Although my flight outta The Emerald City left on time, I had trepidation about leaving. Not so much because of who I was leaving. Or because who I was going to see. It was more about who I was seated next to.
Because, let's face it, you guys, on a jumbo jet, your seat mates could be your lifeline. I mean, we're flying by the Cascade Range and over the Grand Canyon, and do pilots take mental health evaluations? Jesus. What about that fella that stole a plane at SeaTac? It'll be fine. Maybe the pilot is Iron Maiden front man Bruce Dickinson. Heh. Randy'd be totally jealous. But Dickinson doesn't work for Alaska Airlines. Oh well.
Why is the grown woman next to me wearing glitter finger nail polish? And are they are all different but also seeming to match each finger on her opposite hand...? Oh lawd. This is my curse. I did nails in college and notice such things. Where's my oppressively thick Stephen King book?
Why doesn't her hair move very much? Her hair is past her shoulders. When my hair was long it moved all the time. She must be using a serious amount of hairspray, you guys. At least she, and her hair, aren't all perfumey and going to make me nauseous and want to vomit all over the place.
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| Wonder Woman Talisman |
Oh Sweet Baby Jesus! She has glitter on her shoes! Where's my Wonder Woman Talisman? I bet she's really soul sisters with one of my favorite Paras, MR (You Glitter Queen, you!). Oh, well, I suppose I'll just look out the window. And read my oppressively thick Stephen King book. No ear buds or music so I can stay alert and aware. Because my seatmates may need to join #TeamAnderson and help the three of us bounce the fuck outta there pronto! You with me?
I had my new Vans on. The Boob Shoes. Because I needed something easy on-easy off getting through security. Also, just so ya know, the shoelaces say "Do It Yourself"...so these are totally on point for me and my family.
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| The Boob Shoes #Vans |
I've descended upon The Valley of the Sun before. The last time was in the late nineties. When my husband and I were dating...and then when we lived in sin...we'd head south on Interstate 17 from Flagstaff to Phoenix for the day. It took about an hour-and-a-half back then...In my day...and because of the numerous mountains and valleys in Arizona, yes, it really was up hill both ways, you guys.
When I lived in Arizona, Phoenix was never a destination for an extended time. It was a stopping place between Flagstaff and Tucson for gas and a bathroom break when I'd head home for a long weekend. Phoenix was a place for concerts. Except that time we were so poor in December 1996 we couldn't go see Garbage open for The Smashing Pumpkins. That defined serious disappointment for me.
So, long story short (too, late, I know)...the passenger next to me was a cervical cancer survivor: she had chemo and radiation, but she never lost her hair...the lucky girl. I told her that when I shaved my head, my older son chose to shave his head...but that my younger son freaked out and ran and hid and we couldn't find him for about 10 minutes. It was scary...to have Mommy look so different. Oh! And the younger passenger was a math major. So, cancer + math = BFF on a 3 hour flight to Phoenix. #Winning
The cancer survivor was heading to The Valley of the Sun for time with her family. She was also going to Sedona. As an alumnus of Northern Arizona University, I recommended she take 89A from Sedona up to Flagstaff. She asked what Sedona was like. I told her that the Yavapai Indians consider Sedona a holy place...but times have changed and sometimes there are people who tape crystals to their foreheads and sit in front of Bell Rock, waiting for a vortex to open. That usually the Vortex Seekers were harmless, but it was a good idea to keep your distance and not interrupt the energy exchange between said Vortex Seeker and the Vortex Site...because you sure as shit do not want to get sucked into a Vortex. It could be like a Black Hole and we'd never see you again. Also, be proud of me, you guys, because I refrained from telling her about Blow Job Rock. No really, it's a thing. You're welcome.
The younger woman was a math major and looking at Grand Canyon University. She asked me what it was like to live in the desert. I told her that during the summer, it's like living in an oven, and you cannot get naked enough to cool off when it's over 100 degrees for over 100 days, but that with the A/C on, you can cool a room down to 72* and have the perception of being cool. I told her that wearing pantyhose in the desert is akin to wearing a scuba suit and trying to walk in water: ZERO FUN. And that, while 100 degrees for over 100 days is completely oppressive, your face will not actually melt off like that Nazi at the end of "Raiders." She was like 16 and did not get my cultural reference, you guys. She said, "But it's a dry heat, right?" And since she's lived her entire life in Klamath Falls, Oregon, and really had no idea WTAF a "dry heat" is...I simply said, "Yes. It's a dry heat," and left it at that.
And, yes, the two women knew each other because they met on the plane from Medford, OR to Seattle. Then they happened to sit next to each other on the flight from Seattle to Phoenix. Sometimes life just works like that. Why they chose to fly Medford-Seattle-Phoenix and not Medford-Portland-Phoenix wasn't discussed. And, really, it wasn't important. My seatmates were delightful and it was a great way to descend upon The Valley of the Sun.
I landed just before lunch and the plan was for The Kid to pick me up at the airport. And so he did. Here we are.
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| Me and My Little Brother. He's super adorable. |
Upon My Little Brother picking me up at the airport, we drove 30 minutes all the way the hell out to East Mesa because he needed up some photo booth thing for the reception. Then we drove 30 minutes back to Phoenix because I was starving. And it was hot. Not melt your face off hot. That shit usually goes down in July. But it was hot for this #PNWWoman.
We ended up eating a delicious vegan lunch at a restaurant called Green New American. An old friend who lives in The Valley of the Sun said this place was delicious. And since The Kid knows his food because he spent a lot of his college career waiting tables, this place was on point and tasted nothing like sticks and leaves. French fries covered in vegan ranch dressing, vegan cheese, and red hot sauce? With a "burger"? Sure. Why not? #WhenInRome
I'm thankful we had the time together, just me and My Little Brother, alone. We had some pretty rich discussions about things related to his wedding: Our Parents, members of the Egyptian Cohort who were also descending upon the Valley of the Sun, my husband and our kids, and life in general. When I asked him if he was happy, he said yes. And I truly believe in my heart that he is.
Since his Beautiful Bride was in clinic until after dinner, and needed to manage the Egyptian Cohort, The Kid and I made a plan to have dinner with just Our Parents. Really it was for me to get eyes on them and for The Kid and I to have time alone with Our Folks. And, it was during this time I learned more about My Parents and their capabilities as senior citizens...and how scary it can be to age.
The last time I had eyes on My Parents, it was in the spring of 2016. It was after My Cancer Adventure...and about six weeks before my husband was diagnosed with his own cancer. And when I last saw them, it was in Tucson. So, seeing them in Phoenix...not in their natural environment...and out of their comfort zone...combined with the myriad emotions that come up during weddings...it was bound to be eye opening for me.
Before My Little Brother and I arrived at the Airbnb my Future Sister-In-Law arranged for My Parents stay at for the weekend...well let's just say that may or may not be a blog post for another time. At this point, I'll simply say that teaching people who are not tech savvy to use an electronic keypad to unlock the front door didn't go over well...my Dad's flip-phone ran out of minutes...and the "helpful neighbor across the street who seemed nice" because he let My Dad use his phone to call My Little Brother...and then My Dad repeated the keypad code to My Little Brother and the neighbor ended up with the code for the keypad...which is essentially the keys to the house...yeah....
So, my entire family is very thankful the owner of the Airbnb was incredibly compassionate, came over and disengaged the electronic keypad, and gave My Senior Citizen Parents a plain old key to get in and out of her rental property. My Little Brother the Public Defender diplomatically pointed out to Our Folks that for all we know, the "nice neighbor" could be the neighborhood meth dealer and my Dad just accidentally gave the keys to the house to him. #Whoops
In a way, I left my family in the Pacific Northwest with all of it's health issues...to go to the Desert Southwest to manage my family with all of it's health issues. It was setting up to be quite a fun-stressful-supportive-crazy-once-in-a-lifetime experience in the Valley of the Sun.
And I missed my husband all weekend.
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