That One More Day

My family and I have the benefit of flying with flight benefits, allowing us to travel standby. When flights are open–with a lot of seats–it’s super!  When they are not–it’s a bit stressful, especially when a family of six is hoping to travel together.  My husband and I were attempting to get back on the same flight–in high hopes we packed up our things and headed to the airport.  We got there–it looked bleak, but still a minute flicker of hope.  Passengers began to board the flight and our flicker diminished.  “Purcell,” our name was called–my husband went to the gate agent–“we have one seat.”  Dicky needed to get back for work–I was okay with him taking that seat.  He didn’t he stayed and another lucky passenger boarded. Now–our luggage was on the plane and we continued our stay in Chicago.  Not a bad thing–just a tougher thing.  No luggage and not sure when we were going to be headed out–it was Fourth of July weekend.  We headed back to my parents. Now, we had a free day.  Our time passed quickly on our visit, so there were some thing that I would have liked to have done but had run out of time. Now, that one more day was there.

I am sure many have felt it–an unexpected amount of time that in a sense was gifted to you by the world.  The day was free–I felt free. Time frames were not binding and I felt relaxed.  Learning from that day, the appreciation I had for that time.

With that time, we headed down to the city(where I was able to practice my Chicago city driving skills), the part where I grew up for the first twelve years of my life. I love to take that ride each time we visit my hometown.  Kilbourn Street where the apartment building stands that I grew up in.  Catching fireflies and chasing down the 25 cent snow cone man to Kenneth street where I remember many Christmases and family gatherings that are so important in childhood (I can see that now as an adult)–the home that I spent my younger years of childhood in.  Barry School, my elementary school where we played pinners, a ball game played against the outside brick walls and Mrs. Raymond, my fourth grade teacher who encouraged me to try ceramics and had such a happy demeanor.  She took my brother, sister and I to breakfast! How many teachers do that?!? The years have worn on the neighborhood but the memories are still crystal.



We headed back to the suburb my parents live in and my appreciation for that extra–no timed– time that I was able to spend with them, my family and the memories.

Sunday, Dicky made a flight back to Salt Lake City by miracle, Monday, the kids and I made the flight returning home–by miracle.  We made it back to our home that we live in now–where one day, perhaps my kids will take a ride past their memories in on a no timed day.

Have you ever had a no timed day? What did you do?

Thank you for reading!



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