Sunday, April 05, 2009

US of A


First of all, I think I may have confused some people. I am NOT in Texas and unfortunately have no plans to do so. I am on a short trip (over t he Easter holidays) to my parents' in the wilds of Missouri. I really think that the name of the town they live in is an ancient Cherokee term for "Bumfuck". 

The flight was brutal, as flights that long always are, unless you are in business class, which I most assuredly was not. The flight leaving Oslo was 2 hours late, which ate up ALL my transit time in Heathrow. So, instead of a leisurely (and much looked forward to) stroll around Terminal 5, I had to run, sprint and push my way OJ style through the whole terminal to catch the connecting flight to DFW. This meant, no visit to duty free, no lunch, no trip to WH Smith for trashy mags and good British historical novels. Just me sweaty and cranky running to my next flight, with no reading materials, and, it turned out, a broken video player at my seat, which was directly behind business class, so I could be teased by them with their 10 inch screens.  The check in guy for the flight to the US was rude and officious, and I discovered something disturbing about myself: The older I get, the less I respect authority. Or, perhaps to put a finer point on it, I have no respect for persons in positions of small, underpaid authority who abuse what small power they have. This includes check in security people, those people at the gate who minutely study your ticket looking for any discrepancy so they can NOT let you on the plane, and the people who tell you to turn off your cell phone when you are in line, and then repeat it before you have a chance to react to their rudely barked orders. I find myself snarking  back at them, "I heard you first time, however I am not a superhero and can't quite move as fast as you would swish". 

I'll probably be twittering from jail some day because of my smart mouth and punk attitude. 

It only gets worse in the States. Really, I am surprised at the rudeness of airport workers in the US. I am also surprised that people just take this treatment. It is the first thing I notice upon arrival. 

Anyhow, made it on time to DFW, where I paused for a wonderful full-on Mexican taco dinner with a margarita, that after a 20 hour odyssey, got me drunker than a skunk. I hiccuped and giggled my way on to the next flight. My lack of authoritarian respect could have gotten me in BIG trouble when I snorted at a TSA agent walking ahead of me in the concourse. He turned around to see where the noise came from and I covered it in a cough. Yikes. Shutup drunk Karla!

Made it to MO where my brother and Kathy came to pick me up and drive me over the glass smooth winding and twisting country roads to my parents. Got to my parents and crashed. The jet lag, she gets harder as I get older. It's nice to be in the familial bosom, though, Mom with her silly jokes and Dad with his bombastic political opinions. Kathy brought a lot of yummy rosé with her and Mom's been cooking up a storm. 

The room I sleep in is upstairs under the eaves, and this morning it rained. I love the sound of the rain drumming on the old tin roof of the house, it sounds so solid and reassuring. This house is old (and I think it's haunted, just a little) , and very strong, and I feel safe snugged under the eaves, with the bird song and guinea fowl 'pakwakk' ing and roosters crowing and the dogs snuffling around . There was even some thunder. I love thunder. 

Eggs benedict and strawberries for breakfast. Ah......

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