05.26.05 - 1:14 p.m.

I felt an extreme rapport with everyone on my May 15th flight to Oakland, which had an extreme candy store atmosphere. We were all going to the same place. We were all laughing. We could all smell the syrupy sweetness that permeated the cabin. I found gummy bears in the seat pocket in front of me, and I helped a mother hand back lollipops to the rest of her family. When the plane started her engines both the man to my right and I hunkered down to peer out the window and folded our hands respectfully to greet the sky once again.

* * *

I'm on Flight 563 from SFO to Vancouver, and the spunky Asian chick "Tomato juice, no ice!" sitting to my left has been thoughtfully perusing the stupid quotes and inspirational stories embedded throughout her agenda book for the entire flight. This plane is stocked with babies, too. It's an Airbus (i think this is my favorite brand name) and has swirly upholstery. Spirals signal entrances to the underworld, and all our chairs eerily mimic the photos of Cherokee pictographs from North Dakota that I'd just been appreciating in an airport hallway. A half-dozen passages to Hell, conveniently located in the seat-pocket in front of you.

Now the diagonally-seated babies are making contact, determinedly reaching to touch fingertips across the aisle. And now we've made contact with that Vancouver ground.

see< >saw

i whisper hello to everything