Time out of mind

We are tucked up in the airport Ramada Inn, watching the original Planet of the Apes for the first time. We are surprised at the insight and getting good laughs from it. They should have frozen Charlton Heston right here for all time.

Tomorrow we fly to France. Air travel is always like stepping out of time. From the moment we enter the airport, or in this case the airport motel, we are outside the normal movement of people and their activities. Time stops--there is nothing one can do except follow the TSA rules, read, walk, wait and endure; 24+ hours later we arrive in Labastide. It’s a very weird feeling.

I’ve had a couple of Manhattans so daresn’t write too much. And if you think I make up words (I admit I do occasionally), let me tell you that when I attended Weaver Airline School in Kansas City, Missouri too many years ago, a friend there who was from Pennsylvania consistently used the word “daresn’t.” So there.

We’ll write again from Labastide.