Flights of Fancy

Raymond’s towne car was a welcome relief from the droplets of rain and sleet beginning to pummel my windbreaker. He was belatedly punctual by a few minutes, and I was so exhausted by this point that I was running on pure adrenaline and my emotions were in turmoil; I could have easily been aggravated but what would have been the point…I was on time, and there was little to no traffic ahead…I would make my flight. He courteously stashed what would become my sole source of clothing in the trunk, and I clung to my carry-on for dear life: tickets, money, IDs, precious memories pulled from the box of love given to me just hours before.
I downed a container of OJ from the amenities section of the car; it was quite cushy and plush, and I was able to stretch out fully for a few moments of shut-eye. I begged Raymond’s forgiveness at not being social…he turned up the soft jazz with no apologies and told me to just relax.
As 40 winks turned into 80, we arrived at PHL, and this really was the moment. Raymond attempted to provide this trip to me gratis, but I absolutely insisted he be compensated and given gratuity; I had a moving expense account, so he obliged with some reticence…I’ve known Raymond for years and he has been a very loyal and giving man who has serviced The Grand well. He deserved it, and he did the most important service to me of all, remaining neutral and unemotional as the last person to see me off on my journey. With a professional handshake, he bid me well, and I entered the bowels of the terminal, ticket in hand.
A one-way ticket.
I slept restlessly throughout the flights, dealing with delays of course, from pressure/air conditioning concerns to runway backups. By the time I was on the final leg to Santa Barbara, I was on a small 70-passenger jetliner, where turbulence was abundant by the Santa Ana and Pacific Coast winds…our tiny plane fluctuated up and down, and at times, I thought I was gonna hurl. The odd part about Santa Barbara airport is the flight descends the demarcation of the coastline and swirls around over the ocean before landing. Again, insert hurling stomach here.
But probably the most memorable part of the journey is the fact that you actually descend the staircase from the plane onto the tarmac. Feeling presidential, or at least ambassador-esque, I took each step with precision as I actually felt my feet LAND on ground. A very different experience than being shucked through to a terminal.
Santa Barbara airport is tiny and almost feels like a series of cabana huts. One for luggage, one for coffee, one for car rentals…I was in awe of the landscape: the mountains to the north and the ocean surrounding me. The palm trees were abundant, and the sun was in full force. It was now close to 4 pm, several hours beyond my expected arrival. Rubicon expected me at noon, so the day’s business there was a complete wash. Turning on my previously-prohibited cel phone, I left multiple messages to that effect, and headed toward the Enterprise hub.
Car rentals can actually go quite smoothly if you just simply smile. Rental agents don’t often get that from customers, so take heart. Remember: they are just doing their jobs…and yes, you have an agenda and a timeline, but a little kindness goes a long way. With a series of maps in my lap and personal service from the agents, I was on my way with very specific directions to my destination and an upgrade from econo to luxury car (just because I smiled…I’m not kidding). The 101 freeway beckoned, as soon as I could figure how the hell to get out of the airport maze.
After two u-turns and a few pullovers to get my bearings, I was finally on the right track: 101 South, from Santa Barbara to Ventura, and boy was it worth it. The sun over the ocean and cascading through mountain shadows made indelible images in my mind as I literally hugged the coastline. I was cautious as a grandma driving in the right lane, allowing the natives to furtively pass me. Exit 71 welcomed me without incident, and it spat me onto Main Street at the exact perpendicular spot where Cindy had taken me to the beach back in November. I felt a strange sense of home, or at least familiarity, now knowing where the hell I was.
I did not relish the town as much as I had recalled, but from this perspective it was in great display: the entire thoroughfare was twinkling with lights from streetlight to streetlight, and shoppers were bustling about. As I slowly made my way through main, honoring the Californian pedestrian laws of passage, I recalled from whence I came: a slow and sludgy main street just begging to be the same.
Emerging from the downtown, I passed my new building, the Rubicon, which “anchors” the start of downtown…I had ten more blocks to go. I considered stopping in to the office, but figured by this point, why bother.
Turning left at Catalina, the landmark High School on my right, I started the slow steady climb to the apex where I was about to unpack my long day’s journey. I had been awake now for close to 28 hours.
And there she was: 2010 Sunset Drive. The sun, literally moments from setting, shone across the ocean view as I pulled into the driveway. I had forewarned my landlady Doris of my impending arrival, and there she was, welcoming me with open arms – and a smile.
We descended the cement stairs to the right of the house, and across the pebble veranda that I was now to inherit. She opened the door to what was now…my home.
Inside, the fireplace was roaring, the lights were dimmed, and she escorted me to what she considered to be a “welcome bar” where she had chilled a bottle of chardonnay, plated a tray of cheese and crackers and created a small but thorough dessert spread of chocolate covered pretzels, shaped in the format of reindeer, with miniature M&Ms as eyes and noses, and small pretzel sticks as antlers.
Doris rocks.
She informed me that she had turned down the master bed, knowing I was probably exhausted, and had laid out towels and linens in the bath. I teared up at her hospitality, and she pressured me to just “stop” and relax. By now the sun had just settled in for the night, and the two bay windows of my new residence started to blacken.
Handing me a loaf of bread (a tradition of “abundance” in her family) she darted out as quickly as she welcomed me.
Overwhelmed, I informed those closest to me by text that I had arrived safely. I called my mother as I opened the wine. Voicemail.
I lounged on the brown leather loveseat and took a sip of wine as I tried one of Doris’ reindeer treats.
My body now sufficiently confused, I set the wine and the sugary treat aside, moving sluggishly to my new master bedroom.
I drew the curtains open, and at 6 PM, fell upon the Tempurpedic mattress for the first time. As I drifted off to sleep, the just-waning Leo moon glistened as it moved into Virgo over the ocean; enough about me - it was time to get to work.