I originally started writing this 40,000 feet over the Hudson Bay with about six hours left on the flight to Paris from San Francisco airport, and eleven hours before I landed in Beirut.
The only delay was out Sacramento, but thanks to my fabulous travel agent Robin, who is also my Tech Guy’s wife- I had plenty of time for my connection.
I often fall-asleep during movies, which is why I’ve avoided going to any in a couple of years. I’ve also fallen asleep on dates- and coincidentally I’ve managed to also avoid those too. United has fabulous selection of movies and the three I watched were quite good.
Since the third was an Indian film, where I was reading subtitles during the early pangs of jetlag, I will focus on the first two.
Bridget Jones Baby and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel both had common themes of finding love while getting old.
Bridget Jone’s Baby was basic chick flick chocolate. I will turn 42 during this trip. Do I want baby? Heck to the NO. Babies scare me. I was contemplating buying expensive headphones at the San Francisco airport to avoid listening to the screaming baby on the plane to Paris. Three babies were even crankier and didn’t let me sleep on the four hour trip to Beirut.
I saw my five month old nephew for a family funeral. I held him for twenty seconds, enough for a photo and a near panic attack. I’ll see my him, my younger sister and her husband next month in Portland and my goal is thirty seconds- and also not to drop him.
Marigold Hotel was more dimensional, or I was more analytical. Like Bridget a couple of the main characters were looking for love in an older age, but it also dealt with medical tourism, homosexuality, and cultural biases.
More importantly after travel ing for fifteen hours, Marigold didn’t put me to sleep and I should have been sleepy. According to my phone when it finished it was a few minutes after 9pm in California- not too far from my usual bedtime- and another reason I’m a horrible date.
More spoilers alerts:I would love to find love in my forties, or fifties or sixties if I live that long. Unfortunately aside from my dog, or rest in peace Hooka, or cat (who dislikes most people and is probably mad but getting fed and checked on by my neighbor while in on vacation) familial love, or friendship- romantic love seems like fiction- like Bridget or Marigold.
I have experienced lust- as I call them to my close girlfriends- dumb crushes. They have ranged in height, age, race.
After a few weeks or months I realize the only thing these guys have in common is their lack of romantic interest in me. Some of these guys I’m still friends with- at least until they read this blog.
“Kristi she said, they are so chivalrous, they watch out for her.”
I don’t have the body of the pre-pregnant Renee Zelwigger in the Bridget Jones sequel, and who knows if I will ever survive into my later years to find love at a run-down hotel outside the United States like in Marigold.
But as it approaches my normal 5:30am wake up hour (at least Paris time), and the baby is still screaming, and I ponder the vegetarian mystery breakfast the flight attendant gave me, this flight was a nice reminder that I can still find romantic love if only at the Movies. Heck this year, Roger Federer won the Australian Open and Rafa Nadal the French Open in their thirties, and tennis nerds kept iterating how old they were, maybe finding romantic love in my forties is not unrealistic.
I can be consoled with at least I found love in the air watching the movies.