Flying in December...

Well, tonight/today/yesterday I had my very own "Home Alone" experience. I always wondered what happened to people when their flights got cancelled. I'd never had it happen to me. Oh, we've all had our share of "delayed" flights, but I've never had the big red letters flashing "Cancelled, Cancelled, Cancelled" in my face. It's amazing how that one word can produce so much emotion. Of course there was the initial thought to bawl my eyes out. However, seeing that I'm a soldier now, I have to keep those tear ducts in check. The secondary emotions included rage, anger, disbelief, annoyance, and this antsy feeling that I had to figure something out RIGHT AWAY. I walked with the other couple hundred people to stand in line at the United Customer service desk. Now, this is the part in Home Alone when the mom realizes she left the kid and she's standing at the counter begging for any flight in the direction of home. Every person in line had their own "kid" at home. After standing there for a half an hour, one of the employees came out to inform the line of 500+ people that if their destination was Portland, they would have to step aside, they wouldn't be "dealt with" at this time. I thought about filing an EO complaint. Apparently there were no flights remotely open until Christmas Day, and even then it was slim to none. Overbooked flights with the capacity of 66 passengers with 72 people on standby. Yikes. I ended up on the phone with a customer service rep. (Well, I was on hold for 40 minutes before I actually got to talk to her...) She mentioned several flights and promptly followed it with, "Oh, nope, that one's full too." During our conversation I walked up and down the terminal looking at where flights were headed. I saw one for San Francisco that was doing their final boarding call. I walked up to the counter and listened to the man in front of me. He had a party of three and the United rep informed him she only had ONE seat left. He turned away defeated and I stepped up. I told her I wasn't suppose to be going to San Fran, but I HAD to PLEASE get out of Chicago and find a way West. She hesitated for a moment and then looked up and said, "Welcome aboard." This was quite a joyous moment for me. I would have done ANYTHING to get away from Chicago. Lines and lines of hundreds of people being told that they would be spending their Christmas in an airport terminal. Merry Christmas.
My arrival in San Francisco was a relief. Just the knowledge that if push came to shove, I could actually drive home, was a great feeling. My hope was to catch a standby flight to Eugene as PDX was still closed. I waited through three flights to Eugene. Unfortunately the flights held 50 passengers and there were almost 90 on the standby list. I was listed as number 50 - Let's just say the odds were not in my favor. I met some friends in the airport who were in the same boat I was in and were thinking about driving. I saw a flight going to Medford that only had 11 people on standby. (Hey, that's way better odds than 90+) They were in their final boarding call stage. I walked up to the counter and asked the rep if it would benefit me to take myself off the Eugene list and put myself on the Medford standby list. (you can only be on one standby list) He said it might. I took his optimism and waited as three names were called off before mine. None of them showed up - thus I got - once again - the last seat on the plane. Dang. You think I have good luck? Nah, I think Jesus just wanted to help me out. I definitely attribute being able to get anywhere, especially out of Chicago, to my God above.
Along the lines of dedicated, I have the most amazing parents. I called them to tell them I had just miraculously got on the Medford flight - their response was, I'll head out the door now. I write this blog as I sit waiting my father's arrival. He should be here in about 30 minutes. I am so very blessed.

Lady Jessica of Fort Gordon

Yesterday Dennis and I lived our childhood dreams of being born in Medieval times. We went with a couple of friends to Atlanta to the Medieval Times show. Although I thought it was amazing, I think Dennis could go to the show every night and never get tired of it. In fact, I think somewhere deep in his heart he was trying to justify a reason to buy the $9,000 suit of armor that was on display. As is Medieval tradition, we feasted and ate solely with our hands. It took me on a mental trip back to the days in India eating with the kids in the orphanage with our metal plates and hands. The actual Medieval show was crazy. The tricks they can do with those horses and the way they danced to the beat of music was tight. Yes, a giant four-footed animal dances better than me. Ahem, back to the food... (As that is always the most important part...) They served us tomato bisque, garlic bread, spare ribs, chicken game-hen thingy, garlic potato wedges, and apple crisp pastry thingy. It was quite delicious. I must admit though, I did have to keep telling myself that it was okay to eat with my hands and that I could trust my hearty immune system to not allow some microbacterium to compromise my body. So far, so good. Back to the story... as is customary in the fairy-tale stories, the Lord that the Princess favored won the battle, and of course, her heart. Cute. Cheesy. Just the way I like it. They encouraged crowd participation in voicing who you were cheering for, Dennis exercised this privilege to it's fullest. I can no longer hear out of my right ear. (Haha. Just kidding. About the hearing part...) We both agreed that we were born in the wrong century. It was, however, a night to remember. 

Give credit where credit is due...

This blog was created by my most wonderfully amazingly talented incredible brother JORDAN... (who was feeling slightly unappreciated....)

My first blog...

Well, the time has arisen in which I join the rest of the universe in this twenty-first century phenomenon known as "blogging." Currently, the man sitting next to me in class is being extremely harsh and attempting to make me feel self-conscious of this blog. However, seeing as I'm not "forcing" anyone to read my blog, and it is MY blog, I can - and will- write whatever I want. Including this.

The sense of smell I think is my favorite sense. I probably would have chosen the sense of hearing last year, but I have come to a great appreciation for my sense of smell. There is something so beautiful about the way your sense of smell can take you back in time. Whether it's a day ago, a decade ago, or perhaps a lifetime ago, it has an incredible ability to warp me to another time and place. Some memories are pleasant, some I wish I could leave behind to never revisit. Last week I had the pleasure of visiting Ft. Jackson. For those of you who aren't familiar with Army bases, Ft. Jackson is known for its Basic Training facility. I had only taken two steps into one of the "training bays" when I was instantly taken back to my own experience in basic training. It took me a few minutes to snap out of the flash-backs. The Army has a surplus of this Pine Oil cleaning stuff which they apparently use everywhere on everything. I felt like a WWII vet taking a trip back to a battlefield... Only mine took me back to being yelled at while in the front-leaning "rest position" doing push-ups on the floor that smelled so strongly like Pine Oil you could taste it. Just as quickly as it came, it vanished. Maybe it wasn't one of the most pleasant memories, but it's definitely one that gave me an appreciation for the things I have in life.

A few weeks ago it rained here. I mean, really rained. (courtesy of the hurricanes) I always read books when I was growing up that were the "classic" love stories. You know the ones I'm referring to... farmer boy "falls in-love" with the preacher's daughter... they live happily ever-after...(don't even get me started on "falling in-love"...) Anyway, in those books when there was going to be a storm they always talked about being able to "smell the rain coming." I never really thought I knew what that meant, but I do. Perhaps it's because in Oregon, it always smells like that. We were walking out to our cars one morning when I turned to my friend and told her how I thought it was about to rain. Funny how sometimes you just have to be away from things before you learn to appreciate them for what they are worth. May I never get to the place where I have forgotten where I came from.