The miracle of flight

My young friend Kate has carved out a career for herself that combines two of her great loves — travel and empowerment.

As such, she has ushered groups of young people through adventures all over the world. She recently told me about a conversation she overheard in a restaurant bathroom line.

“A lady was complaining about how long her flight to Italy was going to be and I wanted to tap her on the shoulder and say, ‘Yeah. But when you get off that plane you’re going to be in Italy! It’s a miracle!”

Like Kate, I never take for granted the miracle of flight. Earlier this year I buckled into a seat in Chicago, watched six movies and stepped out into Hong Kong. Mind boggling.

Last week, I took a morning picture of snow piling up on the crab apples outside my window at work, and a sunset picture on a Florida beach. What a world!

Orville and Wilbur changed the world and I tip my hat to them every time I board a plane. But I am also exceedingly grateful, especially during harsh weather, for everyone else that makes sure my bags and I arrive safely.

We flew home from Florida last night and, as I waited for our plane to be de-iced in Chicago, I watched the ground crew out there working in abominable conditions. They hauled fuel lines across icy pavement, loaded bags in wind tunnels, and drove convertible pushback tugs to send us on our way.

No matter the weather, some poor/brave worker stands sentry, waving giant planes into their gate. I’ve seen them standing there in drenching rain, icy wind and blistering heat. I always want to tap the window and give them a thank you wave.

I’m not sure they’d see it. So, here’s to them, the gate and TSA agents, flight attendants, air traffic controllers and pilots who work every day to bring us the miracle of flight.