Thursday, April 29, 2010
I love to fly. Not so crazy about airports, but put me on the plane and I am content. The whole idea of getting into this huge apparatus, lifting off of the planet, and arriving somewhere thousands of miles away in just a few hours always amazes me.
I wish I could say that I easily strike up a conversation with the stranger sitting next to me, but usually the obligatory “where are you going, where are you from” is as far as I get. Typically, after those initial niceties, I get comfortable and try to sleep.
As I settled into my seat on the plane in Appleton, bound for Detroit, I looked across the aisle to where Val and Kari were fast in conversation; my daughter would be ok for now. A young woman with a baby took the seat next to me. I can’t remember anymore what her story was, but she was relieved to get the last minute spot on the plane. I could only assume that it was Brie’s seat she was in.
The baby was adorable, maybe eight months old, with round cheeks and thick curly hair. She laughed the entire flight, not bothered much by the ear-popping of takeoff and landing. All I could do was wonder if she was a precursor of things to come in Africa.