After writing such a paean to air travel, I was at the airport the next day, flying to Buffalo. The plane was a tiny one, and it was early on a Sunday morning, yet the flight was completely full.

The Delta line was terribly slow, blockaded by a woman who not only couldn't manage enough English to say "Hello" but also had apparently never seen a line before, and two "real American" firefighters who thought they shouldn't have to pay checked baggage fees. But even when those barriers were removed, the other customers took just as long to sort out the fact that their bags needed sticky tags to get to Omaha. I know, we are experienced travelers, but isn't everyone in a hurry at the airport?

Perhaps my anxiety comes from years of perilous near misses at the jetway. At age 19, I did actually miss a flight from London to Paris. Even though it was my final night of a semester spent studying in London, I was out too late the night before and had not finished packing my belongings. The next flight over the Channel did a fine job of delivering me and those belongings. Another time, I waltzed into JFK 15 minutes before my flight took off for Miami, where I was to meet my mother and sister. This was after 9-11. I have no idea why they let me on the plane. My mother would have been so angry at me.

Behavior like that now would probably lead to a divorce, an option unavailable to my mom. These days I pretend I am more responsible.

I often work as a photo assistant, for my husband. This is an interesting thing to do. When we first met, in a color darkroom, not on a job, I had freelanced as a photographer's assistant for a couple years. He begged me to work for him but I refused. I do not know how well most photo assistants get along with the photographers they slave for, but I do know that I resent authority and a photo shoot is a dictatorship.

But Kevin gets jobs in Miami, South Africa, Copenhagen... it's hard to say no to that. This job, in Niagara Falls, maybe wasn't quite so glamorous. But three days outside in the mist at the honeymoon capital of the world with my new husband couldn't be so bad. As it turns out, the working relationship is 60% brilliant, 20% quite good and 20% profoundly annoying. I keep taking the 4 out of 5. On the morning of our departure, our only skirmish involved bringing (or not bringing) a small trolley for the heavy equipment carry-ons. I wanted to save my back. He insisted it wouldn't work. Not such a bad skirmish. Oh well, lifting heavy things gave me a nice, muscular back for my wedding gown. And he's the boss. He's not always a dictator though. I get to play around a little on these jobs....


Niagara Falls, from our hotel room