I was just thirteen at a Girl Scout jamboree on the edge of Camp Drum my first time at this. The older girls told us the soldiers on base would fly their copters over the shower house to see what they could see. So when we heard propellers chopping the air, as we grabbed towels and grinned up at the undulating branches, we pictured the guys in green fatigues taking a good long look through their Army strength binoculars.
And though they give no standing O, their mouths are round in stunned appreciation. Admiration. Oh.
Followed by a thunderous applause. A new work well received.
After which the humor, no, the comedy steps in. A one act play with Cleveland's own first couple, call them George and Gracie, troupers from the burbs, entering stage left.
Why does the slender woman stand so close to the tall man, her arms across his chest? Why so long, their tender conversation?
Lately, since I can't swim, I notice more. It's enough to make me glad for sore shoulders. I'm told by the experts to lay off using my arms. Who knew I'd become a tourist in my own pool, taking movies google goggle style. Never heard of the G-goggle? Just wait - it's the next new souped-up toy.
I’m with her in the grocery store, shopping for a nice lunch. I’ve bought a soft cheese with a chalky rind. Not my favorite, but I know she likes it.
This week’s Science Friday guest is John Gurche, a Smithsonian sculptor of prehistoric life. He says the more facts he knows about his subject matter, the more constrained he is in his creativity. But at the same time, if his sculptures only depicted the known facts, they would be flat. This is where his artistry comes in.
Long ago, it was the newspaper or the daily mail. What bit of novelty therein would make my day happier, more interesting, unique?
I’m in a jet, setting sail for parts familiar after a long stretch out at sea. The flight attendants have drugged us with food and wine, calmed us with dim lights, answered our questions with soothing sounds. As we drool on miniature pillows, we are late night comedians making light of the sleep we crave in the cramped quarters of economical travel.
Yes it is our last day in Delhi, our last in India and the Far East.
We rode the women's coach today, the first car on the metro. A man would pay a fine if he climbed aboard. We saw a couple separate into gender specific cars and reunite when they got off.
It's four forty-five in the morning. Three women wait on the cobblestone entryway to Bhandari Swiss Cottages for a taxi to the railway station in Haridwar. The High Bank area of Rishikesh along the Ganges at the foot of the Himalayas is a honeycomb of hotels, restaurants and meditation or yoga centers for the serenity-minded tourist. But like every India they've set foot in, a surprise waits at every turn.
Today we crossed the other foot bridge, a crossing far less traumatic than this acrophobe expected. Orly and Pam were my body guards.