The air around me plummeted from 86 degrees to 3 in a little over a day while I flew the 7000 miles or so from steamy West Africa to wintry East America. I was routed through New York. Standing in one line then another, was annoyed with myself for not having insisted I travel through Amsterdam. I would have been home, with cheese and licorice in my hand luggage.
The flight from Brussels was first delayed and then a little less delayed as per the messages from Delta about this that tumbled over each other on my phone, iPad and computer. I had gotten my upgrade so the flight from Brussels to JFK was going to be a cinch; a good thing as I had not slept at all during the flight from Monrovia. I did the sleeping somewhere over the Atlantic on my flatbed at 3A.
Because of the delay, first of the flight and then of my suitcase coming out, I missed my connection to Boston, and with that the large plane that would have given me a less bumpy ride into windy Logan. I had my flimsy late spring/early autumn jacket on which offered no protection against the icy winds blowing outside the terminal. Axel was there and whisked me away in a car with heat on high.
The trip had lasted exactly 30 hours. I tumbled into bed and woke up to 3 degrees Fahrenheit (-16 Celsius). I was going to need a different kind of clothing.
Sylvia's Journal 
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