Alls Well That Ends Well

Two weeks ago today, I was in the John Wayne Airport (Orange County, CA) preparing to fly home from a wonderful visit with my younger sister, Tonia. 

My flight was delayed by four hours. (I still get to airports two hours early, so actually I sat in the terminal for six hours!) Yea, you got it: I sat in Orange County for six hours waiting for a flight that would land me in San Francisco in one hour and 15 minutes (approximately.) Five days hence, I would be in an airport again, flying home to Buddy in New Jersey. The irony did not allude me: I could have flown home to my Sweetheart in the amount of time I waited just to return to San Francisco Airport.

Of course, I spoke to Buddy several times throughout the wait, and he reminded me to breathe and relax, telling me that when I finally arrived home, all would be well.

 When I landed in San Francisco, other mishaps followed. I struggled to get my luggage off the carousel, only to find the handle on my roller bag stuck. The driver of the long-term parking shuttle dropped me off in the wrong part of the lot and I had to drag my luggage to the car. Thankfully, I did have enough gas to drive the hour-and-a-half to Santa Cruz, but when I arrived home, I was exhausted, aching, and cranky.

 I paused a moment before I got out of the car to thank God/dess for a safe trip home, and then I began to haul my stuff up the outside stairs to my second story apartment. 

Half way up, I heard a voice from the balcony say: "Hello, Sweetheart," and there stood my hubby, Buddy. He had flown in  several days earlier, while I was in Los Angeles, to surprise me and to help me prepare my affairs before flying to New Jersey for the month of August.

 

 

 

 I thought I was seeing a mirage!   That's My Buddy.