Boom! A flash of light, and, about 30 seconds later, the plane plummets downward, seemingly a few thousand feet, screams of random individuals -- we're all going down together. "Uh, oh. It looks like it's going to be some day. As we approached Atlanta it was thundering, lightning, and someone said, "If ever there was a hell on earth...." But, in true Monty Pythonesque fashion, we got better. And nothing was ever much acknowledged from the cockpit, the touchdown was silent, relief.
A mad dash and transports across the airport,
and back on for Philadelphia, arcing in above New Jersey and the Delaware,
shuttled
to the rent-a-car establishment,
then
down 95,
up
476,
and
across 1 to
rendezvous with Bette and George.
A
lovely
interval,
coffee and the local tour,
ending up where George's work seems to be part of the
permanent collection.
Out in the late afternoon on a quest for cheesesteaks and hoagies,
divert
to
the
old
Lehigh
Circle
haunt
and
vegetationally-
compromised
325
homestead,
then
pass
the inimitable
Chambers Memorial
Presbyterian Church
and
several
other
familiar domiciles.
With Anna's closed (the owner locking up to run errands as we arrive) we wind up at a new discovery in Media -- seemingly just as excellent,
and chat
far into the night. High barely the 54th day of summer back home -- at 71 -- with more rain (.3 for a total of 17.16 inches since July 1)... 58 locally....
