newark is getting old

First my flight was peremptorily postponed to the unusual moment of 9:29pm. The the lightning began, and briefly knocked out the floodlights on the tarmac, covering the drenched ground crew in darkness. Soon we were told 10:45pm. Shortly after that, we learned the crew of our flight was still on the ground in Jacksonville Florida. Near as anybody could tell, we were postponed til after midnight.

I’ve been taking advantage of the time; the Mark Helprin book I harried for over a year in fits and starts of enraptured attention deficit reading has had my undivided attention the whole evening. I’m carring off chapter after chapter like a bandit in an empty, shuttered beachhouse in February. I’m reading Winter’s Tale. I’m not even going to tell you how awesome this book is. You should read it, but you won’t get it. I don’t get it. I think my dad gets it. It’s his book. If the rain keeps up I’ll be returning it to him soon.

Another side note: I didn’t realize that pretty women could still make me stutter. She wanted to know what was up with our flight to Cleveland. I felt like a fullback with his cleats tied together, and a pumpkin under his arm. Is it too much to ask that when you pull me straight out of a Helprin book I’d be too tongue tied to talk anything as cleverly as one of his inimitable characters? Drat.