It鈥檚 good for the soul to nurse a fantasy, an escape plan, a thing we yearn to do someday, some way, off in the middle future. For some it鈥檚 a boat, or a beach shack, or a cabin deep in the woods. For others it鈥檚 a distant rendezvous with a fly rod, or a pair of crampons, or a blank canvas to paint en plein air. It鈥檚 the thing we鈥檙e going to get to one of these days, when there鈥檚 time and money and attention to burn.
My pipe dream has a certain shape, a certain shimmer and sheen. It鈥檚 a dream of the open road, but also one that鈥檚 very much fixed within the iconography of America. Long story short, I鈥檓 insanely into Airstreams: teardrops from the age of Sputnik, space capsules from the pages of . I don鈥檛 own one of the classic orbs, but 滨鈥檝别 obsessed over them for decades. Bambis. Sovereigns. Land Yachts. Excellas. Flying Clouds. I guess you could call it a fetish鈥攁nd there are many tens of thousands of people around the world afflicted just like me.聽
滨鈥檝别 , 滨鈥檝别 been to national Airstream conventions, 滨鈥檝别 studied the life and times of the company founder (world traveler and trailering evangelist Wally Byam). I collect Airstream art posters, bric-a-brac, salt and pepper shakers. My tree at Christmas is festooned with Airstream lights. My affections are trained less on the object itself than on the aesthetic. But there it is. I can鈥檛 control it. It鈥檚 bigger than I am. I鈥檓 smitten with unsmirched aluminum, with that aerodynamic curve, that monocoque argentine shell.
Will ownership make me happy? It could destroy the fragile feeling altogether. When an Airstream becomes a thing to be maintained, a quotidian chore, my love may wither. Some things, I know, are better worshipped from afar.聽
But mark my words, I shall possess one of the righteous silver lozenges one day, so help me God.