Sometimes, when you reach inside and discover a pearl, mere words dishonor the passion felt at the moment of translucence.

After such an event, my resistance is disarmed and my sharpened perceptions are endowed and guided by my new-found Pearl.

Along the way, it brought me here......

"Sometimes life throws a lot at us. It seems as though, in those instances, unfathomable to think there is more on the horizon, but alas there is. As life sends these things our way, remember they are opportunities! Opportunity exists in everything and our task is to stay the course of living a worthy life, even if at times we have to slow down to make it happen, one little bit at a time.

Have a great day!"

-----------Sanford Brown

This message within a message (sent by a co-worker) was another reminder of life's intent.

Current Mood: Reflective

Current Music: "Fix You" by Coldplay

RubyRed

Write from your heart.....but first, listen to your soul




 

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Since when.....Did writing change from passion to pastime?

Since when.....Did music change from feeling inspired to feeling expired?

Since when.....Did careers change from lifetime vocations to much needed vacations?

Since when.....Did trusting your neighbors change to putting up fences and locking your doors?

Since when.....Did network TV change into one biiiiiiig... looooong neverending pharmaceuticals infomercial?

Since when.....Did leaving your troubles behind change into the pill you took today?

Since when.....Did an honest day's work stop paying for an honest day's living?

Since when.....Did eating a healthy balanced meal turn into cholesterol, cellulite and carcinogens?

Since when.....Did going to the Dr. turn into the reason you lose your health insurance?

Since when.....Did voting for your favorite candidate turn into the empty subdivision down the street that shouldn't have been?

Since when......Did going on a vacation turn into risking your life and your identity?

Since when......Did being an American turn into "It's not a good time to go on vacation?


Current Music: "Time" by Blind Melon

Current Mood: Solicitous




 

I’ve decided to do this because without the writing I’m just another human being using up precious resources. The written word can move men and mountains...or not. It's always the writer's choice where the journey should go. It's the reader's decision whether to follow.

There are homeless people out there suffering, looking for any kind of hope, faith or charity that might come their way. Waste of a gift is an unforgivable sin. When our resources depleat the food of mankind, the food of the soul will have the power to sustain millions.

I recognize and accept that some things in my life that have been most affected by change have been beyond my control.

Karma keeps a tight reign on the scorecard, but so far hasn’t been unreasonable in her demands of me. I’ve given up some in order to keep others and adjusting the perspective along the way. For today, these words inspire me to create some passion in my life…

To raise new questions, new possibilities, to regard old problems from a new angle, requires creative imagination and marks real advance in science......................
--Albert Einstein

Current Music: "This Heaven" by David Gilmore
Current Mood: Agnostic

RubyRed

Write from your heart.....but first, listen to your soul


 

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Like a lot of others, I often ponder the meaning of our existence. I embrace Einstein's theories and although I can't fully wrap my head around infinity, acknowledging the vastness of the universe helps me put this in perspective. My hypothesis centers on accepting that humans are an important link in the chain of relevance.

Professions of Christianity, Buddism, Thaoism, Judism, Paganism or any other belief doesn't altar the importance of the internal individual and its' potential to effect the universe. Beyond the triviality of our day-to-day existence, we need to recognize and react with purpose. Things happen in life for a reason.

Earth has been a great incubator, providing a sense of order in a chaos universe. Our nursery, the Milky Way, offers child-proof puzzles just beyond our reach. Many of us find adolescence intolerable, fraught with impatience and boredom. Every day something new is discovered by those of us clever enough to escape through the cracks in the system. Some of us are like lightening rods, plotting ethereal road maps for the future.

Current Mood: Cognizant
Current Music: "Ruby Falls" & "Lightening Rod" by Guster

Consider that we are the sons and daughters of our fathers and mothers and try to dwell in the shade of their wisdom tree.

Consider that we've made transgressions and have more to make in this life.
Vow to admit the errors while trying to prevent their repetition.

Consider that while breathing air on the earth, not to knowingly aide anyone nor
guide your own soul toward regression in the next..

Current Mood: Agreeable (considerably)
Current Music: "The New Underground" by Guster

This year has awakened something ethereal in all of us. If you haven't quite felt it yet, I suggest trying some simple meditation techniques to losen up the ole "psychic muscles". Find yourself a restful spot, preferably outdoors. Deep breathe, center, clear, pause to contemplate the LIGHT and grab onto the first beam you find.


The story below is from today's issue of: http://www.dailygood.org/more.php?n=3558

To All Artists, Known and Unknown

Richard Berger 1998

I remember seeing a threadbare individual sitting in the cafe of the San Francisco Art Institute in 1992. He was very different from the rest of the students and staff personnel. He was old; old in hard years, not with the mellow patina of the well ensconced. He was in the cafe every day I came in, always sitting alone, always smoking and nursing a cup of coffee. Most striking in his appearance was the discrepancy between his physical, and what seemed to be his psychic, circumstances. He was worn, his physical being was worn, his clothes were fragile, almost brittle, garments different from the casually abused garments the students sometimes wore that said, "I don't care," clothing being low in the priority of the things they stood for, for reasons of social demarcation as well as economic urgency. His threadbare garments said, "I do care," not only about preserving the garment for economic reasons, but about the ritual of caring itself, a precious continuity, a ritual of anchorage expressed in the threadbare trousers worn at the seams, white at the line of the upturned cuff, perhaps pressed nightly beneath a mattress; his clothes and his bearing were a diagram of that caring. He was always clean-shaven and fastidious in his appearance.

His flesh was another matter. Too much sun, too much liquor, too many times the senses wide open taking in too much, not enough sleep, not enough food, the reddened eyes drawing another blank at dawn after a tumultuous night; too much life to ever be arrested in likeness. His visage reminded me of some of the portraits by Ivan LeLoraine Albright, an obsessive curmudgeon and astonishing painter who revealed mortality in his subjects by painting every molecule with such individuality that their coherence into a personage isolated the fragility of life by revealing accord in its complexity, evoking and then animating through an infinitely accurate diagramming of a membrane of competing tensions. His visage was just such a diagram.

The complexity produced a radiance about him abetted by the discrepancy between his clothes and his flesh. He seemed the temporary residence for an enduring elsewhere tangent to the worn, but radiant and frail man; and at times, he shone actively with the brilliance of that elsewhere. He was always looking elsewhere, as if he saw things that we didn't, and I experienced one indelible impression of him as he sat at the cafe table with a cigarette smoldering in his lips, warming himself in the morning sun. He suddenly gestured, still sitting at the table; it was a gesture that I imagine an only child would make toward an empty room populated by imaginary friends, a gesture exclaiming, "Look at all my wonderful boys and girls!" Within his gesture was the certainty that these boys and girls constituted a heavenly choir which he was conducting, they bearing him aloft with their song as he guided them. His gestures were the traceries to some paradise via his tattered being, a deliverance beyond comprehension. This went on for a very short time and then he became still, smiling and smoking.

The radiant little man died at the Art Institute. I knew he was homeless and hanging out at the school, but I was unaware that he was living there. He died of exposure over Christmas break, and when he was found beneath a concrete overhang on the Jones Street side of the school, they found a number of sketchbooks in a backpack. He was an artist, a "street artist" as he had described himself to Greg, an employee of the school and one of the few people who had any conversation with him. An unknown artist thrust into our midst his own portable Lascaux, astounding images conceived and executed outside the channels of legitimacy and validation that so many of us need to sustain and guide us, challenging all our notions of the route to authenticity, indicating another depth of being in our midst.

The sketchbooks reveal in obsessive detail the sweetness and mystery of his elsewhere, a realm more compelling for him than our imperfect world, a realm of elsewhere we will only know through him, which seems to welcome us. The last fragment revealed to me in this puzzle that will never be complete was his name, which became known to me only after his death via his signature on a few of his many drawings: Wallace Allen Healey. Greg said that people called him "Wally."

Wally was cremated as John Doe because his family wouldn't or couldn't come from Oregon to verify his identity. Wally's identity, Wally the street artist. What I knew of Wally through his physical being, the posthumous discovery of fragments of his life via others, his images and lastly, his name, represent memorable components in an unusual order of encounter. They are fragments which cohere in spite of their spareness and intermittence, that which is not there being as potent as what is.

I have glimpsed a foreshortened version of such a coherence in several chance observations of how the rooms of people who have been around for a long time can become a summary of their lives. The pared down fragments of Wally's life had no final room in which to reside because he didn't have a home, and yet those surviving fragments of his images and his life cohere somehow to define in summary the sweet elsewhere that was in his images and his being.

I sometimes wonder if these events in their unusual sequence have compelled me to romanticize what might be only a wincing pathos, retroactively endowing it with a magic I hope exists because it is the only bearable reconciliation of Wally's pictures with what there is to know about him. A more remote memory returns in considering this question, by way of Famadou Don Moy, the percussionist with the Art Ensemble of Chicago. He performed solo at the Art Institute some years ago; he filled the stage with an enormous array of percussion instruments, big, small, formal, informal, Chinese gongs and hubcaps, a night clerk's bell and a trap drum set among many others. He came slowly to the stage from the back of the auditorium, playing a drum with maracas, the movement of every extremity expressed in sound, and he chanted: "To all great Black musicians, known and unknown."

Known and unknown. It was an invocation to acknowledge ALL those who gave their lives in pursuit of the great human service, the service of the artist, transforming the sometimes unbearable discrepancy between the way things are and the way they ought to be, into something that makes us want to dance.

RubyRed

Write from your heart.....but first, listen to your soul


 

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Mothers sleep less each night
Sons sleep little more
Life rock perpetual cradle
Womb sustain umbilical core

Catch a breath
Hold a pause
Gift of life
Not a cause

Vessel seeker
Find a home
Take up lodging
So you can belong

Tell yourself and your soul
What this life can give
Make a day that marks time
Teach yourself to live

Eternal tower of wisdom form
Foundation poured room by room
Explanation keep it simple
Imagine what I could assume



Current Music: "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" by Radiohead

Currnet Mood: Intense
 

Perhaps it was when the clock started ticking backwards
Or the sight of nature marking time
Maybe it was the moment winter became spring
Or the instant first morning light cast a shine

It could be just the seasons
Changing guard with a broken clock in tow
Winter was such a friendly visitor
Can we stay a little longer before he has to go?

Current Music: "Garden" and "Present Tense" by Pearl Jam

Current Mood: Supplicated

 

Too much time has passed unacknowledged since that day. On August 4, my family said goodbye to a great woman, my Aunt Hazel, better known as Nanan to my sisters and I. The pain of such loss can create extreme physical stress on those left behind. Such was the case for Dad on that day, and now for my entire family.

The emptiness is acknowledged everyday. There is nothing in reserve, no dormant thoughts to convert into written words of inspiration that will lift me out of this state. Words have been my ally, but now they play mind games with me. All thoughts relegate to precious memories of Dad’s best lived days. And perhaps with the passing of time I will learn to accept the unconditional terms of life that are now void of his tender smile or radiant blue eyes, but not now.

I heard all the reasons to be grateful for a quick death like his and how it’s likely he didn’t suffer in those final moments when his body succumbed to the ruptured aneurysm since blood flow to the brain was cut off by then, but for those of us left to accept his fate, the sudden loss is unbearable. For a woman who was his faithful and loving companion for sixty-one years, his absence remains her new constant. Their union is bonded beyond earthly life.

Most think it an extra burden for me since he left without a goodbye on the same day I became his daughter 55 years ago. We were a family of five growing up. Truthfully, I’m honored by the symbolism of my birth and his death, now linked forever in time and carved on his marble-slabbed tribute. And even though I wasn’t there to comfort him in those final moments, I was at the place he most loved to be... starring out at water’s edge as it gently kissed sunset’s golden horizon. I just know he was there too, blowing me a kiss goodbye.

In Memory Of My Dad, August
December 28, 1923 - August 4, 2007


 

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Modern myths and legends evolve from the mundane. We seek the different and crave the extraordinary.

We want to feel alive and will devote a great deal of time and money to maximize and feed our thrill-seeking tendencies. We suck in information and process it through mental filters stretched thin.

Efforts to temper the flame seldom succeed, since it eventually reignites a perpetual glow that transforms to the spark in our eye.

Adrenalins rush keeps the blood flow coursing through our everyday, feeding from the stimuli we nourish our minds with.

While mammoth lions and ferocious bears claim lordship of the beastly world, only man can claim the title of daredevil. No other species creates extremes to shock its internal monkey. A legacy of risk taking through centuries of exploration has yielded discoveries and unreached plateaus waiting to become the next undiscovered challenge.

We invent, refine, improve and evolve to preserve our spark. When we stop too long, we lose our shine.



Current Music: "Transformer's Soundtrack"

Current Mood: Sparkling

 

Acquiring true wisdom is a tricky process. Applying the logic can be acquated to building your refuge..... your personal safe house that is your mind.

Individual character is built and refined by our own personal blueprint. And although we all co-exist in life, each of our houses needs to be comfortable, nuturing and strong enough to protect our individual identity.

And as houses go, some of us require twenty-five room estates to contain all the clutter in our minds, spreading ourselves thin to maintain each room. Others are content with one-room studio apartments where everything is in it's place and there's a place for everything. Some houses are built like prisons with few windows and walls so thick, the air can choke and stagnate most visitors. Others have wrap-around windows, allowing everyone access inside. Some houses remain in their original state from the day they are first built, never improving over time.

Still other houses are attractive on the outside but lack sustance once inside; or even worse, are mostly empty inside. And we've all been in cluttered houses that reflect a perpetual state of confusion, where nothing significant ever gets accomplished. And then there is the high maintenance house, that has so many conditions and restrictions, no one feels comfortable inside. Some houses are built like fortresses, with alarms, iron gates and trip wires to intimidate even non-intruders.

The thing about houses that we tend to forget is sometimes they need cleaning and rennovation. In a constantly changing world, our minds must always be willing to adapt. remaining open to the changes that help us improve our home. After all, most of us work very hard in life, but our ultimate goal at the end of the day is to return to our home, the place we feel most safe.

Current Music: "Mystified" and "Bus Ride" by Rocco DeLuca and The Burden

Current Mood: Preening




 

Text of the Declaration of Independence:

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776. The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

The Declaration of Independence

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the Powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, having its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. Such has been the patient suffrance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the meantime exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavored to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migration hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people, and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their acts of pretended legislation.

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from Punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offenses:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighboring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally, the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with Power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever:

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Capitive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people

Nor have We been wanting in attention to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connection and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right out to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the Protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

I felt the need to re-visit this piece of history tonight, thinking I might find some inspiration for a bit a patriotism on Independence Day. Instead I find myself discovering parallels between today's body of government and the one that was abolished over 200 years ago.

I know there are good things about our country that are worth celebrating, but not particularly with regard to the very document that we use as the basis for centuries of patriotism. Wonder if our elected officials in Washington have taken the time to re-read this while in office. If not, maybe it should become manditory for them to memorize and uphold the basic pricipals as they were originally meant to be applied.

Current Music: "Girl America" and "Where We Gonna Go From Here" by Mat Kearney

Current Mood: Pertinacious


 

The month is half over and again I lose time. Shake-ups at work and home are a constant it seems. My life echos a chaos whirpool lately. At times, the magnetic fields are so strong, resistance is futile.

Last weekend, a lightening strike came within a few feet of my son's wet-socked feet as he stood watching from the garage in disbelief. My dad would have been thrown from his chair had he not been holding on for dear life. All told, we only lost electronic conveniences and pleasures. Once again, Mother Nature is conditioning me for a greater lesson.

But for today, it's Fathers that deserve the spotlight. Today, I'm blessed with the ability to honor our heavenly Father and my own loving Dad, living right next door.

Here is a piece published by "Gulf Coast Woman" in their May/June issue. This weekend, I'm finishing up the July/August submission. It's a story of a Waveland couple's survival and rebirth after Katrina. Sadly, the father of the husband passed yesterday morning. May you rest in peace, Harvey Cooper, Sr.

Hard to believe we're almost into June of 2007. I recall the turn of the century with more clarity than the past five months. Days seem to slip through my fingers with very little accomplished on the BIG list. Mostly. I just barely get through each day without midnight's door slapping my backside and fall into bed exhausted. Wash, rinse, repeat.
So for that very reason, the BIG list is starting to hold more of my attention.

The weather this month has been extremely pleasant and particularly tropical to my thinking. Afternoon showers create humid saunas for my flourishing gardens, prolonging springtime's appeal. The nights are cool and the mornings are clear. If weather could be named each month for it's affect on my world, May would be called.....

(...cont'd. from previous post)

Facing yet another line to get a table at Chile’s made me reconsider. It was then I looked up at a marquee somewhere and noticed a reference to a place called "The President’s Club," a supposed traveler’s refuge in a storm of flight cancellations, owned and operated by Continental Airlines. Was it really possible that the airline might actually have a little compassion for its unwilling captives? I was very suspicious, but decided it was something worth exploring.

I rode the elevator up to the President’s Club, distinguished by it’s own button on the brass engraved panel. There was an immediate sense of relief when the doors closed to cocoon me, even if only momentarily, inside a private airspace that was exclusively mine. I actually considered pushing the stop button to prolong the sense of peace and quiet, but decided what waited for me behind the elevator could actually be a positive experience. As the stainless steel doors slide open, the ambiance was soothingly opulent, with Sting singing in his raspy voice to put me at ease within the dimmed atmosphere. I was convinced I’d found the place to make everything tolerable.

I approached two cheerful hostesses, impeccably dressed and standing behind a welcome desk. Those were the first two smiles I’d seen all day from anyone wearing a Continental badge.

"Welcome to the President’s Club," one of the pleasant hostesses offered.

"Thanks," I replied. "Can you tell me what the President’s Club is exactly?"

"Oh, so you aren’t a member?"

"No, I’m not," I answered, feeling like an instant reject.

"Well, that’s okay. You can get a day pass if you’d like. Inside you’ll find a bar with refreshments, light snacks, music, television and free Internet access," she responded cheerfully. Beyond the club entrance I could hear people engaged in laughter laced with the familiar Sting lyrics, "Don’t Stand So Close To Me." How apropos for the day I thought. "It will be $45.00 for the day pass."

At that point, I dropped my well-cushioned laptop and purse to the ground in utter disgust. I froze glaringly at the woman before me with a look that said, "I’m done."

"Lady, are you all right?" she asked several times with no response.

Finally collecting my thoughts I replied in a firm, yet composed voice. "Continental Airlines has seen fit to cancel two flights for which they provided me and my son confirmed seats on today. Somewhere between the two non-existent flights, your employer saw fit to separate me from my son, whom was traveling with me for the past four days, by offering him one of four standby seats on one of the only flights out. I’ve now been issued yet another ticket for a probably yet another non-existent flight and I need a place to collect my thoughts. And now you are telling me I have to pay Continental forty-five bucks for the privilege of doing so?"

"I’m sorry you’re having a rough time, but that’s the policy. If you travel often, you may want to consider purchasing a yearly membership."

"Listen Lady, this is not a club I want to belong to, much less pay to become a member of. Continental has been treating me and a lot of other people like cattle because of weather delays and yet, the sun has been shining through the large plate glass windows all day long. And I’ve watched a lot of other flights coming and going. But for some unknown reason, the ones to Gulfport, Mississippi keep getting canceled. And by the way, the weather in Gulfport is clear and 72 degrees as we speak with good visibility. And seeing as how this airport is supposed to be a hub for Continental to the extent of actually having this President’s Club, I’m sure there should be an extra plane somewhere that could be put into service to fly what’s left of two planeloads full of passengers to their desired destination of Gulfport."

"Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to pay the $45 fee or step aside for the other guests." I turned around and realized I had an unwilling audience of about six people waiting behind me.

"Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not done here. " I replied, feeling slightly guilty for voicing my disconcertion. Since there were two hostesses, I knew I wasn’t doing enough harm to actually relinquish the relief I felt at that moment. It was then the other stranded passengers actually started to back up my allegations with comments like, "Yeah, I’ve been stuck here since noon," and "Continental sucks."

By then, I’d managed to upset the hostess enough to threaten me with a call to security. I believe my response was, "Go ahead and call them. I’ve got nothing but time here."

"Now Ma’am, you don’t really want me to call security over this, now do you?" the greeter softened her voice and stared me squarely in the eyes.

"Of course not," I replied, "but if that’s what it takes to get some attention from someone in authority, then maybe that’s what needs to happen. And to think I actually paid over $500 to be jerked around like this."

It was at that point that the greeter actually took me seriously enough to suggest a compromise. "Why don’t you let me take a look at your ticket and I’ll see what I can find out for you?"

Since by now Brian was probably only an hour or two away from Gulfport, and having no contingency plan, I relented and handed her my ticket sleeve, now stuffed with five sets of boarding passes. "I’ll be back in a moment. Would you like some water or a soda?"

"No thanks, I’m fine," I mumbled.

She left for about five minutes and then returned and handed me back my tickets. "Ma’am, it looks like your 7:20 flight has been delayed until 8:00 PM , but I do see that you have a confirmed seat on that flight, so there’s no reason to suspect that you won’t be flying home tonight," she calmly offered. "Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink."

"No thanks, I have my own water," I replied while pointing at a bottle tucked in my briefcase.

The hostess went on to explain that my experience paled by comparison to some of the layovers she’s witnessed in her ten years of employment. There have been some instances where travelers were stranded for three days in a row and remained camped out at the airport. That information did little to comfort me but for some reason did her a world of good to talk about. After another ten minutes of trading stories, the hostess reached over and gave me a big bear hug and explained she had to go back to work. Before I pushed the button to go back down to the fluorescent asphalt reality check waiting for me in Terminal B, I turned around and smiled at her, feeling slightly more like a human being than a carbon unit.

Little satisfaction came from the barely-chilled beer or the slightly institutional salad except for the fact that it took an hour away from my wait. But the real satisfaction came when I stepped up to the boarding agent with my pass and said, "I’ve been waiting all day for someone to validate me. Thank you, Sir."

The flight itself went smoothly. Although, I must admit there is strange irony in being picked up in one airport by the same person that dropped you off at another, two states away. It’s even stranger when the person you were traveling with in the first place is also there to pick you up from the same trip that you left together on.






 

A visit to my son’s home in Houston has yielded some interesting discoveries and the worst airport experience of my life.

A highlight of the adventure was witnessing some of Brian’s parental skills, which included growing eyes in the back of his head. How else could he spot his oldest son jumping off the top of the little tikes slide while simultaneously throwing a Frisbee to his brother and daughter, grilling dinner and conversing with the moms? The visit was filled with some of the most wonderful moments that will serve to forever remind me that the misery of my trip was indeed worth it all.

The actual traveling experience which defies human dignity and logic will be forever indelible in my mind. The flight to Houston a` la Continental Airlines was fraught with a lot of D words. Off the top of my head, I'd say that Tuesday, May 22, 2007 was a damned disappointing disaster of a day.

This drama first descended on my sixteen year old son and myself as we attempted to check in to catch our flight at the Gulfport-Biloxi Airport on the Saturday prior to that date, where we regretfully discovered there were only 4 Continental employees on the premises. This meant that when the check-in agent forgot to print our boarding passes, and then closed the counter five minutes after we checked in, we were screwed. No getting through security without a boarding pass, and no boarding pass without an authorized employee to print it out for us. Drats! It seems there was no way to communicate with any Continental employee in the entire airport unless we could clear security and that wasn’t happening. We were told by several people that we’d probably miss our flight to Houston. The kiosk was useless beyond checking us in, and could not print out diddley squat. My persistence and a little sympathy from an adjacent Delta employee who tracked down a Continental baggage handler who came to our rescue and printed the passes allowed us to board the plane five minutes prior to take-off and receive glaring looks of blame from the rest of the passengers for being so late in boarding . Yes, they actually held the plane for us as we cleared security. When we finally boarded the plane, I could have explained to the other passengers that this was a Continental error, but by then I had used most of my energy running back and forth between the check-in counter and the security check point, so I decided to quietly sulk over the experience. It was rather surreal to witness the very man that printed our boarding passes loading everyone’s luggage from my seat on the now late plane. Once we landed, Matt and I agreed it wasn’t worth getting upset over and looked forward to our visit with Brian and his family.


Fast forward to Tuesday morning. Brian delivered Matt and I to the airport a full hour and ten minutes prior to departure time. Ironically, his job as regional manager afforded him a visit to us this week for business purposes. His plan was to drive to Gulfport, making a few client calls along the way, after dropping us at the Houston airport. We even joked about canceling our reservations and riding back with him, but since he had to make some stops, it was not seriously considered. So I wisely checked in on line and printed our boarding passes from his home office prior to leaving, thinking I had outsmarted the next Continental agent that might forget to print them at the check-in counter. But of course, this time there were several agents in view and the process was more efficient. The agent re-printed a copy of our boarding passes and sent us on our way. This was to be our 2nd of many sets of official boarding passes for our return flight. Thinking we had ample time to enjoy a gourmet coffee concoction and a sweet roll prior to boarding the flight, Matt and I leisurely stopped inside the terminal and sat down. At some point while taking my first sip of coffee and one bite of my freshly-baked apple fritter, I decided to check over the newly-issued boarding passes that were inserted into the ticket jacket with our luggage claim checks neatly stapled to the front. That’s when everything started to unravel.

It was then that I noticed our departure time stated 3:55 PM and not 10:05 AM , which was the flight departure time I had reservations for and what was printed on the home office version passes. I looked up at Matt in disbelief, and he sensed immediately there was a problem. Distress quickly set in as hunger waned and we ditched the slightly-consumed breakfast and made our way to the Continental gate printed on our original boarding passes. It was there we discovered that our 10:05 flight was canceled due to bad weather in other parts of the country. I found it ironic that the sun had popped out from behind a cloud and was shining in the agent’s face at the very moment bad weather was cited as the reason for flight cancellation.

After inquiring further, we were told there were two other flights scheduled between the 3:55 departure and we could request stand-by status for one of them. So Matt and I resigned ourselves to the wait, both swearing not to ever fly Continental Airlines again. At least not until pigs fly. Just this past summer, Matt spent 10 hours alone in the very same airport (compliments of Continental Airlines) during his connecting layover from his Mexican vacation with my parents. The score keeper of the friendly skies must have felt sorry for him today because Matt was offered a stand-by seat on the 1:45 flight back to Gulfport, along with three other people. I was okay with it, confident that my fully-ticketed boarding pass for a seat on the 3:55 departure would reunite us again in a few hours. I foolishly even held out hope of getting on as a standby on the 2:40 flight for which I holding my fourth boarding pass of the day. When it came time to call the standbys for the 2:40 departure, my spirits sunk when my name wasn’t one of the chosen five. I patiently waited it out with phone calls and a futile attempt at writing, but my balance was completely off by then. Yeah, I had my laptop with me, but of course the Internet was blocked, except for a non-functioning George W. Bush International Airport website. What a joke it was when I followed the supposed link to track the status of any flight scheduled for departure or arrival. I punched all four flight numbers in, one by one, only to read the repeated message stating there was no such flights in existence at that airport to be found…period!. Disgustedly despondent by now.

When I made my way to the assigned gate to check in for my fully-ticketed 3:55 flight an hour and a half early, I was informed that it had been canceled and I should prepare to spend the night in Houston. My fourth boarding pass was now decidedly bogus. It was at that very moment that I lost all respect for Continental. My disdain for the desensitized disorganization that subjected me and thousands of others to something closely resembling cattle calls that employed incorrect information boards fed by automatic computers that could not adjust to the constant delays, cancellations and gate changes. Worse than any cattle prod.

I returned to the Continental ticket counter, stood in yet another long line and conveyed my disdain for the way the company deals with a situation. In thinking back, I walked between two terminals over twelve times along with thousands of others, lining both sides of corridors and searching for non-existent outlets to recharge our cell phones or to access illusive power sources for our PC’s or musical implements in the hope of making the situation more tolerable . It was explained that because of unstable weather in another region of the country, connections weren’t made, flights were canceled and aircraft were diverted. And since the weather in Houston and Gulfport was only slightly affected, two of the scheduled flights were used somewhere else deemed more important than us…not once but twice.

My blatant honesty and torturously patient reaction to that bit of information must have impressed the ticketing agent, because he shuffled between three screens in five minutes and produced a hot-off-the-presses official Continental ticketed boarding pass for the 7:20 flight out of traveler’s purgatory. As I walked away clenching my latest ticket home, the fifth of the day, I heard another agent mumble something about that flight being already sold out and that’s when my agent responded about making his own executive decision. I smiled, foolishly choosing to believe in his magic, simply because I was in denial about any other outcome. Aware that was the last flight out for the day, I had no choice but to wait it out and believe I would soon be airborne. After all, I held a ticket that said I was going home.

Inside I was mad as hell over the situation, but found asking for a supervisor yielded nothing more than silent condescension from the Continental employees that were as frustrated as the passengers. They were all pretty stressed. But for them, the stress came from their working conditions. The looks in their faces revealed that they felt like clueless cattle too.

About the time I decided to go to Chile’s and have a very long dinner, I noticed the departure time for my flight delayed another forty-five minutes, citing 8:00 PM liftoff. It was then I decided to drown my sorrows with a couple of brews. I don’t drink beer often and certainly not alone, but that was all about to change.

(... to be continued)