Red Eye

I still remember my first plane ride.  I was five.  Destination?  California.  Companion?  My grandmother, may she rest in peace.  I don't exactly recall all of the priming for our journey, but I do remember the packing and plan for wearing my favorite little blue dress.  I just knew I was going on a plane way high up in the sky.  And that must be a special thing because my grandmother rolled my waist-long with paper bag strips.  I've never had curls quite like that since. 

All went well with the flight until the pressure got to my ears.  I whimpered, cried, then screamed at the top of my lungs.  Flight attendants tried to instruct me on how to ease the discomfort, my grandmother, quite embarrassed I'm sure, tried to rock and console me.  I was beyond consoling.  It was crisis in mid-air.  The only good thing about my agony was landing about 10 minutes later.

Some 25 five years later, I attempted to get my only chance at a night's sleep unfazed by ear pressure, dreaming about whales and sunsets...

Question of the day: Do you remember your first place ride?