Southwest Memories

Southwest Memories

From too much time as a road warrior, I was trying to recall, two, distinctly different Southwest Memories, sure I’ve mentioned in passing, several times.

These are San Antonio Southwest Memories, and one is quite aged. The old airport in Austin. $25 or $29 tickets. I was returning from El Paso, where it was shorts weather, and the cheap seats flew through Lubbock, with a foot of snow, then Dallas Love Field, then the old Austin airport, but that snow storm in Lubbock arrived in Austin with thunder, and the pilot veered off on the final approach, so I got a quick, first time visit, to San Antonio’s airport.

Southwest Memories

The only other remaining SA Southwest Memories is a fragment. Tiny piece of a memory of a LEO checking her firearm while I checked a suitcase.

That’s it. Austin’s airports, the old and the new, they carried long embedded memories for me, but San Antonio? Perhaps I’ve traveled too much, now.

Southwest Memories

Writing about it conjured up latent memories, perhaps best left dormant, but what the heck? I used to make notes, before electronics were so quotidian, I made notes on the air-sick bags. Always did wonders grabbing for that bag, scared other passengers. Just a perfect medium for jotting notes. Sadly, I think, I’ve already used this concept in a horoscope.

That’s how we roll.

Jimmie Dale Gilmore sings it best, part of the Flatlanders, “More a myth than a band…”

“Did you ever see Dallas from a DC 9 at night?”

Southwest Memories – it’s a 737 300. Wet Fuel Cell.


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