Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Home again

Just got home from a very fast trip to Atlanta.Aren't you just fascinated by the sea of humanity that passes through an airport? I mean, every size, shape, race, age, socio-economic status flows past as you sit and wait for your next flight. I'm not one of those people who makes up stories about peoples' lives as they stroll or hurtle by. I'm not that creative. Plus when I travel my brain just goes into stupid mode. Shuttle from one gate to the next, sit for long periods of time, tolerate perfect (or really, really imperfect) strangers in uncomfortably close proximity, try not to scream at the person in the security line who acts like it never occurred to them they might have to take their laptop out of their carry on, or take their shoes off before moving through the little body scanner thing. That's about all my brain can handle. Creativity goes out the window.

Mostly I think catty thoughts like what was she thinking when she put those shoes on this morning, or that there must have been a nationwide discounted sale on capris for women over 40 and I missed it, or that he does NOT need that Cinnabon, or that, honey, no one ever said that a navy jacket would look good with that black dress.

I'm mostly fascinated by the women who are traveling alone, like me. Where are they going? Are they working? Are they traveling to visit family? I couldn't help but overhear a few phone convos...

"Honey, would you put that load of laundry in the dryer? But not for very long. And don't dry my blue shorts. And hang my pajama bottoms up to dry. Don't just drape them over something though. Use one of those hangers with the clips, shake them out and hang them upside down. I don't want to have to iron them" Makes you wonder what made her rush away before handling this herself, as she is so obviously used to doing.

Or "Well tell Matthew if he can't make good choices, I'll make them for him!" This one left me imagining the 15 year old boy who was the subject of this cell phone wisdom.

It's always a challenge for any woman to leave her little kingdom in another's hands. But somehow, when we come back, it's still there. And we're grateful for feeling needed while we were gone.


Stephen said...

(touching back of left hand to forehead and raising eyes and eyebrows to heaven) Oh, how much fuller my life might have been had so much of it not been squandered ironing pajama bottoms. Seriously, what planet was this again?
OK, now that I think about it, it might be fun to make mock phone calls in the airport - you know everyone's listening. "...yeah, and we seriously need to move the bodies out to the farm. The neighbors are starting to suspect." Could also make for along, uncomfortable interview with some humorless folks from TSA.

Cari said...

Yep, the thought of long, uncomfortable interviews with the TSA keep me silent and in my place in line while folks fumble with their keys and laptop and watch and belt and loose change and the present for Aunt Betty and their shoelaces. There is no humor at the airport. Unless you're flying Southwest.