East, Into the Night

This will be a long day. We're up at six and on the 8:00 a.m. airport shuttle.

Our flight leaves at 11:40, but by the time we check in and pass security, there's not a lot of time to spare. I get hung up in security, where they unpack my carry-on and make me give up my toothpaste and a personal item that I wish to heck they'd just toss in the trash rather than leave out here for everyone to see.

However, getting nervously embarrassed is not a good move at airport security, so I suck it up and spend the time re-tying my shoes.

We settle in at the gate and I go foraging for food and drink. I'm able to buy tea at a nearby kiosk for $4.00. I don't see how anyone can ask you for four bucks for hot water and a tea bag, but they did, and I paid.

Finding something remotely breakfasty takes a little more effort. If we could eat fashion or jewelry or drink pricey booze I'd have no problem. After walking for almost ten minutes I find some eclairs.

Meanwhile, Bernie has struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to him. He introduces me. Her name is Mary Ann and she was born and raised in Middletown. She now lives in West Chester. Her daughter is teaching English at a school in Seoul.

Again, what are the chances that we'd meet someone in Seoul, Korea, who even knew where Middletown, Ohio was?

We board the plane to fly over Japan, up to the Bering Sea, along the western edge of Alaska and across Canada, into the night. Somewhere north of Bismarck, North Dakota light begins to show in the east, our second sunrise of February 26, 2010.

After our second meal we become acquainted with our seatmate. She's from Seoul and has been there visiting her family for two months. She's on her way back to the University of Michigan where she's a research assistant. She's applied to twelve schools to do her Ph.D. work and is waiting for a response. We exchange contact information with her. She studied non-stop to get her undergraduate degree and has made few friends.

We land in Chicago a few minutes past nine. We have to claim our bags and get them to the next gate. This operation is surprisingly fast because people are waiting to direct us.

Getting a new boarding pass is not so smooth. Although everyone is directed to a self check-in terminal, four out of five passengers need help. And help is Ms. Dinardo. Period. She weaves in and out, listening to stories and coaxing intransigent machines to cough up boarding passes.

Ours, of course, won't spit out. Ms. Dinardo takes our information and disappears down the ranks of travelers, along the long counter where nobody lives. She's gone for awhile and traffic comes to a halt because it's Ms. Dinardo who directs each person to the next open check-in terminal.

Eventually she returns. I like Ms. Dinardo. She's chatty, unflappable, and gets the job done. She has two flimsy looking boarding passes for us. There's no gate number on them, though, so we don't really know where to go once we pass the barrier that separates those on the outside from those in past-security no man's land.

Since our flight doesn't leave until just after 5 p.m., we have plenty of time to determine our gate number.

It's past noon now and we need food. There's a Chili's and Bernie wants a hamburger. I was leaning toward a croissant and hot chocolate, but once seated I see the molten lava chocolate cake on the menu. It has my name written on it.

Meanwhile we have turned the data feature back on on our phones and hundreds of e-mails are coming down. For nearly two hours after we eat, I'm receiving and deleting six weeks worth of e-mails.

Our gate number is posted mid-afternoon, then changed about an hour before our flight, but the new gate is just across the aisle.

As we board we see the local weather in Dayton: a winter storm has started. We hear other passengers relate stories they've gleaned talking with relatives at home-slippery roads and wrecks on I-70.

I've talked to Mary a couple of times and know that Kenny and Evan are already in Dayton picking something up on the way to the airport to get us. It's an hour flight.

We land in Dayton to a nearly-deserted airport. Apparently only one other person had checked luggage on this flight. We wait with him for a while at the luggage carousel, but the same ten not-our-bags cycle through several times.

I've called Kenny; he and Evan are just outside the last door to our right waiting for us.

Suddenly someone is beside me - Evan! I'm so thrilled to see him I want to hug him tight and kiss him. He's fourteen, though, so I apply a modified bear hug. But we're both grinning ear-to-ear. I love that kid.

It takes a trip to the United counter to obtain our luggage. Another man there is not so lucky and he makes quite a scene-so much so that the poor woman behind the counter who was evidently at the end of her shift (she has her purse on her arm) eventually tells him that if he can't be civil she'll have to call the police.

With Evan's help we get our suitcases to Kenny's car.

In the car it begins to feel like we're home. We're with family, hearing about Evan's band concert, Brookie's new glasses.

And soon we're in Middletown, and on our street. The driveway's been shoveled - Jeff, our neighbor, has shoveled it twice while we've been gone.

Wonderful family, great neighbors - it's good to be home.