“Just got back from a pleasure trip:  I took my mother-in-law to the airport.”  –Henny Youngman



I love to fly, to look out at the blue that goes on forever.  It’s as if I can reach out and touch the hand of God.  

I imagine faces in the clouds or forests of white trees and enjoy the green of the Earth.  At night, I look out the window at the jewels of light known as cities, or appreciate the moon reflecting her light onto a sea of clouds.  

Turbulence?  No problem.  I enjoy the roller coaster ride.

Storm in the distance?  I love the contrast of dark within light.

What is my favorite moment of air travel?  When the wheels lift off the runway and we’re freed from the ground.

What about airports?


What is it about airports?

Walking through an airport is like looking through a latticework at water colors flowing past containing arms, legs, luggage and other weapons of mass disruption.  If people drove like they walk through airports, cars would’ve been banned years ago.

Most people are terrified OF the plane ride, not the journey TO the plane ride.  

In fact, most people think of this the moment they step onto the plane: 

plane crash

Or this:

“You want to know what its like to be on a plane for 22 hours? Sit in a chair, squeeze your head as hard as you can, don’t stop, then take a paper bag and put it over your mouth and nose and breath your own air over and over and over.” — Lewis Black .

Chaotic, confusing…airports are a rats maze.  

But Flying?  

Can you tell me of 1 person in the mid 1800’s who would believe that a mass of metal, plastic and passengers–over 100,000 pounds–could lift off the ground in Jacksonville, Florida and arrive in San Francisco in under 6 hours?  My great grandfather would’ve felt lucky to get there in 3 months.

Flying reminds me that miracles happen.