When I was a little girl, Love Field, the Dallas airport, had a lovely restaurant. Almost every Sunday we would go after church and have lunch and watch the airplanes arrive and depart. I was too little to know why exactly. Maybe the food was really good. Maybe I was so little that it was a way to entertain me while the grown ups ate. Maybe it was because the aviation industry was so new during the 1940s that planes were a delight and amazement to the adults as well. And maybe, just maybe, it was the escalators that took us up the restaurant level and brought us back down again. They were the first in Dallas I think although again I was too young to know that for a fact. I just remember loving them.
The planes we watched were propeller propelled DC3s. I had flown on one when I was 9 months old, carrying me and my family from Dallas to Atlanta to Greensboro NC to visit my grandmother. Even with that trip under their belts, my parents still enjoyed the planes and of course the food at the restaurant.
Today Dean and I were in Truckee at a little business center next to the airport where there is a very nice little deli. We decided to have lunch there. And so we sat at a table next to the glass wall and watched the commuter planes arrive and depart. Sleek, jet powered, they came and went much to our sophisticated enjoyment while we ate our wraps and reminisced.
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