(Scenes from I-90 en route to Seattle...gotta love the Cascades!)
Unfortunately, Friday began with the belated realization that in the two months since I ticketed my trip, United had bumped up the departure time by twenty minutes. Needless to say, I missed that flight and stood at the counter, utterly apoplectic and weepy. I was re-routed on another flight through San Francisco with a tight connection, for a non-stop flight to DC.
I was so relieved to be on the flight that it didn’t even phase me that we sat at the gate for quite awhile, since apparently (and ironically) the flight on which I was originally booked was belatedly cancelled due to some sort of mechanical problems, requiring the re-routing of everyone on that flight.
Finally, some 30 minutes after we were scheduled to depart, we finally left off, and I promptly dozed off. Anxiety about the prospect of missing the most awesome historical event in my life had REALLY worn me down.
Once we landed at SFO, we were then greeted by another dilemma: there was a plane at our gate, and due to the sudden departure of a sick passenger, it wasn’t going to leave until all of his/her stuff was off the plane…including the checked baggage.
Ten minutes later, a whopping five minutes before my connection, I sprinted down the jetway (Mary Jane Fleuvogs are VERY cute…but sneakers, they are not), down the terminal (okay, only like ten gates) and discovered that they had closed the door five minutes earlier. So, I was rescheduled again.
I was not happy.
But a little aromatherapy at the Body Shop and a bottle of Sam Adams restored my bliss. After all, I was on my way to D.C. to welcome the 44th President of the United States, and kick number forty-three to the curb!
My flight out was fine for the first couple of hours, then the guy in the seat next to me became very chatty, in that monologuing-allegedly-well-connected-name-dropping-know-it-all kind of way. Thanks to him, I learned that San Francisco’s mayor, Gavin Newsome, and his wife were sitting just four rows up from us, in coach, but in the exit row. I learned that Hillary’s fundraisers were initially not interested in accepting donations from long-time donors (like him, apparently) who were only willing to give her money, and not their votes. As he grated more, and more on my tired nerves, I learned that sharing the same politics with someone, does not mean one shares the same values. Finally, I cranked up my iPod, never more grateful for Toumani Diabate than I was then.
Anyway, once we were on the ground and I made my way towards baggage claim, it was interesting noting the number of people coyly (and not-so-coyly) trying to get Mayor Newsome’s picture.
As I entered the baggage claim, I saw a camera crew and thought they must be there for Mayor Newsome, or perhaps… someone bigger! Instead, they were there to capture the first moments in a new American family’s life: a baby Korean girl who had been on the flight, just across the aisle from me, was introduced to her adoptive American parents, her new grandparents and a little boy who I think is either her brother or cousin.
It was such a beautiful sight and it reminded me of that moment on Election Night when the Obamas and their extended family came onto the stage in Grant Park. They were…are…an all-American family, with its many hues and origins. They are, like that happy family I witnessed in Dulles, a beautiful testament to the power of love and yes, the audacity of hope!
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