Here I am, somewhere over America. Well, not am as you are reading this, because I can't connect to the Internet while I am in the air. But am as I am typing. I can't tell where, exactly, over America I am (or was), because of the thick cloud cover below. I remember the first time I flew above the clouds in an airplane. Even with my junior-high-school-level knowledge of geography it didn't seem right that we were flying over Antarctica to get from Pennsylvania to Michigan.
This is the first-class leg of my journey, which I assume is karmic payback for suffering overnight in that cramped coach on the way out. Ordering lunch was interesting. Instead of going from front to rear in an orderly fashion recording choices, the flight attendant flitted randomly from seat to seat. But not randomly. Apparently, this was in order of priority on her list, as she addressed each passenger by name. Alas, I was next-to-last, and had no choice. But I got what I would have chosen, anyway. Let's hear it for liking the road less traveled.
I indulged in a glass of wine with lunch, even though it was before noon on the east coast. After all, it's late afternoon at my destination, and besides, I wanted one. I didn't see the label, but there were kangaroos hopping around the neck of the bottle - a White Tail chardonnay (is that one or two words?)? Must be the wine-of-the-month, as they had the same selection on our Hawaii flights. DH didn't like it, but maybe it was the food. I thought it was fine with the butter and cheese in my sandwich today.
A humongous oatmeal cookie and decent cup of coffee for dessert, and I'm ready to... nap? No, practice. I'm working on memorizing Chansome Triste, by visual, auditory, and intellectual approaches. I've finished reading Cumberland (see sidebar. Unless you are reading this post from the archives, in which case the sidebar will have changed. Instead, look for a book report that I will post later.) and am working on application. My seatmate is sewing away on a doll's quilt, and I am singing. What a creative little corner we have.