A thursday en route to france.

0848am

I’m sitting at PDX E5, curled up by the window, waiting for boarding and knowing the certainty and uncertainty of spending three hours in a middle seat to Chicago between people I don’t know.

But it’s okay. I’m through. There’s a family, eating and talking, a dozen seats down. We’re the only ones. TSA had one super-friendly fellow who was telling me how dumb it was that they even have the ‘Six Feet Distance’ markings anymore. Everybody’s crowded up. It’s like Portland cyclists cruising through lights ten seconds after Yellow’s turned to Red, or like Portland pedestrians just stepping out into the street, or like collectively agreeing en masse that President Number 45 was at very best possibly the second worst President ever.

And then there was the TSA woman who was barking at me for putting my iPad in a separate bin. I have been barked at before for not putting these things into separate bins, but I didn’t feel she felt much like my explanation, so I just let her glare at me, and secretly hoped that a lot of super-smelly people would go through her line today.

And finally I was through, which means I could put my belt on and keep my pants from falling down. Speaking of which, I am curious what my weight might be post-Paris…

…assuming I land, disembark, and navigate my way to Lanessa successfully. Don’t wanna jinx anything.

It was good to use a bathroom again. I did so, and a janitor fellow fixed one of the sinks behind me. I did not speak with him, as he was busying janitoring a pipe and I was busy at the urinal feeling better, because I was anxious and running on no-caffeine adrenaline.

I have 20 ounces of coffee now. I thought carefully about it, and decided it would be well worth it: to kick things off by journaling and masklessly-drinking joe for a few hours. Also, the drinking fountain outside E5 is broken, so I’m wondering if I should take the initiative and let the janitor know.

I have to step backwards a day. When I observe all the wondrous and different masses of humanity here, I marvel, and I also hope: please, I don’t want to talk to you, or sit by you. I just want to watch. Voyeur. I downloaded The Book of Eels and a couple others I don’t remember to Libby on my phone, and I brought a couple Paris books Mom gave me, and also I am verrry excited to wear the vest she included with the books. I think it’s packed in my black North Face backpack three-quarters of the way down.

I say “I think” because I can’t actually be completely sure. I think it’s in there, because my two-year old helped me pack yesterday. I’ve seen children of various ages scampering and scuffling across the airport carpet, and every time I smile, and miss my own, and think:

Is there any parent here who received the level of help packing that I received from my son yesterday?

He was my right hand packing man, with me every step of the way. He folded and unfolded underwear, re-paired socks, swapped out shirts, tried on pants, shuffled batteries, tested cameras, and provided enough ongoing narration and conversation to last a dozen transatlantic trips. I can not imagine getting ready for this trip without his assistance. Point is, I have a memory of this trip already inextricably tied up with him.

Three brothers and a goat playing and digging in a field on a later October afternoon

Others: watching 11- and 4-year old boys in the pasture a monster chunk of yesterday, playing with a goat, frolicking with a cat, finding a Pacific green tree frog, going hard in the wind and rain and yellow-green weed & mole farm we have going. I loved it. Watching my 14-year old daughter skitter her way from writing responses to Reading Lolita in Tehran and Persepolis to Moana dance rehearsal in the living room, to shaking my head at the way she pounces on her siblings, ever-keeping them on their toes as to whether she’s going to wrestle, read, or snuggle. I loved it.

I also have a few episodes of often-funny, often-violent The Boys downloaded. I don’t know why I get self-conscious about watching things with people looking over my shoulder. I need to be courageous and just do it, like a mix of Joshua 1:9 and Nike.

It’s always hard for me to look forward without looking back simultaneously. Looking at the people that have put me into the position of having this opportunity, as well as the many ways in which they have made my life incredible and rich.

My brother, eager little beaver Canada John, jumping in to volunteer me an airport drop off and anything else. Without hesitation. It’s a gift that is so easy to take for granted; the gift of daily relationship building and tiny convos building into something huge over time. To have that is an exceptional honor, gift, and privilege.

Me and my bro saying goodbye for two weeks (photo courtesy of Jonny Long, principal at Fly View Productions)

My mom racing over to help with kids and so excited for my travels and ready to hear and ask and jump in and load me up with books and…just to have people excited for you. Such a wonderful thing.

Becca at home, juggling work, school up north, school at home, an early toddler, an older toddler, an adolescent boy, a teen girl, making food, cleaning up food, cleaning up non-food, keeping kids safe and being kind and learning and getting where they need to be...solo.

And she is excited for me. Amidst all that.
Pretty grateful.

I’m not even there yet, and I’m already looking forward to going back.

With you. And you. And you.

We need to just purchase a little* French residence to live in a couple months of the year.

*big

Chicago's O'Hare Airport, Terminal 1, Concourse C

0911am haiku

TSA long line
Nice guy, not so nice woman
Now I put belt on.

Coffee with a mask
Many humans, six feet still?
No, reality.

Flight attendants wait
A smile, even with mask
It matters, it does.

0922am

Chatted with Julie, who made the mistake of smiling at me from underneath her mask. I deduced she was crew after observing some of the clues on her, such as the lanyard badge hanging around her neck that says “Crew.”

She has at least one child in college and generally flies international, though currently she’s on a domestic stint to Newark. She loves walking around in Paris, and is also a big fan of Munich, Berlin, and Tel Aviv.

She had seven months off during the heart of the pandemic, but has been working since, and is continually frustrated by passengers with mask issues. “It’s not that hard, people!”

When flying to certain places, such as Tapei, Auckland, and Tel Aviv, she, along with all crew, is literally locked into their rooms. Can’t leave hotel. In Australia, police physically escort them to their rooms. Crazy. Tel Aviv is nice, sort of, because at least there’s a balcony where she can sit and see the beach a tantalizingly short distance away.

She was friendly after I said hi. It’s so nice, so so nice, to have people be decent and friendly.

—————-

THOUGHTS AND OBSERVATIONS EN ROUTE

Dream - Xavier Rudd, in honor of Becca
Heart - Jimmy Eat World
French Exit - Antlers
Swapped seats with a Penn State alum; got a window, talked about Lanessa, clown school, and how much cooler she is than me.
Watched Search Party episode 1.
Ate some trail mix, courtesy of Becca and Trader Joe’s.
Drank a black coffee and full can of Bloody Mary. Do they go together? Not especially. So why? Well, for the same reason I got black coffee: I have certain rituals on airplanes.
United generously provided a bag of pretzels, which were not from Trader Joe’s.
I get strangely self-conscious watching umm, romance scenes in a television show, while surrounded by strangers. It’s not that I care about their opinion of me, except that maybe I do a little and maybe it’s just a little too out there for me to fully enjoy a scene involving a couple conjoining when there are a bunch of other voyeurs peeping over my shoulder or glancing between the seats behind, and also maybe I never know if it might be some little kid and then I’d feel super sort of bad. Note: I am not watching episodes where conjoined couples contorting are the purpose and focus; that being said, those things are sometimes the natural course and occurrence in certain storylines, and they’re not always telegraphed ahead of time. Like in The Boys.
Took an uncomfortable nap with my Salty Raven sweatshirt metamorphosing into a pillow.
Ate some more trail mix. And a Nature Valley dark chocolate bar. Don’t worry, I still have three others stashed away.
Trying not to be anxious about making my connection. We get into O’Hare at 5.10...
...My flight to Paris starts boarding at 5.10...
At Terminal 1, Gate C23...
...and I’m not sure yet how far that is from where this flight gets in.
C’est la vie.
Usually, it’s after a night that I start missing Becca. But so far I haven’t even successfully done that. I keep glancing over to see where she and the kids are, and I wonder what each of them would be saying and doing if they were here right now.
Our 2-year old: “Nunny! Nunny! Man...blue...read book...read, Dada, read! Nunny Mama!?”
Our 4-year old: “Can we just be there? When are we going to see Lanessa? Can I watch WildKratts? I have to poop...can you come with me and wipe? But I need privacy too. Can I have some peanuts after I go poop?”
Our 11-year old: “Wouldn’t it be great if our goat could fly to France with us? Did you know that there’s one kind of frog in France that’s so toxic that just looking at it can kill you? France will be fun but I sort of wish we were going to Kansas instead. Except I guess it’ll be good if we can see Quentin Blake. Hey Daddy, should I have another Daily Dose of, you know, wink wink, my special dark chocolate?”
Our 14-year old: “Can we watch another episode of Once Upon a Time, or could I start Game of Thrones? *whisper* Hey, remember Flight Plan? I have an idea!! We could watch Red Eye on the flight home?! Oh, I meant to put the Moana soundtrack on my phone! I hope I don’t forget the choreography! Do you think we should go to the Eiffel Tower tomorrow? Wouldn’t it be so cool if we ran into Lin-Manuel Miranda in Paris?!”
Becca, to me: “Did you pay Verizon? I need to get back to Kelli about that one thing. Can the boys have some more peanuts?! I’ll nuh-nuh in a few minutes Es. Hey Jos, could you help our son in the bathroom? You! Yes you! PLEASE do NOT spill the pretzels! Mags, how do you connect these airpoddywoddy things? What time do we land? This is SO FUN GUYS, hee hee hee!”

In the Air, part II

1951 Eastern Time?
Somewhere over the Atlantic

Seat 50D. I have a row to myself. A row. A ROW.

That means I’ve got my stuff piled alongside, sprawled out sorta like…home.

The changeover at O’Hare wasn’t too bad. Can’t believe how flat everything was coming in. And crowded. Hightailed it from B2 to C10 in around 12 minutes, weaving David Beckham style through the hordes. Popped in line for Boarding Group 2…and got turned away to go stand in ANOTHER line, a very long line, to get a sticker.

A pink sticker. Needed to check my passport, vaccine card, and paperwork stating that “…on my honor,” I am not dealing with any COVID issues.

So I got my sticker, and…boarded. To where I’m at now. Becca was calling, and I kept trying to answer, but having troubles with calls or texts going through. Hoping it’s not a harbinger.

Anyway, through the first two anxiety points: getting on at PDX and making the O’Hare connection. Now it’s Customs and then figuring out how to transport myself to Etampès.

Supper: pasta, some sort of couscous salad thing, gelato, and a Sprite. In addition to more trail mix and my remaining string cheese. Actually wishing I hadn’t eaten the pasta.

Watched another episode of Search Party. The premise is intriguing, but it’s the co-stars who steal the show. No idea who they are.

Got a complementary pillow, blanket, and set of headphones. Free movies, although I think I’ll stick to reading, writing, and maybe watching something of what I have (Snowpiercer, The Boys).

Missing those creatures faster than I thought possible. It’s so strange thinking of not being there to hear the tales of glory and woe and mischief and judgment and hilarity that populates their every day. And mine, in their company.

I think Becca is hoping this trip will be good for me, in more than just a ‘two weeks in Paris’ kind of deal. An emotional reset, or reshift onto different right rails, something like that. Maybe I’m projecting. Hoping to fill some days with adventure and seeing new sites…

…and also hoping to have some big chunks of time to write, reflect, and plot out the next tributary we’ll take together on this river of life.

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