There are times when I really worry that I might be suffering from early onset of Alzheimer's.

The other day I showed up for work with my boots on the wrong feet. Of course I didn't have an easy time getting them on that morning, but I attributed it to abnormally swollen feet. I eat loads of popcorn most nights and I'm used to my feet being swollen in the morning.

As I walked through the concourse, I wondered how I had ever believed that they were comfortable boots. They were downright cruel! I was flying with Tammy and asked her if she thought my feet looked funny.

"Have you ever noticed how much my feet point out like that?" She surmised that maybe it was just the style of the boots.

The day was half over before I realized they were on the wrong feet, mostly because I started thinking how silly it was that they zipped up on the outside.

The other day I was frantically digging through my purse for my phone...while I talked on it! I think the best reason to keep a land line is the ability to call my cell phone when I can't find it. If I would have been home, I would undoubtedly have done this, only figuring out that I was on it when I saw "home" calling in. Scary.

I know the mere size of my purse has caused many unnecessary minor panic attacks. My constant, angst-filled digging through my cavernous purse drives Bob crazy. But I need that big purse. For one, I don't go anywhere without my "bag of tricks" (my make up bag), because you never know when I might "get in a fix."  Remember Felix the Cat? "Whenever he gets in a fix, he reaches into his bag of tricks?"

And heaven forbid I get stuck somewhere with nothing to do...consequently I always have reading material, paper to write on, pens, coupons to sort, my phone, gum, Advil, wallet, hair clips, hair spray, a comb and sometimes my iPad. It takes a mighty big purse to hold all that stuff.

It's been said that two of the most comforting words in the English language are "me too."  That's why it's important to share our stories. I love it when people can relate to what I'm saying, often because they have similar stories. I'm really hoping there are at least a few people out there that can give me a "me too," because it sure would do a lot to alleviate my fears.

I have to admit, I love Facebook. I especially love looking at the pictures. I've decided the only time I don't like Facebook is when an unflattering picture of me is posted (angry political rants aren't my favorite either).

A petite friend of mine posted a picture of us. In it I look like I'm from a different species. My head looks abnormally large (and tall), my teeth look like Chicklets and my wrinkles and age spots are way too evident. I wanted it off there.

Dane said it was simple enough, just un-tag myself. No can do. After trying everything, a red "remove" box appeared and with great relief, I clicked on it. A survey type questionnaire popped up, asking me why I wanted it removed. Are you kidding me??? I tried to skip through it, but it wouldn't advance without a response to each question.

After answering all the questions, a Facebook prepared private message appeared, "Dear [so and so], the picture you posted of me hurt my feelings, it made me feel sad and it embarrassed me. Would you please consider removing it?" Can you imagine??? I haven't gotten that big of a laugh out of something in a long time.

Embarrassment and vanity once kept me from buying a hilarious roller coaster picture/souvenir. Just thinking about that picture makes me laugh, so I can't imagine how much genuine laughter I've missed out on by not buying it.  In the photo, somehow (through terror and some bizarre muscle contractions) I was able to make my neck every bit as thick as my head. Gravity held my thin, yellowish hair straight up, coming to a perfect triangular point. I looked exactly like one of those Troll dolls that were popular at the time.

What am I afraid of anyway? That someone will think, "Well, I did think she was pretty...until I saw that picture of her.  Now, I realize she actually looks like a Troll (or a spotty Amazon woman)."

I know I'm not the only one who impatiently clicks through pictures until I land on one of myself, whereby I stop and intently study and critique every detail. No matter how good the picture is, if I look bad in it, it's a horrible picture.

Vanity is nothing new, but it is sad how much emphasis our world places on outer beauty. How sad to believe our worth is wrapped up in what we look like, rather than who we are! Obviously, this whole vanity thing is a crutch of mine...but I think I'm getting better, at least I am laughing at myself more, surely that's a step in the right direction.

Now, I'm thankful for that hideous picture. It's not only provided me lots of laughs, it's caused me to pause and think about what really matters, and why in the world I would care so much about having an ugly picture of me on Facebook. I'd still rather not see an ugly picture of me on Facebook, but then again, who would?

"The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."  1 Samuel 16:7

More than most, I love being alone. Fortunately, my job provides oodles of time to myself.

A few weeks ago I was blessed with a long Ft. Lauderdale layover and enjoyed every minute of it...alone. All twenty-two hours of it. When we came to the airport the next day we discovered we were delayed a few hours. I decided to find a corner of the airport where I could be, you guessed it, alone.

I spotted a quiet corner and made a beeline for it. One solitary old man sat between the crowded area and the isolated area. As I made my way to my spot, he asked me if I was working his flight. I smiled politely and said "no," deciding I needed to find a seat far enough away from him that he wouldn't get any ideas about trying to strike up a conversation with me.

There was free Internet and I was looking forward to playing Words With Friends and checking my emails. Just as I was settling in, the man loudly asked me if I'd watch his bags for a minute. I thought, "you silly old coot, how in the world can I watch your bags from way over here?" I inexplicably said, "sure!"

I was concentrating on coming up with a good move on WordsWith Friends, and didn't notice when Security carted his bags away. When I noticed his bags were missing, I looked wildly around, hoping and praying the man had come back and I just hadn't seen him.

But no, there he was with Security accompanying him and his bags back to his seat. He sat down and didn't even look my way. Great, now I had to go and apologize to him. He was gracious and said it worked out fine, he had gone back to Security because he left something there and had intercepted them taking his bags away. Phew! I wished him a good day and set out to find a new spot. He asked me if I knew how long his flight would be delayed. I told him an agent would have to help him.

After I found my new spot, guilt nagged at me. I couldn't even enjoy my game. I felt I was meant to talk with this man. Who knew, maybe I was meant to share something with him that would change his eternal destiny! With this pious, lofty idea, I decided to go sit next to him and engage him in conversation. The subject of Jesus never came up.

He wasted no time filling me in on all the sad details of his life. He asked me if I knew the definition of insanity? I was proud of myself for knowing Einstein's definition: "doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result"? He tore right into detailing how "insane" he'd been, always expecting a different result from the people in his life. His girlfriend had been "duplicitous".

All his poker buddies had died. A close brother had died, but he had miraculously been able to be with him just hours beforehand. (I did try and insert a little "faith" talk in at this point). He said all the women in South Florida were only interested in money. He talked about one of his daughters, who sounded particularly selfish and obnoxious. He had me read their email exchanges, which left no doubt that she was selfish and obnoxious.

 I asked how old this daughter was? "Certainly not as old as you," he answered. Okay, I hated him. Note to self: start socking away money for a Lifestyle Lift. For well over an hour I listened to him talk about his life and his broken relationships. When it came time for me to leave, I felt dejected (and old).

Later I felt convicted. Was my life really all about me and my comfort? If I truly believe the Reason for the Hope that I have, shouldn't I be willing to sit within five feet of people that might need that Hope? Is it really so terrible to feel old and dejected if I made a lonely old man a little less lonely for an hour and a half?

I know there is a need for solitude, but God did not intend for us to live in isolation. His whole plan for spreading the Good News was through the testimony of His people. Please God, forgive me for life being so much about me...my comfort, my needs, my time...open my eyes to see those that might not want to be alone and give me the words to point them to You.

"Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to the reason for the hope that you have."  1 Peter 3:15

People watching at the airport sure hasn't been the same since 9/11.  Only ticket holders are allowed past security. All the joyous reunions and tearful goodbyes I used to enjoy watching at the gate all vanished in a single, fateful day.

I remember years ago, waiting at the gate with about a dozen couples eagerly awaiting their babies from China. There were balloons, television crews, and loads of excited family members. I became so eager to see those babies that I worked myself right into the midst of the happy throng.

I wept with joy as I watched those long awaited, precious babies placed in the arms of their new parents.  I bet those people watching their local news that night wondered how the overly emotional flight attendant came to be part of the welcoming party.

I've always had a staring problem. Always. The problem is, I get so involved in drinking in all the details that I lose awareness of how rude I'm being. I remember being in middle school (hands down, the most tortuous years of my life) and waiting to be picked up from school. A couple of kids came out and started making out. They didn't appear to notice me and, you would have thought, by the way I stood intently ogling all the kissing and groping, that they had come out to perform just for me.

I was startled when the performance suddenly stopped and the "starlet" strode menacingly towards me. She stopped inches from my face and suggested I "take a picture, it will last longer." I was mortified. To this day, I can picture her homely face. I'm not being mean, it really was homely, it was part of the reason I had been so mesmerized.  I was finding it encouraging that this girl, the furthest thing from a Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, was invoking such passion and "love" from a decent looking kid (a veritable Prince Charming compared to her).

Tammy will ask me if I know a certain flight attendant, and I'll ask something like, "does she have beautiful skin and kind of manly hands?" Those are the kind of details I observe and remember. Scary. As people board I struggle not to look them up and down, taking in all the tattoo's, body piercings, and clothing (or lack thereof). Instead, I make the supreme effort to look people in the eye and smile.

The things I see while I'm people watching can change the trajectory of my day. When I see people helping each other out, or being selflessly accommodating, I am encouraged. When I witness rudeness and impatience, especially among family members, I am discouraged.

We live in an increasingly watching world and, as always, actions speak louder than words. I thank God that He gave us a universal tool to communicate good will: a smile. A smile transcends all language barriers. I can't tell you how many times I've been encouraged, especially when I'm with Brett, by someone simply looking me in the eye and smiling. It's not a pitying smile, it's an "it's alright, I know you're doing the best you can" kind of smile.

Never underestimate the power of a genuine smile!

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.

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.

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.