It certainly seems that current events have had a field day with the American lexicon as of late. Since the ballyhoo over airport screening, X-ray machines and the never ending argument over the effectiveness of our security, words like pat-down, touching my junk, etc. are now part of every day language. It seems like that was the topic each time the subject of flying home for 
the holidays came up in recent weeks.
Well, I for one opted for the X-Ray machine in lieu of the pat-down. So when I arrived at the Seattle airport early Wednesday morning, the TSA agents were ready for me and the throngs of passengers boarding up for a long weekend off at far away places. My first encounter was a young slender black woman who took my boarding pass and passport (I think sometimes I present the passport to give the appearance of a sophisticated traveler which I really am not) at the beginning of security screening. She gave me a once over, looked at the boarding pass and stuck a jeweler's loupe in her eye socket and bent down within an inch or so of the passport to find irregularities that might prove me to be some kind of terrorist. Satisfied that I was a legitimate traveler and my not be a threat to society, she handed the papers back and thanked me.
Next came the line where we all began to remove our shotguns, swords, money, chain-saws, shoes and explosives from our pockets along with the ritualistic removing-your-laptop-from-your-briefcase maneuver and deposit them in a Rubbermaid like bin. As we slid the containers that held the afore-mentioned objects along the stainless steel table and rollers , a middle aged woman met me with a toothy grin and inquired as to where I was going on holiday. I went along with it and gushed out like Gomer Pyle that I'd be flying into New Orleans. I viewed that as a pre-screening to (1) find out if I was nervous talking about my destination and (2) to loosen me up for the next part. She played her part and I played mine and we both grinned.
Recently, the news in Seattle seemed to harp on it several times a day about the new X-ray 
scanning devices that had been installed. As my bags rolled through the X-ray machines, I stepped up to the walk through into the assume-the-position screening machine. After being questioned if I had any remaining objects (or dignity) in my pockets, the TSA guy motioned for me to come all the way in, place my feet on the yellow rectangles about 12 inches apart and to hold my hands above my head with my thumbs and fore fingers of one hand touching the same of the other. I stood there for a second or two and was instructed to turn and face him while he waited a minute or so until the geek had looked at my junk from a remote location. The radio squawked something and I was permitted to collect my junk.....er....belongings in the Rubbermaid bins and move on to the gates.
To some, even in my family, that is a small price to pay for security but I figure there's plenty of ways to create havoc, even with the very expensive technology. I also figure some former politicians and bureaucrats probably have made tons of millions recommending we do all these things. If we get off our politically correct high horse and start profiling like we should, we would be more effective and have a lot more cash left over to do the things that are really important. It isn't 8 year old girls, blue haired Presbyterian ladies or some hip-hop kid with his underwear showing who is trying to kill us. It isn't the frequent flier with enough sky-miles to go around the earth 3 times nor is it the gray haired businessman in the Brooks Brothers suit that's trying to kill us. We just need to wake up and look around.
Anyway, enough of my rant about security or the lack of it. I am happy to be home with people I love where we can gather together, eat too much and talk loudly on the day designated as the official Thanksgiving day. I'm happy that we can hug necks, kiss babies and strengthen the bonds that causes us to go through hell and high water just to do this once or twice per year.
Happy Thanksgiving.
at home. The air was thick, humid and the skies were loaded with intermittent dark clouds contrasting the spots of blue and somehow, just for a brief moment, I could believe the birds were now singing, "Keawakapu, Keawakapu." (It would help to have spent some time in or near Kihei, Maui, HI)
Somewhere south of me the same sweet smell like that of the Puunene Sugar Mill on Maui filled the air but instead of the waves crashing on the south shore with Haleakela peaking through the clouds my world was substituted with the busy Airline Highway and Spanish Moss hanging from the Live Oak trees.
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