The View From Above

True story:

I'd gone to California a few years ago for my Uncle Gene's memorial service. Flew down to San Diego; my cousin knew I was coming, but we hadn't told anyone else, including my Aunt Mary Lou. So it was a major surprise when Cousin Erin drove my Aunt to the airport and there I was coming down the hall.

Anyway.

I had a layover in Phoenix on the way back to Utah; after getting into the air, the flight was virtually "as the crow flies" - due north. Never even felt the plane bank, and didn't even have to circle Salt Lake International. Smoothest flight I'd ever been on.

As I always fly with a window seat, there's always a chance I'd get crowded out by a seat mate, and I did on that flight.

By two friars. Really.

So as we flew along, the younger of the two Franciscan types asked what the rock formations were, down below. We'd been flying for a while by then, and as I looked down, I said "Oh, that's Bryce Canyon."

At least it looked like Bryce Canyon.

A while later, there again were formations of the red variety, and again the question was asked what it was. As I looked down, I said "Oh. I guess the ones we saw before were in Sedona, Arizona. That's Bryce Canyon."

He didn't ask again about the geography so far below.

So what prompted all that? Heather Armstrong has, in a post today, a photo from aboard an airplane and the immortal words "...At least, I think this is Lake Mead."

Turns out I'm not the only one geographically-challenged. At least from above.