Takeoff

It was a little after 8:15 yesterday, sitting in 2A, when the flight attendant was perched in front of me with that familiar cornucopia of goodies: the Biscoff cookies, the Sun Chips--when I realized, I was home, home in the air, home in that state of flux we call travel. I dedicate this blog to the pleasure of going places and getting lost. Now, many travel blogs exist--I get that. And I don't propose a book deal or movie rights to be coming my way any time soon, but I am hoping to talk about something...well, different.

Inherent in that infamous USAirways snack basket is a variety of caloric choices: sweets and salty nicely mixed with indulgent and greasy. Much like that basket from which my blog takes it's name it also takes it's shape--and hopefully will offer a salty and sweet mix of observations of a life in transit.

Before I had adult teeth, I had already long been a member of a frequent flyer program--at 8, the idea of being part of a club, like a treehouse, but one that could somehow take my family's staid trips to Orlando and turn them in to, I imagined, backpacking and exploring the world. Before the internet made everything instant, I ran to my mailbox to check those statements--which often just said zero, hoping that as some kids collected box tops for alarm clocks, I could save up points for those swanky bag tags and of course...that trip of my youthful, wide-eyed dreams.

No Guinness Records, no 365 cities in 365 days, no crazy hooks. Just one guy, still adjusting to the real world, reporting from inside the Columbus Airport Hampton Inn, slowly reconciling the currency of ideas with legal tender under the lull of (when times are good) a Westin Heavenly Bed and, (whenever) good hearty, eco-friendly, hold the pesticide, fight-the-man, eating.

Thanks for stopping in--and, I hope you'll come along, and enjoy the places together we go.