[dropcap]M[/dropcap]usings are thoughts, the thoughtful kind. For the purpose of these articles, a-musings are thoughts that might amuse, entertain and even enlighten.
It’s been an interesting 48 hours. I got the job of driving my grandkids to the airport, not that I asked for it but I didn’t mind either. I spent the night, though short, at their house to make sure they got out of bed in time for the brutally early flight after almost three agonizing hours the night before of repacking their suitcases, and those left by their parents, who had travelled earlier, to make sure they did not exceed the allowed 20 kilos. Low-cost airlines are fantastic but you pay for every little extra, including excess luggage. It was almost midnight before I got them all tucked up in bed. I had three sleepless hours left before I had to wake them again. They assured me that they had set their alarms for 3 am, but they all managed to sleep through their alarms so I realized that I did indeed have a role to play in their lives. I felt useful, tired but useful.
The weather was awful, foggy, icy, snowy, deeply snowy, and pitch dark, but the trip to the airport was uneventful except for the deafening blast of what passes for music these days. It was truly mind destroying, brain cell deadening, and totally incomprehensible., which is surprising as the vocabulary, the words involved in the various renditions could not have exceeded a couple of dozen that were repeated over and over again.
The kids checked in successfully with only minor readjustments between checked baggage and hand luggage carried on out on the floor of the departures hall, and soon they were set to go! Of course, they were an hour late departing, and when they got to Gatwick they had to go through Immigration, pick up their luggage and re-check in, such are the joys of low coast airlines that do not have interline deals with other airlines. Anyway, they did check in and they even got on the flight, but the flight was delayed so that as they were landing in Barbados, the last LIAT flight, on which they were confirmed, was just taxying out to the runway for take off, so they had to spend the night in our next-door island before getting up once again before the crack of dawn to fly on.
I, on the other hand, was driving peacefully back to my home, still in the pitch darkness of night, but without the screaming, shouting, thumping and bumping of the outward journey.
I wasn’t too far from my house when a tree fell flat in front of me. I slammed on the brakes but the slippery conditions allowed me the amazingly pleasurable slow-motion sensation of sliding to my death. It was an enormous tree and I suppose the weight of all the freezing snow was just too much for its old roots. It was a giant Christmas Tree and its welcoming branches embraced my car and lessened the impact even though my front end ploughed into its trunk.
I sat for a while and pondered my fate. I reversed back up the track, which was scarcely identifiable in the deep snow, until I found a spot where I could safely leave the car, got out and proceeded to plod through the deep snow, in the dark, towards my home in the forest. The first house I came to was dark; all were sleeping. The second had lights and they promised to call the local farmer to come and help.
I, meanwhile, plodded on in the freezing snow, fearing at any moment I might slip, fall and be found once the sun came up hours later like a human popsicle. But I made it home, banged on the door and wakened my wife who let me in, but not before telling me to knock the snow off my shoes.
