Enter Europe

Our trip started with a bang. We knew from the start there would be stories to tell. Like the time when we checked in to our British Airways flight (booked months in advance) over three hours early, only to be told that only one of us had a seat on the plane, as it had been overbooked by fifty (50) passengers. Dad, you may want to wait in a parking lot.

The ticket clerk left for a while, leaving us to ponder the sad fate of our trip. She came back fifteen minutes later, only to start telling a story to a neighboring clerk. She glanced at us dancing on our toes and remembered the gravity of our plight. Oh yeah, you have seats.Yeah, we were kind of wondering about that. Oh, and I upgraded you to World Traveler Plus. Cha-Ching! To me, this is like winning the lottery, it doesn't happen. I have flown a decent number of times, but always with the masses back in coach.

After boarding, I realized what a gift the upgrade was, more legroom, wider seats, and who knew plane seats had footrests? Airline elitism immediately set in. I have never been on the small side of the partition, though I had always wondered what kind of secret society of the air it contained. What were the rituals, what mysteries did the divider shroud? Well, I may never know, my heart sank as they closed another divider between us and first class.

Airline culture is defined by class and rank, by what kind of metal is named on your fliers card. I found this fascinating, the first class fares had mini-recliners/rooms at their command. They could stretch out all they wanted and close a divider when the conversation with their fellow high roller began to drone. In the middle class, we were still stuck side by side to one another, but with a few extra inches between shoulders and toes. I can see how people get sucked into the class game. I think I actually felt pity on the coach travelers when I saw them as I made my way to a lavatory. Cows, they looked like cows in a stockyard, crammed together while elbows competed for precious inches of armrest.

Turkish Delight tasted splendid, but back to grass come the trip home. Well, it was good while it lasted, only now I am spoiled.

The flight itself was tolerable, descent movies to sleep through and complementary pillows. Once at Gatwick we caught our train and found the hostel. Once in London, the true stories emerged...

Childhood Memories?

For Christmas (or the "Holiday's" to be PC), my parents told us that in lieu of a present, they want each of us kids to write a story from our childhood. My siblings and I put our heads together, and after hours of deliberation, decided that we have a genetic malfunction in the part of our brains which contains childhood memories.

Seriously, this is disturbing. I have come up a with a story, really a couple of random thoughts loosely threaded together, but where the hell did my childhood go?

I have always loved stories, either on the printed page or told over a campfire. I have discovered that my problem is that while I love hearing them, I have never taught myself to tell them. Over the years I think that this has led me to lose memories because I have no way of storing them. I can recall bland facts, but have lost the warmth of the story.

I have devised a two part remendy: 1) become extremely depressed over the (bland) fact that I have no remains of my childhood, and 2) learn to tell a damn story!

So from now on, expect stories... just don't expect good stories ;)

jp

Winter Flowers

I was walking aroung my parents house and stumbled on these flowers growing out of what used to be a garden. Jasie and I had planted and tended it before she moved to Switzerland. After she left, I kept it up for a while, but then I let nature run its own course. Now the area is overgrown and dying a frosty death.

When I passed by and viewed the remains of the garden, these flowers struck a chord in me and make me stop. There is something of the mysterious connection between life and death in them. Though they are growing from a browning stem, they sing the story of time past and also the promise of rebirth.

For me, this image is the image I have always seen when contemplating the cycles of life, now I have a picture of it.

Its On...

Yeah, that's right, i am now bloggin'. Actually, this will probably be my first an last post, but I will see how it goes. The biggest reason for this blog would be my new camera, the Casio EX-Z750. I figured that I love taking pictures, might as well share them. Don't get your hopes up though, this is the kind of stuff I will probably be offering:

My Drive Home

I love my camera, it is just so fun, like photobooth mode:



I am also quasi-philosophically and politically minded. Hence the title of the blog, so expect to see some Alice in Wonderland style rants with no concrete conclusions, they are my specialty.

Peace