Holiday Trips
What set of Holiday Trips can be complete without some SouthWest Memories?
Yes. There’s always an inherent loneliness in airports, despite our ability to reach and touch someone, every inch of the trip — “This flight is WiFi enabled” — not that it matters, right?
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
It's a Kris Kristofferson song, usually, in my mind, sung by Johnny Cash.
Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
There’s that inherent sadness with the airport in the morning. Austin, Dallas, now, San Antonio. Sunday morning was weirder, and that song echoing, the deep, sonorous voice of Johnny Cash moaning about breakfast.
An idea not without merit, one must add, “Beer, not just for breakfast anymore!” Yeah, well, never mind. Line was longer at the Starbucks than it was at security.
A few paces in front of me, someone was already getting unruly with a clearly new employee, just learning the process for working at a Starbucks. When I finally got my turn, I was very polite, and thanked the new worker profusely.
Nobody deserves abuse — not like a cranky patron — and certainly not on a crowded Sunday morning.
Holiday Trips
Then there’s Kinky Friedman's observation…
“Doesn’t matter if your destination is heaven or hell, if you're flying in Texas, you'll connect through Dallas.”
I know that’s in one of his novels, just not sure which one.
The muddy, verdant green of the water around Dallas, compared with the teal color of the limestone waters around Austin, 200 miles south.
Equally rich waters, and now, after 7 years of drought, the reservoirs full, looks good, on a cold winter’s morning, with Severe Clear in the weather forecast.
Just something about the old mosaic tile at Dallas Love Field, still there, a world map, kind of dated.
There’s always something sad about airports, not sure what that is, the departures and arrivals, travel, and families with their crying kids.
