It was a beastly early hour in the morning for galavanting on frozen asphalt, hounded at every revolution per minute by the fierce hissing wind. The night was black, blacker than black itself and just as cold, except for the halos of soft yellow dancing just before us, never too far ahead, yet never overtaken...Actually, I cannot remember exactly what that early morning ride was like, but than forgetting is one of the surest method for allowing the imagination to caper about drawing her long trains of illusions swirling after her, teasing always and never appeasing curiosity.
This night reaches back to when Seth, Betsy, and David still lived in Nebraska, the occasion was as somber as the night itself, for it was the night of separation from the bosom of my siblings that immediately preceded the twilight dawn of expanding unknown possibilities that heralded the morning of new adventures.
The guiding halos conducted us to the parking lot of the Grand Island, Nebraska Airport, and there vanished, handing us over to beckoning glow of lights in the isolated terminal standing like a lonely portal of capricious nature. For not all who entered those gapping doors returned through them, and not all exited had entered therein. This impish structure embraced our entrance and in due process of time released again the same party minus one. Where and how they went is beyond the scope of this story, our narration follows the missing member, David.
With his bodhrán in hand as a shield against melancholy he plunged into the luggage check-in portico and endured through the Transportation Security Agency's front lines. From thence he emerged unharmed but divested of his trusty Kelty, a 50 liter pack, the guardian of all the wearable necessities of life. This was all according to plan, and the expanse of time between being bereaved of all belongings until the joyful reunion also went according to plan.
The excitement begins with the nonchalant perusal of an unending swirl of luggage riding the merry-go-round that is the called baggage claim. And on this day it was more of a circus than usual for David, as a peculiar bag appeared and took its place in the pack parade. This one differed substantially from the others, and yet there was something strangely familiar about. The plastic wrap around it made it look like more of a cocoon than anything belonging in the baggage claim. A burst of colors was faintly visible under the wrapping. The butterfly was going to be a beautiful one when it emerged. That sense of familiarity though kept nagging at David. As the bag passed merrily by, he snagged it and the story became all too clear. Yes, he did know this pack, but the comedy of it all did not hit him until a little later.
Imagine the TSA agent unzipping a back pack masterfully loaded with more volume than it was designed to contain. I wished I could have taken a video; if it did not literally exploded, all the contents must have avalanched out of opening. Checking the contents would have bee simple enough, but then the real challenge, repacking. I do not know how many times the agent must have tried or what methods he used, but from the state of the bag when it came to my hands it looked like the struggle intensified over time. I can only imagine the juggling feat it must have been to keep a hold of all the clothing and the bag, when they finally tried to wrap it in plastic. How many people does it take to wrap a backpack? What I would have given to see that!
David the Post Host may be able to find a job in the packing industry...that is if you plan on never unpacking what he does. Keep a hold of your luggage because you never know when we will be off again in another post.
This night reaches back to when Seth, Betsy, and David still lived in Nebraska, the occasion was as somber as the night itself, for it was the night of separation from the bosom of my siblings that immediately preceded the twilight dawn of expanding unknown possibilities that heralded the morning of new adventures.
The guiding halos conducted us to the parking lot of the Grand Island, Nebraska Airport, and there vanished, handing us over to beckoning glow of lights in the isolated terminal standing like a lonely portal of capricious nature. For not all who entered those gapping doors returned through them, and not all exited had entered therein. This impish structure embraced our entrance and in due process of time released again the same party minus one. Where and how they went is beyond the scope of this story, our narration follows the missing member, David.
With his bodhrán in hand as a shield against melancholy he plunged into the luggage check-in portico and endured through the Transportation Security Agency's front lines. From thence he emerged unharmed but divested of his trusty Kelty, a 50 liter pack, the guardian of all the wearable necessities of life. This was all according to plan, and the expanse of time between being bereaved of all belongings until the joyful reunion also went according to plan.
The excitement begins with the nonchalant perusal of an unending swirl of luggage riding the merry-go-round that is the called baggage claim. And on this day it was more of a circus than usual for David, as a peculiar bag appeared and took its place in the pack parade. This one differed substantially from the others, and yet there was something strangely familiar about. The plastic wrap around it made it look like more of a cocoon than anything belonging in the baggage claim. A burst of colors was faintly visible under the wrapping. The butterfly was going to be a beautiful one when it emerged. That sense of familiarity though kept nagging at David. As the bag passed merrily by, he snagged it and the story became all too clear. Yes, he did know this pack, but the comedy of it all did not hit him until a little later.
Imagine the TSA agent unzipping a back pack masterfully loaded with more volume than it was designed to contain. I wished I could have taken a video; if it did not literally exploded, all the contents must have avalanched out of opening. Checking the contents would have bee simple enough, but then the real challenge, repacking. I do not know how many times the agent must have tried or what methods he used, but from the state of the bag when it came to my hands it looked like the struggle intensified over time. I can only imagine the juggling feat it must have been to keep a hold of all the clothing and the bag, when they finally tried to wrap it in plastic. How many people does it take to wrap a backpack? What I would have given to see that!
David the Post Host may be able to find a job in the packing industry...that is if you plan on never unpacking what he does. Keep a hold of your luggage because you never know when we will be off again in another post.
