Surviving Lincoln

Leaving Lincoln, Nebraska Saturday afternoon was eventful. We were ushered onto the plane just minutes after it had landed and the last passenger arriving in Lincoln had stepped through the door into the terminal. The Captain informed us in a  deep, stern voice that we had ten minutes to get everyone seated, the plane turned around and rolling down the runway, or we'd be stuck in Lincoln for who knows how long. Of course one person on the flight took this as, "I need to make a fuss about my seat assingment." Ummm, no. Sit down where you were told to sit and like it. Thankfully the young flight attendant wasn't in the mood to placate. She directed said fussbudget to her seat and helped her settle in. Mere minutes later, as the plane left the ground, I saw a nasty, jagged lightning bolt cut through the gray clouds. Way too close for comfort. Maybe another night in Lincoln wouldn't have been all bad.

Having a pilot brother, I knew our pilot wouldn't have taken off if conditions were too dangerous. I also had to believe our pilot would make all the right choices. Almost as soon as the plane left the ground, the pilot banked left, steering us away from the storm, and within a few minutes, the churning clouds with all their fury were behind us.

I arrived home later Saturday evening, after making our connection in Chicago, and though the weather made me a bit nervous, the landings of each flight were so smooth, so perfect that I had to tip my hat to the pilots.

To finish off the day, I climbed aboard Old Faithful and cruised around the neighborhood for a few minutes. Dorothy certainly had it right when she said, "There's no place like home."