Followers

Wednesday 3 January 2018

HEART and STROKE SAGA IV



Ron and I decided to leave for the Ottawa airport around 3pm on Friday, December 15. This proved to be a wise decision, for the taxi ride, which normally takes 20 minutes from the hotel, took an hour and 20 minutes. Snow fell thick and fast in the dark afternoon. Traffic moved forward at a jerky snail’s pace. When we finally arrived at the airport, it felt as if we had truly arrived at a port in a storm. Our flight was up on the board and listed as “On Time.” We were early for check-in and the gentleman at the desk happily agreed to fetch us a wheel chair and someone to push it.
            An attractive young woman in a smart black and teal dress and a black sweater soon arrived with the wheel chair for Ron. She did not need the white robotic assist and the three of us chatted cheerfully as we proceeded to airport security. Once in line I admitted to her that I usually had trouble going through security.
“At least half the time I get singled out for the extra body search and a “pat” down. I think I must fit the profile of a dangerous Russian spy, or a nefarious Nordic secret agent.”
I took off my boots and belt and stowed them in a plastic basket but as soon as I walked through the security portal a beep went off. I was pulled aside and “patted” down YET AGAIN.
            When I rejoined Ron and the WestJet lady, she shook her head.
            “You called it,” she said. “But that was the beep for a random search.”
            I shrugged. I had heard the same “random” beep when we left Edmonton and had undergone another “pat” down there.
Flying just isn’t as much fun as it used to be. I can remember a time when there were no security checks on domestic flights. And Ron can remember a time when regular seats were actually comfortable.
            Once we were settled in the departure lounge at Gate 18 (?) (the lounge at the farthest end of the departure gates) we learned that our flight, due to leave at 6:30pm, was delayed by half an hour. This was good news as many flights had been cancelled. Ours was merely overbooked and a number of disgruntled people paced about making angry calls on their cell phones. Fortunately our seats were safe.
I even remained calm when our plane had to stop out on the tarmac for de-icing. Since Ron and I were seated in the front of the plane, and it was dark outside, I couldn’t see the putrid green spray saturating the wings. Instead I relaxed and let visions of prosecco dance in my head. (Normally I order the Granville Island pale ale.)
Once we were safely in the air and the seat belt sign went off, I ordered my prosecco and the mango chicken with rice dinner while Ron opted for a glass of orange juice and a bag of pretzels. Later, when he shut his eyes and attempted to rest, I settled back with a second prosecco to enjoy “The Trip to Spain” with Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon. When it was over I flipped to “The War for the Planet of the Apes” which I re-joined just before I had left Caesar on his X-shaped cross. I won’t tell you how the film ends. I don’t want to spoil it for you. Let me simply suggest that Caesar might have better been dubbed Moses. And I will leave you with the one question that still bothers me: Why weren’t there any human females (other than silent little Nova) in the film? Did I miss a crucial story element under the hum of the jet engines?
The highlight of the flight was a spectacular natural wonder. My window seat was on the right side of the plane. Whenever I wished, I could turn my head to see the Big Dipper just over my shoulder and I could track its slow counter-clockwise-spiral in the northern night sky.
When we landed in Calgary we were greeted by a WestJet attendant who wheeled Ron to the luggage carousel and outside, across the street, to the lobby of the Delta Hotel. We awoke early the next morning to a stunning sunrise as we breakfasted in the terminal. After a short flight to Comox we were soon in our car, driving down the Island Highway, secure in familiar surroundings: the blue Salish Sea to our left, tall purple mountains, green forest and grey, cloudy skies. Little did we suspect that the Ottawa snowstorm would follow us home to Nanoose Bay and give us a White Christmas.


The End