From Crowded Airplanes to Fuzz Boxes

Flying the friendly skies over America is such a pain in the ass.

Yesterday, somewhere around the three hour mark of the second flight, the one from Detroit to Saint Plotniko, which was buffeted much of the time by headwinds, Plotnik found himself hemmed into the tiny galley in the rear of the 737 by drink carts and too many stewardesses and passengers crowding around the two restrooms. One of the stewardesses was attempting to push one of the carts into its little spot under the rear cabinet, but the wheels were sticking and every time she tried to maneuver the cart into a different position the plane would dip or shudder in the wind and the cart would slam into the wall.

The flight was completely packed and this is a small airplane. Once those carts came out it was like the little rebus game where you have to move ten squares before you can get one into the right square and then you still have to deal with the other nine.

You'd hear a flush and the restroom door would open and new aromas were added to the total sensual pastiche.

Delta has acquired Northwest Airlines. It is a Northwest route that allowed the Plotniks to fly from Bangor, Maine, through Detroit and home to S.P. But it's a Delta plane. This means the Delta stewardesses are trying to figure out Northwest protocol and they're not having much luck, especially on a packed, bumpy flight.

Plotnik said to one of them: "Air travel sure is exotic, isn't it?" and she sighed and said "Well, it is what it is."

What is it? See Paragraph One.



The Duck bought and brought home another old cast iron seven-banger corn muffin tin at the same place she bought the last one -- the Providence Antiques Mall. Usually Plotnik purchases some really crappy cookbooks there too that he looks at on the airplane, but this time they were too idiotic even for him (a 1950s paperback "How to Plan Meals Using Spam and Other Canned Meat Products" put out by Hormel Corp., for example).

The TSA guys at the Bangor, Maine International Airport didn't quite know what to do with that cast iron corn muffin tin. Could it be a weapon? Could it be used as a weapon? Well, yes it could be. But they let the Duck slide.

To get to Bangor, The Finch was kind enough to drive the Plotniks through some heavy rain and thundershowers, though most of the rain seemed to fall on Deer Isle during the night and in the early morning. That house is so homey -- Plot and Duck's two old friends have managed the almost-impossible: beauty, grace and comfort.

You get to slow down but you never stop seeing something new. And the food. And the wine. And the talk. And the sense of continuing that friendship you started more than 40 years ago. No visit is ever long enough.

The Finch/Crow house is on Osprey Point. The taxi home passed Oyster Point.




Remember that broken chain that allowed Truant to sail the harbor all by herself?



And how about a view like this out your kitchen window?



That last afternoon Plotnik did his best cat imitation -- moving to keep his feet warm with the last rays of sun.



The tomatoes grew a foot while Plot and Duck were gone. Saint Plotniko is a glorious place to be too.

And late last night there was a text with a photo: a brand spanking new Epiphone electric guitar, plus amp and gig bag, that guess which favorite scientist won in a raffle!



And now it begins: fuzz boxes and wah wah pedals.