What a world we live in

Oh, what a world we live in….

I tried to doze on Flight 640 heading for Atlanta, but did not succeed.

Couldn’t unwind. And I knew that flying west to east was going to inflict worse jet lag than east to west.

My imagination wasn’t helping. We were above the clouds, of course, and it was night. I knew the crinkling black sea was down there in pitch darkness. Thousands of square miles of it, empty, sinister – dark.

If an airplane should fall out of the sky over land, there is often a chance of survivors, but a plane dropped into the Pacific, the largest mass of water on the planet, will disappear forever.

I did not relax until we were over the United States again, even if we were still above the clouds, in the dark, and probably over desert. At least, it seemed to me, in case of a crash, there was a chance whatever was left of me would be back in my own country.

The year of the most flying miles we’ve ever logged appears to be over, by “we” meaning our whole family. We’re glad to be back at our several homes.

In March, Jean flew down from Virginia and back with her two little boys. I flew to their house for a week in May. (Yes, as one of our favorite wags likes to say, my arms were really tired.)

Then Mary and Rainer were on Delta’s new nonstop Düsseldorf-to-Atlanta flight when they came to join Dave and me for our ongoing 50th anniversary adventure. We flew to Honolulu together, back to Atlanta two weeks later, and they returned to Düsseldorf Sunday, Aug. 6.

Their arms were tired too. They had flown across two oceans and a continent – twice – in a month.

One cannot help identifying with the travelers caught in the chaos of August 17, when British police in London announced the arrest of possible terrorists just as they were rehearsing the biggest killing ever perpetrated in the sky.

There are two stories here, of course. The one about the plot and the impending loss of human life is beyond my comprehension, and is still being sorted out.

The other, however, the simple inconvenience of Thursday’s events – any of us can imagine ourselves or our families in the situation millions of people were subjected to last week. Missed flights, lost bags, seeking alternatives, all added to one’s natural apprehension about flying.

I can see Jean with her babies and what it takes to travel with them: lotions, wipes, the emergency bottle of thick goop she used to carry for Samuel and a backup bottle of Mother’s Finest for Baby U.

Good grief, I can picture Rainer unexpectedly having to decide how to manage his monstrous backpack of photographic equipment, while struggling with English. When he travels, he assumes he will be paying overweight fees for both his checked duffle and his cherished cameras.

I’ve seen pack mules toting less. Check his camera and laptop? No way.

I really don’t know what he’d do.

Tossing bottles of deodorant and hair conditioner? Not a big deal. But the Jack Daniel’s souvenir from Tennessee? Medications? Our electronics? All the stuff already carefully packed to check – can carry-ons now be hastily repacked for checking? Or will someone toss it into a transparent plastic bag with my name and (at least!) my flight number on it?
Jean and I have both had seriously damaged laptops when they were mishandled within our sight by security people in “normal” circumstances. In today’s scenario, in the unlikely assumption we got them back, would they be salvageable?

I’m sure that many of these dilemmas are already being thought through by travelers, and I’ve noticed that items were going on and off the contraband checklist so quickly that this episode may seem ancient history by the time you read this.

Believe me, I want safe skies for myself, my children and grandchildren, as well as the more than 1 million of my countrymen said to be in the air at any given moment. Take my comments not as complaints but as bemusement. The reality is that I won’t fly as much
and the worst it will probably cost me is watching my grandbabies grow up.

It dawned on me once that it costs the same to fly a child or a daughter to Atlanta as it does for me to fly to Washington/Dulles, and is much easier for me. I just send a check and meet the flight.

But even that idea is fraught with fear. Imagine inviting a grandchild to board a plane and…?

I can’t even write the words.

I’m not nearly as tough as I thought I am.