I arrived at Lance's almost spot on, anxious about the chaos that is Oakland airport. Lance asked "Would you like a coffee?" I thought about the time it might take to pour a go-cup, and thought it was worth the three or four minutes. As it turns out, he meant "do you want to go down the block to the coffee shop and order a couple of lattés?" This I did not feel I had time for, but I know how a coffee jones works and agreed to the walk and coffee. How long could it be? The barista was terrible, and we did not get back into the car until 45 minutes later. Considering the state of the bridge traffic and the airport the last time I went over—not including holiday travel—I began to quietly freak out. "Now we just need to drop George off at day care on the way..." Thank God the doggie day care was in fact on the way.
The last time I went to OAK at in the morning it took over 45 minutes to get there. The last time I went in the evening, the line in the airport driveway was itself a 30 minute ordeal. This morning, from on-ramp to airport was just less than 20 minutes, and I arrived at 9:00ish as planned. And just in time to get into the baggage-check line with Genny Fraser Ferguson. I was hoping to self-check but I didn't see the kiosks (still there, just moved). It was a good thing I was there with Genny, as she had James, 9 months, and all of the luggage while her husband Hill was leaving the car in long term-parking and was shuttling in with William, two and a half. Genny is one of those freaky super-moms who can seem to multi-task a hundred things and still have life under control. Hill, however, would forget his head if it weren't screwed on, and I fear might leave a child somewhere were there not some sort of instinctive bond. Even then. As it turns out, Hill did leave a suitcase at the house, full of clothes, presents, and his much-needed laptop. So I played husband and father until Hill showed up, and helped Genny though the checkin and security line. When Hill and William arrived, I became the manny.
I generally love kids and these two make it easy. Genny and Hill invited me to help them out with the kids and such and to join them for breakfast, so instead of going on to the gate to line up (Southwest cattle call), I decided to stay and play manny and pre-board with the kids and play with them on the plane. Breakfast was spent calling Nashville ex-pats who might not have left SF yet to see if they could bring Hill's forgotten bag. When we ultimately got to the gate, we were in the pre-board area with Susi Cox Marriedname (also from Nashville) who was traveling without husband but with her nine-month-old Brit. For none months old, Brit is huge, comically giant even, and wild. I threw myself whole-heartedly into the role of manny and alternatively corralled Brit, William, and James. James is also nine months old, but very subdued, not very mobile, and just a little blue-wrapped ball of cute. With two under 2.5, Genny and Hill do not travel lightly. We were among the last to pre-board, and we were Susi, baby brit, Genny, Hill, baby William, baby James, and me. I'l holding onto one child and wearing like three bags of diapers and toys and such. The station agent wouldn't let me board because I was not any of the children's biological father. The guy was a huge prick about it and made a scene. Genny was pretty pissed, saying "No, he's with us. I need him to help me." This was compounded by the fact that Hill had already lost his boarding pass and had to go get another one. They said, "He's our nanny." The station agent said "All nannies have to wait in line." Which was a complete and total lie. Had I been a Guatemalan woman, it would have been fine, but a male child-care giver was out of the question. Even people in line were grumbling that it was ridiculous. It's not like they weren't going to save me a seat anyway, and then Genny had to double her burden of bags and children with Hill, while Susi was having a hard enough time getting all of her bags and the rampant Brit under control. The station agent made a scene, then made me wait to be the last person on the over-sold plane.True enough, when I finally boarded, Susi had held a seat next to her so we could visit and alternate entertaining Brit, who as an under-two, did not have his own seat. While William and James were very excited about the whole airplane experience, Brit was not. Mostly Brit was distracted by food. I looked over just as he was grinding a blackberry into my thigh, but all I could think about was that this was the only pair of khakis I had brought with me. Susi also brought some ginger snaps, which turned out to be a bit too spicy for the baby who started screaming and then spit them up.
It was a long flight.
Susi was good company though. Favorite one-liner: No honey don't pull! That's Tiffany."
I had downloaded some tv shows from iTunes to watch on the plane, but my iPod crashed shortly after take-off, and it made repeated thumping and scratching sounds until the battery was exhausted. My iPod has never worked on a plane, and I had hoped to return it under warranty, but there are hundreds of post on the Apple support site from people complaining of the same thing, with no help from Apple (who say they have a warning that iPods are only certified to work up to 10,000 feet— but one assumes that is not with a pressurized plane around them! The short of it is, some iPods work on planes, most work above 10,000 feet, on freaking mountain tops no less, and about half won't work on airplanes. Which sort of makes them dicks as they market the ipod video as great for travelers.
But that's neither here nor there just a rant. Sorry.
Now Genny and Hill are not to be confused with Hill and Genny. I fear I am going to spend a lot of time writing how we southerners are connected. Lousie and Anny Mary are sisters. They are my mother's best friends. Anna Mary has a son named Hill. Louise has a daughter the same age named Genny (short for Genevieve). Which makes Genny and Hill first cousins, who are also close as family, neighbors, and classmates. Genny married a boy named Hill, and Hill married a girl named Jenny. So only those of us who know them know who is being referred to by how their names are said. The relatives (i.e. our friends) are said first. So Genny and Hill are Lousie's and Hill and Jenny are Anna Mary's.
See how easy this is? Pay attention, because this will come up again.
My entire trip here is frantically recalling names of friends from childhood.
When we finally arrived in Nashville, I stayed behind to help Susi and Brit was running wild and the crew couldn't find her stroller. At baggage claim, we were all met by our respective parents and I was happy to be whisked away home.
Until I got in the car.
It was rush hour in Nashville and the airport, interstate and local roads were insane. Mom was driving Dad's enormous Oldsmobuick TownBarge because she had convinced Dad that she needed to drive. We are all worried about Dad's driving— He is over 70, had a mild stroke a couple of years ago, and his reflexes, motor skills, and response time and not what they used to be. He's also a little sensitive about it so it didn't help when Dad complained that Mom was worried about his driving and I agreed with her. It also exacerbated the issue when I complained about Mom's driving as she repeatedly drifted too far to the right in what I call the "mailbox lane" because on two lane roads, we'd be swiping mail boxes. I was trying to be diplomatic but I would occasionally have to shout "Drifting! Drifting" as I felt us careen towards cliffs, guardrails, and enormous trucks.
Getting home was very nice, but it always takes us a while to acclimate to each other. I haven't lived at home since I was in high school, so my parents equate "Wilson sleeping at Sheppard Place" to "Wilson is 16." And they treat me like a child and not like someone in their mid-thirties. We go through this song and dance for day or two every time I visit. It's a little maddening.
Also, every time I return to my old room (with its tiny single bed), I have to spend the first 30 minutes sorting through magazines, mail, and press clippings Mother has set aside for me on every surface of the room. It's like having my own personal clipping service, with no filters or indexing. Anything remotely related to San Francisco, the Vanderbilt Medical Center, infomatics, libraries or library science, country music, events, random comic strips, or people I know, is set aside. But it's game to figure out which article on these pages or sections are the relevant ones to read. And I have to sift the wheat from the chaff to find things I really do need to know—such as obits or awards/profiles of family friends.
Asserting myself as a grown man and sorting through clippings is just part of the homecoming ritual, and I wonder if I will miss it when it's gone.
But for now I am treating the condition with vodka, which seems to work just fine.
Mac is hosting his office's holiday party at his house tonight and I am going to go crash for a while and have some eats and drinks. Emily is still in the hospital switching out blood thinners but should be back tomorrow.
I should note that Emily has been paralyzed from the waist down and in a wheelchair since junior year of high school. She and Mac are expecting a boy in a couple of weeks. So she is very, very pregnant and not up for a lot and they may not even make it to Christmas dinner.
After visiting with Mac, Keith is going to meet me for drinks at Tribe. Love my family, but being immersed into Tennessee and family so completely and quickly, I am gasping for air.
And by "air" I mean "gay people and cocktails."
I'm just sayin'.
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