Call me Ody. And I don't mean the frickin' dog from Garfield. I mean a metaphorical Odysseus caricature of sorts. Ody, the adventurous B-hive daddy who flew to London and then will fly off to Amsterdam for business and maybe a little sightseeing in both locales.
But I wondered if we'd get there. Because the Sirens called us to the cliffs on the way to London where landed in Chicago four hours into the ten-hour flight because the autopilot doesn't work. And to land at Heathrow Airport in London, where low clouds and fog abound like San Francisco from whence we came, the autopilot has to be operational.
Which begs the question: Why wasn't it checked before we left? Or was that what's really wrong?
You never know when you fly these days. But the "what's wrong part" really began prior to this trip when the "Wreckers" came a-callin'. That's similar to "Sirens" from the current book I'm reading by Kevin J. Anderson and Neil Peart called Clockwork Angels, based on Neil's concept album with Rush by the same name. Yes, I called it an album. And it's a really damn good one. (They're all really damn good, though).
Although I haven't gotten to that part of the book yet, based on what I know about them and the song of the same name in Clock Angels, the Wreckers are pirate-like sirens who crash and pillage cargo steam ships in this hybrid Steam Punk sci-fi world.
Hence, the Wreckers.
"All I know is that sometimes you have to be wary
Of a miracle too good to be true
All I know is that sometimes the truth is contrary
Of everything in life you thought you knew
All I know is that sometimes you have to be wary
Because sometimes the target is you."
Yes, the Wreckers came a-callin' last week for sure. With my back against the wall to get ready for my UK/Amsterdam trip, finish some marketing deadlines for the exciting new firm I work for (BraveNewTalent), and finish editing my career management book due out next month (which I'll make sure you'll hear about more soon for sure), my chronically ill mother, still grieving sadly for Pop (we all still are in our own ways), went in the hospital. She's been staying with my sister ever since Pop's memorial, and was supposed to come see us during the holidays, but now everything's gone to hell in a big ugly hand basket.
That's all I can really share about that situation right now, but know that there's been a lot logistically to handle the past few days, not to mention trying to help my extremely fragile mother, who I love, get back on the path of going back home to her medical and friend/church networks, which I had planned on doing weeks after I returned from this trip.
Until the metaphorical Wreckers, that is.
As I sat and waited for my flight to London, which turned out to be a four-hour delay overall, I found myself thankful I would only be away for seven days total instead of seven years that poor old Odysseus was away for in The Odyssey, to then have to return and beat off his wife's slimy suitors.
Oh, how I miss the Mama. We've been together for over 15 years now from the day we met. Nine years since the day we married, which was on the same day we met. And the lovely little B's that came years after…
The Wreckers better look out, because no matter what else happens this week, this Ody's gonna make it back intact.