At the airport where we met Barry

Philadelphia, PA, Thursday, October 30, 2008, 1447 pm

We have made the first leg of our journey. We are sitting in an airport, overlooking the airbus that will take us to Frankfurt. Funny thing about planes in the 21st century, they have gotten smaller. On the commuter plane from Buffalo to Philly, we found our seats and someone's carry-on was stowed under one of our seat. He was sitting across the isle and thought that this would be OK. He was quite indignant when we requested that he remove his giant bag so that we could have leg room. Sheesh. He had to duck to walk onto the plane, so I guess he thought the world was his oyster.

So, we made it through the first flight. A bit like riding a bike, except this was a boeing hurtling through the air. Eleven years since I've been on one of these things. It was exciting.

I have to tell you about the flight attendant on the first flight. She was a very beautiful woman, but the was intelligible. I guess if you have to say the same shpiel over and over again, it becomes a bit routine; however, we could not understand her. AT ALL. It was like an SNL episode, except it was real. Every time she got on the mike, we would laugh. Except for Mom. She was genuinely concerned that she could not understand the safety instructions. I said that if we would need to jump, I won't be looking for the flight attendant anyway.

Then it was time for lunch, since we had FIVE hours in Philadelphia. The thing about the metropolitan airport was that it was DESERTED. We had to take a shuttle bus to get to the right part of the airport, and then went in search of food. What might you eat in Philadelphia, you say? Of course, we had to have Philly steak. A bit gross actually, bu what do you expect from airport food? Then we had the crab fries, which came recommended from a waiter who looked like a Barry. He was very friendly and looked like he might break out into the chorus of Rent at any time. We were the only patrons in this restaurant. Barry recommended the signature dish of crab fries, which frankly, were just shy of a salt lick. Where is the brisket when you need it?

As I blog this, I hope that L is not crying again. So much for happy holidays in the homeland, when your heart is being ripped out. That is so green of me, to think about how much fun the trip will be and consider how much heartache a little soul will go through. Ugh, go to stop thinking like that, or else I will never take another three week holiday without my children in tow.