Cap-Post: Waiting for the Planes Upstairs

Another reference (Sondheim, Follies: Waiting for the Girls Upstairs), sorry, I have a feeling that is final musing will be splattered with references as I try to sum up some of my feelings and discoveries from this trip.

Were one to be studying AP Calculus (or to have a sibling who has been studying it), one might call this post something of a 'piece-wise function.' I'm currently in the Detroit airport, waiting for my flight into Lexington later this evening before the final drive that will deposit me in my much anticipated bed. So, I'll announce my present State of the Union, as concomitant with my State of Mind.

Detroit, MI:

So, as far as my final adventures have gone. In some ways today has seemed like one of the longest days of my life. All of the days have melted into one long continuity (time past and time future... well at least time past and time present) since Sunday evening. I didn't sleep too well on my final night in Sweden, so when I got up, sort of early, I didn't really know what to do with myself, though there was a fair bit still to do. I cleaned up the flat at little more, finished packing my things, returned the access card I had been given to the MSH, and got ready to go to Copenhagen. No use hanging about, I thought. I hesitated on the doorstep for a good 15 minutes checking and re-checking that I had with me everything that needed (and everything that I brought). Not having anyone to bounce a list of things off of meant that I was octuply making sure I hadn't left behind something vital. As I returned Tilde's keys to her by locking the door of the flat then dropping the keys through the mail slot, I had a bit of Sam Gamgee's hesitation outside of Cirith Ungol: "He felt that if once he went beyond the crown of the pass and took one step veritably down into the land of Mordor, that step would be irrevocable. He could never come back." (RTK, VI, Ch. 1) Maybe a bit melodramatic, but there was no way I could get the keys back once I dropped them off, so I had to be sure I had everything.

While I figured out the mystery of the no-longer-working Jojo card (turns out that what I originally paid for was a card that allowed me to ride the bus as much as I wanted, but only for the month of June), it was still good that I loaded some money onto the card, since then I could use the bus to get to Central Station -after all, it was now July- and I could also use money on the Jojo card to buy train tickets. I actually used the Jojo card for my unsuccessful djurparken adventure too, so I didn't lose any extra money with that ticket nor with the ticket that I bought to the Copenhagen airport.

I had a long time in the airport and I spent a lot of it working on parts for Michael Rose's wind ensemble piece (I have continued to work on it up to the present moment, I've made it up through the Trumpets, meaning I've only got the other brass and the percussion left. Still plenty of work). 

Also, as perhaps a form of trying to bring America closer to me even as planes were going to propel me towards it, I began reading my copy of Leaves of Grass straight through. Taking breaks, of course, but still, one of my favorite works of literature. 

Was somebody asking to see the Soul?

See! your own shape and countenance - persons, substances, beasts, the trees, the running rivers, the rocks and sands.

All hold spiritual joys, and afterward loosen them,

How can the real body ever die, and be buried?

Of your real body, and any man's or woman's real body, item for item, it will elude the hands of the corpse-cleaners, and pass to fitting spheres, carrying what has accrued to it from the moment of birth to the moment of death.

and

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;

How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is, any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,

A scented gift and remembrance, designedly dropped,

Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,

Growing among black folks as among white,

Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

But those are more universal musings, reading one of his catalogues I ran across several images that triggered my own recollections (I think, in particular, it was the image of family members traveling home for Thanksgiving), and, of course, his topography of America only lacks numbers to give it encyclopedic merit. I have enjoyed being in Europe, but America is my home, and all of my travel experiences have not shaken that (the English countryside has made the most compelling counter-argument yet, but... still, maybe better to visit).

Coming into Amsterdam, my long day continued, as I had a 12-hour layover. My parents suggested that I get a hotel room for the night, but I ended up staying up in the airport all 12 hours. Amsterdam's airport is massive and it seems like it runs in some capacity 24 hours a day. There were plenty of staff around at all times, and in my terminal there had to be at least 50 people at all times (yes, even the usually sparser 2's, 3's, and 4's in the morning). I varied my routine. Obviously, if I were going to stay awake from 12 hours I had to occupy myself in some way. So I rotated between working on copy work, walking about (plenty of other people were doing the same), and practicing the guitar in corners. I actually think I made some real improvement in the Amsterdam airport. Especially in the technique of 'barring,' which I find very difficult, I think I took a step forward. I also tried reading through the beautiful chorale from Frederic Mompou's Suite Compostellana. Not as disastrous as I originally anticipated, and I'm still working on it.

Somehow the time passed. Again, more Lord of the Rings, this time Legolas: "Nay, time does not tarry ever, but change and growth is not in all things and places alike" (FR, II, Ch. 9). Timeless seemed the 12 hours that I spent in Amsterdam, but somehow, one point after looking up from my guitar, the sky was light again, I hadn't even noticed (no, I never dropped off). Certainly it showed how flexible time can be, either when you're engaged in the act of waiting or engaged while waiting.

I slept less in the plane ride to Detroit than I originally hoped. A lot less, I was hoping several hours, I think I got 45 minutes in. Not a good track record for the past few days, but I hope that I can correct that at home. On the plus-side, I saw the movie When Harry Met Sally, which I had never seen before. Absolutely hilarious and very touching. I actually laughed out loud through most of the movie; not as boomingly as Dad is known to laugh, but it certainly would not have elicited his classic jibe "why aren't you guy's laughing, this is funny!" 

It is going to sound ungenerous, but I actually sort of doubted my seat-mate's humanity. He only spoke once to me, when I remarked on how loud the intercom system came through the headphones, he gave an emphatic "Good!" which seemed to mark that he hadn't registered what I said. Throughout the entire 8 hour flight he sat almost frozen, never changing position, and watching all of the most violent of the in-flight video selections with the volume on his headphones very loud. He never once had to get up to use the bathroom. It was just very strange, and when you're sitting next to something very strange for 8 hours, it ends up occupying more of your thought than maybe it should.

Back in the states, now, I've been camping out in the Delta SkyClub room, thanks to Dad's excellent skymiles. Free wifi and a much comfier place to wait out my time before my Detroit to Lexington flight. I've even done a little more practicing here, but for the most part, I'm just ready to be home, to stop carrying around all this stuff.

It's going to be strangely hot when I get home, and, while the month in Sweden was packed with action, the summer now seems strangely truncated. Considering the mildness of Sweden's summer, it was like I was in earliest spring for a month after almost-summer weather in Nashville. Some sort of strange 'zero-summer' (more Eliot), now followed by only a month and a half of summer break.

Terrace Park, OH:
Home at last (the time of this posting doesn't reflect my immediate arrival. A bit of unpacking and a long shower (felt so good! especially after such a long, continuous day). There were fireworks that we could see from the highway on the way home from the airport, no doubt celebrating my return home, not because it happened to be the night before the 4th of July!
The Cincinnati skyline at night is such a lovely view, I'm glad it's part of my homecoming, and I'm certainly glad that I won't be getting on a plane for some time.

I hope you've all enjoyed reading this blog. There may be one more post-script post where my Ohio thoughts are a little more collected, i. e. when I'm less sleep-deprived. It's been an incredible journey, and I'm glad you reading several have been following me along. To share these experiences with others is a gift in itself. One that I am very grateful for. Anne Carson puts this gift well in the post-script to her Cannicula di Anna: "And yet, having held you in my company so long, I find I do have something to give you. Not the mysterious, intimate and consoling data you would have wished, but something to go on with, and in all likelihood the best I can do. It is simply the fact, as you go down the stairs and walk in dark streets, as you see forms, as you marry or speak sharply or wait for a train, as you begin imagination, as you look at every mark, simply the fact of my eyes in your back."

Thanks for your thoughts and well-wishes that have carried me across the Atlantic and back home to America.

"Well, I'm back," [Sam] said. (RTK: VI, Ch. 9)

Goodnight,
-Trey