Plane Food


I suspect I am drunk. I am on a plane. I arrived late for my connection, meaning I didn’t have time to eat. I had skipped breakfast. So, at 30,000 feet or so, I had a glass of wine on a stomach with nothing but a tiny, quarter handful of peanuts in it. Between the altitude and the empty stomach, it’s possible my judgement is impaired.

Evidence in favor is that I discovered my salad had a clear plastic lid over it when I dispensed salad dressing on top of said lid.


Further evidence includes that I ate every morsel of my plane food thinking it was one of the finer meals I’ve had. I chowed down on the plastic-wrapped roll (I did remove the plastic wrap first, thank-you-very-much) with what butter I could scrape out of the plastics container thinking it tasted fantastic. I even ate the iceberg lettuce salad without feeling like someone should take some nutrition classes.

What’s most alarming is that when they came back around with the drink cart, I asked for a second glass of wine!

Fortunately for me, I am sitting next to a sweet, older lady who doesn’t seem to suspect a thing. Although, I think I caught her casting a glance when half of my cracker fell into my lap due to a mis-timed bite.

Speaking of cracker, I was eating the aforementioned cracker with cheese. Not fancy, aged, unpasteurized cheese from France (as one might reasonably expect on a flight to Paris) but rather smooth, slightly plasticine Tilamook cheese from good old Oregon, USA.


I enjoy Tillamook Cheese–I’ve even been there in person and done the factory tour–but let’s face it. Americans really have little patience when it comes to producing things that require time to ripen and age. We don’t even let our fruits and vegetables ripen before we load them on the truck and ship them off to market.

But what’s remarkable about this is that I really enjoyed the Tillamook cheese. Maybe not so remarkable–I’m an American; I can even enjoy eating Kraft American Cheese. But it’s the degree to which I’m enjoying it that’s so surprising. It tastes like something rare and remarkable.

Oh dear, I’ve forgotten all about my fireworks theme! Perhaps I’ll have some of that second glass of wine . . .


Wine Shots

I’m ready for the weekend.  But, my husband is working away at his new digs across the street.  I could walk over and check on him, and maybe I will later.  But right now, I take a little time for me.  First a glass of wine.  One small glass left from my birthday bottle of The Prisoner.

Inspired by a Facebook post by a good friend, I play some Etta James–it’s the kind of mood I’m in–and get out my tripod.  My beautiful glass of wine is going to be my first subject this evening.  I set it up on top of my iPad’s green cover.  I move a utility lamp over.  Then, I set up my camera with its 100mm macro lens about an inch from the glass.  I spend about a half an hour finding interesting shapes and bubbles and (ick) floaties in my wine.

Eventually, I get tired of looking at the wine and decide to drink it.  I move on to shooting close ups of an old nail file, a stuffed Brutus Buckeye bean bag (you have to be from Columbus to get that), my ear buds, and then I land on the utility lamp.  I stop myself after the lamp.

As I process photos, I find it hard to choose.  The more pictures I take, the harder it is for me to pick the handful that I like.  They run together in my mind and I cannot remember if the one I am looking at now is better than the one I was looking at 3 seconds ago.

It reminds me of the time I took my senile aunt bra shopping.  For those of you who have never been bra shopping, it’s not a fun activity no matter what you think.  Add to the mix an 85 year old woman who can’t remember your name and it quickly degrades into an exercise of frustration.

I will spare you the details, but when it came time to choose, I would say, “Do you like this one better or the last one better?”  She would look at me blankly and I would hold up the last one and say, “Do you like the one you have on now or this one?”  She would look at the one in my hand and say, “Oh, did I have that one on?”  Needless to say, I gave up and bought her a few comfortable looking sports bras.  She, of course, couldn’t remember they were bras and never wore them.

Since my memory is slightly better than that, I did manage to whittle down my shots to 4.  I particularly like the last one in terms of an interesting experiment.  I shot through the utility lamp with the focus on the mini-blind in the background.  The light created the effect of a moon behind the blind, which surprised me since the lamp was about 6 inches from the lens and the blind was more like 4 feet away.