Some of the long flights to California go swimmingly, and some are more like Noah’s flood. Timing is crucial because Abigail has a week of medical appointments starting the next morning. We knew we were in trouble before the flight ever left Philadelphia. Our plane would be leaving late. All they could do was to put us at the top of the standby list for a connection in Dallas. Landing, we raced to the gate of the next flight our way. Not yet taken off, but doors closed. Raced to the next, and then the next, each time trying to win the sympathy of the officials at the desk. Then found a flight with hope and verified that we were still at the top of the standby list. After waiting a bit, the clouds parted and cherished boarding passes were placed in our hands. Oh, the joy of holding those little stiff paper passes! Then we waited and – hmmm – then waited some more. Ut-oh – the pilot and crew had not arrived. (Why had they not known about this sooner?) Once again, wait and hope, wait and hope. Then the news – this flight has been cancelled – and the boarding passes held tight in our hands became pitiless reminders of failed efforts. Would there be any way to get to tomorrow’s medical appointment? Go to the airline office, opposite Gate 43. Raced there. Passed along the way the most interminable line in the history of air transport. One could not actually see where it began or where it ended. It did not seem realistic for us to stand in that never-ending line. There was one more possibility. Find a tender heart who can help. I pushed Abigail in her wheel-chair to Gate 43 and explained our situation. “I have the impression that you have the means to help us,” I said. “Yes, I do,” she said with an impersonal smile. “But that is not my job.” A second earnest plea to her humanity crashed against the same smile. What is that young woman’s goal in life? I wondered. Then the irony struck me. How had the video showed onboard ended? “We hope you have a great flight – because greatness is what we’re going for!” Really?