Serendipitious Noises #16122013

The Bitz & Pieces of Traveling From Ireland to Denver on the 16th of December 2013

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Here I am … I’m waiting to go through security at Cork Airport. Ahead of me is a family, Mom, Dad, and twin boys with long plantinum hair. They couldn’t be anymore than 3 years old. They were very good and put their jackets and mini back packs into the trays. Wide eyed and so very curious they looked around pointing and almost in unison asked “Was dat? Was dat Daddy? Was dat?” Dad answered very politely while herding them through the line. One more person through the metal detector and it was their turn. WAMP! WAMP! WAMP!

“AAAAHHHHHHHHH! DADDYYYY! DADDYYYY HELP! DADDYYYY!”

“LADS! It’s alright! She’s alright!”

“I’m OK! Just forgot to take my hairpins out of my pocket!”

The twins whimpered and held tight one each to Dads legs. Dad tried and tried to pry the twins from his legs to send them through. He’d dislodged one to send him though, but when he went to work on the other, the first would latch back on!  Mom went through in hopes to entice them through, but to no avail. Daddy’s legs were the safest place in the whole world right now and they were going to stay there until the clear and present danger of the metal detector has been eliminated!

People started grumbling, Dad was exhausted, the twins resolve unwavering. Finally Dad through up his arms, he shook his head, put his hands on his hips and  marched through, twins fully attached!  … Silence … A calm fell on the whole of security along with a sigh of relief.

“AGAIN DADDY! DO IT AGAIN!”…

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I’m sitting in a long row of seats in the common waiting area of terminal 3 at London Heathrow silently heming and hawing over whether to spend too much money on a Starbucks Americano. Behind me is a beautiful little girl who was as dark as midnight, with a smile as bright as your most magnificent dream! She played with a delightfully haunting giggle. An elderly  couple laughed and smiled with her. They spoke to her in German. The little darling turned to her mother and asked; “Was dey say?”

“They said they you are a beautiful young girl and will grow up to have a golden spirit!” (Gold Geist)

In front of me there was a young boy, maybe 5 or so? He goes up to a man sitting across from me and asks; ” Why are you wearing a toilet seat?”

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I give in! I go and wait in the long, looooong line and get myself a grande Americano and a maple wafer something or other.  I make my way back to the common waiting area. The place was packed! Holiday travel, who woulddah guessed? In the sea of people, and carry ons, there were two rows of seats 8 seats deep facing each other. In the middle was a young man sitting quietly, hands folded, elbow on his knees. How lucky!? Empty seat with only one person among them. I nearly skipped over and sat in the seat catty corner from the young man.

“Why you sitting there?” asked the young man. I desperately look around me, looking for a sign or something that indicated that I wasn’t allowed to sit there.

“Uhhhh, … are we not allowed?” I asked back

“Ju allowed, but look at me!?” I was confused, I didn’t get it. “… I look like a Mexican drug dealer!”

I looked him over. Beautiful carmel skin. Jet black wavy hair slicked back. Meticulously manicured gotee. Blue plaid flannel shirt button to the top, untucked. Cargo pants. Work boots. Small leather case … “OH MY GAWD! YOU DO!!!” A moment of silence …

“AAHHHHH! HAHAHAHAHA!” We laughed until we cried

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It’s still another hour before my gate opens. I’ve finished my Americano and wafer whatevers. I drift in and out of daydreams. I pulled and all nighter so I was too tired to read or do much else other than sit and stare. A man and three women come by and sat in the empty seats around me. I suspect that they are speaking Holland Dutch. They sounding very much like the Go players I have met from Holland. Well the man started whistling a nice little tune. He seem to stop abruptly when he noticed that I was listening.

“Keep whistling.” I tell him “Nobody whistles anymore. It’s nice to hear!”

“Ah, I don’t vant to be rude.”

That broke the ice per say, and we all started chatting away. I was curious though if I was right in my assumption that they are from Holland. So I ask; “Where are you all from?”

“Ve are from Holland! Can you not tell!?” says one of the women

“Yaw, it is obvious! Ve are all in our 50’s traveling. Ve have very short hair…” says another

“Ve are wearing fleece and comfortable hiking boots!” says the first woman

“Ve are eating cheese …” laughs the 2nd woman

“Ah here see …” the 3rd woman pulls out her carryon “… I have a bright orange suite case!”

“Naw…” Says the first woman “… Zat is because you are a lesbian!”

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My gate was going to open up here in a few minutes, so I start gathering up my stuff. I’m packing my carryon like a Tetris master when a young woman wheeled up an elderly man next to me. She fussed a bit with the basket behind the wheelchair, then sat down across from me. The man put his arm up on the arm rest and there on his arm, a set of tatooed numbers …

I was in shock. I couldn’t even gasp! I was rude, I stared in amazement! What do you say!? What do you!? I couldn’t look away! My heart started pumping in my ears! Did I start to shake? Oh gawd! I don’t know!

He turns and looked at me. Oh gawd! Oh gawd! Oh gawd! He reaches out and puts his hand on my knee. What do I do! What do I do! …

“It’s O.K.” He says softly “It’s real.”

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Too the gate! Down this way, on the metal walking conveyer belt thingy, walking, walking, trip off the metal walking thing! Didn’t fall down! AWsoMe! Turn the corner. NO! Wrong corner. Walk back, turn the other corner. OOoO! Another metal walking converyer belt thingy! I’m walking faster than Cheetahs! 1…2…3… JUMP! Off the metal walking conveyer belt thingy … 9 point landing … or 10 … or … aw hell, A MILLION POINT LANDING! Whoot! Whoot! At the gate! Long, looooooooong line. …. Sit down and wait … Line’s way shorter, get in line behind a raven hair beauty caring a cardboard witches hat with panty hose for ties.

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The line leads into another waiting room before boarding. Another waiting room another need for extra security. Hand the man my passport and bording pass…

“Where are you coming from?”

“Ireland”

“Going back home for the Holidays?’

“No, Ireland’s home, I’m going to visit family.”

“What do you do there?”

The dreaded question. Do I tell him the truth? Tell him that I’m a martial arts instructor and play along with all the ‘OoOooO! Guess we’d better not piss you off!?’ ‘OooOoo! I guess nobody’s gonna hijack this plane!?’, ‘HiiiiiYaaaaah!” … *sigh*… and then go through and extra security search. Or lie …

“Uh … I’m a little shy about saying this … but I ah … I ahhh teach martial arts…”

“Why be shy!? That is GREAT! What do you teach?”

“Uh … Shaaa … Kung … aahh … Shaolin” … I stuttered – was not expecting that.

“Oh! Oh! Hasim over there has taking … Uh … Hasim what did you study? She teaches Shaolin”

I walk along the line and Hasim meets me.  “Wing Chun” he says.

“Yeah! Wing Chun is part of Shaolin! …”

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Hasim and I are having a delightful conversation about Ip man when I come up to the 2nd check before you enter the waiting room. We linger there as we talk about how Bruce Lee took about 2 years of training from Ip man himself.

“Hey! There’s people in line here!” A shrill voice lashed at my spine. Hasim finished his sentence, and I begin a respone but was interrupted with “Hey! I said that there’s people in line here! We’re going to the US!”

I take a deep breath and tell Hasim that I should go a sit and wait for the same plane that everyone in line and in the waiting room is waiting to board. He nods his head and as I look for a seat I hear behind me; “Mrs. McKinlay, please step to the table so that so that your carryons can be searched”

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Because of technical difficulties the flight from London Heathrow to Dallas Ft. Worth was delayed nearly an hour. The fight was routine. Slept a little,  watched the movies … all the movies… terrible movies … I didn’t keep track of the time. When it landed I asked a local what time is was. 6:30pm. Oh, 6:30pm. … Shyte! 6:30pm!?  The gate to my connecting flight closes at 7pm! I’m still on the plane! I still have to claim my luggage and re check it! I still have to go through customs! I still have to go through security!

OKOKOK! I’m off the plane! Wow! They hand me an neon orange tix that says “EXPRESS” on it! In all capitol letters too!  “Do not wait in line! Go to the express line” the staff repeated to us as we raced through the airport! Head of the line at customs! Wooohooo! … Waited forever to claimmy7luggage…, …, …. Got my bag! Head of the line to check it! Head of the line through security! It’s 7pm! The gates closing!  No time to put my boots back on! Run with shoes in hand down the hall, along the metal walking conveyer belt thingy, up the escalators, to the train, the train is leaving, make flying leap onto the train just as the doors close behind me! …

Breathe ….

As I put on my boots I hear from the corner of the car; “Mis-skwak-kee!” Huh? The only time I ever hear anyone call me Mis-skwak-kee was other Native Americans referring to my Sauk & Fox affiliation. I look up from tying my boots and found a man with long pepper hair cascading down his shoulders. Blue denim button up, Levis and a fancy pair of tall “shitkickers”. He was decked out in green turquoise which suggest that he might be Navajo? I looked around to see if maybe he was talking to some one else. Nope. It was me.

“How did you know?”

“Well, you know how we Indians are?”

i smiled and chuckled. My stop came up. “I have to …”

“Go! Go! Catch your plane!”

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The gate was still open when I arrived. Last one on the plane. I settled in and fell asleep. I woke up in Denver, got off the plane, took the train to baggage claim and met up with Gregory …

“So how was your flight?” …

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Serendipitious Noises # ^.^

Here’s a conversation I over heard between a Mom and her 6yr old Son on the bus from Fermoy …

“…What was your favourite song?”
“I like ahh, I like da Little Drummer Boy. I like, I like da Little Drummer Boy because he played his drums for Jesus because he was poor and didn’t have any money to buy him any presents por Christmas. … I play the violin!”
“You do and you are very good at it!”
“I can play my violin por everweone on Christmas!”
“You can. I’d say they would enjoy that very much! Then you can keep all your Christmas money!”
“I can!? … I can poo it ‘n da ***buckets!?”
“(hehe) Yeah! You can put your money in the buckets!”
“I can play my violin, and poo my money ‘n da buckets and everweone will have presents!

***Here in Ireland, the various charities will collect money in buckets.