I left the damp and sepia plains at 6.30 in the morning and drove in a very bumpy bus up to Chicago. Sometimes I question whether these buses produce their own sneaky versions of square wheels. The jiggling out of focus red hat of the man in the front of the bus was a welcome accent.
I flew United. I have no interest in frills when I travel, merely arrival after an uneventual timely departure and I am fascinated by the maturity and near exhaustion of the United attendants hanging in there until they are eligible for their pensions.
I was entertained for over an hour by a beautiful Asian girl dressed in white wool, her hair falling straight to her glasses, her feet in sheepskin boots, her bright bag a pillow behind her back. Her head was bent forward to show the pale nape, as she harvested the tiny fruit jewels out of a pomegranate, delicately picking them into her hand using her pink chipped fingernails as a miniscule tool with studied exclusive precision, popping them from her hand to her mouth one by one, she did not chew, merely smacked her mouth and swallowed, in a tiny satisfied moue, drinking the fruit down, daintily wiping her fingers on a paper towel between each tiny taste.
Chicago did not bother to wave goodbye. It had other things on its mind. Shock at the exquisitly warm overcast day being one of them. This much heat in December is unsettling. My plane landed without fuss in LA four and a half hours later.
I drunk a bottle of Corona in the airport, as I made my “I am almost there!” calls, the waiter trying to close me out five minutes after I got there because he was Off at three. I did not mind being hustled for his tip. I appreciated the honesty.
Our departure two hours later from L.A. was delayed somewhat when the pilot realised he had lost his petrol cap. Or the flap was open or something. So he reparked the tiny plane, powered down, came out of his cramped switch laden cabin and as he opened the door and lowered the steps he announced with a laugh, that he was going outside to sort this out himself. We were comforted as his well cut grey head descended. I have always wondered why pilots often have beautiful silver hair. Is it a prerequisite?
Bound for the Central Valley – California; family, fast internet and food! And a lovely cold glass of sparkling wine.
Good morning. Have a lovely day. See you tomorrow.