I can go home again

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In my last column I told you about my week in paradise. Well, almost paradise. I left you with the thought that I had actually become my mother, saying goodbye to my son and his family at the airport. This is when paradise became “almost paradise.”

The flight I was to catch home was coming to the Cancun airport from Houston. I was to fly to Denver and go through customs there, then back to Wichita, and arrive about 11:30 p.m. (Don’t forget the shuttle picked us up at the resort at 10:30 a.m.)

Apparently there had been bad weather in Houston for a couple days and my flight home was not only delayed, it was cancelled. I was to sit alone in the Cancun airport for three hours and catch a later flight with the same route.



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