Degrees of normal

The breathtaking hustle and bustle in the picture you're looking at is the main drag/business district in the very Dutch town of Orange City, Iowa. The wife and I spent this past weekend and then some visiting there. That’s incidental to the main point, but stick with me. It’ll come around eventually.

We went for my beautiful, intelligent, talented, strong, caring daughter’s college graduation. And I’m not too proud to say I was crying like Elliott watching E.T. take off for home. I was caught up in the moment either because of my daughter’s tremendous accomplishment of earning two degrees because she’s just that smart, or the fact that as of last Saturday I’m tuition free for the rest of my life.

Sometimes it's hard to tell which.

Anyway, like I said, this post isn’t about that. What it’s about is how I got there, where I stayed and what I did when I was there. Let’s take it in order.

To get to the very tulip-loving town of Orange City, Iowa, we had to fly from here to Phoenix, then from Phoenix to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Then drive another hour and a half to Orange City. Which if you’re keeping count is three airports, two airplanes and one rental car.

In the before times, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But like many people coming out of their Covid cocoon, this was the first time in over a year this flyboy had been up in the air.

I ain’t gonna lie—dipping my sanitized hands back into the real world was extremely anxiety inducing. My imagination was running rampant with visions of spiked Corona virus suckers floating invisibly around me everywhere I looked and touched. It didn't help that our 5am Uber to the airport cancelled on us at 4:55am, and the cab we wound up taking had a driver who trained on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

Once we arrived at the airport, I kept reminding myself how prepared I was for my flights. I’m fully vaxxed. I had the requisite mask, but also donned a clear, non-fogging plastic face shield for that extra layer of protection. And pandemic fashion.

Despite the fact I looked like a 10-year old trying to be a spaceman, it made me comfortable and since it's all about me (only child much?) that’s all that mattered.

Having read all the airplane horror stories about angry MAGA asshats (is there any other kind?) refusing to wear a mask, I was fully prepared to join my fellow future airheros in tackling some Trump-supporting, conspiracy spewing, 2nd-grade level reading dipshit insurrectionist refusing to wear his. I even bought wi-fi on the plane so I'd be ready to record and post my heroics in almost real time.

Suffice to say it didn’t happen. Which was a good thing. Probably would’ve knocked off my face shield.

Not sure what I was expecting, but both planes were packed full—so much for the empty middle seat theory. But the flights were uneventful and everyone was mask positive so that was good.

Once we were in Iowa, we had an Airbnb but wound up at the Orange City Hampton Inn for four nights (that’s a whole other story coming up in a whole other post). However, like flying, staying at a hotel was also something I hadn’t done in over a year. Come to find out it was fine. Plastic shields at reception, hand sanitizer at every turn and stickers sealing the room doors shut, letting us know they'd been cleaned and disinfected and no one had been in there for over 48 hours.

The hotel wasn’t as strict on mask enforcement, but for the most part people wore them and it was easy to steer clear of the ones who didn’t.

Now the number of infections in this particular part of Iowa is almost as low as the number of Jewish democrats. So when we were there, we wound up going out to eat, indoors, with other people. You don't know what you got til it's gone and I knew I missed it, I just didn't realize how much. It was heaven.

Even though I was constantly looking around at the maskless crowd, the tables were distanced and we weren’t sitting near anyone we didn't know. In fact CRAVE, the sushi restaurant we ate at in Sioux City (spoiler alert: Iowa sushi was great) had a reassuring message right up front in their menu about how they've invested in an ionization HVAC system in all their restaurants that reduces airborne pathogens by up to 99%, although Covid by only 90%. Clean, safe and healthy air for my worry-free dining pleasure.

I have to say, after being that wiping-the-mail, bleaching-the-produce, Lysol spraying every touch surface in the house and mask policing the family for over a year guy, it was really good to do things that felt normal adjacent (not saying “new normal” – you can’t make me).

I’ll always remember the corn state for how nice the people were, the four years my daughter enjoyed there and the fact it made me forget the pandemic for a little while.

Truthfully, I don't think I'll be returning to Iowa. But I’m greatful to Iowa for returning me to normal.

The right connections

Assuming you're going to read this post—and I recognize that's a big assumption—are you going to read it all the way through the first time, or stop halfway, go do something else for an hour, then come back and finish it?

Stop talking, it's a rhetorical question.

If you're going to read it, you'll do it nonstop until you get to the end. And why wouldn't you? It's easier, it takes less time and you can get to whatever you're doing afterwards a lot faster.

All the same reasons I like to fly nonstop.

It's literally been 21 years since I last took a connecting flight somewhere. The only reason was because it was the only way I could get to a surprise birthday party I'd arranged for a friend who was shooting a movie in Ponca City, Oklahoma. If you've never been to Ponca City, the Walmart on Saturday night is the hot tip. You're welcome.

Of course, part of the reason it's been so long since I've been on a connecting flight is I usually fly to destinations that are easy to get to directly. San Francisco. Las Vegas. New York. Las Vegas. Seattle. Las Vegas. Portland. Las Vegas. Austin. You get the pattern.

With how much I love gambling (how could you tell?), you'd think I'd book connecting flights more often. It's always a roll of the dice whether or not it'll be on time, the connecting flight will be there when I land, or the weather will cooperate at the second airport of the day.

I was just in Iowa. I had to fly to Denver, connect to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, then drive an hour and a half to where I was going in Iowa. It was an adventure, but it wasn't fun.

Like visits to the dentist, prostate exams and tax returns, I just prefer to have it done and over with as soon as possible. But because of the airline hub structure, and my need to go to little out-of-the-way towns in Iowa, I don't have as much choice in the matter as I used to.

I suppose the thing to do would be to look at connecting flights as a way to see parts of the country I wouldn't normally see, fly a variety of aircraft I wouldn't otherwise get to experience and rack up more frequent flier miles than I might going nonstop.

I also suppose I could also look at kale as cotton candy, but that's not happening either.

Don't ask: Picking up at the airport

So, this is the second in my series called Don't ask. The first was on moving, and now airport pickup.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I've never picked anyone up from the airport. It's just that unless you're my wife or one of my kids - and I'll know if you're lying - I'm not doing it.

I know what you're saying. If I don't pick you up, how will you get home? Admittedly, it's a dilemma. If only there were some kind of transport, a carriage service if you will that you could hire with the currency of the realm to give you a ride to the address of your choosing.

See where I'm going here? Because where I'm not going is to pick you up after your flight.

So safe travels, smooth sailing, and happy landings. I'll see you when you get home.

Right after the cab drops you off there.