Friday the Thirteenth
I was not a happy camper when I found out on the morning news that a small plane going from Newark to Buffalo had made a fiery crash to the ground Thursday night. Not a good feeling in the pit of my stomach, knowing that I would be boarding a plane the exact same size, different airline, at 4pm. It was a very long morning. I wandered around, trying to keep my mind off of it. Walked to Barnes and Noble, had a scone and some coffee. Searched the shelves for a beading magazine or book that I hadn't seen yet, with no luck. Had a tearful conversation with Joe, who tried to convince me that the chances were just too high for a crash to happen 2 days in a row. I finally made it to the airport, 2 hours early- just to find NO line for security. That rarely happens. And then I waited. Worried. waited. Boarded the plane and enjoyed a nice white knuckled flight to Syracuse which was literally only 47 minutes long. I enjoyed me some iHop when I got home and am so relieved to be back at my house. I am hoping the plane taking me to New Orleans in 14 days, holds more than just 40 people.