Sweet Muscles. That is what I called my sweet Ron. Ron was six foot- three and had incredible muscles. Many times when I would see him, I would smile and say “Hubba-Hubba”. It always embarrassed him. Once another Skytress looked at Ron when she was throwing her trash away. She told him he was a VERY handsome man. Ron immediately got embarrassed. He thought she was part of my crew and I had asked her to say this to him. When I told him I had never met her before he didn’t know what to say. I smiled at him and told him I wasn’t the only one who thinks he is Hubba-Hubba. In true Ron fashion he said, “You’re funny.”

I met Ron in 2012. Both of us could never remember when in 2012. But, we always remembered the day. I was jumpseating to Atlanta. Ron was working my flight. I’ve met a lot of people in my life. Never have I felt God tap me on my shoulder and tell me…”pay attention to this person.” But, I distinctly felt God do this. So I paid attention every day. It wasn’t hard. Ron was an amazing human being. I remember very clearly the first day we met Ron came to talk to me after the crew was done with their service. Smack-dab in the middle of our conversation Ron said I had the most beautiful smile. It caught me completely off guard. It actually made me smile more. This was the first of many times he would say this to me. It always made my heart flutter. For some reason he was enamored with my smile. One day I went into the bathroom and I noticed Ron started buying my tooth paste brand. He never said anything to me about it. So, I never said anything to him. But, I found it endearing.

I also found it endearing that Ron believed we had met at the beach when we were younger. Ron grew up in Florida. He loved surfing so he spent a lot of time at the beach. My family would spend the summers in Ponce Inlet. The first time Ron told me he thought we met when we were younger I laughed. I told him I would have remembered meeting a cute surfer. So he clarified that we hadn’t talked. Every once in awhile Ron would be sitting quietly. I could tell he was in deep contemplation. He would eventually turn to me and say he KNEW he had met me on the beach. After awhile I didn’t laugh. I could tell he was remembering something. I eventually would say to him each time he said this….”I believe your memory is better than mine.”

Ron was also a drummer. He played in numerous band throughout the years. His favorite time to play the drums was in the morning. He would quip that unfortunately there wasn’t much need for a drummer in the morning. Their loss was my gain. He would play his drums all the time for me. I was mesmerized when he would play. Ron always encouraged me to play his drums. He had two drum sets. One day I asked him to teach me to play a rimshot. After he taught me he wanted to teach me more stuff. I told him I just wanted to learn the rimshot. He told me I was funny. Then he taught me more. He said I was a natural drummer. Unfortunately, I was a natural that had a bad memory. Each time I would sit down to play, I would ask him again to show me how to play the rimshot. Insert your own rimshot here! Ba-dom-tshhh.

Music filled Ron’s life. A good lyric wowed him every time. He also had a calculated system of listening to a song several times. Each time he would concentrate on a different instrument. He loved how the individual pieces eventually became one. Since Ron was a music aficionado, we always had music playing at the house. Many times Ron would play the Beatles channel on SiriusXM just to prove a point to me. I told him once I wasn’t a fan of the Beatles. Inconspicuously, he would put the station on and catch me singing the songs all the time. He would say to me….”You realize this is a Beatles song you are singing?” My response was always the same….”I like this one. It’s a good song.” He would smile and shake his head and tell me I was funny.

One song Ron wasn’t a fan of was MacArthu Park. It’s the song with the lyrics..”Someone left the cake out in the rain. I don’t think I can take it. Cause it took so long to bake it”. Apparently, this song was playing when Ron was at the hospital when he was younger. Ron loved to tell me he equated the song with his lifelong dislike of elevators. Ron avoided any elevator he could. He never took the crew lounge elevator. He always took the stairs with his luggage in tow. He would get rooms on a lower floor at hotels so he could take the stairs. One time we were in Columbia. We went up to the rooftop where they had a sitting area. It was beautiful. We decided to leave when storms and lightning started to move in closer. The elevator down was small and rickety. Ron was not a fan. He said it might be safer sitting with the storms and lightning than going down in the elevator. The trip down was quite memorable. Ron held his breath praying the elevator didn’t get stuck. I held my breath and prayed for Ron that the elevator didn’t get stuck.

Another trip we hoped would be memorable was a trip we were planning to Banff, Alberta, Canada. Banff was on my bucket list. When I told Ron about Banff and showed him pictures, he definitely wanted to go together. One day I told him about some fishing excursions outside of Banff. Ron loved to fish. I wanted him to be able to have a day where he could go fishing. Unselfishly, he said this was my dream trip. He reiterated he was coming along to be with me and enjoy our time together. He knew I was not a fisherman. Secretly, I still planned for him to go fishing. My plan was to watch him fish and enjoy. After all, it was my dream trip. We had our plans set to go one year. Then my Mom ended up having surgery. The next year we had planned to go and his Mom’s health declined. Sadly, we never had another opportunity to go to Banff.

Even though Ron loved the beach and water, he also loved the mountains. Both were things we had in common. I love the beach….and the mountains. I’m originally from Montana. Every once in a while I would look at property out West. Somewhere along the way Ron decided my plan of a home out West would become our plan. I remember one night we were talking about Montana. I told him I was going to start designing our home on a cocktail napkin. I reminded him many great ideas have come about in the world because someone wrote it….or designed it…on a cocktail napkin. I said if I started to design our place on a cocktail napkin it surely come to fruition. Ron said this made him laugh and a wee bit scared. He knew it would happen…and we would eventually have a home out West. One day Ron was curious why I was on-line looking at the hospitals in Montana. I jested since we were designing a place that we could live in until our old age, maybe it would be good if we were close to one of the better hospitals in Montana. Ron chimed in that he didn’t want to be too close to our neighbors, but, he wanted them in eyesight…..just in case we had to run for help. We both laughed when he said this. I stopped designing the house after Ron died. Months later I decided to finish the plans. One day I hope to build it.

Oh there are so many things I could write about Ron. I know I’ll weave stories into my blog in future posts. It would be hard not too. Time wove our lives together in many ways. I catch myself thinking daily about Ron. There were so many things that made him distinctly my Sweet Muscles. Whether it was how he would sweetly hug me so he could slide to the side closest to the road to “protect me”….because he was taught men are supposed to this when he was younger. Or how he loved to use the words “discombobulated” and “recombobulated”. And how if you said.”Well” very softly he would say…”That’s a deep subject.” I caught him one day saying this and he smiled. He had been saying it forever and was waiting for me to catch on. He told me there was another word I would say and he would say something quietly. He was waiting for me to figure it out. I pleaded for him to tell me. He said I was a smart girl and I would eventually catch it. I told him if he loved me he would tell me. He told me because he loved me he wouldn’t. He wanted me to have the satisfaction of figuring it out. I never did. Hopefully when I see him in Heaven he will tell me. However, I’m sure he won’t. He’ll say, “You’re funny”. Then he will probably say something to the effect that I now have eternity to figure it out. Yes, that is exactly what my Sweet Muscles will do. Of course, I’ll smile. And once again he will tell me I have a beautiful smile…. and my Heavenly heart will flutter.

I was texting with my friend the other day about what we were watching on tv. She and her husband were watching reruns of “Gomer Pyle”. I was watching “Father Brown” on PBS. She texted I should watch “After Life” with Ricky Gervais on Netflix. She said it was funny. I watched it. I sobbed for 2 days. In “After Life”, Ricky Gervais’ character morns for his wife who has died. Although his character’s language can be extremely crass at times, his feelings and thoughts are on point when it comes to losing one’s beloved. His character says what I have thought and felt many times since my beloved Ron passed away. Unlike Gervais’ character, I keep these thoughts and feelings inside. Fortunately, most of my friends have never lost their partner to death. Thus, I believe, they can’t truly understand the many nuances of this type of grief. In the show, Gervais’ dog Brandy continually gives him a reason to just get out of bed. Funny how the show got this part of my grief right, too. My dog Finley was my reason I got out of bed. Every day she pulled me out of the unyielding quicksand of my grief.

I don’t like to talk about my grief. I keep my grief behind my smile. But, I knew when I started this blog I would write about my grief. Tomorrow will be the anniversary of Ron’s passing. Friday will be Ron’s birthday. Today’s post will be about Ron’s passing and the days that have followed since for me. Next week I will share some beautiful stories of Ron. Just some. Just as I keep the grief behind my smile….I keep the most precious moments we spent together behind my smile, too.

I got the call at 2:30am that Ron had died. I was in Greensboro at the airport hotel. I know I went into shock as soon as I got the call. I didn’t know what to do. Who should I call? I didn’t call anyone. Instead I shook and I cried. And an hour later I got ready for work. Ron worked a 3-day trip the day after his Mom died. I didn’t know how he did it. I told myself that morning, unlike Ron, I only had to get through a few flights and I could go home. Through my tears and heartache I prayed to Ron to help me.

I didn’t tell my crew Ron had died. My crew members were very nice. But, we didn’t come together as one crew. It was unlike anything I had experienced in months. From the moment we briefed I was counting the minutes until our trip was over. I feared if I told my crew Ron had died, they would just say sorry and turn and go about their day. I feared they wouldn’t care about my broken heart. Ron meant too much to me for this to happen. So, I haphazardly packed my anguish like I packed my bags that morning and I headed off to fly.

I flew three flights that morning. I was surrounded by hundreds of people. But, I never felt more alone. As passengers boarded the plane, some asked me how I was doing. I wanted to scream…”my beloved Ron has just died!” Instead, I smiled with my racing heart and said, “Good morning. Welcome aboard.” As each person boarded our plane, I wondered to myself if any of our passenger’s hearts were breaking behind their smiles, too.

It felt like I held my breath for the rest of the day. Yet, I know I told myself a hundred times to breathe. I spent hours keeping the pain of losing Ron to myself. When I finally got to my gate to go home I didn’t have anymore strength in me to remain silent. I texted my friends and told them Ron had died. I turned off my phone. I knew if I got a text or a call before I got on the plane my grief would start pouring out for everyone to see. I don’t mind if the world sees my smile. But all my life, I’ve fiercely kept the world from seeing any grief behind it. I prayed to Ron to help me. And he did. As I sat in the gatehouse, one of our gate agents that had worked our flights earlier in our trip came over and sat down next to me. He was waiting for his plane to come in. He didn’t have any passengers to help. We talked. What we talked about I cannot remember. I was so grateful he was there though. In my head I kept thanking Ron. I’ve worked with this agent many times. I would always see him in the gatehouse working his flights. I have wanted to thank him since that day for helping me through those dark moments. Incredibly, I haven’t seen him since that awful day. I believe now, he was an angel Heavenly sent.

I sat across from the Skytress working my flight home. One of my fellow commuting pilots sat behind me. As much as I felt alone with my crew earlier in the day, I felt comfort knowing these two were close by. I knew if I started to cry they would comfort me. I prayed to Ron to get me to my car before I did start to cry. He did. I cried all the way home. Grief consumed my smile

Ron and I tried to keep our relationship quiet from our family and most of our friends. It was a conscious decision on our part. For my part, I didn’t want to jinx things. It always seemed when I got too happy about something, God would set me straight. Ron meant too much to me. I didn’t want God to know happy I was. But, God knew.

I am so blessed Ron’s family has welcomed me into their lives. Their love and friendship has meant more to me than they will ever know. However, because Ron and I chose to keep our relationship quiet, they will never know the love and bond we shared together. Now I wish more people would have known the depth of our relationship. Maybe it would make the grieving easier. Maybe not. Maybe they would understand why my grief follows me like an unforgiving shadow. Fortunately, some people understand my grief all too well. Especially the grief of being just the girlfriend. I flew with another Skytress weeks after Ron died. A few weeks prior, her boyfriend had passed away unexpectedly, too. I told her about my first night at home without Ron. I couldn’t sleep most of the night. I know I was exhausted. However, I know I experienced Ron in the room with me. He was holding me. I felt his love. The rest of our time that night I will forever keep locked in my heart. I will never speak of it. It was our special moment. I will cherish it forever. My fellow Skytress understood. She had her experience, too. I told her about my drive to work that morning. I was on the highway and for a brief moment I thought maybe this had all been a bad joke and that Ron was still alive. My heart filled with hope. Then as quickly as I had this thought, I knew it could never be. Ron was gone. My fellow Skytress shook her head. She knew exactly what I had experienced. She had experienced it, too.

I only have Ron’s texts and voicemails now. I’ve read them and listened to them so many times I can tell you from heart what they say. I’ve filled several journals of letters I’ve written to Ron to try to make some sense of my world now. I mostly write in them on my layovers when the loneliness of life and flying gets to be too much for me. I write about my love for him. I write about how happy he made my world. I thank him for loving me. I thank him for watching over me on Earth and in Heaven. I write about my hurt. I write about my anger. I write about my guilt. I write about my disappointment. I write about my sadness and my tired soul and my shattered heart. I question the fairness of life. I question God. I question God,…a lot.

To understand the grief behind my smile I will share with you some thoughts that bump around my head and the feelings I feel in my heart. If you haven’t lost your soulmate to death, you may not understand these thoughts and feelings now. You won’t understand how it is to be the only one in a group of couples. I am happy for them, but, there is a constant pain that lingers in my heart because it is just me now. When you are no longer a couple, you see couples everywhere. On the plane I see couples traveling all the time. I think “Why God couldn’t that have been Ron and me? We had our places we planned to travel together to as a couple.” I see people hugging their loved one and I feel the desperation of not being able to hold Ron. It’s an indescribable pain and longing. In the evening and in the morning when my crew is talking to their partners…. my phone is turned off. I know there is no longer a call for me to receive. Instead I pray to Ron. I’m angry I have to pray and they get to actually talk to their beloved. There is guilt in my heart when I see someone on the news who has lost their loved one. I know what they are feeling. But, I also catch myself thinking….”at least you got to marry the one your heart spoke to”. I want people to understand my hurt when they tell me God had another plan. Why was my plan not good enough for God? I think I had a beautiful plan. To grow old with the one I loved. Why do others get to keep making memories with their love and I only get to replay memories in my mind? I get angry when people say “be glad you are not married”. This is all I wanted. Why did God let them have their dream and happy ending and not me? Why does God say yes to them and no to me? God, what is wrong with me?

People say time heals all wounds. I disagree. Time turns grief into numbness. At least it has for me. I still laugh. I still smile. Especially at the most difficult times. I don’t want others to feel uncomfortable around me. Ron loved my smile. He gave me so much to smile about. I will tell you those stories next week. But, when Ron died part of my smile went with him. To the naked eye my smile looks the same as when he was alive. I pride myself on this fact. Once grief completely obliterated it. However, for those who choose to look closely enough, you will always see the veil of grief behind my smile.

One day, when I was a small girl, my Dad came into the kitchen before he headed off to work. I was eating my breakfast. My Dad came in to give me a kiss goodbye. I shrieked at him. “Dad! You can’t go to work! You forgot to shave the other side of your mustache off!” My Dad pretended he completely forgot to shave the other side of his mustache off and headed back upstairs to shave. Another day my Dad came into the kitchen when I was eating breakfast to give me a kiss goodbye. He was dressed in his suit and tie. His shoes were nicely polished. Again I shrieked. “Dad! You can’t go to work! You forgot to put your pants on!” Once again, my Dad pretended he completely forgot to put his pants on. Again he went back upstairs. My Dad always did silly things to make me laugh. Another time when I was younger I was sitting on the stairs. I have no idea now why I was sitting there. But, my Dad came over and told me to hop on….he was going to give me a piggy back ride. I was scared. Not scared of falling off. I was scared I was going to hurt my Dad. When I was younger I was much taller than kids my age. I was also a chubby girl. Kids at school made fun of me a lot. They would tell the other kids not to get too close to me. They said I would hurt them because I was so big. These were the thoughts going through my head when my Dad told me to hop on his back. Reluctantly I hopped on. My Dad carried me all around the house. I felt like a normal kid. This simple fatherly act has stayed with me all these years. These are some of the things I think about on Father’s Day now. Unfortunately, I don’t have my Dad here to celebrate with him in person.

My Dad loved baseball. It was an integral part of our lives growing up. When we were kids my parents took each of us to a nice restaurant by ourselves so we could have a special night with our parents. My Dad “suggested” we go to Johnny Bench’s restaurant. It had memorabilia from Johnny Bench’s baseball career. It also had a huge catcher’s mitt for a chair by the bar. To this day, I covet that chair. Because of this dinner, baseball catchers became my favorite players. I guess it is only appropriate when years later when we moved to St. Louis, we had season tickets 5 rows behind home plate. We had a great view of the catchers for years. My Dad would take us to most of the home games. On Sunday day games we would watch the game from the Stadium Club. My dad said it was great to get another perspective of the field. I know now, it was to get out of the heat. And when the Cardinals made it to the playoffs and World Series, he always took us so we could experience the thrill of post season baseball. My Dad also had Hall of Fame announcer Jack Buck make a special announcement my last night working for the Cardinals before I headed off to become a Skytress. I didn’t hear it, but, my friends on break heard it. My Dad truly wove baseball into every aspect of our lives.

My Dad also coached sports teams. He coached my brother Sean’s basketball team. At the end of the season my Dad gave out awards to the players. My brother got “the most confused player” award. My Dad said my brother didn’t know whether to listen to his coach or his Dad. My brother’ soccer team also won the Championship with my Dad as his head coach. Surprisingly, my Dad didn’t know anything about soccer. One of our neighbors played professional soccer. He asked my Dad if he would help coach the team. My Dad told him he didn’t know anything about soccer. Our neighbor told him he really just needed someone to help with the drills. My Dad agreed to help him. Then our neighbor got transferred. My Dad became the head coach. My Dad went to the library to get books on soccer. He read up on the game……but, mostly he told the boys to just play and have fun. They did and they won the Championship.

My Dad was also the Governor of Missouri…..for one day. My younger brother Brian was having an issue with his special school bus picking him up at our house. The Governor of Missouri had been in St. Louis one day visiting schools in the area. My Dad called up my brother’s school to talk to the woman in charge. She wasn’t there. So my Dad left a message for the woman asking her to call the Governor back. Of course, she called the Governor back immediately. My Dad anticipating the call answered the phone, “Governor Gaffney”. She laughed. She knew my Dad well. She also rectified the situation immediately. Years later, my Dad retired from the business world when he got cancer. Eventually, he got bored and went to work for the Special School District. My Dad always wanted to be a teacher. However, he didn’t think he could raise a family being a teacher. So he went into the business world. My Dad loved being a teacher’s aide for the autistic students. He never really told stories about his business ventures. But, every night he would come home with stories about his students. The students loved my Dad. When my Dad died the students planted a tree and created an outdoor sitting area in his honor.

I sold my house in Cincinnati when my Dad’s cancer came back for the last time. I was going to go back commuting and help my Mom take care of my Dad. However, the day I closed on my house, I went to our crew lounge. At the time our company was going through bankruptcy. They had offered voluntary furloughs to help save jobs. My friend was working at the duty desk that day. He told me the voluntary furlough window had been extended. It had closed prior to finding out my Dad’s cancer had come back. I told Billy I was going to the computer and put in for the furlough. He told me he had put in for his furlough earlier that morning, too. I know now going into the lounge that day was Devine intervention. On furlough I was able to take care of my Dad and let my Mom go to work. Interestingly enough, unlike my Mom, my Dad loved to cook. We would watch Paula Deen on the Food Network every afternoon in the family room. Sadly, with the cancer spreading, my Dad would eventually spend more time in his bedroom. All throughout the day I would check on him. I still remember how scared I was every time I would go in the room and he wasn’t awake. When I could see he was just sleeping….my heart would beat again. I didn’t sleep at night. I was always listening to hear if he was up. And I’d he was, I would breathlessly wait until he got safely back in bed. I was constantly worried his oxygen concentrator machine would stop working…..especially if there was bad weather. My Dad faithfully took care of us. I was going to do the same for him.

The day came when my Dad’s breathing got worse. His oxygen machine was not helping him. He thought it would be best if he went to the hospital. The next day my Dad’s doctor called to say we should contact hospice care. The whole family went to the hospital to be with my Dad. Late that night my brothers and I went home. My Mom and sister stayed at the hospital. I was emotionally exhausted when I got home. I put my head on my pillow and started to dose off to sleep. I had a clear image of my Dad standing before me. He was with my two best friend’s Dad. Bobby had passed away several years earlier. Bobby also worked for several Major League Baseball teams. My Dad wanted to go to a baseball game with Bobby. I told him it would be okay for him to go. Moments later the phone rang. It was my Mom calling to tell us my Dad had died.

We had a celebration of life Mass for my Dad several weeks after he died. We did not have a regular funeral. My Dad gifted his body to the St. Louis University Medical School. My Dad was all about education. My sister studied on bodies that had been gifted to the school. My Dad felt he needed to give back to the University. It was also important to him that the Medical students conducted a religious ceremony for the families each year. The medical students were taught to honor the gift of body donations. The ceremony was to honor the families and the gift donor. This ceremony was beautiful and extremely moving for our family. My Dad faithfully took care of us, even after his life on Earth was finished.

My Dad was a very proud Catholic. When Pope John Paul II came to St. Louis, he and my sister went to see him. I couldn’t have been more happy for my Dad to see the Pope in his hometown. It makes me smile now knowing my Dad not only got to see the Pope…but, he also got to see a future Saint. I like to think they have met in Heaven. I’m sure Pope John Paul came up to my Dad and asked…”Aren’t you Governor George Gaffney?”

As I told you in one my previous posts, my first layover was Portland, Oregon. When I started flying we had suitcases that we pulled. Not rollaboard suitcases like we use today. No, these were blue suitcases that were shaped like old traditional,….rectangular suitcases. They had 4 wheels. They also had “dog leashes” that we pulled. Hit a bump and the suitcase fell over. My 1st layover that suitcase fell over many times…..all the way to my hotel room. It was quite embarrassing for me. I walked behind the rest of my crew picking it up every few feet. The pilots, on the other hand, carried their black hard case suitcases everywhere. Believe it or not, when I started flying the pilots used to walk all the Skytresses to their rooms. They would wait to make sure our rooms were safe before they would go to their rooms, even if their rooms were on another floor. This particular night I was standing at my hotel room and my key wouldn’t work. I tried multiple times sliding it into the key slot. The first officer was waiting. I was getting nervous. I hated that I was delaying him from getting into his room. He tried to make a joke about me not being able to get my key to work. He chuckled and asked, “Is this your 1st layover?” I know he wasn’t expecting me to say “yes” when I answered him. I smiled and I told him it was my 1st layover, but, it wasn’t my first time using a hotel key. He then tried the key. When it didn’t work he told me he would run to the lobby to get it re-keyed. After he came back with the new key, he waited for me to check my room. I thought it was kindhearted that he did this for me. I soon discovered this was common place at our airline. Now 30 years later when I am flying and my key won’t work, I’ll turn to my waiting crew and smile a big smile. I’ll tell them to bear with me…I’ll laugh and say, “Sorry. It’s my 1st layover.”

Years ago our pilots used to bring their flight kits down to the local operations office on each layover. By doing this, they didn’t have to drag their heavy bags to the hotel. The local operations offices at most airports are below the gate areas. Each night the rest of the crew would wait upstairs for the pilots to return from the operations office. Many times one pilot would take all the flight kits down. Also, at the end of each day, the Skytress or Skyter- in charge would have to deposit the in-flight sales money in the operations safe. Usually a pilot would offer to deposit the money, too. We loved when they would do this for us. Sometimes it was a very long walk to the safe. One night our pilot joked and said he was waiting for the day when a Skytress would offer to take the flight kits down when they went to deposit the money. It was funny, but, it was also a valid point. I never witnessed a Skytress or Skyter ever offfer to take the pilot’s flight kit down. So, of course, my next trip when I was flying in-charge, I asked our pilots if they would like me to take their flight kits down when I went to deposit the money. They were shocked. They looked at each other and didn’t know what to say. They broke out in a hearty laughter. The first officer said he really appreciated the offer. He laughed and said would take the money to deposit it for me. Even though I was still laughing, I told him my offer was sincere. Just to prove it, I said I would go with him. While we walked to the operations office we laughed about me bringing the flight kits down. He said he and the Captain would never live it down with other pilots if they let a Skytress bring their flight kits down to the operations by herself. But, he said, he was going to tell everyone about the night a Skytress did offer to do just that.

One New Years Eve I had a short layover at the Montreal airport. The hotel had a circular tower that they put airline crews in. Our hotel rooms were always at the furthest part of the circle. We appreciated the hotel not wanting to put us near the elevator. But, we hated the long walk on a short layover. This particular evening the hotel gave us all a small plate of goodies to ring in the New Year. The plate was the size of a tea saucer. There was a shortbread cookie, a piece of chocolate and a tangerine on each plate. We were touched by the gesture and looked forward to eating our treats. We happily got into the elevators holding on to our plates. Our demeanor started to change as we began the long walk to our rooms. We were all wearing our heavy winter coats. We were also pulling all our bags behind us on a unforgiving carpet. Every once in awhile someone would sigh as we realized how many more rooms we still had to pass too get to ours. No one was talking. The extra plate was now becoming cumbersome for all of us. Suddenly the Captain stopped. He turned and looked at all of us. He said he knew the real reason we were given the plate of snacks. He said obviously the hotel people wanted us to stop half way to our rooms and have a crew picnic. He asked if we would all like to sit down right there and eat our snacks to have nourishment to go the rest of the way to our rooms. We all cracked up. His humor lightened our load. My coat didn’t feel as hot and my bags didn’t feel as heavy. When we got to our rooms we wished each other a Happy New Year. I was grateful I was flying with a wonderful crew. I went into my room and I took off my coat. I immediately sat down on my bed and had myself a picnic. It was delicious.

Another night we were on our way to the layover hotel. We had an early pick up the next morning. The conversation turned to how many alarms we all set on short layovers. The Captain said he would set 3 alarms,….just to make sure he didn’t oversleep. When we got to our rooms, the Captain’s room was next to mine. Early the next morning I heard the Captain’s alarm going off. I thought to myself, “How could he ever sleep through that alarm, if I can hear it?” The alarm would stop and then go back on. I didn’t have to get up for 20 minutes. How I wished the Captain would stop hitting his snooze button. Exasperated, I finally got up to take a shower. Ugh!! There was no hot water. Now, some people can get away without taking a shower before they fly. Not me. The leprechauns play with my hair too much during the night. I stood at the back of the shower putting one body part at a time under the cold water. I tried to tell myself people in some countries would be happy to have running water to take a shower in,….even if it was ice cold. Between the Captain’s alarm, and the cold shower, my morning was not going well. When we all met in the lobby to head back to the airport we talked about our cold showers. The Captain said he was not happy he had to take a cold shower. He said, however, what really made him mad …..was the smoke alarm kept going off in his room. He had to keep getting out of bed to try to fiddle with the cover to make it stop buzzing. As soon as he would get back in bed, it would go off again. I chuckled when he said this. I told him I was so happy his smoke alarm had gone off. He was confused when I said this. He looked at me very strange. I told him I was worried I actually hearing his regular alarm clock going off. I said if his regular alarm was that loud…..and he worried he would sleep through that, ….then maybe he shouldn’t be flying until he had a good hearing test.

One of the most important days of the month for Skytresses and Skyters is the day schedules come out for the next month. Everyone prays that the scheduling gods are smiling down upon them. Sometimes, the scheduling gods give us a trip we never asked for, but in the end, is a gift beyond anything we dreamed to fly. This happened to me when the scheduling gods gave me a trip that flew to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

The day I got my November schedule I was shocked to see I had a 2-day trip thrown on my schedule. I had vacation that month and I figured I’d get a couple 3-day trips. My trip rotations have always been numbers. This 2-day trip rotation had letters attached to it. Back then we had paper bid packages. So I flipped through the pages and discovered I had a military charter on my schedule. I looked at the airport codes. NIP, NBW and NGU. I had no idea where I was going. I went on the computer and looked up the city codes. NIP…Jacksonville Naval Air Station. NBW…Guantanamo Bay Naval Station. NGU..Norfolk Naval Air Station. NBW….Guantanamo Bay? I was going to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Cuba was always on my bucket list. However, at that time, no American commercial airlines were flying into Cuba. Guantanamo Bay sounded extremely interesting. I was very excited to fly my trip.

I left St. Louis the morning of my military charter. I ran into one of my senior commuting Skytresses. She asked me where I was flying to. I told her about my trip. She didn’t know we had military charters flying to Cuba. I knew as soon as I spoke, I shouldn’t have. She was a huge fan of military flying. I knew she would definitely tell her senior friends about the military charter. My gut told me this would be the last time I held this trip. And I was right!

I flew to Jacksonville with one of the Skytresses on my crew. We knew our Skytress-in charge lived in Jacksonville. Our other crew member took an earlier flight out of Atlanta. When we got to our hotel in Jacksonville we asked about our transportation to the Naval Base. We weren’t staying at our normal layover hotel. This was all new to us. The young woman at the front desk wasn’t sure who was going to take us in the morning. My fellow Skytress and I looked at each. We shrugged our shoulders and laughed. We decided we wouldn’t worry about that detail until the morning. We had no idea what to expect doing this trip. We figured someone else on the crew would know the ins -and -outs of flying a military charter.

We met up with the rest of our crew the next morning in the lobby. Yes, there was a van to take us over to the base. The four of us talked on the way. Surprisingly, none of us had worked a military charter before. Our Skytress-in charge did fly sports charters. That was more than the rest of us. We figured it was a great call that she was the Skytress-in charge. The three of us decided, “some kind of charter flying” definitely trumped, “no charter flying”.

It was a short drive from the hotel to the Naval Base. As we pulled up, we saw there were two car lines to enter the base. A short line and a long line. As any good crew would do, we chose the short line. When we got to the guard booth, the guard asked if we had a military ID. Otherwise, we would have to go to the long line. Our Skytress-in charge said her husband was in the Navy. She had a military ID to get on base to go shopping. She asked if this ID would work. It did. This was another example of a Skytress having something you need in their flight bag to get you through an unusual situation.

Our pilots arrived at the terminal right before us. We all walked into the airport building together. It felt like all eyes were upon us. We were in uniforms. However, weren’t in military uniforms. We were the outsiders coming into their airport. It felt odd. Usually the passengers come into our airport. As we entered the building, I had so many thoughts rolling through my head. I was amazed. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. It was a miniature airport! To the right of the door, into the building, was the ticket counter and a sitting area. Right in front of us was the X-ray machine and the metal detector. Immediately past security, was the gate area. Immediately to the left, was the agents’ desk. Not surprisingly, we got through security in a matter of moments. As I pulled my luggage off the security belt, the Captain was standing in front of the agent inquiring about our plane. A soldier assigned to take us to the plane asked us which plane we were taking. We laughed. There were two of our airline planes parked outside. I thought having one of our planes at a military base was unusual. Having two of our planes there was mind boggling for me.

Once on board the plane, myself and one of my other Skytresses went to the back galley. Our regular catering truck had just pulled up to the galley door. I could tell the young man was trying to figure out how he was going to cater the flight. He didn’t have our regular catering carts. Plus, he had the food for coming back from Guantanamo. He said he was told he could put the return meals in the belly of the plane. We could tell he wasn’t sure how he was going to do that. Catering never puts food in the belly of the plane. The other Skytress and I decided we could get everything in the back galley. After a few, “Let’s try this”. “How about that”? “What if we did this”? , we got everything stowed for both flights.

On our flight we had military personnel, military families, defense contractors and even a rock band. They were the nicest passengers. Once airborne, went through with our meal and beverage service. Afterwards, one of our Skytresses loaded a meal cart with cakes, brownies, cookies and other sweets she had brought from home. She had patriotic plates and napkins, too. She thought it would be something special for the passengers. We asked if we could help her. She kindly declined. We watched her happily go down the aisle. She would ask each individual if they would like something from the cart. They all politely decline. She would smile at them and tell them they were being too nice. Then she would fill a plate with treats and hand it to them. We laughed as they all smiled and thanked her. We could tell they truly appreciated the sweets.

When we got to Guantanamo Bay the passengers were deplaned by rank. It was so orderly. I was completely tickled. After everyone deplaned, the pilots asked if we would like to get off the plane. They told us there was a gift shop on the base. Of course, when we heard that, we grabbed our wallets and followed the pilots. The charter coordinator and mechanic that would be with us the whole trip, stayed behind. The Captain told us for security purposes we could not take any pictures as we walked on the tarmac. He said if we did, we would have our phones confiscated. We giggled. But, we complied.

The gift shop was small. It was the size of a large walk-in closet. But, there where t-shirts, hats, bumper stickers, post cards… you name it… and a few military items. We were in the shop for only a few minutes when the first officer came by to tell us he was going to take us on a tour of the base. So we did some Skytress power shopping. I collect Christmas ornaments from cities I’ve traveled to. I was quickly looking for one. Sadly, I couldn’t find any. I came to the conclusion they didn’t have any in this small shop. As I was heading out the door for our tour, I asked one of the Navy servicemen what was in the box he was holding. He told me it was a Christmas ornament. Why I didn’t ask him to get me one and I would pay for both of them, still haunts me. I knew he would be on our flight back to Jacksonville. But, I was so astonished that the first officer had van keys dangling in his hands for our tour, I was completely caught off guard. To this day when I decorate my Christmas tree, I think about that ornament….the ornament I don’t have.

The first officer had once been stationed in Guantanamo Bay. That’s how he was able to procure the key and the van. Once in the van, we peppered him with questions. We wanted to know if we would go by the prison where the prisoners from the Middle East were being held. He told us it was on another part of the base. He explained you had to take a ferry over to it. Then we drove by empty barracks. We asked him where the personnel were housed. Come to find out, ……just about everything, ….was a ferry ride to the other side of the base. We learned only the airport was on this side of the base. Then the first officer took us over to the beach. We got out and walked down some rickety steps to the completely empty beach. The water was crystal clear. It was beautiful. There was coral everywhere on the sand. We all picked some up to take home with us. The first officer then drove us to the Guantanamo Bay sign so we could get our pictures taken. Before we knew it, we had to head back to the plane. I felt guilty when we got back and told the charter coordinator and mechanic we had taken a tour. But, they had been busy the whole time we were gone. Before we knew it, we were boarding the plane by rank. Minutes later, we were heading back to Jacksonville. The passengers were just as wonderful. Then we had a quick turn before we headed up to the Norfolk Naval Base. By the time we arrived there, it was dark. After we parked the plane and the passengers got off, I walked up to first class. I was shocked when I looked out the airplane door. I was expecting to see air stairs like there were in Jacksonville and Guantanamo Bay. Instead, there was a beautiful new jetway hooked up to the plane. Who knew a military base had jetways. Not me!

Before our trip, scheduling had called each of us. They asked us if we would like to forgo our layover in Norfolk and ferry the plane back to Atlanta that night. We all agreed. As we waited for our pilot’s paperwork, I was finally able to sit down and talk to our mechanic. I asked him if he got assigned to come with us. He told me that all the mechanics put in to work the military charters. They have a lottery system because it is so popular. He explained to me, a mechanic always goes on a military charter…just in case, they are needed. It was a fascinating conversation. Once the paperwork arrived, we all took a row in first class. We turned out all the lights and kept the cockpit door open on our way back to Atlanta. I tried to sleep. My mind was racing from all the wonderful experiences of the day. When we landed in Atlanta the taxiways were quiet. All the planes had been put to bed. The inside of the airport was quiet, too. I was tired, but, I was happy. I love walking through a quiet airport at night. I was going to stay with my friends in Atlanta for a few days, so I headed to the car rental building. When I got there, the gentleman at the desk asked me where I had flown that day. When I told him, he said airline people are so lucky. He said we get to go to the coolest places people can only dream of. I couldn’t agree with him more.

Yesterday I celebrated 30 years of being a Skytress. Amazingly, not once, has anyone shot me. Years ago when I first started flying, I told my friends if I was still flying at 20 years, they should shoot me. I had no intention of flying THAT long. When I was younger I dreamed about owning the Toronto Blue Jays. Or being a Supreme Court Justice. I even dreamed about being the US Ambassador to Ireland. Never did I think I’d be a Skytress. However, after I graduated from college the economy had a hiccup and no one was hiring in my field. I decided to fast-track my plan and head to law school to become a sports attorney. Then our dear family friend, Mary, suggested I apply to be a Skytress…..well, actually, she said Flight Attendant. I thought being a Skytress for a year would be fun. After all, Mary had worked for the airline for years. I always loved hearing her stories. I thought flying for free also sounded ideal….well, at least for a year.

There was a height- weight requirement when I applied to be a Skytress. Based on my height, I needed to be 122 lbs. I was FAR from that weight! So, I worked out 4 hours a day to get my weight down. I had to be careful not to gain muscle. Muscle weighs more than fat. I would eat a bagel for breakfast. I had a bagel for lunch. Then I would eat a regular dinner. It wasn’t the healthiest plan. But, months later, I was in Atlanta at the training center to become a Skytress.

There are a few things that stand out in my mind about training. First, my roommate was a know-it-all. She knew how to run the airline better than the executives. Shockingly, she got fired after flying less than a year. Well, I’m sure it was shocking to her. Not to us. Second, was the fear of the brown letter. If you got the brown letter, you were removed from training. The brown letter came if you didn’t pass a test, or if you did something unbecoming of a Skytress or Skyter. The brown letter usually showed up when we were on a break from class. During this quick break, the class would run to the restroom or run to get a quick drink of caffeine. We needed to be back in class before the break time was over. Some days class would start up and we would all look around. Something wasn’t right. Someone would be missing. The trainers would never mention it. They would just start class. The next break we would all talk about the missing person. No one ever saw the person leave. I believe our trainers were trained by CIA agents. Now I graduated Magna Cum Laude from college. College was easy. I know I had more stress and studied more to pass the litany of tests to become a Skytress, than I ever had in college. Believe me, I did everything I could to avoid getting the dreaded brown letter.

If I could do one thing again in training, I’d go down the emergency slide again. That day I remember being nervous walking to the back galley in the airplane mock-up. For days, I had stared at the emergency slide as I passed it on my way to other airplane mock-ups. The slide always looked ominous. It was a steep incline from the emergency exit to the floor. For weeks we spent hours learning our commands. We trained to get passengers out the exit as quickly and safely as possible. But, when you are the passenger heading back to the exit….with commands being shouted at you…., it’s a whole different feeling. For weeks I had wondered if I could actually jump out the exit and go down the slide. But, when I got to the exit, I did just that. It happened so fast I felt cheated. How I wish someone had video taped it. I would rerun the tape a hundred times in slow motion and try to remember what I was feeling and what I was thinking. To this day, I have no recollection. It all happened… TOO DARN FAST!

In contrast, I completely remember what I was feeling and thinking when it came to the ditching module in the pool. I remember pulling the tabs of the life vest before we jumped into the pool. The vest was cool to the touch from the compressed air that inflated the vest. I could definitely smell the fabric of the vest. It was snug against my neck. I felt a wee bit claustrophobic. Our plan was to swim over to the raft and help everyone in. Now up to that day, I had felt like a fish out of water the whole time I was in training. My fellow classmates were the ideal images of Skytresses and Skyters. They were beautiful and handsome beyond anything I could ever imagine to be. However, even though the raft looked 6 feet out of the water, and the idea of getting in the raft with a life vest on was daunting, I knew I had to do it. I was going to show everyone, mostly myself, that I belonged there. I said a quick prayer and when the instructor said to go, I swam with determination. I got to the raft and bobbed up a wee bit. I grabbed the side of the raft and lifted myself into it. I can still hear the sound my vest made rubbing against the raft, as I slid into the raft. I remember thinking “holy crap! I did it”. I was the first one in the raft! It was a momentary victory. I had to help my classmates safely into the raft, too. It would be a victory for all of us.

I remember that same rush of excitement when I did my long training flight. I had to do the safety demonstration in first class. Unlike thousands of safety demonstrations I’ve done since then, that day,….all eyes were on me. I felt very self-conscious. In my head, I felt everyone was thinking I didn’t look anything like a Skytress. I knew they were waiting for me to mess up to confirm their suspicions. Fortunately, I did everything right. When I finished, Jimmy Dean, the actor and creator of Jimmy Dean Sausage, applauded and smiled at me. The old adage, you never know how you will impact someone’s life, was true in this moment for me. Mr. Dean made me feel like a Skytress for the first time. Not a fraud Skytress. But, a real honest- to -goodness Skytress. He made my Skytress spirit soar. I’ve never forgotten Mr. Dean’s kindness and encouragement. You can also bet, I buy Jimmy Dean Sausage to this day.

A few days later, I was in my official Skytress uniform graduating with 268 fellow classmates. As with all of my airline’s celebrations, the red carpet was rolled out in all it’s glory. My parents came to my graduation. My Dad pinned my wings on me. I suspect he was as nervous as I was. It’s a moment I will cherish forever. We all sat at a table with a fellow Skytress and her parents. I did not know her. Her name was Scarlett. She had a beautiful soft southern accent. Some people think of Scarlett O’Hara from “Gone With the Wind” when they hear the name Scarlett. I will forever think of my fellow Skytress Scarlett. Several months after training we were both based in Cincinnati. I flew with Scarlett many times. She was keeping a book of funny things passengers would say on the plane. In her sweet southern accent, she would repeat what the passenger said, as she wrote it in her book. Several years later my heart broke for Scarlett and her family. Scarlett committed suicide. Thirty years later, I still think of sweet Scarlett when someone says something funny on the plane.

The day after I graduated I went to a day of International training. It was also the day my best friend got married. Never growing up did I ever think I’d miss her wedding. Welcome to the world of aviation. The next day I flew my first trip. These days our new Skytresses and Skyters go through base orientation for a few days before they fly their first trip. I remember I was a load factor on my trip. I was the extra Skytress on the crew. I changed planes multiple times by myself. I can’t even remember where I went. I do remember I was beyond scared. My first real trip, where I was with the same crew for 3 days, was to Portland, Oregon. That trip the pilots invited me into the cockpit during the flight. They wanted me to see the multiple firework displays on the ground for the 4th of July. It was amazing. My entire crew definitely made me feel like part of the family. I bought a water color of Portland’s skyline at the Portland Saturday Market to commemorate my 1st layover. I still have it.

In another post I will tell you all about that trip. There are also loads of stories to tell about my flying days in Cincinnati….the friendships I made….the pilot I dated. In other posts I’ll tell you about the time I was going to leave flying and become a Secret Service Agent. Very soon I’ll tell you how I met my beloved Ron. Oh, there are so many stories to tell since my Dad pinned my wings on me. I have 30 years of stories. Lucky for you, no one shot me after 20 years of flying. Although, that would be SOME story to tell!

Not many people know three-time NASCAR champion and NASCAR team owner Tony Stewart is my fiancé. My family doesn’t know it. My friends don’t know it. Even Tony Stewart himself doesn’t know it. Or does he? I’m sure you would like me to explain. Well, like all good stories, this one begins with an ex-boyfriend. To protect his identity I shall call him, Mr. Butthead. Well, Mr. Butthead liked NASCAR. I liked Mr. Butthead. Because of this, I, too watched NASCAR with Mr. Butthead. Thankfully, one day God took Mr. Butthead out of my life and kept NASCAR in it. With Mr. Butthead out of the picture, Mr. Stewart took the opportunity to drive right on in.

Tony Stewart first drove into my life in July of 2005. That summer my friends and I went to the Pepsi 400 at the Daytona International Speedway. My family and friends used to spend our summers close by in Ponce Inlet. A tradition started where the guys would take the kids to the July race to break up the time at the beach. However, in 2005, my friends asked if I would like to go. I had flown by and driven by the race track hundreds of times throughout the years. I was curious what the inside looked like. So, I decided to go to the race. Unfortunately, it rained for hours before the race began. We watched most of the race. At 1am we decided to leave. The race was still going on. We ladies had a tradition of walking the beach at 6am. We weren’t going to let a NASCAR race get in the way of that.

The next day after walking the beach I read the local paper on the balcony. On the front page was a picture of Tony Stewart climbing the fence after he won the race. I laughed. We spent hours sitting in the stands the night before and we missed the best part of the race. I suspect now, Tony climbed the fence to find us in the stands. Obviously, he climbed down when he couldn’t find us. After reading the paper, I decided to head to the store and get donuts for everyone. Ironically, there was an interview with Tony Stewart on the radio. He was talking about sharks in the ocean. I chuckled at the coincidence of hearing this interview right after reading about him in the paper. But, was it a coincidence?

A few months later I was on a short layover. Against my better judgement, I felt compelled to turned the tv on. The final NASCAR race of the season was on. And low and behold, Tony Stewart won the Championship. Another coincidence? Everyone knows if you are trying win someone over….win a Championship. And make sure the person is watching when you do it.

The next day on the plane, my friend David asked me if I would like to look at any of the newspapers he had collected from the passengers. I said I would. I looked at the paper and staring back at me was Tony Stewart. “Very interesting”, I thought. By now Mr. Stewart was becoming a fixture in my life. Whether I wanted him too or not. Obviously, we were now in a very convoluted stalking relationship. I jokingly told David I was going to read about my “boyfriend” Tony Stewart. Later when I brought the paper back to recycle it, I smiled and asked David if he would like to read about my “fiancé”, Tony Stewart. David laughed. He jokingly questioned me about Tony going from boyfriend to fiancé. I smiled and told him Mr. Stewart won the Championship ….so, I upgraded him.

After the Championship race, Tony’s stalking gained momentum. One week after the race, I was at the Seattle airport walking by a gift shop. There was Tony Stewart on the magazine stand. I couldn’t miss him. He was staring right at me. He was staring right at me again in the Atlanta airport as I walked by another shop. Of course, he was on a different magazine stalking me. He was crafty like that. His persistence made me chuckle. Suspiciously, many times when I would turn on the tv, I would see Tony in a commercial. Funny, how he knew I would be watching tv. He was also there in my Home Depot store. Yes, I smiled at the shopping carts that looked like his race car. Mr. Stewart correctly calculated I like a man with a great sense of humor. And I’m almost positive he used some of his Championship money to pay off in-flight scheduling. Amazingly, I was getting more Indianapolis layovers. For your information, Tony is from Indiana. You can only image my shock, when years later I found out the exit I took to get gas between Cincinnati and St. Louis, was the exit you take to go to Columbus, Indiana. Coincidentally, Columbus is Tony’s hometown. How he programmed my car to exit there, still baffles me. I now believe, without a doubt, the people at the clean gas station where I got my gas, were part of his stalking scheme. They made sure the restrooms were very clean each time I used them. Thus, increasing the odds I’d return on my next trip. This, I know now, was increasing Mr. Stewart’s odds of “running” into me. And the kind, older gentleman that worked the Wendy’s drive-thru?……I suspect he was in on the scheme, too. Luring me closer to Mr. Stewart hometown with a sweet, “Come back and see us REAL soon!”. That was extremely slick. Kudos to you, fiancé Stewart.

Through the years Tony has continued to stalk me. It never scares me. It actually humors me. When I see him I smile and laugh. In my head I’d think, “Hello fiancé Tony. I see you stalking me again”. And then I quietly move on with my day. Lately, fiancé Tony has upped his game again. The past few weeks I have been channel surfing to catch any sports on tv. Like other sports, there have been reruns of NASCAR races. Several times when I clicked on the races….there was Tony Stewart….AGAIN! Tony, sneakily timed passing a car on the race track, just as I turned the channel on. Clever guy. A few times when I turned the races on, Tony was being interviewed. Yes, he was talking to the reporter. But, as I was watching, I sensed he positioned himself right in front of the camera to talk right to me. A couple weeks ago, I went downstairs to watch a movie. I turned on the tv. I was perplexed as to why there was no picture. However, there was sound. Quizzically, I listened. That sound was Tony Stewart’s voice! I laughed at his stalking capabilities. He was a champion stalker. Tonight I went on Pinterest to amuse myself. There amongst all the recipes and inspirational quotes were several pictures of Mr. Stewart. He was once again staring right back at me with a “gotcha” look on his face. Stealth- like, Mr. Stewart anticipates my moves before I do. Coincidentally, I had Fox Sports1 on in the background. When I looked up from my iPad the announcer said it was Tony Stewart’s 49th birthday today. How convenient I was here to hear that? Too, convenient if you ask me.

No, my family doesn’t know that Tony Stewart is my fiancé. My friends don’t know Tony Stewart is my fiancé. (Well, except for my friend David, of course.) However, I think after all these years, Tony Stewart DOES know he is my fiancé. And he enjoys finding a plethora of ways to stalk me. The truth be told, I sort of enjoy it, too.

One summer night my friends and I went to the Riverbend Music Center in Cincinnati. The music pavilion sits along the banks of the Ohio River. We went to see James Taylor perform. James Taylor is one of my favorite performers. At intermission my friends and I were talking about how wonderful the show was. I said to my friends I wished James Taylor was my neighbor. They laughed. I said it would be incredible to have James Taylor living next door. He would play his guitar and sing outside on his patio while I was outside on my patio. He’d ask if I had any requests and I would ask him to play “Carolina In My Mind” and “Your Smiling Face”. Then I’d let him sing whatever he wanted. After all, he is James Taylor. This is how James Taylor became my 1st neighbor in MY neighborhood. The neighborhood where I pick MY neighbors.

The second person in my neighborhood will be Garth Brooks. He will be my neighbor on my other side. He will play his guitar and sing when James defers to him. Garth will roam all around his yard singing like he does when he is on stage. When he sings “Friends in Low Places” James and I will laugh, because we know we are 2 of those friends. His wife, Trisha Yearwood, will come out with a big plate of southern biscuits for us. Then she will sing a few songs with Garth. Before the night ends I’ll request Trisha to sing ” I Remember You”. We will all shed a few tears. Then bid each other goodnight until tomorrow.

Comedian Jeff Foxworthy will live across the street from me. We will both go get our mail the same time each day. Jeff will shout across the street, “You might be a redneck if…” jokes. I’ll crack up each time he delivers a new ending. When we have our neighborhood picnic I’ll insist Jeff tell the story about the 1st time he went for a colonoscopy. I’ll double over in laughter like I’m hearing it for the first time. It’s THAT funny!

Comedian Jim Gaffigan will also live across the street. I’m sure our mail will get mixed up often because our last names are so similar. Jim has 5 kids. So I am sure he will send one of them over with my mail. I’ll send his kids back home with Hot Pockets. Jim is known for his Hot Pockets comedy bit. He’ll think I’m very funny. Plus, he has 5 kids to feed, so I am sure he will be grateful.

Reba McEntire will also live in my neighborhood. We most definitely will watch reruns of her “Reba” tv show. We will laugh out loud at every episode, even though we have seen them multiple times. Afterwards we will head on over to Dolly Parton’s house. In a perfect world I imagine Reba and Dolly would be neighbors. Thus, they will be MY neighbors, too. Dolly will tell us stories about growing up in the hollers of Tennessee. Then she will sing the song that she wrote about the story. She will also quote a Bible verse to tie everything together and to make us grateful that God put Dolly in our world. Mostly, the three of us will cackle so much that Dolly’s husband Carl will come in to see what is going on. Yes, I will be one of the few that will know what Carl looks like. The whole neighborhood will. But, we will never take a picture of him. We will honor his privacy to the utmost. We all will have a sweet spot for Carl. Dolly will eventually write a song about it.

Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson will be in my neighborhood, too. After all, Tom Hanks did portray Fred Rogers in, “A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood “. Every time I go bye their house I will yell, “Wilson!”, like Tom did in his movie “Castaway “. But, only when I need Rita. Otherwise, I’m sure she would find it annoying. Rita will sing The National Anthem at all our Memorial Day, 4th of July, and Labor Day BBQ’s. Because, even though I have a lot of singers in my neighborhood, none can sing the National Anthem A cappella as beautifully as Rita can.

Every Sunday evening Tom, Rita and I will carry our lawn chairs over to Michael Buble’s house. We will sit in the front yard. Tom will ring the doorbell and Michael will come out to put on a show for us. Eventually, the other neighbors will come and sit in his yard, too. The Sunday show will get us all ready for the week ahead. I’ll be the last one to leave the yard because Michael Buble’ is my favorite singer. He also makes me giddy in the head and weak in the knees. It’s hard to carry your lawn chair home when you are weak in the knees and giddy in the head.

I will drive around my neighborhood with James Corden. We will have our own carpool karaoke. Every time James comes up with a new crosswalk theater, I will ask him what he needs me to do to pull it off. When Ron passed away and I couldn’t sleep, James Corden was there for me. He made me laugh when I didn’t think it was possible. Ron and I would watch James Corden’s Late Late Show because he made us so happy. We knew when one of us said, “James”, we were referring to James Corden. James is my life saver. I will always take extra time picking the perfect Christmas gift for James. Even though it will never be enough to convey my gratitude for his friendship.

Every neighborhood needs neighbors that can assist you when you need help. That is why all the gentlemen from “Barnwood Builders” will live in my neighborhood. Mark Bowe, Johnny Jett, Sherman Thompson, Tim Rose, Graham Ferguson and Alex Webb will be my go to guys. They can take down log homes and rebuild them. Surely they will be able to help me make some window boxes. These guys are quick with puns that make you laugh, no matter how awful the pun is. They are down- to -Earth men. They respect the past. But, are always looking towards the future. They were there for me the 1st night Ron was gone. Their friendly exchanges towards each other calmed my mind when my mind wouldn’t stop racing. They know how to find the beauty in something that seems lost. They bring it back to life one step at a time. This is what they did for me. They were there for me every time I looked for them. They stayed with me all through the night speaking kindness and hope. They support each other and they supported me. Ron used to say he would have loved to have lived in pioneer times. I believe he sent these men, that covet the pioneer days, to take care of me, too.

How would I get through self-quarantine without Jimmy Fallon and his family? Each night I wait for Jimmy to wave to me. I can’t wait to see what room in his house we are going to hang out in. Of course, Jimmy and his family will live in MY neighborhood. Jimmy’s wife, Nancy, will drive her VW Bug Van around town. I will drive my 1950’s Woody Wagon. We will bring smiles to the whole neighborhood. And when I need to clear my mind or feel like a kid again, I will head over to the Fallon’s and take a ride down their slide inside their house. No matter how I feel at the top of the slide, by the time I get to the bottom, all will be well in my world.

Of course, my family and you my fabulous friends, will all live in MY neighborhood. How else could everyday….be a beautiful day in MY neighborhood…without you? Well, it couldn’t. I know Dolly will have the perfect Bible verse to let you all know how I feel. Just let me put my lawn chair away. Grab one of Trisha’s biscuits. Then I’ll run over to Dolly’s to get that Bible verse. See you around OUR neighborhood soon, my fabulous neighbors!!

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. So, I thought I’d tell you all some fun stories about my Mom.

The 1st time I met my mother was the day before Thanksgiving. She gave birth to me that Wednesday. As she held me in her arms, she lovingly told me she was my Mom. Years later I found out her name is Mary Ann. I decided to continue to call her Mom though ….It fit her. The day I was born, I’m positive my Mom laughed and thanked me for getting her out of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. One thing you should know about my Mom….My Mom HATES to cook!

One summer when we were at the beach my Mom and her friend Mary were talking about winning the lottery. Mary said when she won the lottery she was going to build a house with a big kitchen. My Mom said when she won the lottery she was going to build a house without a kitchen. For years my Mom would joke our upper kitchen oven was for her friend Mary. The lower oven was for her friend Kate. My Mom would laugh and say her job was to open up the jar of applesauce. However, when I bought my house in Cincinnati and had to fly Thanksgiving morning, my Mom came to visit and cooked dinner so I wouldn’t be alone for the holiday. And even though she is known for her 3-mile island meatloaf she once made in the microwave, her chocolate chip cookies are the best in the land. So much so, that I refuse to bake chocolate chip cookies because they never turn out perfect like hers. She is also famous for her grasshopper pie. Not because it is the best in the land. But, because she chipped the sink opening the bottle of creme de mint. She forgot to put the top on the blender after she put the cookies in and turned it on. Cookies shot to the ceiling and all over the dog. Then after bringing the pie to our friend’s house, she forgot to refrigerate it. So, they poured the pie into glasses and drank it. My Mom always laughs when she tells this story. One of my Mom’s greatest gifts is that she can laugh at herself. She has taught us not to take ourselves or life too seriously. And she taught us, if you hate to cook, marry someone who does. Or surround yourself with friends that you can designate one of your ovens to.

My Mom grew up in Jersey City, NJ. After she married my Dad and had my oldest sister Maureen, they moved to Salt Lake City. My mom learned a few things after they moved to Utah. For instance, my Mom learned about dandelions. She thought they were a beautiful wild flower grown out West….until she found out they are weeds. This city gal initially didn’t trust the doctors out West, either. When my sister Patti was born, my Mom flew back East to have her. She was certain the doctors back East were more knowledgeable and caring. However, her views about the doctors out West changed soon after they moved to Montana. When we were living in Montana my brother Sean got really sick. Our doctor came to our house. My brother needed to go to the hospital. My Mom had my two sisters at home. Our doctor told my mom to find someone to take care of my sisters. He would drive my brother to the hospital and meet her there shortly. My mom has never forgotten our doctor’s kindness. She uses this story to tell how wonderful the people out West are. My Mom discovered life-long friends in Butte. We haven’t lived in Montana for years. But, this past week my Mom was calling out to Butte to check on her friends. If you are a friend of my Mom’s, you are a friend for life.

A funny story about Montana that my Mom likes to tell on herself, is when she got a parking ticket in town. My Mom didn’t think she was in the wrong, and therefore, she was determined not to pay the ticket. So off to court she went. It was her time to appear before the judge. The judge asked my Mom to explain her side of the story. My Mom walked up to the chalkboard in the courtroom. She showed the judge where her car was parked on the street. She showed the judge where the other cars were parked. As she was doing so she said, “You see your Honor”. The people in the courtroom laughed. She thought they were laughing at her Jersey accent. But she was determined to make her point. So she proceeded again and said, “You see your Honor”. And the people in court laughed more. After my Mom said her peace, the judge spoke. He told my Mom it was obvious she was not from Butte. He said, “Mrs. Gaffney, I am a blind judge. I couldn’t see anything you were pointing out on the chalkboard.” He then told her she gave him the best laugh of the day. So, he excused her ticket. My Mom always laughs and says this is the best part of the story!

My Mom was determined when it came to us kids, too. Once my brother was put in the wrong math level in high school. The teachers were not correcting this matter quickly enough for her. The teachers wanted to wait until the semester was over before they put my brother in the higher math class. My Mom was pregnant with my youngest brother at the time. My Mom went up to the high school. She told the priest in no uncertain terms that he did not want to deal with a 40- year old pregnant woman. She told him they had computers in the school and he better use it to fix this problem. She spoke in a tone that put fear of God in the priest. My brother was put in the proper class that afternoon. My Mom knew being pregnant would work to her advantage. My Mom is a VERY smart woman!

My Mom has always loved to have fun. Especially with us kids. Once when we were young we told Mom about the Chinese fire drill. My mom had no idea what it was. We explained to her that she had to stop the car at the stop sign. We would all jump out of the car. We would run a circle around the car. Then we would run back into the car. Mom laughed. She let us do this all the way home. She also let us do this drill anytime we asked her after that. The car was filled with laughter each time. Our friends thought our Mom was the best. Because she was.

We all had a great laugh when my Mom turned 40. Our friend’s in the neighborhood always threw big parties when one of them turned 40. A party with a theme. My Mom’s theme was “you are no longer a spring chicken, you’re an old turkey”. The neighbors got a live chicken and turkey to put in the yard. It was hysterical. Not as hysterical as seeing my Mom going into the neighbor’s yards trying to catch them after they got loose. It was quite a show. Fortunately, one of the neighbors, Mrs. Roberts, grew up on a farm. Mrs. Roberts caught the turkey and chicken with a wire coat hanger. The chicken and turkey lived in our garage for a few days afterwards. It’s the closest any of us have come to living on a farm.

My Mom has always filled our lives with love and laughter. She has taught us the importance of family and friends. And how through kindness and compassion your friends become family. She has taught us not to be afraid to fight for what you know is right. Mostly she has taught us to find the humor in any situation. My Mom has provided us with the best memories through out the years. The best part for us is that she is still creating those amazing memories.

When I win the Power Ball I know the 1st- two things I am going to buy. I am going to buy a 1950’s Woody Wagon with the surfboard on top. I am mainly going to drive it to the grocery store to make myself and the other shoppers smile. The other thing I am going to buy are two Clydesdale horses. Just to take pictures of them…and with them. They are one of my favorite types of horses. The other being Kentucky Derby Thoroughbreds. Although I knew a little about Clydesdales, I learned a wee bit more about them at their Warm Springs Ranch in Booneville, Missouri. That is where the Clydesdales are born and bred for Anheuser-Busch. It’s a very impressive facility. The handlers explained a lot about the horses and the operation. However, the one thing the didn’t have to teach us, that I’ve known for years,……Clydesdales can pull a beer wagon!

I worked for the Cardinals in high school and in college. The Clydesdales made appearances at the ball park all the time. They were mesmerizing to watch as they came through the wagon gates pulling the red beer wagon. They stole my heart every time I saw them. They not only made me happy, they made everyone happy. I started to think then about putting Clydesdales on my “when I win the lottery” list. I’ve also seen the Clydesdales at Grant’s Farm and at the Brewery. The handlers always bring the horses out for everyone to see and to take pictures with. There is nothing better than getting a picture with a Clydesdale. Okay, I lied. There is one thing better. That’s seeing the Clydesdales in the green pastures at Warm Springs Ranch. A perfect setting for majestic horses. That’s when I knew, without a doubt, I’ll be spending some of my Power Ball winnings on Clydesdales. Watching the Clydesdales in their pastures was breathtaking. My favorite thing was seeing the horses come to the fences to eat their grass and check things out. I swear they knew people wanted to take their pictures. So, of course, I did.

As I mentioned, my other favorite horses are Kentucky Derby Thoroughbreds . Not all Thoroughbreds….just Kentucky Derby Thoroughbreds . I really don’t bother with any other Thoroughbreds the rest of the year. Kentucky Derby Thoroughbred horses have spunky attitudes. They know they are blazing fast. They also know they have the best names when it comes to horses. Names like, Spend a Buck, Go For Gin, and even Jet Pilot. Of course, I’m partial to Jet Pilot. This past weekend would have been the traditional date for the Kentucky Derby. Interestingly, my family are Kentucky Derby people. My family threw big Derby parties for years. However, I’m not sure we would have been Kentucky Derby people if it wasn’t for our neighbors in Cincinnati.

When I was young, our neighbors, the Sea’s, lived across the street from us in Cincinnati. They were great neighbors. To this day, whenever I smell cocoa butter, I think of Mrs. Sea. Mrs. Sea always lathered on cocoa butter to get the perfect summer tan. Mrs. Sea also had a gentle, southern Kentucky accent that went beautifully with her tan. She was from Louisville. This might comes as a shock, but, she grew up with Derby parties. I believe it doesn’t matter where you are currently living…. if you grew up in Louisville, …..you are obligated to have a Derby party. And the Sea’s didn’t disappoint their fellow Kentuckians.

I remember one day at the end of April, the Sea’s had bales of hay stacked on their driveway. It was an abundance of hay. When they opened their garage there was more hay inside. They had turned their garage into Churchill Downs! They even had booths to place your bets. I was young, so I wasn’t sure what a Derby party was all about. But, I knew it was going to be spectacular. Thankfully, my parents were invited to the party.

We must have asked our parents a lot of questions about the party and horse racing. So one summer day, our parents took us to the Keenland Race Track in Lexington. We were going to go see what Thoroughbred horse racing and horse betting was all about. I’m sure my parents thought it was going to be fun AND educational. Basically, a two-fer. My Dad gave us kids each money for the day to bet with. He taught us about betting odds. Ah,…math. He had us figure out how much money we wanted to bet on a horse or horses. Ah,….finances. My Dad would place the bet for us. Ah,….legalities. Unfortunately, I was too young to really understand odds. My system was to bet on the horse who’s name spoke to me. If I liked the color of the Jockey’s silks, that too, could come into play. Ah,….the unproven theory. I still use this betting system. A week out from the Derby I pick my winning horse based solely on it’s name. Never on it’s odds of winning.

This past weekend I watched the Arkansas Derby instead of the Kentucky Derby. Yes, the horses were Thoroughbreds . However, they weren’t Kentucky Derby Thoroughbreds. I hardly paid attention to the Arkansas Thoroughbreds. Instead, I caught myself thinking about all the Kentucky Derby parties my parents had throughout the years. Yes, they eventually took over the…reigns….of hosting Derby parties. My parents didn’t have bales of hay, but, they had plenty of mint juleps and Kentucky bourbon. I, also, thought about my horse picking system and how I taught it to Ron. He would pick a horse whose name spoke to him. And a horse with good odds. He suspected my betting system was flawed. This was based on the fact the last time my horse won was in 1978. But, it was a Triple Crown Winner! My mind eventually wondered to this September. The Kentucky Derby will be on the 5th. That Saturday I’ll watch my second favorite horses, the Kentucky Derby Thoroughbreds. Afterwards, I’m sure I’ll take a ride in my 1950’s Woody Wagon with the surfboard on top. I’ll head out to see my two Clydesdale horses. I’ll tell them how the Kentucky Derby Thoroughbred I picked …based on the name that spoke to me….won the Kentucky Derby.