Praise the Lord, and Lose the Crutches

My husband and I had to fly to Florida this past week.  My father-in law passed away.  I should say his body passed away, as he suffered from Alzheimer’s, so he had left us many years ago. This was more like a reunion with the five other siblings, as the six of them had not been together in the same place since one of them married 7 years ago. That is an interesting story for another day….and it will be good!

Now I would guess that you are thinking this little essay is going to be about reconnecting with family and death opening the door to awareness……you would be wrong.  I want to talk about other miracles I witnessed.  Fasten your seatbelts.

I may have mentioned that my soul mate (husband, and he still is!) and I are both over the 6’ foot mark.  Usually when we fly, we assume the shape of a pretzel, and pray for aisle seats. This time, since it was only the two of us, we decided to spring for the extra leg room seats on Jet Blue. To the uninitiated, they were wonderful! I could actually sit, without someone’s head lying in my lap!  The flight down, was only half full, so after my obligatory 2 Xanax, and one strong bloody Mary, (I am a white knuckle flyer…better living through chemistry) I was able to doze off, mouth open, occasional drool, and slight snore (that might depend on who is telling the story) on the aisle, with NO seat mates. Besides the obvious benefits of space, these seats also afforded us priority boarding, and no charge on one bag of luggage.  Talk about living large.

We attended the funeral, and we have all been to enough of those things to know what goes on.  It went without a hitch.

Now it is time to fly home. My husband assured me we had the same wonderful seats for the flight back. We headed off to the airport, West Palm, Florida.  The TSA check point was painless, grabbed a little breakfast sandwich, and we were on our way! I should have been suspicious, nothing goes that smoothly.

Suddenly things became increasingly clear to us.  We were in the midst of the “Snowbird Migration.” All people originally from the northeast and who still own a home up “north” had spent the obligatory majority of time in the Sunshine State to qualify for the no income tax rule, and were now heading home to the tri-state area. They were on our flight, better known as the “Boca Boogie Boomarang.”

As I mentioned earlier, we had purchased priority boarding.  Now there are, as there should be, passengers boarding before us; the poor souls in wheelchairs, mothers carting baby seats, and any member of the armed forces.

They announced it was time to board those passengers that needed extra assistance.  I thought I was at the “Wheel Chairs on Parade,” special flight!  No less than 15 wheelchair passengers lined up, with spouses sporting either bad toupees, or questionable hair color (I’m sorry, but red hair the color of an M&M, is not looking natural) pushing them along. I didn’t bother to count the number of walkers, and canes also lining up. 

I am sure you are thinking (as I would) what a mean spirited old broad you are!  You however did not witness what happened when we landed!

Alleluia, praise the Lord! The lame were now able to walk! Once we landed in Newark, not only could these previously wheelchair bound chair passengers walk, they could elbow and push other passengers out of their way, while swatting them with their 5 pound bag of grapefruits and Publix bags. Not one, and let me repeat that, not one, was using a wheel chair when it came time to exit the aircraft!  In fact I believe they could have posed stiff competition for Nadia Comaneci! I swear I saw one old guy doing a balance beam over the top of the seats; my husband blamed that on the Xanax.

You don’t need to go to faith healers. Lourdes or Maggiore, people!  Jet Blue flies out of West Palm, Miami, Fort Lauderdale, and Daytona daily!  Seek and you shall be healed! You heard it here first!

Farewell Mr. Clark

Unless you are living under a rock, I am sure you are aware that Dick Clark passed away this week. Who can ever forget American Bandstand? The two were synonymous. Maybe this is the day the music died for the past few generations.  Every Saturday morning, if you weren’t sitting in front of the TV, it was playing in the background.

I loved American Bandstand, and I know I was not alone.  I remember watching it back in the early sixties with some of my older cousins.  They would be trying out the latest in dance steps, copying the moves of those lucky teens actually in the studio. I adored my cousins, and was as happy as a clam, just being allowed in the same room while these important lessons took place. As time moved on, I too tried copying the latest in preparation for the local CYO dances held on Friday nights. People were not born knowing how to do the “mashed potato” or the ‘swim,” we all learned by our intense study of Dick Clark’s show.  Some of us learned better than others, as I am sure the phrase “white men can’t dance” was coined by curious onlookers at a dance event attended by my extended family.

Not only did we learn how to dance, we learned how to dress. Here was a bunch of good looking teens on TV, and we wanted to look just like them! They were cool, they were hip, and they embodied all our hopes and desires.  They say Carnaby Street and Twiggy changed the face of fashion; I disagree, Bandstand set the style. They transitioned from boys in jacket and tie, through bell bottom jeans, to Disco suits.  The girls started out in bobby sox and twin sets, and rode the fashion wave of minis, maxis, and halter dresses. Let’s be honest, what gal didn’t crave an open weave crocheted sweater vest, to wear with her love beads, and go-go boots?

Hairdos were another aspect studied and copied from Bandstand. In the early sixties, the hair curled up in a flip, with either a matching or tortoise shell head band. Soon enough the girls were sporting “pixie” cuts, while the young men were letting their crew cuts grow out. We saw it all, the long straight hair, the Farrah Fawcett wings, the Dorothy Hamill, and the curly perms.  We watched as the boys moved on to afros, complete with hair picks in pants pocket to locks combed back ala Saturday Night fever. Looking at old pictures, it becomes clear that not all hairdos were meant for all people.  I have a number of “perm” pictures floating around out there, that I pray never show up on Facebook!

What person of our generation didn’t wonder if those kids didn’t know how to wash their faces correctly, thus ending up with the Stridex Medicated Pads revealing “Residue that plain old soap and water can never totally remove?” I know I badgered my mom into buying me some Stridex, so I could perform the experiment myself.  This is how I learned that all the claims made by advertisers may not be the whole truth!

How about “Rate the Record?” Or that tag line, “it’s got a good beat, and you can dance to it.”  Mr. Clark always appeared to be fascinated with the young reviewers.  He treated them with respect, and valued their opinion. Unlike our parents, who thought our choices in music were questionable at best!

Which brings me to the MUSIC!  Oh the music! The majority of the show was dancing to the top 40 hits. But at some point, usually right after a commercial, the special guest would perform. Dick Clark booked everyone from Tony Bennett, to Jim Morrison. Most of the musical giants of our generation appeared on the Bandstand stage at one time or another.  Sure they lip synced their latest hit, but it was thrilling none the less, so much better than just looking at pictures from our “Tiger Beat” magazine.

So thank you Dick Clark, thank you for letting us find our own way, thank you for changing the way we listened to the music.  May you rest in peace.  You will be missed, but rest assured, your memory will go on and on.

A Cranky Lady Goes on Vacation

I just returned from a lovely vacation during the Spring Break holidays.  I have come to the conclusion that my tolerance for the general public is on a rapid decline.  For some unknown reason people who stop dead in their tracks, or meander from side to side making it impossible to pass, are attracted to me. These people, hence forth known as “slow” walkers or “slokers” are always in my way.  Now I am not talking about the aged or infirm, I am talking about those physically fit people who believe the best time to check their travel documents are when they are in the midst of a large crowd of fast moving passengers.  Why there is not more serious injuries resulting from the domino effect as fellow travelers collide into these slokers is another great mystery of life. Once I broke free from their gravitational orbit, I proceeded to that cattle chute known as the TSA security check point.

Do a large majority of the population not read, or listen to the very simple instructions?  As we shuffle through we are reminded to remove our shoes, coats, hats, and place our things into a plastic tray that goes through the scanner. Additionally we are reminded to have our boarding pass and passport in hand. I cannot tell you how many folks fail to have the requested documents ready, after they have been reminded repeatedly as we wended our way through the disneyesque line. Amid loud sighs and rolled eyes (mine), they fumble through their carry-ons, when they finally reach that point in the process. The real fun starts at the walk through metal detector.  I always seem to get behind the person that “forgot” to remove their foot wear.  In my case nine out of ten times the passenger in question will be shod in a pair of boots that take a good fifteen minutes and a specially designed button hook to shed.  They proceed to prance through, only to be sent back to remove their coats, and then again to remove their hat, and finally to lose the belt that is sending the metal detector into overdrive. These same geniuses will also have a liter size water bottle, nail clippers, and various big box store sized toiletries in their duffels. Usually some lively discussion follows the confiscation of said items, and the line comes to a complete halt. Then there is the Body Scan. Bottom line, I think everyone knows by looking at me fully clothed, they will see a multitude of “muffin” tops, bottoms, and industrial size underwear on my scan screen.  I honestly don’t believe that the scanner is looking for a cheap thrill at my expense! However many of my fellow travelers think differently.  Hence more discussions, and further holdups.

Finally after overcoming the TSA hurdle, deftly moving around some more slokers, we are at the gate! Now the boarding cheaters show their faces.  If you have flown lately, you may have noticed that they board the plane from the back rows to the front rows.  This makes great sense, as it should eliminate the problem of the “Aisle Blockers” at the front of the plane. When your boarding pass is issued, it usually designates what boarding zone you are in.  In theory you will be getting on after the people sitting further back in the plane have boarded.  We were to be seated in the middle of the plane, or zone two.  Zone one, the rows to the rear of the plane, were allowed to board first, our section was second, and the passengers in the front rows should board last.  HA!  We followed the rules, and guess what?  We were one of the last passengers to board! I remarked to my sons that they should check the people’s zone number when they board, and if you are “jumping” the zone you should be sent to the back of the boarding line. They just shrugged and asked what the big deal was?  The big deal is carry-on bags.  Since airlines now charge for luggage, everyone tries to cram as much into carry-on as they can, thereby allowing their clothes to fly free. As a result overhead storage fills up fast.  So fast that at the last minute your carry-on needs to be checked at the gate.  Usually in your carry-on are all of your expensive electronics, prescriptions, jewelry, and any other valuables that you wanted to have in your possession. We were flying the day after the story broke on the sizable amount of items gone “missing” from luggage at JFK.  One guess where we were flying from! Well we could only pray our bags didn’t become the piñatas of the baggage handlers.

Okay!  We are in our seats, securely buckled, with our seats and tray tables in their upright position. Let the screaming child two rows up begin her rousing serenade! I had to hand it to her; she had stamina, and was able to maintain earsplitting screams for the duration of the flight.  As soon as we were aloft, the tiny little grandmother directly in front of me, slammed her seat back to a full recline.  Mind you she was all of five feet nothing, and her feet barely touched the ground.  Meanwhile, me measuring in at a whopping six feet plus, had the extreme pleasure of flying with my knees jammed up by my ears. Then to add insult to injury, the guy catty corner to me, polished off a heaping helping of re-fried beans, and a burrito.  Needless to say, it was rapidly metabolized and expelled, if you get my drift.  I definitely got his.  Who ever thought putting a Mexican Restaurant near the gate was a good idea? That wunderkind should be forced to fly on a plane for a few hours breathing in recycled air, after someone enjoyed an entrée from their fine establishment.

Arrival!  Yippee!  And we were off!  We enjoyed a lovely cruise, on the SS Slocker.   If you think meandering through the terminal is slow going, you haven’t been on a buffet line with the “I must inspect every morsel of food, before it goes on my plate” crowd. Or the let me look through the Bingo cards, and get a “feeling before I purchase one” ladies.

We ended up having a great time, relaxing and having fun, in spite of my diminishing regard for people.  Now if the world is truly fair, someone is, at this very moment writing a blog about a curmudgeonly tall woman, who sighs and rolls her eyes!  (I think it might be written by my kids!)

Hope your Holidays were happy!