The Boston skyline to our right, a smudge of grey Legos. We rise into the foggy sky. Nothing to see. The roar asserts itself. And my prayer: Hail Mary, full of grace, etc. The window brightens. The child near it speaks, the innocent pitch of three years old? Four?
I forgot to text the boys a photo of where our estate binder lives. Four plane crashes this week – or is it five? – make this thought less casual than usual.
My knee socks sag into my ankle and a cold air blows on my skin. I’d ask for a blanket, but these days an airline blanket is about as warming as a big Kleenex. Next to me: a story about Santa. The father‘s voice a cocoon. I remember cocooning. Entertaining. Teaching while at it because, you know, language. Our four-year-old would’ve carried a Pikachu, not whatever yellow stuffed critter this boy has.
I’m waiting for our ascent to yield a view of the blue sky. Cold air blowing. Full of grace. Hallowed be thy name. Four hours, says the pilot. When we see the Rockies, it’ll be time to land. My ears squeak and the noise increases. We climb.
More ear crackles.
Jimmy Carter died yesterday. He was my first vote for president. I’m sad – beyond sad – that he didn’t live to see Harris elected. There’s some small measure of relief in knowing that he will lie in state while Biden is still governing – not that vulgar, greasy, venal, egomaniacal dick we shall soon call president. Can they bar the pig’s attendance, I wonder (on behalf of 74 million people)? The Lord is with me. Jimmy and Rosalyn together again is a nice thought, one being shared online by plenty of non-believers, I suspect.
The window brightens. But no, the child pulls the shade down. His little checkered slide-on Vans break my heart just a little. How time flies and all that. My heart will break more fully later on.
For now I am distracted by the lug of a guy behind me who seems to be fishing rather frequently through the pouch attached to my chair. Wait, did he just lean his head into my chair? I’m reminded of the flying scene in LAST HOLIDAY when Queen Latifah faces a similar problem. “How much for the damn cocoon?”
It wasn’t a particularly festive holiday this time around. There was a kind of relief in the quiet, but also curiosity about the flat mood.
I’m not sure it would’ve been apparent to an onlooker — the tree lit up, cookies baked, a holiday meal. There was even, against recent years’ expectation, snow. But it all felt dull. It was as if I’d set a timer and was waiting for it to run out – not to get to that magical moment but rather to get on with whatever’s next.
Whatever’s next is where the Catholic prayers belong. Now and at the hour of our death.
Turning my head the other way, there it is at last – blue sky, white cotton balls below. We’re above the clouds! How the miracle of aviation never disappoints!
Hours later, closer by — window shade slid back open. The landscape below is patchworked brown, here and there a snaking curl of water catching the sun. We see roads, chips of cars, and now and then, buildings. The landscape is brown, brown, brown. I crane my neck. I can see the Rockies now. In the year 2024, almost 2025, they are snow-capped.
Peppa the Pig plays endlessly on a device on the boy’s lap. We are into hour four, remember. His father points out the window, but the kid could care less. His favorite episode ends. “Again!” he demands.
A corn maze appears, Mile High Farms carved into its gold crop — just for our viewing it would appear (well, and all the drones invading our airspace). “Again!” pipes the Vans-clad boy.
Denver shows up. More distant gray Legos. The ears begin to pop. “Again!” As a parent, I get it — keep them distracted, for everyone’s sake. But to have trained a little brain to crave a cartoon pig to the exclusion of looking out of an airplane window? I can’t stop thinking about it.
When the screen finally goes dark, my four year-old fellow traveler falls to pieces. Completely disregulated. Does the maelstrom of shrieks prove the wisdom of having Peppa the Pig on endless loop? I don’t think so. Over and over the boy screams: I peed my pants! I have to pee right now! I peed my pants! I have to pee right now!
PeePee the Pig?
Dee~ I had the same thought…”while Biden is still governing”. A small gift in hard times, but really a huge gift.
I love that movie and her so much.
Lastly, I wonder what this next generation will be like, how they will function (or not). Moving forward with years of consequences. huh.
Btw, I thought a lot about your very contrasting story from LAX (blog two days ago?) about the spontaneous and communal efforts of a bunch of women, strangers to each other, helping to calm a child down. I need to think more about how these scenes diverge.
Dee you left nothing to the imagination .. such detailed descriptions. Not only what you could see but the intermixed Hail Mary … I loved it and your description of who’s gonna be living in our White House is spot on. I’m thinking that is a large part of how we all had trouble being totally into celebrating anything. It’s hard to imagine what our future holds. Have a wonderful vacation!! Sending you and your family a New Year filled with Blessings Galore.
Thank you Tina for pointing out what should’ve been obvious to me. The election casting its dark shadow.
And a warm greeting to you and your family as well!
Jimmy Carter, a humble humanitarian, a statesman, a rare man…the contrast to what is coming is unbelievable!
Hail Mary indeed. I have not flown in many years but it was always white knuckle time and as an ex-Catholic, I always felt guilty when I lapsed into prayer…
Today is my blah humbug day. I had planned a delicious brunch for my sister in law and nephew for 11 am. At 10 am, my sister in law called, she is ill, flu, vomiting, etc. so no show…AND while I commiserated with her, lots of sick going around, I was also deflated cause I really spiffed up the house and even ironed my red tablecloth. My holiday bouquet, a gift from Rich, still looked good with a few trimmings and is the centerpiece. My one piece of gaudy touristy purchase from Ireland,, my Book of Kells place mats, so rich with color on the table, as our fancy crystal goblets for sparkling cider Menu: Buttery croissants, and what I call berries in the snow, blueberries ,raspberries, strawberries and blackberries tossed with shredded coconut. To top it all off, I made Southern Living’s Best Breakfast casserole consisting of a dozen eggs, half and half, hot sausage, green pepper, shredded sharp cheddar cheese, shredded pepper jack cheese all to be topped with homemade salsa… put on nicer clothes, a red Irish sweater cause I’m in that kind of mood, black slacks, more makeup than usual and my hair up in a twist- I match my house in spifiness! SO NOW WHAT!
Well Rich said that we will have our own special celebration and since the casserole feeds 12, we will be celebrating way into 2025!!! guess I should be happy that I won’t have to cook for a few days…humbug!
OMG that brunch. It sounds so luscious and well-thought out and festive. You and Rich will have to celebrate, as you point out, for many days. And honestly, I was relieved that it wasn’t you or Rich with the flu.
I don’t even care to vet if it’s true, but I read some place that Jimmy Carter gave us the last gift by dying within thirty days of the upcoming inauguration… Federal flags will still be flying at half mast.
I love that idea.
My kids have always put headphones on their kids’ devices while flying … but even so, the device withdrawals were often epic when they were little
It’s a small comfort that we will celebrate Jimmy Carter’s life under a Democratic administration … and yes, I remember casting my first presidential vote for him shortly after he and Gerald Ford debated each other at William and Mary (I remember standing in a crowd on Jamestown Road hoping to catch a glimpse as the limos rolled by)
I get the feeling of flatness … it’s gonna take some serious effort to stay positive this coming year … but I will bid you peace nonetheless because hope springs eternal