Adventues in Anxiety: Part 2

I can't imagine any words I wanted to hear less coming from the cockpit this morning than these: "Well, folks, we've got a bit of bad news for you. We've got an indicator that our left engine is going bad... now, we think it's just a faulty indicator, and that the engine is fine, but in the interest of safety, we're going to land in Knoxville to check it out!" This was of course followed by an assurance that everything was FINE and there was no reason to worry. Clearly.

These are the scenarios I make up in my head that cause the weeping and the drinking and the praying and the more drinking- and there it was, unfolding in front of me in real-life. All I could think of was officials reviewing the black box tapes later and the subsequent newspaper articles- "The first indication that something was wrong came around 11:42 am when Captian Mike Jones alerted passengers that there was some possible engine trouble, though there was no need for worry... he was so, so wrong."

But there were no tragedies for me today save the two teenagers making out in the seat next to me. They parked us at Knoxville for a couple of nail-biting hours, and the kind people at Northwest gave us all food vouchers to tide us over the lunch hour, apologizing profusely while handing them out- which, I get it, they're concerned about customer service, but in this kind of situation, it's not some scheduling error causing a delay, it's an effort to keep us from dying. And while I appreciate a free Quizno's sub, I am really really okay with the sitatuion at hand.

Note to any and all professionals who may ever provide me any type of service during my future here on earth: Don't ever, ever, EVER apologize for doing things that end in me being more or less alive as opposed to dead. I actually appreciate these efforts a great deal. I would rather spend 2 hours reading in the airport than bursting into flames somewhere over the Smoky Mountains.

So I made it to balmy 70 degrees Grenville (so THIS is why I moved to South Carolina), but not without a few gray hairs. The best part about flying out of Greenville is that the airport is lovely and small and approximately three planes a day fly out of there, meaning there is virtually no wait time for anything. But the worst part is that I always end up on these tiny planes that are barely bigger than my parents' old Grand Marquis, and you can feel every tiny bump riding in one of those flying Mini Coopers. There's none of the smooth, graceful takeoffs and landings like you get with the behemoth planes; instead it feels like you're bouncing down a gravel road on the side of a mountain with brakes that have just gone out. It is an experience that does not exactly instill one with confidence. Or happiness. Or the desire to ever patronize an airline company again.

On a much, much, MUCH happier note, here's my whole, wonderful family at our fake Christmas this past weekend:

And here is a pictorial testament to my brothers' nerdiness- their idea of a family portrait:

A little piece of my shoe-shopping self dies every time something like this happens. (And yes, there are five of us under there, and yes that is a John Deere book on the far left. Hey, like your family is normal??)

Near-death (in my mind, anyway) experiences and extreme nerdiness aside, it was one of the best Christmases in my memory, even if it was on the short side. The newfallen snow I spied on the front lawn upon waking "Christmas" morning was literally icing on the cake... if our earth was filled with German Chocolate and snow was butter cream frosting.