Sunny Florida

As the alarm starts beeping at 4AM, one word springs to mind.

Why.

Why the heck did I book a flight for 6:30 AM? Oh right -- using Delta points. And they're about to go belly up. Took what I could get. Yeah, I remember.

The cabbie's early. Check in is a breeze. Even security at Dulles is painless -- a post-911 first. They've finished part of the tunnel, so I can walk to terminal B instead of taking those weird shuttle buses. The flight is packed, and half the passengers have a hacking cough. Yadda yadda. It's all worthwhile when my father meets me at SRQ, and we step outside into the warm sunshine.

I used to love air travel, now I hate it. And if there is a passenger distribution section at the gates of hell, it will no doubt be indistinguishable from Hartsfield. But none of that matters. My parents look good, ten years into retirement and they're really living the dream. For the first time in about five years, it's warm in Sarasota for Christmas week. Perhaps my luck is changing.