next day and a half were spent visiting with family I haven’t seen in decades. We looked at old pictures, and laughed at the changes in all of us. I enjoyed everything but the oppressive, suffocating blanket of humidity. It makes me feel grimy. I rented a car and drove north to my kid’s home in New Bern, NC.
Next came packing day. A crew of three showed up on the appointed day, worked all day, and essentially got the house packed away in boxes. We were simultaneously packing or keeping things from being packed that we wanted with us on the trip. I never lost my granddaughter, my most important job. Packing day was hard for her. I can only imagine how she felt seeing her familiar world (and toys) disappear, not understanding what was happening, and why all these strange people were in her house.
The trip continues in Part Two.