Recently re-inventing myself, I’ve returned home full-time after living out a Bucket List Adventure as a flight attendant. (Really.)  It was the most  fun, frustrating, rewarding and story-filled chapter of my working life, but changes in the industry (the “norm”) and the realization that my kids will be leaving the nest all-too-soon forced me to reevaluate the worth of adventure at 34,000 feet versus adventure in my own backyard…for the time being, anyway.

As a flight attendant for a great regional airline, I enjoyed the frustrations and rewards of flying as the only cabin crew on many of my flights (most often 50 passenger jets and 34 passenger props). While a little intimidating at first, I came to embrace the freedoms and opportunities of  creating my “own little world” on each leg; I was responsible for setting the tone in the cabin on each flight I worked. In spite of  the popular belief that  air travel and travelers had to be/were miserable, I decided not to let irritable, rude or inattentive passengers define my experience or day. In fact, I was convinced there were lots of interesting, kind and helpful people boarding my flights all the time.

In training, we were taught that “the hello moment” was the most important moment on a flight; it only takes a person a few seconds to determine how a flight, or other experience, will go (on either side of the equation). Creating a rapport with people, communication style and establishing leadership are some key elements that can be determined in that simple, little “Hello!”  Even though it sounded too simple (and even corny) at first, I found it to be true: on the plane, at the airport, in another country or in my own neighborhood. Seriously, I didn’t believe it myself when I heard that…

Taking advantage of the freedom as the only Inflight Goddess (as well as upgrading my job title?), I loved visiting with all those potentially fascinating people on my flights. One of my favorite things was to ask a “random question of the flight,” listening to people’s answers as I waited for the Diet Cokes to stop fizzing. After hundreds of flights, I landed on “the” question that consistently provided good, easy conversation (even with the initially grumpy ones): What simple things in life make you smile? That question became “my thing.”  I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to share all the really great stories people shared with me as a result of that simple question, but they did inspire me to spend more of my time focusing on the positive things in my life. Or day. Or hour.

So, “Hello!” I hope you’ll find something in my blog that makes you smile…

I had quite an ecumenical up-bringing, which provided me with many opportunities to “try on” and to understand, indeed to appreciate, diversity. I have experienced what it is to be a part of the “mainstream” or more popular religious beliefs and practices around me. I have also experienced being in a religious minority with more “extreme” beliefs and practices. I have experienced a range of things from being swept up in a moment to being alienated and isolated at other times. I have felt sanctuary, security, hope and community. I have felt anger, fear and judgment in the context of organized religion and personal spiritual journey. Through the years and through different life-stages and experiences, I have grown and changed in many ways. Maturity, education and cultural context have broadened my understanding of, and appreciation for, the significance and importance of religion for individuals and for society; from what it means for individuals to families and cultures and across generations. I do not have a “name” for my now chosen beliefs and practices; the way I have chosen to live my life and to express myself  is more important to me than identification with a particular group or tradition. I have strong feelings and thoughts about spirituality and religion (as I understand it), and in how I share that part of myself with and teach my children. Like many others, my spiritual beliefs and practices define my responsibility to and role as a member of society, both locally and globally.

Regardless of my personal practices and beliefs, I do hold strong opinions and beliefs that there are as many “answers” as there are people and times…and I try to withhold judgment of other people, customs and cultures from that place of respect. I don’t do that perfectly; there are situations and practices (and people) which make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Out of respect for humanity and for social justice, there are simply some things (expressions, actions and practices) I find extremely threatening, socially irresponsible and incomprehensible. At this time and place in my life, I find those situations to be the exception rather than the rule. I have come to see and to understand the different ways other people and cultures observe and celebrate their spiritual and religious beliefs like facets of a jewel…and even more brilliant and inspiring than something of a singular or extremely limited cut!

The update on The Family is as follows: Audrey is healing from her head & neck injury and is caught up in school except for her English paper; Parker is at his last day of basketball clinic right now (and happy about that) and has been taking Western riding lessons; I am returning to flying as of August 1 (and still a bit nervous about how that will go on the home-front). Doug continues to obsessively provide us with a picture-perfect lawn….All the critters are fine: Chami turned ten last week; the Kitties rule our house, and the horses live in the pasture now. They seem to be doing well with that; I have moments of “mom-guilt” about them not being in the barn, but I remind myself they are HORSES! oh well–Guess I have to feel needed?

I hope to provide entertaining glimpses into random things in the coming days and weeks. Please come back to see what my current “flights of fancy” I’ve found…

P.S: Audrey is trying to learn to drive. I’ll be drinking heavily during the learning process…

You see, my daughter is fifteen. And a freshman in high school, just like in the song. And this week, she’s been dealing with her first broken heart, just like in the song. It breaks my heart on so many levels…Usually, I like to write about things, people and moments in my life with humor. I’m finding that a challenge for “this” life-moment; the ferocious-protect-your-child-mother-in- me is rearing her powerful (ugly/beautiful) head! A little background: My daughter and I don’t always see eye-to-eye. More accurately, we butt heads A LOT! Perhaps we are too much alike; then again, maybe not. She has her “head on” much straighter than I did at her age. (That’s another blog post that will most likely go unwritten…)  Most of the time, we drive each other crazy. And she’s a Daddy’s Girl, which often just antagonizes OUR relationship. She’s a smart, ambitious, likable young lady with big goals and SO many things in her “assets” column. When it comes down to it: she really is an amazing young woman. But don’t tell her I said that…(Don’t be alarmed: I do tell her that…but in principle, don’t tell her I said that!

Riding high...

She digs this...

Before the school year even started, she joined the high school cheer and stunt squad and loves it. (I had full-fledged nightmares about what would be expected of me as a “cheer mom.” I don’t exactly fit that “profile,” you could say…) She’s pretty much a straight-A student. She’s popular, funny and charming. She had a wonderful, handsome young man as her boyfriend; her first “love.” Back to Cheerleading: unfortunately, she’s suffered a couple of injuries which have sidelined this determined, passionate young woman much of the season. She recovered from the first injury and returned to her chosen sport with her elbow and enthusiasm intact. Not too long after that, she was injured again: dropped from about six or seven feet above the ground. (On her head, by the way.) At the time, it seemed she was just kind of “roughed up” with a sore neck and a mild concussion. That was January 18. I wasn’t even told about the accident until late in the evening on January 19.

Today is March 10, and Audrey is still struggling with recovery from a “TBI” (Traumatic Brain Injury)–a fancy name for a bad bump on the head. The injury to the muscles in her neck area (the trapezium) is not healing either. She’s struggling with headaches, muscle pain, vision impairment and fatigue, to name a few things. We still don’t have any answers as to why she’s not recovering faster, or what is even going on to cause the vision problems. She gets dizzy when she stands up, sometimes “blacking out” for a second or two. It’s frustrating and tiring for everyone involved. It’s impacted her daily activities, her schooling, her upcoming driving and her social life. I feel horrible for her. The restrictions she’s had on her activities felt more like a punishment to her than if she was grounded. “No texting, no computer, no recreational reading; nothing that “taxes” her brain.” She was in a neck collar for about a month to help with the muscles in her neck; it didn’t work. Fortunately, last Friday they took her out of that. We were told that she could resume activities like FaceBook and reading “as tolerated.” Yippee! Hope!?

Now don’t get me wrong: Audrey is a really good kid. But she’s fifteen, and sometimes makes “15-year-old” choices. She and her boyfriend made a whopper about a week-and-a-half ago that wound them both up grounded and in a “cooling off” period. Our rules: “NO riding around in cars with boys. Ever. You’re fifteen. NO leaving the house if your parents aren’t home. Particularly not to be with aforementioned handsome 16-year-old boy…” Suffice it to say, there were some broken rules and some consequences in our home…And then, to make a long story a little-less-long (and incriminating) the handsome-young-wonderful 16-year-old boy broke it off. About 48 hours after declarations of love and oaths of honor and respect. I liked him before he broke up with her and, even though I’m ticked at how he did it, I still find him to be a pretty good kid. But he hurt my daughter, and so he’s on my “list” for now. The timing was terrible.

Not that breaking up with your first love is ever going to have “good” timing…but sheesh! Hearing her sobbing, seeing her “ugly crying” (yup. We’ve all been there, friends…), seeing her reaction to just about every song on the radio…Aauugghhhhhh! Trying to comfort her in an “un-comfortable” state…I’m overwhelmed by her grief, and my own, from this whole few months. I hurt for the way she is hurting now. I hurt from the memory of being fifteen with my own broken heart. I’m angry and hurt and concerned and overwhelmed at all that has been placed on her plate at this moment in time. I’m tired of people telling me “how resilient” young people are. I’m afraid of how this will impact her future. It hurts; we walk through it.

It has healing powers...

Audrey and I went for one of our “Pie Dates” last night. As usual, we had a great conversation. If you have an adolescent (or any other age) child, I cannot recommend strongly enough the power of Pie Dates. Things we could never begin to discuss at home flow easily over pieces of  cake and pie; if you haven’t tried it, YOU MUST! The Power of Pie Dates is nothing short of miraculous!  How do I begin to express my gratitude for these special times with her? I want to protect her, to nudge her on and to celebrate her all while  smackin’ her upside the head for being…hmmm, 15!? sigh….We discussed relationships, sex, song lyrics and the power they hold over us, as well as MY adolescent “history.” (Really!? Was that necessary!?) We talked of pies, cakes and potential opportunities for that first job. First love, first jobs…mistakes, celebrations, plans, Plan B’s…We should have eaten a lot more pie last night, now that I think about it…

The Beautiful One!

How I wanted those braids...

While playing Half-Pint from Little House was more of a solitary pursuit, I remember that three of us made great Charlie’s Angels…(Three girls playing together commonly results in an odd-man-out situation.) Now, Farah Fawcett was THE hot commodity in those days. Of course, my best friend Heather had that one in the bag. She was the pretty one with the natural golden locks. (And her bangs feathered the best. Something many of us tried to replicate for hours on end…) I always wanted to be Jaclyn Smith, she was “the next prettiest.” (Later in life, I was to become a sorority sister of Ms. Smith. Just the same sorority; never met her. But still…HA!) If memory and pride serve me correctly, I was most often cast as Kate Jackson, The Smart One. oh well.

We had some fantastic crime-solving adventures in that Sycamore tree. It made for a pretty cool headquarters for three hot crime-busting-babes! Of course, as the starry-eyed girls we were, we had to have boyfriends! Those were the days when Shaun Cassidy and Leif Garrett were THE cuties in Tiger Beat magazine; a staple in any pre-teen girl’s piles. I always seemed to like “older men” and preferred Nick Nolte. I don’t even remember what he was in back then, but I do know that, years afterward, when seeing his MUG SHOT on TV I couldn’t imagine what the attraction could have been.

Beloved Shaun...

Exotic Leif...

and then there's Nick! (I always could pick 'em!)

Did I mention that I also love trees? Specifically, tree houses! I wasn’t lucky enough to have an official tree house, but I did have an awesome Sycamore tree by the side of our house that had perfect branches for climbing. And some great, imaginative friends! We transformed that tree into an amazing condo-like getaway for The Angels.

So time goes by, and some childhood dreams never die. I lived out my dream to be a Half-Pint by becoming a guide at Gibbs Museum and Pioneer and Dakotah Life. I’m kicking ass (with lipstick on and my hair “fixed”) at 30,000 feet as a Flight Attendant. And next on my list: http://www.treehousesofhawaii.com I’ve found a tree house that suits me… I wonder what Heather and Julie are doing? hmmmm…

Look Out for the Angel Reunion!!!!

What are YOUR childhood fantasies?

First, REALLY! ? What kind of insensitive jerks ARE you!? After saying that, Why don’t we? Help our neighbors, I mean…Perhaps if we care as much for our Real Neighbors as we do our Facebook neighbors’ farms, islands and aquariums we can make a difference here, too. At home. (I’m not pointing fingers, without several pointing back at myself!) I know there is a list of neighbors and groups as long as my arm in my own community which could benefit from my dollars, my time and my concern. Children without stable homes or healthy role models. Abused women and children. Alcoholics and addicts. People who need help finding jobs. Animal rescues. People who need help making ends meet. Any kind of ends…You get the idea.  And so do I. However, the response to the disaster in Haiti is on a scale which corresponds to the scale of the disaster itself: a WHOLE NATION was basically annihilated in the blink of an eye. People (millions of them in a concentrated space) were already living in conditions of poverty very few of us could imagine. Yes, this disaster is receiving enormous response from around our globe. Perhaps we are learning as we go: Hurricane Katrina, the tsunami. And look at how much technology has shrunk our World in just the last five years? We can now do more, and more easily, than ever before!

Honestly, it is much easier to send a text message to help someone, or to place a phone call linked to a piece of plastic than to get OUT THERE and see the reality of my neighbor’s lives. What if I don’t have the qualifications or resources to make a difference that’s needed? Truthfully, it’s much easier to send help to someone in my jammies and without the threat of breaking a nail. Sad, but honest. But after having the horror of Haiti coming into my home, even on my lap, I would really love to throw on my jeans and hop the first flight to Haiti. I could dig. I could listen. I could provide first aid. I could learn the patois. I could care for children. I could learn to swing a hammer.

So, the lesson in this story is really for myself. Get off your butt(s). Make a difference where you can. Whether it’s the $10 text message or filling bags at the food pantry. But less farming and plundering could possibly make my corner of the world a better place. And to my Facebook friend? What have YOU done to help YOUR neighbor lately?

As I sat in the doctor’s office with my teen-aged daughter (waiting to be seen for injuries received when they dropped her doing cheer stunts), I read an article in the New York Times which really moved me. On my Kindle. (Yes, I feel guilty about how much we have…) However, I’m not sure that I make a very good martyr, nor that I would be so helpful in “going there” mentally or emotionally. What I can do is to share. And to continue to be a positive force in my daily comings-and-goings. I will continue to give as I can, and to plan on helping the Haitians in the coming months and years. They will need everything we can do and give for years to come.

I do hope you’ll take the time to read this article, as I found it to be beautifully written, and quite powerful:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/19/world/americas/19grave.html?ref=americas

To bring this blog back to my own house: please come back for the rantings and ravings of the mother of teen-agers, the “master” of the dog who eats everything, and the wrangler of cat rodeos. And hopefully, I’ll be back in the air SOON!

Have you ever seen a cat smile? I mean REALLY smile? The Cheshire Cat has nothing on my Snugs/Bugs/Tripod kitty. It’s a little creepy. And Chloe the Ninja Princess turns out to be a compulsive bather…Chami (my Golden) is a little put-out that I did not read the Bed Schedule. Football Sundays turn out to be “hers.” huh. I adore my critters, but I’m a little annoyed that they’re annoyed I haven’t read the latest family memos. (Ditto for the two-legs in the crowd.) Guys: I’m not enjoying this hiatus any more than you are! I realize that my hair resembles my first doll, Suzy’s. ( I used to carry her around by the hair, if that gives you an idea.) I realize the ball-cap doesn’t really hide anything. And Parker, in response to: “How do you get your hair to do that?”– Please go back to the basement and leave me to die in peace. Thank you. SuperMom will be back on duty sometime next week. Possibly (but improbably) wearing pearls.

Down the rabbit-hole we go! I’m burrowing. Under the covers; through the layers of my memory. I joke about becoming “That” Crazy Cat Lady at the end of the street in my old age…but who were those women before? Before they were paranoid. Before they sprayed garden hoses at children walking home from school. Before they were lonely widows? Were they mothers? Were they smart? Were they funny? Did they always roll their stockings down around their knees? And did they have cats? Before?

I imagine myself in a house-dress and apron. Shadows of being partly-raised by my great-grandmother, Lottie. She was born in 1900. Never drove a car. NEVER wore pants. Didn’t have anything to speak of, but was probably the most content person I knew. Between her and my IBM-dress-code early-career-days (= Women May Not Wear Slacks), it’s no wonder I balked when they said “No tights with skirts” as part of the new company dress code. (My little bird legs will freeze! And I just CAN’T wear pants!) But I digress. WARNING: There will be lots of that in this post…

So: I’m in my house-dress and apron. I have cats. Not an insane number (like twenty), but approximately the same number I have now: three and three-quarters (remember the Tripod). I live by myself in a little cottage with two horses in the yard. And a goat (to keep Henry- and myself- entertained). And chickens. (Because now I’m too old to worry about what I had to do to get them. That story is rated-R). I have an antique Kindle and laugh at my own jokes and stories. I laugh a lot, and cry when I want to. My children and grandchildren visit me when they remember. I try not to kiss anyone who doesn’t want to be kissed. I love soup. And zucchini bread. No nuts: they mess with my false teeth. I still wear a bra, because it just feels better, but I have resisted the urge to store important documents and electronics in my bosom. (Grandma developed a Third Breast, later in her life.) And because I have purses. Lots of purses. Do I end up clutching them on my lap with white knuckles? Definitely not! In deferance to my Flight Attendant days, I meticulously stow them under any and all seats in my home. That is, under the seat in front of me, not behind the feet. That wouldn’t be safe. And if you’re lucky: I’ll show you my tattoo. The one I do not regret. I will be THAT old lady…

“That” Little Old Lady on our street was Mrs. Mallory. She lived next door to my grandparents (who lived a few blocks down the street from my mom and me). She was scary and mean; definitely dangerous with the garden hose. She looked like a Little Old Lady. She smelled like a Little Old Lady. She had the plastic furniture coverings of a Little Old Lady. I don’t remember her being particularly liked by anyone in my family, but we still had to be respectful good neighbors.I remember that her house, like the others on that street were neat as a pin: white with some sort of 1950-60s aqua trim? Maybe not, but it’s how I remember her..It’s possible that the Old Soul in me even tried to befriend her on an occasion or two? How I came to be in close enough proximity to smell her or attempt to befriend her escapes my memory…This might be a good place to mention that old people have ALWAYS loved me. They still do. (Even look at my Favorite Passengers List!*). Interestingly, the same is true for my husband. And my children are both “old souls;” an idea I’d like to investigate…

To contrast, Mrs. Sullivan lived across the street. She lived on a corner and had weeping willows in her yard. She gave out Halloween Candy. She was elegant and soft and lovely and friendly and makes me think of hot tea and cookies. Although my memory and imagination may comingle, Mrs. Sullivan had a cat. A Siamese. Just one. Very distinguished, Mrs. Sullivan was. I loved her, even though I didn’t know much more about her than Mrs. Mallory. I do recall she was on the “friendly list” with the family though. I don’t remember the inside of her house. I do remember the inside of Mrs. Mallory’s…

I’m not sure how I got there, or how old I was, but there I was inside Mrs. Mallory’s home. I can still smell the stale air. Clean, but stale. I felt scared in that Nancy Drew kind-of-way. I can feel how stiff the sofa was and see the direction I was facing (toward the back of the house). I can see the dust motes floating through the light from the front window, which was behind me. (Pretty sure my posture was good and my hands were in my lap.) I remember being fascinated by the collection of knick-knacks on her mantle. Asian-looking-things. Mysterious. Wow! I can’t tell you much about the conversation, except that she told me those treasures were from her dead husband. He died in World War II. Something about the Pacific. I probably hadn’t gotten that far in History in school yet, I suspect. (Tanforan was a mall, not a camp for the Japanese!) On recalling this, I see the “bicycle spokes” of driving past the National Cemetary outside San Francisco. It turns out that when you are driving by rows and rows and rows of white grave markers, they look like moving spokes on a wheel…so much motion from such a quiet, still place. No joy of free-wheeling down a San Francisco hill on your bike. The Spokes always meant we were getting close to home after a day in The City. Mrs. Mallory: What did they say to you?

I remember Mrs. Mallory going off to the left to retrieve something from another room. I don’t think any of our “conversation” took place with both of us seated. I’m sure the time I was in her home was short. Why did it leave such an idelible mark in my memory? No cats. No laughter. But some kind of realization there was more to Mrs. Mallory than her garden-hose-wielding persona? After that, I still crossed the street with the other kids (to Mrs. Sullivan’s side) when walking to and from school. She still gave me the willies. But something changed for me. I wish I could hear more of your story now, Mrs. Mallory. And I promise not to walk on your lawn.

Notes:
*–there is no such written document. yet.

Time to head back towards the airport…Yikes! Getting to the museum, I was less nervous than trying to make it back “on time” to fly home. (Back to the consideration that listing for the LAST flight of the day was not the smartest idea…) And why do things look so different on the return trip than they did starting out? Clearly, I’ve been hanging out with horses too much, since they often spook at the same item that was FINE in passing it the first time from a different direction. In fact, “spook” might be a good word choice for me here? hmph. Again, I pulled out the “Airline Smile” and tried to show how relaxed I was about the whole thing. I mean, why rumple a wonderful day? Interesting observation: all of the friendly morning-shift MTA workers had evidently gone home to be replaced by the bitter-let’s-mess-with-the-tourists crew. On three different occasions of us asking for directions/help, we came upon workers who were yelling and griping (to put it nicely) to other workers in the booths, with the outside speakers turned on…”Ummm, excuse me? Can you help direct us to the train we take to head back to JFK?” Three times we were directed exactly opposite of the way we needed to go. But Parker and I embraced our subway time; he even almost beat out a wily little man for a seat on the train…but the wily little man was faster. And more than a little competitive. Parker seemed to take this as a challenge: he can be quick and wily, too. Look out subway riders! This is like a video game where quick reflexes and a little butt can be helpful.  I believe, given another day in the city, that his street-smarts could really blossom! huh

This side of the ride had included a much different mix of folks: rowdy foul-mouthed “kids” on their way home from school (I hoped). The shadows of the afternoon were longer and the subway passengers seemed a little shadowier, too. I was no longer hearing a little old black man softly singing spirituals. No longer marveling at the orchestral mix of languages from around the globe. No longer fascinated by the hats. It seemed more people were looking out of their eyes sideways. The tension on the trains was palpable. Was I just tired? Was this the beginning of Rush Hour? I was ready to be finished with this part of the trip. I could tell Parker was getting tired, too. What seemed like an eternity later, and about $20 extra in subway fees, Parker and I arrived at the Jamaica Station. JFK was now in sight! Yay! And on time! Double-yay! I guess I can stop holding my breath now…Oh! Yes, I was holding my breath. Oops, didn’t even realize it until I stopped.

But enough about subways…There was more to this trip that would mark it in my memory; much more. Parker and I checked in for the flight and was assured we would get on. Woohoo! (and whew!) He hadn’t wanted to eat earlier in the day (not even the famous NY Hot dog…) but after we were “safe” in the airport, he decided pizza sounded good. Ten dollar pizza. rrrrrr. Airport food prices always irritate me. But hey; it’s part of the package, right? By this point in  the day, I was really looking forward to a “beverage” during our 3-hour wait. Three hours? Boring? NO WAY! Anyone who has ever spent any time sitting in an airport, particularly an international airport, knows this can be some of THE BEST people-watching anywhere…

And JFK was not to disappoint…

While we munched our pizza (which became more appealing as I watched Parker eat), we watched a large group of Orthodox Jewish gentlemen moving about the concourse. We soon discovered it must be time for evening prayers? The group congregated at a gate set to depart for Zurich. How exotic! This IS the Big Wide World, I thought. Suddenly the group of men began to nod. And bob. And pray. Over and over again. More bobbing. For a long time. Have you ever tried to look cool and non-plussed while fascinated AND in the company of an almost 13-year old boy!? “Parker! Don’t stare!” (I’m staring too. Just sneakier.) “Parker! You can’t laugh!” (I’m trying not to laugh, which is making it harder.) “Parker, for God’s sake, DO NOT bob your head!!!” (I’m going to go to Parenting Jail, because this IS pretty damn funny.) Now I’m thinking I’m the 12-year-old boy…Great modeling, Mom! Another jewel for your Mother of the Year crown! (My but this giggling is fun…) Note to self: learn and teach about World Religion in addition to Art History. This might be an appropriate time to mention that although I consider myself a spiritual person, I have moved far away from the traditional religious observances of my upbringing. I have been raising my children up more in the way I now believe, than in any traditional practice or structured belief system…

So Mama wants a Mike’s. I really enjoy my sissy Mike’s Hard Lemonade, and how refreshing would one be right now…We were right by a Buffalo Wild Wings. They have my Mike’s. Parker and I joked that was my evening prayer: Mama wants a Mike’s. And they had sports on TV: perfect to kill time for Parker! So we went to get a table in the packed restaurant, and were introduced to our server. She spoke little-to-no English. huh. Good thing I have a Spanish degree…(not so much). After much explaining and pointing to the menu, Parker and I decided that I would most likely be getting a regular lemonade without ice. Bummer. Not my evening prayer request! So I got the waitress to stop before she ran away, and asked (by pointing to the menu) for a Sangria instead. Okay. I like sangria. And a little bit out of the ordinary. Fun!

Sangria came. Sangria went. Yum. Bill came. FOURTEEN DOLLARS!?!? ugh. It wasn’t that good…Damn. On our way out of the restaurant, I made a comment to a couple of guys at the next table (who I noticed were also having difficulties with this restaurant and server) that they should stick with the Sprite, as I just paid $14 for my sangria. They laughed and thanked us. Parker and I went to the gate to wait…

Now earlier, I had been trying to figure out why the Orthodox gentlemen had chosen the Zurich gate for their prayers. Empty with space available for a larger group? Facing a certain direction? I had no idea. So now Parker and I are across the concourse from that gate waiting to go to Minneapolis. Here comes the large group of men. Now, maybe an hour later, they’re praying at this gate, which is crowded and facing the opposite direction. So much for my theories. And they didn’t seem to be going to Minneapolis either. huh. AND hats! More hats to add to our collection today….flat ones. Curved-top ones. Furry ones. Not all with the curls on the sides, but 90%. (Parker: “I think those are attached to the hats.” Me: “No, I think they’re attached to their heads.” “How do they get those? Do they use little curling irons?”) Please note: no disrespect intended! Only curiosity and needed education….

It’s getting close to our departure time. We didn’t have seat assignments yet, but the gate agent told us we’d be able to get on. That was all I really cared about. Good deal. While we were waiting, the two gentlemen from the restaurant came over to us and thanked us for the tip at BWW. We laughed and exchanged pleasantries. Turns out they were in NYC for a day trip also, and were from the Twin Cities. Here’s where the day developed another amazing facet…

Jon and Darin had been in New York for treatment for Jon’s cancer. His wife was unable to join him that day, so Darin stepped up as his support and buddy. The two had come in at the same time as we had, and had crammed an astounding amount of fun on top of  their business for the day. These guys were SO nice and SO fun to talk to…their friendship and excitement were contagious. Parker and I both felt an immediate “click” with these men while we compared notes about our day. What fun! One of my greatest joys in life, as I’ve said, is to meet people and to hear their stories. Some of the greatest blessings in my life have come from encounters just like this one; to share this kind of experience with my son was such a GIFT! As passengers were called to the podium for last-minute check-ins and seat assignments Parker and I commented on how neat these guys were and what an amazing day this had been. We decided there are many more New York Day Adventures awaiting us. Soon Parker and I were called up and were delighted to find we had been assigned seats in First Class! This would be Parker’s first time! Cool! Could this day have been any better? Well, as it turns out: Yes. Yes it could.

Parker and I continued to sit and reflect on our adventure: the people, the sights, the new skills we’d discovered we had…I think we stuffed about three days of adventure into one. Well done, I thought. During our reflection, we discussed the neat new friends we had met in Jon and Darin. We had asked them where they were sitting, and had decided that it would be a really nice thing to do to give them our seats in First Class. Jon was assigned a seat there already, but Darin was back in Row 5. I have to take a moment to beam here: How cool is it to discover your (adolescent) child is willing and wanting to give up such a prize as a (first time) First Class seat for someone he just met? This was such a powerful moment for me, I almost cried with joy. (I know I’m sappy, but it’s how I feel). We told Jon and Darin what we wanted to do and they were so appreciative and sweet about it, it was WAY more exciting than sitting up there ourselves. I could see that Parker felt it too. Now, I have come to believe in karma over the years, and since Jon had a seat in First Class, it worked out for Parker to still sit in First Class in Jon’s seat. Jon and Darin could relax in our seats together, while I sat in Row 5 and almost cried with joy and gratitude for the whole day. Although I have many, many joy-filled moments in my life, this was unquestionably one of The Best Ever. Life is SO good!

Parker and I continued to visit with Jon and Darin throughout the flight, discovering other things we had in common with them. Kids. Horses. Senses of humor. Jon and Darin had visited the famous Crumbs Bakery (famous for The World’s Best Cupcakes) during their day and  they were taking a couple of boxes home to their families. They gave us a box as a “thank you” gift (which was SO  not necessary, but REALLY enjoyed!) While we visited with our new friends, I could see the lights come on in Parker’s eyes (and it wasn’t the cupcakes!) This, I thought, is one of the things I want Parker to feel in Life. This is one of the Great Treasures in living that I want to pass on to him. And to his sister. This is the kind of legacy I want to leave in and for my children: People can be good. And different. And mysterious. And generous. Don’t walk through Life afraid. Laugh. Give. Giggle. And eat cupcakes. Cupcakes with new friends. Thank you Jon and Darin. Thank you for an Amazing Adventure.