Expect the Best

Have you ever had an experience where a rule was changed or ignored to accommodate reality?  This past weekend my husband and I traveled to a warm spot and returned home through customs.  We had a tight connection to our next flight, and the lines were long and slow.  Knowing there was not one thing we could to do speed things up, we remained patient and told ourselves that all would be well, whether we made the plane or not.  In reality, this was the last flight to Minneapolis that night and we both had to work the next day.

Once clear of customs, we sprinted through the airport to the security line, which was also long, slow, and impossible to speed up.  Another sprint to the gate through the very big busy airport.  Wheeling my suitcase, clutching my travel purse, I ran until out of breath, and then reminded myself that there was no time to rest, and started up again flat-out sprinting.

When we arrived at our gate, another couple was pleading with the gate agent to let them on the plane.  The woman was literally crying—“I have to get home tonight.”  The agent shook her head. The door was closed, she had cancelled our reservations.  Brian went to the window and waved at the plane sitting at the gate.  He walked away.  The runway door retracted.

I went to the window and waved in SOS style. I didn’t stop until I could see the pilots looking.  Then I put my hands in a prayer posture, held up four fingers, waved some more, prayed some more, and held my arms out in supplication.  I kept doing this until I saw the runway door moving back toward the airplane.  Then I jumped up and down, clapped, and bowed to them.  The ticket agent hung up the phone, opened the door, asked for our tickets and we ran onto the runway.  Another attendant tagged our bags and told us to find any available seat in coach.

I walked onto that plane elated, beaming, and grateful. And out of breath.  We found middle seats. Our plane left on time. when we deplaned I was able to thank the pilot for letting us on.  “No problem” he replied. 

If I had stood in the window and given those pilots the finger or shaken a fist, the results might have been different.  I believe that appealing to the pilot’s good will and common sense helped me get what I wanted, and that life is more efficient and magical when we invite forth the best in others and ourselves.

Collecting Thoughts

In looking at my Christmas decorations, I’m struck by this whole idea of collecting.  I have angels, snowmen, trees, crèches, and joy in various forms.  There’s always a story to a collection, and that’s part of the delight in sharing them. My aunt and uncle gave my sister and me angel ornaments when we were kids, and we’ve continued the tradition ever since, following a “one for you, one for me” practice of giving.  The first crèche I bought was in Israel when I traveled there in eighth grade. I gave it to my parents and now it’s mine, along with several others from around the world.  About the only thing I don’t collect are Santas, though my shelf of Tomtens, a Scandinavian precursor to St. Nick, is full.

Perhaps it’s an ancient gathering gene that makes us collect.  Shopping (hunting) is more interesting when there’s something specific to seek.  Maybe not all families collect, but mine did. My mother had two racks for souvenir spoons on display and when she died, I kept a couple of them. They are too tiny to be useful. My grandmother collected tea cups, which I get out each year for a party, wash, and put away.  Once, at a garage sale the woman told me she was moving and had three sets of Christmas china. I took one off her hands. 

What harm, if any, comes from collecting? I have friends who take great joy in sharing their collections; it’s part of their personality, identity, and social group.  Someone who collects is easy to buy a present for.  Collecting contributes to the economy. Serious collectors need proper equipment, and there are stores devoted to containers for our stuff.  How many storage units around this country hold boxes of collection?  But I’ve traveled and seen enough poverty to realize the imbalance in our excess.

Can consumables be collectables? I have a shelf of blank books I’ve been given, and when they’re filled they go on a different shelf.  I have lots of tea, which I drink daily. I just bought a new tray to organize my jewelry and new hangers for my scarves. How does so much well-organized and cared for stuff serve me? It must fill some emptiness or I’d be willing to let it go. Why else am I scouring stores with 50% off holiday items for more snowmen, angels, or joy.

 As I wrap up the holiday cups I wonder how much courage is required to live just with enough for this day. Looking out on a fresh new year, I want to be sure I’m using my energy for work that really brings me lasting happiness and might be helpful to someone.

This year, when the urge to visit one more consignment store hits me, I hope to pause and see if perhaps sitting still, thinking, reading, walking, or writing might not be exactly what I want instead.  I hope to collect contentment, connection, and other intangibles.