The Ruse

Dear Shawn,

I'm back in one of my favorite towns...Portland. The West Coast Portland. Oregon. I love this city. I have many friends here. I once thought of moving here, but the commute to San Francisco was more than I could bare, so I never did. But I think I would have been happy living here.

Many flight attendants complain about our long layover hotel here. It's close to downtown, but it's not really downtown. Two blocks away is the train, and three stops away is the heart of downtown, so it's close. It's also close to numerous restaurants, a mall, a theater and the hotel itself gives a good discount, including on alcohol, which is rare. Very rare.

One thing is odd about my staying here, however. I can't stay here and not think about something that happened a few years ago on one of my layovers. As usual, I'd arrived late and stayed up until early morning. When I awoke, I turned my phone on and saw a message from my mother. In this message she said something along the lines, "Oh, Penguin, I'm so sorry. Don't worry. Every thing will be OK. Just call when you get this. I love you."

This freaked me out. What was she talking about? Had Mother Airline gone back into bankruptcy? That really was the first thing to go through my head. So, of course, I called. She asked if I was alright. When I said yes, she sounded urgent, saying she would call me back. Now I'm really confused.

So what happened was this. Someone called my grandmother, saying that I had been in an accident. After a night of drinking I had hit a woman and was now in the hospital and the woman was in bad shape. The caller was a lawyer and asked for money to give to the woman in hopes that she would not press charges. My grandmother said that she would have to bring in my mother. She was told that I was adamant about not bringing in my mother. She asked to speak to me, and someone spoke to her. She believed it was me, after being told that I sounded so bad because of the accident.

She did the right thing by bringing my parents into the event, but they bought the story as well, and wound up sending the louse money. Once this was done, they got a second call, informing them that the woman I supposedly hit was pregnant, so they needed more money. It was at this point that my father put the brakes on, and it was shortly after this that I called.

The phone number being used was quickly shut off and they were no longer able to reach the snakes that had tried to first swindle my poor, elderly grandmother, and eventually did swindle my parents. We now have a password worked out, so if anyone ever tries to call for me in an accident, there is a way that I can let them know that it really is me. Of course, first off, I would never drive intoxicated, so I think of all things, I was most disappointed that they fell for this story.

So every time I am in this hotel, I think of that, and how my mother used her rainy-day fund to pay this swindler. Hopefully, they may see some of the money returned, as they have heard from a lawyer involved in a class action suit that will paid out to all who enter the plea. I hope they do get their money back. At least a portion. Lesson learned.

BBQ Cook Off

Dear Shawn,

Tonight was the Houston Championship Barbeque Cook Off. I know I always just call it the rodeo. It's not the rodeo, that actually starts in a few days. The BBQ cook off is the precursor to the actual rodeo. I grew up going to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo in the Astrodome. I'd never been to the BBQ, but since Mother Airline has a BBQ tent with free food and an open bar, and I've heard so much about it from other flight attendants, it's become one of the highlights of my year. Did I mention the open bar?

There are two work-related highlights of the year for me. The first is Family Day in San Francisco. It's most likely quite boring for anyone not totally into airplanes. They also have a bunch of cars and hot rods on display, but I couldn't care less about that. I go for the airplanes on display and the swag Mother Airlines and some of the vendors give out. Airbus and Boeing, for example, are usually there with things to give away. And for volunteering, I get a free meal.

Then there is this BBQ. There is a charge of $15 to get in, but once in the tent, the BBQ is decent, the potato salad is the best I've ever had, and oh, there is an open bar! This year, two of the young ladies serving drinks recognized me. I'm totally turned onto the Pecan Praline Bourbon, which I have on the rocks. The cute blue-eyed girl asked if she didn't turn me onto that last year. I can't believe she remembers me! But yes, she did.

It's fun to see people from work having fun. I saw quite a few people I knew there. The band was really fun and I danced a lot. I had two servings of the BBQ, savoring the warm, creamy potato salad, wishing I had the recipe. I'm thinking of going back again tomorrow, since it lasts Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I have a flight on Saturday.

I went with Barbara, and she brought her friend, Ginna with her. She's also a flight attendant. Normally, I take Chris with me, my friend from middle school, but this morning he fell off a ladder at work and broke a few ribs. We had just talked about how this was becoming an annual tradition for us. It wasn't the same without him, but in the end, I was sort of glad he didn't come, because I think he would have been ready to leave sooner than I was. I had a really good time tonight.

There were lots of cowboys in hats and jeans along with cowgirls with boots and bling. The worst part is having to drive home, so after only a few drinks, I had to stop to sober up for the last two hours. One of these days I think I should get a hotel room nearby so I can just get ten sheets to the wind and get a ride to my hotel. It really is a good time. I hope you can join me one day. Yee-haw!

I'm a Sucker for a Thunderstorm

Dear Shawn,

Last night, I stayed up much later than I planned. It was about 2am and I turned off the TV and shut down my puter. Then I heard it. Distinctive plops and pings of rain hitting the roof and tin of my house. Then, in the distance, a rumble. Then a flash and boom. Thunderstorm.

I grabbed my phone and took a look at the weather radar app I love to use. There was a small cell a few miles to the south, headed right for me. There was a larger cell just beyond that. I decided that I'd turn my puter back on and do more work and wait. There's nothing like an early morning thunderstorm before going to bed.

Staying up late wasn't an issue for me. My next trip is a late check in, and then I fly back home, landing at 7am on Monday, so I needed to start getting ready for that schedule. I've got the next two days off.

The storm approached with more flashes of light. The time between the flash and the rumble or boom of thunder helped indicate the distance of the storm without having to look at my app. There were several bright flashes and thunder came on its heels. In the distance I could hear a car's alarm sounding. The frames on my wall vibrated as the sound of the rain permeated my home. I smiled. Soon, the time between flashes began to grow. The rain died down. The storm passed and it was silent. I went to bed as my clock sounded 4am. 

What in the World?

Dear Shawn,

The other night I was watching some of the Winter Olympics from South Korea on line. This is the only way I can watch them at home, since I don’t have regular TV. It was neat to see them cover some of what I loved about my visits to Korea. They showed a segment on making kimchi, a dish I never fully appreciated until having fresh, Korean-made kimchi. They showed a variety of street food, which I have previously savored, a tea ceremony, which I enjoyed once after meeting a woman on the flight, who invited me to her tea room. I found myself really missing Seoul.

Another thing I enjoyed, was seeing how people, athletes in particular, can gather from all around the world, putting aside political differences and with good sportsmanship, come together in a global community, to bring us all a little closer as we cheer the athletes on. Sure, we root for our hometown countries the most, but you can’t help but cheer any good routine.

Then I read a little blurb about another school shooting. This one was in Florida, and the headline mentioned seventeen dead. I cried. With nothing but that information. Normally, I would turn my TV on, navigate my Roku to CBS news, and follow along. This time, I could not do that. I did not want to hear about more kids being killed in school.

I don’t have solid feelings about gun control. I do think more needs to be done. I do feel strongly that Americans should have guns. I do not like seeing them in public and I do not feel that the average citizen needs assault rifles. I do know that we need to do more for mental illness. I also feel strongly that we should refer to those who do this type of terror, well, terrorists. That is what they are.

These days, I watch very little news. The news always seems to stress me out unlike ever before. So here I am, several days after this terror in Florida, and I’ve yet to watch the news, or read about it. It turns out that a pilot I know lost his daughter in that shooting. Again, I cried. It’s just not right. What are we going to do in America? I need a slice of pie. Pecan?

Valentine Date

Dear Shawn,

My first Valentine, year after year, was my mother. One of my first memories is of a small bean bag bug, a lady bug, but instead of spots, little hearts- given to me by Mom. Every year, as a little boy, I always got little gifts and cards from her. That little tradition has sort of died away, but she still calls me to wish me a happy Valentine’s Day.

This year, I had a new Valentine, my grandmother. She was so excited about my new furniture, she couldn’t wait to see it all in my house. I had scheduled delivery for my new table to be the fourteenth, without realizing I had chosen Valentine’s Day. When I called to let her know that I’d found a table, I told her I’d have her over for dinner, to be my very first dinner guest on my new table. I guess it’s a good thing neither of us had big dates.

She sort of tried to get out of it, saying I didn’t need to cook, she could just come see the furniture and I could take her back home, no need to go to all that trouble. It was like she didn’t want to eat my cooking. She is scared of cats, but mine never bother her when she’s over. I finally hooked her by telling her that I’d already bought the food. That was no lie. I had everything I needed for dinner in the freezer and cupboard.

She gushed over how much she liked the furniture. She sat on the couch and admired my new coffee table, which is shaped like an airplane wing. She commented on how much she liked my new lamp. She was quite impressed with my table. The only shame was that I’ve yet to decorate the walls and I still need window treatments. Baby steps.

When the meal was done and we sat at the table, she couldn’t stop glowing over how good the meal was. She wanted me to show her where to find what I had prepared in the store, as she wanted to duplicate the culinary experience, and I assured her it was easy to do.

The main entree was chicken Cordon Bleu, found in the freezer section. Open, place on a cookie sheet, and cook for forty minutes. The starch was instant mashed potatoes. Open the pouch, add two cups of boiling water and mix. It's amazing how far along instant potatoes has come over the years. I added two tablespoons of sour cream and half a cup of cheddar cheese shreds. The veggie was steamed broccoli, which was so flavorful, neither of us needed salt or pepper. That was it. As Chef William Tell used to say, “Very simpah- very ee-see!” To listen to my grandmother, you’d think I flew her to Paris for dinner!

It’s always a joy to have my grandmother over for dinner, and I’d like to do it more often. This is, after all, one of the main reasons I moved back to Houston. I want to spend as much time as I can with her while I can. Making her day with nice furniture and a good meal makes me so happy!

It Snowed in Newark

Dear Shawn,

 

Well, that was a long day. Woke up in Philly, flew to Chicago, worked to Newark and had a two-hour sit. Boarded a plane for Florida, but it was snowing, so the in-bound plane was delayed. Next, we had a delay to push back due to traffic behind us. Had another delay waiting for other planes to be de-iced. Delay was the name of the game. 

 

We never left the gate. Over four hours later, and an hour after we had gone illegal, the captain finally had the jet bridge return so the door could be opened. He had opened the door earlier, but before we had gone illegal. I don't think he was trying to be very helpful. I am pretty sure that when we closed the door, and he knew that we would go illegal in half an hour, that he knew that by the time we landed, we would be well over having gone illegal. I think he just wanted to get down to West Palm Beach.

The saving grace was that our passengers were very friendly and patient. We were practically out of water, had given out half of the snacks, all of the extended delay cookies, answered numerous questions, all while trying to keep to ourselves our issue of going over our duty day hours, so as not to create a panic and keep up the optimism. It was sad to hear how the weather was cutting into some people's vacation. Yet, there was another man who was sort of happy to have a few hours less with his in-laws!

They got a new crew and we were released to go to a hotel for rest when the door opened the second time. For us, it was a 15-hour day! Today, I see that our plane eventually left over six hours late, at 2:15am, and landed just before 5am. That's seven hours late! All I hope is that the captain wound up with a short layover in a dirty hotel room with loud neighbors. Karma is a bitch!

The Wet Spot

Dear Shawn,

Hello from Big D- Dallas, Texas. Things are quite different since I lived here in the mid-eighties. I’m actually just in the airport enjoying a three hour sit between my flight from San Francisco and the next one to Houston. Knowing about the BBQ place, I knew the minute I found out about this sit, that I’d be having a BBQ baked potato. First up, however, was a visit to the men’s room.

So I’m at a urinal doing my thing when a man walks past me and I hear a thud. I thought he’d dropped his bag and the handle had hit the floor just behind me. He began to break that rule in the Man Handbook about talking to a stranger who is doing his thing at a urinal. It was a bit shocking at first, but I assumed he was about to apologize for the loud bang. He stammered a bit to inform me that he’d dropped his phone. I thought perhaps it was just lying near my foot and he wanted to make sure I knew he was going to grab it before doing so. These are things you might read about in the newspaper, especially if one of us were an elected official. Nothing more shocking than an unexpected touch at the men’s room urinals! But he just stood there.

I looked down to see that not only was his phone practically touching my right foot, but it was smack-dab in between the right and left foot. He obviously didn’t want to reach for it there, so I asked if he could give me just a minute. Now he’s standing there waiting for me to finish up. And with a stranger’s phone between my feet, I made extra sure not to splash on it.

When I was done, I stepped aside. The man reached down for his phone with an air of shame unlike any I’ve seen in a long, long time. He walked silently away and went straight to the sink to began pumping out about ten squirts of soap. I’m not sure if his phone was water resistant, and I really don’t think it mattered at that point. Where his phone had fallen was the very spot numerous men before me had missed. It was that bad.

I washed my hands and walked out of the restroom before I started to laugh. The BBQ place was just next door, and as I rounded the corner, the cashier stood there looking back at me with a blank stare. Not even the wide smile on my face coaxed her into a smile. If she only knew what I found so funny!

And this, my friend, is why I never take my phone out of my pocket when I’m in the men’s room. That can wait. Were it me, I may have just walked out of the men’s room, leaving that phone in the wet spot of shame right where it fell. See ya!

Houston Winters

Dear Shawn,

For years, since I was a kid, I’ve joked about Houston winters. “Yeah, we have winter in Houston...it’s two weeks and not in a row.” That’s the winter I’m used to having on the Texas Coast. Most Thanksgivings are spent playing football in the front yard after the feast while wearing shorts. Most Christmas mornings only require a light jacket. It’s almost sad.

I always hated the weaker winters because they fail to kill off the bugs. Summers after a weak winter are itchier and crawlier. We do get a freeze from time to time. I do know what ice looks like, and Dallas has had some wicked winter ice storms when I lived there. Snow is quite rare in Texas, unless up in the Texas Panhandle, but I do remember it snowing once in Houston when I was a kid. Mom picked me up from school early so I could get home and play in it! Or, more likely, work closed down early in order to get people home safe, before it got worse. I’m not sure anyone drives worse in ice and snow than a Texan. It’s just not in our play book!

This winter has been different. Where, in the past, I can get away with not using the heat in my home at all, or once or twice at the most, I’ve had to use the heat a number of times this winter. It’s snowed twice! One day, it iced up and I was two hours late leaving IAH because at first the jet bridge was frozen, and then the tarmac was too icy to move the loading equipment, so they couldn’t unload the bags from the previous flight. Normally, I sleep with a fan all year round. This year, I turned off the fan and even added another layer on my bed under which to sleep, as I do like to keep my home on the cold side. That may be part of the reason why I’m still single.

Don’t get me wrong, I am NOT complaining. My name is Penguin for a reason. I love the cold weather. I’d rather be cold and have to bundle up than hot and unable to do anything but sweat like an animal. I terribly miss living in the Bay Area, where going out with a jacket and hat was the norm. No one wears hats in Houston, unless it’s a ball cap, so when I do wear one of my hats, I feel like I stick out like a tourist.

This year, every time it looks like Houston is back on schedule, the temps rise to the lower or mid seventies, and I start to think that our winter is over, at least for a month or so, until the next cold spell comes, where it dips back into the 40s and makes me smile. Case in point- yesterday, the high was 72. I woke up this morning and needed my skull cap because it was cold in my house again. Then I went outside to head to work and the breeze sent a chill through me as if I were in Chicago! It was 42, but the wind was blowing so hard that it easily felt like it was in the 30s. It made me look at the forecast, which seems to indicate that we are not quite done with Houston winter, just yet. Now, it’s warmed back up and the fan is back on. I’m hoping for another cold front. Take your time, spring. I can get into this chill!

Nothing but Grass!

Dear Shawn,

The flight was Houston to Philadelphia. With what was one of the rockiest landings of my seventeen years working for Mother Airline, the plane banked, fish tailed, rocked, dipped, rose and hit the ground on one wheel before bouncing and hitting it again. It was rough. It was almost exciting. It was like many of those fun landing videos I watch on line. I looked to my flying partner who had not yet started to laugh or smile, which I began to do as soon as I realized that I didn't have to start yelling, "Brace, brace brace!"

When we leveled out and nearly came to a stop, she looked at me and said, "That was wild. Did the wing hit the ground? I looked out the window and all I saw was grass!" That made me laugh even more, because I noticed that too. I looked out of the small round porthole window and instead of seeing the normal view of field, distant trees, etcetera, the plane was at such an angle that I did see nothing but the grass along the runway.

I've had rough landings in the past, even some where a few passengers gasp and or scream. I don't recall that happening on this landing, but that could very well be due to the severity of this one demanding all of my attention. At least it wasn't as bad that one landing I had in Burbank on a 737 where we didn't seem to land as much as we were hit by the ground. We hit so hard that it actually hurt my back. Sometimes, a landing is so rough, the pilots are required to do a walk-around to check for damage.

Most people are easily scared by such things. I am one of the weird ones who enjoys a bit of turbulence in flight and the occasional rough, side-winder style landings. I enjoy being reminded that I'm flying through the air in a beautiful, shiny metal tube. I have the most awesome job I can think of!

This experience reminded me of how Mom used to be scared to fly, and she would tell me that when something happened that was of concern to her, the first thing she would do is watch the flight attendants. She assumed that if there was something to be concerned about, they would indicate such by the look on their face. I've never forgotten this, so when I'm in view of passengers during turbulent flight, I always try to smile, maybe laugh a little, and show that I'm having a great time.  

In a Funk

Dear Shawn,

Yesterday was not a great day for me. I was in a super funk. It was one of those perfect storm situations.

The night before, I landed back in Houston. It was a ten hour day with three legs. The day before that was over twelve hours, also with three legs. In between was a short thirteen hour layover. I got about seven hours of sleep, but by the time I landed back in Houston, I was toast. The ladies I worked with walked back to the bus. I took the train. I was physically and mentally exhausted.

That night was sort of rainy and the roads were not as safe as usual, just like me. I nearly missed the turn off to the North Freeway. As I crossed three lanes to get where I needed to be, I was so cautious about traffic behind me that I wasn’t paying enough attention to what was in front of me and nearly collided with the barrels that protect where the lanes split. That sort of woke me up, but then I nearly missed my exit! When I did get to my neighborhood, I then passed my street and had to loop around the block to come back.

When I got up the next day, I was still tired and I was still upset that I had pick up that trip. It was not a trip that I would normally pick up. I avoid three-leg days like the flu. The boarding process is the worst part of my job, as we endure arguments over bag space, complaints about leg room, and acts of entitlement. There were simply no other trips to pick up. I’d been home for four days trying to pick up a trip. I’d passed other trips that looked bad on paper, holding out for something good. With nothing coming up, I had to pick this one up or not make enough money this month to cover bills. I was forced into flying a trip I knew would do this, and that just made me angry.

What do I do when I am angry? I post about it on Facebook. That stirred up a shit storm. I had friends calling, texting and writing notes about my post. I didn’t attack anyone. I was polite, except that I mentioned that people who fly 140 hours are on my shit list. I thought nothing of using this term, seems my father was always adding me to his. I grew up surrounded by people talking about their shit lists. I guess today, people’s sensitivities are such that I had to go back and edit it to poopie list. Later still, with nearly 500 responses, the post was deleted entirely. Probably better that it was. Not a single friend asked about me, though. No one thought to ask how I was doing, since I was obviously upset, which made me feel alone and singled out for expressing how I was feeling.

One of the things that scares me most in life these days is seeing how so many of our trips are built in such a way that I know I can’t fly them. I feel like I’m being squeezed out of the job I love so much. My health and age just won’t let me do six legs in two days without adequate rest between. We have so many three and four day trips with too many flights in one day and not enough rest in between. I’m scared that this kind of flying is either going to force me out, or kill me.

So yesterday, after venting my anger, taking a nice nap with my cats and watching some movies, I started to feel better. Let’s hope this period of poorly built trips is short-lived, and that with spring will come trips that are not only easy on the body, but ones that I’m senior enough to hold!

XYZ...Examine Your Zipper

Dear Shawn,

One of the flight attendant tricks of the trade I always impart to other travelers, especially the new-hire flight attendants, is something I learned on a layover in San Diego. It was a long layover, with plenty of time to get out and explore. The crew I had flown in with had their own plans, so I did so on my own. Someone had told me of a place for pizza to die for in nearby Little Italy. I love to die for pizza, so I went in. It was a nice place and the pie really was to die for!

The pie was also large, so I ate only a third of it and took the rest back to my hotel room. With no refrigerator, I had to take a plastic bag, fill it with ice, place it on a towel on top of the pizza box, and then cover the whole thing with more towels. Doing this keeps it insulated over night. The next day, I would be on a plane that had a fridge on it, so I could keep it cold until we landed back in San Francisco, where I could get home and heat it up in the oven for a fantastic dinner!

I'd worked hard on keeping my sweet pizza pie cold, and when I got home, I realized that I had left it in that damned fridge on the plane. I was crushed!

What did I learn from this? Some people leave themselves notes. Some are just good about remembering things. Others do what I did, and often just leave things behind. But I did learn something from my tragic mistake.

Now, when I have something stowed separately from my bags, I leave a zipper open. I have created a healthy habit of looking at all my bags as I walk up the jetway to the terminal. If I see a zipper open, I know something is out of my bags. I do this with my wallet, my passport, my computer and cords, and with food or drink. If I need to remember anything at all, I only have to look at my bags. It's amazing what a simple zipper unzipped can help you remember!

Hello, Sandie Go

Dear Shawn,

Finally, I am in San Diego. What a long day. It started with my alarm going off at 730am and me wondering what that infernal noise was. When I figured out what it was, I wondered why. Oh, yeah, I picked up a trip today! And I goofed!

For four days I sat at home trying to pick up a trip. This month, I held a line of trips that I didn’t like very much, so, as I’ve done many times in the past, I dropped a bunch of trips with the intent of picking up better ones. Usually, I’m really lucky. People drop them at the last minute, maybe they don’t feel well, or have to take care of a mother or child, or can’t commute in as planned for one reason or another. Normally, I can pick up a sweet international trip the night before, and even quite often, the very day of.

As my window of opportunity to pick up a trip to make money was closing, I was getting more and more desperate. This trip popped up on the pick up board, and at first glance, I thought- NO. It was three legs the first and second day. At thirteen hours, it was a shorter layover than I normally enjoy. The duty day on day one was thirteen hours, much longer than I am used to. But then I saw day two- after laying over in San Antonio, I’d work back to Houston, then to Austin and back to Houston again. Each of those flights are short enough that we don’t do a service in the back. That was an easy day!

Next, I looked at the crew to make sure I wasn’t working with someone I dreaded working with. I didn’t recognize the names straight away, so that was a good sign. Finally, what lured me to pick the trip up was that all six legs were working on the Airbus, which is so much better than that crazy 737 we have, which some of us refer to as ‘the slave ship.’ As a bonus, it had a sit in Austin of over two hours, and I love the food at the airport in Austin.

So, here was my alarm going off and I got up without feeling too tired, which is sort of rare for me any time I am awake before 9am. I pulled up the paperwork for the trip and noticed that on day two, from San Antonio to Houston, we were scheduled to serve fresh food. Now why would we have fresh food scheduled on a half-hour flight? Wouldn’t you know, I got my SAN mixed up with my SAT. SAN was San Diego, not San Antonio. So there went my easy day two! Still, it’s not a bad day flying from San Diego to Houston, and I really like the women I’m working with, so it wasn’t so rough.

I’m so used to working those international flights, after doing so for about three months or more, now. One leg and two services each day- crew rest in flight allows for a two hour nap- nice, long layover of 35 hours- higher pay. I have no reason why international pays more than domestic. Working domestic is so much tougher than international.

I’m working with Mary, who is one of those step counters. She says we’ve walked over 15,000 steps today, which equates to over five miles. I never had any idea how many steps I was taking in a long day like this one. My feet agree, though. They are tired! Much more so than when I work international trips!

So here I am in San Diego, a city that always has me thinking of a classmate of mine who once worked here with me. In the morning after our layover, we met in the lobby. She’d never stayed here before. Dawn was a great lady from England, with a proper English accent, so I enjoyed hearing her tell stories, which she did often. She was telling me how she liked the room, finding it so nice to have a note from the cleaner, which read, “Thanks for visiting, Sandie Go. She thought that such an interesting name, Sandie Go. She asked me what sort of name that was. Was it American? Maybe African?

I thought for a moment, and realized that I, too, had a note in my room, but it read, “Thanks for visiting San Diego.” We laughed about that one all day. Now, I cannot come to this city and not think of Sandie Go.

I can’t wait to get to bed and enjoy eight hours of sleep, which means I need to say goodnight and get ready for bed. Thirteen hours sounds great, but when you factor time to and from the airport, getting ready for bed, getting ready for work, going through security, and then boarding the aircraft nearly an hour prior to takeoff, that means that of that thirteen hours, if I want to sleep for eight, I only have one hour free, of which I’ve spent twenty minutes writing to you. Nite nite!

The Night Terror

Dear Shawn,

It’s not very often that I have nightmares, and usually, when I do, I actually enjoy them. As a writer, they are often fodder for great ideas. Very rarely do I have a nightmare that really scares me. Last night was such a night. After it woke me up, I laid still, terrified there might be someone in my room, listening carefully at the whole house. A cat was lying next to me. Phoebe always lays next to me on my left side. This cat ball was my right, so I assumed that it was Cooz. He didn’t move. I didn’t move. That cat had no idea what I had just lived through, and that was a good thing. Then my mind raced.

In the dream, I was witnessing an active shooter situation, except that for part of the dream, I was the shooter, and part of the dream, I was the shoot-ee. I approached my target, took aim and fired. The gun misfired, so I cocked it and fired again. Another misfire. At this point, I became the target. I hid in the corner and threw a sheet over me. I can’t see you, you can’t see me, but he did. He came close and fired a third time. At this time, I was witnessing the entire ordeal, seeing the shooter misfire, and the terrified target trying to hide, but to no avail. I was hit and could feel the warm blood oozing out of my body, feel the dampness as the blood pooled into the sheet that now clung to me.

I awoke. My mind now began to evaluate what just happened. I thought how I should have just run after the first misfire, maybe even mow the shooter down- he wouldn’t have anticipated that. I would still be alive had I just run and not tried to hide. But I was alive! Scared. I listened and didn’t move at all, not even wanting to breathe.

Unable to move to see what time it was, I have no idea when I finally fell asleep again, but I would estimate it took at least half an hour. At least the cat’s body heat was comforting. When my alarm went off and it was time to get ready for work, I was much more at ease. It appeared that this happened only minutes after last falling asleep, I could tell from the different lighting, that had to have been a while. I reached down, expecting to touch the fur of Cooz, since Pheebs never sleeps on my right side. The warm cat body was still just as comforting now, as it was after my nightmare. It didn’t feel like cat fur, and there was a dampness on my hand. I looked and my heart sank as I found my had red with blood. The warm lump at my side was not a cat, but a blood-soaked sheet.

No, not really. It was just a cat, but it wasn’t Cooz. It was odd for her to be where she was, but it was Pheebs. Sorry to freak you out, I know how delicate you can be. I did warn you, however, that nightmares are often fodder for my writing. Enjoy your day.

Rodeo Time

Dear Shawn

February means rodeo season, once again. I have so many memories of going to the rodeo when I was younger. It was billed as the world's largest, and was held in the Houston Astrodome, the "Eight Wonder of the World". I loved that building.

One of the most vivid memories was the odor. When first walking into the livestock area, the odor of the animals hit me like jet exhaust. It only took a few minutes to acclimate, and then it was hardly noticeable. I remember how Mom would always point out how large some of the bull's testicles were. As a young boy, this would embarrass me to no end. How could they let these things just hang out so exposed like that?

After all the sights and smells of the livestock area, it would be time to head into the Astrodome for the show. It was a typical rodeo, with barrel racing, calf roping, buck riding, kids trying to catch pigs, tiny covered wagons racing, dogs herding sheep and cowboys in tight jeans trying to rope steer with big horns and not so silly clowns distracting the bull when the cowboy fell off.

Today, now that I'm an adult, I find many of the rodeo activities a little off-putting. I now have feelings for the treatment of animals that I lacked when I was a boy. I still enjoy seeing the animals and marveling at how magnificent they can be. At least it's not as bad as a bull fight!

The best part of the rodeo as a kid was always the concerts. They would wheel this fancy trailer-like stage to the center of the Astrodome floor, which was quite spacious. The stage was so far away, but with seats surrounding it in 360 degrees, it was really the only option that they had. The stage would rotate one way, then slowly rotate the other, so that all patrons got the chance to see the artist from the front.

This was where I fell in love with Olivia Newton-John. She may have been the first concert I every attended. I also recall seeing Glen Campbell, Dolly Parton and Willie Nelson when I was a kid. It was fun when the lights went down and suddenly all these vendors would converge on the crowd with blinking lights and glowing swords and colorful flash lights with a spray of fiber optics bouncing with their movement. I wanted one badly, but very rarely was I able to convince Mom to buy one. "You'll use it once and that's it. It's a waste of money." Poo!

One of my fondest rodeo memories was from the last year I lived in Houston before moving to Maryland, in 1995. I lived in an apartment along Memorial Drive, at the back of the property. On the other side of the fence in my back patio was a parking lot of a small three-story office building. Each year, trail riders paraded through Houston from different directions, and Memorial Dr. was one of the main routes through town to the Astrodome. They would camp overnight in the various open spaces along Buffalo Bayou, which included the parking lot of the nearby building. I awoke that particular morning to the sound of a horses. Quite confused, and not realizing that space was used by the trailriders, I cautiously peered over my fence to see a completely new world of horses and wagons and tents. My home was transported to the wild west!

Now that I'm back in Houston, I have yet to return to the actual rodeo, which is no longer held in the old Astrodome. I do, however, love that Mother Airlines has a BBQ team and that I am invited to the tent for free BBQ and drinks. I always take my old school friend, Chris. We sample our team's BBQ, which is good, but not the best. What is the best, however, is their potato salad, served warm, creamy and with melting cheese. I've been known to go back for seconds of nothing but potato salad! Just a plate filled rim to rim with it. Damn, now I'm hungry. Just a few more weeks, and I'll do what I do only once a year...don my cowboy hat and western shirt and head to the Astrodome parking lot, home to the best potato salad in the world. Oh, and some BBQ, the many carnival rides, and cowboys and girls with their hats, boots and bedazzled western belts.  

Caturday Greetings

Dear Shawn,

My cats appreciate that you are always inquiring about their well-being. Not as impressive as my grandmother. She's terrified of cats, and she'll ask, from time to time, how they are doing. If you think I'm impressed that she cares enough to ask, you should see their reaction!

I've started to notice something about them. I'm usually coming and going so much with my job, that when I come home, they are so excited to see me that they can't leave me alone. Of course, the follow me everywhere. If I leave the room for thirty seconds, I'll tell them I will be right back, but they have to follow me, anyway. When I go to bed at night, they are right there with me. Cooz won't sleep with me, but he'll be there when I wake up. Pheebs is there, too.

Last night was the fourth night for me to be home in a row, which is sort of rare that I have four days off to be at home. I noticed when I walked to my room to get ready for bed, no one came with me. I awoke alone, not seeing their furry faces until I had my moment on the oval office, got dressed and went to the living room. Pheebs was in her kitty condo, Cooz was in his secret hiding place (don't tell him that I know he's under the guest bed, he thinks it's his secret). I need a trip just so they keep their interest in me!

Of course, during the day, they are not completely happy unless I'm sitting in my recliner so that they have my lap to sleep on. No sleep is finer than that of the sleep on Daddy's lap! If it weren't for my bladder causing me to get up every hour or so, I seriously think they could stay there all day long, with nothing but those occasional little stretches they do, where they tuck their head under their arms. What would I do without my fur-babies?

Oh, and my new couch? Cooz thinks I bought it for him. When he doesn't have my lap, that's where I find him all day long. Most expensive cat bed I've ever bought! They send their regards.

411

Dear Shawn,

Lately, I’ve heard of several people losing their phones. When I was visiting my parents last week, a friend of Mom’s called her, needing a number, because the woman had left her phone at a restaurant and needed to get in touch with someone. Recently, we had to remove a passenger from our flight to Honolulu because he could barely find his seat, and when he did, he was so intoxicated that he could barely keep himself upright. As we pushed back, the woman who moved into his seat found that he had left his phone behind. The pilot was nice enough to open the cockpit window and do a drop so they could get his phone back to him.

My phone has nearly my whole world in it. Without it, I’m like my mom’s friend and would have no phone numbers. Remember when we used to keep everyone’s phone number in our heads? I used to have at least a dozen numbers memorized. These days, the only phone number I know I my own, and I often have to think to make sure I’m getting that correct.

Actually, I do have a number in my head. My aunt has lived in the same home for as long as I can remember. Her number, when pushed on the old phones that made tones, would create a familiar song, which I always sang as I dialed it, so I still remember her number. They say you can remember anything if you put a tune to it.

For years, I’ve been telling myself that I need to make a list of emergency numbers to keep in my wallet. If I were in an emergency and without my phone (I’m often forgetting it at home when I run errands), I wouldn’t be able to call anyone.

And now I’ve got that tune stuck in my head. Maybe I should call my aunt!

A Super Move Night

Dear Shawn,

Well, today didn’t work out as planned. To think, I put off trying to pick up a trip so I could attend a Super Bowl party. Last year, I was invited to the party of my fun neighbors across the street. I arrived late, having just driven into town from Dallas. There were fun people, lots of games and contests, terrific food (I probably put on three pounds due to my lack of will power against tasty food) and I actually enjoyed the game. You know me, such a sports fan (not).

I’d not heard anything from my neighbors about a party this year, but knowing how much I travel, I thought maybe they’d send a last minute invite once they saw that I was home. I would look out the window across the street, hoping I’d see someone come out of the house, checking the mail, any thing, so I could just happen to go outside at the same time. I’ve previously landed last minute party invites from neighbors using this very method.

Years ago, when I lived in South San Francisco, my Filipino neighbors were having an epic BBQ in their back yard. From there, they could see my second floor patio, which I suddenly felt needed a good cleaning. With broom in hand, I was summoned to come over, post haste, and indulge in all sorts of delicacies, many of which were new to me. I was even forced to bring food home. There was enough to feed half the city, and it almost felt like half the city was in attendance. It was a church function.

So, I wanted to land a party. Knowing others in town who were likely to have an in to a Super Bowl party, I sent a few innocuous texts earlier in the day. It almost worked, too, but by the time I got a text back, I’d already engaged in movie night and had downed a cold beer. I was in my pajamas with cats on my lap enjoying the cold Texas weather that I had allowed to seep into my home creating the perfect atmosphere for which to snuggle under a blanket in my recliner. To top it off, I watched one of my all-time most favorite movies, “Being There.” So here was my invitation to the party I had hoped would come, but I found myself preferring to be home, even though I could have made it there prior to half time. Meh, I had also already eaten dinner, so whatever treats would have been a waste on me.

After my movie night concluded, I got on line, watched all the commercials and the half time show. It was almost much better, as those are usually what I care for most from watching the Super Bowl, anyway. Look at the time I saved! For me, it’s about being with fun people, good food, funny over-priced commercials and marveling at the half time show. Only, this year, I traded in fun people for my cats. Good thing they cuddle so well.

Loss of a Friend

Dear Shawn,

My heart is heavy. A friend of mine passed away. We weren’t very close. Our paths crossed on what was one of the most interesting cruise vacations of my life. In so many ways, it was one of the best cruises I’ve been on. I went on a two-week cruise across the Atlantic with a group of friends, but also, I met some really good people, many of whom I still keep in touch with today. We call ourselves our Spirit friends, that being the name of the ship. I saw some great sights, having stopped in the Azores, and then spent a week with my friends in Barcelona, which has become my favorite European city. In many ways, it was also the worst trip of my life. I hated the ship, broke up with the girl I was dating before we reached Spain, and had my wallet and camera with all of my photos stolen from my pocket in a Barcelona night club. So much good. So much bad.

Not too long after returning home, I got a Facebook message from a woman I’d met on the cruise. She and her husband had been part of the little on-line community that had formed prior to setting sail, which is how I came to meet so many people on board. There were so many people, I never really got the chance to know Marj and Ed, so all those months later, when I got her friend request, I didn’t recognize who she was. I at first denied the request, having a strict policy of only friending people I knew.

Once she refreshed my memory, I accepted her request, but there was some confusion surrounding a post she had made. An accusation was thrown my way for deleting a comment, which was not possible, because I didn’t have the ability to delete comments from another person’s thread, and some feelings may have been hurt.

We patched things up quickly, with a few back and forth notes and resumed. We kept in touch often and shortly after moving to Houston, she and her husband sent to me a cute little figurine of a penguin hugged by a bear. It was as if she were the bear and I the penguin. It sits on my shelf this very day.

A few days ago, I saw a post from her on Facebook, only it was not from her, but from her husband, who was using her account. He did so to inform her friends that she had stopped breathing during the night and crossed over. It was short and to the point. I was filled with sadness.

What really hit me, was then going to her Facebook page and seeing her recent posts. I’ve done this in the past when losing a friend on line. It’s so odd to see the mundane posts leading up to a point where then there are no more posts. Death. Life, life life. Death. It often comes so suddenly.

A few years ago, I lost a friend I had only recently begun to know better. My community was hit hard by his sudden and most untimely passing, which left a family without a father. Before that, a friend of mine committed suicide, and it was odd to go into his account and try to find signs of what was to come. And then, there was my dear friend, Coyote, who was killed in a tragic bicycle accident, once more, leaving a community completely devastated. Again, one could read the ordinary posts of a friend on line, and suddenly, the posts from those left behind, now missing someone dear.

Marj was not young, but she should have had many years left. I feel so bad for her husband. His post resulted in the expected shocked replies from her friends- mine included. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her and the penguin she had sent to me. I meet a lot of people, and not many take the time to send me a penguin (thank the gods, too! I’d have far too many to know what to do with, and now I’m trying to get rid of them!). So I went back on her page and left a simple little poem. She had told me how her husband had helped pick it out and wrap it up for me. I hope he remembers. Here’s to you, Marj!

My dear Marj to me gave a sweet penguin gift

For my sinking spirits in hopes to lift

Now that she has crossed and left us behind

My dear little penguin is now on my mind

Thank you Ed and thank you Marj

For your gifts of love show your spirits are large

Lunch with a Friend

Dear Shawn,

There’s nothing like a visit to see my parents in Colorado. I love the mountains, the fresh air, the chance to relax and hike, the sight of elk, deer, humming birds, little critters scurrying about, and the occasional fox, coyote or bear. Oh, and seeing my folks is always fun.

On this trip, I got to see Robert. He was my best friend in third grade, when we lived on Creekbend St. These were the best days of my youth. It was on this street my brother was born. When my parents moved to the ranch on which they currently live, with a creek running through the property, I suggested they name it The Creekbend Ranch. Everyone loved the suggestion, so I’m writing you from there now.

I lost touch with Robert a few times in my lifetime. He moved from Creekbend St. to another city. We reconnected a few years later, when his family moved back. Oddly enough, his family moved to another part of Houston, close to where my family had already moved. Then I moved away (to Dallas, which coincidentally, is where Robert’s family had moved to when leaving Creekbend St.) and we lost touch once again.

After my illness in 2009, I started to long for the days of my youth and began to search for and reconnect with all sorts of old friends. I found Robert. My parents were now in Colorado and that’s where Robert was living...only two towns away. In fact, they both frequented the same Thursday night Grange pot luck dinner and jam sessions, so it’s possible they were in the same room at the same time and didn’t realize it. Seems nothing could keep Robert too far from his childhood best friend!

Robert moved a little further away a few years ago, so I don’t get to see him as often, when I’m visiting Creekbend Ranch. So when I found I was coming to town, landing around lunch time, I asked if he’d like to have lunch. He suggested a great Italian place, and he, Mom and I had a great time catching up.

We both started mulling over old memories, and he brought up the time he’d broken his arm- a time I remember quite well. Usually, Robert and I would come home from school and immediately head to his place to play, have a snack his mother would prepare, and watch the Banana Splits. Then, our favorite part of the afternoon, when we would play in the sand box out back, in which we’d dig trenches, fill them water, and sail our tin foil boats, made from the foil used in our lunch boxes from lunch.

One day, I had an after school event; I think it was choir practice. I ran home to play with Robert, knocking on his door. His sister answered and informed me that he had been rushed to the hospital because he broke his arm. I was about nine. I didn’t fully understand the meaning of one breaking their arm. I felt like the world was about to end. Poor Robert. I guess he’s done. I’ll have to find a new friend! In the Italian restaurant, the three of us laughed at my recounting my side of the story.

Robert and I are fifty, now. He’s got two kids, one about to start high school, and the other about to start college. It’s so nice that we have reconnected and are still friends- sharing what are the best times of our lives.

Coffee Break

Dear Shawn,

I’ve become one of those people- a coffee drinker. When I was in high school, my father was addicted to coffee; had to have it every morning. At one point, for some reason, he got tired of coffee, but had to have his caffeine, so every morning, from anywhere in the condo, I could tell when he’d awoken by the telltale pop of the can of Diet Coke. Every single morning. My aunt would come over on Sundays to take me church and would first have to run to the bathroom, blaming it on the cup of coffee she’d had.

Addiction has always sort of scared me. I’ve heard of so many lives ruined by it. Rock stars and their drugs and pain pills. Families and the alcohol. I’ve seen addiction in my own family, outside of caffeine. I do not want to be addicted to anything. Not even playing video games! (Let us not get into my various addictions, such as aviation and pizza. No lives are being destroyed because I take a million photos of airplanes.)

Eight years ago, after surviving that odd viral infection and suffered from acute fatigue, one of the suggestions I received was to drink coffee, in an attempt to overcome the tiredness. I did try it a few times, to no avail, and to be honest, I was glad it didn’t seem to work. Addiction.

The only time I ever really drank coffee was when I would visit my parents in Colorado. It was already made and Mom had all these great flavorful creamers to add to it. I’ve always run sort of hot, so the thought of coffee in summer was never appealing. But at my parent’s mountain home, it was always so cold, even in summer, that it seemed natural to drink hot coffee.

Then they put in a new coffee maker at work and added hazelnut creamers. At the start of a red-eye trip, still feeling tired, I thought I’d have a bit of caffeine to help me... give me a little boost. I was working all these trips leaving at 10 at night. I started having all these cups of coffee.

Next thing I know, I’m buying a coffee machine for my house. I had two cups yesterday. I’m having one now. I can’t wait for tomorrow to have more. Hell, why wait. I’m going in for another. See ya!