I leave for Ottawa this afternoon. It’s a short trip this time – less than 24 hours. Tomorrow night, I sleep in my own bed again. It’s a bit of a shame I can’t stay longer – it would be a lovely time of year to enjoy that beautiful city – but I’m sure my family will be happy to have me back so quickly.
I feel so very lucky that, for the past 8 years, I’ve been in jobs that allow me to indulge my passion for travel now and then. Most of them are fairly short (except for the biggie to Africa in February) which is better for the sake of family unity. I wouldn’t want them to get TOO used to not having me around – I still want them to need me at least a LITTLE.
Marcel does an awesome job of keeping things going while I’m gone. Sometimes I think he does better WITHOUT me. In the mornings, for example, when I happen to be there when the kids get ready for school, I get in the way and the process ends up taking longer.
I love going to the airport. I love walking down the bridge and stepping onto the airplane. I love paging through the in-flight magazine. I love the view of the cottony clouds beneath me. I love watching the landscape change as you fly over it. I love stepping off the plane, picking up my luggage, and stepping onto foreign soil. I love the mix of excitement and apprehension when you’ve left the airport and you’re not quite sure where you’re going or how to get there.
About the only time I DIDN’T like being on a plane was the last of 5 flights on the way home from Africa when I’d already been delayed for more than 24 hours, lost my luggage in Rome, had to spend a night in Amsterdam, got re-routed through Vancouver instead of Toronto, and ended up stuck in the window seat in the very back row of the plane. Talk about a claustrophic place to sit! Especially at the end of a VERY long trip!