Cribbage, anyone?

Once upon a time, I loved to fly on airplanes. Airplane travel was a novelty for me, and it was always exciting. I was 13 years old the first time I flew on a plane. My cousin Lynn was joining Rainbow Girls, and I flew all by myself from Portland to Seattle to attend her initiation ceremony. The whole experience was thrilling. I loved everything about it. I loved going through security, boarding the plane, listening to the flight attendant's safety presentation, and eating the in-flight meal. Yes, back then, even on a short flight, they always served food. Through my early adult life, I got to fly maybe once a year at the very most, so the thrill never diminished.

That was until six years ago. In the fall of 2004, we moved from our home in Washington to Billings, Montana. Five days later, we drove Shulamith to Salt Lake City to begin her freshman year at Westminster College. Thus began my life as a frequent flier. I would fly down to see her once in October and once in February, and she would come home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, spring break, and summer vacation. This worked fairly well for the four years she was a student. I knew from the start that her time in Utah would last four years, and I adjusted myself emotionally to deal with that, as long as there were lots and lots of visits for both of us.

What I didn't know was that her time there would extend beyond those four years. I didn't exactly sign up for “I got a teaching job here in Salt Lake City, so I think I'll stay here for a couple years and teach,” or “I've met the love of my life, so I think I'll get married and live here year-round.” No, neither of those scenarios was part of my long-range plan. But as my friend Lorrie likes to point out, “Life is what happens when you're making other plans.” Indeed, Shulamith stayed in Utah and began teaching kindergarten. That same year, while attending Luke's mission reunion, she met our sweet Mathew and ultimately married him.

And I became an even MORE frequent flier.

Now, it seems, I fly almost monthly. Before I even return from one trip, I'm searching for decent rates on the next. To bring both Shulamith and Matt home to Billings requires two airline tickets; it makes more financial sense for me to go there. So that's what I do. Often. Additionally, now that Luke is attending grad school in Indiana, I fly out there occasionally to visit him. Flying is no longer a novelty. It is no longer a thrill. It is an efficient way to get from Point A to Point B, and I'm thankful for it, but it's hardly cause for excitement.

At this very moment, I'm sitting on an airplane 37,000 feet in the sky flying over Cuba. Gerald and I are headed to Costa Rica, so he can speak Spanish and gather ideas for his website, and so I can bask in the sunshine and relax by the ocean. This is our second 4-hour flight today. First, after leaving Seth in the loving care of Shulamith and Mathew, we boarded a plane from Salt Lake City bound for Atlanta. As I said, flying just doesn't offer the excitement it once did. The flight to Atlanta was smooth and uneventful (which is good!), but it was also long and boring. To pass the time, the first thing I did was sleep! Sleep is such an amazing time passer. Shulamith lent me her neck pillow, and I drifted off peacefully for nearly an hour. When I awoke, it was time for the complimentary soda and peanuts Delta provides. With another two hours left on the flight, the question was: What do we do next?

The answer: cribbage! Now you need to understand something. Unlike Scrabble, cribbage is MY game. I've played it since I was a little girl. My dad loved to play cribbage, and he taught me when I was very young. I remember watching him play with my grandfather. My dad had a system for cribbage. He never had to wonder which cards to deposit into the crib; he had a system. One part of his system was the rule that you always hold out for the potential double run, even if that means sacrificing some combinations of fifteen. To this day, I think about that rule whenever I play. Sometimes I follow it, and sometimes it works. Other times it doesn't, but either way, when I play cribbage, I think about my dad. And it makes me happy.

Yes, cribbage is MY game. Consequently, I tend to be just a little competitive. I really do like to win. I really don't like to lose. I get pretty cranky when that happens, especially if I lose to Gerald. After all, I'm the one who taught him to play. Fortunately, I won handily in the game we played on our earlier flight. Whew! We wouldn't want a cranky traveler, especially on the very first day of our vacation. By the time we finished, there was just about enough time to listen to a bit of music and work one crossword puzzle before the plane landed in Atlanta. Two hours in the airport gave me just about enough time to eat lunch and talk to all five kids while I still had cell coverage.

That brings us to right now, 8:00 p.m. Mountain Daylight Time. We have passed Cuba on our way south to the beautiful, lush, rainy Costa Rica. This flight has not been any more exciting than the first, except that this time we're almost to our final destination. I slept once again, this time lying down with my head on a pillow on Gerald's lap and my feet on the empty seat next to us. He watched the sunset while I slept. I awoke and began to draft this post. At this point, I'm ready to be done. Whatever thrill there once was in air travel is most certainly gone. I've been on an airplane nearly seven hours already today; enough is enough. I just want to be there. But Gerald tells me we still have another hour and fifteen minutes left to go. Whatever will we do?

Cribbage anyone?