24 December 2005 23:30
I was standing by my window on one cold and cloudy day when I saw that hearse come rollin' for to carry my mother away.I got chills down my spine this morning hearing Johnny Cash drawl out the opening lines to that song.
Oh I followed close behind her, tried to hold up and be brave. But I could not hide my sorrow when they laid her in the grave.
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tonight I and my fellow passengers were treated to a spectacular sunset sequence...although I never did actually get to see that actual sunset. dropping through a scattered layer off the coast the sun was actually blocked from sight but we could see the peculiar orange tint off the waves. turning downwind we were decending past the east edge of overcast layer with bottoms around four thousand feet. again, we couldn't actually see the sun, but i saw the sunset in a way i never have before--below the horizon. with the sun aproximately five degrees above the horizon, and the cloud layer blocking sight from around five degrees below the horizon and up, what we actually saw was the crimson orb reflecting off the fractured waters of the swamp/everglades west of fort lauderdale. every single puddle of water (and there are quite a few of them in florida) was reflecting vibrant oranges and reds. literal reds. I'm used to orange reds, but this was practically Christmas holly red.
turning base turned us south, sitting on the left side that was the last I saw of the sun. instead I could see fort lauderdale spread beneath and beyond me, with the dirty orange band where the sun's rays were hitting furthest about halfway to the Atlantic. you could see that downtown was already below the curvature of the earth.
next on our taxi in was the colour graduations on the cumulous buildups over the beach. dim pink from dark to light as you rose up, then suddenly you could see where direct sunlight was hitting the top two or three hundred feet. hot neon pink gives an idea of the vibrancy. not a nauseating neon pink, but a vibrant neon pink.
i was surprised in all at the differences in colours, they are richer here in florida than in jamaica. more pollution? less? different (industrial versus agricultural)?
i can't describe scenery. having just read a couple narnia books, I don't know why I bother trying. lewis does it so well.
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there's a young gentleman sitting across from me, bouncing a two year old on his knees. he's within a year or two of my age, probably 23 to 25 or 26. his little girl is going to be one of the sophisticated high-maintenance types later in life, she's chattering quietly to herself while crawling all over the place. not rowdy, but definately full of energy. he's trying to keep her occupied while doing something on his laptop at the same time--even though I would describe entertaining her as a full-time job.
he looks like a farm boy; loafers, clean faded jeans, a vertical striped button up shirt over a tan t-shirt, standard farm-boy haircut (about 1.5 inches long, no part...just laid over whichever direction's easiest)--conservative and down to earth. kinda reminds me of a rhodes i know in dayton. haven't seen the other half (he's got a ring), she's probably with family at another gate since he just came to use the same outlet i'm using. flying somewhere for Christmas. he stuck out to me one, because he doesn't match anyone else here (yuppies one and all); and two, because i can see by his manner and dress that he's not too different from me...except he's got a two year old.
Mom (who's seen her fair share of pregnant fifteen year-olds in twenty-odd years working labor and delivery) always had a tendency to hammer home her "think first, get married first" campaign with pointed observations about the kind of havoc a dependent would wreck on whatever lifestyle I would happen to have at the time. as I was a good little Christian ({choke, choke}), she was preaching to the choir. still it had the effect of training my mind to follow her mental footsteps, giving me this observation:
kids and my current way of life don't match. not only don't they match, they clash.
that said, those whose curiosity has risen to unnecessary heights can rest disappointed in the fact that I have no intentions of changing my current wild and wanton lifestyle (that is, lots of work, no sleep, and no actual life).
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oh yes, the Christmas spirit is rampant here. waiting to check through TSA i was behind a family of four or five rednecks, all shouting authoritatively to each other how to go through a checkpoint. "take your shoes off!" "take your belt off!" "no Mom, put your purse on the belt!" "do you have any change?!" "here, give me your change!" "you're blocking the isle, get out of the way!"
so far the farmboy and his family have been the highlight...looks like they're on my flight to DC. she's tomboyish with her dirty blond hair chopped off well above her collar in popular style amongst tomboys, where they're constantly pushing it behind their ears. the rhodes look-alike is getting his book read now that she's chasing their daughter up and down the carpeted concourse. they look and sound tired, but at least they're still smiling.
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have i ever mentioned how much i hate airports?
It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the phrase, 'as pretty as an airport.' Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. --adams (long dark teatime of the soul)
airports are one of the lonliest places on earth when you're traveling by yourself. i'd rather be stranded by myself for 24 hours in the gobi desert than to spend two hours stranded in any major international airport.
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speaking of cslewis, i learned a valuable lesson last week when I left my lunch at home. (this has stronger repercussions when you're leaving on a six hour flight over open water instead of going to spend the day within two minutes walk of five different resturants/cafes/fast food joints).
I was established in cruise, and as soon as feasible took up reading "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe", which I had brought along. Something that I've noticed years before was brought home with dreadful clarity. CS Lewis has this fascination with food in his Narnia books, and talks about it incessantly--how good and rich and fulfilling it is.
first he freshens you for the kill by spending half a chapter telling you how tired and hungry his charachters are. then he launches into something particuarly sadistic like the following:
Just as the frying-pan was nicely hissing Peter and Mr Beaver came in with the fish which Mr Beaver had already opened with his knife and cleaned out in the open air. You can think how good the new-caught fish smelled while they were frying and how the hungry children longed for them to be done and how very much hungrier still they had become before Mr Beaver said, "Now we're nearly ready." Susan drained the potatoes and then put them all back in the empty pot to dry on the side of the range while Lucy was helping Mrs Beaver to dish up the trout, so that in a very few minutes everyone was drawing up their stools (it was all three-legged stools in the Beavers' house except for Mrs Beaver's own special rockingchair beside the fire) and preparing to enjoy themselves. There was a jug of creamy milk for the children (Mr Beaver stuck to beer) and a great big lump of deep yellow butter in the middle of the table from which everyone took as much as he wanted to go with his potatoes, and all the children thought - and I agree with them - that there's nothing to beat good freshwater fish if you eat it when it has been alive half an hour ago and has come out of the pan half a minute ago. And when they had finished the fish Mrs Beaver brought unexpectedly out of the oven a great and gloriously sticky marmalade roll, steaming hot, and at the same time moved the kettle on to the fire, so that when they had finished the marmalade roll the tea was made and ready to be poured out. And when each person had got his (or her) cup of tea, each person shoved back his (or her) stool so as to be able to lean against the wall and gave a long sigh of contentment.
at twenty-four thousand feet with four hours ahead of you to your destination and the next possible source of food, it's almost enough to make you weep.
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(Nitty Gritty Dirt Band -- Will The Circle Be Unbroken)
23:30 email me permalink / commentary (1)
i hate airports too. I especially dont like security and the TSA. I dont mind people watching. I spent four hours in Denver waiting for my flight. I saw the same discription u did but it was a girl with a one year old daughter.
cant wait to talk to you :) 29 December, 2005 01:52 – 
Sarah
