Beam us Home, Scotty

Returning home after traveling for ten days in the Rocky Mountains gives one a mixed sense of relief and regret.  The relief comes from a feeling of returning to the familiarity and safety of one's home.  The regret stems from the knowledge that the adventure is over.

Life is full of contradictions: I love being home; I love being in new places.

The problem with traveling is the actual process of traveling.  I enjoy seeing new places and meeting new people, but getting there is agony.   Planes, trains, automobiles are crowded, slow, and uncomfortable conveyances.  I look forward to the day when we can instantly "beam" ourselves to different places, like they do in the Star-trek movies.  

Public modes of transportation are the worst.  It seems like they allot fewer inches of seating space per person every year.  You would think that they would acknowledge the the fact that nearly 50% of the customers are XL.  Why do they want people to hate flying?

Southwest, which once boasted the most comfortable seating, has sacrificed the legroom so they could add a few more rows.  Their "open-seating" policy is  eroding.  Now you can jump the line for a few more bucks.  They don't feed you, anymore, and an adult beverage costs $7.   You elbow out a little old lady so you can beat her to the emergency exit row where you can get a precious extra few inches of legroom. The old hag glares at you as she passes down the aisle and mutters something about ungentlemanly behavior.  Hey, you say to yourself, this is what happens  -- when they treat you like cattle, you act like cattle. 

The journey started in Boston at 4 AM when our faithful friend George arrived to drive us to Logan Airport.  We have a complicated symbiotic relationship when it comes to air travel.  I always offer to drive friends and relatives to and from the airport and suggest that a quid pro quo on our next trip would be great.  This works out pretty well.  Since they built the Ted Williams tunnel, our trip to the airport is about 20 minutes during non-rush hour traffic.  For the record, our daughter was waiting to pick us up when we returned.  George and Jeanette had gone on their vacation to Azores.   I don't know how they go in, bit a few days after we returned we were back at Logan to pick them up.

Two of the best innovations of the century are the establishment of the Cell Phone Lot and airline flight tracker.  Now your driver knows how much your flight has been delayed, and can wait for your call or text to say "we have our bags."  Presto they are there at your terminal in a few minutes.  This makes it much easier than in the old days.   

One of my ideas for a retirement business was "Vacation Minders."  This would be a service where I offer to drive people to the airport and pick them up in their own vehicle and also check their houses, water the plants, etc. (No pet care).  I figured that some of the affluent families in the area would find that a useful service.  It would cost less than hiring a limo and having a trusted neighbor checking up on a daily basis would take some of the worries out of being away.  But as a procrastinator, I have never taken this idea off the drawing board. 

Maybe next year.  

The Joy and Dread of Travel

They say that travel broadens one's perspective.  I think this is literally true, because it forces one to see and experience life outside of one's home village.

 Traveling always reminds me that my world is a very small piece of the universe.  As you fly over (or drive by) village after town, over hill and dale, your appreciation for the diversity and  extensiveness of human civilization is magnified. 

As we get older, we try fight the forces that tend to diminish our world.  It is a losing batttle: our increasing aches and pains attenuate the number of paths  we can explore,  and we strive to challenge our brains to stave off the fog of forgetfulness and worse -- the loss of desire.    At a certain point in life, we start to weigh the expected payback from adventure, we reflect on past experience, and often we conclude that many things we thought were exciting or pleasureable are just not worth the effort anymore. 

I am critical of nearly every aspect of air travel. It costs too much.  The tack-on fees for checking a bag or sitting in a comfortable seat are outrageious.   I dislike lines, I abhor being forced to sit for hours in a seat that is too small, I hate waiting, I loathe  airport food, and then there is the subtle but constant danger of imminent death.  The boarding process is still an mixture of  in colonial apartheid and goat rodeo.  Instead of sensibly boarding passenders from rear to front, they seat first class passengers first, then frequent flyers, moms with small kids, invalids, and when there are no more special categories they finally allow able-bodied, poor folks to enter the clogged passageway so they can stand and wait while all the others find their seats and stuff their carry-ons into overhead bins. 

The whole flawed process takes ten times longer than necessary.  I would feel even more annoyed if I were one of the privileged First Class passengers who has paid 5 times more than any of the rabble for the privilege of sitting in a comfortable chair and have drinks served to me in a real glass tumbler.
I would hate having to sit there and watch the unwashed standing over me bumping my elbow with their reticules and luggage waiting for others to get settled.

Other people who regard me as just another ranting, grumpy malcontent say that the slings and arrows of air travel are "the price we must pay to get from here to there, suck-it-up, you sniviling whiner."  To them I say, nonsense!   There is no legitimate reason that a person should suffer the indignities of modern aviation.
Wake me up when they invent the beamer (as in "Beam me to Albuqurque, Scottie.")

Having said that, I still have fun when I am in the new place.  The adventure of looking for a good place to have breakfast, or the enjoyment of the land and its variations, meeting new people, seeing where history occurred or just gawking at the art -- these are the joys of travel.

A poignant moment occurred yesterday in the Albuquerque airport, as we waited for our (re-scheduled) flight to DFW.   A group of about 20 civilians were lining-up in two columns, each holding a flag or banner, like the way a band forms on a football field to cheer on the team as they emerge from the tunnel.  When I asked one of the participants what was going on, he told me that it was a welcome home for a local soldier who was returning from war duty.  (He didn't know where the GI had been stationed).  As we sat and watched, the group grew.  More people came to stand and greet, several uniformed military were among them.   By the time the solder arrived, the group had swelled to around 40.  Finally, a round of applause broke out and the soldier - a tall black man - and his family 3 small kids and mother emerged, surprised but smiling.  They walked the "gauntlet" of greeters, shaking hands and sometimes embracing.  The kids' expressions were priceless, amazed that all these people (a diverse group of mostly white and brown skins) wanted to shake their dad's hand saying sincerely  "Thanks for your service." 
We onlookers were compelled to rise and applaud, as well, wiping our misty eyes, feeling proud of our countrymen.




  

Thoughts on Christmas Letters

Consider your selves lucky.  You didn't get a Christmas Letter from us this year, recalling the memorable moments experienced by our wonderful family during the last twelve months.  You did not have to squint at blurry photos of us standing in front of monuments and churches on our enviable trips.  You were spared the adorable pictures of our cuddly pets and cuter-than-average grandkids.  If you were on our A list, you got a nice storebought card with an appropriate seasonal wish/greeting. 

 Everyone has access to word processing,  so it has become de rigueur for the family scribe to compose these little annual histories, like newsletters, printed with festive little borders and using special gothic fonts.  We got a dozen or so, ranging from the barely readable to the mildly informative to the ludicrous.  When the authors sit-down to write a Christmas Letter, they presumably do so out of an urge to recap the year of pertinent news for friends whom they have not had regular contact with.  But by the third sentence they start channeling Walter Cronkite, announcing each mundane event as if it were late-breaking need-to-know news.

 "Trish said her first word in February. It was "Dlurb" 

           "Thor, our new pucker doodle puppy,  ate mom's favorite pink bunny slipper."

While I am sure these memories are precious, I wonder if they need to be shared with the World.  Sometimes, they can unintentionally reveal too much information.

 "Slippery fingers Jill dropped a gallon jug of K-Y Jelly on my toe and I was limping around for a month."

Does anyone really like to get these smarmy, self-satisfied, impersonal missives?  I don't think so. The mistake most amateur writers make is that their prime motivation is to tell you something positive about themselves.  They incorrectly think that you are interested in their wonderful lives, so they selectively pick-out what they think is the most enviable moments.  They believe themselves to be informative and entertaining, I guess.  

The truth is, we are more entertained by accounts of ruined parties - where uncle Jack got drunk and fell off the chair  - than we are about perfectly planned parties where the food was perfectly cooked and everyone exchanged pleasant dinner conversation.  We don't want to hear you gush about your luxurious river cruise down the Seine, we want to hear about your miserable air travel hassles "And little Bernie screamed all the way from Paris to Rome! It was awful."   We wallow in your misery.

 Christmas Letter authors ought to be more caring and tuned-in to their audience.  Instead of crowing about what a great year you have had, describe some of the hilariously  crappy moments.  Instead of striving to make your recipients wish they were you, give them the gift of  being happy with their own lot in life - make them glad they aren't you.

Here are some ideas to get you started on a more interesting Christmas Letter next year:

"Melvin lost most of our nestegg investing in mink farms. What an Idiot. I should have married...."

"One of the neighbors tipped-off the cops and they confiscated my whole crop of weed...."

"Alice is pregnant again. She was featured on the Maury show to determine who the dad is....."

" Irving saved money by spreading lime on the front himself. Except that he mistakenly loaded up the spreader with rock salt..."

"Publishers Clearing house knocked on the door, but no one was home...."

 

You get the idea. 

** Disclaimer: Except for George, no one who reads this blog sent one of the Christmas Letters described in the piece.