My flight was delayed a bit, so I got to enjoy Mobay VIP club for an hour or so before getting on a plane. I was sad to leave but also eager to get back home, like always. On the connection in Atlanta, the Delta flight back to Los Angeles was running on time, and they had no intention of waiting a few minutes for me to make it through customs -- as other airlines would do as a courtesy.

I literally made it by five seconds. They were just closing the door as I scurried down through the terminal and screamed "hey!" from about fifty feet away, and so they waited for me. Had I not yelled out, that would have been it, and I would have had to stay in Georgia until the next morning -- what a friggin' nightmare that would have been.

My luggage didn't make it home, and god was was I tired upon arriving at LAX (3:30 a.m. Jamaica time) and waiting for it. Delta said they would deliver it the next morning or early afternoon, but my bag did not arrive at my doorstep until 1:30 in the morning the following day. Delta, Delta, Delta. The gift that keeps on giving.

It's been nearly four weeks since I've been home. I still think about Negril every day, even when I'm off the board. I have a patio in front at my condo in a suburban neighorhood about an hour's drive north from LAX where I like to enjoy my meals, and every time I see the trees swaying, I make pretend I am back at the Seastar Inn.

It's always going to be that way.