When the Embraer Regional Jet carrying me back from visiting my sister in Columbus finally touched down at Logan Airport, I was in the grips of travel rage for the second time this week (the first time, and a far worse time, was on Thursday after I landed at midnight thanks to a series of logistical horrors at O'Hare following my business trip). If my post-O'Hare meltdown (during which I actually told a complete stranger at Logan to shut the fuck up) was like the worst case of PMS ever, this was like the worst nic-fit ever. Much more manageable, but still deeply unpleasant.
It started when we were still about half an hour out of Boston. All of a sudden, everything made me angry. The businessman who had made reading both in the terminal and on the plane due to his incessant yapping in a very loud voice first on his cell phone and then to his seatmate throughout the flight. The content of his conversation was easily as irritating as its volume--the cell phone calls were business matters, and he seemed to speak only in cliches. If I heard "close the loop" one more time, I was gonna close his loop with that goddamned Trio.
On the plane, he conducted an extended interview with his seatmate about Boston and what it was like. As I reached the height of my ire (during that interminable period just before landing at Logan that I never understand, in which the plane flies north-south past the city on the right, then circles down over Cape Cod and back up north, banking this way and that, before coming in for a landing. Why we can't just take off and land in a straight line is something I don't understand, and taking this looping, meandering path when we're so close to the finish line sometimes just drives me nuts), Mr. Businessman was braying to his seatmate about comparitive real estate prices and how "IN COLUMBUS YOU CAN GET A REAL NICE PLACE DOWNTOWN FOR LIKE TWO HUNDRED, TWO FIFTY," and really, I had had it with Mr. Businessman, especially now that he'd reminded me that I still don't have a house and I at the rate I'm going will probably never have a house and why couldn't I have picked a cheaper state to become addicted to?
But of course, Mr. Businessman is allowed to speak, both into his Trio and to his seatmate. Still a free country, at least where that is concerned. And of course I know I was being an irrational bitch--the fact that I was only 86 pages into my book when I checked and I thought I was at least at 100 also made me deeply angry, because there was just another thing that wasn't going as fast as it should have.
Anyway, I tell you all this as a backdrop to when we finally had broken the cloud cover and came down over a perfect panorama of Boston in early summer twilight, subtle blue and grey and looking deep, dark and stately under a ceiling of cumulus. Against the windows beginning to twinkle in the fading light were several much, much brighter lights. Was it...? I triangulated against the Pru. It was--the light towers of Fenway Park, and I knew that down there, in that circle of blazing light the Red Sox were playing the Yankees, and, last I checked, winning.
I have gotten better at traveling--have been able to shrug off some of the angst and annoyance that has often been my lot when leaving the comforting confines of the Boston area, to lighten up and enjoy myself and the places I find myself in more thoroughly. I'd had a successful conference and a great time in Chicago, and an absolutely lovely visit with my sister, and it wasn't until that unfortunate episode of attitude on the plane that all the homesick feelings I'd blocked out came rushing back, first as anger and then, as we floated down like a leaf on the wind over Boston, taking in that view and the lights of Fenway, and that moment I realized I saw Fenway...it hit me that I was home. And home was so, so good.
Still, I only got to see a little bit of the game, and of COURSE it was the part at the end where Keith Foulke choked on a big hairy one. That boy drives me crazy, and not always in that good way. Thank God we didn't actually have to have Papelbon come in and save his sorry ass...
But you know, right in the middle of yelling all this at the TV, I had to stop and smile.