It's hard to believe that the Fourth of July was less than a week ago. I guess I've already moved on to Pioneer Day. Since holidays are best spent trail running, I ran up to Rudy's Flat in North Canyon for the third (almost fourth) time this year. I'm pretty sure North Canyon is my favorite place in Bountiful.
The rest of the holiday was spent doing typical things like barbecuing and fireworks.
On Thursday morning, my parents left with my nephews to return to California. I wanted to go with them, but tight deadlines at work prevented me from doing so, so I bought a plane ticket to fly out on Saturday. While it would have been nice to drive with them, it makes me feel like an adult that I had to stay behind--and like I actually matter. I also would have felt a little guilty leaving everyone behind, so working those two days alleviates my guilt.
Now, people sometimes tell me that I'm a genius, but I do too many stupid things for that to be true. This time it happened in the airport. I printed my ticket at home, and it told me my flight was at D08. So I get into the airport and go to D8. I was a little early, so I figured the plane hadn't come in yet. I sat there waiting and waiting for the plane, when finally I realized it was too late for boarding. I asked the lady at the desk, "Is there a difference between D8 and D08?" Then she told me my flight was actually at C8. I feel so stupid that I didn't check the gate on the screen (I did check the screen but didn't pay attention to the gate), and that I didn't realize something was wrong sooner than I did. By the time I realized my mistake, the plane had already left. So I had to get another flight and spend another six hours in the airport.
I wandered the stores in the Salt Lake airport, and I'm glad they have them so you have something to do, but I wonder why people would buy clothing in an airport. All the mini bookstores sold the same books. I bought a book about the Oregon Trail, since it gets old to look at the internets on your phone for hours on end. I rarely read for leisure, since I read for a living. I eventually got on the plane, where I traded seats so that a mother could sit with her kid. It was an uneventful flight and I made it to California safely.
We attended my brother's ward, and during sacrament meeting we sang "The Wintry Day, Descending to Its Close." I found this a bit perplexing, since it's a song we never sing even in Utah, and it's a Utah song. It's also a song about winter, but it's a pioneer song, so it's suitable for this time of year too. This is my second year formally celebrating Pioneer Day, so it was a good way to contribute to the spirit of the holiday--even though it's not a holiday in California. (I'm telling you--we need to be careful to make it not an exclusively religious holiday, but a historical holiday, so that the non-Mormon folks don't get their dander up.)
After church, my brother needed to stick around at the church, so we took my nephews to a nearby park to play. They weren't the only ones that played.
No comments:
Post a Comment