I am at the Raleigh-Durham airport. My flight is delayed at least an hour because the rest of the country is beset by storms, apparently. I left my phone charger at the retreat center, I accidentally packed my computer cord in my luggage, I’ve got a half bag of turkey jerky in my purse and no contact solution to squirt into my dry eyeballs: Welcome to the glamorous life of a sewlebrity.
Aw, it’s fine. I’m just being dramatic. (But there really is turkey jerky in my purse and my computer really is going to die before too long, here.)
The truth is, I’m in a pretty good mood, considering. I spent 36 hours with a group of salt o’ the Earth women down here in North Carolina. It appeared they had a good time and learned things from me; the opposite was true, too.
I had a conversation with two of the ladies on the front porch last night; I won’t soon forget it. We talked politics and it was so good. I rarely ever broach the topic, as you know, but from time to time, the mood is right, and so it was last night. The three of us talked about how we voted, how we feel about how we voted, and how important it is to keep talking to each other across party lines, across our life stages, across our city mouse/country mouse locations. We have to do this if we’re gonna make it. I thanked them last night for the meaningful chat; I thank them both again now.
My hopeful, optimisticky mood took a hit a few hours ago, though, and I blame the newsstand at the sundry shop here at the Raleigh-Durham International Airport (RDU). My love of magazines and books is no secret: I was the editor of a national magazine for four years; I am currently associate editor of my school’s newsmagazine; I have written two quilting books; I am writing a book of essays. If I got any more in love with magazines and books, why, I’d marry ’em!
But the magazines and books at the RDU sundry shop made my stomach hurt. Here’s what was there and how I felt about what was there:
- Romance novels — not where my interest lies*
- Super-crazy expensive business books with titles like, “Who Stole My Pickles?” and “The Accelerator’s Handbook: The Only Business Advice You’ll Ever Need. Ever. Really.” — no way
- Magazine after magazine with photoshopped models making truly ridiculous fashion faces — this is still a thing
- Magazine after magazine freaking out about everything — WE GET IT
- Magazine after magazine about tech or computers — #TylonolPM
- Magazine after magazine for dudes — gross
And I really needed to get something to read because hello: no phone charger, no computer cord. The clock was ticking, man. I finally found a book worth buying: White Trash: The 400-Year Untold History of Class in America, by Nancy Isenberg. Thank goodness. This book is at the top of a zillion “Best Of” lists and looks fascinating, so as this computer dies out, I can read instead of watching that kid over there by the water fountain spin around in circles until she falls and bonks her head and cries. Again. Because that’s happened twice. She’s actually pretty cute, but I’m getting dizzy.
Fade to black.
*In the original post, I used the words “Trashy romance novels.” This was offensive to several folks, so I edited it. We regret the faux pas. — The Management