John's Home

For the third year in a row, John spent a healthy chunk of February in Turkey. That means it's Bingley, Magic and I. It also means some extra work for our intrepid dog sitter-dog walker.

Certainly, when I'm the only human, I do all the walks, all the poop patrols, all the mess clean-ups. But it is very comforting to have canine companionship when one's husband is thousands of miles away.

It's more than a thirteen hour plane trip from Ataturk Airport in Istanbul to LAX. I've learned to follow the trips on a flight tracker on my computer, watching the little plane on the screen make its way on a northerly arc, disappear over the Atlantic for a while, and finally land safely at its destination.

Yesterday a friend gave me a link to the LAX control tower. It's amazing to listen to the rapid fire communication that gets flights off the ground and safely back. I was intrigued that at the end of the stream of pilot code, each air traffic officer sent off departing planes with a "take care" or "see you soon."

I listened for a while to a variety of American accents of pilots of planes taking off and landing. And then a distinctively foreign accent--a Turkish accent--"Turkish Air, Flight 9" requesting landing instructions. How extraordinary to hear the voice of someone I'll never meet who played such an important role in preserving my well being and happiness--bringing John home safely once more.

That does sound a little dramatic, since thousands of pilots bring millions of passengers safely to their destinations routinely and we never give it a thought.

Perhaps I am marveling at such a common event because, in another part of my life, I am submerged in the early nineteenth century. More of that later.

Yes. There are dogs in the other part of my life, too.