On The Subject of Lateness, AFTER The Fact

I’m back in the air, folks, eager to return to my little family in Tennessee with my ‘too-many-good-times-in-Colorado-to-count’ stories firmly tucked in my mind.  And countless emotions secured deeply in my heart. 

In fact, a few too many good times almost led to an unplanned extra night in the land of sunshine, purple mountains majesty and crisp dry air.  (Did I fail to mention fruited plans and spacious skies?)  Yes, my friends, the gal who has slowly morphed into ‘the one who is late for almost everything’ over the past year or so can now claim (would that be with pride?) that she HAS been late for everything. 

After a jam-packed morning of exercise, packing, puppy-tending, beautifying and errand running, the Sweigard Sisters detoured into downtown Pueblo to hit up the Solar Roast Café (even their DECAF is flavor-packed with no hint as to its lesser jazzed identity) for one more Hero City experience together before the road trip north which would soon separate us.  Unable to decide on just one drink, I wisely opted to order a small soy latte in both hot and iced, so as to compare the two: double-fisting coffees . . . a satisfying first.  I sipped my way fully through the polarized coffee treats -- committed fan of the great bean that I now am!  Sister Rebekah was possibly equal parts impressed and astonished at my accomplishment?

We stopped off in Colorado Springs on a tight schedule, eager to hit a couple nifty second-hand and antique shops, and looking forward to a quick lunch with Sister Laurie-Laurel.  Somewhere between the bargain shopping -- pink suede boots (Rebekah); a 70’s era lighter shaped like a deck of cards (me for my son – the queen of hearts slides back, revealing the ace of spades and igniting the flame) – and the midday belly bonanza of goodness with our beautiful older sis – spicy curry soup replete with fresh veggies and rice noodles, followed by our second round of gelato on this visit of ours – the clock moved into that 4^th dimension that my husband swears exists (thus accounting for déjà vu, he claims).  And we realized we had become time-challenged.

Translation: for the first time ever, Sister Gloria was about to be late for a flight.  In fact, Sister Gloria just might MISS her first flight.

For whatever reason – perhaps the 4^th dimension IS to blame – I found myself remarkably unconcerned with my tardiness and all of its possible implications.  Traffic all along I-25 North seemed to drag below the speed limit with an intentional motive.  This plussed me not.  Instead of needlessly worrying, I plucked my sister’s college textbook on interpersonal communication from the back of the SUV and proceeded to read to her the chapter on perceptions and locus and schemata of some sort or another.  Our first time doing homework together!

After a quick unload, plans to make this togetherness an annual thing, and hugs at the Southwest departure doors, I skedaddled through the semi-long line, cutting ahead of one kindly family but finding myself unable to cut past the senior citizen in front of me (though her flight was 20 minutes later, she needed a wheelchair and assistance).  The extras packed in my one check-in bag had me thinking I would lose any edge I had at the weigh-in.  Nope!  Right on the dot of the 50-pound allowance!  Hallelujah.  The woman at the counter answered my question regarding my chances of making my 5:20PM flight when it was presently 4:45PM, “Honestly?  You won’t make it.”  Her next response about stand-by flights spurred me into hyper-drive, complete with sweaty palms and pits, “And the next one out to Nashille doesn’t leave until-l . . . um, tomorrow morning.” 

Let me tell you what!  A life time of push-ups and speed-walks paid off with 15 minutes to spare.  Thank goodness I wore comfortable flats!  I ran like nobody’s business, heavy computer/book bag in my left hand, bulging purse in my right, dodging small children and zooming around my fellow meandering travelers.  My polite but speedy explanations worked to get me past every person in the security maze.  “Just push ahead.  You need to get out of here.  Be assertive, woman, don’t be nice!” one feminist passenger kindly urged me.  There were no warning beeps from my dangling earrings as I hurriedly entered the body scanner.  A gazelle-like dash down the stairs to the train headed for gates A, B and C put me at the doors just as they whooshed open.  After the gestational period of the African elephant seemed to pass, those same doors whooshed open again.   I executed a super-speedy sprint up the double-stairwells to terminal C, taking them two at a time, jogged the three gates in to my gate, and finally halted.  A bit breathless.  Beads of sweat collecting at my hairline.  A crumpled ticket in hand, with its B-15 place in line a distant memory.  Or WAS it?

Lo and behold, it was 5:05PM and the B’s were just lining up!  I had beat the odds.  And logged another new experience under my belt in the dizzying process.  One I don’t plan on ever repeating.  “Down, unpleasant adrenaline rush, DOWN I say!”

Now, as this plane nears Nashville, the only first I’m even remotely interested in experiencing at the end of this blessed journey involves weighing the same on my bathroom scale now as I did when I left.

And based on all that dark chocolate and gelatos the Sweigard Sisters found hidden in quaint restaurants and specialty shops throughout their many adventures, methinks that improbable!  I'd like to think I brought a bit of Colorado back with me.