Lone Rhino...Staycation...

      I was picking her up from school and a boy from her class wandered past the front of the car as we were getting in.
      Isobel: "Daddy look at that boy."
      Daddy:" What boy?"
      Isobel: "That boy, the one in my class."
      Daddy: "Oh that helps, thanks Pick."
      Isobel: "For what?"
      Daddy: "For nothing! WHAT boy do you mean. I don't know anyone in your class so your help didn't."
     Isobel: "Oh. I get it. I mean THAT boy, the one in the blue jacket."
     Daddy: "Oh, OK. What about the boy in the blue jacket?"
     Isobel: "He's my large enemy."


      When I played in the band, I traveled alone frequently, in the early days it was nearly every weekend. Buses and taxis and planes, friends cars and the occasional hitchhiked rides when that kind of thing was only a moderately stupid thing to do. The worst you had to worry about was dirty old men making lewd offers...maybe that just happened to me...maybe I just have that kind of face. Anyway, I am home now and my family is not. I traveled without wife and kids for the first time since I came back home.
     It's not to say that I believed myself to be incapable of traveling on my own...I worry more about the fact that I keep spelling traveling with two L's. I am a worrier and a desperately uptight about being late by nature.  Not quite a type A personality...A minus at best.
      But here's the rub, Mrs. Narrator IS a type A personality. A certified, dyed in the wool control freak. All T's will be crossed and all I's dotted. She will drive to the airport and get into a blind rage at the mere thought of being late or getting off at the wrong exit. (For the record, we have a GPS and she still freaks out) Documentation will be at the ready and she will control money, documentation and appropriate conveyance tickets, relinquishing control only long enough for them to be displayed to the proper authorities. The children will be corralled, the luggage will be dragged and the husband will be screamed at and remain silent until all asses are securely in seats on the plane. Anyone that knows Mrs. Narrator and/or her family, knows this is an exaggeration...but only a slight one.
      So there I am, traveling alone. There are no kids to look for or look out for, no luggage but my own and even before the madness began in Denver, I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. A dreadful feeling that something was dreadfully wrong and there was. I had no one telling me what to do or when to do it or sending me to fetch snacks or wayward fathers. I broke out in a cold sweat. 'This is stupid.' I thought but no matter what I tried to do, read, eat or get a beer, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was was inches away from being hollered at for doing something stupid and it was causing me to second guess everything I was doing. It was like Stockholm syndrome for the married set.
      Despite the fear and self loathing, I did come to a realization. When you travel alone, more to the point when you travel without young kids, you notice a lot more things. For example The departure side of the airport in Puerto Vallarta is entirely manned by people under the age of thirty. I did not see one single face that contained a wrinkle or one head that exhibited a grey hair. Without the kids to chase around, I could reflect on the fact that I never have seen these things.
      I have also noticed that there are a great number of lesbians working airport security and the all have the same haircut. I have nothing against lesbians. I don't really have anything against anybody except the acceptable and universally reviled. (Nazis, people who are cruel to animals or children and people who burn toast and act as though it is perfectly acceptable as something to eat with just a bit more jam)  That being said, I had a few questions and my sisters in law, both proud daughters of Sappho, are my go to people in these matters. The consensus was that there is a lesbian haircut, it appears to be international and they don't get it either.
      But I did manage to get on the plane and again, it's amazing what you notice when you aren't trying to keep kids occupied. Not that I actually do any of the occupying, the kids never want to sit with me BUT I do have conversations and I am appraised of the children's situations on a regular basis. It's a little bit like occupying them...OK, it's nothing like occupying them but nonetheless I did notice things I don't think I would have otherwise.
      The flight attendants that work for United Airlines scare the shit out of me. The one that was attending to my section did anyway. She had blond hair and too much plastic surgery. Something like a cross between the Joker and Howard the Duck with King Tut's mother in law's hands. She didn't stroll the aisles so much as she shuffled up them, leaving bits of sand trailing behind her. I didn't want to look at her but was compelled. I was like a moth to flame until she lifted her head and shot a dessicated look my way. I buried my face in the Sky Mall magazine for fear that she might actually come over and talk to me with her killer bee stung lips flapping wildly as she asked if I wanted a beverage or perhaps a prepackaged snack or maybe to have my brain pulled out through one of my nostrils.
      Soon it was farewell to Pharaoh's wife and hello Denver. More full on dread and flop sweat panic, more running, more lesbian security guards and naked body scanners. Twenty more years and I get to keep my shoes on when I go through, ho ho! Flat out running to a gate that was one train and two buildings away to get to a gate with a delayed plane that got me home pretty damned eventually. To the waiting arms(or SUV as was the case) of two very patient non-haircut, slightly tired but none the less happy and absolutely lovely and saviour like lesbian sisters in law.
      What have we learned from all of this? That a man's ability to fend for himself declines exponentially with the number of years he has been married. I figure by our tin anniversary, I won't be allowed to cross the street unless someone is holding my hand.
 

      It was suggested that since I had the house all to myself for a whole week, it would be like a vacation at home...a STAYCATION. I had plans. Lots of piping practice and video games and finishing up all that homework, maybe a little studying. Somewhere along the line, I became a grown up. I think it might have been over California. I can't seem to get my mind on the things I want to do versus the things I think I should do. There is laundry and groceries and studying and all the things that really suck about being the only one home. I mean I wouldn't want to come home to a pile of dirty clothes or a messy house or empty fridge...This getting old crap really is a young man's game, it's wearing me out. Alone here in the kitchen, I feel there's something missing. Hell I might even miss Mrs. Narrator... Well at least I have the lovely weather here to keep me distracted...