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Well I finally got my plane ticket, again, to Salem Mass.



Some people say "wow cool!!" to me it's home, well my second home.



Salem to me is like a very tempermental woman. She can be kind, or cruel and fickel. I've seen the cruel part perhaps more times than I care to admit.



Maybe if I won the lottery or something and then lived there to me she may be kind, who knows. But I'm happy here in the dessert.



Yes it's landlocked, but that's ok with me. I go back and see her many changing leaves, her chilly wind and her over abundance of tourists.



Then I go back again in December, and she's empty, cold, cruel, and deserted. This is the time I savor the most.



Cold darkened ice covered cobblestones. A fridged wind that will steal the breath from your lungs. Freeze your hands should you dare take your gloves off. And this is only getting out of the airport!



Do I enjoy the trip? No. Honestly I hate planes, everything about them. Guess I'm a purest that way. If man were meant to fly he would've grown wings.



When the plane takes off I close my eyes, lean back, clutching my 'custom' rosaries Daniel helped me make, and pray whatever of Hale Mary's I can remember.



To me it helps to imagine the plane is a gigantic dragon, and the engines reving up is the wings pounding the air. I'm not afriad of dragons, so it's easier for me to picture that. Yes, I'm slightly nuts.



The stopover to another airport, what's that like? For me it's nerve racking. If I have slightly more than an hour before my next flight, I keep thinking people should move faster when getting off the dam plane.



Finding my next terminal, I've seen enormous airports! It makes Logan look like a postage stamp, literally in that sense. It often takes me 20 minutes, rushing down the people mover, so I move twice as fast, and still it takes me a while.



Then finally I get to my terminal, where often there's a line and my 'cheaper back of the plane' has already been called. Dropping my stuff, almost losing my license, I'm in another people jam while everyone stands in the aisle wasting time to get the heck BACK on the plane.



Most people have a car waiting for them. Nope, not me. I hope the shuttle bus to the subway, to the train station, to another bus, which leads another 20 minute walk in the cold to mybrothers house some 21 miles from Boston.



Well my brother would wait home, right? Nope, I've done this enough to know he's not. So check under the matt, the keys there. When I get in I warm myself best I can with a scolding hot shower, amazing how cold clings to the body, change my clothes, and hopefully have a poptart that he won't notice is missing.



You know what? Screw it, this year............I'm going to get into a hotel room by the airport. I may even splurge by getting a free shuttle, that's heated!



August my son and my ex, he's an alright guy, got off the airplane in Phoenix. Man did they appreciate what an 8 hr flight really means.



It's sort of nice to know that they appreciate it. Not that I'm looking for that. Yes, I complain, no I do not exaggerate of my travels. What I do know, is that I don't really mind in the end.



I still enjoy visiting my family.



Maybe one day I'll drag my poor Beloved along, and share my misery with someone. That would be cool.



But why can't I go on vacation somewhere warm?