TORRANCE TRIBUNE March 24, 2016 Page 3 By TerriAnn Ferren My bags were packed, my schedule was cleared, and nothing could dull the excitement I felt as I rode to the airport for my weekend trip to visit my Aunt Joyce in Florida. Some people like living on the edge, but not me. Arriving at an airport early always gives me a sense of calm, and ever since I applied for, and received, the TSA Pre-check clearance, navigating security has been a bit easier. Or at least that is what I thought. After checking my bag, I rode the elevator up to the departure level at Los Angeles International Airport and noticed a line at the TSA Pre-Check. There wasn’t a line formed at the ‘regular’ check-in. But my line moved quickly - until I walked through the metal detector and tripped all the bells. I took off my boots but the bells still rang. The security person asked me if I was carrying any metal. No, but I did have hairpins in my hair which proved to be tripping everything! Security asked me if I wanted to take out all the pins from my hair. Ah, no. She was getting ready to do a ‘pat-down’. Then they sent me through the metal detector one more time and lo and behold I passed! Finally free. Putting back on my scarf, boots, and sweater, I gathered my purse and computer and finally headed toward my gate. Sitting at the gate in the waiting area comforts my whole being before a flight and I eagerly reached for my novel and settled in for a few minutes. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a direct flight into Ft. Lauderdale from Los Angeles, so I was flying into Las Vegas to change planes. We lined up in numerical number, boarded, secured our seatbelts, and we were off. As we taxied toward the runway, ready to take off, I noticed we bypassed our turn down the runway and rounded the corner, lining up at the back of the queue again. Not a good sign. Then our illustrious captain announced air traffic in Las Vegas was heavy and we were asked to hold taking off until traffic cleared. Great. But I had a connection! Twenty-seven grueling minutes later we were in the air. My connection would be very close. Our flight was so late, the airline held the connecting flight to Florida, as all 23 passengers (me included), literally ran for the flight in Terminal C. Of course, we arrived in Las Vegas at a gate in Terminal B. Panting, we all made it. With this particular airline, it is first come first served as far as seating assignments, and because we arrived after everyone had boarded, I ended up in the middle seat. Not my favorite. Remember when flying was glamorous? Old movies that show the golden age of flying remind us how everyone used to dress up in their finest for the event. And ‘stewardesses’ were just one rung below nurses, because that was an original requirement of the job. I miss being served meals on a plane too. Peanuts, cookies, crackers, and pretzels don’t quite cut it. I remember lovely meals and figuring out how to get the silverware out of plastic, and peel off the little tabs on top of the salt and pepper shakers daintily all added up to making the flight feel very special. Having loved ones and friends ‘see you off’ and ‘meet you’ at the gate used to be a given. No longer. Since 9-11 things have changed and we can’t go back, but sometimes when I am flying above the clouds, I remember how it used to be. All in all, the rest of the flight went well and my thoughts turned to Florida, the Sunshine State. That particular weekend the state was gearing up for their presidential primary. While I was there, I decided to ask a few locals in town what they thought about the race. When I finally reached my destination at my Aunt Joyce’s house, the long trip instantly became a faint memory. Gone were my frustrations and concerns. A gentle few days of pure bliss were ahead of me. The following morning, after breakfast with my Aunt Joyce, I met Susan Small, a neighbor and resident of Boca Raton, who moved to Florida from Boston, Massachusetts 22 years ago, and works as a poll worker in her community. I asked her if she was up to the mark with all the political news, and if she ever got involved in any of the campaigns. “I am up on what is going on but I never involve myself with any of the campaigns at all. Everything is the election [on TV] and all of it is nonsense, and the media to me is the worst offender of all,” stated Susan. Next, I spoke with my driver, T.J. Fazio, who moved to Florida from New York nine and a half years ago. T.J. likes Florida a lot and was very happy to tell me his thoughts, “Florida is becoming more diverse as more and more people move down here every year. It’s a different way of life from living in the New York City area.” I had a wonderful, restful visit with my Aunt Joyce. One night she took me to a very special place with quite a history – Cap’s Place, a restaurant built on an island in the Florida bush, dating back to the 20s where bootlegging and illegal gambling were common. It is said when Cap (Eugene “Cap” Knight) ran liquor, his brother would flicker the light at the family lighthouse to signal when the coast was clear. Aunt Joycie and I took the boat to Cap’s Place. Dinner was amazing. This restaurant still doesn’t have a microwave! Also, I found out that in January, 1942, Prime Minister Winston Churchill and President Franklin D. Roosevelt took the boat over to Cap’s Place for dinner too - with Cap serving the guests himself. Wow. I can’t imagine managing Roosevelt’s wheelchair on a small boat! The days along the Atlantic shore with my Aunt Joyce were filled with love, family stories, old movies, watching the ocean, and laughing. It was a gentle, lovely visit and I hated to leave so soon. But back to work and reality, like every other working person, comes way too quickly. The next morning, I said good-bye to my Aunt Joyce and headed on my journey home. Walking back into Ft. Lauderdale/Hollywood International Airport, I wheeled my suitcase up and onto the scale. As I handed the attendant my boarding pass, a big blank screen came up that said, “Your flight has been cancelled.” Cancelled? The attendant told me she would see if she could get me on a flight back to Los Angeles that night. Lovely. She worked her magic and sure enough, I was booked via Denver this time with a change of planes and then on to Los Angeles. Saying good-bye to my bag wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be because I was not at all certain that things would run smoothly. The cancelled flight was due to bad weather in Chicago (where my flight originally would connect). Better to be rerouted than stranded in Chicago, I suppose. So I was booked on a flight to Denver…in four hours. No problem. Eating at the airport would be fun, I thought. After all, there are all sorts of things I never take time to check out. After purchasing a few bobbles, and a Cuban chicken sandwich, I sat near my gate reading. It proved to be a nice respite – until I spilled my bag of popped chips all over the floor. Finally boarding the plane gave me courage I was actually going to be home that night. But of course, since I was ‘rerouted’, I had a very high boarding number and again sat in the middle seat. Flying to Denver, we skirted a storm quite visible out the window. Lightening strikes illuminating the dark clouds and kept me occupied until we landed. I was happy the flight was early because it gave me plenty of time to walk from one terminal to the other to catch my flight home. By this time, I was looking forward to being home. It was a full flight and I was again in the middle seat - this time between two football players who ate snacks and listened to their iPods the entire time. At least they were quiet and polite. As we were on approach to Los Angeles, I spotted familiar landmarks from the air, which made me feel wonderful. Seeing my Aunt Joyce was a joy and come to think of it, if Wilbur and Orville Wright hadn’t ventured up in their flying machine in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina those many years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to travel 6,000 miles for a long weekend on the other side of the country to visit my Aunt Joyce. Flying is rather spectacular, even with cancelled flights, middle seats, and delays. My son, Christopher picked me up at the airport at midnight and dropped me off at home. As much as I enjoyed traveling and visiting for those few days, I was overjoyed and happy to be back home in Torrance again. Indeed, there is no place like home. • TerriAnn in Torrance My Adventure in the Friendly Skies T.J. Fazio. Susan Small. Are You Still Paying Too Much For Your Medications? 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