A long, though relatively uneventful flight. We're traveling in cattle class, a mode of transport roughly equivalent to that of inert baggage. On the flight up I was quite territorial & bulldoggy about my personal space, but I'm a lot mellower this time through. Perhaps because I'm not sitting behind an obnoxious teen. (Like I don't get enough of that at work...)

We almost missed our flight, incidentally. I was sent on ahead as Mom bought last-chance European chocolates. When I got to the gate, everybody - and I do mean everybody - was already aboard. I asked the attendant to page my mother, visions of an extended holiday dancing in my head, but she refused. I sat down by myself and tried not to worry. But when another 20 minutes had gone by and the final boarding call was announced, I began to wonder if I could phone in tomorrow's lessons.

The attendant asked for my ticket & passport.

"I'm not going without her," I said, beginning to panic. The attendant was less than patient, insisting that if I checked in, they could then page my mother. As I handed over the documents, I saw my mother approach with her chocolate haul.

Big sigh. Crisis averted.

(Except, of course, for the vicious argument we had when we found our seats. I'm not even going to detail it - travel arguments should be lost to posterity, not saved by grudge-bearing offspring. Still...oh, never mind.)

Before we would even have a chance to go at it, I lost the heel of my shoe in the Schipol airport. Fucking Fluevogs. I've been bravely stumping around ever since, my maximum speed halved. I still can't figure out why I didn't switch to my boots when I had the chance. [Ed. note: oh, how I came to bitterly regret that decision when I was rammed by both a baggage cart and a wheel chair in Toronto's airport. When I finally got home the shoe leather had peeled away from the heel like over-ripe fruit skin.] I just hope that Scherezade was right and that the store will fix them. I need these shoes.

Just so I can end on a positive note, I want to say how much I liked getting the "strict vegetarian" meal. It was an odd but ultimately compelling mix of edibles, and I ate 20 minutes before everyone else.

~*~

Toronto Airport Addendum:

Well, that was damned horrible. My father & the Boy came to the airport to pick us up. By the time my mother and I made it through deplaning & customs, she was in the worst mood I've ever seen in my life. She was not only not talking to me, but she was walking an average of 20 feet ahead of me as I limped along behind on my broken shoes, carrying my luggage & wondering what the hell was going on.

Seeing the Boy made me squiggly with joy, and I felt a huge surge of relief at the thought that I would soon be home with him. When we got to the car, he took the empty luggage cart back to the front of the loading zone. While he was gone, my father (in an ecstasy of impatience) decided that since the Boy was heading toward the airport, we could meet up with him quicker if we drove to the exit.

We were on the highway before he realized that the two places didn't meet up.

My mother used this as her chance to unleash a stream of insults & imprecations upon his head (which had much more to do with her mood than his actions, although I don't completely absolve him - I was pretty appalled that we had just abandoned my husband in Canada's largest airport.) We drove back to the airport & my father got out to run around & find the Boy. My mother took over the driving and began to yell at me for not being able to predict where the Boy might be. This was a bewildering accusation at best, so I ignored it as much as I could.

40 minutes later we found the Boy. He was shocked but reasonably okay; he told me quietly that when he had returned to the empty parking space, he felt a curiously fatalistic sense of rightness. So this is how it ends. My poor, poor Boy.

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