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Monthly Archives: December 2023

The Old Brown Hat

19 Tuesday Dec 2023

Posted by Chip Hewette in Discovery, Fitness

≈ Comments Off on The Old Brown Hat

Tags

Fitness, pets

“Come on, Zeus!” he exclaimed. ”Let’s take a truck ride!”

Zeus always wanted to go on truck rides. It was his favorite thing to do. Well, besides sleeping next to the fire. The fire helped his aging hips. But a truck ride? Time to go!

Zeus bounded to the door, tongue out, with that excited in and out breath. 

“Wait just a minute, old friend,” he begged. ”I forgot my phone. As usual. Where did I leave that?”

With a press of the Apple Watch iPhone icon, the phone chirped incessantly. It was up in the office. Or maybe the master bedroom. He could never be sure. His creaking knees groaned as he trudged up the fourteen steps. Again.

“I can’t wait to retire!” he muttered to no one in particular. ”Move to a new house. With no more steps. Nary a one!”

The phone was on the bed, where he had laid it when he laced on his running shoes. They were running shoes. They just didn’t do much running anymore. Asics. He’d worn them for years. These were blue, with orange trim. Running shoes, but good for walking Zeus.

With shoes on, he slipped on a saddle-tan Carhartt jacket, with the blue fabric insulation. In the pockets he found leather gloves. Taking a step towards the front door, he stopped, turned, and went back to the closet. There, on the shelf, was his old brown hat. As cold as the day had turned out to be, he grabbed it. It fit him well, after so many years. In the cool December afternoon, the hat would be nice.

“Let’s go, big boy!” With that, he opened the door to the truck. Zeus looked at him, and cocked his head sideways just enough. ”Okay, okay, I’ll help you up.”

Zeus was about 85 pounds. It depended on the season, and how much exercise they had in the cold Virginia winters or hot humid summers. Zeus was a GSD. Being a GSD, he had that strong sense of duty, of purpose, and was so very bright. Being a family pet seemed almost a waste of such innate character and talent, but for Zeus, being that pet became his duty. He was exceptional as a pet. And, now, after twelve years together, with a touch of typical arthritis, Zeus needed that life of ease.

He folded the single seat up, making a low spot for Zeus to get into the truck. Zeus put his front paws on the truck floor, and looked back.

“I’ll lift you up the rest of the way…hang on.” And, with his long arms, he reached down for Zeus’s back legs and boosted him up on the floor. Zeus bounded up on the double seat, covered with his favorite old blanket, and nearly grinned.

He eased the truck forward, over the big curb at the end of the drive. With the heavy duty suspension of a three-quarter ton truck, every bump jarred the driver and passengers like a linebacker smashing into a running back. He had wanted the heavy duty truck, for towing, but of late, there was little towing to do.

In the mid-afternoon traffic, he found his way to that second-hand sporting goods store. He needed to buy covers for his set of golf club irons to protect them from banging together as they jostled in the bag as the cart careened around the cart paths.

“Wait here, Zeus,” he asked. ”I’m just going to the store for a minute. I’ll open the sunroof for you, just enough.” Zeus followed him every step of the way, as he swung around the corner of the parking lot and into the store.

There, while looking for the covers, he chanced to look at the rack of used putters. He already had three putters, but none of them worked very well. It was probably the putter, he told himself.

He spotted a putter with a white double stripe, and a white half circle. It caught his eye, because it was so familiar. Turning the Ping putter over, he saw the word “Craz-E.”

 That’s why it was so familiar, it was the putter he wanted back when Craz-E The Big Brown Dog was his true and best friend. Crazy as the dog was, he was named Craz-E, on the AKC paperwork. Craz-E would never be forgotten, but Zeus’s friendship was special. His love eased the pain of loss.

The putter looked in good condition. He put a few balls on the filthy blue-grey industrial carpet, and tapped them towards the treadmills gathering dust. The soft face insert made a muted sound, and the balls rolled true and stopped at the about the same distance away. The barcoded price was $49.99. eBay pricing on similar putters was at least $75, so he reasoned it was a good deal.

He waited for the clerk to finish regaling the customer ahead of him with stories of massive 390 yard drives at Top Golf. It was his baseball athleticism, the clerk said, but he wanted some day to be a golfer, after his college baseball was over. The older gentleman smiled as he paid for a putter. His choice was a classic brass blade, with no alignment features, weighting, or shaft curves. Just a putter. Like they used in the 1930s. The man realized he was delaying another sale, and said a quick goodbye to the young man.

He laid the Ping putter up on the counter, where the scanner could see the bar code. It struck him as somewhat funny that two older men had purchased putters within minutes of each other. One with technology. One without. He wondered who would enjoy the next round of golf more.

“I’m back, young fellow,” he smiled at Zeus. ”Let’s find our way somewhere different for a walk.” He looked at his iPhone, and saw that they were near a local university. Perfect. Zeus hadn’t been to this university ever, and that would give him something to enjoy.

The university was a place he frequented years ago. Every couple of weeks, his workout program would meet there, and struggle to complete exercises and run around the campus. The hilly terrain and sidewalks made for perfect exercise torture, by the program leader who insisted he was doing his best for the team. He parked at the same parking lot as they met at 0545 those years ago, and grabbed the leash.

“Come on Zeus! Let’s walk around the lake. It’s around here somewhere.” Zeus clambered down from the seat, to the floor, and finally to the asphalt. His weight made it hard on the joints, and yet he remained young at heart. With a snap of the leash on his collar, Zeus bounded ahead.

“Let’s go this way” he asked Zeus. Without hearing, or without noting that he heard, Zeus made a straight line at nearly a jogging pace towards the pine needle-covered yard under the tall trees. He realized that his trip to the store must have taken longer than he thought, but Zeus managed to be a good boy even so.

Zeus was always a good boy. He didn’t say much, didn’t do much, but was always there. He never complained. He never caused any trouble. Except when there was occasion to dig in the back yard. For whatever reason, the soft earth in the spring time created a digging frenzy. He never knew what Zeus was seeking. But, with a wet towel, the big feet were soon clean enough and Zeus plopped down for a rest inside. He decided Zeuss was still a good boy.

Down the path from the parking lot he went. Zeus wandered from scent to scent. Trying to get exercise was hard, with the starts and stops, but it was Zeus’s time too. He looked at the signs on the campus, trying to remember where the path to the lake was. In a few hundred yards, he saw a marker pointing to the famous lake, and turned left there.

It was a lake like no other lake. In the olden days, the young women and young men resided on opposite sides of the lake. Somehow he didn’t think that stopped much of anything from happening, but it doubtless was a reassuring admission counselor commentary as parents considered sending their precious teenager to college there. Nowadays, the lake was a focal point, and with good reason. It was beautiful, just big enough, and just small enough. He could walk around the lake and feel like he had done something good for his health.

Zeus padded along beside him, on the asphalt that still looked new. Before, it was a dirt trail, some years ago, but with the money of this institute of higher learning, paving it was only a matter of time. He walked along the perimeter, heading towards the bridge.

There, nearly at the far end of the lake was the bridge. It was a unique bridge, with an island in its middle. A gazebo at the edge of the island sheltered those who paused to take in the view. Or, met for reasons only young college kids would understand. Zeus turned onto the bridge, as if he had been there before. In a few steps, he and Zeus were at the island.

“Hey, Zeus…let’s get your picture!” Zeus was always having his picture made. He was used to it, by now. Almost on automatic, Zeus found a spot where he could be seen. He sat, and waited.

In the setting sun, the lighting was just perfect. He asked Zeus to stay, and arranged the leash just so. The leash was always in the picture, and he hated that. On the island, he decided to take the leash off. Zeus wouldn’t go anywhere. He was a good boy. He backed up, away from Zeus who was sitting near the gazebo, trying to find just the right spot for a portrait. The sun was coming from the southwest, and there was only a few moments of that golden glow left. Zeus looked at him, but just when he was ready to take the picture, Zeus turned his head.

“Come on Zeus! Look at me. Look right here. Here, boy!”

Zeus turned to face the iPhone, but quickly turned away. He felt exasperated, but was used to it. Zeus looked back at him, and the shot was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

“Zeus!” he shouted. ”Zeus!”

Whether or not Zeus heard him, he couldn’t be sure. He was sure of one thing…Zeus could still run! In a flash, Zeus had leapt up, turned left, and bounded away across the bridge at a full gallop.

“Zeus!” He grabbed the leash and fumbled with his phone, trying not to drop it. Looking down at the Carhartt jacket he stuffed the iPhone in the interior pocket. and coiled the leash. The Asics running shoes were suddenly very appropriate, as he chased after Zeus.

Dashing as fast as his arthritic knees would allow, he made his way across the bridge towards the wooded shoreline. Coming around the gazebo, another walker was heading towards him, and he had to swerve to avoid a bone-crushing crash. At the same moment, a cold gust of wind swirled across the lake, and his hat flew off. Right into the dark brown water. His hat!

“Zeus!” he yelled. Zeus was still running, headed into the woods. With the setting sun, in the dark woods, Zeus’s deep black and tan coat was perfectly camouflaged. He couldn’t see where Zeus was. And, in that instant, he knew he couldn’t save the hat. Glancing back, he saw it slowly filling with water like a canoe under the rapids of the James River. His hat!

With pounding feet, he kept after Zeus. A branch from a tree had fallen across the path, and he nearly bought the farm, stumbling and leaping and pirouetting in mid-air just to stay upright. There! To his right, up the hill, he saw the familiar bushy tail heading over the top step.

He remembered these steps. They weren’t really steps, more like railroad ties placed randomly up the hillside. No way to just run up them, he had to look at each step carefully, to avoid crashing into the wooden beams. He hated the steps in the days of his fitness program, and with Zeus out of sight again, he hated them more. If only he had stayed in shape!

At the top of the steps he paused to scan for Zeus. There, right on the edge of the path, Zeus stood. His gaze was up, his teeth were visible, and he uttered a low growl. What in the world?

He slowly walked towards Zeus, doing his best impression of a Green Beret soldier creeping up on the enemy. Up in the tree he could see a dark shape. It was pretty far up the tree. Somewhat rounded in shape, in the body.

“Zeus” he whispered. ”What are you chasing?”

Zeus didn’t look away from the shape in the tree. He kept growling, just loud enough to be heard. The shape moved, and the tree bark screeched in response, as little bits of bark fell to the ground.

“Zeus…it’s a bear!” he hissed. ”Let’s get out of here!”

Sure enough, up in the tree was a small black bear. Probably a cub. Probably one of a few cubs. He didn’t want to stick around to meet the mother. Even with Zeus.

“Zeus…let’s go!” he whispered. ”Come on, boy! Let’s go!”

Looking back, Zeus realized he had done his job. He ambled back, keeping a wary eye upwards, but soon took his position beside his somewhat amazed father.

“Zeus…let’s get to the truck.” And, with the snap of the leash on the collar, they were off. Walking quickly away from the wooded area near the lake, they made their way along a service path and around a building. There, just ahead, was the truck, dimly lit under a parking lot light.

With the push of the key fob, the truck lit up and the doors unlocked. Zeus pulled ahead, to the back door, waiting for it to be opened.  He reached down to help Zeus into the truck, but to his surprise, Zeus took one leap up and sat proudly on the back seat. His eyes were bright. His tongue was out. His breath was quick, in and out, and his excitement was noticeable.

“Good boy, Zeus!” he smiled. ”You sure showed him who is boss!” Zeus beamed. ”Don’t ever do that again!”

He walked around to the driver’s door. Something was wrong. Something was missing. His hat! His old brown hat. No doubt by now it was at the bottom of the lake. There were a lot of memories with that hat. What had it been, thirty years? Maybe longer? He remembered wearing it so long ago, with his brown leather jacket, as he mimicked Indiana Jones at a Sunday School costume party. My goodness, he thought. That was a long, long time ago.

The big V8 rumbled to life, and he flicked on the fog lights for extra visibility. Out of the university parking lot, and onto the road to the river, he eased the truck carefully along. Traffic was heavy, at the end of the day, and so many people were out and about for Christmas shopping.

He looked in the rear view mirror, and saw Zeus. Instead of sitting up, like he most often did, Zeus was laying across the seat, nestled in his old blanket, asleep. What a dog, he thought. Twelve years old, and chasing a bear cub up a tree!

He rubbed his thinning hair. It was not styled quite right, after wearing a hat and then running with all his might to find the dog. He smoothed the mix of brown and grey strands out of his eyes, and tried to comb them back with his open fingers as he stared in the mirror, stopped at the red light. He didn’t like the grey. It made him feel really old. 

He heard Zeus from the back seat. It was one of those soft barks, heard in a dog’s dream. No doubt he was barking at the bear again, dreaming of being young again, and full of life. If only dreams could come true.

He thought back to the costume party, when he was young. There, he had dressed like a hero, and all it took to complete the look was that old brown hat. With a smile, he knew what tomorrow’s adventure would be. Shopping. With Zeus. For a new brown hat.

Can A Trip Take Forty Years?

15 Friday Dec 2023

Posted by Chip Hewette in Discovery

≈ Comments Off on Can A Trip Take Forty Years?

Tags

air-travel, airports, travel, travel-tips, vacation

The Big White Truck cruised slowly across town on I-64 to the airport. It was a cold morning, and the heated seats and steering wheel felt strangely good to this older gentleman. No need for speed, as I had plenty of time to make the direct flight from Richmond to Detroit. 

The garage spaces challenged my parking ability, as usual. With four doors, the truck length makes turns and fitting between the lines a chore. I traipsed from the North Garage to the TSA checkpoint with my new OGIO backpack and inexpensive hardshell baggage. Thankfully I was Pre-Check and was warmly greeted by an associate whose fashion choices made me wonder.

At the gate, I realized that I had forgotten to put a luggage tag on the carry-on. At the desk I grabbed one of those paper tags and reached into my shirt for a pen. No luck. I went to the backpack as I recalled setting it up for the trip, putting my two white Shell V-Power Gasoline pens from the recent trade show in those little loops in the front pocket. The ink didn’t flow at first, as I had never used them, but soon enough I had scribbled my info on the tag and returned the pen to its proper place.

The trip up to Detroit was uneventful. After arriving, my colleagues and I worked for a few hours fine-tuning the presentation to a committee the next day, then went to dinner at the usual place. Andiamo’s is one of those go-to restaurants, where service is far above the norm and the plates are flavorful. Being somewhat famous as the restaurant where Jimmy Hoffa enjoyed his last meal, we hoped for the best. Although the drinks and wine were oh so fine, at least one entree was lacking. Three average sized shrimp in a shallow bowl of pasta? For $36? It must be inflation causing deflation in my portion size.

The next day, we gathered for the discussion. Four hours. It was a long discussion. Good thing we had those Powerpoint slides as talking points. Thankfully we learned more than we hoped from the committee members, and we didn’t have to talk through too much data. Test data is boring. But it is what we often do — try new ideas, perform tests, and report on the results. We left the office and headed to a restaurant called Tria halfway to the airport. Uber drivers are everywhere in Detroit, and we had practically no time to get down from the 11th floor to the pickup point where a person speaking very little English met us. ”Five stars?” he questioned as he dropped us off. Clearly he wanted to keep his Uber score high.

With so much time to kill, we logged onto a Webex where we listened to a VP share good financial news for 2023. Dinner followed, and this meal was both filling and satisfying. Not wanting to miss the only direct flight home, another Uber driver was summoned. Unlike the first, this fellow was as gregarious as you can be. We learned all sorts of facts about him, from vital statistics, family members, his pet dog name, family hometown, workplaces, favorite combat aircraft, and all in twelve miles. 

The airport came into view, and I let him know we needed McNamara terminal for Delta. To me, this is the new terminal. To our young Uber driver, it was the ancient building that needed a renovation. Rolling up to the departure lane, I remembered my first trip to DTW, some forty years ago. Had I been visiting Detroit for forty years? The Israelites wandered in the wilderness forty years…

We made it through the TSA checkpoint, passing our bags through new CT scanners. I was selected for additional screening and stood in the little scanner where the TSA looked for who knows what. We trundled across the A Concourse and headed down to the tunnel. There, in a mesmerizing mix of muted colors with soft spa music playing, the trip began to catch up to me. In the dark tunnel, with no perspective, I slipped into a fog of “where am I?” Soon enough the escalator beckoned, and we made our way to the end of B Concourse, to await the direct flight home to Richmond. Convenient to our gate was an airport lounge, and I broke out the credit card to buy drinks for us all.

With the flight boarding at 8:50 pm, and arriving in Richmond at 11:09 pm, I wondered how I’d feel the next day. Boarding was typical chaos, with complications from a wheelchair patron being settled at the rear. It was another tiny jet, and as I walked hunched over down the aisle through first class, I stopped in some surprise. In about the third row, all by herself, there she was. What was she doing on a flight to Richmond? Her long brown hair fell across her shoulders, her blazer covered a festive red sweater, and her woolen pants had the sharp crease a Marine Drill Instructor would approve. She was staring into a tablet, through classic gold-rimmed glasses, as she sipped on pre-flight coffee. She was beautiful.

“Sir…sir…you’ll have to keep moving” jostled the flight attendant. I must have been just standing in the aisle, and as I began moving again my eyes couldn’t leave her. Hearing the flight attendant, she looked up. Her eyes met mine.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. ”I thought you were someone I knew…” She smiled, and returned to her reading.

I hadn’t thought about her in so long. What had it been, forty years? I think it has been forty years. Forty years ago it all started.

 I trudged my way down the narrow aisle, and settled into exit row aisle 13A, hoping my seat mate would be a reasonable conversationalist. No such luck, and I set up the iPad to watch a few downloaded videos. Nothing like watching Matt’s Off-Road Recovery pull a broken Jeep out of the wilderness, viewing a self-defense expert commentary on how to best protect myself from bad guys, and learning all about “The Golden Ratio” which describes a mathematical relationship defining beauty in nature and architecture.

I was glad when the videos stopped playing. We were finally in Knoxville. As people started gathering their carry-ons, I reached down for mine. The hard plastic grip of the handle loop felt familiar, and I brought the Samsonite attache case to my lap. I flipped the two latches and opened the case, to put away my newspaper and the Car and Driver magazine I had purchased at the gift shop. I laughed, silently, as I saw the unused pad of engineering graph paper and my pocket protector there in the case. A few file folders were in the top section, where I had put my itinerary and passes and luggage claim. 

It was a good trip. It was my first trip to Detroit. I couldn’t believe my boss had asked me to join him there, as it was quite literally the third day on my first job. January 2, 1984 I started working as an engineer. My excitement over being employed was magnified by visiting Detroit and Ford Motor Company the very next week. We were to visit the engineer at Ford to discuss the new EGR valve design, which of course I had no idea what that was. My boss, a Hokie from Virginia Tech, just knew I would benefit from being there and listening to the conversations.

In the meeting, which lasted four hours, I met the Ford product engineers, and listened as they outlined their goals. We sketched a few concepts out, and even came up with a new name for the EGR valve, the PFE. I just sat there, trying to be as helpful as possible, and not to screw anything up. My boss and our local OEM representative walked out with me at the end of the long day, and I stopped in amazement. There, covering everything, was six inches of snow. In the time we had been inside the massive EEE building, with nary a window to look out, Detroit weather had moved in and dumped six inches of snow. It worried me a bit, but to our local OEM engineer, it was another day in paradise. He swept the snow off the Taurus and we jumped in for the short ride to the airport.

Now that we were back in Knoxville, I shuffled off the plane with the rest of the business travelers. My wool suit, a muted grey Glen plaid, was more wrinkled than when I put it on earlier in the morning. I straightened up my tie and draped my London Fog trench coat over my arm. The pilot and stewardesses thanked me for flying Delta, and I headed out to the terminal. It took only a few minutes to find my way up the deep red brick terminal hallway, to the baggage claim escalator. Boy was I glad to be home.

“Chip! Chip!” came a familiar voice. I looked up, and there she was. Her long brown hair bounced off her shoulders as she hurried my way, arms wide, with a huge smile. She hugged me for what seemed like five minutes, and I couldn’t return the gesture with my trench coat on one arm and the Samsonite in the other. With a kiss, she released me and exclaimed “You’re home!”

“Suzanne…what in the world…why…how…it is so good to see you…but…”

“I couldn’t let you come home without someone to meet you! It’s a special occasion, your first business trip. In your life! How was it? What did you do? What happened to your new shoes?”

I looked down at my new Alden tassel loafers. I had purchased them for the job interiew a few weeks back, at M.S. McClellan’s. They were perfect for the look, I thought…young hard-charging engineer with a sense of style. I put them on my well-abused MasterCard. At this moment, they were covered with what looked like a sugary white crust, from the soles halfway up the formerly black leather.

“I guess…yes…it was snowing…and we had to dash out of the car at the airport…I must have stepped into the slush from the road right where the snow plow pushed it.”

“Snowing? You’re kidding?”

“No, it just slammed the city as we were in our meeting. Had no idea ’til we walked out to the car.”

“Let’s go get your luggage and then I have a surprise for you.”

We hurried down the escalator to the stainless steel sorter, and found my bag. It too was a bit weathered, from being out on the tarmac in the snow. We walked towards the garage to my car.

“Wait, how’d you get here?” I inquired.

“My sister was kind enough to bring me here, so we could drive back together.” Suzanne related. ”She was going back to Straw Plains anyway, so this wasn’t too much out of her way.”

I dropped the suitcase and attache at the bumper, and opened the door for her. The faded grey paint of my 1970 Volvo contrasted with the shiny red vinyl interior, which the previous owner had recently upgraded. I held the truck lid open with one hand while I dropped the luggage into the compartment…one day I needed to replace those lift springs. But, with a new job, and not much money from my short career as a cook at McDonald’s, those would have to wait.

“Guess where we are going?” Suzanne beamed. ”Guess!”

“I don’t know…McDonalds?” 

“Of course not! You are now an engineer, with a great new job, and a traveling man. We are celebrating!”

“We are?”

“Yes, we are. I’m taking you to the Pioneer House restaurant!”

“You’re kidding!” The Pioneer House was a locally famous log cabin family style restaurant with a great steak.

“If we hurry, we’ll just make it. It’s just down 129 on the left.”

The old Volvo’s six-cylinder engine started, slowly, and I shifted the four-speed into reverse. We made it out of the garage, and down Alcoa Highway to the restaurant. With thirty minutes to spare, we sat at a booth looking across the table. Suzanne was still excited, almost vibrating, and I couldn’t imagine why. We ordered, and soon we had sweet iced tea to enjoy while we waited.

“I can’t wait any longer. I just can’t. Here!” And, with a flourish, Suzanne reached into her hobo style leather purse and pulled out a small gift-wrapped box. It was about eight inches long, not too wide, and only about a half-inch thick. The wrapping paper was a deep crimson, and the bow was a thin golden ribbon, tied in a decorative knot.

“Open it!’ 

I carefully slipped the paper from its tape, and unwrapped what must have been a professional gift wrapping job.

“Just open it!” she smiled again.

There, on the table, was a most beautiful box. The word “Cross” stared at me, in gold leaf, centered in that classic black box. I eased the lid off the box, and there was a silver pen and pencil set, nestled in the tray. I couldn’t believe it. I had always wanted to buy myself a nice set, but had no money for such niceties.

“Look close…right near the clips” she suggested.

To my amazement, there on each instrument was the engraved word “Engineer.” Just that word. In block letters, like a draftsman would write on a blueprint. I took the pen out, and gazed at the word. Tears welled up, as I realized what Suzanne had done. Not only was the gift way out of her budget, but she had confirmed in those engraved words my very identity. I was an engineer. Finally.

“Thanks!” I sniffled. ”Thanks so very much. I can’t wait to wear them at work.”

“You’d better wear them at work. I can’t be dating an engineer who actually uses a pocket protector!”

Thankfully at that moment the waitress arrived with my chopped steak and mashed potato dinner. Suzanne had the chicken-fried steak with green beans. As the last of the light vanished, and the incoming planes roared overhead, we talked and talked. It was good to be home in Knoxville, but it was really good to be an engineer, calling on Ford, way up in Detroit…”

Kawump! My head banged against the window of the plane, and the lights came on. What? Wait! Where was I? The plane engines roared in reverse as we came to a taxi speed and rolled up to the terminal.

There in front of me was the iPad, still suggesting the next downloaded video. My earphones had fallen out during the landing, and I grabbed them to stuff the iPad and phones into my new black OGIO backpack on the floor in front of me. It was a long way down to the backpack, in the exit row legroom, but I managed to snag it. With all the zippers and pockets on this backpack, I couldn’t remember just where everything went. I slipped the iPad into the main compartment, next to that monster Dell workstation I had to carry. I found the zipper of the front organizer pocket and opened it for the earphones. Cramming them into the compartment, I couldn’t help but notice the glint of silver steel. What were those? I wondered. 

Unzipping the pocket a bit more, I saw two pens in those two little loops. My head turned quizzically, as I stared at them. Those were my Shell V-Power pens…brand new…right?

I reached towards them. Slim, bright, silver. Black tips. Cross. I drew one out of the fabric loop and looked at it. Engineer. Block letters. Just like a draftsman would make on a blueprint.

The woman from the plane! Was it her? I put the pen back in the pocket, and rushed to get out of the aircraft. I ran up the entry ramp, and jogged towards the main lobby. Was she here?

I checked the baggage claim area. No one. I rushed out to the arrivals area, hoping she would be waiting on her ride. At nearly midnight, only a few cars and a single airport policeman were there. 

With my head down, I slowly found my way back to The Big White Truck. It took a few minutes, as I couldn’t remember which aisle I had parked. But soon enough I was back on I-64 and headed to Short Pump. Forty years later.

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