I flew in to the Queen City last evening and the flight was bumpy the whole way. As we were making our descent, the ride was jinking and jumping so much the attendants abandoned the trash pickup and seat belt check.
My secret inner Walter Mitty took over and for a moment I imagined I was in a B-17 over the heart of Germany heading for a bombing run to Schweinfurt or Regensburg, my plane buffeted by a barrage of flack from Nazi ack-ack.
Unlike our brave grandfathers and fathers who defeated the Axis evil, I was in no real danger. In fact, I have been on worse plane rides. But the air was surprisingly turbulent for what appeared to be a sunny day.