The Santa Question

Me at 15 with Santa (aka my granddad, Sam Scott)

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***SPOILER ALERT: ***
If you've been stressed all month about
whether you're going to make Santa's 'Nice' list...
DO NOT READ THIS!
It'll just upset you.

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Magic Happens

     A common conversation among foreigners in San Miguel includes the questions:  "What brought you to San Miguel?",  and "What made you want to stay?"

     I've heard and read all sorts of reasons for the appeal of the town, from the practical to the bizarre.

Careful What You Wish For, Cat

     It's been cold this week in Texas.  We're used to the occasional norther blowing in and making things frigid for a couple of days, but this time, it just got cold and stayed that way.  All the roads iced over last week and still aren't fully thawed.

     On one of the first days of the ice storm Ella indicated that she'd like to go hang out in the back yard.  She communicated this by standing at the back door crying incessantly.

     I explained to her that, no, she didn't want to go out, since it was freakin' cold out there.

     But she just explained (in ever-louder cat-speak) that yes she, definitely, did.

Oh Christmas Tree

     We started the tree decorating on a different note this year.  Typically, I like to push, pull, tug, and kick the tree from the upstairs of our garage, down the stairs, across the patio, and into the house.

Hell on (Three) Wheels

     A gate agent came down to brief the crew about our flight:

    "You're going to have two LEO's (Law Enforcement Officers) accompanying a prisoner.  They are armed.  And they need an aisle chair*."

     "Uhhh...wait.  One of the officers needs assistance?"  (I was picturing a pretty unfair race when the prisoner decided to ditch their mobility challenged guard.)

     "No." the agent says.  "The prisoner needs an aisle chair.  She only has one leg."

     "What could she possibly have done?"

Home Away From Home

     Holiday Inn's slogan for years was "The best surprise is no surprise."  I think this is an excellent credo for any hotel chain.  Averaging around 8 to 11 nights away from home per month, flight attendants develop a lot of preferences in the hotel experience.

     These can probably all be boiled down to "No Surprises".

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Grown-up Garanimals: Confessions of a Functionista

     I pretty much wear clothes because it's customary in our culture.  (Thank goodness.)  But wardrobe planning is not a talent of mine.  Through the years I've had some pretty drastic fashion highs and lows.

Wake-Up Call

     On a good day, on the road, when the alarm goes off I just get up.  My cell phone makes a gentle little harp-like sound.  It's as if my own little angel is gently nudging me out of sleep and into another lovely day.

On a bad day it goes more like this...

Stuff I Believe

     I read an article about writers needing to write from their belief system.  I decided I'd work on clarifying my own belief system by coming up with my own personal manifesto.  

     Knowing myself, as I do, I figured this would take the form of a snarky little list where I mentioned that I believe "God didn't make little green apples, and it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summer time", "I believe in music, oh I...believe in love", "I believe for every drop of rain that falls a flower grows", I believe paper cuts hurt.  I believe in empty threats.  I believe in having my cake and eating it too...
   
     Stuff like that; you know...obnoxious stuff.

     But I sat down at the keyboard and the following list materialized on my screen.  I guess I also believe in surprising myself.

Plane Talk-P.A.'s Flight Attendants Wish They Could Make

Photo by Arlene Denning

 Flight attendants are required to make certain announcements over the public address system.  (P.A.'s)  

   I usually stick with the company-approved announcements.  That doesn't mean other ideas don't occur to me.

Here are some of my fantasy P.A.'s:

Lost Conversations

   

 I've been thinking about all the conversations we no longer have.  

     As a kid our mail went to the post office.  Every day or two someone had to stop by and get the mail.  Invariably my mom would say:  "This'll take two shakes."  But I knew if I didn't roll the window down in the summer the car would get awfully hot before she got back.  

Green-Eyed Monster

     I was talking with two coworkers.  One was saying she needed to get a new car and asked what I drove.  I said I have a Mazda Miata.

     "I always wanted a convertible!", they both said at once.  They looked upset...and resentful. 

     I was confused by the way they'd phrased their response.  They both said they always wanted a convertible.  Past tense. 

Happiness Rocks

"Forget your troubles come on get happy..."

     I've been happy and I've been sad and the fact is: happy beats hell out of sad.

     I know that sounds obvious.  Who wouldn't choose happiness when given the option?  But, the sad truth is, most of us miss the opportunity at times.

Chain (Letter) Reaction

    "Every chain has a link.  Every link is a life.  Break the chain-lose a life.  Send this to 5 people or death will come for you. You have 24 hours."

     The first time I remember getting a chain letter was in Ms. Woods' 7th Grade homeroom. Wow.  Death threats are pretty heavy crap to be loading on a twelve year old.

     ...and it came from a 'friend'.

Viva San Miguel de Allende!

     San Miguel de Allende is a feast for the senses.

     It's the sound of horse's hooves clopping over cobblestone streets.

     It's the celebrants of Mexico's Independence from Spain cheering the entry of the insurgents into the Jardin. 

     It's someone shouting:  "Viva Mexico!"  And a crowd responding with "Viva!" 

     And a band (because there often seems to be a band) playing La Bikina and everyone singing along.  It's firework blasts *Pop Pop Pop* as the church bells dependably chime the time. 

A List is Just a List

     I use lists for two reasons.  I'll go ahead and make a list of my reasons:

         1-  To make myself sane.

         2-  To make myself go crazy.

Along Came A Spider: The Ambiguities of Murder in the Insect World

I guess he'd been hanging out in our kitchen for a while.  When I reached for a glass I saw the tiny spider spinning down from the ceiling on his gossamer thread.   The movement of the cabinet door set him moving to and fro unpleasantly close to my face.

         "You're cute, but you can't live here.  This kitchen is a No-Spiders Zone."   I thought I should explain our policies before ousting the intruder.

My Pet's Peeves: 50 Ways I Annoy My Cat

     I irritate Ella a million times a day.  

     I'm so crazy about her and do my best to make her happy.  How can I piss her off so often...and so badly? 

     Easy!  Here are 50 (to narrow it down considerably) of Ella's least favorite things:

         1-Ella hates it when I get out of bed.  (She's usually plopped on me, and seems to say 'Hey...I'm sleepin' here!')

         2-It bothers her when I get up from a chair.   'Hey!  I'm takin' a nap here!' - (Yes, if Ella could talk, she would sound like a particularly annoyed New York cabbie.)  Ella would prefer I serve as her own personal mobile cat bed.  

Knight Life

http://www.cafepress.com/+templar-cross+boxers         

      I was talking to a man on a flight last week.  He has these neighbors from Romania who invited him and his wife over for a party.  One of the other guests was His Excellency, the local Romanian Consul.   (We both agreed that 'Your Excellency' is a pretty sweet title.)  

      The guy noticed His Excellency's distinctive lapel pin.   (A red cross with a silver sword over it.) 

      American:  "Is that a symbol of Romania?"

      Romanian:  "No.  I'm a Knight Templar."

How Watching Movies Can Make You Healthier

http://pgx.com/us/en

          There's a series of movies that will make you fitter and healthier.  It's like magic!  All you have to do is sit there on your keister and watch 'em.  

          But I warn you:  There's no going back.  Your brain will, officially, be washed. 

The Enforcer

hamwx.com

    Enforcing FAA regulations is the main reason my job exists.  Sadly, it also creates a lot of panic in certain passengers.

     The trickiest rule is for those passengers sitting in bulkhead rows.  These are the rows that have no seats in front of them.  Unfortunately, they also have no place to stow carry on items.  If you're in one of these rows everything has to go up for take-off and landing.  (Yep, even purses and laptops.)

Silence is Excruciating

zazzle.com

      

     One time I signed up for a 10-day meditation retreat.

     I'd read a book about meditation and tried doing the recommended exercises.  They were really hard and  I decided I'd never be able to wrestle my monkey-mind into quiet submission.  

Useful Susans

     Maybe you thought I'm only interested in trivial things like ugly carpet, outfits for pets, and, say, the quality of ice on airplanes.  

     But today I want to take a little of your time to discuss a serious matter.  This issue is very close to my heart.  I'm talking about the outrageous and ongoing defamation of the character of people named Susan.  

     This happens every time someone brings up the slanderously-named "Lazy Susan".   Seriously, this practically calls everyone named Susan out on one of the 7 Deadly Sins.

The Challenging Art of Doing Nothing

"There's never enough time to do all the nothing you want." - Bill Watterson

     A friend said recently:  "You sure like to be busy." 

     "No I don't.  I like to be lazy!"  She sort of snorted, in a 'yeah, right' kind of way.

      I really do aim at being lazy. I'm just not always that good at it. 

     My plan is to rush through getting my stuff done so I can lie around staring into space, maybe take a nap if the mood strikes...

     Decades ago I had this ongoing conversation with a girl I knew.  The general idea was that the world is divided into two types of people:  Be-ers and Do-ers.  

My Diva Demands

zazzle.com

         This week I've been researching what it takes to be a really obnoxious diva.   What with the way people become famous for nothing these days, you just never know when it might happen to you.  I, for one, plan to be prepared.

         The first thing any self-respecting diva needs is a large entourage.

         Madonna's most recent tour required an entourage of 200.   Now, I'm not going to try and out-diva Madonna.  I'm more aiming for an average between, say, Celine Dione, J. Lo., and Mariah.  

         I think a modest 50-70 people to do my bidding is a good start.

The Mane of My Existence

     When I was younger life was much more angsty.  I'm not sure if age and wisdom make it better now, or the fact that hair products have improved. 

     Not that my hair troubles are over.

     Sometimes I wonder what percentage of my life has been devoted to my hair.  How many hours have I spent fiddling with it; having it cut, permed, dyed, styled, straightened, conditioned, brushed, braided, tugged and tortured?

Facebook Nation

     "If facebook were a physical nation, it would now be the third most-populous on earth."  I read this in the July 22, 2010 issue of The Economist.  (I was waiting at the doctor's office and the pickings were slim.)

     Now there are a billion users.  In population it's still behind India and China...but not by much.

     But what would facebook really be like, as a nation?  Would it have the world's lowest GNP?  What about our test scores?  I mean, really, who has time for work and study when there are all those great posts to read?

     Here's what I imagine the nation of facebook's entry in an encyclopedia (remember those?) would look like: 

Ode to Pie

   

     A friend told me about a place in Seattle called 'Pie Bar'.  It's a bar...with pie! 

        Just the thought of it makes my heart skip a beat.

        This is from Sarah Galvin's almost too-good-to-be-believed account of the place:

        "I had a view of...a row of fresh pies
        cooling, grandma-style, on a windowsill.
        The bar's flagstone walls and chandeliers
        create the atmosphere of a tiny pie
        castle."

         

        A pie castle!?  Can you even think of anything in the world as exciting-sounding as a pie castle?

        It's like Cinderella decided to elope with both a baker and a bartender and the threesome consummated their beautifully unholy union on an extended honeymoon in a magical land:  Booze and buttery crusts!  Glass slippers and taffeta flying willy-nilly off the turrets!  Coconut cream-filled moats, and merengue-breathing dragons.  What a delightful scene of debauchery!  

Bad Break-Up

-Winter 1993

         I'm living in Manhattan...but just barely. 

         I limp around the city with a hole in my heart the size of the Chrysler Building.

         It doesn't help that everyone else is in a happy relationship.  Everywhere I look I see smiling couples; arm in arm, kissing, gazing at each other, picking out towels and china at Macy's and Gracious Home.

Bond, Mrs. James Bond

From wiki.org

        Bond girls are exotic and mysterious, and mystery just doesn't have a very long shelf-life.     

        I've been pondering the role of Bond girls since this little incident:

        Michael was opening a bottle of champagne to celebrate our anniversary.  I couldn't stop myself from saying:

        "Don't forget to point it away from your face!"  Michael looks irritated.  

        "A Bond girl would never say that to 007."  He says.

For Facebook Eyes Only

         There's a picture being sent around the Internet of a white-haired lady looking at a computer.  She seems alarmed.  

           The caption reads:  "Take those photos of me off your Facebook right now!!! People can use them to get into my bank account!"

           Now, I don't like to judge people's paranoid fantasies.  (I mean, hey, I'm pretty sure my dishwasher is spying on me.)  And, I make a point to leave my social security number, credit card pins, and the whereabouts of the extra key to my car off my posts.  But, really, who is in danger from Facebook?  

The King of Confrontation

       

         "So I said:  'To hell with you!"  

        

         I lost the whole gist of Michael's story after this comment.  

         "Wait. You said 'To hell with you!’ to the mechanic”? 

         "Yeah.  Don't you think he deserved it?"  Michael seemed to think I hadn't listened to all the details of how dishonest the mechanic had been, and how the dealership was giving him the run-around.

         I heard.  But Michael letting someone have it was a hard thing to take in.

        Michael enjoys confrontation in about the same way a fish enjoys a marathon through the desert. 

Flight Attendant: Career of Fear

 "Aren't you scared?"  

    I get asked this question a lot when people find out I'm a flight attendant.  

       My first thought is usually: "Scared of what?"

    But 'fear of flying' is written all over their faces...and I've learned the hard way not to play around with people's fears. 

       My stock answer is to say I'm much more frightened of riding the employee bus to the terminal than I am of flying. (Trust me, this is a legitimate fear: no seat belts, lots of blind spots, and we're sharing the roads with people who are late for their flights and trying to cross five lanes of traffic without signaling.)

       I wasn't at all afraid to fly when I became a flight attendant. (I would have stuck with my desk job if that was the case.) 

    I loved flying. I loved airports, travel, and people. 

    And I still do...love flying.   

    The 'view from my office' never gets old: miniature cars driving on tiny highways, little squares of fields and pastures, a bird's eye view of The Rockies, The Grand Canyon, the skyline of Manhattan, sunlight on the clouds... 

    And I remain amazed at the idea of being in L.A. in the morning and New York in the afternoon. Heck, I still can't believe those big old hunks of metal can ever get airborne. It's like a little mini-miracle every time. 

       Still, for the first year or two that I was flying, I had nightmares almost every night. 

     I had a handful of dreams about being on planes in scary situations. But those dreams always ended with reviving the passenger, restraining the person who forgot to take their meds., or the pilots maneuvering safely through a bad storm.

    But, the terrifying nightmares, the recurring ones, the ones I'd wake up in a cold sweat from night after night, were the ones about BEING LATE. 

       They train Flight Attendants to live in absolute terror of being late. We have to be on time for sign-in. (Sign-in is our scheduled time to clock in at the airport.) We can't risk missing our pick-up times at hotels. Pick-up times are when we're supposed to be on the van to go from a hotel back to the airport. Not when you get down and start making your coffee, but BIV (Butts In Van) time. 

      We quickly learn that our career, our flight benefits, and, basically, the fate of civilization hinges on timeliness. Being where we're supposed to be, when we're supposed to be there, is about 90% of the job.  

     I still remember those nightmares vividly. 

    The fear of the late sign-ins was enhanced by the additional worry of managing the obstacles of a new city. I'm from Texas, but I got based in New York City when I graduated from training. Most of our class flew up on a Friday, had the weekend to figure out a place to live and settle in, then we were on-call on Monday. (Can you say trial by fire?) 

    We hit the ground running. It didn't seem like we stopped for about the first year on the job. So I guess I worked on learning the ropes in my sleep. Night after night, it seemed all I did was try to make it to work. 

    I'd be sprinting all over Manhattan, trying to catch a bus. When the bus pulled away without me on it, I'd search madly for a cab. But they were all off duty, or I'd hail one, and someone would duck into it as I was turning away to grab my bags, or the cabbie wouldn't see me... 

    So I'd try to figure out which subway to catch, but the train wouldn't show up, or I'd go in the wrong direction, or I'd finally get the right one, then miss the station where I was supposed to change trains. 

    It's a wonder I could function at all during the day with all the exercise I was getting at night. I'd run through terminals trying to catch planes, only to see the jetbridge pulling away just as I got there. 

       I usually had those horrible, slow-motion, kind of dreams. You know, where you're trying to hurry, but it feels like you're moving through molasses.

       Things always went from bad to worse. I'd break the heel of my shoe, or get a run in my hose. Someone would bump into me and pour their coffee all over my uniform shirt. The hem of my skirt would get caught on something and tear, and I wouldn't have anything I could change into. 

     Yeah, looking neat and tidy was also drilled into our heads back then. "Lips and tips, ladies!" was the battle cry. This meant that your nail polish and lipstick had to be unsmeared, unchipped, and preferably visible from the back of a DC-10 if you were standing in first class. 

    Sometimes in these dreams, my bags would break open. I'd try to gather the clothes, books, toiletries, and makeup that were strewn all over the concourse. But as I'd shove stuff in, other things would fall out. Or the zippers wouldn't work, and I couldn't get the suitcase back together. Sometimes the wheels on my luggage would break, and I'd try to drag the thing. It felt like pulling a tank through quicksand. 

      These nightmares were harrowing. I'd wake up with my heart pounding and that 'late for work' feeling would last all day long. The tyranny of endless timetables, and dragging your entire life around with you in a suitcase takes a little getting used to. 

    From time to time, I still have an 'oversleeping' nightmare. It, especially, happens when I have early sign-ins. I'll wake up ten times in the night thinking I've overslept, check the clock, then fall back asleep long enough to start another nightmare.

       So, yeah, I'm scared...but not of flying.