kicking my heels

It could be any airport waiting lounge in almost any town in the world.

Des Moines. Baku. Ottawa.

This one just happens to be at the Manzanillo International Airport. But there is nothing to distinguish it from its kin. The next being more dreary than the former.

That is where I am writing now. The wonders of traveling dictate that a writer can be in one country in one paragraph, and on a different continent in the next.

But that is not true of this trip. I am heading to Bend, Oregon for a brief stay -- with stops in Los Angeles, Seattle, and Redmond (the one in Oregon, not the one that hosts the Microsoft empire).

This trip is drenched in altruism. I am going to accompany my mother to an annual reunion in her hometown. Powers is one of those small towns where the warp of the town and the woof of the high school are so closely woven that it is easy to forget they are two separate entities.

Mom's high school class was small at graduation. There was a war going on at the time. You may have heard of it. If I am correct, she may the last surviving member of her class.

Just shy of her 90th birthday, she is insisting on driving. There are a lot of reasons for that.

She has mentioned this may be her last opportunity to attend. So, this is going to be a special drive. Instead of traveling as Darrel and I do, we are going to take several detours along the Oregon coast. Just because it is a great destination in its own right.

I was in the third grade when we left Powers. So, I remember some of my former classmates. Darrel was in the first grade. He does not have the same store of nostalgia. For me, it is a cornucopia of her life as a girl.

Well, they are calling my flight. I am on my way. And I hope the trip is more memorable than this waiting room. Either the waiting room goes -- or I do.