The Slow Start...

Looking out the window of the plane, I reflect back on the great idea which was born many years ago and put into motion many months ago. Have I really neglected the opportunities to share my story? No matter which way I framed the answer it was still definite, and as I stared out the window the words quietly escaped my lips, "Yes". That is what happens when you find yourself deep in reflection looking out the window at 35,000 feet in the air on a crowded airplane, you mumble to the window in answer to your own thoughts. These are the actions that make a seemingly average looking individual, appear as a troubled person that you would rather not sit next to. Thankfully, I was sharing the row with no one.

Well, that is not entirely true... I was sharing my space with the man sitting behind me who had slumped down in his uncomfortable airline seat in an attempt to find relaxation. Normally I would say, "more power to you, sir" but today I find him incredibly annoying as his feet have navigated their way into my space. On most airlines there is a bar down there that is designed to separate his space from mine, and I struggled against the desire to lean over and investigate why that bar is not doing its job. The fact that his feet had bumped my feet several times during this flight, had me assuming the same position he had taken in order to avoid the uncomfortable contact of a strange man. May I say that the position of choice for this man is not relaxing or comfortable in any way. Yes on any other day I would say "more power to you" and yet I am silently screaming inside, "PERSONAL SPACE BUDDY, RESPECT IT!". More often than not this is the drawback of flying Greyhound in the sky. It is an exercise of patient and visualization that come together in order to see me through. At least this flight from Boise to Portland is short.

So here I am looking out the window waiting for the wheels to touchdown, and it is evident to me that my stories must be shared. Time to put an end to my silence or rather procrastination and allow myself the therapy of voicing thoughts to the world.

It would be a difficult thing to catch up on all that has happened in the past several months. The flight to Bozeman MT, in which I shared a seat next to a young college girl who did her best to mask the fear of flying. I recognized the uncomfortable nature of her fidgeting as similar to that of my 5 year old trying to sit through Sunday church meetings. It is the non-verbal language that screams, "I would rather be anywhere but here". Flights to Rapid City SD and Atlanta GA soon followed. However, the most uncomfortable and eerily memorable flight was to Las Vegas Nevada. I was flying Southwest, the friendly sky's, and was seated next to the friendliest old man. I was holding my breath as the aircraft loaded. The number of people crawling on the plane had slowed, and the seat between me and the gentleman on the aisle had yet to be filled. I long for these opportunities, where without paying the cost of 1st class I have the ability to trick myself into thinking I am 1st class. This can only happen when someone is not packed into the seat next to you. Could this be one of those flights where I get to close my eyes and enjoy the 1st class solitude on my journey from Boise to Las Vegas. Maybe I could go as far as to visualize myself a high roller on a plane of my own chartering... is that taking it too far? Too late, as I began my wishful thinking an elderly man stepped through the cabin door. His eyes nervously scanned the aisle numbers as he worked his way towards the back of the plane. Yes, it was him. My new partner in flight, the man who stole my dream of 1st class solitude. The only question I have, "are you going to remove that over sized coat before you squeeze into the seat next to me?". The answer, "NO" as he sat down next to me. Reality is I had a second question in mind, "who dressed you this morning for this flight to Vegas?". In his hunter orange John Deer ball cap slightly askew on his head. Gold jacket with a Vegas like sheen to it, lined with the heavy fur of some simulated animal hide. Maybe it was the way that these two articles of clothing matched the button down soft baby blue shirt, that no doubt was soaked with sweat by this time. If a man were trying to stand out in a crowd, mission accomplished.

Yet there was an innocent quality to him. He seemed genuinely nice, though we hadn't exchanged many words. I couldn't help but assist him after he fumbled around for his seat belt long enough to make both of us uncomfortable. That is what opened the door to conversation, a conversation that was primarily one sided and didn't end until we touched down in Las Vegas. When he spoke he had the unmistakable breath of an old man, stale and unpleasant. I spent most of the flight holding my breath and acting interested in the stories he shared. I learned all about his kids, career, trouble with neighbors, oh yes and his stolen truck that was parted out and found somewhere in California hence the flight he was taking today to retrieve what was left. I enjoyed my cramped flight with this man, as much as it could be enjoyed.

No this flight into Portland can't top that. though I am inspired by the grand view I see out my window. Mnt. St Helen's, Mnt. Adams, and Rainier in the background. The winding nature of the Columbia river down below. This is actually a pretty good start to a week of training in Portland.

Post Script - So as I took to leave the great city of Portland, I was greeted with stand still traffic waiting for the bridge to be opened. I don't think this trip to the airport is starting off in good fashion. It tells me that perhaps there is another story in my near future. It also leaves me with the assurance that I am not a "big city boy", and I am good with the fact that in a short couple of hours I will be back in Boise where I fit in.

Birth of an idea

Lets face it. Who among us hasn't paused for a moment to watch people? Any man that has found himself shopping with his significant other at the mall during the holidays, has found himself sitting on a bench outside of a store he'd rather not be caught in by any of his friends wives. Watching people rush to and from with bags in hand. Almost every mom that has taken her kids to the park in an attempt to stop the incessant summer war cry "I'm bored", has found herself distracted from the pages of the book she intends to finish. Looking beyond the print to size up the other mothers at the playground. If you have listened to the advice that hastens you to arrive two hours early to the airport ensuring you have time to make it through security, than you have found yourself sitting in a terminal with nothing to do but observe people.

I am that person, the one who is fascinated by what others around me are doing. It probably started as a paranoia in my youth. Worried about how I looked, who was looking at me, what were they thinking? Somewhere along my path to indifference, this behavior blossomed into a curiosity. I find myself taking mental snapshots of the people who cross my path, during those times of captivity with nothing to focus my thoughts on. I wonder where they came from and where they are going. Why did they choose that outfit, and more importantly do they act this way all the time. What would it be like to spend time with that person? Would I spend time with that person?

Most often the activity of people watching is nothing more than a passing of time. Rarely is there anything memorable about my thoughts or the people that I see. If asked only hours later what was observed, I would make a faulty witness remembering few details that could incriminate. However, there are those times when people stand up and beg for your attention. It may be the clothing choice or the flamboyant personality. Perhaps it is both, but whatever the draw all other distractions pale in comparison to the one you find yourself observing. These moments are the inspiration for this blog.

Maybe the picture hasn't yet been painted. Allow me to drape the canvas in the memory of just such an instance. I was spending time in Terminal D of the Salt Lake City airport. This is the terminal where Skywest parks it's small turbo props. When making a short jump to a small airport, these loud and often uncomfortable aircraft were the economic choice of many large airlines. While I sat in the airport pretending to be distracted by my iPod, I was suddenly distracted by a couple choosing to sit across from me. I could spend a thousand words describing them, but a picture is worth every word. I knew as I put together the pieces of the puzzle that it would take a picture to truly describe this event, so I covertly switched gears with my iPod. How convenient technology has become. Phones and music devices masquerading as a part time camera. One that gave no light or sound that would snitch on the undisclosed activity.

He had the look of having just climbed off of a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Weathered in just the right way to ensure those around him would understand he was not to be messed with. A sign of who he probably was at one time, but a life given over to a more domestic and softer reality. She was doing the same thing that I had been doing for the past hour. Pretending to pay attention to an over sized laptop that was being used to do nothing more than play a game of solitaire. She would look up and scan her audience of potential onlookers with a routine timeliness. They both seemed to scream in unison, "We are country proud"! From the cowboy boots to the Wrangler brand jeans. The heavy set belt buckles to the jackets of choice. To top it all off they shared two cups which sat between them on the floor. You heard that correctly, they shared both cups. One for drinking and the other for spitting. Both of them had a pack of chew in the cheek, adding to the thought that either one of them could probably kick my ass.

I had spent plenty of time observing the couple. It was time to move on. Despite my fascination with where these people came from and where they must be going, I could hear the initial call for my flight to begin loading. I gathered my things and made my way towards the gate. As I gathered my things and began to move, I could feel their eyes on me tracking my every motion towards the gate. I found myself the victim of my own pastime, they were people watching and I was the "people".

Oh well, on to other things I thought. It wasn't until I had found my seat in the small turbo prop and settled down for a forty minute flight to my small town destination, that I noticed a familiar set of boots walk by moving towards the rear of the plane. NO, it couldn't be I thought. So I relied on technology once again. In a brilliant strategy to avoid blatantly looking towards the rear of the plane, somehow I knew that the shocked expression on my face would give my thoughts a sort of transparency, I pulled out my phone once again and took a picture. The intention was to make those around me think that I was capturing my own reflection in the camera. The idea was to skew the lens a little to the right in order to see what lurked behind me. The operation was a success!

Sitting just over my right shoulder sat the couple that had caught my attention in terminal. Were they following me? One thing was for sure, I had captured their attention with my activities. Evidence sat before me in the picture that I had just taken. The rest of the flight was spent in an uncomfortable silence, as the turbo prop engines roared at thirty-thousand feet. In those moments that passed slowly with the ticking of every second, an idea came to mind, "How am I going to explain this when I get home?". Needless though it might be to mention, as the pictures speak the thousands of words that I can't, me and my family had hours of laughing over the situation. I would recount the story for each gathering of loved ones and acquaintances where we would relive the moments I spent with a couple I didn't know creating a memory that would last a lifetime. To this day I don't know who the couple was, where they had come from or where they were off too. I don't know their story any more than they know mine. Our lives simply crossed paths in the Salt Lake City airport, Terminal D, as we both engaged in the activity of people watching.

So there you have it. One story in a sea of thousands. Thus the idea was born to share my moments with those that are interested. So if you find yourself on a flight to nowhere coming from that familiar place called somewhere and our paths cross... perhaps you will be the subject of my favorite captive pastime. Just know that it takes more than simply being present for me to remember you, and if the words on the page seem to describe the actions you may have taken then one thing is for sure... you did something, wore something, said something that captured my attention.