There was a serious trot to the terminal this fine new day, having had to park in one of the more remote long-term and long distance run lots at the Middling City's so-called international aeroport.
Shuttle buses whizzed by Yours Truly, empty, not looking for strays. YT toodled out a YooHooooo to no avail.
Better the exercise than the on-bus banter.
Onwards I trotted.
Was YT late.
No.
But one never knows when one might confront a ridiculously long line of befuddled newbies who still don't know about the shoes thing, the 3-ounce rules, and the like.
And, last night, it did suddenly occur to me that some residents of the MC might be making devout pilgrimages par avion to see the pope in the Shiney Apple.
On the JetBlue transporter the staffers were agitated, watching one of the on-seat screens, watching the papal progress as he boarded his own plane.
If he's in the air JFK will become a no-fly zone, they revealed.
Everyone within earshot became a little less cheerful.
And we're going on to Orlando - this will cut into our drinking time, the larger of the two attendants sniffed.
As people were still boarding the guy next to me pointed to his screen and moaned Look.
There was the pope making his way up the stairs to his pope-a-plane, as there was a montage of W at a podium, undoubtedly gushing as best he could about papa.
So, gladly, the pope zoomed up the coast and we did land ten minutes early and all is well and Perfect in Nancy's World.
Onwards into the Shiney Apple.

Updates to follow.

Rushed, rushing Love.