Took me three flights to get to Boston. Yes, I could have bought non-stop tickets, but that would have drained my purse of $500+, and then I wouldn't have Bryan, the handsome and friendly pilot who I sat with. He was a good luck charm, as certified by the fact that the only empty seat on the plane was the one right between us. So, between having the aisle seat and an empty middle seat, I had plenty of stretching room. And a companionable conversation partner. Married, and settled in Atlanta, Bryan had come to LA to visit a brother who had been in a bad car accident. So, we talked hospitals. Then, we talked about the piloting business. Why flights are delayed. Landing patterns. Airport controllers. And I have a new appreciation for flight attendants, stemming from Bryan's appreciation for them. Interesting that the term "stewardess" has been abandoned for the gender-neutral term "flight attendant." I've never had positive associations with the word "stewardess," to which I always thought of nubile young ladies serving up drinks, food, and fantasies. Then, Bryan talked about how flight attendants are mainly trained to manage passenger safety concerns in event of a catastrophe. And then he used the word "steward" to refer to a male flight attendant, and I had a much different reaction, thinking of protectors. I started to think tangentially about how I perceive titles differently when they are applied to men and women. Male secretaries connote power, as in secretary of state. A female secretary connotes a harried female with a steno-pad and a pen sticking out behind her ear. And I began to have an inkling of why female thespians prefer to be called actors instead of actresses.
In Atlanta, I was seduced by the glossy fashion magazines of a bevy of blonde hipsters. But when I got the the airport mag store, ended up getting issues of Outside magazine's 30th year anniversary issue and The New Republic, two magazines I've never read, but which intrigued me. Bryan of course stayed in Altanta, but his good mojo stayed, since I again had an aisle seat and an empty middle seat.
In Baltimore, hte mojo temporarily departed. The last leg of my trip was delayed a couple of hours. To make up for it, the cosmos saw fit to give me a whole three seats to myself. I arrived in Boston too late to go out for MOnday night dancing, but at least I got to stretch out like I haven't been able to since my childhood, on solitary trans-Pacific flights to visit relatives.
Pilgrim Girl had arranged for us (her, Ni-chan and me) to stay at the Beacon's Hill Friends' House located just a few blocks from the Park Street T station. Here pictured are the chapel, and a typical neighborhood building. As I would later discover, the house is actually two side-by-sides that were joined by taking out the separating wall. There are two managers, a cook, a number of residents, and room for a couple of visiting guests. The situation is really quite cozy. Breakfast is communal ... help youself to anything, and wash up your own dishes. There's a large formal sitting room with a piano and harpsichord. A large courtyard. a chapel for worship. Coin-op washer and dryer. Huge dining room with a table reminiscent of Precious', but with room for twice as many diners. A tv room. And a library. And wireless internet!!! Not all the residents are Quaker, but there's an air of safe congeniality that I liked immensely. But all was not well in Quaker Zion. Firstly, I'd come too late to go dancing. Secondly, my airport had disappeared from my laptop. Nichan fiddled with it for a while, but didn't want to get too intrusive, if it affected the warranty on my laptop, which I wasn't even sure was still in effect. Anyway, we located an Apple store in the vicinity, and I resolved to go first thing in the morning.
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