Of Departure And Arrival

I've always loved stories about being trapped, Rapunzel letting her hair down, Scheherazade spinning story after story to save her life, Bluebeard's curious new wife waiting for her brothers to save her from sure death at the hands of her husband. Because let's face it, we're all a little trapped -- by the past, by our choices, by the limitations of our minds, bodies, by money, by energy or lack thereof. Recently on an airplane, I heard a passenger getting irate with the stewardess who finally snapped and said, I only have two hands. Look around. There's a lot of people who feel just as bad as you do. Which was the truth. There were people trying to keep babies from crying and young children from flipping out from sheer boredom, there were people who looked ill and tired, the look of the airport, of departure and arrival, people trying to make conversation, people trying to avoid it. I often write letters on planes as it takes my mind off the immediate bad feeling and the strange setting usually opens me up in ways that I otherwise would not. In the strange, ironic way of life, I am free in this way to tell the truth, to write people things about myself that I could never say in person.

When I was a child, I rode in one-seater airplanes with my dad all the time. He'd put me in the part of the plane reserved for the luggage -- being a skinny child who hated to eat, I stayed under the baggage weight of eighty pounds right up until my teenage years. I loved being in the luggage area, right behind my dad who flew wherever we wanted to go. It was such a small space to be tucked into, but I didn't mind. I kept up a continual patter of conversation over the engine's roar. I already knew all about the front of the plane, the black box with all the flight information, the controls. The one time my dad let me take over the controls, I sent us right into a nosedive. He laughed and pulled us out. I was never afraid; there wasn't much he couldn't fix. I didn't feel trapped then, just protected. Even though I couldn't move much, there wasn't anywhere I wanted to go.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Of what is past, or passing, or to come." William Butler Yeats

Cocktail Hour
Drinking television show suggestion: Tell Me You Love Me It's a little depressing, not big on the ha has! and very sexually graphic, but realistic enough to make you squirm a bit as you watch, enough to need a drink.

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Emmy's Night! Good luck to all The Sopranos cast! And a special shout out from Baby Grouchie goes to his special friend, Whitey the Bear! Happy Sunday to all!