Scenes From My Life

The southern accent. It is one of the most recognizable of the various American “dialects.” Like many of these speech styles, there are various types of southern accents. Having spent my formative years in the south, I had grown quite accustomed to hearing the southern accent in its many forms. But, I did not feel that I spoke with any discernible inflection. Over the years, though, an accent would occasionally become noticeable, especially when traveling outside of the south. Something I said or, rather, the way I said it, would cause others to react. Even the most harmless of comments would elicit curious looks from those around me. It was as if they could tell something about my speech was different, but could not pinpoint exactly what it was. Though it did not happen often, my style of speech seemed to prove confusing. In 2001, I traveled to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, to visit a friend. The airport most convenient to Hilton Head was locate...

It was quiet. The nearly empty streets of the National Park were illuminated only by the headlights on the occasional passing car. The trees lining the driveway blocked any clear views of the Grand Canyon only yards away. Slowly winding our car along the darkened streets, my friend and I came to a sign directing visitors to a viewing area. We had spent the entire day exploring the South Rim of the Canyon from numerous vantage points, each more impressive than the last. Yet, we had chosen to explore the Park further, seeking out additional views. Vague as it was, this sign piqued our curiosity and we turned off of the main street and onto a gravel-covered parking lot. The view changed immediately. Gone were the towering evergreen trees. In their place was a clear, unobstructed view . . . of nothing. The gravel lot extended a few yards beyond the parking area before it blended with the rocky ledge of the Canyon. Above it, the nighttime sky was imposing ...

I did not know how fast I was walking and I did not care. All I knew was that I had a connection to make . . . and I was not going to miss it. I arrived at the gate just in time to see the boarding door closing. What was I going to do? This was the last flight of the day. It had been a long day and I really wanted to get back home. Now I was not sure I would. My day had begun around 8a.m. when I arrived at the Phoenix airport for my 10a.m. flight to Atlanta. Because of a great fare, I had purchased a ticket that included a connection in Detroit. It had been very much out of my way, but the fare was better than anything else I could find. My return flight had a two hour layover in Detroit, plenty of time (I thought) to make my connection. I did not anticipate a three hour delay in the Phoenix airport because of a malfunctioning airplane. By the time everyone was on the plane, it was after 1p.m. When the plane landed, I briskly walked dow...

I recently returned from a long weekend trip. I traveled to a favorite city, one that I know well. I had planned to spend my time seeing good friends and visiting places I have seen many times. Yet, in the days leading up to the departure, I was still apprehensive. My concern had nothing to do with the trip itself, though. Instead, it was because of my track record when it came to visiting this particular city. Prior to this trip, I have flown into this city four times. All four times, I have taken a direct flight on the same airline. Three of the four times, I have flown into the same airport. Three of those four times, my luggage has not arrived with me. I could not help but wonder if this trip, flying in to the same airport, on the same airline, would have the same result. Or, would I be able to leave the airport without a visit to the airline’s baggage services office? My flight arrived at the airport just ahead of schedule. I made my way to the...

“Come on. Let’s go,” my brother said, leading me by the arm, out of the cavernous train station. “We don’t have time,” I argued, as he continued to lead me towards downtown Portland. “Yeah, we do,” he retorted. “And, besides, it’s close to the station.” My brother had been telling me about this doughnut shop in Portland, Oregon, for a long time. He had repeatedly promised to take me there on my next visit. My visit came and nearly went without a stop at this shop. I was supposed to catch a train to Seattle that afternoon. After I checked my luggage at the station, I had about forty five minutes before my train left. Enough time, my brother decided, to get a doughnut. I was not so sure. I was scared that I was going to miss my train. My attempts to suggest that it was not a good idea to leave the station proved futile and we were on our way to the doughnut shop. In addition to traditional doughnut flavors, this...

In March of 2004, I made a week-long trip to Arizona, for a good friend’s wedding. When I left Atlanta, temperatures had been in the high 60’s and it had been raining for days. I flew into Phoenix, where it was bright, sunny and the daytime temperatures hovered in the low-90’s. At night, it never got below 70. Following the wedding, another friend and I drove to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, where the skies were clear and daytime temperatures were in the 40’s and 50’s. At night, it dipped to near-freezing levels. Following a few more days in 90-plus degree weather in Phoenix, I returned to Atlanta. My return flight had a connection in Detroit, Michigan. The plane landed, only to be greeted by falling snow and temperatures in the low 30’s. The plane had to be de-iced before it could take off again. A few hours later, I landed in Atlanta, where it was 70 and pouring rain.

We were in search of theater tickets. That is why my friend and I had wandered from our midtown hotel to the South Street Seaport, at the southern tip of Manhattan. Considering that New York’s Theater District is in midtown, our being at the opposite end of the city may seem odd. But, we had gone to the Seaport to buy tickets. TKTS, a discount ticket retailer, had a reputation for having very long lines at its Times Square location. In my pre-travel planning, I had read that there was a second booth at the Seaport with considerably longer lines. And, so, hoping for a faster experience, my friend and I were in search of the Seaport TKTS booth. My friend had grown up in a town just outside of New York and was quite familiar with Manhattan. She was not especially familiar with the Seaport TKTS booth, but knew its general location. We had wandered down Broadway, through the financial district, and were nearing the waterfront. We looked around the area for the famili...