In Plane Sight

Desert Lily · ‎06-24-2011

In an earlier post, I said I was "leaving on a jet plane."

Well ... I landed.

I sat next to the window on the first flight. We took off and as we circled into the turn to head east, I could see the landmarks near my house and the clustered orange-tiled roofs of neighborhoods. I wondered which house might be mine, which roof sealed the walls holding cherished memories of over 20 years with my family, friends, & neighbors. I stretched to try to get a glimpse of the Veterans' cemetery where I had buried my father & mother, but it was out of sight. I closed my eyes partly to use my lids as wipers to clear the wet tears and partly to see my parents in my mind as they had been during our loving times together. And an image of my best friend there who had passed unexpectedly. I was leaving them behind.

The plane climbed higher, and my view changed to the dry parched land. The lake had shriveled to 2/3 of its size. Most of the boat docks were gone, and any green foliage that once stood had fallen away. It hadn't rained since last year, and during the pandemic we didn't have a drop of rain for over a year. The drought etched its mark in the West.

The Las Vegas Harry Reid Airport rocked! The employees were warm, helpful, & informative. Vegas knows how to do hospitality right. Waiting passengers enjoyed talking about someone who had just won $thousands on a slot machine in the airport. It was in contrast to my next stop at O'Hare, where it was business as usual.

When the aircraft approached my final destination on the East Coast, I saw some round areas on the ground that were shining. It took a moment to process that they were puddles. Puddles! I couldn't remember the last time I saw puddles of rain water. It was almost midnight, but on my ride to the hotel I could see leaves gently waving on the trees.

Two days later, I closed on my new house. Out an upstairs bedroom window I saw a large pond surrounded by trees at the back. The green grass around the pond was dotted with yellow. Dandelions. Instantly, I remembered making wishes on floating "dandelion angels" as a child and realized I hadn't seen one of those yellow magnificent royal flowers in decades.

Then I heard a noise and saw some things moving on the pond. Ducks. Ducks were proudly swimming and claiming that water as their new home. I grew up on a Great Lake and yearned to see the wildlife once again. My eyes puddled up once again. This is my home, too.

On It · ‎03-15-2021

Thank you for the post. I have been thinking of you and your little fur baby. The hardest part is behind you. Letting go is never easy, but you were brave and now you have a new, exciting life waiting to happen.

Elodie2 · ‎06-29-2017

So beautifully and poignantly written. Best to you in all that comes next.

LdyBugz · ‎03-10-2010

@Desert Lily Thank you for sharing your thoughts about your journey. They way you described everything made me feel like I was witnessing it all with you. It actually made me a little melancholy for my roots in the midwest.

I hope your new home is all that you anticipate and that you create many, many happy memories there! 😀

~LdyBugz

shoechic · ‎06-10-2015

That's so beautiful. I felt like I was there with you. You should have a blog!

*hugs* @Desert Lily

Terrywu · ‎05-09-2010

The very best of luck in your new adventure. Your post was so nice to read.

Tique · ‎08-03-2013

@Desert Lily I felt like I was a companion during your plane ride. You detailed everything so vividly and emotionally. Thank you for sharing your experience.

April is Autism Awareness/Acceptance month.

Kachina624 · ‎03-10-2010

@Desert Lily One door closes and another opens.... Welcome to your new life.

New Mexico☀️Land Of Enchantment

golding76 · ‎05-19-2012

May you have nothing but happy memories in your new home!

The account of your trip and discoveries that awaited you in your new geographic locale was moving. I recently wrote on this forum that even the newly emerged dandelions in my area "made me smile." Dandelions are not weeds. My late maternal grandmother would gather and boil them, eating the greens.

Water. Life. Joy.