Mountains to Mitten part I: Getting there

My winter break game plan went something as follows: 

Lay low. play game. family. snuggle cat. family. lay LOW. snuggle cat. snuggle cat. think about doing something and then snuggle cat. family. maybe some close friends somewhere in the mix. snuggle cat infinity. 

My actual winter break was more like this: 

surprise a friend. snuggle cat. family dinners. snuggle cat. surprise more friends. snuggle cat. leave town. snuggle cat. family games and holiday debates. snuggle cat. surprise more friends (with unexpected holiday baking). snuggle cat. holidays. leave town. almost get stranded out of town. dance with friends. snuggle cat a lot. more friends. snuggle cat and cancel plans. new years. cat. lots of friends. cat. intense family kurfufuls. cat. catcatcat infinity. 

So....I got the cat part in at least. 

***I'd like to preface with the fact that I am in a very different place now than I was then (well, duh.) there comes a point in procrastination at which detailed anecdotes are rendered pretty useless. Plus, I am more excited about where I am now (emotionally). But for the purpose of these recounts, I will try to refrain from bringing too much inner dialogue from the current me into the entries. That will be later!***

On two hours of sleep, Mary and I are whizzing to Morton. Our commute angel Corey will meet us there and take us to Portland. Mary is instantly conked out once we load his car. She's good at taking her sleep exactly when it beacons. I am too pumped to be tired. Corey is good conversation and we couldn't have been given a prettier sunrise for the drive.

In fact, most of the trip goes smoothly.

But oh man, 21st century. My first reaction upon entering the airport is "Mary, tell me where to go." She peers at my ticket and points to the line ahead, for Delta. It is blissfully non-existent. Awesome. However, the couple in front of me takes forever, asking about special accommodations or something. I zone out. When I am finally called up, the lady at the desk asks me if I am checked in. From my bewildered I thought I was doing that here look , she barely waits for an answer before asking in unflinching monotone "are you a priority passenger" (or something fancy like that.) In annoyance, she points over down the lobby to her left. "You need to do a self check-in or go down to the special services and they will help you." I am already deterred from dealing with another harsh over-worked employee so I decide to walk over to the rows of computer kiosks I'd avoided before.

I am still a phone-code virgin. The screen asks me to wave my texted little Rorschach square under a laser but nothing is happening. The only thing reacting is my stress level. Finally, I just go to the "special service desk." No one is there and when someone finally sees me waiting, she acts even more annoyed than the first person. Apparently that line isn't open. As politely as I can, I try to explain to her that I am not an indoctrinated robo-tron hooked into the "know" of everything cyber. She marches me back over to the computers, asks for my ticket and presses a bunch of buttons. Maintaining my manners, I thank her and explain I don't fly often. I haven't seen these before. She humphs. What advancement. We've progressed our technology and stunted our manners to Cave Man age.

So, back to the smooth sailing (besides getting my Swiss Army knife taken at security - oops).

The flight is relatively on time. We are riding one of Boeing's newest plane - "the pride of our fleet today." Fancy.

 Okay, it is pretty fancy. First of all, they have found a way to make me pay attention to the safety video. Live action skits filmed with cinematic refinement that poke fun at themselves. These are shown on individual screens on the back of each seat. I got that uncomfortable "bah, sheep" feeling when they flashed sychronized advertisements on all 150+ screens in front of each passenger but ultimately succumbed to the private theater offering...I mean, c'mon. I got to watch Despicable Me II and Somm (very interesting documentary) for free. Needless to say, I did not do the sleep I was planning to do.

Family sans cat stand before me at the baggage claim 4 hours later. Immediately, there are the familiar  well-intended bickerings and banterings and silent allies formed. Our reunion conversation is abridged and sidetracked with the urgent logistics of dinner. I had been sitting upon the hope of surprising my very dear friend Anna at Arbor Farms and, settling upon driving home for dinner it was looking like a possibility once more.

First principle of coming home: Lay low. 

Mission: Anna surprise turns into 48-hour hang out session. There was a secret mission, really tasty sangria and games involved. But not really a laying low thing.

My contribution to the Holiday discussion.

Dominoes for arts-es, yes?

This was good. Take note. So much happening in your mouth. 

To end this entry, I will grace you with a lovely feline face. I figured I would get these out of the way now, since they have very little context except that they happened incrementally between everything I did for the entire two weeks.

Principle "cat snuggles": still in tact.