This week, I’ll be flying back to Montana for about 10 days. My lovely sister, Caroline, is getting married, and I am lucky enough to be one of the few there. It’s just me on this trip – Frank and Evey will be hanging out here at home. I know I’ll miss them terribly, but it will be a nice getaway, just the same, and I am anxious to help my sibling out as she gets ready for her big day.
So, I leave Thursday, but I’ve been thinking about the trip for weeks. I’m one of those people who loves lists… what I’ll be bringing, what I need to buy for whom, what I need to do before I go… and I’m only now starting to think about -ugh – the journey itself!
I’m not afraid of flying, but let’s face it, the whole experience just isn’t fun anymore. I remember my first flight ever, to my cousin’s wedding in Georgia when I was 12, and it was brilliant! I loved flying and couldn’t wait to do it again. Then, there were holiday flights to and from Indiana, which weren’t too bad, and flights to see my sisters. My first international flight was in college, when we went to Rome, and even though it was fraught with calamity, I was so excited to be going that none of it mattered! But now, with all the overseas flying I’ve done, it’s not something I look forward to that much, and I consider myself a casual authority on the whole process.