If I am lucky enough to have to tour across an airport by tram and be at eye level, nearly on the tarmac, with the planes and all the tractors and trucks feeding and fixing them, I am in pure ecstasy. The planes are like large silver babies, smooth and expectant. They promise to lift us up and deliver us to the clouds. With the change in perspective, a travelor might get around to understanding where they have been. In bidding adieu, the location and the importance (of home) is established.
We used to dress up for our excursions. I wore my best Maryjane shoes and a new smocked dress. (Okay- I have a little fashion snobbery!) Families and neighbors would all come to the airport to say goodbye.
|Me and my dad in the middle of a goodbye crowd of well-wishers|