Mis-Adventures of A
Montana Woman, Some Legendary, Some “Phone-Y”
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Oh, dear, my troubles began with air
travel. I managed to get me and my bionic parts through security in Mazatlan
and through both customs and security in Dallas/Ft. Worth. To me, that is a big
deal. The Dallas airport is the size of three European countries. Paste a gold
star on my forehead. I even hustled through three gate changes in half an hour,
which I count heroic.
Let me set the scene. Due to age and
recent surgery, I get to pre-board. I travel with a walking stick, about five
feet tip to top. I know if I stow it in overhead, it will be in the back bottom
and I cannot reach it. So I want my cane to fly special, in a front closet.
The entire flight crew and pilots
welcomed me when I hobbled across the ramp, first to board. Without thought or
hesitation, I lifted my branch of alder and asked, “Where do you want me to
stick this?”
Oh dear, oh dear. Every jaw dropped
and every face wiped blank momentarily before they all bent over with howls of
knee slapping laughter. For a few long, long seconds, I was clueless. Finally I
“heard” myself and joined the laughter. We all wiped tears from our faces. An
attendant stowed my cane, they all thanked me for a great beginning to the
flight to Seattle.
I wish I could say I never
mis-speak. But I’m used to my mouth which doesn’t always pre-think speaking.
Before we lifted off the ground, each of the crew found me and thanked me for
making their flight enjoyable. Evidently they shared the experience with other
crews. Steve, the attendant for my section of plane, let me know I had acquired
legendary status. By the end of the flight several crew members had adopted me.
In Seattle I had a day to shop,
feast, and visit with my cousin Nancie before boarding the red-eye flight to
Great Falls. When I de-planed I didn’t see my friend Karen who was to pick me
up. I walked downstairs and tugged my bag off the rollers. A quick scan and
still no Karen.
I dug out my Trac-fone which I hadn’t used in over a year.
But I still had oodles of minutes on the plan. I called Karen’s cell phone. No
answer. Home phone. No answer. Remember, this is the middle of the night. Tried
again with same result. Finally my phone talked to me to tell me I had been
kicked to the curb. I was mystified. I didn’t know I had to maintain a regular
relationship with the inanimate thing.
After dumping six dollars change into a pay phone I gave up
on Karen, envisioned her sound asleep at home, and with the help of the nice
young man at the rental car place, located a hotel for the night.
While I had been looking for her inside the Great Falls
Airport, Karen had been waiting at the curb outside for me to exit. Karen
picked me up in the morning. We bought a disposable phone with minutes to last
me two months.
We drove to Lincoln for the Harlem High Class of ’63 reunion,
which I tend to think is held just for me since I’m the one who gets the most
from it. Maybe the others think the same. But I know better. I’ve been living
in solitude. The reunion is a gift.
In fact by Saturday night after Music in the Park with Wiley
Gustafson and his Wild West Band, I was as overstimulated as any toddler at a
family reunion. By 3:30 am I had single-handedly organized the 2017 reunion in
Mazatlan, complete with hotel, a tequila tour, fishing trips, a drive into the
Sierra Madres with stops to see local craftsmen making saddles, decorative
tiles, and furniture, trips to the Cathedral, the Mercado, the Machada, tourist
shopping in the Golden Zone, eateries for each day, all to the tune of Gustafson’s
rendition of “Lonesome Cattle Call”. Whew! Let me know if you want to be
adopted into our class. You’re not the first.
With unusually perfect timing, Tuesday I boarded the Empire
Builder and surprised my granddaughter Jessica and my brand new
great-granddaughter Harper. I’m gloating. I got to hold the baby before
Grandma, nanner, nanner.
Today I’m in Miles City with my grand-girls while Mom is at a
training. We are heading out the door to explore historic Miles City and see if
we can find trouble.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
August 13,
2015
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