My heart rate is back to normal.

On the last leg of my return trip to Minnesota from Sardinia, my heart was thumping at a rate well over 100 beats a minute. Unusually fast, for me. Because my heart normally ticks at 60 beats. And my hands were shaking. I wasn’t my usual calm self. Yes, it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t been to bed for 2½ days. And I was tired from all of the steady, prolonged traveling and hopping from one airport to another. Still, everything seemed to be going all right. Until the plane was almost ready to land in Chicago. Except, we didn’t land in Chicago. Because of a harrowing rerouting. Chicago had snow. Not much. An inch and a half. But made the runways at O’Hare Airport slippery. And the runways had to be cleared of snow. So instead of landing, we circled for an hour or so above Lake Michigan. I was getting a little nervous by then. I had a connecting flight to catch to Minneapolis. And I wanted to get home in the worst way. Finally, we ran low on fuel. And the captain sounded like Nervous Ned over the plane’s PA system. Tells us the bad news. That O’Hare was still closed. And we had to find an alternative place to land. Pronto. So we could refuel. And it wasn’t gonna be Chicago. Or any other big, nearby airport. Instead, it was gonna be the airport at Rockford, Illinois. And I thought, my gawd, we’re gonna land this big Boeing 707 passenger jet at a tiny airport in a relatively rural hick village. Sounds like a crazy idea to me. Enough for me to hold my breath. Anyway, I tried to not let everyone know I was nervous. That I was just faking it. Though, as I mentioned, the captain sounded nervous. And so maybe I caught the contagion bug from him. Well, we start to descend over the Illinois countryside. Almost immediately. And it looks mighty bleak and snowy. Coming close to sunset. Maybe the sunset of my wonderful life. And I'm beginning to wonder if I’m ever gonna again see my beautiful and intelligent Italian true love, who I left behind in Sardinia. Just as well. Because she gets nervous far more easily than I. As we’re coming down, I’m wondering if the captain's ever been to Rockford before. It’s only an hour’s drive from Chicago. And I’m remembering that I was in Rockford. Many, many years ago. For what, I don't remember. And to the best of my knowledge I never developed a fondness for the place. Never a burning desire to return. As you know my now, we landed safely. Or I wouldn’t be here writing about the experience. I saw Rockford's finest emergency vehicles and fire trucks with flashing lights along the runway. We spent a couple hours on the ground. Being refueled. For another take off. This time, landing at O’Hare. Too late to catch my connecting flight. But I was rescheduled for a much later flight. And landed safely in Minneapolis. Early the next day. Thankful I was still alive and breathing. With a normal heart rate. And knowing that I won't ever forget my second visit to Rockford, Illinois. –Jim Broede