Surprise

It was no small miracle – a block of 4 glorious days off – like a rare solar eclipse. I had juggled bus shifts and cranked out 2 holiday issues of the paper and had somehow managed to shuffle it all into a cumulative mini-vacation in prime holiday time. Despite the magnificent snow base and the calling of the wild nordic, I opted to brave the blue and fly during peak travel. Never having lived in a tourist resort town where holidays are double shift work days, my family just didn't grasp the idea of working during clan traditional gatherings.

“But I don't understand,” my mother demanded, “ how can they make you work on Christmas?” To spend the holidays alone, working and without a full 15 course Italian feast was considered sacrilege and sad. They don't realize that the entire town is in the same work mode. I booked a last minute flight home for the Christmas Eve festivities, and decided to just show up unannounced. I love surprises. I had exactly two days flying and two days to visit. I was cutting it close, knowing the winter weather often doesn't cooperate with travel plans. However, the American Airline's jets were flying direct to Dallas now and I felt confident that there was less weather congestion in that southern city to disrupt flight plans. I prayed to the Snow Gods to reverse my previous chants for big dumpage just long enough for my flight to get out.

At the Gunny airport, no one is more jovial than holiday flyers anticipating their homecoming. That is until the announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen, we're sorry but the flight has been delayed due to weather in Dallas.” Dallas had weather? Gunnison valley skies were bluebird. The Denver United flight had left. Even Chicago was clear. But Dallas, the southern hub, had had a front move in. Who knew Dallas could sport winds that would ground planes? Meanwhile, the herd had been moved upstairs to ready for boarding, which wouldn't happen for another 2 hours. The Gunnison airport expansion must have been designed by those same German engineers at the Frankfort airport because there were no bathrooms, no water and no snacks unless you were willing to leave the secure area and reenter – undressing, liquids in baggies, boots off and emptying luggage contents into plastic bins.

In Dallas the gusts subsided long enough to start the flights rolling again. Engines revved up, we jumped the hyper-space from the snow packed runway into the altitude with ease – a far different experience than take off in the turbo-props where you have to chant to get the plane off the ground.

Enroute to my brother’s house via limo, the full moon reflecting brightly off the gulf waters of Tampa Bay, over the causeway to the white sands of Clearwater Beach, I was delivered to the doorstep at midnight. Like a credit card ad, the looks on their faces when they opened the door was... priceless. In a cooking frenzy that had started a week ago, the menu for 45 was extensive. All the traditional aromas of holiday with the whole family filled the house and happily flooded the soul. We order late night Chinese food, open a good wine and commenced to giggling and toasting, all the weariness of travel and work overload forgotten... for a couple of days anyway. Early Christmas morning I’d be back on the plane returning home in time for more bus shifts, newspaper deadlines and all the Buttian family annual potluck parties for the working.