fly girl, part 2

This funky vinyl bag (available at Unica) makes me giddy happy. Not enough to buy: I don't do vinyl. But I did once.

I was four and we lived in New York. My dad worked on the Avenue of the Americas at Elektra Records and I can still remember going to meet him for something or other -- I remember the sidewalks -- they were so big and full of cracks and I had the awesome responsibility of not breaking my mother's back -- but I don't remember the blind man selling pencils who I toddled up to, my Dad tells me, and who smiled when I did.

My first NY con man.



What I do remember is this bag: it was my very first handbag. Mine was PanAm blue and it came with a pair of pilot's wings. I don't know if my dad brought it home from a business trip, or my Grama brought it with her when she flew cross-country from Seattle to see my little brother G when he was born (and who was a source of great disappointment to me when my parents refused to name him Cindy as I requested).

But I knew it was an airlines bag, and I knew that airlines had something to do with far away and brand new everything, and I knew I wanted a piece of that. Even then.

Packing tonight, for the day after tomorrow. Pleasure this time (mostly). Nice change.

fly girl

fly girl
Originally uploaded by suttonhoo.

I've had my eye on this old aircraft hanger at Detroit International since I first passed through the Motor City. Finally pulled over this afternoon to grab a quick cameraphone shot on my way out of town.

Appears to be mostly abandoned with some minimal activity -- a lot of funky, older, rusty cars parked around in a random fashion.

Required dodging through the wide open gate in the barbed wire fence to get into the lot.

No lock, no problem, right?

Maybe not.

As I was heading back to my rental car an official looking guy in a official looking vehicle intercepted me and asked, in an official sounding voice, "Can I help you?"

"I was just shooting the letters," I said, gesturing to the sign.

"For.....?" he asked skeptically, seemingly unconvinced that this was an innocent activity.

"For me," I said, flashing him what I hope is a sweet grin and thinking "turn on the magic, girl -- this guy has a TSA badge and the power to detain." (I'm running on three and a half hours of sleep -- I'm in no mood to be detained. And I'm in no mood to give up my pics.)

"For you?" Incredulous.

"I collect letters."

"You *collect* *letters*." He leans on the language, but now he's smiling.

I nod, thinking, "magic, baby. turn. up. the volume."

We talk about this for a little while until he cracks a grin wide, wondering, I'm sure, why anyone would collect letters, and says, finally: "All right, then."

And then low and sweet, as he removes his vehicle from my path, "You have a good day."

And I walk away thinking: It's good to be a girl.

(Not too happy with this shot, though -- gonna mess with it a bit when I get home.)


Posting by cameraphone from Detroit Int'l.
Nearly home.

([update] Little levels work. Much better.)