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If Anyone Falls: My 24 Karat Night with Stevie Nicks

What can I say when I’m speechless? I suppose that’s why they call it speechless and why it’s taken so long after the show for me to begin to comprehend what I was going through for the 90 minute-plus Stevie Nicks show at Houston’s Toyota Center on October 29, 2016. As the show began to wrap up and I knew the Goddess of Rock and Roll was about to leave my presence, words did come to mind, but they were not the kind of words I’d want my grandmother to read. If you are sensitive to salty language or are my grandmother, skip the next sentence. “Fuck, shit, dammit, oh my gods!” I’m not sure why these words came to mind, other than the fact that I was simply speechless and overcome by emotion as I once again witnessed the twirly, lace-ridden, husky-voiced poet sing her heart out to the crowd. And I didn’t want it to end. 
 
At least I had matured. I still recall the times she would take to the stage and I would weep like a girl; and finally understand the reaction of so many youth to the Beatles. Stevie is my Beatles, and so much more. Her songs have inspired me. Her poetry and lyrics are crafted in ways that have really made me think about how songs are written. The way she has managed her desires to be a singer, to be on stage, to be a rock star, and her careful crafting of her image are things many artists and fans look up to.
My fascination for her began in the 80s Mirage era Fleetwood Mac; music videos of her sitting in the desert on a settee in a red dress; her gypsy visage twirling through glitter and in the rain. She had me with her vision, her words and that voice.

Circumstances kept me from seeing her previous two tours, but having seen her live so many times…and honestly, I can’t count them all, having seen her usually more than once for each tour…I’m sure it’s more than twenty times…it was disappointing but not something I couldn’t live through.

It was with this in mind, the fact that I’d not spent money on seeing her in five years, that had me splurge on this tour, buying VIP tickets, seated fifth row center, and receiving some nice gifts in the mail. I splurged on my finery, as well, taking advantage of the show being just days before Halloween. I felt if there was a time to really deck myself out for a show in the conservative city of Houston, this was my chance. I wore my double-breasted waistcoat with tails, bedecked with crowns, ribbons and a photo button of Miss Nicks. And the pièce de résistance…an imperial crown covered in jewels.
There were several reasons behind the imperial look. I felt like it. I’d spent a lot of money on this show, and wanted to look like I had. I worked very hard to clear my schedule to attend, and I wanted to make an impact. I liked the idea of thinking that after the show, Stevie and her band would be discussing the performance and the crowd, and surely, Miss Nicks would posture, “Did anyone see the guy wearing the crown?” Yup. A lot of people did. I was hard to miss, even from up on stage.
Penguin in heaven in his front and center seat
As I neared the arena, I started hearing comments and feeling stares. I was expecting a lot of questions, “Who are you supposed to be? Where are you from? Why are you wearing that?” But instead of negativity, what I got was more along the lines of, “Wow, I love your crown. You look great! Your highness! Hey, King!” I also got a lot of photo requests and was more than happy to oblige, especially for the two young women from Puerto Rico. There were a lot of high fives and when complimented, I was sure to do so in return. If they’re going to lift me up, I’ll bring them along with me.
My favorite comment, heard more than once, was the question of where my queen was. The simple, obvious answer being, “Back stage, getting ready for the show.” It was fun standing out in the crowd and seeing people out of the corner of my eye taking photos of me.
Chrissie Hynde

One of the first things to really hit me about the night, as the lights dimmed for the opening act, was how, in my anticipation to see Stevie in concert, I’d neglected to remember that the opening act was also one of my all-time favorites- The Pretenders. Chissie Hynde’s voice, after all these years, is still phenomenal! She hit the highs as if this were still 1986 and she seemed vibrant and lively. One could tell she was enjoying being on stage with James Wallbourne and the rest of the great band. She played a few songs I was not familiar with, then a bunch of the ones I knew well, so I stood and sang along and danced.

James Walbourne
I could have listened to The Pretenders for much longer than their allowed time on stage, but the real reason for the night was, after all, Stevie Nicks. During the transition on stage, I was able to visit a close friend to pass the time.
The Pretenders
Waddy Wachtel
The hall darkened. The crowd rose and cheered. Old, familiar faces came on stage; her lead guitarist, Waddy, her musical director, Carlos, her singers, Sharon and Marilyn. Then, from the darkness and into the spotlight…Miss Nicks, all smiles, clad in flowing black gowns and glowing blond hair.
She commanded the stage, singing like an angel, chatting the audience up a bit, commenting on the history of the songs she was singing. The band was great and while I went into this thinking I would not bother with any photos, I couldn’t resist taking a few.
 Chrissie joins Stevie for Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around
As for being noticed, I could tell that I was. While singing “If Anyone Falls”, the second song in the set, she gave me the ‘I see you’ sign, moving her two fingers from her eyes to mine. I thought I’d drop to my seat, but I just smiled, gave her a wink, and kept singing along. My wild heart beating heavily.
Rhiannon was performed, and when singing, “Rulers make bad lovers, you better put your kingdom up for sale…” she looked right at me and placed her hand above her head to mimic a crown! I nearly died.
I’ve been on stages and I know the light can be blinding and the crowd difficult to see, and this is why it’s great to be so close to the stage when you want to be seen by the artist. She was only about 20 feet away from my seat. I am sure she didn’t, and it’s all in my head, but all evening, it was as if she was watching me as much as I was watching her. It seemed as if she was watching me sing along with her. I just hoped I wouldn’t mess her up, as she’s known for changing words or the cadence of live songs. For much of the show, I felt as if it was just she and I standing in a room singing along together. I focused on her, watching her eyes seemingly look straight back to me, caressing the ribbons on her mic stand and belting out classic after classic.
Between songs, I would cheer and shout things to her. She commented on her song Annabel Lee about taking great poems and putting them to music as a way to get around not being a good song poet. I shouted that she WAS a great poet. She looked back at me and gave me a smile before starting the next song. My heart be still!
As the show progressed, I kept thinking how the set list was one of the best I’ve ever heard her perform. She did so many of her greats and so many of the little gems she loves from her last album, 24 Karat Gold. When she twirled, the crowd went wild. When she sang, the crowd sang along. When the band rocked it, the crowd danced. And there was Penguin, in his crown and impressive jacket, cheering, singing and dancing all night long. It was over too soon!
My escape back home was quick, save for the fellow concert goers asking for photos and commenting on my regalia. I loved the attention. The night was all about Stevie, and my attire showed others the degree to which I had made my night about her. I got to my car quickly and encountered very little traffic, almost as if I had a ghost police escort and my pretend entourage was quickly on the freeway headed back to my home in north Houston. King Penguin’s audience with Stevie Nicks now just a memory pulsating in my head and veins.
“Did she make you cry? Make you break down? Shatter your illusions of love?
Is it over now? Do you know how to pick up the pieces and go home…” (From her song, Rhiannon.)
Yes. Nearly. Not exactly. It is. I am learning…but home is always changing and growing and I’m glad to have grown along with my favorite artist, Stevie Nicks. Please hurry back, Miss Nicks! The evening exceeded my expectations and I could use another dose of that kind of magic!
Stevie rocks it with Sharon and Marilyn
Set List:
Gold and Braid
If Anyone Falls
Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around (with Chrissie Hynde)
Belle Fleur
Outside the Rain
Dreams
Wild Heart
Bella Donna
Annabel Lee
Enchanted
New Orleans
Starshine
Moonlight (A Vampires’ Dream)
Stand Back
Crying in the Night
If You Were My Love
Gold Dust Woman
Edge of Seventeen
Encore:
Rhiannon
Leather and Lace

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The Bell Rang

Well, that didn’t go quite as planned. It started out fantastic. I was 100% committed. I had planned…in fact, started doing so about 9 months ago, before I even purchased this home. But I could see it all quickly going downhill. My plans were not thorough enough. I’d miscalculated.

While not a complete failure, and how could it have been for all the planning, this was not how I wanted my first Halloween to go down in my new neighborhood. My reputation was on the line here. The house had been vacant for over a year before I moved and who knows what kind of people were living here before me? I had to do well!
Penguin on Halloween
The real work began about a month ago. I was the second house in the neighborhood to decorate for Halloween. I would have done so much sooner, but I didn’t want to be ‘that’ guy…the weird fellow who keeps to himself, hardly seen, yet puts out the jack-o’lanterns and orange lights just after the Forth of July. (I would have if I thought I could get away with it.) Once I saw that first house put their decorations out, it was on! Lights in the bushes, skulls, pumpkins, bats and a scary cat.
A week ago, after seeing some awesome party lights at a Halloween event I attended in Portland, OR, I added white dancing spiders and green floating witches that illuminated the front of my house. A few days ago I added a witch’s head, an arm reaching out from the bushes, and skulls on strings. I had a bat hanging from my porch light and 3 skulls on stakes, which lit up. And for the grand night, itself, I added a strobe light just behind the jack-o’lanterns that have kept watch over my yard from the living room windows the past month.
Just inside the hallway I set up a small table on which I put a creepy table cloth, 2 more jack-o’-lanterns, a candelabra covered in spiders and a few creepy grotesque faces with my bowl of treats. This year, I was giving out packages of Danish cookies! I had enough for 50 little ones; the little trick or treaters in their cute costumes, shyly (in only some cases, as it would turn out) pressing forth their plastic pumpkins, back packs or just plain old plastic grocery bags to gather their plunder of tootsie rolls, jolly rogers, dots, sour patch kids and fun-sized snickers to fill their lunch boxes until Christmas break, if they’re lucky! All that and the Danish cookie, I was giving out.
My table and treats
I’ve not done this in over 8 years. I’ve either lived in places inaccessible to kids (I lived in a back yard in-law apartment for six years in Pacifica, CA) or for 7 years I worked at a haunted house every October and was never home for Halloween. I’m out of practice. It’s a new neighborhood. I was not prepared for the amount of garbed little ones, and a few bigger ones in no costume at all. There were so many and they seemed to descend like starved locusts.
The first bell rang later than I was expecting; just after 7PM. It was a ninja and a little princess. Dressed in a black hooded robe, I answered the door, “You rang?” and acted like I had no idea that it was Halloween. Yeah, I always dress like this and I always have a dish of treats at the door! They loved it, though. And the next little dude, all of 7 years of age, dressed in regular clothes but wearing the mask of an old crotchety man (hello, mirror?) complimented my costume 5 times! He was my favorite!
A very young Penguin as Batman

Then came the Batmen and Supermen, an Incredible Hulk and an Elsa. There was a witch and several zombies. Each of the little ones wearing skeleton shirts I told, “You better eat your treats, you’re nothing but skin and bones!” The helicopter parents were there with many of them, keeping them safe, reminding them to say thank you, and in a few cases having to queue them, “Say trick or treat!” I must have been one of their first stops!

My cookies garnered many warm responses, but were dwindling fast. They came in groups. Each time the bell rang, there were 6, 9, or 12 kids. They traveled in packs. Or is it a murder? No, I’m pretty sure that’s only crows. It wasn’t 7:30 yet, and I was headed to the kitchen for the rest of the bag of cookies. Not enough. Soon, the bowl only had 3 cookies left! I began to panic.
What now? I looked through the pantry. I eyed tea sachets and packets of hot sauce. (Well, this IS Texas!) I began to sweat. I could hear more children coming down the street, see the SUVs and large pickup trucks slowly creeping down with them to keep an eye on things. The dark side of me began to think, the character that for so many years pulled the kind of screams from men and women that you normally only hear in horror movies, but this was no movie, it was me, a scary clown, looking at them and screaming back, “What are we screaming for? CLOWNS? I HATE clowns! Hehehehehe!” Being Whispers the Clown, making people scream and in some cases, wet their pants, was so therapeutic. It still is, when I get the chance…
Whispers the Clown, my alter ego
I remembered the kid, Charlie Brown. Everyone loves him. Everyone remembers how he went trick or treating and kept getting rocks. I could make the children’s day, I could send them away to actually say, “I got a rock. That weird guy that no one ever sees, who put out all the creepy things in his yard the day after Valentine’s Day, he gave me a rock.” But the sane part of me took over. I don’t take returns and I know that chances are good that giving a rock would only mean I’d be getting them back…and with shards of glass to have to clean up, as well.
Back to the pantry, the children, getting louder. I couldn’t turn my lights off just yet, it wasn’t even 8. Eureka! There were 3 bags of brownie brittle and 5 single sized bags of kettle corn. The bell rang. The bell rang. Then a knock. Eager little things. A pirate, a police officer, a parrot girl, 2 zombies, a princess and 2 skeletons…they took all I had. I saw more a few houses down. Those packets of hot sauce were starting to sound doable!
Back to the pantry. I had a box of pumpkin-shaped cookies; individually wrapped. I also had a box of chocolate chip granola bars. These were my little treats I travel with for those early morning flights when there isn’t much time for breakfast. Into the treat bowl they went. The pumpkin cookies went first. Then I started handing out the granola bars. I didn’t mention what I was putting in their treat bags. I didn’t want to be known as the guy who ran out of candy too early and started giving away odd items from all over the house (I actually eyed a cat toy for about 1/100th of a second). 
My house lit up at night
The bell rang, a couple of middle school aged boys with really no costume at all were standing before me. I silently threw the granola bars into their bags, hoping they wouldn’t notice until they got home. Damn the luck, as I closed the door, I heard the older boy exclaim, “He gave me a 90 calorie granola bar!” I’d never noticed they were only 90 calories! But there, in the dark, in my front yard, he could determine what I’d thrown into his bag, grabbed it, and the first thing he noticed was 90 calories. That guy’s going far in life, let me tell you!
I went back to the living room and took a seat. My neighbor across the street was entertaining a group I’d seen earlier. She closed the door and the kids, parents in tow, walked down the street. The lights in the house went off. First the porch lights, then the upstairs lights with the dragon in the window, then the inflatable pumpkin that had been puffed up for the past 3 weeks deflated and was now flat on the ground like a cow patty. They were done. I looked at my bowl and saw my last 4 granola bars. The clock chimed. It was 8 o’clock.
I went outside and looked up and down the street. Nothing. I was done. I had made it. I turned off my light show of spiders and witches. I unplugged the orange lights in the bushes and the 3 glowing skulls. I extinguished the jack-o’lanterns and stopped the strobe. Finally, the front porch light went off. 
Witches and spiders on my house
From outside, I could hear a groan and a small symphony of “Aww”s. I looked through the peep hole and saw a couple with a cute little girl in a ballerina outfit and her brother in a SWAT officer costume. I turned the porch light back on, opened my door and heard them exclaim, “Yay, he’s our hero, the best decorated house in all the land. His costume is the most awesome costume. All hail the great one who reveres Halloween and gives out the best treats. Behold the fall gourds carefully carved and still glowing, not from fire within, but from the sheer joy of celebrating the fall seasonal holiday of Halloween. Yay, oh yay!” 
OK, maybe some of that was just in my head, and I apologized that all I had left were a few more granola bars. But, hey, they’re only 90 calories each. I’ll do better next year! I promise.
Pumpkins, bats and the light show
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Adventures in Flight: Crew Rest

Finally, the tie is off, pockets are emptied, and my feet are happy not to bound in shoes walking the aisles. The first service is complete and the plane is at altitude en route to a far away destination. It’s time for a crew rest.

On long-haul flights, once the initial service is complete, it’s time for crew breaks. Crew breaks are sacred. Services are seemingly done quickly mainly to allow maximum time for crew break; that’s what many senior flight attendants would have you to believe. When I get juniored into a position I’m not very familiar with, such as first class galley, I can usually get out of it by saying, “OK, I don’t really know this position, so I may be a bit slow and the breaks may be shorter…” Someone always steps up and takes the position from me before I can complete the sentence. Don’t mess with crew rest!
Depending on the length of flight and how many breaks there are (two or three), crew can look forward to anywhere from an hour to more than 3, out of view from passengers for a rest. Each plane has a different crew rest set up. The best is the 777 aircraft with the crew rest bunks in the belly of the plane. Situated in the center of the plane, one can enjoy lying flat with limited movement felt in flight. While the crew bunks in the 747 are comfortable, they are located at the tail of the aircraft, above the passenger area, and as you may know, the tail experiences more movement as it gets buffeted by the winds in flight. The least bit of turbulence is exaggerated in these bunks. They do have seat belts, and I have feared actually falling out of an upper bunk during turbulence. Shake, rattle and roll!

View down below

 The worst crew rest is located in the passenger cabin, separated only by a thick curtain. The seats don’t lie flat and noise is hardly muffled from the riff raff just outside the curtain. Such is the case on the 767, which I fly most on my trips to South America and the 777 that Mother Airline uses for flights to Hawaii, which don’t have the bunks in the belly of the plane.

It’s nice to get settled in, turn the air on full-blast because I’m still overheated from the service, just start falling asleep, and then the infant that is always boarded next to us starts to cry. Well, maybe nice isn’t the word. Or the passenger behind us decides to open their shade every 5 minutes and the bright light in the dark cabin creeps through the cracks between the curtain and the cabin wall like a tiny sun has formed just behind my head. (I think I could actually hear the light, it was so intense.) Or a nearby passenger has an empty water bottle at their feet and every 10 minutes their foot finds it and makes a crackly-plastic bottle sound that in my sleepy state sounds as if it is right over my head.
When I first started flying international trips out of San Francisco in the early 2000s, I watched what the others did and would do the same thing- ear plugs in the ears, eye mask, strip down to the basic uniform and dive under a blanket with 2 pillows. I never could sleep. Maybe it was the thrill of going to a new foreign destination, which back then, was quite rare for me and my insignificant seniority. Or maybe it’s as I learned later on, that I simply can’t sleep with earplugs in my ears and an eye mask digging into my head. I don’t sleep like that at home, why would I think I could sleep like that in a crew rest bunk shaking like a hula dancer at 35,000 feet?

Night time departure

These days, I feel much more like a pro when it comes to crew rest. I prefer the first break, because it’s hard coming off of break and going right into the arrival service. With first break, I can get my rest and then get up, have my crew meal (also sacred) and not be a sleepy-head when the second service begins. I also don’t wake up very gracefully.
There is one bunk on the 747 known for being colder than the others; I prefer this one. I prefer to be next to the window when we must rest in the cabin behind the curtain; people are always walking past the curtain and bumping into me.
What’s fun and entertaining is how passengers always try to move into the empty crew rest seats. I recently encountered a man quite proud of having acquired one on a full flight, leaving his center seat for a crew seat. I stopped by, said hello, and asked where his seat was. He stated this was his seat. I said that it couldn’t be, because this was a crew rest seat and asked again where his seat was, knowing full well… He was quite determined and didn’t seem to understand, so I asked, “Are a crew member? Are you working this flight?” He looked at me, the gleam in his eyes obviously dimming, “No.” “Then, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to return to your seat, crammed in between two very large men on a 10 hour flight. These seats are reserved for working crew.” Inside voice was asking me if I enjoyed crushing human spirits.
Crew rest is sacred, so if you happen to be on a plane seated next to the crew break area, please be considerate, quiet, keep your window shades closed, your baby in silent mode, and for the love of the gods, do not disturb!

Shadows from the skies
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Adventures in Life: Fantastic Childhood

It’s amazing the little things the mind remembers from our long ago youth. I remember the strangest things from little me; playing outside with a yellow Tonka tractor, the busy street we lived  on, finding a decomposed cat skeleton and making my friend hold it on a stick, the elementary school I used to go to and how we used to play duck-duck-goose and hold classes outdoors, watching the old black and white Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on a big screen at the nearby park community center, coming home as a latch-key kid and watching Donahue on TV and how I’d make fun of his name.  This was all when I was in first grade. Do they even allow first-graders to be latch-key kids these days?

New building but old name: Housman Elementary School
On nice days, we’d have class under the trees.

We lived in an apartment complex in front of which was a brick wall I used to walk along with my friends. We would jump down and climb back up. I once pushed a girl who was too timid to jump and when she landed she ran away crying. Turns out she sprained her wrist. I got in a lot of trouble for that one.

You can still see where the wall used to be!

The guy who drove me to school was a rotund guy named Moe. I had a red pencil eraser in the shape of W. C. Fields with a top hat. I had no idea who Mr. Fields was- to me he looked like Moe and that’s what I called the little red rubber man when I played with him.

Down the street was the day care Mom would put me in when she went out on dates at night and from time to time I’d be there during the day on weekends. I had girlfriend (as much as one in first grade could have a girlfriend) with red hair and freckles. The sitters would get us all in our cots and would turn the TV on to watch MASH. The name of the place was The Ark.

Freeman Park Center used to show movies for kids.

Mom was dating a man who would become my step-father. He was a funny guy with a thick New York accent that she and I would make fun after his visits. He was my introduction to things Jewish. That Christmas, we didn’t have a Christmas tree in the apartment, we had a Hanukah Bush.
Down the street was a Dairy Queen behind which was a large parcel of land full of trees. Winding through these trees were trails that went up and down dirt hills, around bushes and along the banks of a small creek. Older boys would race their bikes in this forest and I thought they were so cool. I couldn’t wait to get older so I could ride up and down and around the dirt trails.

The very DQ where Dad taught me about manners.
Cleared of trees and bike paths, now an empty lot.

And in that very Dairy Queen holds a very dear memory for me. My father had once picked me up for my weekend visit. I suppose this particular night, he was a little early bringing me back and we stopped for dinner at that Dairy Queen. It was during this meal that I recall Dad telling me about the importance of manners. He instructed me on my use of please and thank you, of yes ma’am and no sir, and this was the first time I heard the word chivalry. It was a strange word to such young ears, and it would be a few more years before I really mastered the meaning of the word.

I took a drive to the old neighborhood. It’s possible that I’ve not been back since we left, circa 1974. The forest of bike trails is gone; it’s now an empty lot and a huge church. The wall I walked on has been torn down but for its foundation and a strong iron fence stands guard instead. The old elementary school is all new and modern; the original since demolished. The park seems so much smaller to my adult eyes. The Ark is now a gas station.  And my father recently passed away.

Inside the DQ

Little from our past ever stays the same. Things change, evolve or give way. Friends disappear as quickly as they became known. People grow old and die. We move on. But there’s nothing like going back down memory lane and seeing what has remained as symbols to remind us that no matter how far we’ve come, our more simple beginnings can always be humbling. 

And as I finished my meal at the DQ (the same meal I recall enjoying as a boy with my father) the rain started coming down. It was Summer Solstice and a Strawberry Full Moon. I looked across the street to the park in which I used to play and then up to the sky. There were huge billowing clouds reaching the upper atmosphere. And closer to Earth…a rainbow. I smiled as I looked at the empty lot behind and for a moment saw the bikes jumping hills and heard a young boy cry out, “It’s getting late, ya’ll. I better get home before Mom worries.” I’m glad I’ve been able to keep parts of that little boy in tact. He certainly had a fantastic childhood!

A rainbow arcs across the skies over where I once lived.

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View to a Thrill: Hello from Denver

View from my hotel room in Denver

When I first started flying for Mother Airline, most of my layovers were long enough to get out and explore the cities in which I stayed. These long layovers are where I enjoyed exploring, did a lot of my shopping or went to see a movie at a nearby theater. After 9-11, the layovers got shorter and to save money, we more often than not stayed in hotels near the airport, not near stores and their sales or theaters and their new releases.
One of the reasons I remember long Denver layovers are for the sales I’d find at the Ross, the flying pizza at Anthony’s and watching movies at the 16thStreet theaters. It’s been years since I’ve had a long Denver layover. So when I saw the trip in my line, I was eager to return and explore an area that I know has been revitalized. 
Large hand-thrown pies at Anthony’s
What a let down! My first experience back on 16th St. after so long an absence, staying on the narrow sidewalk out of the sun in temperatures of over 90 degrees, was running past the gauntlet of all the smokers standing in a row, looking miserable, inhaling their cancerous smoke, and blowing it for all the rest of society to consume. Ahh, the mountain air of Col…hack, cough, wheeze…orado!
I had heard from many sources about the increase in homeless along 16th St. I didn’t think much of it. I see a lot of homeless on my layovers. Honolulu has quite a few. I see them in Seattle and certainly when I’m in San Francisco (of course in SF, one can have a decent-paying job and still be homeless!). But oh, my, they have intensified here; to the point where it really detracts from what should be a positive experience. Hand made signs on boxes; shopping carts standing by for treasures dug from trash cans; half naked youth making weird signs with their hands while talking foully to friends a block away as if in some gang; the mentally unstable yelling at the top of their lungs to either no one or invisible entities who might be shouting things back. It’s quite the festive scene, and until you’ve smelled a group of homeless sweating in 95 degree heat smoking cigarette butts found on the ground, you’ve not been festive enough! Whee-you!
Looking East along 16th Street
I did endure the heat well enough to walk to the end of the long pedestrian street. I got my slice of flying pizza and happened into a Krispy Kreme donuts on their first day to be open. I spent some time in the Money Museum of the Federal Reserve Bank in hopes that samples would be given (and they were…only, the money was quite well shredded and quite unusable for me). I did find a great price on a new pair of layover shoes, just like the old days.
Street buffalo art
There is a lot that is great about walking around downtown Denver. I love the interchange of new and old architecture and the colorful flowers. I really enjoy the numerous brightly-painted pianos left in the middle of the street with ivory ready to be tickled by anyone who passes by. I love that cannabis is legal and enjoyed an occasional wafting scent being enjoyed in public. And I really love the glimpses of white-capped mountains peeking from between skyscrapers of steel and glass.
I’m going to be so rich one day!
And just like that, time winds down. The office workers who were on their lunch break return to their offices. The streets empty just a bit for the tourists and more homeless. Young men and women emerge in sweaty Lycra from various gyms to show off svelte bodies and toned arms and legs. And Penguin waddles back to his cool hotel room to survey it all from the comfort of another layover hotel room window, high above it all. Mission accomplished. I do love my long downtown layovers!

Won’t you click on one of the reactions below? And feel free to leave a comment! Thank you!

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Passenger of the Day: Is This Thing On?

Taking my position in the aisle of the Airbus 320, I quickly surveyed my audience and set the bag of safety demo equipment on the floor at my feet. There were no empty seats to use, so the floor would suffice; with an aging frame, having to bend down for each new piece of equipment is daunting. I prefer it when there is an empty seat to use as my staging area.
The man seated in 21C looked up at me, knowing what was coming, and asked, “Do we get the enthusiastic safety demo, now?”
I looked down at the man smiling at me, my passenger of the day, and retorted, “Did you ‘pay’ for the enthusiastic safety demo?” He enjoyed my quip and chuckled, while it also garnered the attention of several nearby passengers.
From up front the purser had begun reading the safety demo and I began to demonstrate how to use the oxygen mask and seat belt (and if you don’t know how to use the seat belt, should you really be out in public?).

Your flight attendant is trying to show yous something!
It came time to point out the nearest exits (which may be behind you) and instead of simply pointing them out, I did a slight jump, landing loudly on the floor, and pointed to the exits in a pose that was something between ninja and Elvis. People all over were laughing and now paying attention to me. Mr. Enthusiasm gave me a little applause. He was impressed. “I guess I ‘did’ pay for it,” I could hear him say to his neighbor in 21B.
People never pay attention to flight attendants on the PA. “Please don’t put your bags in overhead bins sideways…” as they continue to do so. “Please take your seats, the captain has turned on the seat belt sign,” as they move from their window seat, making 2 others get up, as well. We could give out the winning multi-million dollar lotto numbers for tomorrow’s game, and only one person would hear them…and they would think we were reading the numbers for last week’s game. You can’t win…there is no winning.
I don’t really blame them. Not entirely. After all, there is a joke; How do you keep a secret from a flight attendant? You make a PA. We never pay attention to them, either… but we have an excuse. We usually know what is being said. The purser is welcoming you aboard and telling you where to stow things. The captain is welcoming you aboard and telling you the weather in the city we are flying to, the city I’ll only be in for an hour…on the plane…never enjoying fresh air…so why should I care?
Passengers hear this all the time, too. Especially the ones up front. These are the passengers who fly often and use their mile points for upgrades for extra leg room. They know what’s going on and how to make things work. The back of the plane are the people who are saving money, who only fly once a year, who are too engaged with their snot-nosed 2 year old and his impending tantrum to care about what a flight attendant is saying. Priorities!

Evacuations at the gate will be done via the jetway.

You may think we don’t notice, but we do; those who are paying attention. Yes, Mrs. 24C, I see you looking at the safety information card from the seat pocket, and I appreciate that. Yes child in 20F, I see you looking for the nearest exit behind you and I know you’ll get out alive if we need to evacuate. Yes, grandmother in 30D, I see you knitting that afghan and wonder if you could make one for me…it gets cold on my couch in winter!
I was once doing the demo in first class from San Francisco to San Diego. On my flight was none other than Sharon Stone. She looked amazing, was full of smiles and came across as being quite gracious. Many passengers would later ask, “Was that Sharon Stone I saw up in first class?” Why yes it was. And you know what? She paid attention to me when I did the safety demo. I enjoyed her performance in Sliver…and she watched mine in the first class aisle…the only person in first class to do so, by the way! (It was on this very trip that her husband would make the news for getting bit at the San Diego zoo. Karma? He paid no attention as he read during the demo.)

That’s why I enjoy making announcements that sound a bit different. I enunciate words slightly awkwardly or infuse a little humor. It’s an attention-getter with the aim of getting people to hear what I’m saying. Hello, we’re talking to you…is this thing on?
If you really want to see a whole plane of passengers paying attention to the safety demo and the flight attendant announcements, fly immediately after an airline incident. Following any major incident, for about a week afterwards, nearly everyone pays attention…after the Miracle on the Hudson flight, when Capt. Sully landed in the Hudson River…after the tragic German Wings flight crashed at the hands of a suicidal pilot…after the crash of Asiana 214 in San Francisco…I commanded the stage of the aisle like a five-time Tony award winning actor on Broadway!
We notice those paying attention; it happens so rarely. We see those picking their nose, brushing their teeth (yes, I saw that once) knitting, watching movies, texting, reading the Wall Street Journal, and we especially see those watching us. We do it for a reason, your safety…telling you such things as which doors not to open in a water evacuation (passengers in the Hudson opened doors they were told not to, letting cold water rush into the plane). Do us a favor. Listen up for a few minutes. Each plane is slightly different. It can save lives!
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Passenger of the Day: Baby Mama

Perhaps it’s why she arranged their seating in this manner, as I could hear her in the aisle as I set up the aft galley. She traveled with her husband and two children and commented on the fact that their seating was two on one side of the plane and two on the other. “Well, we should be able to switch seats around a bit. No one will want to sit next to the kids. She put the boys, aged 2 and 4, on one side of the plane and she sat next to her husband. Between them was an aisle and two seats.
This would do for now, so I left them alone and went back to setting things up in the galley.
At the start of the safety demo, I knew I was going to have to fix things in that last row with Baby Mama. When I got to the last row, I found two things: no one else had joined them in that row, and Baby Mama had moved to the aisle seat next to the children. But right after takeoff, she moved back next to her husband. 
Penguin learning how to be safe at emergency training
“Hi, there. I just need to let you know that someone is going to have to sit next to the young children over there,” I said, smiling warmly to her. She protested. “I’m sorry, but an adult needs to be with children of that age, in case the oxygen masks deploy. They need help reaching the masks and putting them on.”
“Well, I can just move over if that happens,” she shot back.
“I’m sorry, it doesn’t always happen that way. In a sudden decompression, you won’t be able to move over. The plane will be in a dive, things will be blowing all around, sight will be limited due to fog created by the sudden change in pressure, people will be screaming, masks flying back, gasses expelling from your body, flashes of your life whipping by…mass pandemonium.”
Oxygen mask compartment open for repairs
Of course, most of that was inside voice. But she got the picture and rolled her eyes. With a big sigh, she moved next to them. For the remainder of the 3 hour trip, the two adults took turns sitting next to the boys, who never seemed to look up from their entertainment device.
As we began decent into our destination, the movie the boys had been watching ended and the two became a bit unruly; fussing and whining. Baby Mama was on the A side and Dad was next to the boys. I was behind them in the galley getting ready for the double chimes to sound; our queue to prepare the cabin for landing. Baby Mama suggested to Dad that they separate the boys, “Why don’t you hand one over here,” she stated. The father silently complied (I don’t know that I heard him speak even once during the flight). He picked up the nearest child and began to hand him over.
She quickly shot to him, “Not that one!” Had I liquid in my mouth, I’m certain the spit take would have been one to rival the best comedians. Having no liquid in my mouth, my other option was to double over in laughter…silent but for the sudden outburst of a chuckle. I looked back and my flying partner had obviously heard the comment, as well, for she was nearly on the floor laughing, in tears, having wet herself slightly.
That’s some good parenting!
Foggy cabin
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Adventures in Flight: Drama Llama

Stop

My parents live on a ranch in Colorado. On the neighboring ranch can be seen a llama. It’s a lone llama, eating grass alongside horses in the mountains. It’s a cute llama, as llamas go, and I enjoy reminding it that its mama is a llama. Mom, on the other hand, calls out to it, “Llama llama ding dong.” Don’t judge…I know you talk to animals, too. I’m not sure if this llama has much drama in its life, but I’m willing to bet if there is, it’s that damned llama’s doing!

Flight attendants often have drama in their lives that for some reason, can make its way into the cabin- or least the galley. I try to avoid drama like fruitcake, but one can’t always be successful in doing so. Sometimes, it’s just a short little drama story. But every now and then the drama gets more intense.
We have all seen the news report of the flight attendants getting into fisticuffs with one another on a flight overseas, which had to be diverted when it got severe enough. I’ve never seen the drama reach such lofty heights and I hope I never have to.

Let me out…too much drama!

It was during the boarding process; I was greeting passengers and the purser was in the galley setting things up and preparing pre departure drinks for first class. One woman entered wearing a dark blue dress with white polka dots. I could tell from her bag that she was a flight attendant, so I said a warm hello and invited her to let me know if she needed anything. I always treat my passengers very well, but I also make sure to take great care of my fellow crew.
This woman took a few steps into the aisle and stopped, waiting to reach her seat. The purser stands up and leans in, but in not the quietest tone asks, “Do you see that woman, there? The one in the blue dress?”
“With the polka dots?” I confirm.
“Yes…that one,” she states with venom in her tone.
Ignoring drama

She starts into some story about not knowing her but having a mutual friend (an ex-mutual friend as it turns out) and this woman in the polka dots pulled her line and circled items and tried to turn it in to management, anonymously, which can’t be done because they can pull a history trail. Long story short, friends were lost, supervisors were met with, molehills became mountains and here they are all these years later ending up on the same plane together.

I don’t get involved in drama. Later, Miss Dots, while smiling, made a comment to me, “I’m sure you heard all about me from the purser…”
“Well, she said something, but I don’t do drama. May I get you something to drink?”
Meanwhile, anytime I entered the first class galley, the purser was quick to state, “She gets nothing!” My flying partner in the back was of the same mind. Miss Dots didn’t do anything to me. I’m not going to be brought into the middle of their spat, which occurred years ago, and even admittedly from the purser, Miss Dots now regrets ever having gotten involved.
Of the same mind one minute, drama the next. The woman I was working with began her story of drama in her home life. Issues with a mutual friend who is racist but using their service to our country as an excuse and yadda yadda yadda. She droned on for a while and I feigned interest until saved by a call light in the cabin from a woman needing a cup of water.

Chicago 747
Being amongst pretty white horses and grazing on grass in the mountains surely must be a drama-free life. I try to make my life as much like that as possible. I need more mountains and less grazing, but any time I can avoid drama, I do it! You can be the drama llama if you want, but please leave me out…lest you want to get a Christmas fruit cake from Penguin! (And no one wants that!)

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View to a Thrill: Checking Inn

A Marriott

Inside Voice has a sassy personality that I can’t always control. I try to keep Inside Voice silent, but sometimes it just blurts out. Inside Voice’s favorite response to the question, “Does Mother Airline pay for your hotels?” is, “No, we sleep in the terminal in makeshift shanty towns of lost and found coats and jackets and old seat cushions.” Inside Voice can be so sassy. Of course Mother Airlines provides for our hotels.
It’s said that back in the day, flight attendants had to bunk up and share a room. Today, our contract provides language of certain expectations for our hotel layovers. They must be of a certain standard (sorry, Best Western and Howard Johnson, our standards are high), be located in a safe environment, have food available, provide Internet access, provide no smoking rooms and a room for each crew member. Bunking up is strictly at the whims of the crew involved. (And yes, there have been times I’ve willingly bunked up, but that is for a completely different series!)
Most of our crew hotels are of the caliber of Marriott, Doubletree, Hyatt or Sheraton. One of the things I enjoy about my job the most are the layovers. I love the chance to get out and explore, engage in new cultures, see how people live and work, and enjoy a nice hotel room. Some hotels are fantastic to stay in. Others are quite mundane. Only a few were bad enough that I would never wish them on anyone else! (I’m looking at you DC.)
Almost any crew member will readily admit that there is nothing better than staying in a hotel that is attached to the airport. Not having to wait for the van, tip the driver or spend time in transport, are a huge bonus! It’s a fairly rare, bonus, however, as most of our layovers require the van ride.
My favorite hotel chain is probably Marriott, although I love the free cookies when you check in at a Doubletree. But with Marriott, you know that no matter what city you’re in, you’re going to have the same basic room…down to the same desk and lamp. It’s sort of nice to have that expectation. Of course, that doesn’t help in trying to figure out in which city you’re in. “Wasn’t I in this room last night?”
I’m often hear jealousy from others of all the room service I must take advantage of. Room service is a nice luxury, however, if I were to do it on a regular basis, I’d need another job to support the habit. Yes, most hotels give us a small discount- usually 15%. But most hotels tack on a 20% charge plus a fee for the opportunity to have someone bring your meal to your room. I’ve only taken advantage of room service at a hand full of hotels; once when the crew discount for food was 50% and perhaps a few times when I just didn’t feel like getting dressed and going down for food.

The Peabody Hotel in Memphis
I’ve found a routine in entering a room and I’m not sure if I should attribute this to be slightly anal retentive or just comforted in having a routine for the many hotels in which I stay. Number one is safety and locating my exits in case of emergency. I enter the room and inspect it for intruders and odors. I refuse rooms that still have a lingering odor of cigarettes.
Off comes the tie and my airline ID badge, then the shoes. As I take off my watch, I verify that the room’s clock is correctly set; you’d be surprised at how many times I have to adjust a clock. After this, I adjust the thermometer. I like the room to be between 67-70 degrees. In a hot locale, I may turn it down as low as 60!
Now it’s time to lose the uniform, hanging it in the closet. Then I set out the items in the bath room on a washcloth; toothbrush and paste, comb, meds, deodorant, cologne, cotton swabs, liquid soap (I bring my own so I don’t waste the hotel’s on a single use) and like a rock star’s dressing room, it’s always set out in the same fashion. After all, I am a rock star. Of sorts.
Once this is complete, I may need to facilitate…or as some might say, use the oval office. Usually, when I get to a hotel room, I’ve been working a long day—as long as 16 hours. Airplane lavs are disgusting and I avoid having to sit in one at all costs.

Not every hotel has a heliport…but this one does!

As my name-sake might suggest, I don’t like a lot of heat, so the next thing I do is remove the down comforter from the bed. When I started this job 15 years ago, it was rare to see down on any hotel bed in the US. But today, 99% of the hotels in which I stay have down. It gets old ripping the bed apart and making it back every time I’m in a hotel room. The only times I can handle sleeping under a hot down comforter is when I make the room 60 degrees or colder!
It’s at this point that I can do what I need to do. On a short layover, that means going right to bed, as by this point I may have an alarm set for as little as 6 hours later (Flight attendants often have only an 11 hour layover, which is block-to-block, meaning once you subtract deplaning, getting to the hotel, checking in, doing the above settling in, getting up, showering, dressing, getting back to the airport and starting work an hour prior to takeoff for passenger boarding, you’re only left with 6-7 hours for sleeping!)
If sleeping is not necessary right away, I’m usually on my computer to write a story, checking email or chat with friends all over the globe. When I have a longer layover, I really love getting out to explore and take photos or working out in the gym.

Exploring on a layover in Pittsburgh

They are our chance to recharge. They are our home away from home. They are nice, comfortable and if we’re lucky, close to things we enjoy doing if we have enough time to do them. Yes, a nice hotel after a long day flying the skies is just the thing needed between flights.

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Adventures in Life: Far Removed

Newborn Penguin with his father 1967

Things don’t always feel real when one is far away. It seems as a flight attendant, that is a common thread in life. We miss parties, celebrations, holidays, events and time, flying the world far from home.
The funny thing, and by funny I mean odd, is while flying a trip to Canada, I began talking with my flying partner on the jumpseat. You’ve probably heard of jumpseat therapy. In case you’ve not, there is a phenomenon amongst flight attendants seated on the jumpseat. We tend to open up and say things to a complete stranger that we would never say to others. It’s an unspoken bond between flight attendants.
My stories are peppered with jumpseat therapy. I’ve opened up about my illnesses, fights with friends, dating troubles and life woes. I hardly ever discuss my father, other than the fact that we haven’t spoken in over twelve years. I’m almost always asked why, and mostly, I launch into a short version about how he drank too much and would make promises that he would never remember making the next day. He was a very hard man to get along with and used money as a carrot to encourage me to do this and that for him. He was very selfish and despotic. He was a pain in my life that was quite vexing…he was also my father.

Gary and Penguin
Not wanting to bore people with the details, I was always quick to answer and move the dialogue along to the next topic. But for some reason, on this trip to Canada, I really opened up and discussed many of the stressful aspects that my relationship with Gary had endured.
Gary bought the Harley-Davidson dealership I ran in Annapolis, making me an officer of the company. After 4 years he sold it, with me staying on as GM, being a part of the sale. I didn’t realize this until after the fact, or I might have demanded a huge salary! But things were better when Gary left and after one year, I was able to increase profits 30% and retain customers better than we had in years. I loved that I was able to prove that my way of running that business was successful, and that in return led to him receiving more money from the sale of the business. I was very proud. Gary was quite silent.

Gary, Memaw and Penguin in the Harley dealership c1998
One of the broken promises that led to our estrangement was that he was going to pay me a sum of money annually. That gave way to a broken promise of assistance in buying a home or going to flight school. That gave way to promises of money from my grandmother when she passed, to another promise of an annual bonus and next thing I knew it had been ten years that he and I never spoke and not a one of his promises came to fruition.
For me, it was easier to remove him from my life than to deal with the broken promises, the rhetoric of how I cannot communicate, and the way he always made me feel small and foolish. My life was better off without the drunken calls one night and the follow up with few details remembered the next.
Gary and Penguin

He never understood me. For years he would offer me hard candy and ask if I’d like a soda, and for years I would tell him I don’t eat hard candy nor do I drink soda. For him, I am sure it was a matter of being polite and offering me something he enjoyed. To me it was a man who never learned my likes and dislikes and didn’t seem to care. Gary had his own way of doing things, including a language that drove me insane. Instead of wearing sunglasses, he wore sunners. He ran a sweeper instead of vacuuming the carpet. He never saw a movie, he only saw flicks. If I sneezed, he would say only, “Bless,” to which I eventually would answer a simple, “Thank.”
He reached out to me 2 years ago, just after Christmas. We wrote back and forth a few times and he continued with his lies and statements of me taking things out of context. I told him that I was not interested in a relationship that was still toxic. After a few harsh letters back and forth, there was nothing more.

Baby Penguin and his proud parents
Then, I got a call from a cousin I don’t hear from very often at 9:45PM, and I knew something was wrong. I had just landed from this trip to Canada when I got his message, so I waited until I got home to call him back. His words were soft and I had a hard time comprehending them. When he told me that my father had passed away, I asked, “MY father?” It seemed such a silly question.
The phone calls that follow a death in the family are not something I’m used to. I remember when my Uncle passed and how the phone rang all day. People brought casseroles and flowers to my aunt. My father was more of a stranger to me. I don’t know what his life was about or what his interests were. I had changed so much since we last spoke, I was certain he had, as well. So in a way, it was only as if a friend of the family had passed. I was sad and my family and I cried over the phone, but I didn’t feel like I had lost my father.
When my mother went through a cancer scare this past year, I was beside myself thinking of her mortality and how my life would change were she to be removed from it. But I never gave my father’s mortality a passing thought. I knew he’d live to be 95 just to spite me! There was still plenty of time for him to soften and even though it appeared to be only about money, I wanted the pain of how he treated me to be a thing of the past. Well, it is now.
I answered the calls all day and shed mutual tears during many of them. I had some great laughs, too. My father was a difficult, stubborn, selfish man, but he was also smart, funny, outgoing and often times just as goofy as I am. There are many great memories of my father mixed in with the pain.
A teenager Penguin with his angst meter off the charts in ’85.

It doesn’t feel real yet; I have lost my father, but I lost him 12 years ago, really. For the past 12 years there was always hope that he would come through, or would say he was sorry for the way he treated me, or that we could start fresh with an adult friendship of two men growing older and laughing at more jokes, singing the wrong words to our favorite songs, and disagreeing over politics along the way.
A terminal illness took hold of him two years ago…perhaps the very reason he reached out to me. However, Gary chose to keep this fact not only from me, but from the family, as well. The shock over his death brought about by his own hands to ease his pain and suffering was as much mine as everyone’s. And maybe I’m not as far removed or estranged as I thought, if out of the blue I suddenly have an in-depth jumpseat therapy session about him as he lay dying a slow and painful death. We were either more connected than I ever suspected, or he came to visit me in some spiritual way to have me open up on the jumpseat at the very time his life was ending. Eerie.

A rare photo of my step father, dad and me in Maryland ’97.

Where I used to see his image and frown, now I go searching for old photos and smile. My friend, Shawn, says that is because I know he won’t hurt me any longer. He and I were alike in many ways. And in many ways I pray we are very different. But he was my father and he taught me many great things in life. He was proud of me, in his own ways. He took from me the chance to make amends or to hear an apology, but he left the world what I hope is a good man of strong convictions; a son of moral fiber, and a caring friend to many.
Surely the memories of the hard times I had with you will begin to fade and leave only the good memories; the laughs, the tickles, the times we watched Carol Burnett, Pink Panther cartoons and Bob Newhart, making breakfast on Sundays to classical music and the way you always expected me to be a good man. I love you, Dad.