So... flying home from Calgary, I had to fly to Phoenix. Whoever made that flight route had to have been drinking, but nonetheless, I was going to Phoenix. I was tired. I had a full six days all over southern Alberta with more late nights and early mornings than Im used to. I think that once I find seat 18A, I will sleep until I land in Arizona. Im the last one on the plane, and walk toward my seat. The plane is full. I look around and find my seat, and I am a bit taken aback. I have the window seat surrounded by what looks like a whole Amish family, only with different hats. I squeeze into my space, put on my seat belt, make the sign of the cross, wait for takeoff with my earbuds out, and hoping the Stewardess speech would hurry up. The two Amish looking people next to me arent listening, and they start whispering in what sounds to be Dutch or German, but I cant tell. Im really confused, yet fascinated at their language and try to pick out words I can understand. Im sitting next to the woman, and she is wearing a homemade red cotton dress, with a black scarf on her head. She has blonde hair and blue eyes, and very pretty skin. The guy next to her is wearing a white shirt and black pants. They were both nervous. I figured out they were speaking some kind of German, but which, I had no clue. entschuldigen... Bist du Deutsch spricht?, I ask. She said yes, and asked me if I speak normal German or Plautdietsch, to which I can only reply that I know the normal one. We spend the next two and a half hours speaking. What I learned was very interesting, and at 30,000 feet in the air of all places. She and her family are Mennonites. They took some kind of bus to Canada for her sisters wedding, and she probably wont see her again until their parents funeral. Its the first time she (and her husband next to her) have ever been on a plane. She speaks a German dialect that hasnt changed since the 1600s. She was born and raised in Mexico, where her whole family lives, and has lived there as farmers for generations. She is a German Mennonite, Mexican (Spanish speaking) citizen with no real exposure to my culture and cant speak English. I had a million questions. And so did she. She liked my fingernail polish and asked if it hurts me when I tear the paint off. She asked about my iPhone and I taught her how to play Angry Birds. Her family was just as curious as her, and since I could communicate with them, I also explained very practical things- like how to close the bathroom door on the plane, and ask the Stewardess for their water. From Phoenix, all 12 of them will be picked up and will travel the next two days by bus to Cuauhtemoc Mexico, the place they call home. She gave me her address, and invited me to her house. Her penmanship is an old script, and I have never seen anyone write that way in my life. I give her mine, and extend the invitation to her, knowing full well her world and mine will never collide again, unless I go to hers. Talking with her was very refreshing; she has been the most purest, innocent, sweetest antique I have ever met- and shes only 26. She has old world knowledge that has been lost for hundreds of years, and a childlike curiosity mixed with enough wisdom to know that most of the things she hasnt been exposed to in her life are of very little value, and everything to make a happy life is everything she already has. This plane ride will probably be the only experience she ever has that resembles something in my life, and I am thankful I got to share it with her. We land, and I ask if they need help finding their bags and the direction of the exit. They look confused, as the only bags they have are in their hand. They asked me if I have time to take them to the exit, and while we are there, if they can bless me. Of course, I say, and know that a blessing given with good intentions will do me good. As I make my way back through TSA, and to my gate, I had to go buy a Starbucks. I had hoped it would help me stay awake for my layover before my flight home to Minneapolis, and enough energy to see who my next neighbor on the plane is. Life. Sometimes, its about the lessons for other people, and not so much about the ones for yourself.
Posted on: Fri, 22 Aug 2014 00:13:26 +0000
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