I have this folder in my Favorites called i n s p i r a t i o n which holds a number
of shortcuts to blogs I followed once upon a time. I just wandered through them and was amazed at how many
of them no longer exist-- strange, bland search engine/portals where magic-but-pointless conversations
used to live.
I did find relatively recent entires on snommiT which I hadn't visited since
a daunting picture of Freddy Kruger graced a long-lingering post for an obscene amount of weeks. Pressing on
through super-small black-on-charcoal text (really, Michael!) I found this little blurb about airports, about deplaning
to find no one waiting at the gate, about sadness. These few words, just a few lines really, summed up why
we're friends-- the fact that I have felt this same sadness and yet it has remained unexpressed until now.
I remember flying into LAX during el Niño (was it 97? 98?)-- touching down in the middle of a tsunami of hot
California wind and rain. My memory is consumed by the odd sunny storm clouds on the other side of all that airport
glass and everyone standing still, looking up at screens to see flight after flight blink with delay. I was on time.
Michael was right there at the gate. And the chaos didn't really matter because we were connected once more.
Although our mandatory sky mile friendship has been replaced with the much simpler and shorter I-95 road trip,
I still don't see Michael (and Jolene) as often as I would like. There are baseball games and vacations and family
obligations and Sunday sleep-ins. Often when we're in the car, B will spontaneously suggest to drive to NYC
("We'll be there by 2am!") but there is always a more home-tethering reason to dismiss the idea as foolish.
But this afternoon it's just nice to be reminded that whatever the distance, real or self-indulgent, we're still connected
by those thought patterns born of our sleepy Ohio hometown and vivid imaginations. |
