We're looking at airline tickets for our March/April Australian trip. Going to beach with Nick's folks and then down to Tasmania for a wedding. I am looking forward to getting back to Hobart, a brooding city nestled between the brooding mountain and the brooding sea. Nick and I lived together for the first time up on the shoulder of that mountain with astonishing views of the bays, peninsulas and finally the open water. At night we had bandicoots in yard, scratching their ears and nosing through the underbrush. We also had a cantankerous possum who dwelled in our compost heap. After dinner we'd toss our scraps onto the pile and listen to him growl and squeal in delight at this manna from heaven.
Today, or rather tonight, or rather pretty much tomorrow we are flying to mainland. The flight is scheduled for 11.55pm and gets us into Phoenix somewhere around 8am. Then it's a two hour layover and off to Detroit getting in at 4.15pm. For the amount of traveling I do, I've become somewhat of a weenie when it comes to flying. Not sure why. I can remember being shaken and stirred countless times flying into Missoula without lifting an eyebrow. Than a few years ago, BOOM, white knuckle terror.
I have a general propensity to worry. At some point my worry-o-meter, apparently always on the lookout for the latest in brow-furrowing, realized that airplanes were unexploited territory. And away it went. Which is really ridiculous when considering I don't get stomach knots starting my car in the morning, or laughing really hard with my mouth full of food. Both much higher risk activities. So I'm hard at work dismantling my worry-o-meter. It's not very useful. Plus, here in the Pacific, it's a plane or a long swim to anywhere so I better just enjoy it.