First, an update: by the time you read this, Chosen Family will be complete and I’ll be deep into the process of smoothing it out for publication. As of this writing, the timeline remains on track for it to appear a week or so prior to the release of Aftermath as a special bonus for subscribers; everyone else will have to wait until November 24th in order to purchase it. It’s a great time to sign up for one of my newsletters if you haven’t already — or to get your friends to do so. I really like how the story turned out and truly hope you’ll enjoy it too!
Second: yes, I will be releasing a compendium of all of the shorts at some point in 2027. Based on my personal schedule, I don’t expect it will be available until next summer at the earliest; once I have an exact date, I’ll post it here.
And third (finally): the wrist is much better, thank you for asking. I’m still limiting how much time I spend at the keyboard so I can get through my next writing sprint without interruption, though I expect to return to weekly outings here on the blog. Thanks for hanging in there with me.
I have a regular coffee get together with colleagues that started back when all of us were in the same department on campus nearly twenty years ago. How we managed to keep the thing going through COVID, job changes, retirements and cross-country moves is a testament to how connected the group is — and how, after all this time, we’ve kind of moved beyond just having been coworkers to the sort of deep friendship mutual experiences can often generate. I treasure the time we are able to spend together swapping stories from our collective past or catching up on what’s going on in our lives. These days, mostly due to geography, our sessions tend to be virtual, but every now and again the stars align such that we’re all in Tucson at the same time and can meet in person at one of our many favorite eateries.
One such session happened a few weeks back, and it was so much fun that we continued to chat right up until we got into our cars to drive away. I’ve heard talk of driveway moments, those pauses where time stands still while you finish listening to something; this was very much like that. I suspect we would have stood there for another hour had other cars not wanted our spots. In this case, the colleague who managed to retire first was recounting a story of how her granddaughter had flown cross-country to spend time with her biological father; as she was a minor, she’d gotten the royal treatment airlines provide for children unaccompanied by adults and had loved every moment of the attention.
The story reminded me of my own first time flying back in the early 1980s, a tale I’ve partially recounted in other blog posts. I had an uncle living just outside of Seattle who had offered to host me for a few weeks during the summer; I still remember getting up early on the day I left so we could drive to Boston for my flight. It was my first ever time flying anywhere, and I was so excited I’d kept the plane ticket on my desk so I could count down the days to my departure. (Historian’s note: these things used to be paper.).
While we’d picked my father up from the Portland Jetport on many occasions, stepping into Logan International was a far different experience. The bustle of people going ten ways at once was a bit overwhelming; I think I was in a bit of sensory overload when my parents finally handed me off to the flight attendant who was going to be responsible for my getting to the West Coast in one piece. They’d booked me on a cross-country flight to Seattle that stopped in Chicago, the idea being that I’d not have to worry about changing planes.
It was a sound idea until we landed in Chicago and the kindly flight attendant who’d been keeping an eye on me appeared at my row looking a little bit harried; only then was I told that my flight had been cancelled (!) and I had to get off the plane. Unsure of what any of that meant, I dutifully followed her into an airport that was impossibly bigger than Logan International, and then traipsed what felt like ten miles before we slipped through a side door and wound up in some sort of lounge. Inside were a handful of other crew members and one other kid — a girl near my age. I found out pretty quickly she’d also been on my same flight; together we waited while they sorted out the mess. I remember being able to call my parents to let them know what happened, then waiting some more before our flight attendant, finally smiling again, told us we had a new plane to catch.
Though it’s all a big vague to me now, somewhere in there I realized they put me on an airline that wasn’t the one I’d left Boston on; looking back on the entire thing, older me is a bit appalled at how trusting I was. What is crystal clear to me still, though, is that they’d put me and my new friend into First Class — in the row just behind the galley with an angle to see into the cockpit when the door was open. I even met the Captain and First Officer, both stately gentlemen who seemed genuinely interested in a kid from Maine on his first big adventure.
Once we were in the air, the in-flight service began; expecting the same sort of box lunch we’d gotten on the flight from Boston to Chicago (yes, they served real food to folks in Coach in those days), I was surprised when we first got a warm cloth to wash up with, then asked what we wanted for each course of the meal. I know I had a pretty decent soup followed by a steak with mashed potatoes that tasted fairly close to what my mother made. Dessert was some sort of chocolate cake (of course), followed by hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows. In short, I ate like a prince and immediately assumed all flights were like that — a thought I was disabused of a few weeks later when I flew back to Boston.
All these years later, I freely admit that was the high-water mark of traveling by air for me; the closest I’ve ever come to that level of white glove treatment was booking a room on the train to California, though as good as that was, it just isn’t quite as good as what I accidentally experienced as a kid. I’m certain some of my anxiety around traveling in general has its roots in that flight to Seattle being cancelled; still, it hasn’t stopped me from traveling when I have the chance to do so. I have learned, though, that I enjoy it far more when I’m traveling with someone, a lesson learned perhaps from meeting that other unaccompanied minor on that fateful first trip. Air travel itself isn’t really what it once was, but each time I step into an airport, I do smile fondly and recall just how exciting the experience can truly be. Even if you do try to plan for everything.
One last postscript: with recent terms-of-service changes being made by some of the larger social media platforms, I’m being forced to re-evaluate my use of them. I don’t quite know what the plan will be yet, but I do know that I am not willing to agree to use any of them if by doing so it means their AIs will be scraping my content for any purpose. If you’ve found me from one of those platforms and rely on them to let you know when I’ve posted something, I would encourage you to instead subscribe directly here.
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