Too much of a good thing. I’m on a Delta flight beside a couple of Trump supporters. Somehow they leaped to that so quickly after we sat down in our seats. The context was their disappointments about California vs. Tennessee where they plan to move and live in a modular house.
March madness, I have been in New York three times, London, San Francisco, Nashville. Too much travel. Ending with cozying up in the tiny seats next to the Trump supporters who hopefully will tumble over to Tennessee. California is too blue for some people. It’s blue all right.
In the movies, when people travel through airports, it always seems kind of romantic, like people are floating through air and getting ready to ride a sky chariot. In actual airports, there is a grind and whistle of badly dressed people (sometimes sweatpants, sometimes pajamas) often smelling dirty and wasted, wandering, rushing, looking discombobulated, frustrated; the maw of humanity at its least organized. I’ve been part of it all, running in my bare feet in my boots, in my flip flops, in sandals and high heels, I have run past people drinking beer at 10 in the morning.
In April, I’m home all month. I plan to garden, plant, read, think, write, run, work and Mark and I will celebrate our birthdays.