The Big 5-0

Good lord.  50 years old.  Today at 6:20pm (Mountain time since I was born in Boise, Idaho).  I can't believe it.  But like my mother told me recently, "If you can't believe it, think about me and what it feels like to have a son who is 50!"  She's right.

The good.  And the bad.  The ups and the downs.  Happy and sad times.  Like everyone else.  I have more aches and pains than I used to.  Tummy upset from coffee or creamer or something....more than I used to.  I don't sleep as well.  I get irritated with stupidity and slow drivers.  I used to go to yoga but haven't for a while.  But I want to.  Does that count?  I'm out.  And happy.  And those certainly count for something.  I've learned that some of my ideals early in life were pretty shallow.  And I've allowed myself to age pretty gracefully, I guess.  There has been a family filled with cancers, Lou Gehrig's disease, alcoholism and drug abuse, suicide, fights and the like.  But we're still a pretty tight knit group.  I've hated a few times and I've loved a lot.  There are friends.  Facebook, virtual, and real ones in life.  I love nearly all of them.  I'm pretty simple.  Things that turn me on are the sky, trees, leaves, green grass, rivers and oceans.  Things that mean next to nothing to me are sports, big star entertainment, staying out late, partying, and being loud.  I'm far more irritated than I used to be and will be glad to tell you exactly the things I will put up with and those that I won't.  I can see those things hidden somewhere ahead of me in life that I know I need to connect with but struggle to put into practice.  My connection to technology, the internet, and the iPhone has grown.  My connection to earth, sky and trees has waned.  I don't like it.   I know it.  I've discovered what I like and what I don't like.  I'm pleased with that. Mostly. 

And I've got a partner of nearly 15 years who loves me, cares for me, and has allowed us to create a beautiful, successful life together.  He's far more than I could have ever asked for.  And there's a dog.  A mutt.  A pooch.  Mason.  He's a cutie boy.  To these two things, I say thank you.  For being there for me.  For believing in me.  Today, at 50.  And tomorrow, at 80.

Happy Birthday to me.

Heart Day

Today is Valentine's Day.  One of the holidays that I enjoy more than others.  I like this time of year.  The beginnings of slight pink flowers appear on trees.  And the crocus are already up.  And don't get me started on the lamenting of "Oh, poor me, I'm single and don't like this day blah blah blah."  I don't buy into it.  Your life is what you make of it.  Period.  In case you hadn't noticed, I'm irritated today.  It's increasingly more frequent. I find myself less connected to Mother Earth today than I was even, say, ten years ago.  I find that nasty people, irresponsible causes, and stupidity find themselves in my mind more than they should.  And that I don't put up with them as much as I should. 

Valentine's Day.  Today is the day that I was due.  Well, more accurately, today is the day that my mother was due with me.  But clearly, I needed five more days of sweetening up.  And perhaps could have used even more.  I feel less enchanted with my life today than I have for a while.  I feel a nearly overwhelming need to recenter, rebalance.  And to stick close to home.  I'm almost in a frenzy to create peace in the dark spots of my heart and mind.  It's unsettling. 

Today hubby comes home from yet another workweek in Seattle.  I've made Valentine's Day dinner reservations at a neighborhood place that we have never been to.  It comes with rave reviews.  Tomorrow our carpets are being cleaned.  Did you know that the "Chem Dry" carpet cleaning systems are actually not chemical-based at all?  Me either.  They operate without chemicals with a carbonation system -- sort of like putting club soda on a stain to get it out.  Same principle.  We're trying to get the place in shape for the big birthday weekend coming up.  And to celebrate the President's as well.... it is their holiday too. 

I remember spending Valentine's Day 2004 in Amsterdam with LoverBoy and my parents.  We stayed at a five star hotel right in the center of Amsterdam....Dam Square.  It was more than lovely.  And I remember Valentine's Day 1994 when I received a phone call at work from my mother.  My father had been taken to the hospital.  He died 35 days later. 

We have a new printer....an Epson Workforce 645.....a real gem. I love it.  Fits nicely where it needs to in our tiny condo.  Works well.  Wireless.  And with E-Print (or Air Print??) meaning that I can email any document I want to -- from anywhere in the world -- and it will print on my home printer.  And only $99.  Our taxes were done last Friday....cha' ching.  Combine the tax refund with our employer's profit sharing dollars, and we should be sitting pretty on the last day of February or so.  That is, until we spend it.  But it'll feel good for a day or two. 

Sorry kids I'm all over the map today.  My lower back is aching worse than it has in a year or more.  So much so that I can't even get my socks on without a ton of pain.  Moving quite slowly and carefully.  but today is better than yesterday so that's good.  Wishing you all a happy heart day. 

The Letter

So, here's the deal.....I've spent a good portion of my last year helping design a project for my employer.  Flight Path Debrief for Flight Attendants.  I've mentioned it more than once here.  Honest to god, hundreds of hours.  All last summer spent in an office in Seattle.  Several hundred ideas, suggestions, "spaghetti on the wall" as we've called it -- tossing out ideas and thoughts and what may or may not work.  It's mandatory training.  The morning portion is all-employee -- 150 employees from all work groups.  The afternoon sessions are broken out into one's own division....mine being Flight Attendants.  And it's the afternoon Flight Attendant piece that I've helped design and am now an occasional facilitator.

It's playing out very, very well.  There have been a lot of laughs and plenty of tears as we FAs learn things about other areas of our company.  Things we don't typically know or are a part of.  There are some parts that are introspective....from both a professional and personal level.  Examination.  Looking inside.  I like it when people are functioning at their best as human beings.  And that's where this program is designed to take us.  It's part historical.  Part motivational.  And there is this little section that we've called "The Letter."  It's no longer being used.  But we tested it with a wide variety of test groups for many months.  We modified it, changed it, softened it, soothed it.  We changed our facilitator notes and what direction it was that we wanted FAs to "go" in their minds and hearts.  Honestly, it was a great piece.  A prodding piece.  A poking piece.  Made to make us think, consider.  And I like that kind of thing -- that keeps me well rounded, thinking, using my head, and propels me forward.  But clearly not all FAs like that sort of thing.  I've already made it clear that we are an unusual group.  Set in our ways, don't like change, demand flexibility, picky, get irritated by things like "I'll have a black coffee."  Only to be met three rows later with a wave of the hand and a "I'll need a cream and four sugars."  Those things continue to confound the wise.  We exist in a world of shallow talk and chit chat with passengers.  Nothing overly indepth.  Surface.

So when a piece like "The Letter" is presented, we're taken aback.  Shocked.  Surprised.  Which is exactly what the piece was designed to do.  But it was intended to lead us in a positive direction.  Not a negative direction.  The section played out quite powerfully in a positive way to most.  "Life changing, powerful, really made me consider, etc" are a few of the comments.  But then there is this group of folks who are stuck.  In the past.  With what has happened to them over the years.  The victims.  With having been down this "company kool aid" trail before.  They don't like management.  They don't like people with good attitudes.  They don't like coworkers who are friendly or go out of their way to help others.  They live with an "Us" and "Them" mentality.  And for those folks, the letter incited rage.  Upset.  Anger.  Two wild extremes depending upon the type of person The Letter was presented to.

The Letter was a fake letter which explained that our company had been purchased by an investor.  Assets were to be liquidated.  Employees could reapply if they cared to.  No one's jobs were preserved.  It said nothing about "You're fired" or "You're a bad employee."  But, you see, that's how we FAs work.  We think we know better.  We exist in a land of rumors and half-truths.  We are not well connected to an accurate line of information.  The funny thing is that about 95% of the negative comments came from those who had not even attended the program yet.  Rumors.  What they thought they knew.  What they had heard from others.  That's what they based their reactions on. And that I do not respect nor place any value on. 

Really?  Seriously?  You haven't even experienced it yet and you're already red faced and irritated?  Is that really the type of human being you are?  Umm humm.  It is.  The Letter was designed to encourage a "What Would You Do" sort of dialog.  What would you do tomorrow if this happened to you today?  Who would you tell first?  Do you have a plan?  Are you prepared?  It was to encourage ideas and thoughts from others.  To help us get ourselves in line if we are ever purchased, or merged, or or or.

So, I made a Facebook entry the other night saying that I was facilitating Flight Path the following day and how excited I was to do so.  My first and only comment was from a coworker who has never once made a comment on my FB page.  But with regard to this, she did.  I didn't like the comment, felt it rude and inappropriate for someone else to be making on MY page with MY excitement about the following day.   Most of us would never do that.  But that's the way she works.  I removed it and messaged her to tell her why I had done it.  Here is the dialog:

ME:   Hi there. I removed your comment about the "Stupid Firing Letter." I felt it personally offensive. I helped develop the Flight Path program. I'm 100% invested in it. And it's tough to hear those sorts of half-cocked, uninformed comments from those who haven't even been to the program yet. I'm more than happy to chat anytime about the letter or anything else in the program. The letter had nothing to do with being fired. That's what rumors do for our lives. They create an unbalance, unfair, air of negativity that is not based on truth. Let me know if you have any questions.

HER: You weren't here in 85 when I received an unfair, negative letter to come back to work or I WAS fired.Unchanged in my opinion and what seems to be the same of an overwhelming majority of people that have gone to your mandatory program,Also a letter from our CEO (Bruce Kennedy)that we were all a bunch of ingrates and we were lucky to have a job instead of a Christmas card or bonus.You say I'm uninformed but maybe it was ____ and your team that were uninformed about how touchy this letter would be.I've run this idea by family friends that run corporations and they were appalled at this idea of trying making an employee feel grateful for their job by "picturing their life without this job. "So I feel your attack is personally offensive, as well-Respectively yours-

"Respectively yours"?  Really?  So, I went to bed.  I tossed and turned.  Upset.  By her blue-collar bully ignorance.  The uninformed who think they know it all.  Those who actually know 10% but speak like they know 110%.  And she continued to message me because I was in bed and failed to respond to her as quickly as she thought I should have: 

HER:  Nothing?Would you like me to form it in a question? It's obvious that you have gotten alot of heat for this but do you honestly feel that none of the negative feedback is valid?

The Letter section has been changed.  Redeveloped.  And it is working just fine.  Good dialog.  Good discussion.  But definitely lacks the punch and power of The Letter.  It was just way too far to ask some folks to travel in their heads.  They just couldn't do it.  Most of us could, a vocal minority could not.

So that's how my week's gone.  How about yours?

John Boehner's Crybaby Alien Lives In Me

You knew that I was related to John Boehner, right?  I think we are cousins.  Distant, far removed cousins perhaps.  But all kidding aside, I swear to god that we must have the same genes or DNA tucked away deep inside somewhere.  He has taken heat for the way in which our common thread of DNA manifests itself in his life.  So have I.  You see, we are both crybabies.  I don't know about him but I'd venture to guess that I get tears in my eyes on almost a daily basis.  Maybe every other day or two if I remain 100% out of human contact, don't watch any TV or TV commercials, and stay off of the Internet.  Oh, one more thing....if I avoid conversation with my mother.  She always makes me cry when she closes nearly every phone conversation with, "Arnie, you know I love you....I really do.  I'm so proud of you...."  Lordy.  I'm a mess.

I see an animal rescue site with sappy music playing and I lose it.  Although, admittedly, Sarah McLachlan doesn't have quite the hold on me that she once did thanks to seeing those commercials for so many years.  So there.  See, I'm a big boy.  I see stories of soldiers returning home from war and sneaking into their children's school classrooms to surprise them and my throat closes up.  Or a homeless woman on a street corner who is will into her 70s or even 80s -- and she shares the same name as my very own mother.  My heart goes out.  Or perhaps I get into a conversation about any one of life's many difficulties with someone -- how they, or I, want to be a better human being than I am today.  Umm, yeah, don't expect me not to cry at that either.  Or I see an adult who you would suppose would have their act together by this point in their life -- but they don't.  Alcohol or drugs still have a stronghold on their ability to be a good parent, son, daughter, etc.  I think of my own experiences and how these sorts of situations strike awfully close to home.  Or I watch the resignation of Congresswoman Gabby Giffords as she hobbles with every bit of might she has up to John Boehner to submit her written letter of resignation.  John cries.  I sob.

Man oh man, John Boehner's sobbing crybaby spirit lives within me.  Sort of like an alien.  Who cries.  An alien who cries.  Yeah, that's it.

Tis The Season For Sharing

My father in law used to tell this story around this time of year....Christmas. In fact, he told it over and over....like plenty of older folks do, they repeat things and stories. And he would always get big tears in his eyes and a catch in his throat when he told it. Last night in Austin, I was around the dinner table with three of my fellow crew members and somehow we got to talking about stories of goodwill, Christmas, helping others, and all of that. So, I shared this story.....and even I had to stop about halfway through because I'm a big old crybaby. The story is a keeper, to say the least. It took place around the mid 1930s.....when my father in law was around ten or so. Ohio, winter time, snow everywhere, cold....in the middle of the depression. Times were super tough for everyone. They still are. Take the time to share, to relate, to give attention to others. Share stories. Share your life, your happy times, your lessons.

Dinner was nearly ready when the coal truck pulled into the driveway with a delivery for heating the house. Dinner was soup on this particular night. While the delivery man was shoveling the coal into the coal chute at the side of the house, my father in law who was only around ten years old noticed a little boy sitting in the front seat of the delivery truck. Waiting. He looked cold. So, my FIL asked his mother if they could invite the little boy and the man into the house for a cup of soup. His mother said "Of Course," and added another cup of water to the soup to make it stretch. The man and his son came into the house and had soup with the family. A cold night, a warm kitchen, a family with the coal delivery man and his small son.

Fast forward to the following spring. A knock at the front door. "Do you remember me?," the man asked when my FIL's mother answered the door. "I was the coal delivery man who was here last winter...you invited me and my young son into your house to have soup with you. I've taken a new job now. I'm painting houses and I'd like to paint your house for free." My FIL's mother didn't understand but the man continued. "You see," he said "On the very day that I delivered your coal and you invited us in, I was at the end of my rope. We were broke and I could not provide for my family any longer. And I thought it was best if I ended my life. I was on my way to take my life on the very day that you invited me in. But I didn't.....because of you and your hospitality."

Tis the season for sharing and giving. Not receiving. Not wanting. Not being greedy. Not even football or food or shopping. But for giving. To others. For absolutely nothing in return. Make sure that those around you feel welcome and that their needs are met. For it is in giving that we receive.

Bored in Seattle

It is becoming clear to me, again, that my mind thinks in ways that other's minds do not.  I was always bored in school.  Boring.  No interest.  Could have been a straight-A student...but was more than satisfied with Bs, Cs, and even some Ds.  It meant nothing to me.  I was not challenged.

I have spent the last three months working in Seattle for several days a week.  Putting together a 4-hour flight attendant training project for my employer.  I've enjoyed it.  But it is painfully clear to me that I expect more of myself, and others, than they expect of themselves.  I want more.  I think in ways that others do not.  I am not satisfied with status quo.  I do not want another corporate training project or things that can be achieved elsewhere.  I have finished developing a piece for the program called "Becoming the CEO of Your Life."  Many, many hours of work.  And a very nice product.  Challenging.  Expecting introspection and personal work on the insides.  Expecting more.  Wanting more. Wanting participants to dig deep.

But I've been slapped on the hands.  Nope....too personal.  Can't do that.  We had something else in mind.  "Let's bring it back to boring" is what I've surmised from the comments.  So, for one more time in my life, I've been disenchanted with knowing that people simply are happy with status quo.  With medium.  With being good....not great or exceptional.  With being afraid of asking more of people or pushing buttons that may very well be uncomfortable.  So I'm back to middle ground.  Boring ground.  Nonchallenging ground.  Again, just like in school, I'm bored.

For What Will I Use My Voice ??

"Remember that the first step is not to speak ill of others. All human beings have weaknesses and faults. They have their imperfections. Therefore, before trying to find faults in others and speaking ill of them, try to find your own weaknesses and correct those." 

I will never understand why we don't wish others well. I don't understand the lack of understanding. Is there ever a need for being unkind? Can't my voice be used for some other purpose?

As much as I may disagree with someone, as much as I may not agree with their point of view or decisions they make, is there ever a need to not wish someone well as they move on in their life?  When someone departs one difficult spot in life for another more appropriate location, is there ever a reason to not want the best for them?  Don't we want everyone to be happy and successful and peaceful in the quiet spots of their life?  I just don't see the long-term success of slinging mud at someone. 

Perhaps I'm wrong. 

A Story of Transformation

The story of transformation is powerful.  Progressing from our past into our future.  From what we used to be into what we are now....or what we can become tomorrow.  Leaving behind old things, things that are worn out and no longer need to be a part of our lives......and moving ahead into the new. 

Being open, honest, and making one’s self available to change is a moment in our lives that won’t soon be forgotten.  The very blip of time in which we signal to ourselves that it’s okay to be different....better....than yesterday.  The moment in our lives that we realize how our former attitudes sucked the life out of us and that the old way of doing business was leading us down a road that led to nowhere. 

Yes, there is something quite powerful about that split-second of time in each one of our lives when it all comes together in our heads.....and when our heads align with our hearts.  It is then....only then....that we can move forward.  Until then, we are bogged down....backwards.....even fighting a dark sort of internal battle.  And after that, we begin to feel better.  Happier.  Like a weight has been lifted.  We’ve all been there.  And we’ll probably be there again.  But looking for....actually even expecting.....those moments creates an atmosphere of possibility.  That there may actually be hope for us.  For tomorrow.  That there is at least the most remote chance that we don’t have to continue to react the same way we always have.  That we don’t have to be the same person that we’ve become quite comfortable being. 

The story of change seems to give us permission to say NO to the old and YES to the new.  It’s so easy to get complacent....and used to....having the same reactions to past troubles rather than to have fresh new responses to each day.  No, I haven’t arrived.  Nor do I honestly expect to.  But the road looks differently than it used to.  It feels better.  And I’m glad that I’m on this path, on this journey, rather than on one of the many others that I could be walking.

I can’t imagine getting to the end of this thing we call life and having made the same choices at age 80 that I made at age 18.  I think it’s time to refuse to play games that just can’t be won and to instead focus our energies on a more positive time of life.  A time of life that points back to the old days and the less-than-stellar choices -- and points ahead to living the second part of my life differently.  More honestly.  More in  balance.  Treating others better than I have in my past.  And giving myself permission to add to this world rather than take away from it. 

Hating the Haters...Am I One of Them ??

Have I become one of them?  A hater?  It has crossed my mind more than once in my life.  As I've struggled to figure out how this big, giant cold world operates.  What's what.  Who's who.  What I believe.  And what I don't.  Who is for me.  Who is against me.  Who are my honest-to-goodness friends.  And who are not.  If you don't remember, I was born and raised in the church.  Large.  Evangelical.  Praise music.  Jesus is the only way.  There is no other.  I've been a youth leader, choir director, singer, speaker, errand-running boy, the whole lot.  And I traveled off and on for twelve years with a traveling Christian singing group bringing people to Jesus via music.  A lot has changed in my life since then.  And some things have not changed.  I have spent quite a number of years now without the contact of my former church friends -- the majority of whom will have nothing to do with me because of my "lifestyle choice" as they say.  But a few have dared venture back into my life.  You see, years ago, there would be no blending of right-wing evangelical Christian church and the gays.  Nope.  Not.  Ever.  Today is a bit different, perhaps.

I have a dear, longtime friend....a beautiful Christian woman friend who is quite an amazing individual.  I've liked her since day one.  We are friends on Facebook, and I'm glad we are.  She recently posted a disturbing video about a school in Kabul who is teaching horrible lessons to their boys.  About hating the United States.  About how the US is wrong and horrible and terrible and that they should have nothing to do with us.  And that they should fight us.  It's a less-than-pleasant video to watch.  So, I commented below the video:  "...And yet once more I am reminded of how hate and prejudice is actually taught....not inborn. I'm thinking of how I was raised to not like Russians (Communists) in the Cold War era...they were scary people! And how I was taught that Mormons were to be kept at a distance. And that Catholics were not actually Christians. And how Canadians were socialist liberals and we certainly didn't want any part of that. Nor the gays....because they were just "that way." And the list goes on and on. I do my best to keep an open mind and heart...."  I wasn't excusing what they are teaching in the school.  Not at all.  I think it's horrible and 100% wrong to teach hatred and twist the hearts and minds of the young in our world.  Her response comment was:  "...Just don't hate the haters -- or you become the same thing. ♥"  


We have a beautiful young niece who we love dearly.  She is on our hearts and minds on many days.  And she loves us.  And we love her.  She accepts us for who we are.  And we accept her for who she is.  We always have a great time together.  We have chatted for all of her growing up years that one day she will discover that she has two uncles that live together and that, well, they must be more than uncles.  That day has come and gone.  Nothing has changed.  And it won't until she is taught (remember the video..the teaching) otherwise.  Until a Sunday School teacher or pastor or friend tells her otherwise.  Until someone opens up a Bible and erroneously tries to point fingers that really have no business pointing.  Thankfully, I've got a bit more belief in her tender heart than to think that she will ever turn her back on us.  In fact, I think that we'll be pretty tight with her for a very long time to come.   

Am I the same thing as the haters?  Like I said earlier, it has occurred to me that those who hate the haters are still, well, haters.  And then there is the difference between hating who people are versus what people do.  Believe me, I know all about being hated for who I am.  The tough part for me regarding the video is that these boys are actually, formally, being taught to hate.  It is not who they are to begin with.  It is who they will become because of the twisted teaching of hate.  Now, I don't hate them, or their teacher.  But I do hate what they are teaching and doing....the way they are taking tender minds and using them for bad.  And this conversation could very easily venture right on into mainstream Christianity in the United States today and how it is violently uncomfortable with what they have termed the gay agenda.  Oh, they say they don't hate me, us.  I'm all-too-familiar with phrases like "Love the sinner but hate the sin."  Hogwash.  For years now, that phrase has just made it more tolerable and palatable to enjoy the agenda of separation that the church has put in place between itself and the outside world.  The church, nearly any church, has never been good at bridging the gap in a flawless, easy path between itself and anything going on outside its four walls -- yoga, gays, unmarried couples, single mothers with children, Eastern religions, Tibetan prayer flags, meditation, smoking, drinking, those who do not believe in Christianity.  


But do I hate them?  I don't think I'd call it hate.   But now that I'm thinking about it, there are a few things that I do, perhaps, hate:  hypocrisy, focusing on issues outside the church than inside its four walls, teaching children that being Catholic or Mormon is going to take them to hell, telling children that their gay aunts or uncles are living in sin and that they are going to hell, pretending to like someone all the while having ulterior motives to change them, using fear-based videos and books to show people that the way another nation or religious system believes is wrong....those are things I hate.  Among others. 


So, I guess I am a hater after all.  So, yeah, go ahead and call me a hater.  I guess I am one. And apparently no better than them. 

The Depth of Human Interaction

Do you remember Lila from the movie Latter Days?  She was the gracious restaurant owner played by Jacqueline Bisset.  If you haven't seen the movie, you should.  But the movie isn't what I'm here to chat you up about today.  It goes beyond the actress, the role, the part she played.  It is her spirit.  The energy she exhibited.  The heart she showed.  How she opened up herself, her business, her life.  To help the boys, others, and to make people feel good.  She believed in something more, something positive, something even, perhaps, ethereal.

I think I'm drawn to that type of person because I wish I were more that way.  I try to be, believe me.  But I don't always succeed.  Occasionally, gasp, I lose my way.  I have this feeling that I will be working on it for the remainder of my life.  I'm such a hard old crusty bastard sometimes.   I don't think it's one of those things that will ever be fully achieved.  But continually focused on for reminding myself of who I am and who I am not.  It keeps me humble and god knows I could use a little of that.

My friend Rhonda is that way.  A devoted, devout positive person.  She cares for others.  Honestly, deep down, from the core of her being.  You feel good being around her.  Being a flight attendant brings about those opportunities to fly with a variety of people.  Some you get to know and fly with frequently.  Others are more flash-in-the-pan sort of folks...you fly with them once and may never again.  And some you never, ever want to fly with again.  Today, I had an unexpected surprise to meet Jan.  From our Los Angeles base.  Jan had that big smile on her face from the moment I went down the jetway and entered the airplane.  She was right on it.  No drama, no negative, no ill habits, no hating of the company, no doom and gloom.  She had shed it all for today, at least.  She opened up her arms and gave me a hug.  Now, remember, I had never seen her until that moment in time.  Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have a bad attitude being around Jan.  She was one of those deep souls.  Not superficial.  And I can spot surface, shallow BS a mile away.  She had clearly experienced in her life things that created her.  She had struggled and hurt and recreated her life in a way that helped make her who she is today.  We chatted about marriage, past lives, our mutual time together in Boise (we actually lived in the very same apartment complex back in Idaho in the early '90s....).  She laid out her life out for me to see.  She was diving deep.  I had to practice those skills that go deep, far beyond the borders of being nice because I'm a flight attendant.  You just never know what any particular day is going to bring you. 

I'm convinced that as much as people irritate me many times that I actually need these irritants to make me, remind me!, who I am.  Who I am not.  And who I need to be.  Life is so short.  And much of it is shallow.  But today, I got a little depth.  A little soul, and human culture.  And I'm thankful.

Poor Little Victim

Ahh, poor thing.  Sweet poor little victim.  Sniff, sniff.  

It will come as no surprise to you that I'm not a huge fan of victims nor the mentality that comes with them.  I believe that our world has ended up where it is today in part due to that precise thing....the Victim Mentality.  I mean, hey, if you're all about feeling sorry for yourself and want to be miserable, feel free.  But if you're into getting ahold of yourself, changing the way you're living, and actually have the desire to lead a different life, then I'd suggest that you check out this little list of helpful ideas.  And don't bore me with little sob stories meant to capture the moment of how you are right and the rest of the world is wrong.  I can assure you that I won't buy it. 

I flew with a guy today who sort of made me nauseated.  Nice guy for the most part.  Big giant biceps.  Nothing special, just a nice guy who was a victim.  He's got some growing up to do.  He went on an on about how "one of the customer service agents in Ontario made him get an eye infection."  He blathered on about how "the company is in such a big hurry that he wiped his hand on the girt bar and reached up to scratch his eye."  That gave him an eye infection.  He told me about how everybody is in a hurry and he didn't have time to think about it before he actually did it.  He was apparently pushed to the limit to hurry and, by god, he won't be doing it again.  Harumph! 

Well, you know me, I just couldn't let it go.  I told him that of course the girt bar is dirty.  Along with every other surface in the entire world and especially the airplane world.  I don't think that it's any more infected than, say, the bathroom doorknobs or faucet handles or tray tables.  I told him that I learned long ago to not bring my hands toward my face at any time, for any reason, period.  Hands do not belong near the eyes, mouth or nose.  My point was that it had nothing to do with the girt bar.  It had everything to do with his hands scratching his eyes.  He wouldn't buy it.  He got pretty quiet after that. 

Our world is in trouble kids.  A lot of it.  And I honestly believe that a good chunk of it is because of this line of thinking.  The mental game that we play of blaming others, finding situations that will give us reason to behave the way we do.  Pointing to parents, or churches, or organizations, or families, or alcohol, or drugs, or cigarettes, or our children, or a hospital, or or or or or or......to make us more satisfied with the victim that lives inside.  I'm sick of it.  And I hope you are too.

Listening Skills

"Do you think you're a good listener?"  He asked me as we drove down Fremont Street in Northeast Portland on our way home.  My hand resting on his leg.  You know, whenever someone asks you that question you known full well that they aren't asking you because they think you are the most amazing, top notch listener in the entire world.  My hand left his leg and migrated right back over to my own lap. 

Now, I'm pretty much a straight forward sort of guy.  My yes's mean that.  And my no's mean that.  I know my faults.  I'm not in denial over much.  My initial answer to his question was "No" but I discovered that wasn't quite right.  Actually, more honestly, I'm a good listener.  I hear you.  I even understand you most of the time.  My problem is patience.  I have little.  So, while I'm hearing you, I'm speeding up whatever you're saying to me in my own head.  I'm trying to get to the end.  I want the facts.  Just the facts, Maam.  My issue is that I want to fast forward your belabored little story, get to the end, and on to something else exciting.  One of my many faults.  There are others, I assure you.

Beginner's Wings

Gosh, it's been a while since I've had to.  But I sort of remembered how.  And I think it went okay.  You see, for the first time in three years, we are hiring new flight attendants.  Two classes of 55 in each class.  After 9-11, the airline industry went into the hole.  At one point, there were 100,000 jobs lost in the airline industry.  It's come back, to some degree.  We are successful -- dare I say, one of the top-notch in the industry when the financials, on time, awards by various groups, and customer service pieces are included.  Combined with the fact that we have been understaffed for a year or more, it is definitely time to hire.  Our reserve flight attendants have been completely overworked, used, abused, and reused.  We have junior assigned senior crews far more than should ever be necessary.  (Junior assigning is when the company catches you at the end of a regularly scheduled trip and tells you that you're being junior assigned to work on your day off....you don't have a choice....you are required to go.)  We have quite a few people out with serious illnesses such as cancer and our on-the-job injury rate isn't great because of lifting heavy passenger bags and turbulence injuries.  All of that to say, our staffing is not where it should be....and so the new flight attendant classes are in session.  Thankfully. 

I was asked to help teach in the new class this last Thursday.  Services training.  All about the food, drinks, beverage carts, napkins, coffee, using a beverage tray, making cocktails, all of that crap.  The stuff I've been doing many times a day for 16 years.  It is so embedded in my life now that I forget that this is a whole new world for these new kids on the block.  But they aren't really kids.  They range in age from close to 21 up to....oh, maybe 50 something.  Guys, gals, the whole works.  All dressed up and playing nice -- because they have to.  They are being watched, evaluated, like hawks.  Attitude, smiles, what types and how many questions they ask, negative attitudes, tardiness back from lunches and breaks, talking or texting during class...it's all being recorded.  Everyone is in dress attire.  No one is late.  It's not permitted.  They are studying every night for five solid weeks.  And they do training flights on the weekends.  Like today ----

So, this morning, my buddy Todd and I just happened to be the working crew from Seattle to San Jose -- 1 hour 33 minutes at 35,000 feet.  I was the Senior Inflight Service Director Stewardess working First Class.  And we had two of our new trainees assisting us on board the flight.  Barb came to help me work First Class.  Grace worked in the back cabin.  They were awesome.  Didn't miss a beat.  They did their equipment preflights to make sure that things were working -- like oxygen bottles, evacuation slides, whether we had over water rafts on board or not, flashlights, life vests at each jump seat, etc.  I mean, seriously, this was Barb's first time ever working First Class...and she did it like a champion.  Didn't miss a beat.  Smiles, organized, drink orders taken, food delivered, refills, trays picked up, pilots fed and watered, announcements made, doors open and closed appropriately, lights on and off.  All perfectly.  I was so proud of them.  It's a huge, steep learning curve.  And it takes times like these to remind me of how far I've come.  It's so good to have freshness.  Newness in our lives.  The energy of younger, newer, people.  It felt great. 

I hugged them both goodbye and told them what a great job they had done.  And that I was looking forward to seeing them "On the Line" as we say.  We all need new experiences in our lives, new challenges, new education, new activities, reminders to keep things alive and fresh.  What a nice reminder for me today.  My wings occasionally get tarnished a bit.  Their wings will be sparkling, pretty and brand new. 

Secret Millionaire

Have you seen it?  Secret Millionaire on ABC?  I like it.  Perhaps Hollywood'ish.  Perhaps planned.  Perhaps well crafted for emotional moments.  But I still like it.

The other night when we were on the Oregon Coast, I pinned LoverBoy down and made him watch it.  It was the story of Gary and Diane Heavin -- the Texas owners of Curves a workout facility for women.  They live in the middle of nowhere Texas....on acres and acres of land.  Their property is gated.  And the gate is one mile from their home.  That means that their driveway is one mile long!  It keeps them isolated in a beautiful, quiet country estate.  They really do seem like nice people. Christians.  The kind of Christians that pray for things, before meals, for blessings....that sort of thing. 

So, if you don't know already, the show sends millionaires to an unknown location in the US.  They are provided a roof over their heads...and that's about it.  Seriously, it's a very trashy home.  Dirty, unkempt, you and I would not live there.  It is typically inner city.  Dangerous areas.  All poor folks.  Children who are not cared for.  Families who struggle.  They receive $6 or so dollars per day to live on.  And that means Top Ramen for every meal along with maybe white bread with peanut butter.  They drive a beat up car....one that they would never have back at their well-to-do ranches.  And then they are left on their own.  To find a group or two or three to help out for a week.  They are "Secret Millionaires" going under cover as helpful volunteers who are just trying to see what they can do to assist the local neighborhood.  Each show is different, each organization that they discover is different.

On this particular episode, Gary and Diane are sent to Houston's Third Ward.  Honestly, it has to be one of the US's worst places to live with some of the nation's worst crime and poverty.  They found three organizations to help out -- No More Victims a group that assists children and family members of incarcerated parents.  Their goal is to stop the cycle of victimization....and keep the children from following the same steps that their parents do.  Extremely powerful footage of young children describing their home situations and what they do to keep their heads above water.  The second group that Gary and Diane helped was the Sean Ashley House....a home dedicated to helping adults and children living with disabilities, primarily autism.  And the third organization that they discovered was Lazarus House....an amazing group of folks dedicated to helping people with the devastating cycle of malnutrition and muscle wasting that accompanies numerous chronic illnesses like cancer, HIV/AIDS, lupus, and muscular dystrophy.  Gary and Diane are like fish out of water throughout this whole episode.  Gary, especially, struggles to find his way.  A way to relate.  A path to draw commonality.  And the Lazarus House is filled with gay people, those with HIV.  It is obviously the very first time that either Gary or Diane have ever met not only a gay person....but a person with HIV.  They are caught off guard.  And I loved it.  I loved how they did their best to help out, to relate, to kick in and help.  They leave each of the groups with many many thousands of dollars at the end of the week.  They come clean with those who they have rubbed shoulders with for the week about who they really are and what they are there to do.  It is one of those moments. 


In spite of having preconceived ideas about Gary and Diane from my many years inside the four confining walls of many churches, I am very proud of the way that they honestly tried to do their best.  My favorite parts of the show were when Diane said to a young blind HIV-positive lady at the Lazarus House that "I've never met anyone with HIV before."  And when Gary went outside with a clearly gay man and painted.  Brush stroke after brush stroke on a house that needed it badly.  A Christian millionaire with the most common of HIV-positive homosexuals.  To say it brought tears would be putting it mildly.  And the third thing I liked hearing was about that gate.  That big huge giant gate one mile from Gary and Diane's front door.  The gate that keeps them blocked off from the rest of the world.  And in the very last line of the show Gary talks about that gate -- and how it needs to come down.  How there is clearly a world outside of his ranch that needs his help.  And there is. We probably all have one of those gates in our lives.

The Lord's Day

Since it's the Lord's Day, I think it is only appropriate to include you in a letter I'm writing to Doctor Steve Crane.  He is the Senior Minister of Eagle Christian Church in Eagle, Idaho.  My old stomping grounds.  And I still have connections in the area which is how I come to know of this giant evangelical church.  I've been there, several times.  Each time is quite the experience.  But my big deal with the church is the actual, live people that I know who attend it.  That's where my issue comes in.  It's how they talk and live their lives.  The words I hear coming out of their mouths.  The attitudes they have toward other human beings.  And then they go to Eagle Christian Church on Sundays and sit under Doctor Steve Crane's preaching.  

Dear Doctor Crane:

What a pretty building you have.  Larger than it used to be, isn't it.  To accommodate the masses.  The Eagle area has grown so much since I was a child in the area.  I remember the old ECC on State Street in a little, old white building....with steps leading up to the front door, I believe.  I've moved away now.  But I've had the opportunity to visit your church a couple of times in recent years.  The services are nearly exactly as I assumed they would be -- staged, perfect, music here and there, scripture reading at the appropriate times, and the sermon placed just-so in the grand scheme of things.  And communion at just the right time when indicated so by the overhead visual TV monitors that say something like "Communion is Now Being Served."  To me it feels eerily staged, sterile....less than authentic, even.  Oh, I know, every person's perception is their own reality.   Apparently, my perception is off.  I have met you.  And I've met the ever-famous Doctor Beckman.  Seems all I ever hear when I'm back visiting is "Doctor Beckman this or Doctor Beckman that..."  He is obviously well thought of.  I come back for a visit and hear frequent references to the church, you, Sunday School, how many people come to church, and a variety of other things going on around your parts of the world.  They love you.....those folks I know who sit in your sanctuary on Sundays.  And Pastor Mark.  They love him too.  But I have questions.  Because I hear bantering about how great the church is, the pastors are, and all of that.  But I see and hear things out of your congregants mouths that cause me pause.  Cause me to wonder.  Even cause me anger, dare I admit that. 

I hear words and phrases that don't seem to add up to the positive, beautiful, Christian world that I know you promote inside your building.  I sense feelings of hatred, intolerance, and a less-than-stellar view of those who don't share the same opinions or viewpoints.  Now, there's nothing wrong with someone having a differing opinion -- but my concern is when that opinion continues right on down the road to downright nasty and filthy words like "spic" or "schvartze" (because using "schvartze" sounds so much better than nigger).  And the Jews.  They don't like them at all.  Yes sir, right out of the mouths of those who think the world of you and sit in your pews each week.  Sort of makes me squirm a little, you know?  I've heard things like "That school is a top-notch school full of smart kids because there aren't any little spics attending it..."  And I hear how they refer to our current President and the First Lady.  It is so far from a simple differing of a political opinion.  It is deep, dark, and horrible.  It is hate, clearly hate.  It is vile, venomous.  It comes from a place somewhere deep below the surface of their mouths.  Even below the heart level from a place of buried mixed-up, unresolved emotions and feelings.  And it springs forth from the mouth like a black, putrid stream of words that Jesus would never use.  And it goes without saying that they don't like Mormons.  Not just the Mormon religion.  Or the way that Mormon people believe.  They hate Mormons.  The people.  Not a visit goes by that I don't hear about what horrible people the Mormons are.  In fact, looking back to my own childhood, I think that my very earliest memories of how to not like someone else were bred in Idaho.  With regard to Mormons.  And I find that sad.  Thankfully, I'm a quite different man today.  I've been able to shed many of those feelings and have a markedly different vision of today's world than I used to.  My Christianity has migrated to a healthy place not stained any longer by predisposition, name calling, and teachings which are nothing remotely related to those of the Bible.  Balance.  Care.  Concern.  For all.

I remember leaving your church one Sunday morning after a nice little one-hour service.  We all got into the car and headed east on the highway back in toward Boise.  "Let's go to Taco Bell for lunch," I heard from the back seat.  Within minutes, it began.  Bad mouthing others, name calling, a lack of understanding or acceptance.  And I actually said out loud, "If you don't stop, I'm going to turn this car around and drive you right back to the church -- and you can go inside and tell Doctor Crane right to his face what you are saying....I can't imagine he would be happy."  Oh boy, that didn't go over well at all.  Talk about uncomfortable. 

And there's the murder.  Late one Saturday night out in Meridian a few years back.  The first thing I hear out of one of your congregants is "that it's probably a Mexican who did it."  Guess what?  It was a white female.  Caucasian.  Female. 

And then I wonder if they talk about me like that.  Behind my back.  You know, when I'm not around or actually in front of them where I can hear.  You see, I'm gay.  Homosexual.  A real life, honest to goodness fag.  And I have trouble believing that they can possibly love me, think highly of me, when I hear such degrading terms coming out of their hearts when I'm around.  They say they do.  But I must wonder.  Oh, I grew up in the church, Doctor Crane.  I know all of the terms, the phrases, the scriptures.  How to act in church, what to say, all of it.  I know your beliefs, your visions of heaven and hell.  Again, all of it.  I'm no stranger to the church or the Bible.  I've been a youth group leader, a church musician, a teacher, a leader.  I've played all of the church parts well.  Quite well.  But today, I wonder and think.  And it all makes me feel sort of sad for the work you do.  With all of your dedication, education, and devotion to changing the direction the world is headed, I'm not so sure that that honest hearts and souls of today's mainstream, right-wing evangelical Christians are being changed.  Perhaps some phrases, words and outward appearances when it is convenient and acceptable.  But it's the insides that are still quite dark and murky. 

I have this funny feeling that there are a whole slew of so-called Christians in today's world that are going to be in for a very rude awakening one day.  You know, on that day -- that day when the world comes to an end, that day when the sheep get separated from the goats.  I just have this feeling that things are not going to play out in quite the way that many are assuming.  So, I'll be back.  To the area.  Certainly not to the church.  I just can't stomach it any longer.  I've tried.  But if what I see in the lives of those who attend your church is a manifestation of what you're teaching, training and believing at Eagle Christian Church, I just can't be a part of it.

Trying to Keep an Open Mind

Once again, I have been reminded of the fact that we just never know what we're going to face in any given day.  We have zero idea who we're going to be around, what they are going through, where they are headed, or precisely how things are going to play out.

I have met some of the nicest people in my life.  Today, I had a couple of guys actually ask me how my day was going.  It's not that unusual, but fairly so.  They were so friendly, polite and smiling.  They wanted to know where I'd been that day, where I was going to overnight, and how my Monday was going.  And that's the reason I love some scant parts of this human race so much -- because of people like these guys.  I could have breezed over it, continued right on in my flight attendant mode, and simply said "Fine, thank you."  But I stopped, answered their questions, and turned around and ask them the same thing.  That's how I choose to do business.

And yesterday was a sad day.  My flight from San Jose to Seattle included a mother.  A mom who was, perhaps, 50.  Asking me for a cracker or little snack of some kind because she had not had a chance to eat yet.  Honestly, these sorts of requests are fairly routine -- and I often give them something if I have it but sometimes I just wonder what in the world they are thinking -- if you're hungry, eat!  Get up in time to actually get yourself a snack, for god's sake.  Back to the Mom.  She had a son in Seattle who was dying she tells me.  Today.  Yes, today.  They were keeping him on life support only until she could get to the hospital in Seattle to say her goodbyes to him.  I refused to make her turn off her cell phone when she should have been doing so.  I guess it was her call to the nurse who was attending to her son that did it for me -- "Promise me that you're keeping him alive until I can get there....you are...right?"  Yeah, she could pretty much do whatever she wanted and it would have been alright with me.  She cried.  I cried.  I put my hand on her arm and told her that I would be thinking about her.  She said she appreciated it and asked for my prayers.  I promised.  And off she went once we reached Seattle.  To see her dying son.  I suppose he's gone by now.  A mother left alone.  That's just not right.

And then the very next flight, another woman with a typed note on her passenger service record which read:  "Her mother died today."  Well golly gee now, just like that.  Her mother had died and now she was on my flight trying to get to Ontario, California, to attend to her duties.  She slept the whole way.  Rightfully so.

I do my best to keep an open mind.  I achieve it sometimes.  I fail miserably many times.  Part of the learning process, I presume.
J5EGPDS3AEJN

17 Years And Still Missing Him

My father passed away 17 years ago today.   Click over on the link to read his amazing story.  10pm tonight, to be precise.  I think that tonight's Super Moon is only fitting of a proper way to celebrate and honor him.  He was quite the man.  So great in a million ways.  In many ways we're alike.  And in many ways, we're not alike.  He would have appreciated me as a gay man, I just know he would.  He never had the opportunity to.  He would have been 79 today.  He died at age 62.  Lou Gehrig's Disease is a rotten deal.

Sex, Drugs and Rock 'n Roll

I think that's how I responded to him when he asked what I was doing in the park and what I wanted.  Washington Park, to be precise.  Near the Fruit Loop but not actually in it.  The park sits just above downtown Portland and is where Portland's world-class Rose Garden sits.  Amazing views and a perfect place to spend the day wandering around -- in the Rose Gardens, not the Fruit Loop. 

We began our friendship in this very way.  I drove my rental car behind his Jeep as I followed him down the hill and into Northwest Portland to his apartment.  I begin to spend my time in Portland with him ... and with other Portland friends.  You see, I still lived in Boise, Idaho.  I was still not out yet.  And, glory be to the father son and holy ghost, I was still married...barely.   To a woman, for those in disbelief.  Michael was really my very first introduction into many things that I now take for granted.  Like taking public transportation.  Like drinking lattes.  Like recycling.  And watching PBS British Comedies.  And walking instead of driving.  And walking into a co-op instead of a grocery store.  Like alternative thoughts against the modern mainstream Christian church that I was immersed in.  And living with an indoor animal -- he had a cat, to which I was allergic -- in addition to not liking animals one little bit at that particular dark period in my life.  Can you even imagine...me not liking animals??  Wild!

We continue our little tryst for numerous months on my visits to Portland.  And I remember the night at home in Boise when I made up some excuse to sneak out of the house that I shared with my wife.  I drove down to the Payless Drug Store and found a pay telephone (you remember those, don't you??).  It was December, Christmas time.  And it was snowing as I stood outside in the cold winter air making a pay call to Michael in Portland.  To break the news to him.  To be honest and tell him I was married.  Remember, I still wasn't out yet.  I had told no one that I was gay....he was the first person that I'd ever told.  This phone call was a big deal -- I still hadn't learned how to live my life honestly yet at that point.  He was nothing but understanding and continued helping me along this particularly rough patch of life's road over the next months.  And it was when I returned from a trip at Michael's house when I found a little note in my bedroom in Boise.  From my wife saying that it was over.  And that's when the whole thing started going down -- I filed for divorce and came out.  April 1997.  Michael was there.  Right there.  A very good friend, indeed.  And it was also during these same few months when my one-year-old niece (now 15!) found out that she had been born with a heart defect -- valves malfunctioning and missing parts of the septum in her heart.  Michael went through this very scary time with me.  And we were watching PBS British Comedies at his house late one Saturday night when his parents called to tell him that his brother had died.  And there I was.  Not knowing quite what to do.  We were friends at some very difficult times in our lives.  And then, just as fast as it started, it ended.  Because of me.  Because I was going through so much in a particularly small window of time in my life.  And because Michael was telling me things about my church-going days of mainstream Christianity that I didn't want to hear.  I remember he came to Boise the very month after I came out.  He was the very first gay person that I introduced my mother to.  Man oh man, I was so nervous. 

Fast forward.  To today.  We were absent from one another's lives from May 1997 until about a year or two ago.  Via Facebook, I found him.  And sent him a message.  And he responded with nothing but a positive spirit.  I can't imagine the change that I've undergone from those times 13 years ago until today.  He didn't know me as an out, gay man with strong leaning liberal tendencies and grey hair.   He knew me as a scared, sort of out, unstable man who went to church every Sunday and didn't know what recycling was all about and didn't like badmouthing the Christian church.  So, imagine my surprise last summer when LoverBoy and me were at one of Portland's free Summer Concerts in the Parks when Michael rolled up on his bicycle.  Right up to us.  After all of these years. To say hi. 

We now see each other a bit.  All of us.  At our Tuesday Happy Hours.  He has a couple of dogs.  We have one.  He has offered to doggy sit for us if we ever need it.  It's been so nice to get reacquainted under better circumstances.  He's become a good friend.  And, believe it or not, LoverBoy and I are now die-hard fans of Saturday nights watching PBS British Comedies.  Because of Michael. 

He's Gone

For the week, that is.  He left last evening and will be home Thursday evening.  Actually a very cool week of new work activities in Seattle -- working with the catering company that drives our food and supplies up to the doors of our aircraft and delivers them....streamlining the process.  Really neat stuff.  Nonetheless, I'm sorting through this mounting feeling of not liking him to be gone.  And me not liking to be gone, either.  I like us to be here.  Together.  At home.  And I haven't always been this way.  There was a day when I actually enjoyed being gone, for a break....to gain perspective.  I mean, hey, we're both flight attendants.  And that does involve travel in case you didn't know already. 

I actually get a bit anxious over it.  Nothing major.  Just more sad or depressed, sort of.  Weird for me.  Perhaps its age.  Perhaps its recentering and recognizing what is important in life and what is not.  And I'm better this morning.  Mason and I will be home all week by ourselves.  I have several days off with nothing to do.  And I do enjoy those sort of times.  But there's just something about he and I being separated when big, monumental things happen like tsunamis or earthquakes or giant storms or airplanes crash.  You know, those sort of little things.  It makes me want to draw close to home.  For safety or security reasons, I guess.  I could go out to eat with friends, or the gym, or take a walk, or go to a movie, or go to one of Portland's million cool places for a drink or chat....but it just sort of rings hollow sometimes. 

I used to treasure my time away.  Enjoy it.  Look forward to it.  For a bit of breathing room, for space, for perspective.  And I still do.  But I'm really over it in many ways.  Over being gone, over being in hotel rooms, over dressing up in blue polyester and disappearing on trips for days on end.  Over eating in restaurants.  I like home.  And I like being home.  And I like him being home.  I think I'm getting old. 

Reminders.....

Today I've been furnished with a reminder.  I was going to say a "gentle reminder" but it's really not at all gentle.  This was in my inbox today:

"....Your method for picking friends is odd. It's hard to get a kick out of you when you don't let me. It's also odd how much alike we are. ( I can tell by your interests, and I dearly love your partner). You hurt people sometimes though. Do you care? Just wondering." 

Lordy, the truth hurts sometimes.  I guess there are mirrors in our lives for a reason.  You'll excuse me while I turn inward for a bit.  I've got some reflection to do.