Oh, The People You Meet

Oh, the people you meet while shlepping your deep-seated baggage to the airport, through the airport, onto the plane and off the plane. So many people out there in the travel universe. Who knew? The SJG likes to stay in my comfort zone most of the time, where no one orders me to put my plot devices on airplane mode, tells me to shove my personal mishegas under the seat in front of me, or forces me to eat little salty packets of oily nuts I don't even want.  But listen, if you put it on the plastic tray, chances are excellent that I'll eat it. That's just how I roll.

Throughout our fun weekend in Santa Fe, Cathy and I would discuss our levels of hunger, in between pithy discussions of what overpriced must-have item I should consider buying.  Now, as you already know, or don't know and really don't care, which offends me, but I'll get over it, I come from a far away time zone two hours behind my Kansas companion.  In Santa Fe, we split the difference. I was one hour ahead. Cathy was one hour behind.  Hence we never knew what time it was, or whether we were actually hungry.  Not that it mattered.  We managed to eat whatever the nice Santa Fe people offered us at any time.

In this way, we're highly-flexible middle-aged gals, and I don't mean flexible like that elderly Rockette from the piano bar.  We're still not over Winnie of the Fishnet Stockings, but we certainly hope that by the time we reach her age, God willing, we can get out of a chair without assistance, let alone raise a leg in the air to prove we've still got it, and whoomp, there it is.  Already I miss my friend, and yet, I'm happy to be home in Sherman Oaks with the basketball-loving menfolk I insanely adore.  I don't know how they managed without me, but based on the condition of the house and the empty beer bottles in the recycle bin, they did just fine.