On Becoming "The Crazy Cat Lady..."

By now many of you know I've been "under the weather."  Somehow I went from "Good to Go" to "good to donate to a medical study" in oh, about twelve hours? Well, aside from providing a nice, steady feed to my Facebook stream, I've had time to do some thinking...

Have you ever seen a cat smile? I mean REALLY smile? The Cheshire Cat has nothing on my Snugs/Bugs/Tripod kitty. It's a little creepy. And Chloe the Ninja Princess turns out to be a compulsive bather...Chami (my Golden) is a little put-out that I did not read the Bed Schedule. Football Sundays turn out to be "hers." huh. I adore my critters, but I'm a little annoyed that they're annoyed I haven't read the latest family memos. (Ditto for the two-legs in the crowd.) Guys: I'm not enjoying this hiatus any more than you are! I realize that my hair resembles my first doll, Suzy's. ( I used to carry her around by the hair, if that gives you an idea.) I realize the ball-cap doesn't really hide anything. And Parker, in response to: "How do you get your hair to do that?"-- Please go back to the basement and leave me to die in peace. Thank you. SuperMom will be back on duty sometime next week. Possibly (but improbably) wearing pearls.

Down the rabbit-hole we go! I'm burrowing. Under the covers; through the layers of my memory. I joke about becoming "That" Crazy Cat Lady at the end of the street in my old age...but who were those women before? Before they were paranoid. Before they sprayed garden hoses at children walking home from school. Before they were lonely widows? Were they mothers? Were they smart? Were they funny? Did they always roll their stockings down around their knees? And did they have cats? Before?

I imagine myself in a house-dress and apron. Shadows of being partly-raised by my great-grandmother, Lottie. She was born in 1900. Never drove a car. NEVER wore pants. Didn't have anything to speak of, but was probably the most content person I knew. Between her and my IBM-dress-code early-career-days (= Women May Not Wear Slacks), it's no wonder I balked when they said "No tights with skirts" as part of the new company dress code. (My little bird legs will freeze! And I just CAN'T wear pants!) But I digress. WARNING: There will be lots of that in this post...

So: I'm in my house-dress and apron. I have cats. Not an insane number (like twenty), but approximately the same number I have now: three and three-quarters (remember the Tripod). I live by myself in a little cottage with two horses in the yard. And a goat (to keep Henry- and myself- entertained). And chickens. (Because now I'm too old to worry about what I had to do to get them. That story is rated-R). I have an antique Kindle and laugh at my own jokes and stories. I laugh a lot, and cry when I want to. My children and grandchildren visit me when they remember. I try not to kiss anyone who doesn't want to be kissed. I love soup. And zucchini bread. No nuts: they mess with my false teeth. I still wear a bra, because it just feels better, but I have resisted the urge to store important documents and electronics in my bosom. (Grandma developed a Third Breast, later in her life.) And because I have purses. Lots of purses. Do I end up clutching them on my lap with white knuckles? Definitely not! In deferance to my Flight Attendant days, I meticulously stow them under any and all seats in my home. That is, under the seat in front of me, not behind the feet. That wouldn't be safe. And if you're lucky: I'll show you my tattoo. The one I do not regret. I will be THAT old lady...

"That" Little Old Lady on our street was Mrs. Mallory. She lived next door to my grandparents (who lived a few blocks down the street from my mom and me). She was scary and mean; definitely dangerous with the garden hose. She looked like a Little Old Lady. She smelled like a Little Old Lady. She had the plastic furniture coverings of a Little Old Lady. I don't remember her being particularly liked by anyone in my family, but we still had to be respectful good neighbors.I remember that her house, like the others on that street were neat as a pin: white with some sort of 1950-60s aqua trim? Maybe not, but it's how I remember her..It's possible that the Old Soul in me even tried to befriend her on an occasion or two? How I came to be in close enough proximity to smell her or attempt to befriend her escapes my memory...This might be a good place to mention that old people have ALWAYS loved me. They still do. (Even look at my Favorite Passengers List!*). Interestingly, the same is true for my husband. And my children are both "old souls;" an idea I'd like to investigate...

To contrast, Mrs. Sullivan lived across the street. She lived on a corner and had weeping willows in her yard. She gave out Halloween Candy. She was elegant and soft and lovely and friendly and makes me think of hot tea and cookies. Although my memory and imagination may comingle, Mrs. Sullivan had a cat. A Siamese. Just one. Very distinguished, Mrs. Sullivan was. I loved her, even though I didn't know much more about her than Mrs. Mallory. I do recall she was on the "friendly list" with the family though. I don't remember the inside of her house. I do remember the inside of Mrs. Mallory's...

I'm not sure how I got there, or how old I was, but there I was inside Mrs. Mallory's home. I can still smell the stale air. Clean, but stale. I felt scared in that Nancy Drew kind-of-way. I can feel how stiff the sofa was and see the direction I was facing (toward the back of the house). I can see the dust motes floating through the light from the front window, which was behind me. (Pretty sure my posture was good and my hands were in my lap.) I remember being fascinated by the collection of knick-knacks on her mantle. Asian-looking-things. Mysterious. Wow! I can't tell you much about the conversation, except that she told me those treasures were from her dead husband. He died in World War II. Something about the Pacific. I probably hadn't gotten that far in History in school yet, I suspect. (Tanforan was a mall, not a camp for the Japanese!) On recalling this, I see the "bicycle spokes" of driving past the National Cemetary outside San Francisco. It turns out that when you are driving by rows and rows and rows of white grave markers, they look like moving spokes on a wheel...so much motion from such a quiet, still place. No joy of free-wheeling down a San Francisco hill on your bike. The Spokes always meant we were getting close to home after a day in The City. Mrs. Mallory: What did they say to you?

I remember Mrs. Mallory going off to the left to retrieve something from another room. I don't think any of our "conversation" took place with both of us seated. I'm sure the time I was in her home was short. Why did it leave such an idelible mark in my memory? No cats. No laughter. But some kind of realization there was more to Mrs. Mallory than her garden-hose-wielding persona? After that, I still crossed the street with the other kids (to Mrs. Sullivan's side) when walking to and from school. She still gave me the willies. But something changed for me. I wish I could hear more of your story now, Mrs. Mallory. And I promise not to walk on your lawn.

Notes:
*--there is no such written document. yet.

A Day of Adventure in NYC, Part 2: Cupcakes

Time to head back towards the airport...Yikes! Getting to the museum, I was less nervous than trying to make it back "on time" to fly home. (Back to the consideration that listing for the LAST flight of the day was not the smartest idea...) And why do things look so different on the return trip than they did starting out? Clearly, I've been hanging out with horses too much, since they often spook at the same item that was FINE in passing it the first time from a different direction. In fact, "spook" might be a good word choice for me here? hmph. Again, I pulled out the "Airline Smile" and tried to show how relaxed I was about the whole thing. I mean, why rumple a wonderful day? Interesting observation: all of the friendly morning-shift MTA workers had evidently gone home to be replaced by the bitter-let's-mess-with-the-tourists crew. On three different occasions of us asking for directions/help, we came upon workers who were yelling and griping (to put it nicely) to other workers in the booths, with the outside speakers turned on..."Ummm, excuse me? Can you help direct us to the train we take to head back to JFK?" Three times we were directed exactly opposite of the way we needed to go. But Parker and I embraced our subway time; he even almost beat out a wily little man for a seat on the train...but the wily little man was faster. And more than a little competitive. Parker seemed to take this as a challenge: he can be quick and wily, too. Look out subway riders! This is like a video game where quick reflexes and a little butt can be helpful.  I believe, given another day in the city, that his street-smarts could really blossom! huh

This side of the ride had included a much different mix of folks: rowdy foul-mouthed "kids" on their way home from school (I hoped). The shadows of the afternoon were longer and the subway passengers seemed a little shadowier, too. I was no longer hearing a little old black man softly singing spirituals. No longer marveling at the orchestral mix of languages from around the globe. No longer fascinated by the hats. It seemed more people were looking out of their eyes sideways. The tension on the trains was palpable. Was I just tired? Was this the beginning of Rush Hour? I was ready to be finished with this part of the trip. I could tell Parker was getting tired, too. What seemed like an eternity later, and about $20 extra in subway fees, Parker and I arrived at the Jamaica Station. JFK was now in sight! Yay! And on time! Double-yay! I guess I can stop holding my breath now...Oh! Yes, I was holding my breath. Oops, didn't even realize it until I stopped.

But enough about subways...There was more to this trip that would mark it in my memory; much more. Parker and I checked in for the flight and was assured we would get on. Woohoo! (and whew!) He hadn't wanted to eat earlier in the day (not even the famous NY Hot dog...) but after we were "safe" in the airport, he decided pizza sounded good. Ten dollar pizza. rrrrrr. Airport food prices always irritate me. But hey; it's part of the package, right? By this point in  the day, I was really looking forward to a "beverage" during our 3-hour wait. Three hours? Boring? NO WAY! Anyone who has ever spent any time sitting in an airport, particularly an international airport, knows this can be some of THE BEST people-watching anywhere...

And JFK was not to disappoint...

While we munched our pizza (which became more appealing as I watched Parker eat), we watched a large group of Orthodox Jewish gentlemen moving about the concourse. We soon discovered it must be time for evening prayers? The group congregated at a gate set to depart for Zurich. How exotic! This IS the Big Wide World, I thought. Suddenly the group of men began to nod. And bob. And pray. Over and over again. More bobbing. For a long time. Have you ever tried to look cool and non-plussed while fascinated AND in the company of an almost 13-year old boy!? "Parker! Don't stare!" (I'm staring too. Just sneakier.) "Parker! You can't laugh!" (I'm trying not to laugh, which is making it harder.) "Parker, for God's sake, DO NOT bob your head!!!" (I'm going to go to Parenting Jail, because this IS pretty damn funny.) Now I'm thinking I'm the 12-year-old boy...Great modeling, Mom! Another jewel for your Mother of the Year crown! (My but this giggling is fun...) Note to self: learn and teach about World Religion in addition to Art History. This might be an appropriate time to mention that although I consider myself a spiritual person, I have moved far away from the traditional religious observances of my upbringing. I have been raising my children up more in the way I now believe, than in any traditional practice or structured belief system...

So Mama wants a Mike's. I really enjoy my sissy Mike's Hard Lemonade, and how refreshing would one be right now...We were right by a Buffalo Wild Wings. They have my Mike's. Parker and I joked that was my evening prayer: Mama wants a Mike's. And they had sports on TV: perfect to kill time for Parker! So we went to get a table in the packed restaurant, and were introduced to our server. She spoke little-to-no English. huh. Good thing I have a Spanish degree...(not so much). After much explaining and pointing to the menu, Parker and I decided that I would most likely be getting a regular lemonade without ice. Bummer. Not my evening prayer request! So I got the waitress to stop before she ran away, and asked (by pointing to the menu) for a Sangria instead. Okay. I like sangria. And a little bit out of the ordinary. Fun!

Sangria came. Sangria went. Yum. Bill came. FOURTEEN DOLLARS!?!? ugh. It wasn't that good...Damn. On our way out of the restaurant, I made a comment to a couple of guys at the next table (who I noticed were also having difficulties with this restaurant and server) that they should stick with the Sprite, as I just paid $14 for my sangria. They laughed and thanked us. Parker and I went to the gate to wait...

Now earlier, I had been trying to figure out why the Orthodox gentlemen had chosen the Zurich gate for their prayers. Empty with space available for a larger group? Facing a certain direction? I had no idea. So now Parker and I are across the concourse from that gate waiting to go to Minneapolis. Here comes the large group of men. Now, maybe an hour later, they're praying at this gate, which is crowded and facing the opposite direction. So much for my theories. And they didn't seem to be going to Minneapolis either. huh. AND hats! More hats to add to our collection today....flat ones. Curved-top ones. Furry ones. Not all with the curls on the sides, but 90%. (Parker: "I think those are attached to the hats." Me: "No, I think they're attached to their heads." "How do they get those? Do they use little curling irons?") Please note: no disrespect intended! Only curiosity and needed education....

It's getting close to our departure time. We didn't have seat assignments yet, but the gate agent told us we'd be able to get on. That was all I really cared about. Good deal. While we were waiting, the two gentlemen from the restaurant came over to us and thanked us for the tip at BWW. We laughed and exchanged pleasantries. Turns out they were in NYC for a day trip also, and were from the Twin Cities. Here's where the day developed another amazing facet...

Jon and Darin had been in New York for treatment for Jon's cancer. His wife was unable to join him that day, so Darin stepped up as his support and buddy. The two had come in at the same time as we had, and had crammed an astounding amount of fun on top of  their business for the day. These guys were SO nice and SO fun to talk to...their friendship and excitement were contagious. Parker and I both felt an immediate "click" with these men while we compared notes about our day. What fun! One of my greatest joys in life, as I've said, is to meet people and to hear their stories. Some of the greatest blessings in my life have come from encounters just like this one; to share this kind of experience with my son was such a GIFT! As passengers were called to the podium for last-minute check-ins and seat assignments Parker and I commented on how neat these guys were and what an amazing day this had been. We decided there are many more New York Day Adventures awaiting us. Soon Parker and I were called up and were delighted to find we had been assigned seats in First Class! This would be Parker's first time! Cool! Could this day have been any better? Well, as it turns out: Yes. Yes it could.

Parker and I continued to sit and reflect on our adventure: the people, the sights, the new skills we'd discovered we had...I think we stuffed about three days of adventure into one. Well done, I thought. During our reflection, we discussed the neat new friends we had met in Jon and Darin. We had asked them where they were sitting, and had decided that it would be a really nice thing to do to give them our seats in First Class. Jon was assigned a seat there already, but Darin was back in Row 5. I have to take a moment to beam here: How cool is it to discover your (adolescent) child is willing and wanting to give up such a prize as a (first time) First Class seat for someone he just met? This was such a powerful moment for me, I almost cried with joy. (I know I'm sappy, but it's how I feel). We told Jon and Darin what we wanted to do and they were so appreciative and sweet about it, it was WAY more exciting than sitting up there ourselves. I could see that Parker felt it too. Now, I have come to believe in karma over the years, and since Jon had a seat in First Class, it worked out for Parker to still sit in First Class in Jon's seat. Jon and Darin could relax in our seats together, while I sat in Row 5 and almost cried with joy and gratitude for the whole day. Although I have many, many joy-filled moments in my life, this was unquestionably one of The Best Ever. Life is SO good!

Parker and I continued to visit with Jon and Darin throughout the flight, discovering other things we had in common with them. Kids. Horses. Senses of humor. Jon and Darin had visited the famous Crumbs Bakery (famous for The World's Best Cupcakes) during their day and  they were taking a couple of boxes home to their families. They gave us a box as a "thank you" gift (which was SO  not necessary, but REALLY enjoyed!) While we visited with our new friends, I could see the lights come on in Parker's eyes (and it wasn't the cupcakes!) This, I thought, is one of the things I want Parker to feel in Life. This is one of the Great Treasures in living that I want to pass on to him. And to his sister. This is the kind of legacy I want to leave in and for my children: People can be good. And different. And mysterious. And generous. Don't walk through Life afraid. Laugh. Give. Giggle. And eat cupcakes. Cupcakes with new friends. Thank you Jon and Darin. Thank you for an Amazing Adventure.

A day of adventure in NYC! (Part 1)

Happy 2010 Friends! I'm not saying this is a "resolution," but I hope to be better about sharing stories and adventures this year...I continue to be amazed with the people I meet flying and the stories my passengers (and crewmates) share with me. For those of you who have flown with me, you know that on all my flights I ask a "Random Question of the Day" (and have even begun to be known as "The Question Lady" by some of my frequent fliers!). Although often related to food, these questions have been the jumping-off-point for some really fun and fascinating conversations with people. It contributes to the high level of JOY I find in my job...Thanks to those of you who participate! You may not realize what a gift this is for me on a daily basis.

So. Yesterday my almost-13 son and I took a spontaneous day-trip to NYC. Some things you should know before I get to the story are: 1) I have only used my travel benefits to go to Missouri so far, 2) I had only visited NYC once before and was not allowed to ever step foot outside the car and 3) I have a very poor sense of direction. Oh. And 4) I'm not really as spontaneous as I like to believe I am, so this was a BIG step for me. That being said: the day was a huge success and provided me (and my son) with a bag-full of memories I'll cherish forever.

The day would most likely not have happened without the input of one of my favorite Facebook friends, John Williamson. (Thanks John!) John regularly posts links and articles regarding a myriad of topics and shares his wit with friends around the globe. I always look for his stuff first, because he's smart, funny and always interesting. So John posted a link about a Samurai exhibit going on at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Now, many of you with sons in Parker's age-range might have shared my glassy-stare as their young boys have explained all-things-warrior to them. At least I hope you can relate to my smiling-nodding-I-don't-get-the-fascination perspective? Anyway, I knew when I saw the link that Parker would love this...Long story short: I looked into it a bit and realized we had two days to catch this exhibit before it would leave NYC. We listed for the first flight out the following day (I had to have help even with this step. Thank you, Roger.) to return on the last flight home the same night. (A potentially stupid move.) I wish I had been able to capture the look on Parker's face when I asked him if he'd like to miss school to go to New York for the Samurai exhibit the next day...What does Visa say? "Priceless!"

AND HERE. WE. GOOOooo!

Up at the you-know-what-crack-of-dawn, Parker and I set off for the Big Apple. I really had no idea what we were doing, but I was hopeful I'd be able to pull it all off while being impressively-cool as a mom and frequent traveler. A technicality: being a flight attendant is not necessarily the same thing as being a "frequent traveler!" (Confession: I pretty much just go where Crew Scheduling tells me and follow the guys with stripes when we get there...)

Security lines were fine. My son was impressed that Mom seemed "popular" at the MSP airport as we were greeted by co-workers in such a big place full of strangers.  I sprung for McDonald's breakfast at the airport and had my son in a very happy place...The flight was on-time and smooth. We had no problem getting on. Hooray! Our first major success! We landed at JFK and I had my organized-little-self armed with a subway trip planned on the MTA website. Cool. This was easy. Note to assuage my guilt about pulling Parker out of school for the day: I'm confident he learned more just on the subway than in a whole day in the classroom! (No disrespect to my son's fine teachers...) There were people from every country on Earth, I believe, on our ride. Pick a language, any language, and I'll bet you we heard it there. And HATS. What's up with all the hats in NYC!? Fancy ones, simple ones, fur ones, ones with the stickers still on them (Minnie Pearl had nothin' on some of those kids). Warm ones, ethnic ones. It was high entertainment at times. All while trying to look like we had a clue about what we were doing and where we were going. (Watch the eye contact. Hold onto your stuff. Stay with me.) We were also very surprised at how friendly and helpful the people we met were to the Obvious Tourists. Did the upside down map give us away? hmmm. It didn't take long to abandon any hope or concern about disguising our status, which was futile anyway.

Emerging from the depths of the subway into a bright and crisp day in Manhattan, I was almost overwhelmed with how special it was to be able to do this as a day trip. "We're on the corner of 71st and Lexington! Look in this window! Look at that bread! Check out all those cabs!" Really, I embarrass myself sometimes. Good thing Parker is used to me. "Parker! We're on Madison Avenue! Parker! We're on Park Avenue! Look! The French Embassy!" ("Mom, what's an 'embassy'?") "Parker! Look! Hot dogs!" (Really? Did I really say that? Yes. Yes I did. There's much to be said for unconditional love.)

There's the Metropolitan! Yippeeeeee! We're really here. We really did it! The exhibit was wonderful. A lot of swords. I seem to not have a strong eye for differentiating between them all, but Hey. I tried. Parker could tell. How does he do that? My favorite parts were the armor and the saddles. Incredible works of art. How could these masterpieces be functional? huh. There was a stooped-little-old lady on the same path and timetable as we were. She was delightful. She was almost electric in her enthusiasm. I was as fascinated with her as the exhibit. I made sure to point out to Parker that "That's gonna be me, someday!" He didn't seem surprised (or even horrified. whew!). Did I mention I love this kid!? He's an old (and patient-with-me) soul. To backtrack a bit, to get to the gallery with the Samurai exhibit, you have to go through other galleries. I was like a kid in a candy store (Sorry for the cliche). My neck hurts today from all the gawking. I guess I forgot that Parker really hasn't been to many art museums in his life yet. I forgot to give him any warning about "nudity." And penises. Lots of  'em. Sculpted ones. Sketched ones. Painted ones. "Penises on Parade", it seemed, as I viewed the museum through his eyes (And I must credit that title to him.) "Mom, why was it okay back then to paint these people with their clothes off? Why did they do that?" Ummm. It seems I need to spend a little time on Art History with my kids? Note to Self: Do that. Initially, when figuring out if we could even do this trip in a day, I was concerned that we wouldn't have enough time to enjoy the exhibit when we arrived. Not to worry, my son seems to "museum surf" like his father: he's a "flitter." I, on the other hand, am a "systematic and thorough reader." At first, this was a source of frustration for both of us, but we were able to discuss it and agreed to dismiss each other's museum-styles as acceptable. Another success, in my opinion.