A few weeks ago I was offered the chance to fly back to Indianapolis. I knew I would miss home a bit while I was gone (more the people that make it home, rather) but it was a great reminder of how much I enjoyed the Eastern U.S. I haven't seen it since coming home from Virginia as a missionary. There is such a rich history and culture there. There are good people there and I enjoyed my short stay in Indianapolis.
Flying there and back was an interesting experience all in itself. The flights out were pleasantly surprising. Everything was on time and in some cases early. I was greeted by a finely dressed man with my name on a small white-board at the airport. I spent the night (after a delectable steak for dinner) in a fancy apartment. An incredibly short and enjoyable 24 hours later, I was back at the Indianapolis Airport and strip-searching my way through airport security. The flight from Indiana to Texas was less than enjoyable. I was seated behind an elderly couple that looked like they had just walked off the set of Tales from the Crypt. I spent most of the rough two hour flight into Houston with my Jacket over my mouth and nose. Why? I was trying to filter out the gaseous odor coming from the row in front of me. I am convinced at least one of them had dirtied their huggie at some point in the trip. It was awful. I don't know how I always manage to share air space with the stinky old ladies. I guess it is just my fate.
I landed in Texas, had some Texas BBQ in the airport and fought my way on to the flight to Salt Lake. We arrived an hour late but it was good to be back. My wonderful fiance picked me up at the airport and carted my lethargic self home. I missed her.
I woke up the next morning and packed my car full of fishing stuff. I was on the road to Portland as of about noon that Saturday. I stopped in Twin Falls for the weekend and jumped in the truck with my Dad. Winter steelhead were in my near future and I was elated. After an 8 or 9 hour drive into Portland we met up with my brother Lance (and co.) and just relaxed the night away.
The story I have to tell about fishing can really be defined in one word. Rain. We managed to hook two trout (mine being the biggest much to the disappointment of my brother) on the first day of fishing. That was as good as it was going to get. The entire week was cold and rainy and the fishing was a bust. However, fishing aside, I had a rare chance to spend time with my brother and his family. It was everything I could have asked for out of a week in Portland. There will always be another chance to catch fish. It isn't often I have the chance to spend time with my brother Lance. It was great.
I am back in Salt Lake City now and plugging along. There are some really exciting things in the works and life is good. I have a lot to be grateful for. One of the first on that list is that I haven't had a run-in with a gassy elderly woman since the flight home. It's a great day to be alive!
