The Prodigal Son Returns

After a bit of a restless sleep last night, I was up and out before the break of dawn this morning. I always find it hard to get a night's rest before a long trip and last night was no different. My car pick up was fifteen minutes early, which always scores points with me. I love the mornings, and if you've never seen Los Angeles before the break of dawn, you're really missing a unique sight. Getting anywhere is a breeze and this morning, there wasn't a sign of any poor drunken bastard on his way home from his still Friday night on the town.

The airport, however, was packed. After, literally bumping into Jermaine Jackson and his handler in terminal 7, I unsuccessfully waited for my second position on the upgrade list to change. Then, with what must have been the oldest flight attendants ever to work a United cross country flight, I tried not to think how they could possibly help me should an emergency happen, and settled into my window seat. I prefer the aisle but in order to board in group two, I had to endure one of my least favorite seats.

And then, right on time, we were on the ground in Boston. Each time I come back, I'm amazed at how much the city has changed. First, the new United terminal at Logan is sleek, clean and sparkling bright. I almost thought I was at the wrong airport since the aroma of Dunkin' Donuts did not greet me. Trust me, though, I will get one before I leave.

In no time at all, I was on a familiar road back to the city where I grew up. Condos have replaced familiar sights along the way home, which made me nostalgic for days past, but fear not Kappy's Liquors still stands watch over Wellington Circle.

Then, I was maneuvering up the dangerously steep front steps of my parents' house. I shook hands with the little man called Alfred and then gave Rosemarie a big hug.

"You've grown," she exclaimed.

"No, you've shrunk," I answered."I'm too old to be still gaining inches."

She's got everything all lined up to pack in the living room, and with my head bursting from no nourishment save an $8.99 snack box, we went to dinner at the still standing Bertucci's. Imagine my shock when my brother pulled out his wallet and treated us all to dinner!

"I need to come home more often," I said. "Or at least, you could have warned me and I would have ordered a cocktail and dessert!"

Now, I'm comfortably settled into my old spot in the den and for reasons I know all too well - I feel like a teenager all over again. That's enough to make one forget the real world back home, isn't it?