Traveling back to Colorado on Tuesday morning we found ourselves in the very last row on the airplane. Below is a photo of the space available to patrons occupying my seat. This pic is starring my very own knees.
Keeping in mind that I have lost an inch in height over the years, for the first time I am grateful for that shrinkage. If I were still at the towering height of 69 inches, I wouldn’t fit at all unless I turned sideways and encroached upon my neighbor’s meager space.
I do not love air travel. I do not like the fuss, the lines, the arrogance of the TSA people, and the feeling of being totally jerked around by the airlines. I deplore the cramped seats and the nano-snack bags containing several undistinguished pretzels – it would be better if the airline had the courage to say “On a flight this short we don’t think that you need to eat so we’re not going to give you anything.” (I do understand the logic behind the use of pretzels, however. They can be safely stored for hundreds of years.)
On the first leg of our return to Paradise Robin and I were in Row 38, the last line of seats. Behind us was the toilet and I am a little surprised that this space wasn’t sold as well. I think this is a missed opportunity for them. It could be billed as the throne of power.
Okay. Done complaining.
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One little vignette from the flight from Denver to Montrose. There was a cohort of men in uniform aboard, nearly all of them Native American, and all on their way to help fight fires in Ouray. When the plane landed the flight attendant came on the PA system and thanked these guys for the work they were doing. This was immediately followed by an outburst of clapping from the rest of the passengers throughout the plane. Sweet.
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I like the poetry form haiku, as I have mentioned before. I appreciate its economy and discipline. Using so few words can draw a picture or call up an emotion. It can illuminate something we might otherwise have missed. They are candid camera shots in verse. For myself, if I can’t say what I want in 17 syllables, perhaps I am better keeping quiet.
Darkness at two a.m.
green leaves of the ash tree wave
with the earth’s in-breath
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And lastly, we just passed the 150th anniversary of “Custer’s Last Stand.” The NYTimes did a really interesting article on the battle and its aftermath, along with a good representation of how artists have painted that story.
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Little Home In The Valley 