Fah-la-la-la-laaa at Zero Thousand Feet

My platforms will be planted firmly on the ground this holiday season.  There will be no jet-setting.  I learned a hard lesson last year.  Remember last December’s “Snowmaggedon” or was it simply “The Blizzard of 2010”?  Whatever it was, there was snow up to my eyeballs, and that’s not difficult when you’re 60 inches from the ground.

The weather reporters, weathercasters or meteorologists (whatever they call themselves) were in their element.  They couldn’t have been happier.  It was snow all day every day, empty supermarket shelves from panicked (crazy) Americans.  I mean, when you’re in the middle of a blizzard with power lines going down due to toppling trees, what you need most of all is a freezer full of meat and ice cream.  Then there were the hundreds of flight cancellations.  You thought you were heading to the beaches of Florida or the Caribbean?  That would be a “no.”  Every weather reporter across every channel in the 50 United States were on high alert and in heavy rotation.  I mean, they brought it.   They were all almost too happy in the midst of disaster, and they exhibited this strange behavior again this past summer when New York City experienced both an earthquake and a hurricane.   My favorite memory from Summer 2011:  Weather reporter Lonnie Quinn, pupils dilated, operating on Starbuck’s probably and adrenaline — jacket off, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up like he had been in battle, came out for air, and was going back in.  That man was wired.  He needed a straight jacket and a tranquilizer – stat.  Love that man.

But, back to my story.  I had all good intentions to surprise the Southern Branch (well, really, my grandmother) after Christmas last year.  Mother Nature had her own ideas.  I mean that snow fell and fell and fell.  It was pretty, but I kid you not, I thought the End of the World as the newscasters were implying was here and it would only be a matter of time that we would be signing off — Over and Out.  My five-day (or was it six days?) holiday to a southern state rapidly turned into two days.  (sigh)  It’s like seeing your hopes and dreams disappear when you need size 6 1/2 black, patent Mary Jane platforms, and you look over…there’s a “woman” (yeah, I put that in quotes purposely…you know what I’m thinking) beaming from ear to ear, trying on the last pair and she can’t get that American Express out fast enough.  Crushing.  It’s like poof!

Between the hysteria and my repeated calls to the airline to see if I could salvage a shred of my five-day trip, not to mention the unusual weather occurrence of “Thunder Snow” (yes, there is such a thing), I vowed never to fly during winter unless it was absolutely necessary — or I forget about the whole vow thing (because that’s happening a lot nowadays — forgetfulness) and book a flight because I see some amazing deal that I can’t possibly allow to pass me by.

The post-Christmas Day holiday and New Years will be en mi casa my friends.  The family bonding will be local.  It will be fah-la-la-la-laaa at zero thousand feet.


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