Flights

In about thirty minutes Lola will be here to take me to the airport. I'm flying Southwest and do not anticipate paying $15 to check my one bag. American Airlines, as you may know, is now charging $15 for your first bag, $25 for your second bag, and these charges carry with them no promise of greater care in the handling of your bag(s). In fact, they carry no promises at all.

Gas prices, that's the reason. A congressional panel is now meeting to question the CEOs of the five biggest oil companies, and their questions are quite accusatory in nature. One questioner asked one CEO how much he makes per year, and the CEO answered, "I don't know." I leave that for you to ponder.

I don't like it. But I also don't like the idea that anyone who makes a lot of money is evil. Another ponderable.

But I'm writing to mention another kind of flight, the flight of all birds from my yard except crows. I mentioned it before, but it wasn't quite official back then. It is now, and I have taken down the wreath and thrown it away. A sad day. Maybe next year my finches will come back. We'll see.

No doubt I'm writing this blog to help the time pass quickly. I'm anxious, don't usually take evening flights, the day has seemed long. I've never "cruised" before, nor has Alyce. It's hard to wait, and yet this seems a courageous thing for me to do--take a cruise. You can ponder that one, too, if you want.

North to Alaska

On a Holland America cruise ship, the Amsterdam, to be specific. Leaving tomorrow night on an airplane for Seattle. Alyce and I will meet up there, stay the night, board next day, or, I should say, embark next day. Wanting all my family to take good care of themselves while I'm gone. Hoping all will be well at my house. Hoping some of you Boise Schiesses will drive by and check on it now and then. Knowing that when I get home, I won't lock myself in the garage the next day. (Besides, I have a hidden key.) Hoping this cruise will be a good rest for Alyce. And fun for us both.

And Yet Again

I told Tommy that rug does not belong on the back lawn and to take it back into the garage. Now! He just looked at me, and I had seen looks like that before.

“Don’t give me that look,” I said. “Get that rug and take it back to the garage.” He turned and slunk away.

Tommy was, at that time, Richard’s new friend, Border Collie/Chesapeake Bay Retriever mix. A beautiful chocolate brown dog of some nine months who spent each day alone in my garage and back yard while he waited for Richard to come home and who had not yet outgrown his need to chew up things, regardless of how many chew toys and rawhide strips Richard provided. My rugs—yes, they’re old and in the garage, except for the one on the deck which had to be thrown away, but they are still mine and not his—pillow parts (Richard’s but still mine), whatever he could get at and apparently nothing poisonous or volatile because he survived. These were his chew things of choice.

Actually, I liked the dog and thought he was a good one. He had some beauty, barked only rarely, did not whine, knew what it meant when he was told to go to bed and did it, only dug a few, maybe twelve, holes in my back yard, and loved Richard. Richard, who was here and lonely for his wife. No. A dog cannot take the place of wife and family, but this dog was a friend and loyally so even after only two weeks. It felt like love, I’m pretty sure.

Something Else About Love

So, the woman who just came into this waiting lounge and yelled at her husband, would we say that her love tank is empty? She embarrassed him and the rest of us, too. Not sure if she embarrassed herself. She accused him of not caring because he was sitting in the lounge instead of being out looking for her.

“Sitting there reading a contract,” she said, as if that were a crime. “There are millions of people here,” she said. “I could get lost.” Then, after a short pause, “What’s our first rule?” I could not hear his answer, but she said, “No,” quite disgusted. And then she explained, as if he were a five-year-old, that their first rule was to not get separated.

Why hadn’t he been looking for her? That’s what she wanted to know, and yet I suspect she knew all along he would not look for her, and I suspect they both knew all along she wouldn’t get lost. It’s only the downstairs waiting area of the Salt Lake airport, after all. I suppose what she wanted was just something from him, some small effort, to show he loves her. That’s not so much to ask. I wonder what he felt, what he hoped for. Perhaps a quiet moment there without her. Or he might hope he could have a quiet moment with her there beside him. They are a sad pair, neither knowing what to do.

I am no marriage counselor, but I can say some things with surety now that I have so much to look back at. So I ask, What makes better sense than to love your husband? your wife? Give without worry over what you get. It requires some maturity, and it requires unselfishness, qualities most of us can find within ourselves. Yes, we can.