10-08-2014, 03:12 PM
THIS IS THE END
Snapping awake at 4am gave me plenty of time to take one last lap around Lake Quannapowitt. It did make crossing the rotary’s four intersections in the darkness far more entertaining. But the severity factor was considerably diminished by the lack of cars.
I had one last breakfast of cheerios in the Wadzinski’s breakfast nook, again mourning the lack of brown bread, rashers, and Irish Sausage.
The parents were up and about early so we made it out the door in plenty of time to hit the gas stations and the Honey Dew doughnut shop for some doughnuts. Only one of the bladder challenged decided to face the upcoming morning commute with a belly full of hot coffee.
Since we gave ourselves plenty of time to make it to the airport, we covered the distance in record time. Of all trips up and down the 93, this was by far the fastest. The HOV lane was big asset, since it seems no one in Massachusetts carpools.
The skycap only had to run inside once to figure out why he couldn’t check our bags and get our boarding passes. The wheelchairs arrived, so I told the parents I would just meet them at the gate after I dumped off the rental car.
I was worried again about dropping off the rental since I had nicked one of the chrome wheels parking the car in Cambridge. I also noticed the fuel tank didn’t read full despite the fact I had just filled it. CDW to the rescue as I was waved on through.
I must say it was a relief going through the security checkpoint like a normal person. I didn’t have to run interference between my parents and the TSA agent. I didn’t have to explain why I had scissors and a huge can or Right Guard in my carry-on. I just took off my belt and shoes and wandered through.
We had plenty of time to kill at the gate so I got a chance to wander, buy snacks and do a little reading.
I did check with the gate agent about getting a row for my parents but this plane was full. During the course of the discussion, the matter of the Oxygen Concentrator came up. This caused the gate agent to fly into a tizzy of checking screens and looking at my father’s papers. She couldn’t seem to find the exact model to check us in. Eventually, we cleared everything up.
Before the Aer Lingus flight, no one cared about the Oxygen Concentrator. This bugged my dad since he had done a lot of work to make sure he was airline compliant with the device. At the Aer Lingus counter, he was glad that someone was finally taking notice that he was carrying this thing.
For some reason at the United desk, he was a little put off that they were going to so much trouble to make sure he was compliant. I called him on it later remarking “First you were unhappy they weren’t checking your papers and now you are unhappy that they are”
Well we were crammed into one row for the flight home. Since it was United, if you wanted to watch the TV you had to give them $7. I decided against it even though the baseball championship was on during the flight.
My sister asked me later, why I didn’t let mom sit on the aisle in order to help her in her frequent bathroom breaks. I pointed out that if I was wedged between mom and dad, we would never get out of the row since mom can’t get out of that seat unassisted.
My father doesn’t go to the bathroom on these trips. If he leaves the oxygen machine, there is a good chance he’ll die. I’m sure he could drag it with him, but he opts not to.
I’m beginning to think air travel just makes me cranky. I was angry again when I got off the plane. Although I did load up the wheel chairs with carry-on bags before they slipped off.
While my parents made their customary post-flight bathroom break, I headed to the baggage carousel to deal with the bag mountain. I phoned Roberta to tell her to bring the car in.
The baggage stopped coming out of the slot and I found out I was one bag short. There were a bunch of people in a similar predicament. Thankfully, my bag came in on an earlier flight and was sitting in the holding area.
I loaded up all the bags including putting a couple in the back seat. This whole luggage deal makes me seriously consider getting a van. Even the mighty Cadillac was a poor fit for our luggage.
I’m driving us back to Saratoga. My father shouldn’t drive and my sister is too nervous to drive, which makes the rest of us nervous.
The first thing my father says to me as I pull out into traffic is “You better take 280” There is a further discussion of my inability to take direction from anyone.
After unloading the bags at home, I head out for the walk along Stelling to DeAnza College with a return down the railroad tracks. I spend a lot of the walk figuring out how to avoid my parents for dinner. I’ve had just about enough of them.
But my mother has it in her head to always tag along when I go to Jakes’ Pizza. Or bring it back so we can all eat together. Maybe she thinks we will bond over our presumed shared loved of this pizza. Yeah, no. I decide to eat at Jakes’ and they can just have pizza when I get back. Yes, I’m a crappy son for making them wait to eat. On the flip side, their digestive system really can’t handle Jakes’
Sure, Friday night at Jakes isn’t the most soothing environment but it beat fighting a way through my mother’s papers and my dad’s medications that cover the kitchen table.
I awoke early again, my body still trying to find it’s proper sleep cycle. I had another long walk down the railroad tracks to Saratoga Blvd and came back via Cox Ave. I need these walks near the house in Los Angeles.
My mother, for reasons known only to her, decided I needed her to accompany me to the airport. She even got dressed up for the occasion. She also decided two minutes before we left to box up some gift packages that she would drop at the post office on the way back.
Right up until the end we couldn’t leave on time.
Snapping awake at 4am gave me plenty of time to take one last lap around Lake Quannapowitt. It did make crossing the rotary’s four intersections in the darkness far more entertaining. But the severity factor was considerably diminished by the lack of cars.
I had one last breakfast of cheerios in the Wadzinski’s breakfast nook, again mourning the lack of brown bread, rashers, and Irish Sausage.
The parents were up and about early so we made it out the door in plenty of time to hit the gas stations and the Honey Dew doughnut shop for some doughnuts. Only one of the bladder challenged decided to face the upcoming morning commute with a belly full of hot coffee.
Since we gave ourselves plenty of time to make it to the airport, we covered the distance in record time. Of all trips up and down the 93, this was by far the fastest. The HOV lane was big asset, since it seems no one in Massachusetts carpools.
The skycap only had to run inside once to figure out why he couldn’t check our bags and get our boarding passes. The wheelchairs arrived, so I told the parents I would just meet them at the gate after I dumped off the rental car.
I was worried again about dropping off the rental since I had nicked one of the chrome wheels parking the car in Cambridge. I also noticed the fuel tank didn’t read full despite the fact I had just filled it. CDW to the rescue as I was waved on through.
I must say it was a relief going through the security checkpoint like a normal person. I didn’t have to run interference between my parents and the TSA agent. I didn’t have to explain why I had scissors and a huge can or Right Guard in my carry-on. I just took off my belt and shoes and wandered through.
We had plenty of time to kill at the gate so I got a chance to wander, buy snacks and do a little reading.
I did check with the gate agent about getting a row for my parents but this plane was full. During the course of the discussion, the matter of the Oxygen Concentrator came up. This caused the gate agent to fly into a tizzy of checking screens and looking at my father’s papers. She couldn’t seem to find the exact model to check us in. Eventually, we cleared everything up.
Before the Aer Lingus flight, no one cared about the Oxygen Concentrator. This bugged my dad since he had done a lot of work to make sure he was airline compliant with the device. At the Aer Lingus counter, he was glad that someone was finally taking notice that he was carrying this thing.
For some reason at the United desk, he was a little put off that they were going to so much trouble to make sure he was compliant. I called him on it later remarking “First you were unhappy they weren’t checking your papers and now you are unhappy that they are”
Well we were crammed into one row for the flight home. Since it was United, if you wanted to watch the TV you had to give them $7. I decided against it even though the baseball championship was on during the flight.
My sister asked me later, why I didn’t let mom sit on the aisle in order to help her in her frequent bathroom breaks. I pointed out that if I was wedged between mom and dad, we would never get out of the row since mom can’t get out of that seat unassisted.
My father doesn’t go to the bathroom on these trips. If he leaves the oxygen machine, there is a good chance he’ll die. I’m sure he could drag it with him, but he opts not to.
I’m beginning to think air travel just makes me cranky. I was angry again when I got off the plane. Although I did load up the wheel chairs with carry-on bags before they slipped off.
While my parents made their customary post-flight bathroom break, I headed to the baggage carousel to deal with the bag mountain. I phoned Roberta to tell her to bring the car in.
The baggage stopped coming out of the slot and I found out I was one bag short. There were a bunch of people in a similar predicament. Thankfully, my bag came in on an earlier flight and was sitting in the holding area.
I loaded up all the bags including putting a couple in the back seat. This whole luggage deal makes me seriously consider getting a van. Even the mighty Cadillac was a poor fit for our luggage.
I’m driving us back to Saratoga. My father shouldn’t drive and my sister is too nervous to drive, which makes the rest of us nervous.
The first thing my father says to me as I pull out into traffic is “You better take 280” There is a further discussion of my inability to take direction from anyone.
After unloading the bags at home, I head out for the walk along Stelling to DeAnza College with a return down the railroad tracks. I spend a lot of the walk figuring out how to avoid my parents for dinner. I’ve had just about enough of them.
But my mother has it in her head to always tag along when I go to Jakes’ Pizza. Or bring it back so we can all eat together. Maybe she thinks we will bond over our presumed shared loved of this pizza. Yeah, no. I decide to eat at Jakes’ and they can just have pizza when I get back. Yes, I’m a crappy son for making them wait to eat. On the flip side, their digestive system really can’t handle Jakes’
Sure, Friday night at Jakes isn’t the most soothing environment but it beat fighting a way through my mother’s papers and my dad’s medications that cover the kitchen table.
I awoke early again, my body still trying to find it’s proper sleep cycle. I had another long walk down the railroad tracks to Saratoga Blvd and came back via Cox Ave. I need these walks near the house in Los Angeles.
My mother, for reasons known only to her, decided I needed her to accompany me to the airport. She even got dressed up for the occasion. She also decided two minutes before we left to box up some gift packages that she would drop at the post office on the way back.
Right up until the end we couldn’t leave on time.
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit