Landing in LaGuardia

We left Springfield early this afternoon. Springfield is not necessarily a metropolitan mecca, but it's the third largest city in Missouri. What I don't like about it is it sounds so bland and there are something like eighteen Springfields in the country, so I always have tell people which city and state I'm from. I'd prefer to live in a city that just has one name, like Denver or Seattle or Chicago.

Springfield's claim to fame is being the hometown of Bass Pro Shops, John Ashcroft, and most importantly, Brad Pitt. Even my Japanese friends are impressed with that fact.

With this frame of reference, you can imagine that the airport is not huge. For convenience I would prefer to take a jet out of Springfield rather than drive to Kansas City or St. Louis, but today I was sorry because the plane was very small. Propellers instead of jets. No overhead bins. And the seats were so tiny with no armrests that I would have fallen out if not strapped in with the seat belt. Worst of all, the tiny little steps to the plane folded up inside the doorway. I felt like I was riding in a sofa bed.

From St. Louis, the next plane seemed so luxurious. I slept most of the way, but woke to find us in a holding pattern above LaGuardia Airport. I don't think we've ever landed here after dark. It was beautiful, and I regretted that my camera was in the overhead bin.

It was strangely quiet with only the tuneless hum of air rushing against the plane. As far as I could see were burning clusters of lights of silver and gold with an occasional ruby red glow, like night jewelry trembling between the dark sea and sky.

Then everyone whipped out their cell phones, and I knew we were back on the ground.