Author: Gail

A Bump in the Road

How many airport maintenance personnel does it take to change a lightbulb?  At last count, six, if you include the two who just passed by in neon yellow vests carrying clipboards.  So far Air Jet Flight 4859 had been delayed one hour and fifteen minutes. The intercom announcement to the confused travelers explained one of the overhead cabin reading lights was no longer operational. Thus began the delay.  One exasperated couple turned and headed to Customer Service muttering something about missing connections.   Meanwhile, a harried flight crew of three came rushing in as replacement staff for those who had timed-out.  The uniformed pilots looked at each other wondering why they raced through the yellow light narrowly missing the group of teenagers in the intersection.  One glance at the female flight attendant and you could practically hear her shout, “I just woke up!  I’m going on board anyway.  I need to apply make-up and fix my hair.”  Forty minutes later, the next report came blasting overhead.  “The guys are checking out the repair now as we speak.”  With that bit of refreshing news I couldn’t help but wonder…..don’t they just flip the switch like we do at home?  Before I knew it, an impatient ticket holder with arms flailing charged forward and pummeled the desk attendant with derogatory comments.  With glaring eyes and flared nostrils, he demanded a logical explanation to these cryptic announcements.  An elderly man of faith stepped forward placing his hand on the abusive man’s shoulder.  He spoke in a calm, steady voice, “Easy Son, these things take time.  Safety first.  Let them do their job. You’re not ready to face the alternative if they’re wrong, are you?”

Location. Location. Location.

“Ohmygosh!  Look up in the pine tree!”, I caught myself screaming in a shrill voice to my husband.  His back was turned away since he was focused on the rumpled banners curled around the flagpole.  We had just returned from a springtime walk down Dorna Lane.  The country air was refreshingly crisp and still slightly cool.  It was the kind of evening where the darkened shadows of leafless trees balefully resembled Slender Man peering out from within the woods on the edge of the stream.  And now this.  Bobbing above a low branch over the split rail fence hung an enormous, gray, teardrop nest.  It’s intimidation was boldly apparent.  Logic and Common Sense became our allies.  Since the weather had been frigidly cold these past few months, its residents were probably evicted last Fall after the first hard freeze.  Still, there’s something ominous about recognizing a vestige of nature.  


Upon my husband’s skillful removal, carcasses of worker hornets and larvae lay crumbled among the empty hexagonal chambers.  The queen was nowhere to be found.  Without a doubt, she most likely fled to a place more warm and cozy to design her next humble abode.  Judging by the abundance of fence rails and tree bark nearby, she’ll waste little time in stripping wood to shred into new construction. This Sleeping Beauty is a wise sojourner who ascertains the benefits of “Location, Location, Location”.

A Bridge Over Troubled Waters 


Dairy Queen, also known as the DQ, is one of those Midwest favorites that carries with it childhood memories throughout Life’s journey.  It’s not only for the young, it’s for the child in all of us.  Picture this, a triple high tower of creamy vanilla soft serve puffs atop a crunchy-checkered bakery cone.  I mean, who could resist that enticing signature curlicue?  Ah yes, the “right-of-passage” that Summer is upon us—-even if it’s only a sunny day in late March with a Northern wind still nipping at your heels. It practically makes your eyes roll back as you savor each delicious nibble.  Yum!  It was here, at the local DQ, that Jesus suddenly appeared to our grandson in a lesson he would never forget.  Having received a treat from my husband (a.k.a. Grandpa), I was already sitting on a bench outside enjoying my favorite ice cream cone and basking in the afternoon sunshine.  Landen, being 7 years old with eyes as big as saucers, ordered the extra-large icy blue raspberry slushy drink…..mostly because he knew Grandpa would indulge him, too.  After all, that’s what grandparents do:  fill ’em up with sugar and then send them home, right?

Landen was so excited holding a cup he could barely wrap his hands around, waiting patiently for Grandpa to remove the protective covering from the plastic straw.  In the next moment, with the straw unwrapped, Grandpa leaned over Landen and poked the straw through the slot in the lid.  As it slid into place, the force of the action caused the gigantic cup to slip through Landen’s hands and it fell to the ground in what appeared to be slow motion.  We were all aghast as we stared at the bright blue gooey mess spreading over the concrete sidewalk!  Landen’s lower lip began to quiver when he realized what had just happened.  Moments later, before a tear was shed, the DQ server appeared with a refill, a long-handled broom and a bucket of water.  She smiled as she handed him the drink and said, “It’s okay.  Accidents happen.  All is forgiven.”  She then proceeded to sweep away the stain and wash it out of sight.  

That sequence of events gave Grandpa the opportunity to remind Landen that our God is a forgiving God.  As it is written in Acts 3:19 he explained, “So then, let your hearts be changed and be turned to God, so that your sins may be completely taken away, and times of blessing may come from The Lord.”  He went on to further explain that Jesus died on the cross to erase all our sins, even the ones we don’t mean to commit.  Something as simple as a spill on the sidewalk gave him the opportunity to share a message about Jesus Christ.  I can tell you, afterwards the sky looked a brighter blue…..you might say as bright as a blue raspberry slushy drink.

Step Into the Twilight Zone

Have you ever noticed people don’t talk on hotel elevators or airport tram shuttles?  It was visibly apparent on a recent trip out East.  It seemed the minute I stepped from the terminal station platform through the sliding tram doors, all conversation ceased to exist.  It was almost like crossing into the Twilight Zone.  The dull monotonous drone of the cars rolling along through the concrete, glass, and steel tunnels seemed hypnotic.  Couples looked sideways, strangers glanced down, uniformed co-workers stared at IPads and cell phone screens as if too plugged-in to electronic devices to be bothered with anything else.  Even music was nonexistent.  Have we become so accustomed to communicating “a là text” that to use our voice becomes a weapon for cracking the silence code?  When did making eye-contact with the person sitting across from you become an invasion of privacy?  Call me old-fashioned, but I miss the art of casual conversation.  It’s food for the soul.  A short time later the tram doors opened wide and the automated voice announced we were at our destination.  As I stepped across the threshold, musical sounds filled the air and the buzz of conversation brought everything back to life again. 

Bartender, Pour Me Another 

It was a slow morning at the Club Level Grill in the airport terminal.  Alice, the bartender, had a lot to share. Once the drink orders were placed and the I.D.s were approved, she opened the conversation with an “Attaboy, Gerald, you just celebrated another birthday.  I’m a Baby-Boomer, too. Been bartending since I was 22 years old living in Florida.”  “I’m a DES daughter,” she continued, “My mom took drugs back then to reduce the risk of miscarriage.  Might be the reason I’m dyslexic today.”  A nervous laugh followed. Because the inclement weather had mercilessly snarled flight connections, everyone was forced to cope with adversity.  This meant Alice, who lived on a horse farm 42 miles away from work, had to figure out how to feed and water the hairy beasts before they starved.  The frigid snow-covered ground meant providing hay as an alternative food source.  An easy fix. Supplying water, on the other hand, was another challenge based on the gurgling sounds of slushy bubbles passing through frozen pipes from the outdoor mineral spring opening. 

“I can’t wait to go to Arizona,” she said as she turned the conversation to a more lighthearted topic.  She often travelled alone in pursuit of her favorite hobby, collecting Indian pottery artifacts and fossils. In a split second, with cell phone in hand, she flipped through her photos offering us a look-see at some of her most favorite treasures.  “I love pottery shards,” she confessed, “and if I don’t pick them up, someone else will.”  “For protection I carry a big stick, like Kalinda Sharma on ‘The Good Wife’.  Although I did buy some .22 shells in case I take my husband’s rifle this time.  Then again, wasp repellent is a preferable alternative to pepper spray for protection,” she debated.  About now we began to feel as though the roles had been reversed. Alice seemed to be spilling her guts as we recharged our batteries and sipped on a Bloody Mary cocktail.  In many ways she appeared to be the lonely gal at the other end of the bar.  As we collected our bill, I recall hearing her say, “Have you seen the platform shoes some of these girls are wearing?  Ugh!  My feet are killing me already.”

Rasheed the Rambling Rebel

Rambling Rasheed was our courtesy driver during the mid-winter trials of an unexpected layover.  I say “rambling” because from the moment we exchanged greetings during the blizzard of 2015 until we departed for a final last-ditch departure flight, he never stopped talking.  He was more than happy to shuttle us from airport to restaurant to hotel and back to the airport again.  His slim tattooed body blended well in a city ranked third in the nation for ‘Most Tattoo Parlors’ per 100,000 residents.    Richmond boasts 14.5 total. That’s a lot of artistic expression and personal stories being told.  And Rasheed?  Well, he moved here about six months ago after working third shift at a factory job in Jersey.  It was okay for awhile since he could schedule appointments with doctors, dentists, and the occasional traffic court during the daytime hours.  Oh, how he loved the taste of Southern Comfort.  And Cheetos, as evidenced by the half-eaten bag propped open on the console between the bucket seats.  But now he was ready for a fresh start in a new city. Things were going to work out just fine.  He had a good feeling about this. 

All Things Bright and Beautiful 

“Jesus Loves You”.  I saw my husband mouth the words without making a sound.  Before turning around in the restaurant booth to see the recipient behind me, I knew it had to be a small child.  Our commitment in spreading the love of Christ is to touch the heart of a child.  Jesus’ Little Lamb, so to speak.  It’s often done in such a hushed manner that the parents are quite oblivious to the spiritual message.  Yet, when a connection is made with the little one, we know without a doubt, it rings loud and clear.  The proof is visibly evident in their bright eyes and wide smiles. “Jesus Loves You, Jesus Loves You.”  Truer words have never been spoken.  Three soothing words that carry the message of Eternity.  Each trustful gaze is as mesmerizing as the children who gathered at the knees of our Savior in Christian artwork.  This is our reward; to see the glory of God in the face of a child, a toddler, a baby.  Perhaps we need to be reminded of that inspiring song of our youth, “Jesus Loves the Little Children”.  Can we all say “AMEN”? 

In the Air Tonight

The airplane’s propellers buzzed farewell like a thousand dragonflies circling a murky pond before taking flight.  Once airborne, the express “Puddle Jumper” put on an aerial show of flexibility dipping and swaying on irregular cloud puffs like the wooden roller coaster ride at Coney Island.  My stomach was left behind.