Adjusting to life's changes with hope… through poetry, haiku, and commentary

Part 1: Commentary on Driving to the Airport, Our Blogging Culture, and a New Book

All the people arriving at Terminal 3 pass under the DO NOT ENTER arch to my left here on Level 3 before they get confused by all the airport construction signs and the labyrinth that awaits them below. She has been flying since three this morning. Due to arrive in about half an hour​. With the time change, she arrives
one hour later than she left. That would be eight my time. I left home about six. What a surprise, not a soul in line at the Starbucks drive through! I usually get the same thing; I’ll try something different.

“Grande Caramel Macchiato hot, please.”

I couldn’t help but overhear her comment to her co-worker, “What is this, Macchiato Day?” Then she turned to me and told me she already had her espresso having been at work since three-thirty this morning.

I told her that I usually get a Grande Hazelnut Latte hot. But not today. Going down the 17 to the airport to pick her up. Need something special so I’m extra alert. (I don’t think she saw my two plain donuts waiting for me on a paper plate on the passenger side.) I needed more time because traffic would be heavy on the 17 and the 10. I didn’t want to be distracted by some gooey cheesy egg sandwich and rear-end someone.

When I drove her to the airport last week, it was also during rush hour, but we made good time in the HOV lane. (Been here for years and still don’t know what HOV means! Ah… thanks, Google. It means high-occupancy vehicle lane.) But now I’m driving alone and can’t use the HOV lane, so it will be nerve-racking stop-and-go all the way. I chugged along in the left lane for about an hour with the exit to the 10 and the tunnel coming up.

I worked my way into the middle lane without getting killed. This put me behind the rug man. His old pick-up and trailer were filled with roll upon roll of heavy rugs. But I had to stay alert because only his right rear brake light on the trailer worked. Sort of worked. The rug man limped his load into the right lane as we exited for the 10. I merged left onto the 10 and lost the rug man. Then, a few miles later I was about to enter the downtown tunnel when the rug man came out of nowhere and pulled in front of me. I had to follow him all the way through the tunnel to my airport exit.

Before she left she asked me what I was going to do while she was gone. I replied simply, “Write a book.”

(Long winded is easy when you are from New Jersey. Continued in Part 2. Thanks.)


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