Travel Log: Flight from Hell.

Kelan and I headed out of Laguardia airport yesterday, flying to New Mexico so he could visit his dad. Everything seemed to be rolling right along, we got to the airport with time to spare, boarded the plane, and were ready to go when the pilot announced that they were experiencing some minor mechanical difficulties. At first, it sounded like it would be a quick fix-- ha! After we sat on the plane for half an hour, we were told that the mechanic would need to get someone to come help… we were being un-boarded, but should stay close… likely we'd be off the ground in an hour. That was actually pretty accurate, as it turns out, but it was just long enough that we missed our connection in DC. I knew we would. It is the unavoidable rule of travel by plane… problems beget more problems. As we waited to have our plane fixed, I found a help desk and tried my best to find another way to go, but there just wasn't one. We were hostages of the airlines.

What I find most interesting at these times is the variety of ways people deal with being stuck at an airport. You could put together a manual of each personality type. The savvy traveller, who immediately calls the airlines 800 number to speak to a representative rather than wait on the line, and continues to surf for flight options on their smart phone while they talk through their bluetooth mouthpiece- all the while maintaining the blank stare that says, 'Don't talk to me, I am superior to these other travelers, and should be treated as such'. The twenty something who plugs in their ear buds and blasts loud music to drown out the world till they can get where they need to go. The european backpacker, waiting patiently in the line to speak to the attendant, but all the while, questioning the other passengers in line about exactly what is happening, and how they would suggest he/she should proceed. There is the mother on her last thread of sanity, who always seems to be at the front of the line, poised to sigh, huff and rant about how this situation must be remedied, and her harried husband, standing against the wall with two kids and a mountain of gear, wishing his wife would just come over and help him juggle the screaming toddler and the sleeping 15 month old. The elderly couple, who simply sit in the waiting room chairs and speak quietly to one another, knowing, really, that there is little to be done, and (I think) maybe secretly looking forward to the possibility of meal vouchers and a hotel room adventure in their future. The mom and dad in their late 50's who take the opportunity to call everyone they know and update them as to exactly what is happening, and how they anticipate the next few hours to unfold, loudly, so we can all share in the experience. The drinkers, who find a way to get a seat at the nearest bar taking turns walking back to the gate to monitor the status. And then, there are the types who I am a magnet for. The talkers.

The passengers who determine that mechanical issues on a shared airplane are enough common ground to justify sidling up to that tall friendly looking lady with her son and sharing a little bit about themselves. Yesterday, I met a school teacher from Albuquerque, who didn't even know the number to call to let them know that he wouldn't be a work Monday morning. He lived in NY as a kid, moved to Florida, then back to NY (so he could experience the city as an adult- you know), then he moved to New Mexico, taught there for a while, back to Florida, but he really couldn't take Florida-- the school system there is a train wreck. So, back to New Mexico again, and there he is. He really wishes the Public school system wasn't such a mess-- loves his time with the kids, but all the paperwork and assessments and red tape… well… it's enough to make him think about going back to being an accountant full time. Yep, he was an accountant for years back in the day (can you believe it!) and really, that is easy work… no stress…. Apparently there are three T's in his life, Teaching, Taxes, and Teenagers, and wouldn't ya know it, the Taxes are the easiest! Ha!

Well, I don't know what it is that I'm missing-- I tried really hard to channel the savvy travel lady with her blackberry. I took out my own smart phone. I sent texts. I even made phone calls, but that friendly chatty teacher just kept talking. Eventually, I faked thirst so that Kelan and I could get away, but when we arrived in DC having missed our connection by 10 minutes, guess who was at the desk to retrieve our hotel accommodations and meal vouchers… and on the same shuttle… and checking in at the hotel desk. I guess the good part was that I got to meet his mother (she was traveling with him, but must have been sitting quietly near that other elderly couple), she barely said two words as he recounted the entire conversation we had back at the terminal. I liked her.

Kelan and I checked into our room. The beds were comfortable, and the pillows were exactly right. It made the prospect of having to get up a 6am to catch a flight to L.A in the morning (before connecting to Albuquerque) seem a little less irritating. Good job Hilton! We headed down to dinner with our meal vouchers. The crazy teacher was no where to be found. I ordered a glass of wine and Kelan went for Lemonade. I spread my napkin across my lap and looked across the table at my sweet dissappointed-but-taking-it-all-in-stride boy, and then, across the restaurant, a woman calls out. "Look, honey, She was on our flight too! Are you guys another victim of United Airlines?"

Did you know, she and her husband both work for the same company, and travel for work a lot? They are both SO irritated by how United has handled the day. Did you know they expect her to pay to recheck her luggage when she gets back to the airport tomorrow!?! They are going to spread the word at work, and United will be loosing a LOT of business, I tell you what….

Desert Beauty

Mineral Deposits- Aerial view

New Mexico is like another planet sometimes.

Desert Colors

Rio Grande!  Finally!!

Sweet or Sassy?

We have new ministers at our UU fellowship-- a husband and wife who will be moving back east from California to fill the opening here in Portsmouth (assuming this 'trial' period goes well).  They seem thoughtful, are young (like me;) and I hope they stay.  Last week the wife gave the sermon about, among other things, the cultural pressure to be polite- southern sweet was the phrase she used- and how it often overrides impulses to challenge wrongs in life.  The impetus, perhaps, behind not asking for your food to be taken back when it is clearly not right, not speaking up when you see a parent man-handling a child at the mall, or even keeping silent as you witness a loved one struggle with alcohol or drugs.

The topic struck me for a few reasons, not the least of which is that I have always struggled with this expectation of sweetness over honesty.  Admittedly, my struggle is sometimes more of a struggle between sweet honesty and not-so-sweet/a-little-harsh honesty, still, as I've grown I have found myself holding my tongue more often at crucial moments where, really, I should speak up.

When I was in 8th grade, I had a science teacher who was a kind man, but was also a bit disorganized.  At some point in the year, he misplaced my lab book, and then asked me why it hadn't been turned in?  I was sure I had turned it in, and told him as much- perhaps a bit harshly.  Eventually, he found it.  In his notes after he turned it back to me, he wrote something along the lines of:
"Kirsten, I apologize for having misplaced your lab book.  Perhaps, should we have such an issue in the future, you might find a way to use a little tact when confronting it."

www.toothpastefordinner.com

I didn't know what tact meant as I read that note (apparently, I also didn't know how to use it).  I ran to the dictionary and looked it up, and with the indignation and feather ruffling that only a 12 year old girl can really hit spot on, I shrugged it off.  But I never forgot what tact meant, and honestly, I think that is when I started using it- bit by bit.  For a stubborn, independent, self-assured Sagittarius, it took a long time to be able to firmly add 'tactful' to my list of attributes, but I think I can honestly wear that tag now, perhaps to a fault at times.

So in life, when is it right to confront an issue and when should it be left alone? This is my struggle, (one that I share with many, I'm sure).  It is multi-faceted, complicated, and certainly, requires tact, so thank you Mr. Misener for that lesson!  The phrase, 'you have to pick your battles' comes to mind-- as does 'a state of ignorant bliss' and 'don't rock the boat', all monikers for the notion that sweetness is at least an option and, at best, the answer.  A friend posted a NY Times article this morning about hospital sanitation, and specifically, doctors and medical personnel spreading illness with loose neckties, lab coats, even lack of hand washing.  The author was asking why it is that we fail to challenge our doctors and nurses on these concerns, even when we're aware of them.  She talks about her brother's time in the hospital, and about how, while she had concerns with his care, she was so busy trying to ingratiate herself to the staff in hopes of better care that she couldn't see a way to confront anyone.  It is the same issue-  Sweet or Sassy, with Sweet seeming so often to win out.  But at what cost?

I was talking with my 10 year old yesterday about alcohol, and was reflecting on a recent car death related to teen drinking.  I reminded him that if he's ever with a group of friends and the driver is drinking that he could call... even if he's not where he's supposed to be... even if he's ditching school and at the beach... that he should call and I will come get him.  I was assuring him that I would let it go, that he shouldn't fear my 'wrath'.  But really, what will keep him from calling might be more about not rocking the boat, not confronting an issue with his peers.  It might not be about me AT ALL.  In a culture where we can't ask our doctor if he's washed his hands before he examines us, can't ask the cab driver to get off the phone, can't say, "Hey, my steak is frozen in the middle"... How can we expect our kids to speak up when it really counts?

So, my latest 'self improvement' goal is to pay closer attention to the times that I hold my tongue, and to find a tactful way to speak up when it's a battle that needs picking.  Then I'll try to find a way to teach that tricky art to my kids.  All this sweetness seems to be making my teeth hurt.

The Manic Season

It is officially April.  I know this because there is suddenly not enough time in the day, and I'm starting to drop some of the balls I've been juggling through the winter months (i.e I haven't written anything here for over a week!)  I was down at the farm this past week, with my 4 year old in tow, to help with the spring cleaning / baby fiesta that is the first week of April.  I arrived on Monday night as a litter of bunnies were being born.  By the time I left on Saturday morning there were 6 new lambs and 6 new goat kids.  It was like all the mamma's on the farm were looking down at the parking area, and when they saw me drive in they all started to push!  I'm grateful for the chance to be there to witness that time again, it is one of the many things about the farm that I really love- the electric anticipation in the air, the surprises, and of course, those sweet sweet baby faces.
In between births, I raked like a madwoman, dragged junk to the dumpster, cleared out a jungle from inside our greenhouse, shoveled disgusting heavy wet unmentionable farm slime from a pen of misplaced water birds who were longing for their under-construction pond, helped clear the foundations for a new greenhouse, made an outdoor nest for our sow so she will relocate for the spring to a more visible lounge, removed winterizing plastic from windows and doors.... oh the list goes on.  It was hard work, and because I have a herniated disc in my lower back, it required some intermissions so I could lay on ice, but the soreness and exhaustion at the end of the day was blissful.  Looking at the improvements as the week went on felt so satisfying.

I left my 10 year old home with dad for this trip, as he had school and commitments.  I made a big pot of chicken soup before I left (one of his favorite things), and tried not to let his big sad eyes penetrate my heart completely as he repeated for the upteenth time that he wished he could come with us.  The truth was, I wished it too.  I know how much he also loves the farm, and how heartbreaking is it for him when I travel south without him.   We are so alike in our emotions, that it is really hard for me to hold my ground when I know exactly how he's feeling, and want nothing more than to give in to his wishes.  It's also hard because when I look at how unrealistic it is for him to trot down to NY all the time, leaving his school and activities behind, it also makes me fear that it is a bit unrealistic for me.  I worry that I am spreading myself too thin (which is a personality disorder I struggle with constantly), and that in holding on to the farm, I am not giving enough to this new life that here in Portsmouth.  Guilt and angst for leaving, and guilt and angst when I go back-- I can't win.  So, here I sit, tired and overwhelmed, trying to catch up on bills and laundry and gardens and life before I leave again on Friday to go back to the farm and teach the spring break program, but I'm also energized and excited to get back to work.

What is most interesting to me, is that this feeling is not unlike how I felt before I left New Mexico. As a classroom teacher I would drop my then 2 year old at daycare in the morning and pick him up 8 hours later.  Wishing to be in two places at once, and regretting everything that seemed to fall short.  Back then, I would wish for more hours in the day because by the time we got home and had dinner it was bath and bed and there was never enough time to play.  When I think about that, I feel like this strange dual life is not so bad.  When I'm home, I can play, and when I'm gone... the laundry is very patient.