Airports Part II

In Denver now.    Still en route to San Antonio.

The plane ride up was on a propeller-powered plane--low altitude, so it was bumpy and over-the-hill-on-a-roller-coaster-y. At one point, there was a 50/50 chance I was going to use the disposable paper bag.

At that point, I thought, "If it comes to that, I'll at least have a good story for the blog." Because that kind of story always turns out well in print.

I fell on the "no-incident" half of that proposition.

***

I used to look forward to travel as an exciting opportunity to talk to strangers.

But everyone--and as I sit at this gate, I'm telling you: everyone--is plugged into a device, or thumbing madly at one. A couple of people are both thumbing and talking to the person they are traveling with.

So that's the way we're going to be? Fine. I've got a device of my own. . .

***

And it turns out that when I pulled it out to make some notes, the screen came up immediately, though I thought I had powered it off for the flight.

People! If my portable electronic device had caused our plane to -- ugh. No point in completing that sentence.

But the flight was smooth, low-altitude not with standing.

What is the point of turning off such devices?  I'm serious.  Do we know the answer to that question?

***

I stopped in a bookstore just to see.

Found a novel by Lee Child, a terrific, terrific story-teller, and I'm pretty sure I haven't read it yet.

Mom would say this, still says this. "Let me see. . .have I read this one? I can't remember."

This was madness to me. And she's been saying it for at least 30 years.

I know now: It's not a memory problem. It's a pulp fiction genre problem. This action books are all the same. Their titles rarely have much to do with the plots. From start to finish, they are products to be sold, not art created to evoke.

And I really like them. I might even read it when I get to the hotel, too.

***

I also bought a set of 3 Moleskine notebooks. Oh, Moleskine. You are so nice to tuck into my purse.

I met you last year when I decided to get a date book for the first time since college. I loved you all year long. Something about that sturdy cover, the vanilla-colored paper, the feeling that I am a woman with something to do when I write down my somethings onto your pages.

But I couldn't find the right version of you this year!

And I never did get used to how you made Sunday the last day of the week on the month-at-a-glance. All year long, I thought Tuesday was really Monday.

So I found a Meade at Target, and she does the job well enough. But to have a plain little Moleskine in my pursue now, in which I will write notes often of things I want to remember for the blog--well, it's a reunion that is so happy, it augurs well for my whole trip.

When I write them in you, I will feel like a woman with something to write.

***

I switched purses this morning and failed to pack a pen. All these things I want to write for the blog--that I was going to jot into my new Moleskine--I cannot now jot.

Buy a pen at the bookstore?
For two lousy bic ballpoints, they wanted $2.19. Just couldn't do it.
Especially because I knew that a lousy Bic was waiting for me--for free!--on my hotel room's desk.

So I found the gate, sat down, powered up the netbook--which happened quickly!--and took care of business.

All of which I could have accomplished without the notebooks, the search for too-expensive pens, the powering up--if I had a device that my thumbs could write on.

But, come one, with this pressure sleeve, how long could my right thumb go?