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increasingly familiar airplanes
Wednesday, June 9 1999
Every morning I see the same scene unfold as I ride into work. And since early April, I've also been able to see it in reverse in the full light of the sun as I ride home each evening. There's various things I'm on the lookout for: the familiar people (especially the cyclists), the birds (especially the Least Terns and Pelicans), the mammals (especially those funny-looking Mexican squirrels who live amongst the rocks), the pets (especially any dog who resembles Sophie), the attractive women (especially the well-dressed, austere 30-something businesswoman who waits for her bus outside the gated apartment complex in lower Mission Valley), and the planes (especially the huge British Airways jumbo jet that takes off every night at around 7:00PM). It's easy to begin to recognize people after only one sighting. With species of animals, it's a little trickier, but gradually you come to know the types, especially if you're familiar with how they're classified. Airplanes have been the single most difficult regularly-scheduled thing in which to notice patterns. Only recently did I pick up on the fact that there was an exceptionally large plane leaving the San Diego International Airport at around 7:00 PM every night after the departure of several smaller prop planes. However, I've been familiar with the plump distinctively-orange-painted Southwest Airlines planes for some time.
Speaking of Southwest Airlines, when I came home tonight, Kim informed me that she'd bought two plane tickets to Phoenix for her birthday. The plan is to stay with her aunt Rhonda and then drive up to Sedona. Readers who have been following along might recall the unfortunate social chill that descended the last time we visited Rhonda.
Up until now, I had never said "Backstreet Boys" in this journal (or, as far as I know, outloud, for that matter).
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