A Harried Grandfather; A Mission to Escort his Granddaughter

Seattle to Merida; 19-22 July 2011 --

It all began with considerable anxiety, about the willingness of a six-year old girl who spoke only Spanish, to leave her familiar surroundings in Mexico and travel with that gray-haired Abuelito ("little Grandpa") whom she had remembered mostly from his visit two years ago and who spoke only English. But the trials and tribulations -- yes, and the joys, too! -- were greater than Grumpy could have anticipated.

The flight from Seattle to Merida, and our joint return flight from Merida back to Seattle, had been booked well in advance. Continental Airlines (in the process of merging with United) ticketing personnel even found side-by-side seating on the return flight! The U.S. Passport for Olivia, together with the Limited Parental Delegation of Authority and other legal papers, which might be required by Mexican or U.S. immigration personnel, were readily available.

Son Jim provided my early-morning transportation to SeaTac for the 6 am departure to Houston; how much I appreciate his help on this aspect cannot be put into words.

Arrival in Houston (for a seven hour wait) saw a rainy day (Seattle weather?). The long wait was made tolerable by making friends with a group of Baptists who were also going to Merida, on a mission similar to Habitat for Humanity. We were able to share some good, Christian fellowship, although one woman apparently questioned the status of my salvation; perhaps it was as a result of my identifying my background as a former Episcopalian!

The flight over the Caribbean saw the sun fade from early evening to the "darkest dark" that is typical of tropical sunsets. I captured this time exposure of the twilight glow in the Western sky (the reddish tinge on the flap "canoe" is from the red strobe light used to insure night-time visibility to other aircraft).

Abuela Maria met me at 9:30 pm, when the 737 airplane landed at the Merida airport, and Olivia welcomed me when we arrived later at El Casa de Maria.

Sleeping in a hammock is not as uncomfortable as some might think (including me, once). Actually, I found this night rather restful -- after about three hours of steady Spanish chatter from the little girl who slept in the hammock beside mine. She immediately found that her Abuelito did not comprehend much of anything she said (all very rapidly and with much animation!). I think she spent the next three or so hours trying to teach me the entire Spanish language!! [I enjoyed every minute -- until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.] Later when I awoke with the need to go to the bano, I discovered I had a little girl fast asleep laying across my body! I slid out from under her without waking her. Then when I came back to go to bed, I crawled [ -- what's the right word for getting into a hammock?] into what had earlier been her hammock.

After a full-day's stay, during which Olivia took Abuelito to the playground we had enjoyed on my previous visit two years ago as well as downtown Merida to an Internet Cafe where I hoped to transmit to my e-mail address the photos (taken on a Sony camera to be left for Adolfo's younger sister, Tania). Ultimately, because the laptop I borrowed for this purpose would not allow me to get on the Internet without the owner's password -- which was not recognized. So we went around the corner to a for-pay Internet access shop where the operator copied my photos onto a CD-ROM.

Thursday morning Maria took us to the airport at 4:30 am in time for check-in for the scheduled flight reservations for a 7:15 am departure. The tribulations began. I was advised by the Continental agent that we might be denied boarding because of Olivia's expired visa. My confidence remained that things would somehow work out and so, without revealing to Maria of any potential problems, we bid goodbye and Olivia and I proceeded upstairs to the concourse and the exit immigration check point.

My confidence was soon shattered and my concerns elevated when, as best I could comprehend, "there is no way that le Nina can leave Mexico ... ". An alert Continental boarding gate person came to my rescue and comforted Olivia who, already comprehending the gravity of the situation began to cry. This person also helped me to understand what needed to be done: wait until the bank (in the terminal building) opened at 9 am, have an immigration official calculate the penalty fee I would have to pay via the bank, and rebook with Continental for the next day. After much confusion, frustration and trudging from one place in the terminal building to another, the process with the immigration official was finally accomplished and we were rebooked for departure at the same time Friday morning.

Now a new problem arose. How to get back to Maria's! I did not have her telephone number nor her address, although I was confident I could find my way there. As it turned out (all I could remember of her address was "Colonia Sambula", a district within the metropolis of Merida), I did not correctly remember the branch of the main highway and steered the taxi driver into an area of dead-end streets and unfamiliar territory. However, Olivia calmly took over the instructions to the driver and very quickly had us redirected into the proper neighborhood and, before you know it, arrived right in front of El Casa de Maria! I tipped the driver handsomely (I hope!).

Again being awakened (this time by Maria!) at an ungodly hour to get to the airport to check in, and go through immigration for our 7:15 departure, we found the terminal doors closed and locked. [No need to have it open until nearer the time for check-in and ticketing for the earliest departure (ours!).] This time, though, things went more smoothly (although the immigration official on duty was momentarily confused by that special piece of paper that I presented to him in lieu of a visa that he normally saw). As we boarded our flight to Houston, we again saw the lady who had stepped in the day before to interpret to me what I needed to do, and to comfort Olivia. [No longer having a camera and forgetting the camera in my cellphone, I do not have a photo of her.] Coincidentally, this lady's mother was seated next to me on the flight to Houston! I hope she passes on to her daughter how much I appreciated her help in my hour(s) of concern the day before.

This time, instead of only a two-and-a-half hour layover in Houston, we had to wait from 9:30 am until 5:30 pm to board our final flight to Seattle. I bought two Stromboli for our mid-morning breakfast [Olivia ate some, but didn't like the taste -- neither did I!]. For a late lunch she had a Wendy burger and I had a salad. [Meals were for sale on the flight, but not even complementary peanuts or pretzels!]

Meanwhile, as we waited, Olivia "relaxed" to the entertainment of nearby older passengers, some of whom took pity on the Grandpa who was "in charge" of this bundle of energy; she soon became close friends with this couple from New Orleans who told me they had 10 kids, but only 4 or 5 grandchildren whom they didn't get to see as often as they liked. The lady, apparently convinced that Grumpy could not adequately spoil this charming little girl all be himself, purchased a soft, cuddly "beanie baby" kitten and gave to Olivia.

Olivia was not as curious as I had anticipated about what could be seen out the window; only the impressive cumulus clouds, including some developing thunderstorms (which our flight neatly avoided!), got her to call for my attention. During the majority of the five and a half hour flight to Seattle, Olivia curled up asleep in her seat (sometimes with her head on my lap), just as she had done during the two-hour flight from Merida to Houston.

Olivia's Papa and brother Ramiro met us at SeaTac. At home, Abuelita welcomed us home and soon the brother/sister pair, who had been separated for nearly five years, were engaged in a typical riot. Starting with a playful jab in the ribs by the little Sister and followed by the big Brother pursuit to a hopeless situation with Sister in the protective environment of Papa or Abuelita, then the Brother hiding and the curious little Sister seeking him out; a loud "BOO!!" from Brother as she passed by his concealment, screams and giggles as she ran and he again pursued! Such happiness!

It was pure joy on the part of we old folks to hear these sounds of contentment.

Fred Schwink [1962-2010] -- Husband, Father, Nephew, Friend

Central Illinois; 29 September to 1 October, 2010 --

Sad news came to Grumpy's family, that Frederick Ward Schwink had passed away at the young age of 48. He is survived by his wife, two daughters and one son, all of whom live in Central Illinois. Our condolences and prayers of comfort go out to this young family.

Grumpy booked his flight to Chicago via Southwest Airlines without coordinating with the Kayaker Son, who booked his flight with United; both flights were scheduled to arrive Chicago at noon or a little after. All would have been well with this independence except that United flew into Chicago O'Hare and Southwest flew into Chicago Midway. Kayaker rented a car and found his way from O'Hare down to Midway where he had to wait half and hour or so for Grumpy to arrive.

Grumpy had lent Kayaker his Marine/Auto Garmin GPS for use in navigating the devious (and sometimes dangerous!) streets of Chicago. After picking up Grumpy at Midway, Kayaker allowed Grumpy to manage the pesky GPS -- which Grumpy promptly decided to ignore her plaintive pleadings to "turn right, turn right, turn right" -- all for the purpose of making a U-turn to get us going in the right direction for the shortest/fastest route to Champaign, our interim destination.



A "Tailgate Lunch" in a Chicago Suburb



Fortunately, Grumpy's misguided attempts to navigate a "better route" resulted in our coming upon a grocery store where a variety of edibles (well, most of it was edible!) were purchased for an immediate lunch and then bedtime snacks later on. We got some apples, some grape juice, some breakfast cereal, some rice cakes (hereinafter referred to as "Styrofoam"!) and some peanut butter. The last item was intended to be used in an attempt to make the Styrofoam "edible".

Rice Cake, with peanut butter

Putting peanut butter on a rice cake results in a "food" which chews exactly like one would expect of a clean piece of pure Styrofoam, and tastes exactly like one would expect of a table-knife full of peanut butter. With some trepidations concerning whether the Styrofoam would lurk in our digestive systems for a few decades -- Grumpy had read that Styrofoam bio-degrades ve-er-ry slowly! -- we each consumed a couple of these peanut butter-laced "treats". In fact, this item of our diet fulfilled one very useful function: we now felt full!

We arrived in Champaign about 5 p.m. and, after finding one of the three Indian cuisine restaurants, had a delicious dinner of some kind of chicken and a spinach dish with Roti paan.

Hickory Tree bark



Wednesday morning, we went for a short walk in a park, listening to crickets chirping, birds singing and scolding; squirrels complaining and freight trains hooting. A large, old hickory tree was fascinating, in that its loose, deeply-striated bark is very different from any trees we see out here on the Wet Coast.

 

Hickory Leaves and Nut (in husk)

The hickory nuts from this giant old tree are formed in a pithy husk which splits open to reveal the quarter-sized, three-corner shaped hickory nut inside (click on photo to right and note nut in partially-opened husk just left of center). Grumpy remembers breaking open a hickory nut when he was about 6-8 years old; the hickory nut was sent to us by our Grandfather in Illinois. Hickory nuts yield very little nut-meat with a great deal of effort; Grumpy would advise the readers not to waste their efforts.




A Blue Wild Flower

 

Grumpy spotted this brilliant blue flower, growing in amongst some tall weeds near the creek. Its brilliance contrasted with the sad purpose for which we were here: to memorialize my Nephew, and Jim's Cousin, Fred. This afternoon was spent in relative solitude, sharing sad and happy memories among Fred's family and relatives. Fred left a priceless legacy of pursuit of knowledge of the Germanic languages, which he tirelessly shared with graduate students at the University of Illinois. But he also left a legacy in the little family he loved and headed.

Interspersed with the grief was the pleasure we had in meeting many of Fred's friends and neighbors, not the least of which was the family who invited many of us to stay in their home, and who prepared a fine meal for us. The friendly hospitality and the meal, we especially enjoyed -- an incomparable relief from the previous day's lunch of "Styrofoam".

The Flight Home to Seattle

It was to be a late night when we were to get into Seattle after our scheduled departure at 3:55 pm from Reagan International Airport in Washington DC. Only our scheduled flight from Reagan was already cancelled when we checked in at about 1:30 pm. We were soon rebooked on another flight, this one via Atlanta for a departure at about the same time. However, as the time grew near, we were first informed that it would be delayed and then, "flight cancelled"! Again we were rebooked, for a later flight that same night; the passengers milling about grew restless. Was an uprising about to happen? (I was reminded of the spectacle of all those women (who were lucky to be chosen by one of us Zimmermen) who staged that "foot down" strike at the classical Z-pose picture-taking session a few days before. See picture series on side-bar.)

Would this lone male representative of the Z clan who happened to be here on this fateful day be able to help quell what seemed certain to degenerate into a war of some kind?

But I was premature in my worries; ultimately, the "last flight of the night" was also cancelled (all late arrivals and cancelled flights were due to heavy weather in and around Washington DC).

It was definitely better to be waiting on the ground that to be tossed around in an airplane battling tornadic winds and sheets of rain! We were rebooked on "the earliest available flight" the next day -- leaving Reagan at 11:55 am.

The Grand Mother and Grumpy decided early on NOT to call our recent host and hostess. They had already made four (4) trips between their estate out on the inner Maryland peninsula and Reagan airport. The distance, although about 40-50 miles, was secondary: the traffic was the worst Grumpy has ever seen! At least, the traffic in Los Angeles, which was usually bumper-to-bumper, moved -- at 60-70 mph! Gulp!!

We finally arrived home at about 6:30 pm, tired, sweaty, stinky and sleepy (after spending 18 hours lolling in the airport at Reagan). We had missed a much-anticipated re-union lunch with some old friends. But we looked forward to arising early Saturday morning to go watch our youngest son play left-center outfielder for his softball team. More about that in a later post.

Commercial Flight to Huntsville AL

Yesterday, Jim took me to time out of his day (thanks a bunch, Jim!) to take me to the airport in time to catch my 1145 a.m. American Airlines flight. The flight to Dallas/Fort Worth was uneventful with scenery of the snowy Rockies beneath the wings as we crossed the Continental Divide somewhere around Denver.

When we landed at DFW, besides having to taxi half-way across Texas (it seemed) to get from the landing strip to the terminal, when we got there, our gate wasn't ready so we had to sit on the tarmac for about ten minutes waiting for another airplane to leave so we could take its place. All the while, Grumpy is sitting there nourishing his starving stomach with fingernails as my connecting flight was scheduled to leave from another gate on the far side of another terminal!

Finally getting at the gate, now Grumpy (who was cleverly seated near the rear of the not-so-super 80 -- an old MacDac airplane) had to wait while a hundred passengers got up, slowly pulled their carry-ons out of the overhead bins and ambled up the long narrow aisle to the front of the airplane.

I finally got into the terminal with 15 minutes to get myself and my carry-ons to the far gate. I wandered until I found the "QuickLink", an automated tram that carries people from one end of the four terminals to the other, and in another two minutes was at my gate -- five minutes to spare.

My seat (29F), reserved for a month or more, was in the rear of the super 80. When the engines revved up, the noise almost drilled out my eardrums! (Memo to self: after this, make sure to ask for a seat no further back than row 25 on a Super 80.

Anyway, I arrived on time in Huntsville, Unxcle Bob was there to meet me and Inisia and Larry Holland (our hosts in Huntsville) had a gourmet meal prepared for us when we arrived at the Holland mansion.

Today promises to be more excitement as I visit the Radiation Lab and we go see the Mooney. More of that in the next post.