Labor Day Monday

I remember Labor Day Mondays in Montreal so well. We would usually go visit my parents’ friends in the Eastern Townships for the last holiday weekend of summer. It would already be turning cool, Brome Lake bracing for swimming. Then on Monday we would join the streams of drivers crossing the Jacques Cartier Bridge and I would feel excited that school would be starting the next day. That feeling usually lasted about two weeks before the reality of a new teacher (or teachers once I was in high school), pounds of books lugged home in my school bag (it was the era before backpacks) and homework set in. 

I never would have imagined someday sitting in Phoenix Airport on a Labor Day 60-odd years later. I didn’t even know where Arizona was until I read one of the Donna Parker series—similar to Nancy Drew but the conflicts in the books were more relational than mysterious—when I was about 12. And now here I am.

There’s a definite advantage to flying First Class. Whereas the Economy line was at least a half hour long, I was through the Priority line in 10 minutes. I also got through Security more quickly. But the biggest advantage is being able to use the Club Lounge. All the drinks you want, avocado toast, fresh fruit and comfortable chairs. Everyone in the airport has to wear masks unless eating or drinking, it actually seems to make things quieter and the two-hour wait until the plane leaves, actually relaxing. 

So am going to eat my avocado toast and drink my Coke Zero and come to a realization that I am finally on my way. It feels very unreal right now.

It’s now 4:40. Flight to Los Angeles was fine, very smooth. Arrived here, walked around the terminals for half an hour then headed for the lounge, where I have been ever since. Commandeered a nice lounge chair and was quietly relaxing when R sent me several emails about the dog rubbing the tumor on her neck raw and bleeding all over. Sigh, what was I supposed to do about it? Turn around the go back? Luckily a dog owner friend of mine in the neighborhood was online and I was able to message her. Last I heard she has headed over with canine first aid and a soothing manner. Am seriously considering not looking at my email for the next while—most of my friends know to Message me on FaceTime or text me. R doesn’t know how to do either.

Do I sound mean? Seriously, if HE were in the hospital, I would turn around. As it is, our dog is as much his as she is mine and there’s nothing I can do that he can’t. I have an hour and a half before I have to board the flight to London. And, I tell myself, this is actually good for him, to realize that other people (my dog owner friend) can be called upon and also to realize (maybe) how to care for Mitzi. 

Or so I tell myself. Well they are about to call boarding so time to post this. Until tomorrow.