The alarm goes off at 4:50 a.m. for our trip to Utah. I called for a taxi to the airport. We wait. And wait. The taxi finally arrives and then drives right past the house in the rain. No problem, I think; we live on a dead end street, so he’ll be back in a minute. We wait. And wait. It starts to pour rain. He calls on the phone. He’s lost. The fact that a taxi driver can get lost on a dead end street should have been my first clue. He finally comes back and picks us up. It’s still pouring rain, ponding on the streets. The taxi driver is riding the high center of the road, avoiding the water on the sides, or so I’m thinking. He starts rattling on about the UFO he once saw in our neighborhood. It isn’t until we get onto the interstate that it’s clear he’s under the influence and nearly plows into a guardrail. And he’s still going on about the UFO. Fortunately he seems to have been to the airport enough times to find it even in his condition. Next time I’ll be sure and ask for a driver who is not drunk.
Despite this inauspicious beginning, we get on the plane without incident, and fly to DFW. Breakfast in the airport, and then off to Salt Lake City. Looking out of the airplane window as we crossed into Utah, I couldn’t help but survey the bleak and barren landscape below and conclude that the Mormons must have been very, very unhappy back east to settle here.
Tonight we carved pumpkins.