My return trip included an overnight so I had to go through the check-in process twice, in Boston on Wednesday afternoon, and in Miami on Thursday morning. The line at American Airlines in Miami was about 3 miles long and the suitcases I was carrying weighed about 5000 pounds. As I got in line, an attendant asked me what my destination was. "Port-au-Prince, Haiti," I panted. "Oh, you need to go the next terminal," she pointed back outside where I'd just come from. So I gathered up my gargantuan bags and began the trans-terminal trek. A few years later, I walked through another set of doors, only knocking over 6 people with my 10 foot-long Army duffle bag, and prepared for another 3 miles of queue. To my utter astonishment, I saw a line of exactly 5 people and a sign that said:
Who knew that being on a flight to Haiti automatically won you VIP treatment in Miami?
By 2pm, I was inside my Shoebox. Not without a battle, though! The demolition at St Joseph's has accelerated recently and there was a veritable mountain of dirt in front of my house. I had to kick clumps of dirt and rock away just to open my door. The pile is literally at my doorstep and is a good 3 feet higher than my house!
Frantz was at my side instantly and helped me unpack everything, including some very handsome clothes for him. The rest of the kids followed to help unpack, inspect my American goodies, cook me pancakes and watch High School Musical 3 for the millionth time. It is good to be home.