Author: Gail

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. 

Pennies From Heaven 

He smelled like Old Spice After Shave as long as I knew him.  There was a time he wore Vitalis in his wavy brown hair.  All the guys did. Elvis probably started it with his slick-black hair and sex appeal.  I used to go to my father’s bedroom closet after he hung up his suit from a nine-hour day of demanding retail sales, supporting a family of six.  I’d slip my childish hands into every pocket searching for a LifeSaver or two.   If a half-opened roll of Reed’s Root Beer candies were discovered, I’d race back to my father’s chair and beg for “just one”.  Being his only daughter, and the apple of his eye, he’d smile and say, “Sure, Snookie.  Anything for my little girl.”  Sometimes there would be a compact case of Sen-Sens in his coat pocket.  I hated the taste of anise.  Around that time everyone grew up watching Hollywood’s Rich and Famous glamorizing the lifestyle of a cigarette smoker.  Sales were finalized when a cigarette was lit at the retail counter.  Afterwards this tiny matchbox of black licorice  and anise squares were the perfect breath mint popular in the 1960s.  On occasion in my daily quest, I would come across my father’s easy-squeeze leather coin pouch. He said it kept loose change under control and saved the lining in his dress pants.  


Today I hold that weather-worn pouch and squeeze it open remembering my father.  Inside are two pennies. One is a muted coppery Lincoln Wheat Penny dated 1930; the other is a bright shiny Union Shield version dated 2014.  Pennies from Heaven, I call them, spanning the lifetime of my beloved father.  Happy Birthday, Dad. Thinking of you today celebrating your first birthday in Heaven. “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart.” ~ Ecclesiastes 3:11.

The Healing Touch of God

It was 5:45 a.m.  The kind of morning where sleep departs in the early dawn and the alarm clock resting on the night stand still remains silent.  Lying supine, the soft linen sheets enveloped me under a warm cotton blanket. Without warning, a high pitch ringing in my ears turned into a deafening roar of rushing waters inside my head.  It made me believe I was going to faint.  “This can’t happen”, I panicked, “I’m all alone.”  Immediately the overflowing sensation of a fountainhead bursting with heavy floodwaters coursed through my body.  The intensity maximized as it rushed within my head past my chest, pulled down my arms, swept over my abdomen, and streamed through my legs before exiting out the tips of my toes. Upon fulfillment, my entire being shivered with piercing goosebumps.  In panic, I thought to myself, “Oh, no, I’m having a stroke!”  At that moment of powerlessness, I heard the Still Small Voice of God speak, “It’s a washing of the Holy Spirit.”  


My life was impacted in a special way that morning.  I believe I had been touched by the healing waters of God.  During this Lenten season, let us reflect on these words from  

Philippians 4:7; “And the peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds together in Christ Jesus.”  Discover the saving grace of Jesus Christ as you journey to the Easter cross in celebration of the Resurrection of our Lord.


Forgiveness is Not Conditional 

Maybe you had a best friend who turned into a fair-weather one at the moment you needed her most; at the break-up of a long term relationship when your world was spinning out of control.  She boldly chose the “ex” over your need for emotional support. The friendship was severed beyond repair.  Words were never spoken again. Forgive her anyway.  It’s easier to absolve than you think. Often it takes more energy to hold on to inner pain than it does to let it go. Slide your mind all the way back to the “Thelma and Louise” season in time when the two of you confessed insecurities, whispered disappointments, shared hopes, and imagined dreams together over a glass of wine.  Or two.  Remember the laughter?  And the way her  eyes teared up to the point of hysteria?  The feeling of audacious brassiness?  And don’t forget the sincere trust and uninhibited honesty.  This sisterly love connection is the perfect vantage point for forgiveness.  Go ahead. Open the nostalgic floodgates to the Memory Box of your mind.  Release the waters of sentimental longing. Experience a taste of wistful yearning for the joy and happiness felt during the good times.  And never, EVER, make your forgiveness conditional.   “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” ~ Ephesians 4:32.

The Other Side of the Coin

“Are you stranded here as well?”, inquired the attractive flight attendant poised outside the automatic sliding doors to the hotel lobby.  She took a long drag on an extra-slim cigarette signifying beauty and elegance.  “No one is going anywhere. Everything’s grounded.”  She was clearly disappointed since her overnight stay was beginning to look a little more permanent than she had hoped.  The steady rain was already slinging frozen pellets creating an icy sheen on the vacant cars lined together in rows.  It was only a matter of time before the parking lot could become a skating rink risking injuries further compensated through insurance claims.  


Our return flight home had been cancelled due to severe weather conditions predicted a few days earlier.  Winter Storm Thor was determined to bring cities to its knees as it moved through the region leaving newscasters and meteorologists creating imaginary scenarios of a hammer-wielding mythological god defying man and nature.  Without a doubt, there would be no escape.  Not for a few days, anyway.   How does one cope, you ask?  It’s simple.  Slow things down, take a breath, sip a smooth drink, and enjoy the company of your lifetime partner.  Then sink into a luxurious whirlpool bath to massage the travel woes away.