Alyson's mother packed me a fine and tasty lunch to take with me the day I left the hospitality of her household. This included a fine, plump blueberry bagel, a thoughtfully juicy and vegetarian-friendly fruit salad, and a big freaking Washington Apple. Apparently that state is famous for its glorious apples, and this I can readily understand. I have never held in my hands an apple of such size and magnificence ever before in my life. And I'm sure I violated some law or other by neglecting to eat it before I made it back to Canada, but I had other plans for my fruity companion. I was exceedingly sad to leave my friend and call my visit concluded, so the trip home was less than pleasant for me. I sulked and fretted and pouted and sighed, and during the intervals between my many connecting flights, I took whatever time I could within airports to document my journeys with the apple as my subject and my camera for posterity (having neglected, like an idiot, to otherwise take a single photo during my entire trip). I have included my favourites here as a shrine to my memories.

This first photo comes from my rushed tour of my first connecting airport in the twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, Minnesota. To my delight, my plane landed late, so I only had about fifteen minutes to get from one end of the airport to the other. Rush rush rush. See Rob rush. I made it to the gate five minutes before my next plane was set to take off -- airports are big. As I ascended an escalator from one level to another I was hit with the initial inspiration to document this time and quickly snapped off the first in this series of photos. Here is the apple, jauntily perambulating along with me to our plane.

In Detroit, I had a lot of time to play with myself. At least, in the boring figurative way that involves a lot of standing, sitting, waiting, and pacing. There wound up being five hours between flights due to an unforseen series of delays and an excess of weight which lead to me volunteering to wait for the next flight. I got a lot of wear out of the apple here, desperately trying to find the right poses for it. I mean, what else did I have to do with five hours? Because shoe-shine stands are almost extinct in the world, I was delighted to see that they still existed in American airports. I found one and put the apple down for a sitting. As a result of this being black and white film, though (it actually is the best kind), the apple isn't really obvious. If you look at the left hand side of the seat for a second, it should be apparent. Give me some credit -- at least it's not a magic eye puzzle.

"Oh look -- an apple!"

As I said, I had a lot of time to myself in Detroit. I was trying to think of what, exactly, my brain states were engaged in when I decided to take this photo, and this must have taken place when I was lost in the purity of the waiting experience. I mean, if you wait for anything for one hour, it is, quite simply, irritating. You pace, you tour coffee shops, you watch all the lucky happy people who get to board their planes, and you wish you hadn't been in such a hurry to finish that book you bought in Ottawa five days ago. After two hours of the marvels of airport washrooms, memorizing the entire series of looped announcements sent over the public address system every fifteen minutes, and agonizing over every little thing you did wrong during your visit, you still don't have any idea when the plane is supposed to show up, and you're beginning to consider finding a nice young someone in the same metaphorical boat, and pairing yourselves up to breed a whole new colony of genetically superior children to pick up the torch and wait for planes of their own someday. After three hours the Walkman batteries are dead. After four hours, baby, it's like Zen. You've entered a whole new universe of waiting that supercedes both patience and impatience alike and more resembles a state of awareness. You just are waiting, and then the plane comes.

But I was still probably thinking of my friend Alyson when I took this photo.

At long last, and I think this was nigh upon eleven o'clock pm EST, I made it home to MacDonald-Cartier International Airport. Poor Natalie, who had come to wait for me, had spent all those extra hours waiting for me, and it was only through the graces of fate that my urgent calls to the Ottawa Airport were turned into my dear friend being paged and notified of my tardiness. I concluded my trip by sending the apple for a trip on the baggage carousel (for I am otherwise a dedicated follower of the religion of carry-on luggage. Travel light, and keep your bag handy...), and it was only a day or two later that I actually ate the apple.