I’m sitting in the Los Angeles International Airport starting my transit from son Jacob’s house in Huntington Beach, CA, to home in Durham, NC. LAX is nearly empty. There are eight United flights operating out of here today. Half are international. I’m connecting through Denver.
My thinking was to get to NC while air travel is still very light, the airports are empty, and while NC Governor Roy Cooper (D) has a stay-at-home order in place until May 8. Calculating all the risks, this seemed like a reasonable decision. I was to be on a one-week visit with my son, from Oaxaca to NC on May 12. Having mom for a roommate long-term was not in the plan! But we did pretty darn good.
There is lots to update you about our Oaxaca Mask Project. We are distributing to many more villages and continue to make masks there and send some from here. But this will need to wait until I get safely through the day and settled in to the Durham apartment.
It’s after noon here. I’ll get home after midnight. It feels strange, after having spent the last seven weeks plus two days with my boy.
The strangest is that my first encounter at LAX was the unmasked TSA agent who came over to inspect me after I sent the alarm off at the security machine. True to form, I stopped her in her approach. My son would be proud.
Where’s your mask? I asked. You can’t inspect me without a mask. She went off and someone else took her place. The bins where I was told to put my carry-ons, unload my computer and laptop, place handbag and back-pack, jacket, shoes, were dirty. Everything got a thorough spray with alcohol before I unloaded them and put them on. I sprayed carry on bag, too.
I’m taking no chances.
Everyone, all 17 of us in the boarding area, is not wearing face coverings. Maybe 15% aren’t. I guess that’s a pretty good percentage, even though we hear that people here don’t have fear — just like in Mexico. Flight attendant passes. Her face mask is hanging from her chin. I just can’t be the coronavirus police.
Talk to you tomorrow, hopefully.
