Somewhere out there in the world is a young woman who, if she reads the letter that follows,, will sing out, “Hey, that’s me—that’s my story!” This letter is written out of gratitude—from me and all those who have heard her story from me. Out of one person’s moment of comic despair has come perspective for all.
Dear Fellow Pilgrim:
There you were, Hong Kong airport, end of the summer of 1984, tensely occupying a chair next to mine. Everything about you said “Young American Traveler Going Home.” You had by then exchanged jean and T-shirt for a sarong and sandals. Sensible short hair had given way to hair long and loose. The backpack beside you bore the scars and dirt of some hard traveling, and it bulged with mysterious souvenirs of seeing the world. Lucky kid, I thought.
When the tears began to drip from your chin, I imagined some lost love or the sorrow of giving up adventure for college classes. But when you began to sob, you drew me into your sadness. Guess you had been very alone and very brave for some time. A good cry was in order. And weep you did. All over me. A monsoon of grievous angst. My handkerchief and your handkerchief and most of a box of tissues and both your sleeves were needed to dry up the flood before you finally got it out.
Indeed, you were not quite ready to go home; you wanted to go further on. But you had run out of money and your friends had run out of money, and so here you were having spent two days waiting in the airport standby with little to eat and too much pride to beg. And your plane was about to go. And you had lost your ticket. You cried all over me again. You had been sitting in this one spot for three hours, sinking into the cold set of despair like some torpedoed freighter. At moments you thought you would sit there until you died.
After we dried you off, I and a nice older couple from Chicago who were also swept away in the tide of you tears, offered to take you to lunch and to talk to the powers that be at the airlines about some remedy. You stood up to go with us, turned around to pick up your belongings. And SCREAMED. I thought you had been shot. But no…it was your ticket. You found your ticket. You had been sitting on it. For three hours.
Like a sinner saved from the very jaws of hell, you laughed and cried and hugged us all and were suddenly gone. Off to catch a plane for home and what next. Leaving most of the passenger lounge deliriously limp from being part of your drama.
I’ve told the story countless times. “She was sitting on her own ticket,” I conclude, and the listeners always laugh in painful self-recognition.
Often when I have been sitting on my own ticket in some what—sitting on whatever it is I have that will get me up and on to what comes next—I think of you and grin at both of us and get moving.
So, thanks. You have become, in a special way, my travel agent. My you find your tickets and arrive wherever it is you want to go, now and always.
From his book;
'It was on Fire When I Lay Down on It'
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
SOURDOUGH STARTER with WILD YEAST
Wild yeasts exist in the air around you and to some extent on the wheat berries. There are wild yeasts on grapes (unsulphured) and apples and other fruits. It is those wild yeasts which are 'captured' to make a sourdough starter. The process takes from 3 to 5 days. I wish I had specific amounts for you, but you could start with 1/4 to 1/2 cup of flour and mix in enough warm (not hot) water to make a thin paste. DO NOT make it too soupy. That, in fact, is the trick to a good starter, according to the French bread makers, and I think they should know. And after you've fooled around with the flour and water thing, you might wish to branch out into adding those unsulphured grapes, apples, sour milk, etc as a catalyst in order to capture other strains of yeast. Each of these strains has a slightly different taste. In fact if you move to another area, you might end up with a starter that produces an entirely different flavor. For instance, San Francisco sourdough bread is well known and has a distinct taste due to the wild strains in the air there. On day one you mix the flour and water (and add any catalysts to encourage fermentation) and place in a warm spot. After 3 days, the dough should be moist, inflated, and slightly sour. More flour and water is added (mixed in) and left to sit in a warm spot. After 2 days the process is repeated. Then the next day it is done again. Note the order: 3 days, 2 days, 1 day. At this point you should be able to make a loaf of bread using part of the starter and adding back what you took out in the form of more flour and water. Rule of thumb: Use about 10% starter to size of loaf. In the case of a 2 lb loaf this is a bit over 3 oz of starter (3.2 to be exact). For a 1 lb loaf 1.5 oz would be used. A book that describes this process in great detail is The Village Baker by Joe Ortiz, copyright 1993, published by Ten Speed Press, Berkley CA. If it's not still in print, try the used books stores, that's where I got mine. Or try your local library. If they don't have it, they might be able to get it for you. ©2008 by Ernestina Parziale
Thank You For Visiting!
Have a Great Day!
oh allison, this is such a great post, thanks for taking the time to put it up! i've never read any of his works but after taking a minute to look this over, he certainly has my attention :) it sure was a great thought to start my day on!
ReplyDelete