And now it’s time for… an update from Emily, full of all those little details she loves to share… which hopefully won’t drive you crazy.


First of all… how are you all? I do think of you often.

Well, not exactly knowing how to gracefully start this off, I’m just going to jump in.


Day 1 – Tuesday, Aug. 24

After a good breakfast and a goodbye hug with my mom, my dad and I drove up to Portland International Airport. We checked in, had coffee together, and then (I) headed through security. Pretty sure that was the fastest ever—including the most tedious part of the whole affair, which is putting everything back together you have to take apart to go through (i.e. shoes back on, laptop back in bag, etc.).

My gate was close and there were plenty of seats, so I chillaxed for about 45 minutes and got some music on my new iPod Shuffle (thanks, Mom & Dad—brilliant bday gift!!). Ten minutes later I was in my seat on the plane ready to go. Gentleman (about my dad’s age) sat next to me… we ended up chatting more than I would have expected before we’d even left the gate.

First flight, to Chicago, was very smooth. As is my MO, I fell asleep shortly after take-off (and after discussing with Steve, the gentleman next to me, the perfection of Oregon—he’s a convert). Probably slept on and off the first hour, and then pulled out a book (Chesterton) and iPod. I must say there’s something incredibly, INCREDIBLY soothing to having one’s OWN music playing as one travels. It’s like a little piece of heaven. (Although… don’t think too hard about that and invert Emily’s Heaven to one of complete selfishness.)

As we made the descent into Chicago, about 40 minutes out, turbulence started—although not anything I really even paid attention to, as I’ve traveled often and often endured turbulence. However, five minutes into this, I suddenly felt a little pressure on my knee. I turned and found Steve looking intensely at me, his hand on my knee. I smiled. “Is this normal?!” he asked, slight desperation in his tones. Aww, poor guy. I spent the next 40 minutes reassuring this sweet chap who is generally fearless but hates flying. He was convinced we were about to crash—that the sound we just heard was something other than landing gear—that the other passengers’ silence meant doom—etc. When we finally landed (safely—and smoothly) he looked like he could have cried in relief. I probably should have given him a hug. Instead I’m supposed to now be friends with his daughter on facebook (we’ll see).

Safely arrived 15 minutes early in Chicago (surely a first in all of history), I said goodbye to a sheepish Steve and made my way 15 gates down to my next one. It wasn’t even registering for my flight yet (of course, if I’d wanted to fly back to San Fran. instead…) so I took off to find food. My tradition in layovers in domestic airports is to find (1) French fries and (2) a smoothie or milkshake. It’s amazing how reviving those two are in combination. Well, I didn’t really get either, but I did find a Starbucks, with jacked-up prices and less-than-friendly service, but (thankfully) decent food and drinks.

Headed back to my gate and now only had 20 minutes or so before boarding. Once again, all was easy and quick and 20 minutes later I was in my seat—by a window again—ready to go. A sweet 75-year-old lady sat down next to me, and I figured I was in for a good flight.

As it turned out, I probably chatted more with Eileen (as said lady was called) than I have with any other non-family fellow passenger ever. Granted, I usually sit next to an empty seat. But still. She was traveling with her 81-year-old buddy Melba (seated across the aisle from us) to do a 16-day cruise from London, through Scandinavia, ending up in Russia. “We’re in the church choir together, in Red Hats together, and widows together, so we just have fun.” Last year they went to Ireland, and then Alaska. Next year they’re hoping for Hawaii.

Anyway, once again I slept much of the first hour or two, with pauses for water and chatting. Then it was time to pull out the book and music. Then it was dinner (I still say ALWAYS go with the pasta). Then it was time to sleep again lest thinking about dinner cause too much nausea.

Somewhere before that, I got some great pictures from the plane….

And then it was that strange time on an overnight flight when back home it may be only 6 or 7 o’clock, but in the plane everyone pretends it’s midnight, and all window shades go down, most lights go off, and we all try to sleep. Goodnight, all. Play on, quiet Emily music, play on.


Day 2 – Wednesday, Aug. 25

Happy birthday, me! I think this goes down as the most varied and ‘unusual’ birthday ever.

We return to the faux-nighttime on the plane. This always continues long past when people like me can handle sitting in the dark (yet it seems so cruel to turn on a reading light…). So, I entertained myself by chatting with Eileen off and on and watching our chase of the sunrise. Which did eventually come.

It’s true, what that other Emily said once, that “I’ll tell you how the sun rose—a ribbon at a time.” (Emily Dickinson)

This flight went faster than most of our Atlantic flights have over the years, partially I think because my perspective had changed. It was 7 ½ hours from Chicago to London. That’s the same time it takes me to drive from Salem to my friend’s house north of Spokane… a drive I’ve happily done twice this summer and would happily do any weekend I was free. So, suddenly, the long plane flight didn’t seem so long.

Anyway, once the sun came up things moved quickly. I read for a while, chatted for a while, and then had breakfast (always more bearable than plane dinners). Then it was “almost there” time.

First land we spotted was the coast of Ireland…

And then it didn’t take many minutes before we were “home,” flying over green fields and pretty little patchwork countryside (south-east of Liverpool, for those who care).

And now I’ll make short work of the rest of the airplane/port portion of this tale. It was the fastest waiting-to-land-while-flying-in-circles-over-London time I’ve ever experienced, and the smoothest. (Some of you know this is the bit wherein I always get nauseated. Not so this time.) Had brilliant, absolutely brilliant, views of London. Landed. Got to Immigration faster than usual. Got through Immigration faster than usual. Got my baggage reclaimed faster than ever. Got through customs to my waiting grandfather faster than usual.

Welcome home, Emily. :)

And so to the car park, where of course we stopped for the traditional flask of tea and couple of biscuits (cookies) and/or fairy cakes (cupcakes).

Ninety minutes later, we had arrived at 7 Farleigh Crescent. A happy grandmother awaited just inside the glass door.

Well, we had our traditional cup of restorative tea (another) with Welsh cakes and chocolates (this bit, not so traditional, but oh so delicious). Then I filled my grandparents in a little on all the things they’d been so keen to hear about—“What about this brother of yours who’s gotten engaged?” “Is she nice?” “Are you moving out on your own soon?” “How do your mum and dad feel about it?” “Do you work at the same place?” “It’s a good job, isn’t it?” I do love this somehow.

Soon it was past time for lunch, so we had lovely ham and cheese (that nice crumbly cheese) sandwiches (on that nice “tiger bread”). And then it was time for Emily to take a long nap, which she did (for 4+ hours).

And then … welcome to perhaps the most marvelous part of the day of arrival at 7 Farleigh Crescent. Cornish pasties for dinner!! Some of you know this is my favorite meal on earth… well, how could it not be, really? Certainly a perfect birthday dinner. And we followed it up with pavlova (a favorite dessert here). Sorry I didn’t get pictures… I’m sure I’ll have others though. :)

We stayed chatting for a couple hours after this, and opened some birthday cards and presents. Eventually it was time for bed for everyone.

Two additional thoughts about the time thus far:

1. The weather here has been decidedly autumnal since I arrived, and I have decidedly liked it.

2. There have been times when I’ve flown out here, when memories of the in-transit time have brought feelings of nausea and insanity for several days afterward. This time, not so. How, you ask, did I leave the airport with my mental health so much more intact than usual? Simple. I didn’t watch a moment of the on-flight movies and averted my eyes from the airport advertisements and posters. Humanity and sanity maintained. Great good has been accomplished here today.

“Another summer day has come and gone away in Paris and Rome [Salem and Portland?], and I want to go home,” pines Michael Bublé. It’s nice to be home.