It had been Lin picking me up at the airport at the end of my prior climbs. We were always reunited with her dressed up in some costume which spoke to where I had been. Lin met me at SeaTac wearing a Leopard costume when I returned from Africa. After Russia she wore the garb of a Babushka to the Bellingham Airport. Lin wore a very sultry, bright red flamenco dancer's dress when I came home from Argentina. She threw off her trench coat and struck a dramatic pose, rose clenched in her teeth, next to the baggage carousel. I had thought a lot about this and decided since I was picking her up at the airport this time it should be I who dressed up for Lin.
Nothing symbolizes Antarctica better than a penguin. So this seemed like the clear choice for my costume. As penguin paraphernalia is abundant in Punta Arenas, I had thought obtaining such a costume would present no particular problem. Yet none could be found. I turned to the internet. Several costume purveyors offered Penguin costumes for sale, but the $900 price tag threatened to break through the thin ice my finances were already treading upon. I found a number of costume rental companies around Phoenix, but there seemed to be little interest in dressing as a penguin in the desert. Then my luck turned for the better. I found a shop that could rent me a penguin costume. The downside was that it had been made of a rug-thick material guaranteed to cook the occupant when worn anywhere warmer than Antarctica. I took it.
I pulled up to the Mesa airport ten minutes late and in a panic. The whole effect would be lost if Lin walked off the plane and I was not there to greet her as she had me. I hurriedly threw on the heavy costume and headed for the terminal. The realistic design of the garment pinched my legs close together at the ankles, making anything better than a fast waddle impossible. I was breathing hard inside the headpiece. Sweat ran freely down my face. My penguin feet were slapping hard on the pavement. I could see passengers pouring into the baggage claim area. With both flippers waving madly, I bum rushed the lot of them. Unfortunately, these people were exiting the flight from Great Falls and I only succeeded in fostering a festive sort of confusion. Lin's flight from Bellingham was running an hour late.
Families with children assumed I had been hired by the airport to bring a little holiday cheer to the otherwise mundane experience of waiting for relatives to arrive. I found myself posing for photos and allowing kids to touch my beak. Several people asked why I was dressed as a penguin, and, having time on my hands, I shared the story of my trip to Antarctica and the many themed reunions Lin and I have enjoyed. The story spread.
I noticed something strange going on as passengers from Bellingham filed out. The party meeting them would linger instead of proceeding to the baggage carousel. Most of the passengers had deplaned and become part of the large crowd around me by the time Lin walked out. She was dressed as a snowflake. There was glitter on her face, and she wore a homemade headdress of cutout paper snowflakes. Her blouse and pants were a flawless white. Her finger and toenails were painted red with tiny white snowflakes attached. Her blond hair was braided back with all the delicate intricacy of fine lace.
It is perhaps a testament to how specifically her eyes searched for me that Lin did not notice the six foot tall penguin standing among the crowd now watching in silence. She walked past me. But, as she did, I honked at her. She stopped and looked back at me. I honked again. A brilliant smile came to Lin's face as she rushed into my open flippers while cheers and applause erupted around us.
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| A penguin's passion unleashed! |
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