Descriptive Essay About My Life

I ran around the house, informing everybody that I found my ticket. Although my parents were so relieved that my ticket was found, they were also worried we would miss the flight. My dad quickly carries down everyone’s luggage, putting it by the door. With only a matter of minutes to spare, everyone grabs their luggage and runs out the door. My parents help my sister and I put our luggage into the trunk and everyone grabs their seat in the car. As the car engines fires up, everyone makes a last minute check, making sure they have everything, especially their

Through this short story, “Fly Away Home” By Eve Bunting, we learned that family is important to everybody in the airport even to the people they don’t see all the time, but there's still family there, and that's the most important thing in

The airport in Los Angeles was crawling with travelers, dragging their luggage and scurrying across the terminals like ants in a massive nest. Jackson, my nephew, had no idea that he was meeting in Los Angeles; he thought we would be meeting in Seattle, just as we usually did. I wondered if he would notice the palm trees and the stifling heat in the middle of December and know immediately. With these thoughts wandering my head, I sat impatiently by the terminal where his plane was supposed to land.

I am forced out of bed before the sun gets the chance by the high-pitched screaming of my alarm. Working against the clock, my brain fights the last-minute task of arranging all my clothes into a suitcase. The taxi ride to the airport is all but a tired blur. With a long hug and a bittersweet speech from my parents, I am off on my own to break new boundaries. The airport and I are no strangers.

At 6:10 PM, we finally arrive at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas. My mom and I get off the plane and pick up our luggage. We get to ride in a limo to the hotel courtesy of our hotel at 6:10 PM. We are

We were going to Wallowa Lake, which is located in Eastern Oregon. We had a six and a half hour drive ahead of us. Our trip began, as most car trips do. We loaded up on snacks and books on CDs. My parents rarely let us watch DVDs in the car as they think we need to ¨use our imaginations¨ and ¨look out the windows¨ here and there. Our big, white, Ford Expedition was filled to the max with my parents´ and my three siblings´ suitcases, camping gear, shoes, and three gigantic coolers filled with food. Those coolers filled with food will play a major part in my story.

I arrived at nine in the night, and my next flight to Atlanta would not be until eight hours later. I had never been to such enormous airport before, they had trains between sections. Somehow I forgot that my flight was in eight hours and got terrified that I was going to mess things up and not find my gate. I ran around the airport like a headless chicken, with my pink suitcase and golf clubs, trying to find the right gate, only to find out that I was in the wrong section of the airport. Nearly crying out of fear that I would miss my next flight, I asked for the right directions at the information desk and was pointed the right direction. Finally I found the right gate and discovered that there were still six hours until my flight. I wondered around, trying to find a place to sit or lay down. The airport was silent, every restaurant was closed and no store was open. The clock was eleven when I found this sizable chair, the leather in it was well worn and was all cracked. It did not bother me at all, I just wanted a place to rest my eyes. I must have closed my eyes for a minute when a guy walked by and accidently stumbled into a chair next to me. If I had been in Iceland, I had just closed my eyes again and went to sleep, but I was in America, alone and had my precious golf clubs and suitcase with me. Thoughts started pouring in to my head, “What if someone takes my

When my eyes dared to open, the Trans Caribbean airplane had touched down barreling down the runway until the wheel brakes subdued the speed. Just a few more seconds and the ordeal was finally over. “Thank you sweet Jesus,” I whispered, “for letting me survive my first airplane flight and transatlantic to top it off.” Perspiration exuded from every pore of my body and I felt exhausted. My husband sitting next to me holding my sweaty hand while my other arm was clutching my 14-month-old child cradled in the safety of my lap. Suddenly, a loud shrill noise - my fear intensified another notch, but the stewardess quickly assured us that everything was fine; she had accidentally dropped the mike to the intercom. At last, the plane taxied slowly toward the terminal. A stewardess announced our landing at McGuire Air Force Base and gave instructions how to proceed after disembarking the aircraft.

All of us walked out of the airport because we had friends that got there earlier in the morning who were picking us up. They finally came and we drove through the city. Every building was lit up with bright white lights and the palm trees were everywhere. We drove for a while and finally got to our hotel. Once we unpacked our stuff we went

The plane bounces even worse than before. My knees crash into the tray table, sending my half-eaten package of peanuts and my entire stack of magazines raining into the aisle. I instinctively grab for the armrest once more, and the businessman next to me lets out a

After going through the quick check-in and a long security line, she went to the gate to wait, for what would seem like hours, to board the large plane. When the gate finally opened, she waited in line to show her boarding pass and board the plane. The plane that seemed so large from the outside suddenly changed into a small and cramped cabin. There was a

The awkward cowboy and the man with a fetid outer, compress me in a compact area. After several hours, the plane lands and we come to an abrupt halt. We dawdle towards the baggage claim anticipating

As i board the plane i run straight to the bathroom, shut the door and empty out my lunch into the metal toilet. The flight crew immediately begins to knock on the door to make sure i'm okay.

Like most Saturday mornings, I woke to the steady beeping of batteries charging in the kitchen. It was only seven o’clock, but I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I forced myself out of bed and over to the table where my dad was working. He carefully inspected his newly repaired plane, now purple (at my request), checking for any sign of damage from the previous week’s crash. Deeming it once again worthy of flight, he asked me to help him pack his flight bag with radios and extra batteries, and we snuck out of the house, careful not to disturb the rest of my sleeping family.

“Flight 3531 to Charlotte”, read the ticket in my hand. I placed it on my bed and gazed around my room for any belongings that I would want to have along for the week. With all the traveling that I experienced throughout my career, I generally knew what was required for a week-long trip. Shirts, pants, socks, dress shoes, ties, a briefcase, toiletries, notepads, a camera, and my personal computer. I began to grow anxious about my trip across the ocean as I packed my suitcase but knew that only professionalism would be appropriate. After a long day of scheduling, overseeing, designing, machining, and negotiating, I rolled onto my bed and slowly began to drift into deep sleep.