could have been worse

Staggering with fatigue but just had to drop a quick note - today, after rushing about trying to finish everything I was trying to finish for Mum, I got to the airport in Ottawa at 4 for a 4.45 Porter flight. There had been such thick fog in Ottawa that morning that Mum's windows were completely white blind, something I've never seen before. The fog burned off here and - guess what? It moved to Toronto. The plane was delayed, we waited hours in the airport, then in the plane, then finally took off and landed, not on the island, but at Pearson, still very foggy but safe enough, where we waited again for a gate, then got none so had to wait for a bus, endless endless. I got home five hours late.

But - people were wonderful - full of humour. Not a single meltdown, even among the extraordinarily patient children on board, and some of the travellers had been travelling already much of the day. The Porter pilot was a woman, a friendly blonde called Marilyn, who came out to chat with us, to tell us she had been a pilot in the Arctic, so this was nothing compared for forty below. All the way through, I was aware of how lucky we were, our bedraggled little band, not homeless refugees, just privileged travellers waiting for the fog to clear.

I was sitting next to a young man; we began to chat, and by the time I found out he works part time for the Conservative party, we were friends, so we just had to talk about that too. I didn't get it - Greg studied English and Philosophy at university, was going home to read Saul Bellow, is young and open and interested in good writing - and supports Stephen Harper and reads the "National Post," finds the "Globe" a bit too lefty. The "Globe"!

And, you know, we had a good talk; not a knuckle-dragging Republican, he was interesting and thoughtful. I did see, though, that he has had a charmed life so far, so perhaps is not able to put himself into the shoes of those who have not. He wants simple answers to complex questions, like the rest of his tribe. But then, I'm sure looking at me, all he saw was my big bleeding heart, not much use in the practical world. So - we talked.

The others were offered a shuttle bus back to the island airport; the thought of more waiting made me want to scream, so I asked my seatmate if he wanted to share a cab. Not only was he keen, but he paid for it with his expense account. Sometimes capitalists come in handy.

At last, I'm back in the basement, minus an evening, with a ton to do. I cannot believe that tomorrow evening I'm getting on another airplane, for an overnight flight. And my daughter texted to tell me that tomorrow - it's supposed to thunderstorm.