I intended to blog about my trip sooner, but I hit the ground running at the airport in Dallas, and I haven’t been able to slow down till tonite.
After the hilarity that started the trip, I had to wonder what was in store next. The weather was cold and breezy on Saturday, but not too awful. Sunday, however, was pure misery for everyone. Mid-30’s, raining to beat the band, wind howling across the field. I simply could not get enough clothes on to stay warm. There’s a reason I live in Texas (besides the fact that I love it here), and that reason is because we rarely get that kind of weather. Even the natives were freezing, and my thin Texas blood was just about iced over.
Weather or no weather, I had a wonderful time. Everyone was quite friendly, the countryside beautiful, and fantastic running hounds. What more could anyone ask for? The folks in the club were most enjoyable to be around. Dinner Saturday night was a wonderful respite from the weather, and the company was great as well. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, the entire weekend was delightful.
The trip back, not so much. I wound up on a regional jet from Boston to Washington, and I think our pilot needed training wheels. We spent the entire trip speeding up and slowing down, half the plane was airsick by the time we landed. Yours truly was not, only because I had taken meds before boarding. The flight from Washington to Dallas was uneventful, but I am still unsure if we actually landed, or crashed. I think Captain Kangaroo was our pilot, since we bounced down the runway. I had no idea that a 747 would bounce, but now I know. Not the roughest landing I have ever experienced, but it’s never fun when the plane does its’ own thing.
Since I returned I have been catching up on work-related crap and doing laundry. How in the world did one carry-on equal three loads of dirty clothes? Do they multiply when I am not looking? I am almost caught up now, but it really never ends, does it?