I need to apologize for something I'm about to do. I'll be ignoring you again this coming week. We are taking a vacation (a working vacation) to New Orleans. (Pronounced N'awlins.) I'm attending a conference, and KAT is traveling with me. The conference runs from Sunday to Tuesday. We are flying down tomorrow to spend a few extra days.
They say the worst food in New Orleans is better than the best food most other places in the world, so I'm planning to eat a lot. KAT lost 9 1/2 pounds before the trip (and she looks amazing) so she's hoping to eat guilt free all week.
I've heard about the methods of getting beads at Mardi Gras. Does that work all year round? If so, I'll be flashing my nipples to everyone I see. (Does it work for guys too?)
I'll be back on Wednesday the 30th, probably with some interesting travel tales. I'm a little nervous, frankly. I haven't been on an airplane since 1977. I was 7 years old and it was a puddle jumper in comparison.
I'm not afraid of flying, I've just never done it because hauling my disabled butt onto an airplane is a huge pain. KAT has always been reluctant to fly, so she never minded driving long distances. I've driven from Kentucky to Maine to Florida (not in one trip) and we've always enjoyed it. But New Orleans is significantly further, and we have limited time. We would have had six days of driving 8-hour days.
Anyhow, I'll be back next week, with pictures and stories I'm sure.
SunFyre
Well, I'm back! I neglected you longer than originally anticipated. I'm sorry, so shut up!
Actually, I got back last Wednesday. It took me a full week to get caught up with work. Today is August 6th. I decided to back-date my entries until I get caught up. That way you get the effect of traveling right along with me.
I'm going to give you a full account of my travels over the next few days. We had a pretty good time. Actually, it was an awesome trip, book-ended by two bouts of anxiety. I anticipated that my first airplane trip in 26 years would be challenging to say the least.
We arrived at the Philadelphia Airport a full two hours before the flight. The plane was scheduled for 9:41 a.m. so we had to leave our house at 6:00. That meant getting up at 4:45 a.m.
Tip O' the Day... Give extremely accurate information to the baggage check person! My wheelchair runs on batteries and requires a charger. I made sure I had dry-cell sealed batteries, the only kind approved for airline travel. They run about $200 each, $400 for the pair. We were checking our luggage and the ticket counter woman asked "What's that?" and pointed to the charger. For some reason my wife has always called it a "battery" rather than a "battery charger". So she said "It's his battery."
For those of you who don't know, a wheelchair battery charger is a large metal box with long heavy duty wires protruding. If I were building a bomb big enough to take out an airliner, it would probably look similar. Anyhow, the woman says, "We need a battery box for that." and before I could say "No, it's just a charger." she disappeared into the depths of the magic baggage conveyor belt room and didn't return for 40 minutes. In this 40 minutes, I missed my breakfast window.
We got through security where a small black man patted me down in the name of National Security. It was nice, I got his number, we are now dating.
We reported to the gate counter about an hour before take-off time. They told us we would board first, 30 minutes before take-off. I'm thinking half an hour is perfect. I estimated 15-20 minutes to get me on board, that left 10-15 minutes for everyone else. Apparently, 10-15 minutes for everyone else isn't enough time. I made the flight 15 minutes late. Apparently, 15 minutes is pretty important when flying. Next thing you knew, we'd missed our place in line on the runway. So we actually took off around 10:45.
Getting on the plane was a treat. They stick you on a little cart that looks like it should roll under cars at Jiffy Lube. When I saw it, my first thought was to have the guy check the transmission while he was down there. Then I realized the cart was for me.
I got rolled back to aisle 7, seats D E & F. We realized at that point that the arm rest on row 7 seat D didn't raise up. Eventually, in significant pain, they got me into seat 5 C. I highlighted it for you on the diagram.
Somehow, the hour we lost on the runway was made up in the air. We only landed about 15 minutes late. My question is, if they can make up time by flying faster, why don't they always fly faster. It's not like there's traffic, or road construction. I didn't see one tractor trailer either. You'd think they'd get up there and just let her rip!! Didn't they see Top Gun for craps sake?!
Getting off the plane was a little easier. I talked this big guy named Mike into breaking every airline rule, and picking me up and carrying me off. No more f#cking Jiffy Lube cart!
As I mentioned, I anticipated the flight would be even more difficult. I was relieved to be on the ground only 20 minutes from downtown New Orleans. I'd called a cab company called United about a month earlier. I asked them if they had wheelchair accessible taxis. The incredibly friendly woman said, "certainly, we do". In that incredibly friendly way all Southern women seem to speak.
About three days before my trip, I called United cab company again and said, I need to make arrangements for a wheelchair accessible cab from the airport to the Marriott downtown. "How far in advance do I need to reserve a wheelchair accessible cab?" Another incredibly friendly southern woman said "no need to reserve one, we always have them near the airport, just call from a courtesy phone, and someone will be there in 10-15 minutes."
I'm thinking, this is the best wheelchair accessible taxi service I've ever seen!
We arrived and called from the courtesy phone. "Hello, thank you for calling United Cab Company." A third incredibly friendly southern woman answers.
"Hello, I need a wheelchair accessible cab at the airport." I said in my very tired, yet equally friendly Yankee voice.
"A what? A wheelchair what?" She replied.
"I need a wheelchair accessible cab, like a van with a lift, or perhaps a ramp." Thinking she just wasn't familiar.
"Oh, you mean a handicapped van." She replied. "We don't have any of those."
"But I spoke with someone the other day..." and I continued to tell my tale. To which she replied "Gee, someone must have given you the wrong information. We don't have any of those. Thank you for calling Unit..." I hung up.
We went to the Airport Shuttle service desk. A tremendously friendly southern woman said "How may I..."
"I need transportation to the Marriott." I said. "I need a wheelchair acce... um... Handicapped van."
She says, "Certainly, did you make a reservation?" And she started to type something on her hidden computer screen. My sister who was traveling with us relayed the cab company story, and informed her we didn't have a reservation.
"Well, you need to make a reservation 48 hours in advance." She said with a southern smile and she stopped typing. "But we don't have 48 hours." My sister replied equally friendly.
"Well, you need 48 hours." She said again. Smiling.
"Is there someone you can call?" I asked.
"Well, I suppose I could call dispatch upstairs." She said, and began dialing. Some answered the phone, and she said "Hello, there's a man in a wheelchair here. Does he need 48 hours notice?... yes... ok." Click. "They said you need 48 hours." She said smiling.
I'm a small man. 5 foot nothing, 130 pounds, and I have a soft voice.
"WE DON'T HAVE 48 HOURS. WE NEED A RIDE NOW. CALL UPSTAIRS AND MAKE IT HAPPEN. IF YOU CAN'T... FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN." I yelled, surprising everyone particularly her. She looked like a deer in headlights. Speechless, literally with her mouth open.
At that point a little man who made me look big shuffled up from behind. He introduced himself as a supervisor and made two calls on his cell phone. Thirty-five minutes later the shuttle arrived. Twenty minutes later I was in the bar next to the Marriott eating my first meal (red beans & rice) since leaving. Eleven hours and forty-five minutes, including adjustment for Central Standard Time. I was beat, and my vacation hadn't even started.
SunFyre
We checked into the New Orleans Marriott on Canal Street yesterday afternoon. The accommodations alone made the travel worth while. The convention we were attending was held in the hotel. My father was serving as president of the association holding the convention, so the Marriott gave us the Presidential Suite. It was on the 40th of 41 floors, only the top level restaurant was higher. The Presidential Suite had two bedrooms, a dining area, a small kitchen, and two sitting areas. All the furniture, with the exception of the dining room table, was antique (or reproductions, how would I know.)
I took a bunch of pictures of the interior and views from the 40th floor, both daytime and nighttime. The pictures didn't look right when I squished them down for this log, so I made a completely separate page of Presidential photos. Enjoy, but realize they are quite large for those of you using a 14.4 modem.
After checking in, my grandmother who asks too many direct questions, asked another one. She looked at me, KAT, and my sister and said "I am inviting a friend to join us for dinner, is that ok?" My sister, KAT and I all looked at each other, and none of us knew we'd even invited Grandma to dinner. We were planning on finding large quantities of seafood and alcohol, and didn't expect she'd be accompanying us. Apparently we were wrong.
"Uh, ok." We all mumbled almost in unison.
Around 8:00 p.m. Susan arrived. She was somewhat younger than we expected. My grandmother's friend was actually the daughter of my grandmother's friend from Pennsylvania. Susan was 50ish and extremely cool. Come to find out, she worked for the National Park Service. Her job is organizing tourism in the French Quarter. She knew New Orleans like the back of her hand. She asked us what kind of food we wanted, to which we replied "seafood".
"It's Friday night so lines will be long." She pondered, then said "I know where we'll go."
"Is it accessible?" I asked, not expecting a terrific answer.
"Absolutely, why would I take you somewhere that wasn't?" She said. I was surprised by her certainty about the accessibility, as well as the accessibility of the streets between here and there. She knew exactly where I should get off the sidewalk, and travel in the street. Come to find out, when the Worlds Fair was in New Orleans in the mid '80s she was charged with making the French Quarter as wheelchair accessible as possible.
As difficult as getting from the airport to the Marriott was, I assumed incorrectly that's the entire town was one giant barrier. In fact, New Orleans is an extremely flat City. Almost every shop and every curb was either flat or ramped. I had very little trouble getting around. Even the sidewalks, which were mostly made of flatrock and paving brick, were extremely well maintained.
We arrived at Deanie's Seafood around 8:30. In Reading, we consider a line at a restaurant a 30 minute wait in the bar before our table is ready. In New Orleans, a line means people standing outside the door waiting to get too the bar. The bar then has a wait of 45 minutes to an hour. We sat at the bar and drank beer and margaritas. The margaritas were served in a draft beer glass, and the draft beer came in what looked like a fish bowl. Either they purposely swapped glasses for some kind of ambience thing, or our bartender was dyslexic. Either way, my sister enjoyed a very big beer.
At 9:30 we sat down to the biggest heap of incredibly fresh seafood I've ever seen. I ordered catfish. It was approximately 20 small catfish fillets deep fried. Their free appetizer was new red potatoes boiled in the same water in which they boil crawfish. They were perfectly cooked and very spicy. KAT had a blackened red fish that was wonderful. If you order fish in Pennsylvania, they ask you "broiled or fried". Down there, almost everything is fried, except a few blackened varieties.
Amazing food, great atmosphere. Visit Deanie's on the corner of Lake and Iberville.
SunFyre
This first picture is taken from just outside the small kitchen. This is the dining area with a glass top table. The first sitting area is to the left under the chandelier. A second sitting area is in the far left with art work on the walls and a giant screen television. This room has a full bath (out of view) and the door in the corner leads to the guest bedroom, where KAT end I stayed.
Here's the view as you enter the main door into the sitting area. In the far corner was the master bedroom entrance. The sitting area had a vaulted ceiling which added to the prestigious feel.
This was my father's room. The master bedroom suite had a full bath as well. I wanted to jump on that bed, but KAT wouldn't let me.
Here's the bend in the river. According to locals, this bend is the single most dangerous place to pilot a boat on the entire Mississippi. It's relatively narrow with heavy traffic. The ship there is probably several hundred feet long. I took a picture at night, but the water just looked black from this angle.
The widest street above is Decatur one of the main streets. We are looking East over the French Quarter. The picture below is roughly the same shot at night.
The photo above shows some of the traffic on the river. At the left is the Natchez,a riverboat cruise ship for tourists. The boat near the center is a ferry that shuttles commuters and their cars across the Mississippi. The ferry is free for pedestrians and $1.00 for automobiles. I wanted to take the ferry. There isn't much directly on the other side, but I've never been West of the Mississippi. I wanted to say, "I've been West of the Mississippi, 12 feet west."
The photo below is a similar view at night. These shots are facing southwest.
This picture is looking West. There's a huge bridge with interstate traffic. I forget the name. The white roofed building near the center is the convention center. That area is the convention center and arts district. Closer, the peaked roof is Harrah's Casino. It shows up better in the night shot below. You can see the entire Casino in the center of the picture.
Saturday was one of those lazy days. We slept late. Had breakfast in the lounge on the 21st floor. The hotel, as you can see in yesterday's log, is two towers stacked on a five story building. We were in the tallest tower. To get to the 21st floor lounge, you had to go down to levels 1, 2 or 5. The fifth floor is actually the roof of the main building. On the roof were two swimming pools and a cabana type lounge. We figured we'd spend lots of time here, KAT swimming, and SunFyre watching bikinis. Just walking across the roof however we realized New Orleans is a stupid place to have a swimming pool. It's so humid you'd probably jump in, and never ever get dry. Apparently everyone else thought the same, because I didn't see a single bikini babe the entire week.
After breakfast we cruised down Canal Street to the Riverwalk. It's an old warehouse and wharf connected to the new convention center. It's been converted to a mall. We went there just to have lunch, then walk around the French quarter, but the mall was pretty cool so we spent the afternoon in air conditioning.
We ended up eating at the food court. Around here a mall food court consists of a pizza place, a Chinese place, a Mexican place and four or five sandwich shops. I assumed that's just the way it was everywhere. Down there the food court had the same pizza, Chinese and Mexican, but four shops sold seafood instead. Definitely a pleasant surprise for me.
The other thing about New Orleans is that everything is spicy. Spicy isn't quite the word. Much of it is Damn Hot. There are even stores where all they sell is hot sauce, hundreds of varieties.
Food is extremely important. There are cooking schools on nearly every corner. Many shops that would sell tee-shirts and post cards also sold hot sauce and beignet mix. If you've never heard of a beignet, it's a type of fried dough pastry covered in confectioners sugar. They usually come three to a order, but I've never seen anyone eat three. I think they are a social food, which fits right in line with the New Orleans philosophy. Food and drink are good... food and drink with friends is better!
Music is extremely important in New Orleans too. Unfortunately, it's important as a tourist trap. Every mini market and tourist junk shop had a huge rack of Cajun music CDs. You could hear the blues everywhere, but only because bars and restaurants and even the local beer mart had it blasting over speakers to draw the crowds in. If you are looking for great live music, hop a plane to San Antonio, because that's where the good music has gone. The only live music I heard here was complete crap.
Even the Riverwalk mall had a four peace jazz band that wandered around playing, and looking like they couldn't give a sh*t.
The convention opened Saturday night so we didn't make it to the French Quarter yet.
SunFyre
A larger shot of the hot sauce department. This was actually a section of a larger store. It was one of those cooking schools where for $30.00 you'd receive a two hour lesson and could eat what you made. We bought a few New Orleans favorites including pralines, some beignet mix, and Alligator Jerky.
Another shot of another bad jazz band.
Walking to the Riverwalk along Canal Street you pass Harrah's casino. We stopped one night. KAT lost $25 in about 10 minutes and split. My sister won $3.50 and you'd think she'd hit the Powerball.
The day we walked to Riverwalk was the hottest and most humid. My poor sister got a rash from her thighs rubbing together. She whined and KAT suggested she get Desitin ointment. My sister couldn't find any, but found this packet of stuff for $1.00. I didn't bother to ask if it worked.
Here's a couple shots of the Natchez, a paddlewheel cruise ship. I'm not sure if this ship has some extreme historical value, because it was very popular throughout New Orleans. You could find everything from tee shirts to pressed pennies with the Natchez on them. It's either extremely important, or New Orleans saying "We have a paddlewheel and you don't."
We took these pictures of a large cargo ship from our hotel window. I took the day after overhearing two guys talking about the economy. Each of the red boxes between the white cranes is four containers. Each container fits on the back of a tractor trailer. That ship below has 16 full containers and 4 half containers.
The guys I spied on were saying that they knew the economy was down because normally cargo ships headed north were loaded with containers stacked three high. There should have been three times the cargo. We all listen to the news about the stock market and hear the President talk about a turn-around. But these guys know the truth from the Mississippi River perspective.
Saturday night the conference began with a keynote speech and a cocktail reception. The reception had mostly those tall tables you use while standing. The kind that guys in wheelchairs can count the used chewing gum from underneath. I finally found a back corner table. I'm very social, so it was about my last choice, but the only choice where I could actually put a plate down.
The table ended up being relatively popular. People who don't particularly enjoy big social events would eventually find my table and sit. I met four or five interesting people, and another half dozen dorks.
Then and extremely tall, extremely attractive woman walked up and sat down. Everyone else had first names in big letters, and full names in tiny letters on name tags. Her tag simply said Model Mary. She instantly sat down and shook my hand. She said "I'm Model Mary, and I've been looking forward to meeting you."
I'm expecting to wake up any minute from some teasingly good dream. You see, models, or at least women who look like them are usually only excited to meet me in dreams. Typically women who stand 5 ft. 11 never even see me roll past.
She shook my hand, and sat as if this were a completely natural occurrence. Then she began to tell me about her brother who uses a wheelchair. I usually hate these conversations. People assume I give a crap about their brother, sister, daughter, son, or brother's uncle's cousin's grandmother. They also assume that this poor sad slob to whom they are related gives them an understanding of my life. Before they get into describing how he was a champion athlete before he drove drunk and smashed his Pontiac and now his most recent accomplishment is being able to drink Thanksgiving dinner through a straw, I cut them off.
I remember one time in a night club in Philadelphia. I was about 21, and this incredible looking woman asked me to dance. She was older, probably 28 or 30. We start dancing, and my beer goggles have me thinking things are going well. She is standing close and asking about me. Then she says, "I'm so glad to see you out tonight, my seven year old son is in a wheelchair, he has muscular dystrophy." Then I realized this was a charity dance, or maybe she wanted to feel better about something.
I stopped dancing and said "I'm really sorry. I don't want to mislead you, but I never sleep with women with children. Goodbye." And I rolled away.
In retrospect, I probably hurt her feelings. But hopefully she'll see her son as a more complete person. She'll understand that wheelchair guys are similar to other guys. We are sexual beings and a$$holes sometimes too.
Anyhow, Model Mary was getting ready to tell me some lousy story about how her brother inspires her. I was going to bolt, but Hell, she was at my table and I wasn't giving it up.
Then, she stopped talking about her brother. Come to find out, she'd heard about me in a professional capacity. She didn't realize I was disabled until later. We ended up having a great conversation. Model Mary is a Ford model, some of the highest paid in the world. She also was extremely intelligent. She was transitioning from her modeling career into professional speaking and wanted marketing advice.
We only spoke a few minutes, but it was one of the most enjoyable meetings I had all conference. If you ever get a chance. Don't avoid dinner with a highly paid fashion model. They are people too!
SunFyre
We saw lots of people with beads. KAT said she wanted some. I told her she'd have to flash somebody to get some. She said "I'm not doing anything dirty just to get beads!" She'd regret saying those exact words later.
Late in the afternoon, we walked down Decatur from the hotel toward the French Market. We stopped and wandered around a park called Jackson Square, I believe. Apparently most of the year Jackson Square is filled with buskers (street performers), fortune tellers and artists. In late July many of them are on vacation. Foot traffic in the Quarter is at its lowest of the summer and the heat and humidity is at its highest.
There were a couple artists, a couple henna tattooists, and about five really bad fortune tellers. I assume that these were people who take over spots when the regular tarot card readers are vacationing or working in Baltimore.
We saw this Korean man painting with tiny flat brushes. We realized he was doing little paintings strung together to form words. In a few minutes we watched him create several paintings for passers-by. We'd been looking for something unique to commemorate our trip. We found it that day. For $20 we got a unique piece of art. It took him the whole of 12 minutes. As we were walking away with our new prize, thinking we got a terrific deal, I realized this guy can crank out five or six of these can hour. He's making $100 an hour.
It was hot and nightfall was approaching so we headed over three blocks to Bourbon and began to walk back. For a guy in a wheelchair, Bourbon Street is great. After dark they shut it down to traffic. It's the smoothest part of the quarter because all the sidewalks are brick or stone. The six blocks were an easy walk, and the scenery was certainly interesting.
There's only one thing that flows more than alcohol in New Orleans, sexuality. And Bourbon Street is the center of all sexuality and alcohol consumption. We walked down through and saw restaurants with appetizers for $50, next to a "GrandMa Went to New Orleans and All I Got Was This Lousy Tee Shirt" Shop, next to the club with topless-bottomless table dancing at moderate prices!.
There were probably a few hookers, but it was difficult to tell because many women were wearing very little. Every so often, you'd see a balcony crowd tossing beads to the people below. The crowds were so thick below the balconies you couldn't see what people were doing to earn their beads. KAT wouldn't let me investigate!
She also wouldn't let me stop in at Larry Flynt's Hustler night club. I told her Larry is in a wheelchair too, so it's probably very accessible. She said "That's what I'm afraid of."
We were almost back to the hotel. Finally, KAT said "that's it, I'm getting some beads." I got all excited thinking she's headed into the balcony crowd. But she just went in a tee shirt shop and plunked down a couple bucks. She walked out, untangling two strands. She said, "See, nothing dirty" and suddenly dropped one strand. It hit the sidewalk and slid, almost in slow motion into the gutter. She reached for them without thinking. I'm not even sure how much of that puddle was New Orleans daily rain water, spilled beer and urine. All I know is when those beads came out of the gutter they had a disgusting film completely coating them.
She carried them home holding them only by a single bead. She wanted to get her 99 cents worth so she wouldn't throw them away. She should have shown her boobs, it would have been less "dirty".
SunFyre
As we walked down Decatur Street on the south side of the French Quarter, we passed this marketplace and an interesting statue. I can't remember why I thought it was interesting now. It was, I promise.
Here's the Korean artist again.
This picture is of Jackson Square, the park where the artists and fortune tellers hang out. The above photo is looking at the square toward the French Quarter. The photo below is taken in the same spot facing toward the River. My two sisters are on the left and KAT is on the right.
Here's my only photo on Bourbon Street. KAT was taking a picture of the sign over Big Daddy's when those two guys stepped out the door. One gave her a pretty nasty look. I figured I better smudge their faces a little. After that we decided that we'd put the camera away. What happens on Bourbon Street should stay on Bourbon Street.
Monday night was family night. My beautiful wife, my two sisters, my grandmother, my father and his wife all went to a classy New Orleans restaurant in the French Quarter called The Court of Two Sisters. It's this strange little restaurant in a courtyard between Bourbon and Royal Streets. The restaurant has been around for about a hundred years. Before that it was a notions shop owned by two sisters of a prominent Louisiana Family.
As the story goes, the waiters would be required to whistle as they walked carrying food. Whistling guaranteed they weren't eating off patrons' plates. Our waiter was named Jeremy and he wasn't whistling. Apparently they are no longer required to whistle. I'm not sure, but I think I saw Jeremy chewing something more than once. Maybe not.
I had turtle soup. Normally I love turtle soup, but this was made with brandy and didn't blow me away. Everyone else enjoyed dinner thoroughly, and I took a tip from Jeremy and snuck a few bites off everyone else's plate.
Tuesday night we were back at the convention for the final banquet and awards ceremony. Normally those awards ceremony things bore me to death. This was different. This organization is like giant family. It was like a big party among friends.
The final ceremony was a formal affair. I wore a tuxedo shirt and bow tie. My funny little body doesn't fit coats with tails very well, so I went coatless.
I felt confident and on top of the world that night. I've always felt my wife was attractive, but she looked amazing that night. She was one of the most beautiful women in a room of 1500 beautiful people. I'd made a few friends, and many acquaintances throughout the week. I got to introduce them too my wife that night. I loved the feeling of them doing a double take. It's amazing how a beautiful woman at your side can influence people's perception of you.
She didn't say so, and probably wouldn't, but I think she felt beautiful that night too. Above everything else, that made me happy.
I met some incredibly wealthy, incredibly talented, very prestigious people that night. If I told you there names, some you'd recognize and others you wouldn't. I even made a couple important business contacts. Perhaps I'll tell you all about them another day, but not today. Today is about remembering a great night with a beautiful woman.
SunFyre
The whole family at the banquet. (L-R... my sister, KAT, my other sister, Grandma, Dad, and Dad's wife. I'm in the middle.)
SunFyre and KAT
Thursday the 24th we dropped Sun Jr. and A. Grace at KAT's parents' house. we felt that two three hour plane rides, five nights in a hotel room, several dinners out and 95+ degree heat would be too much for two 15 month olds. It was almost too much for their parents.
Honestly, we needed a break. Raising twins is a full time job. We both work, I work from home, so beyond our regular jobs we chase babies. Anything else (like bathing, eating and sleeping) becomes of secondary importance.
There were a few times while we were away that I missed them so much I wanted to hop a flight home. One evening the convention brought in a local jazz band. (The only really good music I heard in New Orleans.) And I was thinking about Sun Jr. He'd just started dancing whenever he hears music he likes. He loves something with a good beat and seems to love horns. I wished at that moment he would have been with me, because I know he'd be dancing. Another time at the Riverwalk mall I saw a little girl walking like a drunken sailor, very similar to the way A. Grace does right now. I missed my baby daughter that day.
The trip home wasn't nearly as difficult because of them. I just knew that whatever discomfort or outright pain I was in was only temporary, and in a few short hours I'd be home.
My trip home started much as the trip to New Orleans. I was felt up by another large African American man with a security badge. (It was nice, I got his number, we are also still dating.)
Lucky for me, my new friend Mike was working the gate again in New Orleans. He carried me onto the plane. Before we got on, I figured out the best seat for me to use was 4-C. We talked Mike into asking the other passengers to swap. The plane wasn't full, so it was pretty easy to rearrange people.
A few hours later we were driving home to Reading from Philadelphia. I couldn't wait to see my kids. When we arrived they were waiting at the front door. Their grandparents had brought them home in time for our arrival. They opened the front door and both kids ran from the house. Our little girl ran straight into my wife's arms. Our little boy ran toward me, then stopped. Apparently he saw a stick in the yard. It looked like more fun. He picked it up and took a bite.
Welcome home.
SunFyre
Photos and descriptions Copyright 2003 SunFyre. All rights reserved.
