When I fly I wear comfy shoes (usually my Keens or Birkenstocks) with socks so I can take the shoes off and still have warm feet when I curl up in my seat and pass out before we even taxi. I wear jeans because in the event of a water landing, they can be used as a flotation device according to a Dateline report I saw years ago. I wear a t-shirt and either a light sweater or a hoodie because I get cold on planes, but I like to be able to quickly disrobe when I hit my destination.

I wear whatever jewelry I’m bringing with me so I don’t have to worry about which bag I put it in or losing it.

I arrive at the airport on the average of 2 hours early, because I exist at the whim of Murphy and I’m obsessed with planning and allowing adequate time for any task.

I walk to my gate at Hartsfield instead of taking the train, regardless of which concourse I’m destined for / arriving from. I’m usually sweaty by the time I get there (see also: previously mentioned layers) but I don’t mind. Tough skat for whoever has to sit next to me. I just hope it’s no one I know.

The two hours of bonus time affords me the opportunity to return calls, read, watch CNN Airport Network (shameless plug), cool off and people watch. The people watching is the best part, especially when it’s a flight to Anchorage…the combination of social classes, grooming habit levels, and fashion non-statements make me a happy girl. I’m a tireless spectator of the familial interactions, lovers tiffs, food tug-of wars, crying babies, crying grown ups, and singles scoping out the crowd for their potential airborne love connection. It’s all fodder for my idle mind and lackluster imagination. That last one repulses me to no end, BTW - the airport hookup is just plain sleazy, sketchy and suspect. It’s right up there with going to the grocery store when you’re hungry or finding a partner after last call.

The smells surrounding me just now are less than enticing, hosting a hint of vinegar and too much bargain bin perfume with intermittent waves of ice cream/ waffle cone joining the assult. The air is stale, the lighting is less than flattering and yet I feel every bit as comfortable in the pleather and steel chairs as I do with their cousins who comfort my bum while doing time in hospitals. That’s not sarcasm folks, I really am actually comfortable in hospitals – which is a long story (21 years worth) that I may or may not expand on in the future.

Growing up when we’d get bored during the summer months, we were known to hit the airport soley for entertainment value. More than once the girls and I piled in the car and headed down Minnesota with our Marlboro reds and The Cure blaring through the open windows. There were a good many military youngins who would make their way through town, making a stop over on the way to a crappy station assignment on Unalakleet or Adak. We’d strike up a conversation, take them on a tour of town and end the night over Chinese.

It really is a wonder we didn’t end up dead, we did some excessively stupid shit back then.

I guess it demonstrates one of the things I remember as a bonus about growing up there, never a worry about child abduction, gang violence, grafitti, litter or much of anything else you might consider bad. We had litter, sure, but as I recall every school in Anchorage had a “clean up” day where we’d all go out and – you guessed it – pick up trash. It was the America poets wrote about, the beauty Thoreau and the like articulated beautifully but could never capture. No one can. She’s pristine, this land of my nearly forgotten years, she’s spectacular and remains innocent despite her having been used and abused since she was found.

The flight time today is 7hours and 33minutes, the temperature is 60 on the other end and I’m remembering that my trip to Dublin last September boasted similar statistics.

One last bit - use the newly enabled commenting functionality over the 10 days (but you don’t hve to stop there) to let me know what you want to get out of this trip. Pictures, state/local history, gruesome details of family adventures, etc.. I’m sure you’ll get all of the above whether you like it or not, but it’s always polite to ask.