in-flight writing

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We are halfway though our flight. So far it’s not so bad. I watched Inkheart and then became restless and fidgety. I’ve been taking lots of photos out the window. Jer watched the Day the Earth Stood Still and Slumdog Millionaire. He really liked that one. He’s now playing the PSP. So far, we have utilized all of our electronic devices, so hauling them halfway around the world has already been justified! Not that we knock old technology; I have read a bit from my Steinbeck book. A good investment.

We are seated near the kiddie section of the plane. Most of the little ones seem okay, but the child who appears oldest of the gaggle and is accompanied by just her mother has been restless and unhappy since first boarding the plane. The only time she did not scream bloody murder was when we were climbing altitude. Lovely. The mother took her on a walk for a while which was very nice. The baby seated across from us is pleasant. It’s too young to do anything disruptive but cry, and she seems happy to hang out in the spare seat.

That’s about it on this front. I don’t want to blather on too much about nonsense but thse observations seem to be the items of business that slip by as commonplace and forgetful. Except they shouldn’t be forgetful. Perhaps that’s the difference between modern-day travelers and the explorers of old. Their journey was not so much about destination. Their journey was the trip to get to wherever they were going. Maybe that’s why road trip stories are more appreciated than plane trip stories. The exception, I imagine, would be the plane trip stories involving a lone pilot in his twin engine Cessna, against the elements traveling the globe. I could get behind that kind of story.

I am contemplating writing. What else is there to do on an airplane once the map has been viewed, the in-flight magazine has been visually devoured and the movie and television programming has been properly picked over? A nap has already happened in Hollie’s world. So what else is there? More Camelot and king Arthur as described by John Steinbeck or the concocting of my own tale. And yet I nervously glance at my battery level and wonder if draining the entire thing will be worth it.

I wasn’t going to bring a paper notebook at all but folded at the last minute.

It’s apparently feeding time again. I will shut down the computer for that.

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