Greats are Grand...and vice versa

Being an aunt is wonderful. Being a great-aunt … well, that's wonderful-er, but for some reason, it sounds much older than just aunt. I guess “great” is better than being called “old” auntie, but you can see my point. What brings this up is that while we've been visiting with David's mum and sister here in Las Vegas, Mary's daughter, Gentry (our niece and web mistress of JustALittleFurther.com fame) and her family decided to drive up from New Mexico. We chat and e-mail with Gentry frequently, but we don't see her and Eric and the kids often. I read that grand-niece and great-niece are interchangeable. Despite the connotation of old age, great sounded more eloquent than grand, so I opted for that. We certainly miss our great-nieces … and they are grand!

First, it was important they learned to pronounce “aunt” correctly. I'm from New England. Aunt is pronounced “ah-nt” not “ant” … a loving relative versus an insect. Both girls were both pretty good with that although Jada took this very seriously and practiced often. Next, it was key that they realized the importance and venerability of having a great aunt. (They're young and easily influenced by big words.) The way to express this was through much hugging. They were both very good at this and once again, practiced frequently.

We did lots of fun things while they were here. We had the opportunity to don yellow disposable gowns and disposable gloves to visit great-grandma, for instance. Quite the family activity.

We walked in Wetlands Park nearby and saw scads of desert cottontails, hummingbirds, coots and California quails. Jada's particularly good at reading maps and planned our itinerary well. Great-aunt Marcie and Macy needed more time studying to figure out where they were going. Thanks for this picture, Jada!

We visited the exhibits at the new Wetlands Park Nature Center (all free and outstanding) and were encouraged to observe, touch, play and generally run off some pent-up energy. All in all, an absolutely great time.

By the way, private message to Taylor, Cole, Dylan, CJ, Adrienne, Jacob, Kaileah and Danielle … grands are great, too!

Getting There...Boston-Nashville-Las Vegas

Lin dropped me at Boston's Logan Airport early at my request. I had two large duffels filled to capacity with boat parts and miscellany. Add to that a carry-on suitcase and a large “purse” which accommodated my new laptop, my iPad, my Kindle and then other less important stuff like my wallet, passport and ticket info. I had my hands full. Remember, I had originally planned to fly directly back to Perth, Australia. Stopping in Las Vegas was not the plan. Luckily Southwest offers two free checked bags up to 50# each (really!) that I was able to check at the curb, no less. I already had my boarding passes and headed straight to the gates. In all the times I've flown out of Boston, I don't think I've ever flown out of its “E” gates, usually reserved for international flights. Something new and different.  

The TSA security check line was long, but moved very quickly. A pleasant surprise was the line-up of white rocking chairs facing the planes and runways as I exited Security. Close to my departure gate, I spotted an empty rocker that seemed to call my name (it had a lobster painted on it) and I claimed it in a nanosecond. I sat down, rocked slowly back and forth and began to watch the show.

I spotted an AerLingus jet arriving next to the Southwest jet I would be boarding and I couldn't help wonder who might be coming or subsequently leaving on that plane. My Irish-American cousins make the trip to Ireland quite often. They stay in castles and cottages and roam the countryside and I daydreamed that David and I might sail there some day. It's easy to daydream while you're rocking.

I watched the tons and tons of luggage being shuttled around from plane to plane. No wonder my luggage barely survives one flight before giving up the ghost. These guys are not gentle. Then I spotted two legless, abandoned plastic pink flamingos sitting on the tarmac and wondered what their story was.

We boarded on time and were off. No drama at all. Though it was open seating and the flight seemed full, I got a great seat close to the front with plenty of room to stow my carry-ons and a good view of the city as we took off. I waved goodbye to beautiful Boston and felt a twinge of regret and sadness in my heart. Next stop … Nashville.

We arrived early. Figures … I had a 3-hour layover. I've visited Nashville in the past. It's a country music city: Grand Ole Opry, Honky Tonk Highway, Country Music Hall of Fame … nothing open at the airport though. After all, it was after 6PM on a Saturday night. Even the Burger King was closed. I finally found a place for a salad, dawdled a bit over my romaine lettuce and then set out to see whatever there was to see to while away the rest of my layover time. It turned out the comic strip character, Nancy, hailed from Nashville … at least her creator, Ernie Bushmiller did, and there was a display dedicated to her. That took up a good 10 minutes.

Next, I spotted some art on the ceiling. Entitled Spectrum Wind by Duncan McDaniel, this was a conduit and colored plastic cup artwork funded by Arts at the Airport. Hmm … I stopped to photograph it … looking up to do so. Several people stopped and looked up, too. We shared a few comments. Another 5 minutes gone … just like that.

The flight was delayed another 45 minutes. I waited impatiently. I fidgeted. We finally boarded and I got a seat next to an old codger who insisted on talking incessantly ... even when I feigned sleep. Nearly 5 hours later, my left ear numb from the chatterbox next to me, we arrived in Las Vegas. I made my way out of the security area, eyes peeled for that familiar face. And there was David with a big smile and an iPad sign for his arriving passenger. It's good to be home … and home is wherever David is.

Heading to Lost Wages...I mean Las Vegas

Lost Wages …. Las Vegas … actually I say this in jest. I like Las Vegas well enough. I'm not fond of the downtown area or even the Strip, although it's a fascinating place for people watching and observing all things over-the-top and bizarre. The rest of the city and the suburbs though are just kind of normal. Neighborhoods, schools, supermarkets, fire stations … your typical city. David and I are not gamblers … at least in the slot machine, roulette wheel, pokey sense of gambling. We gamble a bit with the wind, weather and waves from time to time, but not cash.  

The best part of Las Vegas this trip? I'm meeting David there. Yes, once again things are a bit off the plan. David's mum was in the hospital and is now in Rehab. She feels it's time for a bit more help and has asked her kids to find an assisted living facility close by. We're up to the challenge. We did the very same exercise last year around this time for Bea with good results.

Anyhow, a Southwest Air flight with one stop and a plane change in Nashville, Tennessee (Home of the Grand Ole Opry … don't forget) and 8-hours travel time and I'll be in Vegas reunited with David once again. Sigh! We've got to stop meeting like this.

A little trivia: Las Vegas translates as “the meadows”. A Mexican scout who was part of a trading party headed to Los Angeles in 1829 coined the name. He was able to water and rest there while heading west along the Old Spanish Trail from Mexico. In the 19th century, small parts of the Las Vegas Valley contained natural artesian wells that supported extensive green areas, an oasis you might say in the middle of the desert. In actuality, we'll be living near the Clark County Wetlands Park, part of the Las Vegas Wash, the very same “meadows” Rafael Rivera might have viewed back in the early 19th century.