I have just spent many hours sitting in airports. I took the photo above while sitting in the Vancouver airport waiting for a flight to San Francisco. The woman in the photo was evidently taking a painting or something similar as a "carry on". The airline had a different idea and told her it was too big and it would have to go in with the luggage. This of course was very upsetting to the woman because the world of luggage is a fairly rough and tumble one.
She pleaded with the flight attendant, but to no avail. When I took the photo, she had accepted the picture's fate, but still had a bit of hope, because she was trying to write "FRAGILE" on the brown paper wrapping with a ball point pen. I hope the painting survived.
When I was waiting in the Prince George airport, I noticed a copy of the Prince George Free Press lying on a nearby empty seat. I picked it up and started looking through it. On the second page was a very dramatic photo of a Prince George house showing a wrecked pickup truck with its front aiming downward and its rear up in the air and leaning into a big hole it had made in the house.
The house looked vaguely familiar, and when I read the story I discovered the house was on the same street where our friends, Bob and Mary live, but I wasn't sure. I got out my iPad and opened my contact's addresses and looked up Bob and Mary's address. Sure enough, it was their house.
The one time Joan and I visited their Prince George home, Mary pointed out their downed fence that had run along the outside curve of the busy street that was adjacent to their yard. It had been wrecked by a speeding driver that had missed the curve. That time the driver had just torn up the fence, not hit the house.
A text message from Mary gave a really frightening fact about the accident. Their son, Kyle, had been sleeping, but had gotten up and went into the bathroom when the truck hit the house. The truck landed on his bed. He was saved by a full bladder.