Column: Travel tales remind me it may be time for visitors to come to me

I’m back, and I haven’t cleaned the garage, the barn or the garden boxes. The trip was delightful, beyond my expectations, yet all my worries were not for naught. 

Chicago, the windy city where one must stop off if flying to California, hosts an airport as large as a city itself. For some reason, if you are flying from Akron/Canton, Chicago officials have mandated that one must be dropped off at one end of the “city” and be expected to arrive at the other end in time to catch the plane to the other side of the United States. 

After arriving safely, we sat on the tarmac for 45 minutes, eating up travel time. The good idea wheelchair was waiting there with my name at the top of the list, and the pushing fellow literally ran for 20 minutes to get me there just as the doors closed. Fortunately for me, and just as unfortunately for him, a man had a heart attack on his way into the plane, and they had to take a half hour helping him, so I was able to get on the plane. We arrived nearly on time.

I found out just how old I am on this trip. Walking any distance at top speed (my top speed) and dodging hundreds of others with the same goals in mind, was tiring and heart pounding. 

Resolution: Back to the Y as soon as I get home. Such tight deadlines don’t leave any time for food or bathroom…not even to comb your hair, and once on the plane we were advised to stay in our seats unless it was a dire emergency. I was delighted when half-way through the trip they announced they would be serving snacks. 

There are no longer any magazines to read, or screens on which to watch old movies, but there was a little brochure advertising a chocolate gluten-free snack. After not having eaten since the night before the trip, I ordered with gusto. It arrived, the size of a 50 cent piece, enough to keep me from starving to death until I arrived at my destination.

The Sacramento Airport was immediately familiar to me, and my overhead suitcase, which I had to check for $40 because it was “too heavy,” actually arrived with me. While talking to others on the plane, I heard horror stories that put my little adventure to shame. 

After arriving home again, I found the animals were probably not going to punish me for boarding them, and all was well with life in Dover.

Traveling, for me, is no longer a joy, yet some of that crept in as I got to spend precious time with family and dear friends. Still, as I hit my 88th year this week, I believe it is time for the youngers to come to visit me. Even if I have to sleep on the couch or in a recliner, my doors are open, and I will be more than happy to leave the animal boarding and flying to everyone else.