Saturday, November 2, 2013

Point of no return . . .

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

It is good to get away for just a couple of days, and D.C. is at its  peak for fall colors.  Our capital is a beautiful place  anytime, but today it is
perfect.  To make it even more perfect, to borrow a surprisingly little analyzed phrase ( If it is perfect, then can it be any better?) I am visiting Vann.

I was deplaning at National Airport after a short, but hurried day of travel.  I have an irrational fear when it comes to air travel. My  fear is not that the plane will fall apart, nor the closeness I share with my fellow travelers.  My fear comes later, when it is time to leave the terminal and go to the baggage claim or ground transportation area.  At some point, in leaving, it is necessary to pass the point of no return.  That portal in the terminal which, if you pass through, you may not come back.  It just seems so final.  I always hesitate for a moment and ponder, "Am I ready to let go?  Am I truly finished here? Have I left a bag or anything else unattended in there?"  I think it developed from international travel, but now arises at all such exits, no matter how familiar.

So I was striding through National after not eating all day, when directly in front of me, at the end of a tunnel, was an airport terminal version of  Dunkin' Donuts, shining like a bright white, brown and orange beacon, guiding me home.  I knew that the first thing I should eat at 3 in the afternoon was not donuts and coffee, but still, it seemed like a sign or something.  My eyes were fixed on the display cabinets. I could see chocolate icing and colored sprinkles. But then I heard an inner voice telling me not to do it.  Sure,  I had walked quickly through the airport terminal, but that was not the kind of workout that justified  a Dunkin' splurge. So I sadly, stoicly, pulled up for a second, stopping to get a last look at my tempter.

And then I saw it, exploding into view on my right side.

"Once you pass this point, you may not turn back, you must move forward."

Who am I to quibble about the security of our homeland?

So I moved on through, moving forward, as the sign demanded, which put me right at the Donut display case.

No need to argue with fate. Or with a clear sign.

More from the nation's capital later.


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