Sitting on the right side of the plane (as in correct)

This portion of my life's journey has been a long time coming. It's pretty generally accepted that for a person's present moment to be what it is it takes every prior event, every prior decision, every prior step to get him or her there. If anything had happened differently, anything, the present moment would also be different. As my husband, a former state trooper, says about traffic accidents he worked, investigated, studied during his career: it takes perfect, split-second timing for the accident to have occurred.

So, here I am on Tuesday morning, September 11th (an iconic date without doubt) sitting at an early breakfast in a hotel meeting room on Clay Street in San Francisco. Split-second timing. The fact that I am eating french toast make with authentic San Francisco sourdough bread further marks this moment!

In the shorter term, this continuing education is a long time in coming as well. Since my last continuing education experience (CREDO in the fall of 2004), my annual efforts at being a responsible professional have failed for various reasons -- mostly pastoral (theirs) and health (mine). Some deposits along the way were refunded; most were lost. Fortunately, continuing education does not always have involve book "larnin" or be overtly theological. This one is clearly personal, for my soul. I can't quite yet believe I am here.

I left Columbia yesterday morning, awake before the 3:45 alarm. To save time I skipped coffee at home, planning to enjoy a cup in the airport once the car was safely parked, my suitcase checked, and me and the computer and the camera bag and the tripod through the drama of security. Well ... the airport was without air-conditioning and the food court was closed for remodeling. An inauspicious beginning. It was too hot for coffee anyway.

Then. There's always a then. My Columbia-to-Atlanta (yes, Delta) flight was significantly late departing. Meaning? Sitting for an extra 90 minutes in the heat AND no beverage service on the over-booked MD-88. Once in Atlanta I moved with great haste and arrived at the gate for the connecting flight in time to walk onto the waiting 767. No leisurely Starbucks and people watching for me. Whatever brand of coffee Delta serves tasted exceptionally good at 10:15 when I finally had that first cup in hand.

Almost as soon as we were airborne the clear skies filled with clouds. As I sipped my coffee, I watched the ground disappear and found myself gazing out at an endless expanse in all directions of what looked like quilt batting. I read an entire issue of The New Yorker and chatted with my fascinating seatmate while we ate our snack and ignored the movie.

Then. (Some "thens" are good.) We flew beyond the sharp edge of that batting just in time to see the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains. From there on I marveled at the vast wrinkled surface of the earth, wished for a map in order to be able to identify the towns and cities and airports passing below, wondered at the alluvial fans in what was clearly desert. I had been hoping that the pilot would make an announcement as we approached the Sierra Nevada as he had when we crossed the Rockies, but when the time came there was no need. The escarpment was so defined and dramatic that I had no doubt about what I was seeing.

I was in seat 43A, blessedly looking south, Yosemite right there. I was sitting on the right side of the plane (as in correct). And, it had taken me my whole life to get there.