Nothing To Do But Write

It’s 1:45 in the afternoon and here I sit, in the Dallas Fort Worth Airport, American Airlines Terminal B, to be specific.   Back in the days when I was a regular business traveler, I was a member of the Admirals Club, a private lounge for American Airlines travelers willing to pay a hefty fee … in dollars or miles.  The Club has comfortable seating, private working areas, and snacks … plus sandwiches and drinks for a price.  If I was stuck with a three hour layover … like I have today … it was better than sitting at the gate.   Quieter, for one, at least until business travelers starting bringing their kids along.  Today, I am sitting at a counter with USB ports in the Gate B5 waiting area.   I have no special attachment to gate B5 but there are no flight scheduled for the next several hours so it is relatively quiet.   For about ten minutes, the alarm on an employees-only door kept going off, a high pitched squeal that leaves my teeth vibrating.   Desperate for power for my laptop, I waited it out.  A speaker on the ceiling over my head is prattling on about the madhouse that has become our national government.  It is only slightly less annoying than the alarm.   Terminal B mostly serves American Airlines secondary routes … like those to Huntsville, where I’m headed, so in front of me passengers trickle by in ones and twos, hunting for their departure gates or talking quietly.  Even with occasional gate change announcements, it’s not a bad place to write, especially when there’s nothing else to do.  It’s not the Admirals Club, for sure, but it’s better than the madhouse in terminal A, where I arrived from Socal.

Wednesday? Cleveland

My wife, Muri, and I are in the midst of a two city coast-to-coast trip to visit our families.  We both come from small families that don’t maintain much contact with cousins, so at our age, visiting family means siblings, siblings-in-law, and their offspring.  Oh, yeah, and at our age, their offspring’s offspring.   Most of Muri’s family is concentrated within driving distance of Boston, so that was our first stop.  We spent last weekend there.  Monday, we flew to Cleveland, where my tribe lives these days.  We are the outliers, having lived in California for 44 years, and while there have been a few West Coast visitors, for the most part if we wanted to see family, we flew East.  Both Muri and I have a brother and a sister and in both cases, the middle child is the brother.  Muri is the youngest of her siblings and I am the oldest.  In an odd bit of symmetry, my kid sister and Muri’s older sister are both dealing with significant dementia, which was one of the reasons we decided to visit at this time.