It’s a travel day. I’m headed home to Georgia from my writing week in Provincetown. And I enjoy these days. I adore airports. I like all the activity. It’s surprising that some people can get on a plane with only a small purse. I can’t imagine going somewhere without several books, my computer, the chargers, some notepads, a candy bar. My small black carry-on has two outside pockets and one contains a whole pocket of pens and pencils, and the other, the moisturizers.
I like the feeling of moving around the world–I can visualize the little dots showing my trajectory from place to place. My mother likes to say, where in the world is Cindy? I like being mobile. I always have. The first flight I remember: I was ten and my other grandmother, Buddy, was taking me to Europe on one of those tours–21 countries in 21 days.
Recently I’ve noticed just how much I like taking off–the picking up speed down the runway and then…airborne.
Hmmm… if I hadn’t already said my favorite day was staying in my pajamas, I’d be tempted to write here that my favorite day is a travel day. Curious. One day full of not moving, the other full of movement. The whole family/self two-halves-of-a-whole thing is over there in the corner, jumping up and down waving a flag.
I might be on to something. We’ll be talking more about this.