I was wrong when I called it a bus with wings. It was a hallway with propellers. I did not like it:
I was happy to see that our plane at La Guardia was, although still a prop plane, sturdy. The seats weren’t falling apart. There were no rust spots under bad paint jobs. It was very pretty inside. Then we hit turbulence. Bad turbulence. I was counting as we headed for the runway, anything to get my mind off the flight. I could see the ground – even if we crashed then, we’d be okay – and then the pilot shifted up, straight up, shaking the plane like crazy and I was pretty sure that was curtains. The wind was too much for him and he had to circle wide and take it again. When we finally, finally landed, I nearly pulled a pope and kissed the ground. Still, it looked studier, and we arrived alive.
We have had adventures already during our three hours in Charleston, but it’s okay, because this is the view from our deck:
Life's a Trip 