Last weekend Bob and I were treated to another wonderful evening with my dear friends from college. After years of not seeing Ellie and Johan, we reconnected with them last year and were able to do it again this year. I laughed so much my cheeks hurt and I was so unwilling for the night to end that I'm sure we overstayed our welcome. I love watching how their personalities play off of each other...just like they did in college. Johan still employs his clever sarcasm and Ellie is just as strong minded as ever, still dumbstruck that she can't convince her brilliant husband to agree with everything she says (but she's not going to give up trying). It's obvious that their whole family enjoys a lot of good natured teasing...and they laugh and laugh. I asked Bob if he remembers when we used to laugh and laugh. I was half kidding but it made me realize that I'm really not laughing as much as I used to, and I'm not sure why. One of my resolutions for 2012 is to get to the bottom of it and start laughing more.

There have always been things that some people think are funny that I never have. Puns, for instance, regardless of how clever a pun might be, I never find them funny. I don't find anything remotely amusing about The Three Stooges or Road Runner, in fact I find them tortuous. I don't appreciate plays on words, that whole "Who's On First" routine bores me to tears. I don't think crude jokes are funny and slapstick is just well, too slapsticky. Out of peer pressure or politeness, I can usually muster up some semblance of a giggle but there is nothing harsher to my own ears than contrived laughter. After admitting to all this humorlessness I'm sure you're thinking it's not exactly a mystery why I'm not laughing enough. So the question is... what does make me laugh?

I asked Bob what he thought makes me laugh. He had to think a minute (eek!). He finally said that I think it's funny when people get hurt. Charming! He's talking about blooper shows where bride's veils catch on fire and stuff like that. We watched a clip once where an elephant broke loose from a parade, causing massive destruction and terror. I was laughing hysterically. But what made me laugh wasn't the destruction and terror, it was the voice of a little boy that was with the person that was filming it all. He sounded like he could only have been about 3 or 4 years old and he calmly observed that "that elephant was being bad". Through all the screaming and chaos, you can hear this completely unafraid little boy calmly expressing his disappointment that all of this hullabaloo was caused by one "bad" acting elephant.

So it's real life stuff that makes me laugh. Real stories, real people, a child's unique perspective, genuine clumsiness and mishaps. I think my problem must be that I'm rushing too much to live fully in the moment. I'm not laughing as much because I'm not slowing down enough to listen to the stories, or to listen for a story. The funny stories that life consists of, both past and present, are all getting short shrift because I'm hurrying too much to fully take them in. It seems like every year I resolve to slow down, but I don't think I've ever made the correlation between hurrying and laughing less (as obvious as it is). That night with my friends we enjoyed a slow, leisurely dinner, we re-told old stories and shared new ones...and I laughed and laughed.

I'm tired of not living fully in each moment and missing all the unexpected gifts of beauty, joy, love and laughter. So this year (once again!), my biggest resolution is to slow down, to be fully there for each person and each circumstance that God brings along. And maybe, just maybe, I'll start laughing as much as I used to.

Happy New Year!

My best friend Tammy turns 50 today. Her wonderful husband Joel threw her a fabulous party to commemorate this milestone. I wanted to stand up and share something at the party, but the opportunity didn't present itself. The mere thought of getting up in front of a crowd makes me start sweating (I wish I was kidding). Something about having more than one person's attention at the same time causes every thought in my head to leave. There are two stupid, dreaded words that cause this same brain freezing phenomena: EASY VICTOR. I'm sorry only flight attendants can understand the anxiety inducing effect those two words have on me. Anyway....because I knew I would be incapable of remembering one thing once I got in front of a microphone, I wrote something down and this is what I had planned on sharing....

Almost 32 years ago Tammy came on one of our church retreats. I'd never met her and I gushed to Bob, "Doesn't she seem like a nice girl?" He said she wasn't nice, that she was wild and that I wouldn't have anything in common with her. He was wrong. We ended up sharing a bunk and stayed up all night long talking and laughing. I told Bob the next morning that I loved her, that in fact, I might love her more than I loved him ;) I think it was probably a good thing we didn't have any idea what the next 32 years would bring, because well, if we did, we might not have laughed that hard. But really, though we have been through some tough times (and are sure to go through more), we've laughed much, much more than we've cried. I would never have been able to imagine back then what a wonderful gift Tammy was going to be or how closely our lives would stay intertwined...having kids at the same time, vacationing together, growing in our faith together, even having the unbelievable experience of working together for almost a quarter of a century! I could go on for hours and not run out of hilarious stories to share with you (but I won't). God knew exactly the kind of best friend I needed to share my life with, and He was so, so good to me when He brought me Tammy...a loyal, loving, faithful, smart, beautiful and funny friend to laugh and cry with for decades.

I can't think of words to describe how thankful I am that God put her on this earth, in my little corner of the world, 50 years ago today! Happy Birthday Tammy...I do love you so.

There is a song by Snow Patrol called Chasing Cars that always reminds me of Bob, of his willingness to just be there for me. The sad and glad days, the silly and mad days, whatever it is I'm going through he's willing to (try at least) experience it with me. The words of the song ask: "If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lay with me and just forget the world?"

I have days where sadness overwhelms me. Days when I just want to retreat into my closet, lay on the floor and cry my eyes out. If Bob happens to be home on those days, I try and "will" him upstairs to me. I want him to lay down beside me, to hold and comfort me as only he can. Often he'll ask me what it is that's making me so sad. I usually answer, "I'm not sure, I thinks it's just everything...Brett, all the things I wish I would have done differently, the fact that my mom doesn't have anyone to lay down with her...just... everything." And the crying continues.

I know what I should be doing, counting my blessings, forgetting the past and pressing on towards the goal and all that, but sometimes I just need a good, cleansing cry. It's on those days that I am most thankful that I have someone that will "lay with me, just lay there...and just forget the world."

Sweet Babe, thank you for putting up with me...the sad me, the mad me, the silly me, the real me and (the hardest one!)...the scared me. I cannot imagine doing life without you.

Happy Birthday.

My dad used to say he'd make sure the words "Oh well" were put on my mom's gravestone. You would have had to have grown up in our household to understand how bolstering and encouraging those words have been. More often than not, her "Oh well's" were followed with "God knows all about it" or "It'll all work out".

When my parents were newly married, my mom fell in love with a little dinette set...but it was too much money, and they didn't have much money so they couldn't justify buying it. When the Holidays rolled around, my dad decided to surprise her with it. He went out and bought it and strapped it onto his car. On his way home it broke loose, blew off the car and broke into a hundred pieces. He pulled over, picked up all the pieces and put them in his trunk. When he got home he asked my mom to come outside to see what he'd gotten her for Christmas. When she looked into the trunk and saw all the sticks, she asked him what it was.

"Kindling", he answered, "I bought you kindling for Christmas."
I can just hear his big laugh.
My mom's response? "Oh well."
She could have said something like, "You'd think, being an engineer and all, that you might have figured out a way to strap it down so it wouldn't blow off." But no, that wasn't her way.

Throughout their marriage there would be many times that my dad would hear the heartening "Oh well." Like the time he came home and said that their business had gone belly up and they didn't have two nickels to rub together. Her response? "Oh well.... It'll all work out."

All of us, probably me more than anyone else, have gotten our share of "Oh well's".
Me: "Mom...I totaled the car." Mom: "Oh well, the most important thing is that you're not hurt".
Me: "Mom...I've really made a mess of things." Mom: "Oh well, sometimes you just have to live and learn."
Me: "Mom...they're telling me my baby might be blind, that he'll never walk or talk or respond to us in any way."
I will never forget what she told me that time: "Honey, God is either sovereign or He isn't."
Those words somehow both calmed and comforted me. I repeat them to myself often. God is either sovereign or He isn't.

I know there couldn't be a grandchild in the whole world that gets more kisses from their grandmother than Brett does (and he isn't always happy about it either). I have a vision of my perfect, handsome Brett (who looks so much like his daddy), coming up to my mom in Heaven and telling her that all those kisses were a little over the top.

I've been thinking about what the secret is to my mom's incredible strength and joy in spite of all she's been through and I decided the key is gratitude. She has never stopped being grateful. Last Sunday was the anniversary of my dad's home-going. When I went over to see her that day, I wasn't thinking about the date and I kind of wondered why she seemed down. She said that she was having a hard time believing that my dad had been gone 12 years and said, "there aren't too many people..."
I thought for sure she was going to say that there aren't too many people that have had to endure the heartache she has, but no, I should have known better. She finished her sentence with, "...that can say that they had over 40 wonderful years with the man of their dreams, or experienced the joy and laughter that your dad and I did."
That's my mom, always looking on the bright side and always being thankful.

Happy Birthday Mom...I do love you so!

I must admit, I hate getting old. I especially hate looking old. I just turned 49 a few months ago but recently a pilot thought I told him that I'd been flying for 44 years!! I only realized he misheard me when he said that I looked good for flying for 44 years. (You can imagine how high I was riding after that conversation.) I wanted to tell him I wasn't even 44 years old! Of course, he was just a boy. Seriously, when did all these boys start flying our airplanes? Frankly, some of their landings feel like a little boy landed it. Not too long ago, after a particularly rough landing, the flight attendant was able to say with assurance, "use caution when opening the overhead bins, as your luggage HAS shifted about..."

I've always had a problem with caring too much what I look like. When I was in 7th grade I made the unfortunate decision to get the oh-so popular Dorothy Hamill hair cut. It was a time in my life when I desperately wanted to look like a girl but, evidently, the new cut threw into question exactly what I was and I was mistaken for a boy on more than one occasion. It was devastating. I can at least by thankful that I'm no longer a "Pat". If you're not familiar with Pat, tune into some Saturday Night Live episodes from the 90's and watch the hilarious confusion over exactly what Pat is.

Believe me, I'm not telling my sad story because I'm trolling for compliments...although a few assurances that I really don't look like I've been flying for 44 years wouldn't be unwelcome. But no, I have a mirror. "Yeaaah...I see it." (Only fellow flight attendants will get that line.) I know time is marching on and that aging is inevitable, but it is difficult not to get discouraged at the ever increasing pace of the march. I've always believed that my job makes time go by even faster, maybe because we live by the month rather than the week, or maybe because we cross time zones and lose track of what day it is. I try and remind myself that the most important thing is what's on the inside. "Pretty is as pretty does" and all that. Every day I see suffering and sadness that makes me being excessively bothered by someone thinking I've been flying for 44 years seem particularly shallow. Fortunately, I do know that this world and all its suffering is not the end of the story, which is probably why I've always loved 2 Cor. 4:17-18: "Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." Yes!

My friend Kelly suggested that I would be better served by looking for the blessing of the week rather than the jerk of the week. Oh, but it is sooooo much easier to find the jerks. The summer months are an especially difficult time to find the goodness in passengers. I can't tell you how many of our stories begin with: "Just when you think you've seen it all...."

The stifling airplanes, filled to the brim with hot, grouchy people, the thunderstorm delays, the infrequent flyers that are indignant that someone took "their" bin space, the ones that claim our seats keep getting smaller and smaller. I want to ask them if it has ever occurred to them that they might be getting bigger and bigger? Because I've been down that road of denial. I remember those days in college when I was sure the dryers were shrinking all my clothes.

Regardless of the difficulty, I am determined to find the goodness. Not long ago a female passenger had a mortifying accident (wearing white pants, no less!). She scampered back to the lav and stayed in there for a very long time. No doubt doing the best she could to wash them out. A large man sitting next to her eventually came back with a T-shirt he had retrieved from his suitcase. He discretely explained that his seat mate needed his shirt. He didn't want it back and he didn't want her to know where it came from. He figured his shirt would easily reach her knees, saving her from the indignity of wearing the stained pants. Talk about thoughtful! I'm ashamed to admit my thoughts would have been closer to, "I hope stinky can find another seat." Not this guy. He sat there and came up with a way to help her. See? There really are some very good, thoughtful people out there....and maybe just by "keeping my eyes peeled" for them (one of my dad's phrases), I'll learn to be a little more thoughtful myself.

I bought the "One Year Bible" several years ago with the intention of, you know, reading it in one year. Unfortunately, I didn't achieve my goal. From the first verse I started counting how many times the Bible tells us not to be afraid. The number reached well into the hundreds before I was even halfway through. Every time an angel appeared with a message for someone, the angel's first words were always "fear not". Understandably! If an angelic being suddenly appeared in front of me, I doubt a "fear not" would be enough to stop the screaming. God knew what scaredy-cats we were going to be and how fear would be used to immobilize us and make us buy all sorts of things we don't need.

About 25 or 30 years ago I was walking through the "aisles of beauty" at Hudson's. The Estee Lauder counter had some kind of machine that you could look into to that supposedly gave you an idea of what you'd look like in 25 years. I couldn't resist looking into it and was justifiably horrified at the image looking back at me. Though it was frightening, it didn't scare me enough to stay out of the sun (or buy the age protecting product they were hawking). Consequently the multi-spotted image I saw that day is pretty much what I see in the mirror today.

One of the reasons I chose not to stay out of the sun was because I felt it was too late, the damage had been done. Sunscreen was unheard of when I was little. We belonged to a swim club and it was not unusual for us to be dropped off for the day. Our summers involved multiple peelings, even contests to see who could peel off the biggest piece. I remember one day we were dropped off because my mom and aunt were going to be canning all day. It didn't look like the greatest day to spend at the pool, but Mom assured us it was supposed to clear up. It didn't clear up, the sky turned green, the wind whipped up and tornado sirens started going off, yet still... no one came to get us. The lifeguards were less than enthused that they were forced to stay with us. My older brother was particularly annoyed, commenting that "you'd think reports of tornadoes touching down might clue Mom in to the fact that we're no longer having a good time here."

The tornado warnings weren't what scared me the most. What I feared the most was the PRESSURE COOKER! The dreaded pressure cooker that was only brought out for canning. I didn't even know what a pressure cooker was (I still don't), but my mom put the fear of God in us about that thing. It was so dangerous it was really best if we weren't even in the house when they used it. The slightest misstep could blow us all to kingdom come! I was terrified that the thing had finally blown and we wouldn't be picked up at all. I was never so relieved to see our old station wagon fish-tailing around the corner, with my mom screaming at us to hop in as quickly as possible.

There are literally hundreds of phobias. I used to question the very faith of those that are afraid of flying. To be fair, most would say it's not the flying they are afraid of but rather...the crashing. Don't these people realize that they are not in control? That when it's their time it really doesn't matter where they are, or how they chose to get there? Thinking about my own irrational fears has humbled me and made me realize that all of our fears involve some degree of faithlessness. In spite of all God's assurances, we still needlessly worry and fret about things we have zero control over. How freeing it would be to take God at His word and "not worry about tomorrow" (Matt. 6: 34), trusting that our days truly are "in His hands" (Psalm 31:15).