So here I am at Portland International Airport, embarked at last on my great adventure. It's about 1:15am, very quiet here except for the moving sidewalk behind where I'm sitting, which is in need of lubrication, and the periodic announcements over the PA assuring me that Portland International Airport is really glad to see me and will do everything in its corporate power to make my time here pleasant and comfortable, with the possible exception of turning off thA for a couple hours.
My plane doesn't leave for four more hours, but since I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, I figured what the heck, I might as well be insomniac at the airport as anywhere else. A group of young African-Americans was sitting next to me for a while. One of them would intermittently sing a few lines of songs I didn't know. His voice was stunningly beautiful -- pure and clear and melodious as larksong. While he was singing, mostly to himself, he transformed the space around him from weary, wary, stale airport waiting area to a place the heart longed to remain. But then he and his friend moved off to find somewhere to sack out, and I was once more here at the airport, where in just four hours my plane will take off for Florida.
Roberta, I was going to call you before you left and I guess my memory didn't alert me to the day. I am so glad you have your blog for all of us to follow you. Have a wonderful wonderful time and keep that passport handy.
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