Friday evening I flew home from Denver. Home for me is the Atlanta airport followed by a 70-mile commute up I-75 and into the Appalachian foothills.
I sat next to a crazy lady on the plane. OK, not really crazy but really, really nervous. She had her shirt pulled up over her face half the flight. Every time the pilot banked the plane or there was any noise at all, she freaked out. She was a nice lady other than the crazy. I tried talking to her to make her less nervous. She was mad at her husband who was sitting across the aisle. I think she was mad because he fell asleep while she spent the flight freaking out. She bought me a beer and drank one of her own. We talked about her son and her life in rural Pennsylvania in between her panic attacks.
The crazy lady told her husband she was going to kick his ass when we were getting off the plane. I think it was because he thanked me for “helping” her during the flight. I’m not sure I helped. Some people freak out when they aren’t the one behind the controls. I know because I’ve lived through that stage in my life.
I got home at 2 AM, hugged my wife and before I knew it the alarm was bothering me. 5 AM hurts when you don’t hit the rack until three hours earlier. Especially after you’ve left your 20’s behind forever.
The rest of my weekend consisted of military drill. We lost our commander, Major Chris Dockery. He was replaced by a captain, who seems like a good officer and a nice guy all around. I complained a lot about Major Dockery in my blog while we were in Iraq together. Never by name. He has a different kind of management style than what I’m looking for in a boss. Nevertheless, I’m going to miss him. He was an honest and sincere man and he cared about his troops in his own rather bureaucratic and stubborn way. I’ve served under worse men. Major Dockery, if you happen to read this blog entry, I can’t say it was always a pleasure, but I respect you sir. Safe journeys.