...and now for something completely different. (Wish me luck)

A few weeks ago, at the Barnes and Noble (my preferred spot to sit reserve), the woman in front of me paid for her beverage with a credit card that earned her frequent flier miles on my airline.
The barista saw me notice her card and smiled at me, and I replied "nice card."
The customer looked confused for a moment, and I laughed.

"Oh, I work for the airline."

Her confused expression softened to amusement, then instantly wrinkled as if preparing to ask a question.

"Let me ask you a question..."

Yeah, I deserved that.

She continued, "On my flight to Florida we didn't have any TVs or music or anything...and we were in First Class!"

To my infinite relief, I actually had an answer.

"Well, you were probably on one of our brand new 737-900s. They are so new that they haven't had a chance to install the entertainment system on all of them yet, but each will be outfitted with satellite television soon. Movies, 85 channels of live TV, the whole deal."

"Oh, that's great!"

"It will cost $6 in the main cabin," I then nodded respectfully to her, "but of course it's free for our first class customers."

If I had unintentionally laid it on a little thick she didn't notice and actually seemed quite pleased with the whole exchange. I was quite pleased as well, because that little bit of public relations was the most customer service I'd delivered in quite some time.

Just a day or two later I was woken by a call from my supervisor.

The general rule is "No News is Good News", but for some reason I answered.

She began, "The base is looking for 4-6 reserves to work promoting the new entertainment system to the flight attendants. I thought of you and would like to forward your name to the coordinator. OK?"

Talk about timing. I took it as a good omen and happily agreed. My mind filled with images of life with a line, flying around all day on our newest aircraft, instructing my fellow flight attendants and not pouring any drinks.

That was over a week ago and today, while on vacation in Annapolis, I finally got the call from Inflight.

"We need four reserves to learn the new system, then sit in the Duty Office for 8hr shifts to explain it to the flight attendants when they check in for their trips."

It's a 90hr guarantee (opposed to my current 83 hrs, which I haven't come close to breaking in months), as well as some taxable per diem (opposed the non-taxable stuff that I haven't been earning anyway).

"Sound good? Can I put you on the schedule?"

I didn't have a chance to run the numbers right there, but the flying lately has been abysmal, and it might be nice to have a little stability for the month.

I asked about the days off because I already have tickets to see the Ting Tings in Baltimore in May. She said she could keep my scheduled days off.

I was just about to accept when she said exactly when those 8hr shifts would be...5am to 1pm....everyday.

I audibly balked.

She laughed, "Come on, you're domestic, you should be used to those early check ins."

"Yeah, but not everyday."

I needed a few moments to think it over, and I said I'd call her back. But she called me first and said that there was another reserve interested and she needed my answer.

Remembering my encounter in the bookstore and the six figure paycheck I got last month (that's six figures if you include the decimal point)....I said yes.

I have a few more days of vacation to mentally prepare and report 5am Monday May 5.

What have I done?

Land Exploration

Ok, Ok. I know it's been a while, so I probably should open with a note of explanation.

If you are of a Freudian persuasion, you might suspect my blogging dry spell is repression of four months of being back on reserve. While reserve life certainly does leave it's psychological scars, more likely I've just been lazy. But don't feel slighted, as far as work goes, all you've missed is an updated schedule of airport alerts.

For those of you who haven't turned on a TV or radio, browsed a newspaper or spoken to another adult human for about 10 months, I regret to inform you that our economy is in a little trouble right now.

Last summer, anticipating a downturn, my airline offered flight attendants COLAs (company-offered-leaves of absence) for four, five or nine months. While on COLA FA's retain full seniority and health benefits, but basically don't work (and therefore don't get paid). Enough people chose this option, so no one had to be involuntarily furloughed.

This began in October, and the whole thing worked out GREAT for me because COLAs were granted in seniority order, so people above me took a few months off and I was able to hold a line (and there for my own destiny) for four fun-filled months! I worked a lot and it was fantastic. I picked up great layovers where I got to play tourist and visit friends.

But January brought the first round of returning Flight Attendants and the good times came to a screeching halt. Not only was I back on reserve, but I wasn't even used.

For the first time in two and a half years I didn't break my guarantee and I made only $75 in per diem (opposed to over $400 in December). When I did work, the trips were unproductive and unglamorous. But more often than not, the only time I donned the navy blue poly-blend was to sit Airport Alert.

So really, I've spared you four months of work complaints.

But though my wings have been clipped, I haven't stopped exploring.

Thanks to the works of Leo Tolstoy, Peter Kreeft and St. Francis de Sales I've visited 19th century Russia, Heaven and deep into my own soul respectively. If you count the Killers concert in January, I've not only hit NYC, but Cloud 9 as well!

And all this time grounded in New Jersey has given me more time with my friends here.

On March 5, season two of the Claire and Aaron show premiered by welcoming baby Miriam Elizabeth. And she's beautiful!

I've also had the chance to "bond" with the cafe regulars at Barnes and Noble and was graciously invited to my first Passover Seder.

So now, with the weather becoming more spring-like (I've gotten to take out the bike a few times already) coupled with hopes of increased summer flying (I just placed my bids for May, and I'm eagerly awaiting good news), I'm off to sit- you guessed it- Airport Alert at 7pm. After the 4:15 am and 6 am assignments of the past few weeks, even that seems like a treat.

It's been COLD in the northeast, so working an easy two-day trip to Fort Lauderdale the other day seemed like a pretty good idea. However, the weather made for a very bumpy ride.

Since we couldn't start the service right away, I sat in the back galley and began to read "The Memory Keeper's Daughter," which I had picked up that afternoon from the stack of abandoned books in a variety of languages loftily referred to as the "Inflight Library".

Before I could even get into the plot, a muscle-bound dude with a deep tan, tattoo murals and spiky, over-styled hair came to the back because he just had to have a drink.

The other flight attendant, a very chatty, over-rung Southern belle said, "sure," and Muscles took that as an invitation to explain why he needed a drink so bad.

He was escaping his wife for the weekend in Miami. She had discovered him cheating and taken him with her to confront the other woman.

Belle was shocked, but delighted.

He continued, without a hint of genuine remorse, "I know, I'm scum...but I love them both."

In the corner I tucked my nose further into my book, but when she said, "Well, at least you are honest about it," I couldn't help looking up with arched eyebrow.

I think Muscles noticed his new audience was not completely sympathetic.

"I don't know what I was thinking, they are both gorgeous....and you know the worst part...my wife is pregnant."

Belle literally squealed.
He continued, "so I've just go to figure out what I really want. I know I've got issues."

He must have picked up on the disgust I was radiating because he looked over at me and said, "look, she's disgusted."

I didn't disagree.

He shook his head on his stump of a neck and added thoughtfully, "I'll just have to write about it...I use this stuff in my music."

Of course, a musician.

"You should check out my band. We have a MySpace page. We play around Jersey, in Hoboken and stuff. I have a few CDs in my bag."

Finally, he went back to his seat, having at least enough good taste to leave a $5 tip, and eventually we were able to do the regular beverage service.

But he didn't forget to drop off a CD and a flier.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, if that is the case,  this one said "Jersey Band" about 500 times. It was a 5x7 soft-focus picture of Muscles looking seriously off into the distance with his bandmate, equally tacky but considerably younger, staring knowingly into the camera. All of this intertwinded with a wing and crown graphic similar to those found silkscreened on cheap tee-shirts.

I bit my lip and showed it to the third Flight Attendant who's eyes widened in horror.

I haven't listened to the CD yet so I can't give it a true review. I did use the card as a bookmark for a day or two, but honestly, it creeped me out a little and I was embarrassed to set it down while I read.

Now I think there's a yogurt coupon marking my place.

That Toddlin' Town!

My mother has, among unquantifiable amounts of receipts, magazines, mementos and junk mail, at least two years worth of pristine "Preservation" magazines, the journal of the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

I relate this, not to libel her housekeeping reputation, but simply to underscore that I have crossed the living room and ignored these particular periodicals literally thousands of times.

However, I've been on a bit of a history kick since reading Mayflower, by Nathaniel Philbrick (of which I found a copy in a Vegas hotel of all places), and so on my last visit I decided to flip through the back issues of "Preservation."

The beautiful buildings, the well-told adventures of renovation, and the urgency of rescuing threatened landmarks enthralled me. I was particularly struck by a lusty centerfold of a spectacularly frescoed grand hotel lobby: the Palmer House in Chicago.

The Palmer House??

As in the Hilton Palmer hotel that I've seen listed on pairing information for long ORD layovers??

No freaking way!

I rushed to the computer to confirm, and sure enough, my company actually puts us at one of the most glamorous and historic hotels in the Windy City. And not only that, but at that very moment a 4-day trip with a 30hr ORD layover was sitting right there in open time, one empty spot calling my name!

Being the fabulous line holder that I am (for November at least), I called scheduling and traded my trips around until I was Chicago bound.

I spent the next few days giddily flipping through maps and guide books. Inspired my the "Preservation" magazine, where some Chicago edifice seemed to be featured in every issue I themed my layover an architectural adventure and charged up my beloved Canon PowerShot Digital elph.

I arrived late on Wednesday night and had quite a time locating my room down the confusing but colorful halls decorated in a peacock motif and lined with glossy black and white photos of celebrities who had played the hotel's Empire Ballroom in its heyday.

Despite the luxuries room, I rose early the next day and rode the CTA to the University of Illinois at Chicago (UIC) campus to see Hull House, the original building from reformer Jane Addams famous "social settlement". I had read Twenty-Five Years at Hull House when I was in college.

The building was basically a turn of the century home, but I couldn't help thinking that even a soup kitchen or after school program must be more humanizing in a lovely brick structure with grand carved staircases.

It was a little sad for me however to realize that despite all her good work, Jane had some unsettling political objectives and that Hull House was so intentionally secular. It's sad that her work didn't give glory to God, especially since so many of her residents were immigrants that must have had strong religious backgrounds.

Of course there is always the bias of the museum curators, so I've dug up my copy of Twenty Five Years and I intent on rereading it soon.


Back downtown I headed to the Chicago Cultural Center, famed for it's Tiffany glass domes. Originally the city's public library, it now houses art exhibits, performances, and a visitors information center. It's free, open to the public and absolutely breathtaking!

The domes and mosaics were everything they promised to be, and after seeing them pictures so often, to actually stand in their sparking light was like meeting a celebrity.

In the lobby was an aromatic coffee shop and everywhere citizens were gathering to read, chat and soak up the setting. The building felt so alive.

And it continued like this the rest of the afternoon: turn corner, gasp, snap picture.
I walked for hours, down the "Miracle Mile", over the Chicago River, and through Millennium Park.

When it finally got too dark and chilly to continue (and I reminded myself I had a 4am van time the next morning), I went up to the third floor of the Border's bookstore and perched myself in the cafe window to reflect on the day.

A warm cup of decaf in hand and a stack of Chicago history books at my feet, I began to draft this post. Across the street, young ballerinas rehearsed on the upper floors of the Macy's building while below the animated and colorful holiday windows amused the many pedestrians. Occasionally an elevated train rattled by at my eye level.

I haven't been this enamored of a city in years.

I purchased City of the Century: the Epic of Chicago and the Making of America by Donald L Miller, the thickest and most highly recommended of the books I had browsed and dived in on my flight back to Houston.

It was such a wonderful layover, that I harbored no ill will to the driver who picked me up at 4am sharp. The only other people out were early morning delivery men and a couple stumbling back to the hotel from a very late night.

Maybe next time I'll get to see a little bit of their Chicago too.

Training, Tulsa

Ok everyone, join me in a collective sigh of relief......
I passed my annual recurrent training and am qualified to pass out peanuts for another year! Woo-hoo!

But serisouly, recurrent training is actually about everything other than passing out peanuts and opening cokes. This year the program included hours of computer modules that had to be completed before testing day, a review of the FAA manual to make sure it is current and complete, a written test, hands-on drills evacuting each of the aircraft in our fleet, then more playtime with the fire extinguishers, life vests, Automatic External Difbulator (AED), etc.

It wasn't entirely unfun, and it is refreshing to get a little job performance feedback other than a customer complaints because you didn't hang some coach lady's overstuffed garment bag in the first class closet (please people....write a customer compliement if you are able, it makes a big difference).


Recurrent training is a good reminder of our top priorities: safety and security. It make me proud to wear the navy blue polly-wool.


The day is also an excellent reminder of why I don't have a regular job: getting up early every morning, having to pick out different business causal attire each day, spending hours in the same office/classroom setting with the same people. I have so much respect for you who can do it, and your labors are truly appreciated, but I couldn't do it.

So, with renwed enthusiasm for my chosen professssion and a pair of sexy new shoes (if I'm required to wear unadorned black heels in the terminal, they should at least be heels) I preared to end this month as i began it...with a long layover in Tulsa, OK.

In the past, the best thing I've had to say about Tulsa was that the beds were comfortable and they layovers short. So you can imagine my delight when I was assigned 30hrs at a new hotel.

Oh what a hotel it was!

We entered at ground level and ascended a steep escalator to the newly remodeled lobby. Done in huge undulating glass chandiliers, black laquered end tables, zebra print ottomans of dramatic, oversized proportions and freakish flower arrangments held hostage in low geometric vases, it sparkled with a sort of Ikea-meets-brothel modern opulence.

And just in case you wondered how all this opulence came to be exisit in the Oklahoma prairie, framed picture of an oil rig hung in my bathroom.

Classy.

But if you would prefer to ride with not those not coasting on oil profits, then you should have joined me for a trip on Tulsa Transit.
The bus in Oklahoma is a unique oppurtunity to encounter a highly concentrated assortment of bedragled humanity. They spanned ages, represented many races, and lacked an assortment of limbs and teeth. In general they were friendly however, and those not concersing boisteriously with themselves were delighted to tell me all about what brought them to Tulsa (and it generally wasn't a shiny 737)

I had taken the bus to visit a local yarn store in the posh Uttica Square shopping district.

"Loops"' was spacious and inviting, with beautifully displayed yarns, good lighting, big comfy couches and slick Mac Pros to ring up your order and manage their online business. The owners wre friendly professionals and refreshingly down-to-earth amid the high-end, big-named retailers in Uttica Square, where Tulsans came to despoit thier oil money.

And as I sat there, the store filled up with customers who had come to just sit and knit. We exchanged stories and talked about knitting projects. I bought some super-soft alpaca blend in shages of orange and brown with some vauge Thanksgiving project in mind.

On that same visit, back at the hotel, I completed all my computer modules for recurrent training, and struck up a conversation with a conferenece attendee in the computer room. Together we raided the display booths of some enviornmental engineering meeting for candy, pens, post-it notes, letter openers and chapstick.

I considered it a pretty productive trip.

It's the Most Marketed Time of the Year

Flying for a living has made me very sensitive to the weather...and cycling daily even more so.

The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is look out the window for a meteorological assessment...and not just to chose my attire. My day hinges on the forecast.

But while wind or rain pretty much anywhere in the nation can impact my immediate actions, in macrocosm it is nearly impossible for me to follow the weather. I don't spend enough time in any one place to see a storm from start to finish, or watch the landscape evolve seasonally.

It is disorienting to say the least. I've already given up on knowing what day of the week it is, I'm not ready to let go of seasonal awareness too.

Thankfully there are cultural cues that keep me on track: holidays.

Or at least holiday marketing.

Sun or snow, I can depend on retailers to remind me where we are in the year, whether I like it or not.

Piles of orange and black decor and specially packaged candy tell me that Halloween is imminent, and according to at least one euphemistic banner at the local Marshall's "Holiday 2008" has already arrived (by the red, green and gold orbs I am assuming they mean Christmas).

Thankfully for me and my calendar confusion, the upcoming holiday marketing is not only aggressive, but distinctive. For months we've glided through the days in a general haze of BBQ themed patio decor and vaguely patriotic commemorations.
"Is that red, white and blue banner for Memorial Day or 4th of July?"
"Is my mattress on sale for President's Day or Rosh Ha Shana?"

The ten-foot inflatable jack-o-lantern playing a "spooky sounds" track on repeat and suddenly crowding the sidewalk where I bike to the bookstore is a firm announcement of Halloween (I'll note happily that they have not yet created the blow-up union worker to celebrate Labor Day, but I don't want to give anyone any ideas).

But lest I appear cynical, let me just say that I sincerely love the holidays. I adore Christmas and all the music, parties, decorations and celebrations that honor the Incarnation of the Lord.

And even though I always send exponentially more cards and gifts than I receive, and our family's annual attempts at picturesque domesticity are dependently anti-climactic,* I refuse to be disappointed or feel inadequate. There's far too much happiness to share.

I enjoy the preparations and the process, not just the day itself. Pardon the blatant metaphor, but I'm not overly focused on the destination, I'm all about the flight.

Since I'm knitting many gifts this year, I've been planning for Christmas already. Plus I've got a bunch of cards that I bought on clearance last year...and I actually know where they are in my house!

So even though it will still be about a month before the airport starts bustling with holiday travelers, I'm ready when they are.

A-PEAR-antly it's Autumn

Thanks so much to everyone who called, texted, and commented to see how I was during the hurricane. Your concern and well wishes meant a lot....especially because scheduling forgot about me.

But I was merely inconvenienced by Ike. There were flight attendants stuck in much worse situations, let alone residents of Houston and Galveston. It's not on CNN anymore, but they are still recovering and will be for a while.

I have to hand it to the grounds crew at IAH and my company for getting things up and running so quickly. We were shut down completely, big sections of the airport were trashed, and yet just two days later, almost all the flights were running (relatively) on time.

Which meant that I was back to work as well. I was called for a decent three-day trip.

The first night was a short layover in Seattle near the airport. The hotel is beautiful, and I went for a drizzly walk in the surrounding neighborhood.

I blogged previously about this area in May, how spring was just starting, far behind NJ and MD. Now it felt much the same, cool air scented with woodsmoke, but this time it was the result of an of an early and plentiful fall. A foreshadowing for my east coast existence.

Even strips of land near the roads were heavy with foliage, wildflowers, blackberries and fruit trees. Despite a few odd looks, I couldn't help having my own little harvest festival, tossing apples and pears into my purse with purple stained fingers from blackberries eaten on the spot.

The next day I carefully padded my produce and endured a few more strange looks from TSA (I'm almost immune to them now).

I still had to overnight in Cleveland, so I lighted my load by sharing with my crew, and enjoyed their looks of gratitude and admiration. "You picked them yourself?"

Normally I would be delighted to layover in Cleveland, but we changed hotels. Now we are much closer to the airport, but much farther from the parks...and without bicycles. I went for a walk anyway to soak in the Midwest sunset.

I ended up in Berea, apparently a small college town and there was a football game going on with all the accompanying festivities, so I got my dose of autumnal Americana in Ohio.

Continuing on I saw a sign for St. Adalbert's Roman Catholic Church, so I strolled in that direction. Across from the church and school a charming fixer-upper on a large plot of land was for sale. It was unoccupied, so I sat on the front steps for a few moments gazing at the landscape and imagined myself living here with a thriving garden, a few children, a few chickens and the chance to attend daily mass.

Being in Ohio triggers some dangerous nesting instinct in me. I stopped just short of calling the realtor for a little more info.

The flight of the trip was from Ft. Lauderdale back to Newark. During boarding an older Hispanic woman was struggling to lift her bag into the overhead. The other flight attendant tried to assist, but it was too heavy for him too. He offered her a plastic bag so she could remove some items and the suitcase manageable, but she spoke no English. She grew more flustered, and he grew more frustrated, so motioned her to the back galley and put much sketchy Spanish to work.

At last a look of relief spread across her face and she happily took the plastic bag from me and unzipped her suitcase. Out came some flip flops, a shirt or two, followed by about eight whopping avocados the size coconuts. And there were still half a dozen in her suitcase.

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. To her credit, she smiled apologetically and responded with something I interpreted as "These are very good and you can't get them in New Jersey."

Thinking of the bag full of pears and apples wrapped in a hotel towel and slowing making their way across the country in my carry-on, I assured her I understood.