Kocur.net Blog

This weekend we’re making the trip we wanted to make last weekend. On July 4th of last year (2008) we stayed with our family of choice in Destin at a relative’s $2 million beach condo. We had a blast and hoped to repeat the visit this year, but due to family of origin issues, it was not to be. So we had to postpone the trip a week, and here we are. I can’t complain. I can’t afford the trash service at this place, much less the cost of the condo itself, so I’m happy even to be here. 

Since Jamie and I have been traveling so much over the last few months, I was looking forward to a weekend at home. I haven’t spent 24 hours in my house on a weekend since June 13th. I’ve got trees down in my backyard that need cutting and stacking. I’ve got a yard full of leaves that need raking. Jamie’s car needs a valve cover gasket and a radio installed. I even contemplated bringing the gasket with us and installing it while the others were at the beach. I can enjoy a couple hours at the beach, but hate getting burned. It seemed like a good use of time. I could get something done and Jamie could enjoy the surf. As it turned out, we couldn’t bring her car because the left front wheel might fall off, so it isn’t even here for me to repair. 

I’m actually okay with that. Sitting on the fourth floor balcony watching the people go by parasailing in the cool breeze is quite refreshing. I’m glad I don’t have a chore ahead of me. I’m glad I’m not getting residual grease from the engine all over my macbook pro’s keyboard. Jamie is sitting next to me reading and journaling. All I can hear is surf. I can’t hear any kids squealing. Wind and surf… a nice combination.

When I was younger I spent a lot of time at the beach in Venice, Florida. We’d go twice a day, once in the morning before it got too hot and again after dinner. The morning trip was for mom to work on her tan. The evening walk on the beach was to scout for shark’s teeth and sand dollars for mom’s craft projects. I never really enjoyed it much. It was fun for about 30 minutes then it got boring. Applying sunscreen was a chore. I was in a town where I only knew three people, so I wasn’t around friends. I can’t say that as an adult I was eager to go to the beach.

But these last few years have been different. Oh, the difference a $30 tent from Walmart makes! I can dig a chair in the sand and read a book in the shade. I can have a Corona, or two, or three. I can read a book and just relax. No homework. I need a sand-resistant covering for the laptop and I could blog from down there. I’m with my awesome wife and my friends. When we’re done, no showering at the public shower and then getting into a hot car for the soggy trip back home. I can walk 40 steps to the elevator and dry off on the balcony overlooking the emerald horizon. 

When hurricane season comes every June, I scoff at the people on the coast. They build these hotels and condos right on the sand and then complain about the costs of insurance going up. The roads wash out after a storm and then they want them rebuilt with tax dollars. Most of the population of Florida is less than 30 miles from the water. What morons! It’s like the three little pigs and all the beach houses are made of straw. 

Now I get it a little. It can be a relaxing and fun place. Jamie and I were talking about the people who live on the coast. Some in Tallahassee have houses there and a condo down at the water. I think I’d want a condo in town and a house at the beach. Of course, I’ll need to triple my salary for that to happen, so it won’t be this year. And it may not be in the US. I wonder how much beach property sells for in Nicaragua? 

Time to go dig my chair in the sand.

When I was filling out my application to go on a church mission trip, one of the questions asked “What is something that annoys you during a trip?” My answer was “traveling with people who don’t know how to travel.” I was lucky in that I learned how to travel very young. We lived in Alaska and as a small child I flew with my parents to Ohio and Florida to visit grandparents. During these long flights I read everything I could on the plane, the safety information card, the barf bag, and the airline magazine with maps of airports and terminal diagrams. I don’t have quite a photographic memory but it is very visual, and I could recall a map and find the way to a gate even at that early age. It was never hard for me.

Well, fast forward to Sunday. Jamie and I are in DFW waiting our turn to go through airport security screening. This time I remembered to put my knife into my checked luggage, unlike our trip to Grand Rapids a month ago. This airport even had handy Mail It Home bags, so if you found yourself in line with a contraband toenail clipper you could mail it to your house. I wasn’t that lucky in Michigan, but I digress. As we’re walking through the turnstiles I was thinking to myself “I hope we don’t get behind that blond woman and her three dingbat daughters.” They decided they didn’t want to pay the $15 per bag fee, so they were carrying suitcases onto the plane. I surely didn’t want to have to wait for them to get screened. But we lucked out, and ended up behind an older couple who were trying to find their photo ids to show to the TSA agent checking boarding passes. As it turned out, the blonds would have been the better choice.

I sent Jamie on ahead of me so that if my bag got searched, she could keep an eye on my laptop so it wouldn’t get stolen. Well, Jamie ended up going into a machine that looked like the thing that turned Bruce Banner into the Incredible Hulk. Actually, it was a millimeter-wave scanner, the controversial new device that can image under clothing. I was hoping to get a picture of her being scanned when the x-ray belt stopped and the TSA agent examining the screen gets on the phone.

We’re waiting and waiting and waiting and then he yells out, “Which one of you has the handgun ammo in your bag?!?!” Nobody answers. My bag is barely into the machine and Jamie’s is just ahead of it, so it wasn’t us. But the old dude and his wife start saying, “I don’t have any.” Well, they pull the bag out and the TSA guy says he found five bullets on the x-ray. He sets the bag onto the table and starts to open it up while they restart the belt and scan our bags. Jamie is done being in her virtual peep show and grabs her stuff. I’m trying to put my shoes on and I’m overhearing the conversation with our terrorists. The TSA guy is trying to slowly open the bag when the woman reaches over his shoulder and starts poking and prodding compartments. Showing remarkable restraint he tells her to go sit down and not touch the bag. I snapped a quick shot of them as we walked away, and the woman actually smiles for the photo. 

Smile! You've got bullets in your carry-on

We weren’t anywhere near being late for our flight, but I was a bit perturbed. I can be a patient man, but sometimes things like this really annoy me. Some airports have separate lines for frequent travelers and then lines for people who need a bit of hand-holding. My vote is for all airports to be that way. It isn’t really that hard. Put your stuff into the grey tote. Leave the bullets at home or put them in your checked bag. Take off your metal. Pull your id out while waiting in line so you don’t have to do it at the counter. Theses aren’t hard things, just little things. While it only takes 10 to 15 seconds to pull out your wallet and fish out your driver’s license, multiply that by the 150 people in line and you just stole 20 minutes of my time. 

I know I’m sensitive to this because Quality Time is my love language. People are just so unaware of how the choices they make affect those around them. I guess I’ll keep getting these little lessons in patience for awhile. Just when I think I’m patient enough I find out I’m not.