I should be reading or napping but right now I cannot do either. I am currently sitting in the Admiral’s Lounge at the Chicago-O’Hare airport. It’s nice up here; they have free coffee and snacks. There is also a no cellular service room. I’m not in there; in fact, no one is which is just as funny as having the room to begin with. In a while I may splurge and buy lunch but for the moment I’m content. The view is pleasant. Off in the misty distance I can see the fabulous Chicago skyline. Below me, mid-sized planes, 737’s, MD-80’s, come and go. One was escorted by two fire trucks, an ambulance, and two SUV’s sporting emergency lights. The plane pulled up to the gate and the emergency vehicles dispersed, each in its own direction. That, I must admit, was odd. The occasional snowflake flutters by.
The flight to get here was mostly uneventful. An older gentleman was moved up to first-class due to lumbar surgery he’d recently had. He talked-a lot. I found it funny. One of the other passengers did not. I found that funny too. The OG was on his way to New York to give a speech. He must be well connected-or he lies to his cell phone-making calls to the White House Press room and the NSA. They were personal calls. He has friends in high places. I think he irritated Cathy, our flight attendant, who was not in the military. Go ahead, ask me how I know that. :) “What is your name? Is that with a K or a C? Ah, queen Catherine. All those ‘Yes, Sirs,’ were you ever in the military? Do you need any help with that?” I could only smile. When he wasn’t talking to Cathy he would talk to himself or sing. He napped for a bit and so did I. Certainly the irritated man in the row behind me was most happy at that point.
I love flying. I love seeing the earth from above. Cities are beautiful, organized yet organic. Sleeping parks and cemeteries and baseball diamonds; empty pools and crowded roads, all looking like carefully crafted toys-like a model railroad set. Halfway to cruising altitude and you can see the bending and buckling of the earth; ridges and scarps and mesas and canyons; Mother Nature’s beautiful scars. Then beyond and further up the snowcapped mountains of the Rockies meeting up with Colorado’s very flat plain. Eventually, farms and meandering rivers appear and small towns where only their grid patterned streets are discernable. I like airports, too. I like watching planes and people. Like the young man in the grey suit who was on my flight. He could pass as Mark Walberg’s baby brother. Same hair, same facial lines. Nice. I saw both Joel and Nick at the Sunport. Both are scheduled to arrive before me. Ah, well. They’re not sitting in the Admiral’s Lounge.
Now it is time for lunch.
No comments:
Post a Comment