A few years ago, I found myself in a painful situation. I was seated in the very first row in coach class and my four hour flight from Columbus, Ohio to San Diego, California had just landed. When the pilot’s voice came over the intercom and shared with us that we would be waiting another 20 to 30 minutes for our gate to be available, I knew I was in trouble.
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We decided to have a Labor Day party weekend at my parents’ house in Louisiana a couple of weeks ago. My husband and the kids and I drove down from Little Rock, and my brother flew in from Los Angeles to bring the new girlfriend home for the first time. But it’s that other visitor, Hurricane Gustav, who has us feeling uncomfortable.
