At Least One of Us Has a Life

The other day my grandfather called. He was getting ready to leave for Grand Teton (above)and asked if I knew any better tricks to bypass the crowd at O'Hare. I start to explain about the online check-in and baggage drop off and the no-longer-secret shorter security line. He knew all about them and said they take too long. He wanted to know if there was anything faster than leaving the bags with the skycap.


Um. No. I don't think so. He knows as much as I do.

I reflected on the fact that earlier this year I couldn't give him his Father's Day Gift (a National Park Passport) because he had already left for Yellowstone. And before that he was in New Mexico. Or Alaska. Or Arizona or Las Vegas (which he finds very nice once one gets off The Strip).

I once had to pick him up from the airport because he was hurt while on vacation. He was building a house for Habitat for Humanity or something and needed a lift to the hospital. I imagine he is literally climbing a mountain right now, just as the florist arrived with the flowers he sent for my mother's birthday.

He does stuff. I want to be him when I grow up.