I am away for a few days on a trip to see a friend, so I won't be posting for about a week. I've put up my blog posting on My Year of Cheese a couple of days early. I've watered the plants. I'm packed and ready. It's 6 a.m. and the flight doesn't leave until 6 p.m., and in my mind I'm already on it.
I know most people dislike airports. The hassle, the line-ups, the stress of it all. Well, true, it's a bit nerve wracking. But once I'm sitting in the departure lounge, looking out the big windows at the itty-bitty plane that's going to be carrying me off into the clouds, I'm blissfully happy. There's a feeling of adventure, of "Finally! I'm on my way!" The place is stuffed with possibilities. What would happen if I got on that plane instead of this one? What different lives are criss-crossing all around me? I like to watch other passengers and the way they deal with stress and boredom. I like to guess where they're from and why they're travelling and who will be waiting for them at the other end. I like imagining who they are talking to on their cell phones at 4 a.m., just to say "I'm at the airport." Surely anyone who knows them well enough to be woken by a 4 a.m. phone call already knows they're travelling.
There are so many places I want to see before I die. Iceland. Norway. More of Italy. Ireland. Northern Scotland and Wales. Australia would be amazing. Costa Rica. British Columbia and the Yukon. Cape Breton. The list goes on, but I think the highest priority is - of all places - Washington State, because I want to see my sister's farm. Hopefully next summer.
Maybe I like to travel so much because it's so wrapped up in stories, and I am, after all, a writer. Each person in the airport has a plot line they're following, and somehow on this particular day, they've all interwoven in this one space, for however brief a connection. It reminds me how we're all just little threads in a vast tapestry.
See you in a week!