For most of the day tomorrow I’ll be hurtling westward towards Texas locked inside a metal tube bashing its way through the lower stratosphere pushed by a gazillion horsepower. Thousands of components and miles of tubing and wiring will be doing their bit to keep the missile flying straight and true through the hostile vastness. Inside, though, all will be tranquil, calm, comforting. Meals will be served, wine poured, blankets handed round, movies flickering on little screens.
Just four hours by the clock will have elapsed when ten hours later I’m released into the hands of Homeland Security and then, bags retrieved, the Customs service. Groggy and disoriented I’ll finally reach the welcoming embrace of family. The holiday will begin.