I’m in Minneapolis. The sun is shining and the snow is deep and white.
I pulled a way amateur move yesterday and came within minutes of missing my flight to Minneapolis (and this gorgeous evening sunset from above). Believe me, it had all of the elements of airport horrors: long layover, slow realization accompanied by panic, wrong terminals, a shuttle bus ride that took ages, running, going the wrong way and everything playing out in slo-mo.
“Did I barely make it?” I asked the lady at the gate.
“Yes. I was just about to close the door—I couldn’t wait for you any longer.”
So so so glad she waited for me. I really thought I had blown that one.