The sports schedules of our daughters often cause a split-duty scenario between mom and dad. Dad took last week's long haul commute, so this week it was mom's turn. (Good thing we have two cars.) So, with the assistant volleyball coach as our third passenger, Camille and I took off for Phoenix at noon, to a venue two hours north up Hwy. 10.
The tournament took place at the lovely Salvation Army gym (a venue that looks exactly how you might think it would look) and I was a dutiful parent cheering in the stands through the first two matches. During her team's required referee period, I stepped outside to get away from the clamor of a hundred screaming twelve year-olds, the mixed stench of sweaty knee pads and a second shift public bathroom. I walked to my car to get a sandwich and a Perrier from our cooler.
There's a LOT of sky in this part of South Phoenix, and much of it is the background for commercial airliners taking off and landing at Sky Harbor International Airport. One can consistently see and hear multi-colored passenger jets up close and personally, and they were definitely filling the sky with color and sound. But in addition, there was a whole different set of jets filling the sky—not with color and sound—but with . . . CHEMTRAILS.
The initially clear-blue sky had become a grid-pattern of chemtrails clouds.
As I snapped photos and recorded 360° video records of what was going on around me, my throat started to ache and my eyes watered. I wondered if it was my imagination.
I also wondered if I would be more comfortable, not to mention SAFER, inside the Salvation Army gym—a place that smelled like butt and assaulted my ears with referee whistles and the screams of children.