That Time I Wrote a Christmas Song

I am a writer—a good one.  And once upon a time, I just assumed that applied to all types of writing.

I tend to assume a lot of things about my skills and abilities in general.  Like that time I took tennis lessons.

I’m a pretty fit and active person, so I just assumed I’d channel my inner Serena Williams and kick ass at it.

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Sometimes You Just Want a Steak: Thoughts on airline checked baggage fees

Airport luggage

They are, in a nutshell, exorbitant, inappropriate, and not at all for the reasons the airlines would have us believe.

Let me back up a step.

Last week, to celebrate Easter as well as to use some of my overtime for a well-deserved break, I took a trip to Ontario.

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The Longest Shortened Day Ever – A holiday air-travel misadventure

Lost luggage

It’s that time of year again.

Come tomorrow, as the song goes, I’ll be leaving on a jet plane – travelling from sea unto sea to Nova Scotia for my annual Christmas sojourn home.

Ugh!

It’s not that I don’t want to go home or see my family.  Rather, there’s just very little in this world I find more arduous than actually getting there.

I mean, to begin with: airline travel at Christmas.  Airline travel is bad enough during any other time of year, fraught with such indignities as,

  • Having to remove my belt (which, far from being just a fashion accessory, is actually necessary for keeping my pants up),
  • Having my hair patted down for concealed weapons, and,
  • The full-body “I-can-see-you-naked” X-ray scanner.

At Christmas, I get to enjoy all of the above and wait in a long-ass line for it at that, as if eagerly claiming a special prize.

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