NO FUMAR… I have read the sign that says this 42 times in the past several weeks. It was on the elevator at the hotel at which we were staying Inthemiddleofsomewhere,Fla.. The sign actually said No Smoking – No Fumar. Ok I get it. But you know, I couldn’t help thinking to myself, what if they hadn’t translated it for me. Would I have read it and thought that something was going to be missing on the free breakfast buffet? Dang, they are out of Fumar today and I really wanted some on my cereal. Or what if some frazzled mother, in a moment of desperation, had written that for her misbehaving child, Fumar. “NO FUMAR, Get your little big headed self back on this elevator!” Well I’m just glad it was translated for me. I have way too many other things to think about.
I got home yesterday and had 24 hours to relish it. Home is wherever your heart is. I’m lucky that my heart travels with me on the road. But there is something about going back to the barn, even for a short time that revitalizes in a way that nothing else can. Wandering in the yard, patting the animals who have wondered where in the hell we have been, making coffee in the morning, all take on a zen type quality, when you have been away for a bit. And then there is being able to sleep in your own bed. My GOD, isn’t that great. I have a big old poofy bed. The kind that when you jump onto it, you sink down and it folds around you like the pluff mud of the lowcountry. It’s the kind of bed that you wish for a “day” that you can pretend you are a kid again home with the sniffles, all laid up so that someone will bring you chicken soup and ginger ale cause you have to Stay In Bed, type of day. Now thats a bed to be envious of. And I miss it when I’m on the road. “Heavenly beds” not withstanding, there is nothing like my poofy bed.
I also miss my animals. The children. Being cats they are never jumping with joy when I come home, but rather like to put on the “were you gone , we hardly noticed” shroud of indifferance. At least they do this for a while. Finally, they can take it no longer and the fighting for lap space commences. They pretend to be cool, but their facade crumbles when a fresh can of tuna appears. Can’t fool me, I was missed, or at least my expertise with the can opener.
But then I’m off again. It’s my job and so I go. This time I get to fly. Up and away, an adventure to be sure or just work in a differant location. A job is a job is a job, or is it.
I come to sense that I don’t fly enough. I realized that today when I got on a plane for the first time in a great while. Yes, it was a hassle, having to take off your shoes, put everything in a plastic basket for x-raying, and shelping your bags towards the continent of Hartsfield-Jackson. But I tell you what, when that bird took off and rose into a crystal Carolina blue sky and I could see for miles , it was a rush. I don’t understand aerodynamics, never cared to, and it amazes me that we can even get up there, but flying to me sometimes puts things in perspective. When you are flying at 20,000 feet you can imagine that you have left all your problems on the ground, and at that height if they become invisible to you then you can turn your back on them for a while as well. For a short time you can be incommunicado with the world and just look out towards the horizon, and imagine the new and unforseen. I hope I get to fly more often and I hope that I don’t lose that thrill of the rush.
Now I’m settled in my room for a day or two before I fly out again. Should be an interesting trip, going to some places I’ve never been. But as I’ve said before, there are a lot more of the places I haven’t been than the places that I have, so I’m just gonna see what develops. While I’m away, my bed will get cold and the children will pout, but my heart is with me, and we will explore new places together. I wonder if I will find Fumar in Idaho?