Trapped in travel hell

My 10:45 am flight was delayed this morning. I got to the airport with little more than an hour to spare after an airport shuttle fiasco, only to learn that I might not leave SFO until 3 pm. After a small meltdown failed to make me feel better, and attempts to find another flight out before the end of the day failed, I resigned myself to a lost day spent sitting in the airport. And sitting. And sitting some more.

I spent several hours trying to find the positive. I could watch the sun sparkle over the hills. I could eat decent - though overpriced - pasta while I people watched. I have plenty of books to get me through the day.

But now my flight's pushed back again. I've been here for four hours, and nobody is really clear on the problem or its resolution. Mechanical issues in Austin? Weather delays somewhere? I don't really know, and I'm pretty sure I don't care right now. I've been up since 5:30 this morning and the children are loud and people are getting pushy and I'd just like to get on the plane, please. I have a lot to get done in the next week, and no more time to waste in the airport. And the airline just announced that another flight - going nowhere near my own - was just canceled due to a mechanical issue their mechanics can't fix. If I got on my bicycle now, how long do you think it would take to get to New York?

Birthdays can suckit, but sisters are special

When my grandma died in 2008, her funeral was the day before my birthday, but we rallied for cakes and candles. It was surreal, but I'm really glad my family made the effort. It was my last birthday with both of my parents.

When my birthday rolled around this May - 4 days after we'd buried my mom, I wanted nothing to do with the celebrating. In fact, I'd kind of forgotten about my special day until I saw a note from my brother. He'd gone to work, but left some details for us in a note on the dining room table, with birthday greetings in capital letters at the bottom of the page. Any firsts after the death of a loved one are hard, but this birthday really sucked.

I talked a lot about this recently with my sister. It's her birthday today. It would also have been my dad's 75th birthday today. And maybe it seemed like ceasing the festivities was a good idea. Why, she asked, celebrate her birthday when the people responsible for it aren't around? Why go through the trouble of a party when hiding out for the weekend would be so much easier?

She has a point. I know the thought of celebrating anything right now makes my stomach turn. On the other hand, my dad was pretty quick to tell me - and maybe my sister and brother, too - that we shouldn't sit home in mourning after he died. That there was a lot of living left in our lives, and he wanted us to seize every moment.

And besides, dad really loved a good party. So my sister will be having one this weekend. It'll probably be the hardest party she'll ever have to throw. But I think it'll be worth the effort. Happy birthday, Steph!

The other half

I'm a pretty dedicated city girl. No offense to the suburbs, but having grown up in the heart of American suburbia, I can pretty safely say I don't belong there. However, sometimes it's nice to visit.

I have friends stretched across San Francisco's suburbs, and recently took advantage of an offer to visit the Peninsula (the pretty, generally sunny towns south of San Francisco, for those of you not familiar with the Bay Area). The Peninsula has a rough rap as wealthy enclaves full of white-gloved women who lunch. But one of its best parts is often overlooked: some of its neighborhoods are on the water.

Right on the water, like my friend's house, with a little backyard, a little beach, and a boat dock, to which his boat, a kayak, and a canoe were tethered on the day we visited. We barbecued, then went for a little cruise around his neighborhood's lagoon.

You guys, people really live like this, with their deck ON THE LAGOON. They can go for a swim or paddle before breakfast. I'm very, very committed to my life in San Francisco, but a backyard beach could persuade me to one day move south. Maybe.

Liquid lunch

No, not that kind, although it does occasionally have it's merits.

This kind is much better. I've been swimming twice a week on my lunch hour. I don't have time for more than about 25 minutes in the pool, but those precious minutes makes the rest of the day awesome. And the pool is rarely crowded. Most days, I don't even have to split a lane. I am a very happy swimmer.

Doing It Wrong

I'm all about the honesty these days - in a blunt, yeah, that skirt looks atrocious on you kind of way. I always have been, but it's a little more, well, pronounced these days. So when a friend expressed sadness that I won't be joining her and some others for a weekend in Tahoe, I might have mentioned that my last trip with this crew - just about six months after my dad died - was horrible. And I couldn't foresee any circumstances that could make this trip any better this year. I don't want to hang out with anybody, I'd much rather be alone, and I really can't handle large-group social situations right now.

She took that pretty well, actually, and pointed out that perhaps I just need a weekend away, some time to blow off some steam and not have any real responsibilities for a few days.

Believe me, there's nothing more I'd like to do right now than go on a bender. A long, loud one. But, as I pointed out to my friend, when I did that after my dad died, no good came of it. I was just emotional and a little out of control with no good results. And I was never drunk enough to not remember any of my emotional outbursts. Like yelling at (and then crying all over) friends at a party. Or maybe several parties. And on some street corners. And, frankly, I think I've run out of free passes on being the drunk (or not) emotional girl who just lost a parent. I don't really see that my friends - or the strangers who've gotten caught in the crossfire - will give me another break.

My friend pointed out that I might be going about my benders wrong, if I can still remember them. And that most of our friends who have lost a parent have only lost one, not two within two and a half years, so if my friends didn't continue to be indulgent, perhaps I should get new friends.

My friends are awesome, odd logic and all, I'm just so, so tired of being that girl.

Not quite Oz

I was in Seattle for work this week. It's nickname is the Emerald City. It was pretty, and a nice and surprisingly sunny change from foggy San Francisco.

I think I call this Irony

Trepidation

I try to never let fear stop me from doing something. It's usually a good motivator to tackle something I'm pondering not doing because I'm, well, afraid.

A couple of months ago, I learned that an acquaintance had a seizure while swimming laps at her gym. She's currently in a coma, and her odds aren't looking very good. I guess she had a seizure disorder, but medication was controlling it pretty well. And it sounds like, despite quick action on the part of pool lifeguards, she was underwater for awhile.

After I heard about her accident, I thought twice the next time I jumped into the pool. But that was it, just a small second thought - a few moments to think about my safety, and say a short prayer for this girl and her family. And I've been swimming a lot since then, and I don't think I've had another thought about my safety.

Two weeks ago, a friend was in a really bad bike accident - his second in less than three years. His physical injuries are bad, but he'll recover. His brain injuries are uncertain at this point, but his prognosis is not good. Yes, he was wearing a helmet.

Since I got home from New York, despite some fantastic weather, I haven't been out for a bike ride. I lack the ability to concentrate enough right now to safely navigate even the safest bike routes by my house. I'm pretty easily distracted, and I just don't think I'm safe on the road. This is a part of the grieving process, and it'll pass eventually.

But after learning about my friend, I spent a lot of time seriously considering the safety of biking, especially in a city with several recent bike-car accidents. But today I had no choice. I had to pick up my bike from the shop, and the only way to get home was to ride - at least part of the way. So I did. Slowly at first, and with some trepidation. I said a little prayer for my friend and his family, and I admired the view that was probably part of his last ride.

And it felt good. Well, it hurt a little, as two months off has turned my quads to jelly. But it felt like the right thing to be doing on a beautiful day.

If the shoe fits....

I was dressed nicely but casually as I boarded the bus for a birthday party Friday night. The unseasonably summer weather in San Francisco has meant that I've dusted off my summer shoes. On Friday, I was wearing a pair of brown, strappy, open-toed heels. I love these shoes. I bought them at the Nordstrom outlet in 2000, just before I left DC for New Mexico. So they're old, but still really sturdy, despite lots of wear while I lived in warmer climes.

I got off the bus, and was two blocks from my destination - a bar near Union Square - when something felt odd on my left foot. Like perhaps there was a hole in my shoe, or my sole was peeling away. I was about to stop to check out the problem when the front third of my shoe flew off of my foot, and landed a few feet in front of me on the busy sidewalk. Right in front of a surf shop packed with tourists.

I picked up the front third of my shoe, and wedged it back onto my foot. I hobbled into the shop, and the very nice clerk asked me if he could offer any help. I explained my situation and told him I was in desperate need of flip flops. He happily pointed me to the sale rack, and I found a nice brown pair that matched my outfit and only cost $8. Not bad for an emergency purchase.

As he rang me up, I thanked the clerk for saving my day. He offered to throw away my shoes so I didn't have to lug them around all night. It was only then that I could fully survey the damage. The sole of my left shoe, which was perfectly in tact when I left my house, had split across the bottom of the shoe, taking the entire foot bed with it. I though briefly about trying to have it repaired, but then handed the pair to the clerk so he could trash them. I'm pretty sure repairs would have cost more than the shoes did. And I had a shopping trip planned for this weekend anyway. New shoes weren't on my list, but it can't hurt to browse.

Kissing-free zone

I would never wish mono on anybody. My experience was so horrid that I would never, ever even joke about somebody else getting sick like that. Even when coworkers jokingly asked me to kiss them - thinking that several weeks in bed was better than being at work - I would scold them for their antics. It was awful.

And yet, when I ran into an acquaintance last night, and he hugged me (twice) and then mentioned that he was recovering from mono, my first thought was not compassion. My first thought was to find the fastest way out of the building and into the shower after I'd doused myself with antibacterial soap and possibly burned my clothes.

Hmmm. I may be a little obsessive about my health these days. That's ok. It's normal. But the dude hugged me twice - once to say hi, and once as I was leaving the gathering. And it wasn't until after the second hug that he mentioned his month-long mono plight. I know he's no longer contagious. He's definitely on the mend, and his wife never got sick. I'm thankful for all of those things. I'm really happy he wasn't sick for long, and he had people to take care of him through the worst of it. He's very lucky.

But I'm still a little grossed out at the thought of coming near him. I may start carrying around a little bottle of bleach, just to disinfect sometimes.