SO! It is time. I have my tickets, my bags are packed, Sister is on the way, and Nephew will be heading up there the following week after he takes his tests. I learned a bit from my previous flight that if you pay a little extra you can cut in line at the airport. I decided to do that, this time. Wouldn't you know it. I get to the airport and there are almost no lines... sigh™. this time I have a window seat.
The flight to Portland was mostly uneventful except at one point I was taking pictures out the window and the guy behind me indicated that somewhere in the general direction he was pointing was area 51. I took pictures but have no idea if it was or not.
My 3 hour layover was in Portland and I would be taking an Embraer EMB 120 Brasilia from Portland to Seattle. This would be an old fashioned kind of flight where you walk across the tarmac to get to your plane.
Apparently this airport is a hub for many Asian, Arabic, and Russian peoples going to wherever. The waiting area was crowded, mostly disorganized, and had lots of screaming babies (my favorite). Eventually my flight arrived. I walked through the rain to my plane and got on... GREAT! just as my nephew warned me, the plane was very small inside. I am 6'4" and on the heavy side. The seat I picked was by itself near the back of the plane, supposedly there was an exit there, but I did not see one. There was no way I could stand up straight in this plane. There was a row of seats behind me and several to my right... All of them filled with scruffy looking guys who looked Arabic and sounded arabic. They never once spoke English. They were all in their twenties, dressed in sweats and t shirts, some playing with their cell phones. they all seemed to know each other.
The stewardess (there actually was one on the plane), Made the usual announcements did her safety dance, and sat down. the Arabic guys completely ignored her. Most of them never put on their seat belts. Some were sitting sideways in their seats. when we were supposed to put our phones away, they did not. Just lovely. At one point during the flight the lady told them to put their seat belts on and put away the phones. They did so, until she went back to the front of the plane and sat down. then they popped their belts and went back to their phones, (they were also mocking her), and they wonder why people treat them as suspicious. Thankfully they seemed too engrossed in their phones to be terrorists.
Now before someone screams racist, go look up the definition, I have not said one single racist thing in this post.
We arrive in Seattle it is raining and overcast with some fog. The plane lands, and the rest is the normal stuff you do at an airport.
I get a shuttle to my dad's apartment, pick up his mailbox key that the landlord left for me, sort through all his mail, and pay more bills. I then begin getting his apartment (gross) more to my standards of living. I pickup my sister and we head to the care facility to check on my dad.
He's looking much better, he's wearing normal clothes, and has some of his train magazines (he's getting back to normal). He still is having memory problems and I had to fax a list of things that would remind him of what was going on and when. I had the nurses put it on his wall where he could always see it. If I hadn't he would call me and ask the same questions over and over. We went over his routine, what was going to happen, and what would be involved in discharging him. My Sister would be flying back with him in 3 days.
My sister and I get dinner, discuss my dad and I take her to her hotel, where the clerk practically trips over himself trying to impress her. I head back to the apartment (25 miles). I park in my dad's Parking spot
(don't anyone park in his spot! or else!).
Now I have to try to sleep on "THE BED!" you might say "it can't be that bad? can it?" YES, YES IT CAN! I took the blankets off and found some "fresher" ones in the closet. I Attempted to heat the apartment his way (turn on oven, crack window, try not to die). I actually bought a carbon monoxide detector so I would have a fighting chance. I throw away his used soap collection and clear off the bathroom sink. Setup my stuff, prep for sleep, and sit on the bed... CRACKLE... CRUNCH... POP, CRACKLE, CRUNCH... sigh™ it's going to be a long cold night. I got little or no sleep that night. Every single move presented me with a loud noise from the mattress and box springs. The apartment was not particularly warm and smelled like the oven was on...(which it was). My dad lives close enough to a railroad track that I would hear every train go by. Whomever lived upstairs liked to get up several times during the night and creak their way across the floor.
What have I gotten myself into?
Next Post:
"The old man goes home" or "My trials and tribulations are just beginning."
No comments:
Post a Comment