Love and turbulence
I’m standing in line on a plane waiting as passengers board. I sit down in my window seat. There is an empty seat in the middle and a man seated at the aisle.
Later into the flight, the drinks' trolley arrives. The man next to me orders two gin and tonics. He puts his earphones in. We sit in silence.
About two hours into the flight, the seat belt sign blinks and the captain speaks over the intercom requesting that everyone be seated.
A few rows behind me I hear a woman speaking to the airline steward in a panicky, high-pitched voice. Suddenly, the woman jumps up insisting she has to go to the toilet immediately.
Against the protestations of the airline steward, the woman pushes past and locks herself in the toilet. Shortly afterwards, as predicted, the plane experiences turbulence.
A few minutes later, I hear a crashing noise as the toilet door opens and smashes into the bulkhead wall.
Within seconds, I see a woman rolling down the aisle, head-over-heels, stockings trailing behind her. She comes to a sprawling halt just opposite where we are sitting.
The man next to me has his hand on his forehead; he is shaking his head slowly, shading his eyes, ignoring the shoeless woman laying there in the aisle with her dress around her waist and panties at her ankles.
Two airline stewards approach quickly to help hoist the woman to her feet. The now wild-haired woman stands upright, adjusts her clothing and places her hands on the row of seats on either side of the aisle.
As she steadies herself, she glares at the man next to me. Finally, he turns his head towards the woman. Their eyes meet. They each look furious. Suddenly I realise they are together.
After the woman is returned to her seat, I am too embarrassed to make eye contact with the man next to me. In an effort to ease my discomfort, he offers me a simple explanation:
Due to an unfortunate incident several years ago, my wife panics whenever we experience turbulence. For that reason we do not sit together on airplanes. It is the only thing I can do.
A true story.
Wednesday, 26 August 2009
Friday, 21 August 2009
Laughter is the best antidote
Sometimes it really is OK to just laugh
I love laughing right out loud until my eyes water and my stomach hurts. I love it when I wake up in the morning and my cheeks still ache.
But sometimes I wonder if it’s OK to laugh.
Of course there is always a time and place for humour. There are times when you just want to be giddy and silly; and times that you turn on the seriousness. There are also those ambiguous moments when you've no control over whether you laugh, become conciliatory or mimic everyone else's behaviour.
Like after returning from holiday, having gotten used to baking in 40 degrees of sun, faced with the sudden onslaught of autumnal briskness. It is the first day back on the job. You join a conference call, still rolling inside from a week of sun, fun and rum. Everyone else is so sombre. But you're still bursting with jubilance.
The usual roll call is taken. The obligatory questions are asked, "How are you? How was the holiday?" It is times like that when you just can't resist responding with something along these lines: "Well, I’m wearing clothes for the first time in 10 days."
Of course, you don't at that point know there is a new member of the team on the call that morning, or a guest speaker - some executive, someone perhaps not so familiar with your style of professional etiquette. Well they get brought up to speed pretty quickly, don't they!
Then there are other times when you receive the pleading, bolster-me-up-I'm-drowning email from a frazzled mum (kindred spirit really). These beseeching emails often read something like this:
Or the time when another friend is recounting the long list of whack-a-mole like challenges from her week that sound like this:
That’s when you awaken from your stupor to hear yourself filling in the blanks with similar catastrophes.
Comparatively speaking, the lists are remarkably similar, usually including choice embarrassing items like these:
At some point during the roster, inevitably you fixate on something that you have to giggle at because it has happened to you before (or it is just so ridiculous, you cannot help it).
For example:
How can we not laugh at this kind of misery? Doesn't it somehow make us feel better about all the stupid things that happen to us daily?
Really, it is a wonder any of us have friends.
You just can’t take life, or each other, too seriously.
I love laughing right out loud until my eyes water and my stomach hurts. I love it when I wake up in the morning and my cheeks still ache.
But sometimes I wonder if it’s OK to laugh.
Of course there is always a time and place for humour. There are times when you just want to be giddy and silly; and times that you turn on the seriousness. There are also those ambiguous moments when you've no control over whether you laugh, become conciliatory or mimic everyone else's behaviour.
Like after returning from holiday, having gotten used to baking in 40 degrees of sun, faced with the sudden onslaught of autumnal briskness. It is the first day back on the job. You join a conference call, still rolling inside from a week of sun, fun and rum. Everyone else is so sombre. But you're still bursting with jubilance.
The usual roll call is taken. The obligatory questions are asked, "How are you? How was the holiday?" It is times like that when you just can't resist responding with something along these lines: "Well, I’m wearing clothes for the first time in 10 days."
Of course, you don't at that point know there is a new member of the team on the call that morning, or a guest speaker - some executive, someone perhaps not so familiar with your style of professional etiquette. Well they get brought up to speed pretty quickly, don't they!
Then there are other times when you receive the pleading, bolster-me-up-I'm-drowning email from a frazzled mum (kindred spirit really). These beseeching emails often read something like this:
I took my daughter to the dentist today. When I went to the toilet, dropped car keys down the loo! After washing them in the sink, they inevitably failed to open the car using the central locking control fob. When I used the key to manually unlock the car, the alarm went off and wouldn't stop. I tried to call boyfriend, but he wasn't available so I had to drive home with the alarm blaring and the hazard lights flashing. Fortunately, got hold of boyfriend just as I arrived home and he was able to talk me through deactivating the siren, so I won't have any neighbours banging at my door at least.
Or the time when another friend is recounting the long list of whack-a-mole like challenges from her week that sound like this:
- no privacy from kids, they’re driving me crazy
- exam results in… enough said
- dog sat on bee, got stung
- daughter announces on FB how much her day sucked (due to altercation with mother)
- boyfriends, or other friends, inundating house at all hours
- supplies of milk, sugar, tea, hot cocoa depleted – and no one says anything
- laundry piled so high downstairs loo is impassable
- where have all the tea cups gone?
- working from home, dogs barking at non-stop visiting kids’ friends, postman, community newsletter, religious prophets, and anyone else that stops by
- surprise mid-year review (due to misreading invitation while on different call)
- lack of sleep or interrupted sleep due to role as midnight doorman for kids’ who’ve misplaced keys
That’s when you awaken from your stupor to hear yourself filling in the blanks with similar catastrophes.
Comparatively speaking, the lists are remarkably similar, usually including choice embarrassing items like these:
- finally get long deserved bath, serenade myself with new songs on ipod
- while singing away in tub, do not realise several people have arrived to visit daughter
- exiting bathroom, nearly naked, walk by bedroom which thought was empty (it is not)
- while getting dressed, remember leaving essential item of clothing downstairs near the iron (probably left on)
At some point during the roster, inevitably you fixate on something that you have to giggle at because it has happened to you before (or it is just so ridiculous, you cannot help it).
For example:
- bravely venture out of bedroom to check if runway is clear
- suddenly pyjama trousers, pulled on too quickly without tying draw string, fall down
- runway not clear, son’s friend or daughter’s boyfriend is at very moment walking down hallway with two cups of tea
- wearing very little underneath pyjamas
How can we not laugh at this kind of misery? Doesn't it somehow make us feel better about all the stupid things that happen to us daily?
Really, it is a wonder any of us have friends.
You just can’t take life, or each other, too seriously.
Thursday, 20 August 2009
Number 202
Number 202
There is nothing noble about war
When it clutches the hand of a son
Or some other loved one
After spending all those years
Ironing shirts and folding pants
You got shipped to Afghanistan
Too old to worry about packed lunches
Though you ate ham sandwiches
Just like all the rest of us.
Did we do our best with you
Before you slipped away in the night
Are you still alright
Does your heart still pound
To the offbeat whop, whop, whop
Of Chinook blades beating up the dust
Blowing up too many scratchy grains of sand
That become part of your skin and cloth
Until poured from boots and socks
Into sandy mounds, your hour glass.
Did you think you’d ever miss rain
Get homesick for England's dull grey
You wrapped in that camouflage
Baking in fifty degrees of sun
Squinting over freckles brown
Are you doing what you want now?
I remember your laughing blues
Can almost feel your touch
The smell of you I miss so much
Can you hear me calling out
Darling I’ve left the light on for you
Because I know you’ll be home soon
No weight to drag you down
No headset, no rucksack,
No gun, no rations now.
Fast asleep in a soft whiteness
Having faced all that frightens
Lying there looking safe tonight
Staring into a million starry lights
So pale against the rising moon
Yes, I know it's true
You're coming home soon
Welcome home number two-hundred and two.
Reluctantly Fabulous, 2009
British Casualty Monitor
Crowds gather to honour soldiers
MOD Factsheets
There is nothing noble about war
When it clutches the hand of a son
Or some other loved one
After spending all those years
Ironing shirts and folding pants
You got shipped to Afghanistan
Too old to worry about packed lunches
Though you ate ham sandwiches
Just like all the rest of us.
Did we do our best with you
Before you slipped away in the night
Are you still alright
Does your heart still pound
To the offbeat whop, whop, whop
Of Chinook blades beating up the dust
Blowing up too many scratchy grains of sand
That become part of your skin and cloth
Until poured from boots and socks
Into sandy mounds, your hour glass.
Did you think you’d ever miss rain
Get homesick for England's dull grey
You wrapped in that camouflage
Baking in fifty degrees of sun
Squinting over freckles brown
Are you doing what you want now?
I remember your laughing blues
Can almost feel your touch
The smell of you I miss so much
Can you hear me calling out
Darling I’ve left the light on for you
Because I know you’ll be home soon
No weight to drag you down
No headset, no rucksack,
No gun, no rations now.
Fast asleep in a soft whiteness
Having faced all that frightens
Lying there looking safe tonight
Staring into a million starry lights
So pale against the rising moon
Yes, I know it's true
You're coming home soon
Welcome home number two-hundred and two.
Reluctantly Fabulous, 2009
British Casualty Monitor
Crowds gather to honour soldiers
MOD Factsheets
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