Thanksgiving Break

I returned to school recently from Thanksgiving break. The trip home, though fun, was not too eventful. Wednesday my mom and I went to Disneyland. Strangely, we only went on two rides and spent the rest of the time going through the shops on Main Street and buying a couple Christmas presents. It was still so much fun!
Thursday was the O'side Turkey Trot. A good sized group from camp came and it was fun to run and talk with friends at the same time. Of course, because of my recent injury, I knew that I couldn't run if I felt my hip, so I swallowed three advil before the race, and then once we'd started running the adrenaline kicked in and I couldn't feel any pain...until after the race. After the race we went back to Aunt Marlene's and partook of a delicious Thanksgiving feast. The sad part about Thanksgiving is that Sarah was in Boston, Matthew in Jerusalem, and Jonathan and Leslie in Sacramento.
Friday was delightfully lazy.
Saturday came too soon. Daddy drove me to the airport. We stopped for lunch, ate it leisurly, and then hopped on the freeway. It was then that I noticed that we were headed south and the Ontario airport is north. I had already missed my flight, but fortunately, I was able to get a ticket for the only other flight going to Portland that day (I was secretly hoping that there wouldn't be any flights and I'd "have" to stay home another day). Just before I was supposed to board, four men with dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes got into their places in front of me. They were all wearing new blue jeans and black, leather jackets. My dramatic imagination went into overdrive. Their uniformed appearance and the color of the skin sent this thought immediately into my head: "They're terrorists!" Panic twisted inside my stomach. I tried to reason myself out of it. "Calm down."
"They're terrorists! Look, that guy has something on his glasses that looks like a blue-tooth; but what if it's a radio to the head of the operation telling him when to blow us all up!" "You're just going to Portland. Why would they want to blow up Portland?" "There's a lay-over in Vegas! That would be the perfect place to bomb a ton of people! I knew there was a reason that I didn't catch my other plane. It's my time to go." The sounds of Spanish-sounding words came to my ears, but not quite Spanish. Italian! "Oh good! They're not terrorists, just the mafia!" (what a comforting thought) I also took note that they were all joking and laughing in their language (Italian, I'm sure of it). I felt somewhat comforted until we boarded the plane and the man directly in front of me took a good look at the cock pit. "Terrorist!" came unbidden into my thoughts. "No! Mafia, mafia, mafia!" I found my seat, dug out my book, and focused much too hard for a terribly boring biography. At last, I forgot about my mafia friends and finally made it to Vegas where I was delayed for an hour and then on to Portland. There was quite a bit of turbulence on both planes and I thought more than once that we were going down. However, that was a week ago, and I'm still here to write about it.

I apologize for the long post, but my paranoia just made me laugh a little, so I thought I'd share it.