Flying High

February 2, 2004

I believe that no good deed ever goes unpunished. When was the last time that you boarded an airplane with an 83 year old man who takes diuretics? Never you say? No sane person would do such a foolish thing! Well, there you have it!

Several months ago I decided that my dad should visit my aunt in Tampa and I would be the one to take him. At first, we were going to drive, but Tim said, “Are you out of your #**# mind?” Delta to the rescue.

Because my dad had not flown since 9-11, I explained all the new security procedures, including packing his pocket knife in his checked bag. I forgot the shoes. As he started through the scanner, the machine started clanging like a fire truck. A guard led the nation’s next terrorist over to a chair and asked him to remove his shoes. Then the wanding began. Of course, the watch, the eyeglasses case clip, the ring, the wallet…all had to be removed. Then it happened. The diuretics kicked into high gear. Apparently, the guard had not been briefed on such eventualities, because he insisted on finishing the inspection—only faster.

As soon as the guard said, “OK, sir, you may go,” Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride began. We managed to get the shoes back on, and I grabbed his coat, hat, and assorted stuff. As Daddy took off for the restroom, I made a mad dash for the bowl of pocket change that had made it through the scanner. He made it just in the nick of time…well, mostly.

As we settled into our seats at the back of the small plane, Daddy decided that another trip to the restroom was in order. I argued that the plane was moving; therefore, wandering around the cabin wasn’t a good idea. Well, sitting there in his state of emergency wasn’t a good idea to him. Within minutes I heard the attendant banging on the restroom door. “Sir! Sir! You have to come out now. The plane is leaving.” After a while, “Sir” emerged. There was a repeat performance when we landed. And another one at the food court in Atlanta. By that time I realized that some adjustments must be made. A restroom stop was scheduled for every 10-15 minutes.

When we got to my aunt’s house, Daddy produced a bottle of vodka from his suitcase. No wonder he packed his own bag even though I offered to do it for him. I should have been suspicious when this Scotch drinker suddenly switched to vodka, but No-o-o-o-o. I was tired and clueless. By the end of the week, I finally realized that all that iced water wasn’t.

The first round of stories began over Cuban sandwiches. Trust me. This was only the beginning. I heard the same stories over, and over, and over, and over. You get the picture.
I was grateful for bedtime which consisted of a trundle bed. Never did get used to that thing. Daddy got the king size. We had to keep the doors shut in case the cat, Tee Cee, decided to become our bed buddy. But I knew that Tee Cee would never get in bed with me. His greeting of hissing and biting a chunk out of my hand convinced me that we weren’t going to be friends.

The next morning brought warm Florida sunshine and a breakfast of toast and coffee. By lunch I was licking my lips for seafood. My family has always believed that if you are in Florida you should eat nothing but seafood…except for Cuban sandwiches. After a delicious salad at Wendy’s, we went to PayLess Shoes to get Daddy a pair of tennis shoes for the return trip. I looked forward to dinner.

My cousin’s family joined us for dinner at a nice restaurant across the street from the mall. I got directions on the way home. The shrimp was delicious and the wine helped considerably. When it came time to order, Daddy announced that he wasn’t hungry…soup would do just fine for him. Soup and part of my salad and shrimp. I got a second glass of wine. Somewhere along the way, Daddy finished his wine and poured some of my aunt’s water into his wine glass. Then he decided that I had gotten more wine than he had (and for good reason I might add) and tried to pour my second glass into his wine glass that, by now, had remnants of my aunt’s water. I suggested a trip to the restroom.

By morning I was determined to steer a new course. Preferably to the mall—with or without the two senior citizens. As it turned out, my aunt let me borrow her car. She carefully instructed me how to remove the Club from the steering wheel, and then suggested that I put the car in reverse to get out of the driveway.

I returned a couple of hours later, toting several packages. I had bought three pairs of socks for Daddy, because I was convinced that he had forgotten to pack socks. Not so! He informed me that he had not changed socks in three days because his feet did not sweat. I insisted that he take a shower before we went to dinner with my aunt’s friends, Joan and Wayne. And change socks!
Joan and Wayne must be experienced. They picked us up for dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, The Colonnade. Wayne must have known a new route because it took forever to get there, and Oh!, the stories. You do remember the earlier reference to the stories, don’t you?

After we were seated, Joan and Wayne explained that they always ordered the same entrée (fried flounder) and shared. I ordered wine and prayed. Then they each ordered a cup of clam chowder and I began to feel better. When the chowder arrived, Joan spooned each clam into Wayne’s cup. I caught the waiter’s eye and told him to keep my glass full.

I was almost giddy the next morning. My dear friend, Kirsten Muldoon, had suggested that I call her daughter-in-law while I was in Tampa. Somehow, I managed to con this jewel into picking me up for lunch. My aunt suggested we go to McDonald’s or the International House of Pancakes. We found an Applebee’s near the mall. Laura and I talked until I came to my senses and realized that she had to get back to work.

That night was pizza night at my cousin’s house. It was great to get reacquainted with far-flung family. Daddy was ready to go home at 7:30, but I wasn’t budging. Pizza and conversation. It doesn’t get much better than that.

On our last day in Tampa, my cousin and her daughter took me to two (count them, please) malls and lunch. I am forever in their debt. If they ever get to Opp, I promise to return the favor. I bet they would kill to shop at Fred’s Dollar Store.

I was sure that our last dinner in Tampa would be at some fine, however modest, seafood restaurant. I had the two piece, white meat, and a biscuit at KFC.

I was awake by 5 am even though we weren’t leaving for the airport until 7:30 for a 10 am flight. I had no idea how long the return trip would take, but I didn’t have a good feeling about it. (Foreshadowing) I found Daddy in the dining room in the dark with a glass of ice water. He claimed he was thirsty. Oh, brother!

The new tennis shoes were a stroke of genius. Everything was smooth until we got to Atlanta. We flew through a storm to land and as Evan will tell you, “Mom and Atlanta don’t get along too well!” Thank goodness for wheelchairs, because we were able to move quickly through the terminal and arrived with precious few minutes to spare before our flight to Huntsville. Little did we know that our hell was just beginning.

We descended the stairs, walked through the pouring rain, left our luggage beside the plane, and climbed more stairs. I got a little queasy as we flew through the storm again, but I had my sights set on home. Ten minutes from touchdown the pilot informed us that we were turning around. Something minor was wrong with the plane, and we were returning to Atlanta (and the storm) for another plane. Slid back down the slippery steps, picked up the soggy carry-on luggage left on the tarmac, tromped through the rain, climbed the stairs to the terminal. An hour later, we repeated the Dance of the Flying Fools.

This time we sat on the plane and watched as our luggage was loaded and unloaded. Loaded and unloaded. After an hour it was obvious that something was wrong with plane #2. Daddy got stuck in the restroom as passengers struggled by the door that was caught in the catawampus position. Then a repeat performance of the Dance of the Flying Fools. I was not happy.

My poor brother had been dispatched to meet the first plane. He spent most of the afternoon in the bar at Ruby Tuesday’s. Six hours later we arrived, dazed and crazed. I managed to explain to the pilot of plane #3 that the next time I booked a flight I would find out if I had to go out in the yard to board. Not my finest hour.

My dad and my aunt enjoyed their visit. When I am 83, I hope my children take me to Disney World.