Valentine's Day Eve

A couple of months ago a friend of mine in California asked me if I wanted to come for a visit. I hadn’t seen her for a while and I had a little extra discretionary cash plus I lived through a version of hell the last 6 months, so I bought a plane ticket for Valentine’s Day weekend for two days of R & R, so today’s the day and here I am.

I love that last turn on to the runway, hearing the engines gear up, and feeling the pull of the speed as the plane accelerates and then lifts into the sky.  I could do it every day.

And now I’m sitting in seat 15A, on the flight to San Francisco. Virgin America. Great airline. There’s purple mood lighting, a safety video that rivals Broadway’s best musicals, and I can order and pay for drinks on the screen at my seat and they arrive via the friendly flight attendant while I watch TV. I’m switching back and forth between Big Bang Theory and the Olympics. The four and a half hours between San Fran and Chicago should fly by. I’m on tiny bottle of wine number two, by the way. 

I’ll order number three in a minute. 

It was a balmy 29 degrees in Chicago when I left and I’m not being sarcastic by using that particular adjective. That’s more than 45 degrees warmer than it was a couple of weeks ago and 35 degrees warmer than yesterday morning. I actually saw people driving with their windows down today.

Plural. More than one.

So here I am on this lovely aircraft with the purple mood lighting, the wine, the TV, the in-flight wi-fi, heading to a place where it was in the ‘70s today and where they grow wine, and I should be thrilled, but I sort of want to turn the plane around.

I mean…  I’m sure I’ll have a great time. I haven’t seen my friend, Mary, in 8 years and I love her. I also love wine.

But I also might just be falling in love with someone at home despite his warnings against it and it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow and I’ll be in San Francisco and he’ll be in Wisconsin because that’s where he lives and he won’t fly.

So now I’m on this plane and my feet are crowded by the computer case under the seat in front of me, the pretty twenty-something girl next to me is braiding her gorgeous thick, long blond hair, and I’m having hot flashes. Normally none of that would bother me but since I’d sort of rather be back at home, I’m more annoyed than I should be.

Hang on…… ordering tiny bottle of wine number three. And checking the Olympics. Oh, figure skating is on. Switching over. Jason Brown. Hometown boy.

And the fasten-seat-belt-sign is on. It’s a bumpy ride.

Come on, Sayonara, where’s my wine? Not kidding. That’s her name. 

Oh, there it is. Thank you.

So, the flight’s about half over. Jason’s done skating and I can’t get the wi-fi to work consistently so maybe I’ll try to get a nap. 

But all I can think about is how I left my heart in Chicago.

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