Saturday, September 22, 2012

My Top Ten Suggestions to Passengers:

1.)  Do. Not. Touch. My. Fanny.  I know it's tempting, that it's right there at eye level and that you're almost in full panic mode because you think I've skipped your row, but get a grip on yourself and Just. Don't. Do. It.

2.) Take your headphones our of your ears when you see me looking at you and talking.  It's the epitome of rudeness not to. You're not any better at lip reading than I am and your attempt to do so aggravates me to no end.

3.) When I give you a choice of snack items, do not answer "Yes". In fact, if you really want to endear yourself, before I even open my mouth, be ready with a clearly spoken, "Water and peanuts, please."

4.) When it gets really turbulent and the fasten seat belt sign goes on, do not ring your call button, summoning me to stagger up the aisle to pick up your garbage or ask me if I think you might make your connection.

5.) Say "please" and "thank you" and teach your children to do the same. If your child is particularly clueless about what they would like (or the proverbial cat has gotten their tongue), quickly decide for them. If they do know what they want but all their choices are being nixed by you, let them know ahead of time that they actually don't have a choice.

6.) When you see me pushing my half ton cart up the aisle, do your best to pull your body parts out of harm's way. I am now hawking more goodies than Tiger Stadium ever thought of selling and I cannot even see over my cart. Recently (unbeknownst to me), my cart nudged a passenger's foot. Since I didn't even realize I'd hit it, I didn't apologize and she sarcastically told me "not to worry", that her "foot still worked." What??? When I shared her bit of sarcasm with another flight attendant, she said I should have replied that it was too bad her brain didn't work, because then she would have known better than to have her leg out in the aisle in the first place.

7.) If you do not get your choice of food, do NOT act like your world is caving in.

8.) When you see me coming through the cabin picking up trash and my bag is full, do NOT panic, thinking I've arbitrarily singled you and your row out to hold onto your garbage for the rest of the flight. Just sit tight, I'll be coming back shortly with a new bag.

9.) If your suitcase is too heavy to lift, check it. I am always amazed at the numerous amount of "back surgeries" performed just prior to flying.

10.) If you're embarking on a long flight, please bring something to entertain yourself and your children. We do have a few flight attendants that perform magic tricks, but this is not the norm and thus your chances of being to treated to a magic show are very slim.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Several years ago, Bob and I attended a marriage seminar. One of the speakers gave an analogy about how differently men and women compartmentalize their emotions. He likened our brains to various boxes in a closet.

He claimed men have a much easier time keeping things in their proper box, and will usually only take down one box at a time. Women however, often have several boxes down at the same time, and as a result their contents intermingle and it takes a while to sort them out and put them away.

As in every marriage (those of us who are honest, anyway), sometimes the Fight box is brought down. The man only brings the Fight box down, but the woman brings down a few others with it, possibly the Old Hurts box.

When it's time to put the Fight box away, it takes the woman longer, because she has to pack up more than one box. Not the man. Often times, even as he's putting away the Fight box, he spots the Sex box. The man always makes sure that the Sex box is his most visible and accessible box.  The woman is appalled when she sees him bringing it down. Now, not only does he have to put the Sex box away, he has to bring the Fight box back down.

I thought it was hilarious. But I also thought what a gift it is to be able to compartmentalize. I think everyone would be a bit happier if they were better at this. Most people have way too many boxes down at the same time. I often think this at work. Last winter I was on a gorgeous West Palm Beach layover. Our pick up wasn't until 7 p.m., the weather was beautiful and I kept thanking God for the gift of having a whole day to myself, to bask in the sunshine, and get paid for it!

Not so for the person I was flying with. He was angry with the company and he never put his Bitterness Box away. Its contents oozed into every aspect of our trip. My guess is he never puts it away.

I encounter this with passengers too. Could someone really let it ruin their day because they didn't get their choice of salad or sandwich or that the bin above their seat was full? No, at the very least, they've brought along their Self-Absorbed box.

I know there are difficult boxes in everyone's closet. There are Hurt Feelings boxes, Grief boxes, Broken Relationship boxes, and sometimes it helps to take them down and share the contents with others. I get that.

But I think there are times when we would be better off just leaving some of the boxes up in the closet, and not let them spill into every other aspect of our life.

The Bitterness box makes it hard to enjoy the Laughter and Gratitude box, and those are two of my favorites. In fact, I think of all the boxes in my closet, that the Gratitude box is the most helpful, that's the box I need to have most visible and accessible, especially after I've delved into my Self-Pity box.

 I do so believe gratitude is the key to contentment! I think the most powerful habit we could ever develop would be a constant whispering of thanks to God. I certainly haven't mastered it, but I sure hope to some day.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Today is my little brother's birthday. He would have been 48 years old. The very last conversation I had with him was about Brett. I'm ashamed to admit that I made some insensitive, disparaging remark about the difficult reality of my yet to be born baby. My words saddened Craig. I remember exactly what he said: "Awwww Laurie. Don't say things like that...don't you know how much we're going to love him?"

But he didn't live to love him. Yet I know that if he had, he would have lavished love on him. Because that's who he was. He loved babies more than any man I've ever known. I love babies too, and I remember fighting once over who should get to hold our newborn niece. How many men do you know who love holding infants? And my Brett is like a giant infant, he still likes to be held and, at almost 10 years old, he's still dependent on us to meet his every need.

There were several occasions Craig thought he was losing me. When I was seven and he was five, there was a big snowfall and we couldn't wait to get out and play in it.  After bundling us up in snow suits, mittens and hats, my mom let us out.

Though it seemed like we'd trekked quite a distance, it was probably only a few houses down. I spotted some ice and decided to slide across it. I broke through the ice and was completely submerged. When I bobbed up, I screamed for Craig to help me. He did his best to try and pull me out, me screaming at him to pull harder and him crying and saying he was pulling his hardest, but he couldn't do it...he needed to get help.

I begged him not to leave me. He ran home sobbing hysterically, saying that I was drowning and that he couldn't help me.  My dad ran out in his bare feet and found me curled up beside the hole I had fallen through. Nothing but a guardian angel could have gotten me out of that water as weighed down as I was with all my snow clothing.

A few years later we were on our snowmobile. Craig and I were both too weak to pull the cord to start it, but we knew how to use a can of ether to get it going. I'm not even sure what ether is, I just knew if we sprayed enough of it, it would start the snowmobile.

I was driving and there were three of us on it. We had our friend's little girl with us. When I tried to slow down to make a turn, the throttle stuck and I froze as we headed straight for a fence at full speed. Craig managed to get off and pull the little girl off with him. But I stayed on and hit the fence full force. I was thrown over the fence and somehow split my head open (these were pre-helmet times).

Again, Craig ran home, sobbing hysterically, saying he couldn't get me, he couldn't save me. Again, my dad came running out to get me, carrying me home while pressing his hand firmly against the gash on my head.

I could fill pages with all the times guardian angels have stepped in and saved me. I managed to smash up everything my parents owned...anything with a motor anyway.

An angel didn't step in and save Craig on that fateful day, but it was a reward for Craig. I believe that with all my heart. Just a few weeks before his accident, Craig told us (eerily enough) that we'd better view his death as an event to be celebrated, because it would be well worth celebrating. He could sincerely say that because he lived believing that "to live is Christ and to die is gain" (Phil. 1:21).

When he was little, he used to sing an old song with his own twist on the words: "When those gates are open wide, I'm gonna shove my butt inside: I'm gonna sing, I'm gonna shout, praise the Lord!"

Those words are so entrenched in my mind that I can't recall the real words to that song. I miss his joyful, loving presence more than I can say, but I choose to be happy for him, because those gates were surely opened wide for him.