I hear the beverage cart coming down the airplane aisle, and I salivate like Pavlov’s dog. My husband, Francis, orders a Bloody Mary — “Sure, why not make it a double; I’m on vacation” — and convinces me to order Prosecco, which comes in a serving-sized plastic twist-top bottle labeled “BRUT Sparkling Wine - California.”

The manufacturers may have intended to portray that this wine was skillfully produced using a perfect combination of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir grapes ripened in the warm California sun, employing the time-honored Méthode Champenoise and double-aged en tirage in naturally temperature and light-controlled caves, yielding a complex, crisp and fruity effervescent nectar that is a delight to any refined palate.

However, my airplane wine tastes more like it came from a long-forgotten bottle of grape juice that fell behind the shelves in a Poughkeepsie convenience store.

Francis insists on spreading a magazine out on his side of our tiny economy-class realm while sipping his cocktail. Thus, my tray table is piled high with our worldly detritus: my plastic wine bottle and cup, along with Francis’ two vodka nips, can of Bloody Mary mixer, two empty packets of imitation lime juice, cocktail napkins, our water cups and mini pretzel bags.

My tray table looks like a Daytona Beach bar after last call during spring break.

Two dozen iPad solitaire games and a sudoku puzzle later, the plane makes its descent, and the Earth comes into focus outside my airplane window.

I get rather philosophical when I travel. The herding of humanity in airplanes, buses and trains always makes me wonder about who we are, where we’ve been and where we’re headed in life. Even car trips create a moving picture of scenes flashing by — cities, suburbs, small towns, buildings, highways, byways, billboards, signs, flora, fauna and people living their lives among it all.

As we soar just under the clouds, I see the flat, greening Florida landscape, intersected with roads upon which miniature vehicles travel, lined with crops and interspersed with various bodies of water that mirror the sky. Sparks of the sun’s reflection on unseen metal objects flash up at me, and intricate patterns of suburbs begin to appear as tiny postage stamps lined up in straight and curving rows. I discern houses, garages, driveways and cerulean blue swimming pools. Viewed from the sky, each lot seems a perfect pygmy replica, like Francis’ vodka nips.

Seeing the postage stamp-sized homes of humanity reminds me of all the places our military family lived while Francis was active-duty Navy for 28 years. At each duty station, we collected a new postage stamp that we called home. Whether it was an apartment, a base house, a rental home, our first purchased home or a few months in base lodging while waiting for housing, we were forced to create a “home” wherever we found ourselves and carry on with things.

The idiom “the world is your oyster” comes from a scene in a Shakespeare play in which a sword-wielding character implies that one can get what he wants out of life by using a bit of force. That is what military families must do — if we want a good life, we must make it happen no matter where we find ourselves in the world.

A week later, our Florida vacation is over and we are headed back to Rhode Island. From my window seat, I peer down once again, this time at the moonlit rocky hills, cold coastline, boats trailing white wakes, bridges, buildings and networks of streetlights surrounding miniature dwelling places where people are folding laundry, watching TV, doing homework and putting out trash. This has been home since Francis retired from the Navy in 2016, an eternity in military time.

I am grateful that, of all the places on the roughly 58 million square miles of land on Earth, and of all the eight billion people living on this planet, the plane has delivered us here. It is the final piece in our scrapbook collection of postage stamps. It is our home.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com