When Pigs Fly

Strange encounters.

For the most part I really like to talk to strangers. And I embrace situations in which the structure of stranger talking is facilitated.
Meet Southwest Airlines.
I prefer flying Southwest for three reasons.
1) Bags fly free
2) There are no cancellations charges. (I know, unreal?)
3) I can pick who I sit beside.

It is fairly common for me to saunter my way down the aircraft isle and look for middle seats in between interesting looking people. I make them be my friend. I trap them into conversation! I am that person.

This particular day I chose a window seat and had sleep or daydreaming on the brain. I wasn't feeling chatty.

I looked up when I heard a giant of a man come trampling down the aisle saying outloud, "I'm looking for someone small to sit beside."... followed by a santa claus laugh.

I probably rolled my eyes, and followed up my disdain for this particular gentleman by stretching my 127 pound body as far as I could into the seat beside me.

I was the lucky one.
This 6'6" giant sat in 12 d.

He said hello. I said the mandatory hello back, possibly adding a "how are you?".. and then laid my head on the window to begin my 5 hour forced nap.

About 20 minutes into the flight the joking Southwest Captain (#4 thing I love about Southwest... have you heard them? cheesy, but funny) announced that we were flying over the Grandest of grand canyons.
DAMN!
I had to look! I lived in Tucson for almost two years and hadn't gone, this was my chance to see it from above.
I tried to quietly sneak a peak without giant talking to me.
Fail. fail. fail. fail.
He was good.
He nailed me with 3 questions as soon as I lifted my head.
Have you ever been to the grand canyon?
If you had your pick of anywhere to go, where would you go?
Why are you going to Providence?

And this is how I began my 5 hour nonstop conversation with Mr. Giant.

Mr. Giant was very nice and very very different from me. He was in his 40s, spent his whole life trying to become as wealthy as possible. He was a dirty business (I just learned how to properly spell that word) man, who lied and cheated to make a buck.
And now in his 40s was searching for enlightenment, for answers, for forgiveness.

The first hour we spoke of education. He voted against education tax increases. He has 3 kids in the public school system.
The second hour we spoke of health care. He doesn't think we need reform.
The third hour was a mix of how to make money, raise kids, give to charity, etc..

Then we transitioned into spirituality. We spoke of purpose. love. community. faith. honesty.
He cried as he told me of his journey.

We disagreed throughout most of our earlier conversations.
Until we reached the last 2 hours of our flight to Providence.

During the last ten minutes, he felt compelled to show me his tattoo. Strange?
It was a pig with wings.
He said, "This is my reminder, that I am nothing but a pig with wings."


Pig with wings. ok.
Something I wanted to ponder and reflect on later as it was such a strange concept.

We reached the airport, said our goodbyes with a hug and thanked one another.


I got back to Tucson late Sunday night and went to work on Monday. I opened up my agenda. I had a postcard lying in the front of the book. Three weeks prior my glorious friend Meander came to visit. We went on a magical day trip to Bisbee AZ. I decided while in Bisbee that I was going to become a postcard writer. Not a postcard writer poser. I bought 6 vintage postcards. I sent 5 of them.
One was left in my agenda.
What was it?

A pig with wings.