Friends, it has been a busy season. October and June have got to be the worst months of the year for hectic chaos. While I am not a fan of the old "turn the clocks back," I almost welcome the dark, quiet reprieve of November. It means you are allowed to rest, in your sweatpants, with a cup of coffee on a Tuesday night at 1830. No one is going to judge you because, guess what, they are doing the same thing.
People have asked me repeatedly to write about my experiences these last few weeks. I haven't had quite the right amount of time, but now I might be able to take a deep breath, and write.
If we're good friends then you will know I have just celebrated my fifteenth wedding anniversary. All you need to know is that this means I was married at the ripe age of 10 for I am far too young to have all that sage wisdom and experience. Not quite true, but the time indeed has gone so quickly. The person I was then, thank goodness, I am not today. The person I am today, thank goodness, my husband still loves. He is perfect for me in every way except height and something really has to give about that. It was quite difficult to scurry after him like a church mouse as he traipsed around Europe. God has shown great mercy and favor over my marriage and I am grateful for that gift. So much living in these years, may there be more to come.
I have been trying to join Ryan on his business trips to Europe for years. All the wives have been and I had yet to darken the door of a plane and get there. It was decided, when Ryan received a voucher for travel after a flight delay, that this would be the year I could go. I was set to join him six days into his trip. On the day of travel, we experienced torrential rains in upstate. It rained and rained buckets but it did not occur to me that I would experience travel delay until I got to the airport, and in fact, experienced travel delay. Nothing could dampen my spirits as I heartily ordered from the Chick Fil A menu and plopped down to enjoy southern hospitality for the first time in months. It looked like I was going to be re-routed through Frankfurt, adding an additional layover to my itinerary. I wasn't overly pleased, because it was going to be a long flight time and I'm a lonely solo flyer, but still I persisted in feeling joy when all around me angry people roasted the customer service agents. I met a mouse friend at Gate A3, who I promptly named Gus-Gus because I was headed to see a fairy tale castle. It felt like kismet.
Upon landing at Dulles, my almost dead phone prompts me that my flight will be leaving in approximately 45 minutes. Relief washed over me with the knowledge that the arriving plane I was to depart my international leg on was also delayed into Dulles. I might avoid the Frankfurt reroute and make my original timeline. But we taxied. And taxied. My stress level is rising because I've never been to Dulles, and although Ryan gave me the rundown it just wasn't going to be easy with limited time. I deplaned at ground level and walked into the forsaken, back alley bowels of the airport in terminal A. Hello? Buehler? Buehler? Is this an airport or what?! It's so quiet. There is no McDonalds. I run through what appears to be several switchbacks. Up and back, up and back, through hallways. Forever. Following the signs for....that's right....terminal D. For the love.
Got my video game running guy mojo going on....and I head down, down, down to the train that will take me to terminals C and D. I hop on the right train and check my phone, the battery percentage is in the teens but my time until departure is not too bad. The train stops and most of the passengers get off and I stay on. This is most likely not a good sign but I'm committed.....to heading straight back to where I started. Apparently, I was supposed to get out at C and then walk to D from there. No problem, I'm cc1ool as cucumber as I nonchalantly hop off this train and walk back to my starting point to try again. Peeps got no idea that I'm riding circles around the airport, because if they do that means they too are as lost as I. I enjoy that 90 second train ride as I prepare to sprint for the next 15 minutes. And, sprint I do, from C1 to D26. It's like the movies. I run up all the stairs, avoiding the escalators, and just keep running. I'm basically dying. Literally. To get to Europe. I cannot wait here for four hours, take an 8 hour flight to Frankfurt, wait there for four hours and take a flight to Amsterdam. My life suddenly, as I see it, is over if I do not make this flight. People stare. All the people turn and stare as I run. I'm struck at the oddness because if people are running anywhere, it's definitely in an airport. This is not unusual. I'm going with it being my video game running guy stride that is likely no on YouTube somewhere... As I am about to physically pass from this life at D23, three gates from my destination, I turn my head to the right and see 5 doors that appear to be entrances from security or something. Here, I realize, is where that blessed people mover car object thing that only lives at Dulles, lands.
It's sole purpose is to carry folks from Terminal A to Terminal D.
Let me say that again. It's sole purpose is to transport Angela from A1 to D23 in probably eight minutes. Of sitting down. No trains. No stairs. No CPR needed.
I am the very last person that boards the flight bound for Amsterdam, but not before taking four precious minutes to buy a bag of Reese Pieces and Twizzlers that will be our mainstay snackies for all 1600+ miles by car across Europe.
I can already tell this is going to be one of the highlights of my life, because I clearly have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.
Prepare for take-off.
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