I'm back from Fall Quilt Market and full of all kinds of ideas and inspirations -- I just don't know where to begin! In the next week or so, I'm going to write several more blogs about Quilt Market, so I hope you'll come back to read them all.
But first, let me tell you about the beginning of our trip. My friend Leslie and I arrived at the Erie Airport with plenty of time to spare. Unfortunately, the plane was an hour late. We were crossing our fingers that we might still make our flight from Cleveland to Houston.... When the plane landed in Cleveland, the flight attendant asked passengers who didn't have an immediate connector flight to stay seated so that those who had to get to their next flight could get off first. We were hopeful that this would help us get to our next flight. So, when the plane stopped and the seatbelt light went off, Leslie and I stood, gathered up our stuff, and stepped out into the aisle. There were at least nine other people who did the same. We then waited at the front of the plane until the flight attendant opened the door and gave us the go ahead to get off. Suddenly the attendant starting yelling at us, wanting to know why we were standing and telling us to sit down. We tried to tell her that we had to get catch our next flight, but she just didn't listen and kept telling us to sit down. Of course, we couldn't because there were a lot of people behind us. The attentant seemed to get really irritated and mad at us (Leslie and I were at the front of the line).
Finally, she let Leslie off the plane, but wouldn't let me off with her because I had to get my carryon off the cart outside the plane because it had been stowed in a compartment (this was a small plane). She made me sit down in the nearest seat, meanwhile other passengers were getting off. Then I heard Leslie yelling at the flight attendant from outside -- she was yelling "Tell Tricia I have her suitcase!" The attendant started screaming at Leslie to get inside the terminal. Finally the attendant let me off the plane. Leslie was on the ramp, holding my carryon up so that I would see it. I got to her, grabbed the case, and we both started to run. We were in the D section of the terminal and had to run to the C section. Leslie was half a hallway in front of me, but I watched closely so that I could follow her. I was so out of breath and my heart was really pounding. Leslie got to the correct gate before I did and found out she was 1 minute late. We'd missed our plane to Houston. SO did the other nine passengers. If the horrid flight attendant had listened to what we were telling her, we probably would have made it. Anyway, we had to take a later flight and didn't get into Houston until that evening. Seriously, after running through the airport like that, both Leslie and I were not feeling well for quite a while. I'm not asmatic, but I wheezed and coughed for about an hour or so afterwards.
This was not an auspicious start to our trip, was it?