Friends, I have returned from Phoenix, Arizona. I was there, celebrating the marriage of my ol’ college chum and Theatron pal Sam Peters to Brooklynne Travis-Peters. (I can neither confirm nor deny the possibility of Brooklynne using a hyphen.) It was a beautiful ceremony, but it was outdoors, in Phoenix, in June, in a tux. So…I got hot.
But my heat-suffering wasn’t the low-point of my trip – it was my airline “adventures” that stole the show. On my way out there, I missed my connection in Denver due to weather. I arrived in Phoenix at 10:30 instead of 6:15. Which in CST is 12:30 a.m. Needless to say, I was a sleepy fellow.
On the return flights, we hit some nasty, nasty turbulence on our way into Denver. It wasn’t terrifying, but it wasn’t fun either. Unfortunately, on our way into Wichita, I experienced terror such as I have never felt before. I’m not afraid of flying – mostly because I’ve never had reason to be. I don’t mind turbulence too terribly much. But I do mind my plane turning on its side and doing a significant dip, while picking up speed, going through an electrical storm.
I sincerely thought that I was done for. I think the two pilots to my right (they were out of uniform, and only later did I discover they were pilots when they said, “That was the worst I’ve ever experienced”) thought we were done for. All the women (and probably men) who screamed thought we were done for.
It. Was. Terrifying.
But, I am alive and well.
As is my wonderful wife, Hayley. And today marks the 25th year of her being alive and well. Since she no longer maintains a blog of her own, leave your comments here, wishing her well and providing words of encouragement for arriving at her mid-20s – I’m not sure she’s handling it well.