I got back from Washington, DC and a Making a Difference Workshop just before 1 a.m. today. I flew out of DC on the same plane with my friend and fellow leader, Maggie, and her daughter, Jessie, who was a participant in the workshop. I had just over an hour to make a connection to Hartford in Newark and we took off 29 minutes late. I thought I'd miss my connection and have to stay in the airport or call Maggie who lives 40 minutes away and ask her to come get me. I have a class to teach in Waterbury at UConn at 12:30 tomorrow and was thinking I'd probably miss that too.
When we landed on time in Newark, I was confused. How did the pilot do that, catch the Jet stream? Fly through another dimension? I saw Maggie and Jessie just off the plane, waiting for my bag that I checked outside the door of the plane and got back outside the door of the plane and expressed my confusion.
Maggie, who flies on lots of short flights told me that in order to cover their 'on time' stats, airlines always tell you it will take longer than it does. Amazing. Padding time to make yourself look good.
My ticket said it was 58 minutes from Newark to Hartford--after I rode a bus two terminals to make the connection--and when we were about to take off, the pilot said we'd never get above 7000 feet and be in Hartford in 25 minutes. So, that's what they do, huh?
Seems dishonest to me, but, hey, maybe that's just me.
Getting off the little bus to the parking lot and my car, I bumped against something on the door of the bus and opened a two inch gash on my right arm. So, I drove from Hartford to Cheshire using up about half a box of tissues to stop the bleeding.
When I came in the front door, the dog in our bedroom started going crazy and Bern had to wake up. When I went in the bedroom he nearly knocked me down and put on quite a 'welcome home!' show for 10 minutes or so.
By the time I'd dressed my wound and set up my C-path machine, it was 1:30 a.m. and I was so revved up by the workshop and the travel that I read about 40 pages of The Hobbit before I could sleep.
But it was so good to be home. I'm such a home-body that leaving even for something that means as much to me as the Making a Difference Workshop is a pain. And the workshop means the world to me. There is almost nothing else, that didn't involve my daughter or son or granddaughters, that I would give up 3 nights and 4 days of 'being home' for.
That's how much the workshop means to me....
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- The girls...
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