Vacation vignette

Recently, I returned from a quick trip home. Fact is I don’t consider where I currently reside as “home”, home is about a thousand miles away and I hope to live there again, soon.
I had a wonderful time visiting with my son and his family. We took his children swimming at my hotel pool, which was a joy for me. I just don’t get to spend nearly enough time with them and the kids are growing up way too fast.
Leaving and returning to where I do live is always bittersweet. I tend to be a bit melancholy when heading back this way. For the first time in years, I flew out of the bigger airport, rather than the smaller one a wee bit south. I hadn’t been to this airport in quite awhile and I was dreading the lines, the people, the shuffling.
As the traffic I had encountered during my stay had been ridiculous, I left my hotel with plenty of time to return the rental car, check-in, check my baggage, and perhaps find something for breakfast. As expected, I was way early for my flight. I prefer to be inside the airport on the other side of security to wait for my plane, rather than be trying to race through security and risk missing my flight, so this worked for me.
I found a restaurant that looked interesting and decided to give it a try. The hostess seated me at a two top in a long row of tables. She placed me next to a gentleman who was reading a James Patterson novel that I have long since finished, but I am not one of those people who interrupts anybody randomly. He was finishing his meal as I was ordering mine, so I assumed he would be leaving before my food ever arrived.
I was wrong. He was sticking around, reading his book and drinking coffee, lots of coffee. This turned out well. We struck up a conversation. Here we were in an international airport, chatting about mundane things like weather, when the topic of ‘where are you headed?’ came about. Low and behold, technically, this guy is a neighbor. He lives just on the other side of the lake from us. Go figure! Sitting in an international airport and I ‘meet’ someone who lives a stones throw from me. Fact is definitely stranger than fiction.

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