Observations From Zone 4, Seat 8 F

I'm on my way to Denver, to meet the new love of my life; Beatrice Haven Hollinger.  I'm taking an airplane. I haven't been on an airplane in over a year and I can taste excitement like an egg sandwich on sourdough with mustard.  In other words, it's a pungent and savory feeling.  It'd be easier, I think to myself in line , if public nudity was legal in the airport.  Then we could all dress after security.  Oh.  Wait.  We do that now. A young man told me I was beautiful.  He was operating the full body scan so he may have meant internal beauty.  I don't know.  I grab my things and head to the large waiting area and settle in.

 It always strikes me to look around and notice the others nearby, getting ready to board the same plane as me.  It occurs to me, if something happened, how quickly we would go from total strangers to dependence on one another.  Adversity does that.  I grab my pen and reach for paper to capture these thoughts writing themselves in my head.  I smile when a "love note" from my girl stayed at home falls out of my book.  Gosh, I love her.

People flying to Denver have a look about them, all woodsy and hiking bootish.  Like they'll live off the land even in the plane.  Men with graying pony tails and stubbly beards.  I check to see if the women have stubble also.  No.  But there is a certain rusticity to them.  It's like a people patina.  The clothing 20 somethings can wear and still look good, I note wryly, is very different than a 50 something. That screaming baby is off to a good start, I think.  Please don't sit by me, please don't sit by me.  Please don't. Cute guys never sit by me on an airplane.  Never.  That baby does though.  How old is that kid anyway?  Can you give birth at the airport and then just get right on a plane??

The airport voice begins over the loudspeaker.  Two observations concerning announcements; "It'll be just another ten minutes."  That is a lie.  They mean 20.  It's like football game time.  "There's an additional charge for that."  They could be referring to anything from a carry on bag to the air that you plan on breathing while in flight.

As I board the plane, I notice a sign above our heads. "Uneven Surface".  I think how that should be posted at the end of every birth canal.  Sort of airport speak for "In this world you will have tribulation."  I think it'd be fair warning.  I settle into the land of Seat 8F and the pilot begins giving us our life saving instructions at the monotone speed similar to the disclaimer on an infomercial.  I did manage to make out that our cabin "will be pressurized this morning", said in a tone that indicated there may have been other arrangements.

Let's visit the topic of airplane etiquette.   Me being me, usually assume in any situation, that my breathing alone may be enough to bother you.  So, on a plane?  I find myself in my window seat sequestered next to a man who hit the snooze button on seat impact.  I want desperately to read but it's dark and I don't want to turn on the overhead light which is, conveniently, located over his head.  No problem, I think.  It'll be light soon.  Until I remember that we are traveling west and it won't be light until we land.  So, I try and read People magazine through the braille method.  Don't judge.  Don't you even judge.  I also brought my bible and a Beth Moore devotional.  So, I'm entitled to brain dribble.  A bell rings in the cabin, sounding suspiciously like a door bell.  I so want to yell out into the dark cabin, "Will someone answer the door?"

Along comes the flight attendant with the beverage cart.  I ask for coffee and trail mix, thinking right highly of myself for my healthy choice.  It's spicy, she warns me.  So, here is where I find myself trying to ease a rice crispy treat out of a wrapper it's clinging to like a baby refusing to be born and the wrapper?  It's making sounds louder than a plane engine as I paw at it panicked to make it stop and not wake sleeping man.  I consider waking him to apologize.  I swallow the last drop of my coffee and suddenly remember my bathroom anxiety on a plane.  I begin praying fervently for a one time miracle where the liquid in my bladder will just miraculously disappear.  I silently curse sleeping man's slumber skills and the large smoothie I drank this morning.

The world is a glittering map from the air and I think what a privilege it is to be viewing it from God's footstool.  I think about how, at the first blush of my girls' pregnancy I reminded God that if He wanted me there in Denver, He'd have to do His thing.  I had no money for the likes of such an adventure.  I look look out the plane window.  "You did this, Father," I whisper.  "My times are in Your hands."  What a thing to have on the first day of a new year.  He has, indeed, made me glad