Show off your holiday lights and you could win an iPad! Enter your photo by December 13. Winner will be selected by popular vote.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
I was 5 years old the first time I boarded an airplane. Mom dressed my sister and me in matching strawberry-print dresses and sent us off to our grandparents' house.
When I flew recently, I remembered the innocence with which I viewed that early adventure. Far below, vehicles looked like my Matchbox cars, fields were swatches of green velvet, and wooded areas resembled a giant's neatly trimmed hedges.
I recall no fear, only fascination and a few tears, which came as my ears ached and itched on the descent.
Today, all the knowledge and doubt of adulthood makes flying an anxious experience for me. I analyze every bump and grumble of the aircraft, study the flight attendants' faces for signs of alarm, and strive to clear my mind of the tragic tales I've heard so many times since I was a child.
But on that recent flight from Charlotte to Tampa, I was seated in front of a young mother with two small children. I listened as she talked them through the takeoff.
"Look, baby, we're flying!" she said. "See the boats? Look at the houses and cars!"
When we started our descent, the little girl began to cry and rub her ears. But when the plane reached cloud level again and the white fluffs floated past our windows, she grew quiet.
"Mommy?" she asked.
"What do clouds taste like?"
The mother laughed and told her daughter clouds don't have any flavor. In front of them, I smiled.
Over the years, I realized, my adult brain had entirely ruined my sense of wonderment.
I had been using my imagination for all the wrong reasons.
Weather JournalPossible scrape with snow Tues