Socks on a Plane

She rose with quiet grace to join the queue when they called boarding for First Class passengers. She barely glanced up from the text she was writing. Her iPhone wore a Kate Spade cover. She adjusted her slouchy Stella McCartney carry-on bag over her shoulder and glided to the departure gate. She wore black, ankle-cropped, Donna Karan skinny-jeans with a light, natural linen jacket over a turquoise T-shirt and a long silk scarf that had large black polka dots on a white background. It was tied a few times around her neck with casual insouciance. Her feet were bare inside her black Prada ballet flats. She appeared relaxed, at ease in her own skin, as though flying to her was as ordinary as popping over to Whole Foods to pick up her kale, quinoa and soy milk. Just by looking at her you could tell that her magical tote bag carried everything she needed to mix and match for the weekend ahead: a simple, black sheath-dress, a pashmina wrap, one stunning piece of jewelry, a change of T-shirt and a bikini. Upon arrival at her destination, she could be ready at a moment's notice to dine in a candlelit bistro with a guy who drives a Porsche.

This is not a portrait of me.

Flying to me is a bit like hell on wings. I sleep restlessly the night before imagining all kinds of horrors, like will I forget to transfer my lipstick from my purse to my one quart zip-lok? I regard clearing security with the gravity befitting a border interrogation at Checkpoint Charlie. I sit in airport lounges nervously waiting for the arriving flight's passengers to disembark so I can time my last visit to the restroom before boarding. I check my purse a hundred times to locate my boarding pass. My carry-on is on wheels because it has to be big enough to hold the right amount of snacks if we are ever marooned on the tarmac for three days. Plus enough pharmaceuticals for any medical emergency barring a heart attack. Oh, no, wait, I have aspirin in there, so we have that one covered as well. I always get a seat on the aisle because I am so completely fidgety that I get up two or three times per hour. At the slightest bit of turbulence I race to the restroom for fear that the captain will put on the Fasten Seatbelts sign and I will be stuck in my seat wondering if the sign will ever go out again. When I get to my seat on the aircraft, I haul out all my diversionary activities and arrange them in the seat pocket in front of me so I am never without something to do instead of listening to the aircraft engines making unusual sounds: iPhone and earbuds, paperback, magazine, sandwich, a fistful of crosswords torn out of the newspaper. When we start our initial descent into the airport, I pack them all away again, even though everyone knows it takes a half hour to land. That's when I close my eyes and hope for the best.

As for packing the right clothes, it takes me weeks to decide on what to take and even with all that planning, I always take the wrong things. And too many of them. Although, I have to say that this last trip to Florida was one of my better efforts. I wore everything at least once and even mixed and matched a bit. I wore jeans on the plane. My jeans are from Chico's. In a sand-color. (Florida, right?) I topped them with a white shirt and an Eileen Fisher teal-colored cardigan sweater with floaty, swingy-out edges. I added a teal, cotton-knit infinity scarf from JJill, looped twice, and wore socks and my orhtotics with my new, bright turquoise Ecco sneakers. The girl at Starbucks said, "Don't you match really nice!" I said, "Thanks!" but I was thinking, "Great. I look like I bought an outfit to wear on the plane. How pathetic is that?"

I had bought an outfit for the plane, but had a crisis of indecision. It was a black knit cardigan with floaty, swingy-out edges (very flattering to us older gals these days) and matching pants. I held it up to show Ken.

"Do you think I should take this?" I asked.

"If you think you'll wear it, take it."

"It might be too warm."

"Well, it is going to be in the 80s."

"But I bought it especially for our trip."

"O.K. then, bring it."

"I don't know. It's a bit heavy."

"Then why did you buy it to wear to Florida?"

"I bought it in January when it was cold out."

As it turned out I could have used it. It was chilly in the evenings.

Anyway, this week I'm going to shop for a natural linen jacket and a turquoise T-shirt. Maybe some ballet flats. As for the woman in the Donna Karans, I hope her sockless ankles got cold on that drafty plane.

Ken and I in Florida last week where we stayed with some great friends and had a wonderful time. Note the teal sweater and infinity scarf looped only once.