Up, Up, and Away

Most people who know me are aware of the fact that I hate flying. You can spew countless statistics at me about how the chances of getting in a car accident are far fewer than being in a plane crash, etc., etc. Ad nauseum. I'm not buying it. The butterflies don't usually start until the night before when I begin to talk myself out of traveling. I don't REALLY need a vacation. I don't REALLY need to see my family. Maybe they can just get their happy *#&$ (censored) on a plane and visit me. I try to watch mindless television to calm my nerves. In a sadistically warped twist of fate, an ad for the upcoming special "Why Planes Crash" comes on. The heck with this. My heart rate continues to rise steadily until it's time to go to sleep. Only I can't sleep.

I pop a couple Tylenol PM (and chase it down with a Benadryl for good measure) and I'm good to go....until I lie down. My heart starts pounding and visions of mid-air horrors flash in front of my fluttering eyelids. I eventually fall asleep but wake up to the sound of my heart pounding out of my chest. It's beating so hard I think it's going to wake my entire family. Oh well, sleep is over-rated anyway.


I can't eat breakfast because I'm too stressed out about getting into a car accident on the way to the airport. After all, I've heard that the chances of getting into a car accident are far greater than being in a plane crash. Not that I'm in a hurry to get to the airport. My kids are bubbling over with excitement, chattering away about how much fun it is to fly in an airplane. Not to be a mood killer or anything, but their chatter is making me a nervous wreck. It's way too much system overload for my neurotic, ADHD, OCD mind. But I try to hold it together....for their sake, of course.


We reach the airport in record time, unscathed. We check our bags and make our way to the gate. I toy with the idea of slipping unnoticed into the airport bar for a quick sedative, but I don't want my kids to think that I'm a TOTAL loser.


Now I'm on the plane. I've turned off my cell phone and iPod and have gone to the bathroom for the third time since I checked my bags. The plane starts moving toward the runway, which takes forever (DFW is a huge airport). I look around. Everyone looks calm. That's a good sign. I've said several prayers already and I pull my notebook out of my purse to chronicle this panic-inducing nightmare (which will soon become my latest blog) in an effort to distract myself from the horror yet to come (taking off).


The plane stops. And sits on the runway. My breathing becomes labored and I feel like I'm going to have a heart attack. I get a hold of myself and realize it's only a panic attack. Why are we just sitting here, dammit? Let's get this over with! Man, it's like sitting on Death Row, waiting to walk the Green Mile. I glance to my right and see the woman next to me calmly reading her magazine. I glance to my left and see my daughter paging through a Sky Mall Magazine. I'm writing this blog fast and furiously - my hand is shaking so badly that I can barely read my own handwriting. My husband and son are across the aisle laughing and joking, looking out the window. What the hell is wrong with them?!


Oh God help me, the engine starts whirring again and we slowly begin to move forward, then to the right. I feel the floor shaking. Then we stop again. Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The engine is groaning and vibrating (or is that my head?) I feel my daughter grab my arm, looking a little nervous. Don't look to me for comfort right now, little girl. I love you more than life itself, but I'm having a moment. And not a good one at that. (Insert guilt for being such a terrible mother).


My ears are going to pop. We start shimmying and shaking down the runway....faster, faster. Holy crap, we're in the air now. The wheels have just pulled up and I have left my sanity on the ground beneath us. Why are we shaking to and fro like this? Now the engine is making a new sound. I've never heard THAT sound before. I look around....my fellow inmates, I mean passengers, are calmly looking out the windows or taking a nap. What the hell are they thinking? Why is my daughter trying to get me to look out the window?


My head is light, I feel dizzy now that we're tilting to the right. I can't see any flight attendants, but I hear the clicking of overhead compartments (or is it the beverage cart already?) Now I hear the dinging sound that always precedes an announcement. But about what? That someone attached a bomb to the bottom of our plane? That the air marshal got stuck in traffic and missed his flight? That there's an engine malfunction? That we just encountered a flock of Canadian geese? What? For the love of God and all that is holy, what is it? Oh? It's now safe to turn on all electronic devices except our cell phones? We're okay? Granted, we haven't safely reached our cruising altitude yet, but that's okay. I have Stevie Wonder and Wilco to calm my fears.....not to mention that beverage cart.

An Unlikely Partner in Patriotism

It's no great secret. Anyone that knows me well is aware of the rocky relationship I have had with my mother-in-law. She: native Texan with a capital T:  pig-headed stubborn, authoritative, and uber-opinionated. Me: independent, overly sensitive, stubbornly reluctant to bow down to her dictates, and determined to maintain my "Yankee" identity. We've had many falling-outs throughout the years and a huge family scandal involving the paternity of my eldest brother-in-law almost tore the family apart. Conversations mainly consisted of her lecturing me, but occasionally led to her reminiscing about her life in the military.


She was in the Air Force from 1952 to 1958 and met my father-in-law as he was entering the Air Force and as she was leaving. I knew that they were married on July 4; hence, this has always been her favorite holiday. She proudly displays the flag 365 days a year by her garage and decorates the outside and inside of her house patriotically every July 4.


We took the kids to visit her today, July 4. When we arrived, she met us at the door dressed in a bright, red shirt and and blue pants. We retired to the living room after dinner and I noticed the old photo albums on the hearth. My curious nature got the best of me and I asked my mother-in-law if I could look through them. It turned into a lovely, sentimental trip down memory lane for her and into one of the most touching moments she and I have ever shared. We looked at old black and white photos of her flight school class and Air Force promotional photos taken of her (she was quite a looker back in the day). I listened captively as she told me stories of seeing Bing Crosby while she was in flight school in Palm Beach and of the time she met Henry Ford II, a faraway look in her eyes as if these events had happened just yesterday.


That one moment created and sealed a permanent bond between us. Here she was, a true patriot that gave six years of service to our country, and countless more as she raised three sons, sometimes on her own, as her husband traveled around the world on various missions. I was sitting next to someone who knows what it means to be a patriot.


We wrapped up our trip to my husband's home town with a visit to his father's grave. I had known for years that my mother-in-law puts a flag and a bouquet of red, white, and blue flowers on my father-in-law's grave every July 4, but we hadn't visited his grave since his death in 2000. After we paid our respects, my son and daughter wandered around the cemetery, looking at the other graves. It is a very small cemetery, but we found countless graves of American heroes...veterans of WWI, WWII, the Vietnam and Korean Wars, and sadly, the current war in Iraq. I discussed with my kids the indescribable sacrifice these men made in order for us to live in the greatest country in the world.


Fascinated by my father-in-law's world travels, I once asked him what his favorite country was. His reply: the United States of America.