After almost two years of self-imposed isolation, we decided it was finally time to venture out.
Our first priority was a visit to our daughter in Montana. So we boarded a Southwest flight at Lindbergh with a short layover in Las Vegas before arriving in Bozeman, the beautiful haven nestled in the Rocky Mountains.
We were happy to observe the airline crew’s thoughtful concern over enger safety. They also offered a quick course in sign language in order to allow folks to place drink requests without the need to remove masks.
“One finger indicates you’d like a Coke,” the announcement came, as a flight attendant motioned along.
“Holding up two fingers,” the broadcast continued, “means you’d like a Diet Coke. Three is for 7UP, four for water, and five fingers indicate you’d like coffee.”
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“Just follow the options they offer,” she snapped.
“How do you know they don’t have tea">
So I broke from the pantomime, and asked the flight attendant if I could have tea.
A negative nod was the swift reply.
That’s when my wife aimed a gesture at me, which I chose to interpret as a request for Coke.
But other than that minor conflict, it was an excellent flight, assuming you’re happy with a soft drink and a miniature bag of pretzels.
And that’s why, before I leave for the airport, I always prepare a meal, which, this time, consisted of a giant chicken Parmesan sandwich. So while 150 other engers were munching on tiny pretzels, I was devouring a fried chicken cutlet with tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese on toasted Italian bread brushed with garlic butter.
My wife balks at my habit of gorging on an airplane while other engers endure with pretzels, but I remind her of the s of planes having to ditch on remote islands where engers resort to cannibalism.
“Which would you prefer,” I ask, “chicken Parmesan or roast leg of Sam?”
Our daughter picked us up upon arrival and drove us to their new home located on the ninth hole of a championship golf course with spectacular views and where my son-in-law purchased a hip.
Cost of such a golf hip? $14,000 initial fee, plus $7,000 each successive year.
“That’s quite an expense,” I said to him. “When do you play?”
“When the snow melts,” he replied.
We were only 85 miles from Yellowstone National Park, where geysers, boiling rainbow-colored lakes, flora, fauna, bears and bison abound. But access was limited due to blocked roads from the abundant snowfall.
Remaining open, however, was Costco, where the sight of revolving rotisserie chickens shimmering above the flames rivaled even the grandeur of Old Faithful.
The main purpose of that visit was to purchase ingredients for a giant pot of my wife’s famous meatballs together with her homemade tomato sauce and spaghetti, a highly anticipated and traditional banquet she prepares each time we visit. It was a feast sufficient for several meals plus my survival sandwich for the trip home.
humor columnist Irv Erdos at [email protected].
