CHA-DFW-ONT; LAX-DFW-BMH – I love traveling, obviously. Most of what I do is by car, or semi, or Jeep. Today, I’m in airports. My youngest arrived from South Africa last Friday and I am on my way to spend 24 hours with her before she takes off for Japan. More on that later.
Airports are my favorite people watching place, and the only place that I feel qualified to be a member of the fashion police. Now, I’m not dressed particularly well today, my favorite capris, an oversized sweatshirt – but honestly, I just don’t care. Most of the people in this airport care, it shows in how carefully they have dressed, they just haven’t done it well. I mean, really, a royal blue Maxi made of stretchy jersey material on a larger woman – nope. Or what about the man in the khakis, looked great until you see the sleeveless mint green tshirt. I hate to say, but unless you are on the beach, sleeveless on men just doesn’t work.
I have a girlfriend from my previous work/life that I used to travel with, our favorite part about airports was making up stories about the people we saw. Generally it was a couple and we made up their life story from how they met to where they were going and why. We were never brave enough to go ask if it was true, but how fun it was to make it up.
One of my standard tasks before I fly is to clean out my handbag. I have this awesome Burberry bag that my friends bought me before I retired, I carry it everywhere. It is so big, I can put 40 pounds in it easy and still find my stuff. Generally it has a notebook and pen, my wallet, my sunglass case and a bank bag. The bank bag carries all the important docs I don’t want to be without, passport, check book, lottery tickets, stamps, that kind of stuff.
Today, when I cleaned out my bag, I realized how mobile we are. I had lottery tickets from Louisiana and Texas, a bookmark from my favorite used bookstore in Placerville, California; a book I picked up in Moab by a local author; 5 pounds of Mexican pesos (don’t ask me how much they are worth, that’s why I’m still carrying them); postcards I picked up at the Wrecking museum in Chattanooga and numerous other flotsam and jetsam that gets cast in to the bottom of a bag. I’m wearing sandals I got in Sacramento, sweatshirt from Idaho, blouse from Alabama and a ring from Utah. I’m very curious to see what is in my daughter’s handbag after four months abroad…do you think she hoards things like her mother?
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