We drove past the Hemingway house in Oak Park, a suburb of Chicago, where Hemingway spent his childhood and where Frank Lloyd Wright lived, on a gray, windy, wet day and flew to Detroit.
This isn't the first time we've been in the Detroit airport, but the first time it's been our destination. I've walked through this wonderful tunnel a couple times while in transit here. The lights change colors and flow like Northern Lights and there is tinkling music that makes this walk almost fun. I'm reminded that airports are the big depots of the present where cities spend many millions for giant travel palaces, taking the place of the great train stations of the past. Except that people could possibly face the indignity of a TSA patdown to enjoy the luxury of the airport. We've managed to go through without being scanned or patted down and the TSA officials in Anchorage were polite and respectful. The ones in Chicago pulled that off less successfully, though it seems they were given instructions to be that way.
We're in a hotel and will be picked up soon to go to an engagement party for my son and his fiance at her parents' home. And we are delighted.
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