White-knuckle flyer, here. I always have been. I was seven, the first time I flew...AND I traveled alone. No mom or dad, grandma or grandpa, aunt or uncle...you get the drift. My parents put me on a plane in Sioux City, IA, to fly to Sioux Falls to visit my best friend. We had moved to Omaha the summer before, so after my first grade year was completed, they thought it a nice idea for us to get together again. When I say I flew alone, it's true, but the flight attendants, pilot, the man sitting next to me...all made sure I was safe, had enough bubble gum, and several waited with me, until my friend and her family whisked me away. So, there's that.
My next flight, was back to Omaha my senior year of high school, to attend a prom, after we had moved again (to Wisconsin this time). That flight had a LOT of turbulence, and didn't help my knuckle situation, at all.
After that, a couple business trips to Vancouver, BC and Quebec City, Quebec. After that, Phoenix with our daughter and her family...to visit family. The above photo...over Colorado, where my grandparents had lived.
I've said it before, I'm not a world traveler...it's the flying thing. Always happy when we land safely, but I think I'd have rather taken a train. Speaking of a train, I also rode solo from Colorado Springs to Omaha when I was 12. Yep...alone, again. Stayed after our family visit, just to spend a little more time with grandma and grandpa. This time....a train, for 600 miles. Pretty sure my parents loved me, but geez...
On our flight to Phoenix, I took a couple more pics, as we flew over Omaha. I wanted to just get dropped off for a few days, but it wasn't a part of the plan. Maybe this year...we'll see.
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