The Stewardess

Not sure why...

But as I sit on my balcony tonight, I can't stop thinking about a very nervous stewardess I once witnessed on a flight to Atlanta.

Her voice was shakey as she read the pre-departure regulations over the intercom from a piece of paper; clearly indicating she was fresh on the job since she hadn't memorized them yet. She made many mistakes when reading from the paper, and each time she made a mistake, she was painfully aware that all of the passengers heard her blunders. Once airborne, it actually seemed as if she was afraid of flying. She was also the only stewardess on the plane- which added to the pressure, anxiety, and fear she clearly felt. It seemed that she was on the verge of a nervous meltdown.

I remember watching her from my seat.... and I felt so sorry for her. I could just feel her fear and how hard she was trying to push through it without bursting into tears. I knew what that kind of fear and pressure felt like. The last thing on my mind was "oh wow, she is making so many mistakes... she really stinks as a flight attendant." I saw how much she was trying, even though she was afraid, and it made me want her to suceed and feel like a pro.

It was a short flight, and towards the end of it, I could tell that she started to feel more comfortable doing her job. I got a kick out of the fact that she spent most of the flight preparing trays holding little plastic cups of ice cold water... and by the time she started passing them out, we were starting to descend (this is typically the time that beverages and trash are collected, not passed out). She barely kept her balance as she tried to pass out the cups without spilling, and then collect them moments later after she realized it was time for her to get back in her seat.

Once we landed and started to de-plane, I said to her on my way out, "excellent service." She gave me a nervous, surprised smile and said thank you. I wanted to tell her to hang in there and that in no time she's going to get it.

That was perhaps one year ago...  and tonight as I sat on my balcony, I thought about her and smiled at the fact that either she is a pro by now, and has those regulations memorized like the back of her hand- or, she realized that being a flight attendant is not for her, and she's off to new ventures. Either way- she won, because she tried, regardless of her insecurities.

Most importantly, after remembering the stewardess, I contemplated the likelihood that when we truly make an effort with something, even though we are afraid, other people care more about seeing us succeed than labeling us as failures.

A Sweet Memorial Day Surprise...

I witnessed a beautiful tradition in Washington DC's Reagan National Airport (DCA) last year on Memorial Day that I will never forget.

I remember going through security at DCA and standing in line with all of these anxious people wearing matching t-shirts who were so excited about something... but I couldn't figure out what.

They kept saying to eachother, "Have they landed yet?! Do you know what gate they are coming into??!" "Ooh Ooh! I heard they just landed! Hurry hurry!"

I'm thinking, what is going on and why are these people going through security with me if they are clearly waiting on an arriving plane? Oh well.

After going through security and heading to my gate, I noticed off to the right a crowd of people standing in one particular gate area. There were balloons... and a band... and lot's of miniature American flags...  There was clearly something signifcant happening and I wasn't about to miss it so I turned and asked someone "what is going on?!"

Their response nearly brought tears to my eyes.

 

180 World War II Veterans were arriving on an aircraft from Charlotte, NC to visit the WWII Memorial in DC for the first time. They had no idea that when they arrived at their gate, they would be greeted by family, friends, and a bunch of strangers at the airport welcoming and cheering for them as they each walked one by one off the jetway and through the airport.

They especially didn't know that there would be a band in their gate playing songs from that era such as, "Hooray for the Red, White, and Blue!",  "The Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy", and a military medley of each theme song of the Armed Forces. (Click here to hear).





(You can just barely see the band in the background of this picture)

The veterans were overwhelmed with emotion and most of them burst into tears as soon as they walked into the gate and saw the crowd of people clapping for them. A number of them were in wheelchairs. As they walked through the aisle that the crowd had created, they shook the hands of strangers.... strangers, who said "thank you" with tears streaming down their faces.

After tearing up with a bunch of other random travelers (who weren't so random to me in that moment), I eventually headed to my gate, feeling so fortunate that I witnessed what I had- otherwise, I likely would have carried on with my business and travel anxieties without pausing to even think about the meaning behind the holiday. 

That being said, I would encourage anyone reading this, to make the effort this Memorial Day to talk to simply one person in your family or circle of friends who has fought in or experienced a war involving our country. Whether that be a grandparent with WWII, a parent or uncle with Vietnam, or a friend who has served in Afghanistan. Ask them about their experience. Ask them questions. Don't hold back and don't be embarassed with what you don't know. Get a sense for the reality that people die to protect your way of life. While difficult to wrap my head around, that thought is ultimately very empowering to me... and makes me want to think twice before allowing myself to get too stressed out over stupid things. <- Such as getting yelled at by security for illegally riding my bike around and around the fountain below. But that's a blog for another day! :)

WWII Memorial in Washington DC

Mother's Day Maintenance

Tonight on my US Airways flight from Myrtle Beach to Charlotte, we were delayed taking off because one of the overhead bins in the back of the plane wouldn’t close.

One of the flight attendants, who had joyfully announced that he was retiring in a month, exclaimed to his peers “why don’t we just duck tape it and get the hell out of here??”

I like this guy, I thought.

About 5 minutes later, a maintenance man comes on board with duck tape and says “thank God for United.”

Yes, thank God for United.

Eventually we take off. The old man sitting beside me wasn’t too creepy so I engaged in the conversation he struck up with me. When we got on the subject of what we do for a living he told me (no joke) that he “takes companies that have basically become piles of S#%@ and transforms them into successful organizations.”

“Is that your official mission statement?” I asked. J

We chit chat and are in Charlotte in no time (must have been real fast for him since he drank two vodkas on the 35 minute flight).

I get to my gate in Charlotte- no time to stop and get dinner due to the short connection. Once at the gate, the flight attendant announces that we can’t start boarding because one of the seats in first class is broken, and the maintenance man is on board fixing it. “What is up with the maintenance issues on Mother’s Day?!” I say to myself.

“It should be just a couple of minutes,” she announces.

I think to myself, “Yeah…… right... just a couple of minutes..."

It always annoys me when airline crews say that when we all know that “just a couple of minutes” really means “we have no idea what the heck is going on and how long this is going to take so by all means... talk amongst yourselves.”

Why don’t they just say, “Realistically we are not going to resolve this issue within the next 10 minutes, so if you would like to go get a smoothie or a personal pan pizza, then you have plenty of time to do so.” After all, this is what everyone in the gate is wondering anyway- whether or not they have time to go to the bathroom or sprint to Starbucks and back.

Knowing full well that I have plenty of time to go grab a smoothie, I head to the main concourse, thinking along the way, with my luck, the seat broken will be mine.

Please don’t be 1D, please don’t be 1D…

We eventually start boarding, and all is well. Once seated, I look to my left, and would you know, across the aisle I see that it is 1C that is broken. PHEW.  

The gentleman seated beside me doesn’t start any conversation. And since the cardinal rule of airplane chit chat is that if it doesn’t start within 30 seconds then it’s pretty much guaranteed you won’t be talking the whole flight, I feel relaxed that I can just enjoy the silence.

Silence that is, until this gentleman (who is wearing Bose soundproof headphones) orders his beverage of choice:

“CRANBERRY JUICE PLEASE!!!” he shouts.

I chuckle and start typing this story on my laptop to pass the time. I had intended to write a Mother’s Day blog in appreciation of my mom who has helped get me through a very difficult past 16 months. But intentions are frequently interrupted where travel is involved…

So I will dedicate this post to her- Thank you “Marmie” for always answering the phone when I call… talking me through late night car rides to help keep me awake… talking me through day time car rides to keep me company… for celebrating my successes, and supporting me through my failures (which you would never consider failures)…

But most importantly, for passing on to me, your sense of humor which allows me to laugh at each day, no matter what it brings… thank you! I love you! Happy Mother’s Day.

At least I'm not a Lobster...

It was a very tough week:

Washington, DC-> Houston, Texas-> Alexandria, Lousiana

Alexandria, Lousiana -> Atlanta, Georgia-> Pensacola, Florida

Pensacola, Florida-> Atlanta, Georgia-> Norfolk, Virginia

Norfolk, Virginia-> Pawleys Island, South Carolina

By the time I was about to board my plane in Pensacola to fly to Norfolk, I was Done. The travel, not to mention the usual stress and pressure of having an aggressive sales job, had completely burned me into the ground.

My mom picked me up in Norfolk (she was driving from Pennslyvania to South Carolina) and we spent the night at the Hilton in Virginia Beach. (I had once eaten at an outstanding restaurant there called "Catch 33" and since I wanted my Mom to experience it, I decided to book us a room there).

The hotel and restaurant were packed. I've never seen so many people in one hotel. As one lady said when we were standing in the ridiculous line waiting on the elevators, "Gosh! This is worse than Myrtle Beach in the summer!" :)

Myrtle Beach in the summer

As luck would have it, there were no tables available in the restaurant.

.... So we opted to sit at the raw bar, opposite the raw crustaceans that were waiting to be cooked.

There was a cluster full of lobsters probably less than a foot away from us- just laying on a bed of ice. I assumed that they were dead because they were complelely lifeless.

Then all of a sudden, the one sitting directly across from me (see above), starting moving his atennas, and blinking at me. My reaction must have been like that of a five year old: "Oh my gosh!!!!! He's moving!!!" It was really exciting and confusing at the same time. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

After the initial excitement wore off, I felt kinda sorry sorry for the little guy. There he was... just laying on his death bed... and as my mom added, "not just his death bed... his death bed of ICE!"

Not only that but a just a few feet away the chef's were chopping up his steamed friends. It so terribly reminded me of the scene in The Little Mermaid where Sebastian escapes Chef Louis.

Then all of sudden, I turned to my mom and said, "You know... life really could be worse. At least I am not this lobster." And with that we clinked our wine glasses and laughed. The week was nearly done, and I was determined to enjoy the moment and put it all behind me, reminding myself once again, that this is JUST A JOB, and life really could be so much harder than it is.

I don't remember our conversation but I remember laughing a good bit... that is.... until our entrees arrived.

You see, I had ordered the fried snapper. And they brought me... literally... a fried snapper.

The fried snapper... with the half dead lobster in the background

I may have grown up in coastal South Carolina, but I feel very uncomfortable eating fish this way. I sort of feel like the server should have warned me. All of a sudden I regretted not asking him what I typically ask servers 99% of the time when I order fish-> "is this one... fishy?"

Oh well. We made it through the meal with our only regrets being that we had mis-timed when American Idol was on and had missed that week's elimination.

When we got back to the room my mom called my grandmother, "Hi, Mom... so who was voted off American Idol??" (GASP) "WHAT?!!?! STEPHANO?!?! You are KIDDING ME?!"

By the time we got ready for bed, and I completed my usual hotel nightly routine of covering up all the lights and properly examining the wall thermostat to set the right temperature and fan mode, life was better again.

Just another romantic dinner...

with me, myself, and I.

Sometimes I don't mind eating alone; sometimes I prefer eating alone; and sometimes... I just feel sorry for myself.

I am in Alexandria, Louisiana. I was determined to not eat subway or fast food tonight (especially since I voluntarily chose to eat McDonalds for lunch), so I headed down 49 South to MacCarthur Boulevard- per the recommendation of my Hampton Inn front desk lady.

As I drive, my appetite is not impressed. Taco Bell.... Texas Roadhouse... Applebee's... BBQ... Taco Bueno... no, no, no, no, no. Gag, gag, gag, gag.

Then all of sudden I notice a sketchy looking Italian restaurant that peaks my interest, so I try to pull over to check out the scene. (The car in the lane beside me is very upset that I am suddenly trying to get over, so he honks obnoxiously and gives me the middle finger). Ahhh... what a wonderful end to the day.

Eventually, I pull into the parking lot... very confused about what I would find inside. But experience has taught me that even in the most remote places... one can actually find authentic, good cuisine. Still unsure though, I leave my purse in the car. The plan of action is to walk in and ask for a menu- check out the atmosphere and if it is too dodgey, make a run for it.

I walk in and instantly know that I've made the right choice. It must be family owned because when I ask the kid at the front counter for a menu he says, "Dad... which one do I show her?"

The menu consists of home-made pastas and cannolis.... heaven to look at a menu like this. I soak up every word and have fun simply reading the descriptions of all the possible options of food.

My waitress... is a riot. She convinces me to order the chicken pasta dish with banana peppers and mushrooms. I ask her if it's spicy. She says no... that it's only spicy "in a banana-pepperish kind of way."

I go for it, knowing full well that servers' recommendations are usually trustworthy.

Meanwhile I sip on chardonnay and listen to beautiful romantic Italian music which makes me feel really sorry for my lonely self- Sitting here with my laptop while couples sit nearby in their business attire... likely sharing details of their day, comforting one another through conversation and the clink of their "cheers"  when the wine arrives.

Speaking of arrivals... the "not spicy" pasta entree comes. After a few first bites... my lips are on fire. I actually started sweating during the initial intake. I gulped down my water and added the extra ice to my chardonnay... But of course, my people-pleasing-self comments to the waitress, "excellent recommendation!!"

(Sigh)

Time for dessert. My heart was set on the cannoli... but the waitress convinces me otherwise. She goes into a 5 minute schpiel about the lemoncello mascarpone cake->  "Oh my gah girl! I don't even like lemon and this cake is aaammmaaaazzziinnngg!! Oh my gah!!"

I appreciate her passion for the cake, so, I go for it.

Meanwhile, a waiter starts bringing lit candles to all of the tables. He stops by my table and says..."do you want me to wait to put your candle here?"

No! By all means... give me the candle! I know I'm alone... but I am just as deserving of a candle lit dinner.... aren't I?

Anyway... the cake really was......  ammaaaazzzinnnggg.... I devoured every bite as I typed this blog... and even scraped the plate at the end.

(As a side note, Dancing with the Stars starts in two minutes so I am trying to figure out whether or not to stay for coffee or head back to the hotel...)

In any event... I know that one day I will not eat most dinner's alone- and I look forward to that time of my life... but for now... I will enjoy having just another romantic dinner.... with me, myself, and I.

Mississippi, Remembered

Last night I had the delightful experience of having dinner with my former high school headmaster in Chinatown. He takes his senior class on a trip to DC every year, and knowing that I now live here, he invited me to tag along.

As we were catching up on life and swapping stories of "where are they now..." the subject turned to some of the various schools where Mr. Pratt has taught over the years.

Mr Pratt :  "...and then from 1985 to 1990 I was working at Jackson Prep...."

Betsy : "Wait a minute... Jackson Prep?... as in Jackson..... Mississippi??"

All of a sudden I had "deja-vu" as I recalled Mr. Pratt telling us stories as high schoolers of how "backwards" things were in Mississippi. I'll never forget the one story he told of driving down a dirt road and asking this man on the side of the road for directions. Mr. Pratt introduced himself to the man, and the man responded, "Hi, I'm Mr. John's nigger."

I then had flashbacks of the three most mentally and emotionally depressing days I have ever had on the road.... in none other, than Jackson, Mississippi.

"OH BOY do I have a story to tell YOU, Mr. Pratt" I exclaimed, and I proceeded to talk to him about the life threatening night I drove through the Mississippi Delta to get from Greenville to Jackson with a dying phone and GPS- through swamps and black nothingness.

I didn't have to elaborate very much for him to understand how scarey the situation was (comforting becuase I'm pretty sure most readers thought my story of "MON" was over exagerated).

As a side note, the Delta of the Mississippi River is the most remote part of whole state (as confirmed by a Chief Nursing Officer I met that week), and in Mr. Pratt's own words, the only thing between Greenville and Jackson, is "cotton fields and catfish."

Though I typed a rather legnthy blog about this experience earlier this year, the story ended with my arriving victorioulsy to the Hilton in Jackson.... But the real story... was in the three days in Jackson that followed.

But first, back to dinner in Chinatown.

"When I first planned on moving to Jackson.... " said Mr. Pratt, "an acquaintence of mine told me that down in Jackson... they've got braces on their brains."

Braces on their Brains.

As soon as I heard the phrase I flashbacked to the tremendous intellectual and emotional depression I felt in this city. I recalled the highly uneducated people I constantly interacted with; the obese father sitting alone in the Olive Garden, talking to neighboring tables about how he's never going to hear from his daughter again and how he heard through the grapevine that she's going to have a child; the waitress who responded to me when I asked her where downtown Jackson is, "I don't know... I'm from California"; the enormous portions of food I recieved when ordering room service that made me want to GAG....

I ordered pasta and broccoli. They brought two stacks of food. 


The combination of the obesity, the uneducation, the poor population.. was overwhelming...

....Overwhelming, because I realized that this is a culture and a way of life that people are born into. Overwhelming, because that peppy african american teenager busing tables probably doesn't have much of a chance to get out of there, and perhaps he doesn't even grasp the power his surroundings are going to have on his future. Or maybe he doesn't even care?

This picture was titled, "Children of the Delta"

Mr. Pratt continued to tell me about his time there. "When we first moved to Jackson, Mrs. Pratt was playing tennis at the club and someone asked her what my big plans were for the school."

"To integrate it", Mrs. Pratt said.

That caused quite the uproar in Jackson and Mr. Pratt went on to share how he fought to bring the first african american student to Jackson Prep. That, and he also secured the first financial aid scholarship for an african american student.

Braces on their Brains.

I told Mr. Pratt that I felt so intellectually supressed in Jackson, that I literally laid over the bed in my hotel room and stared at the foor on and off throughout my three days there. My movitation was completely drained... it was truly like nothing else I had experienced. But beyond being overwhelming, at the very root, it was actually very sad.

Especially one encounter in particular.

When I had arrived at the Hilton after the long drive from Greenville, the sheets on my bed were dirty. I was actually so tired that I didn't even care and I slept on them anyway. The next day I called the front desk and told them it was "unacceptable" and that I'd like to have them changed once I leave for the day.

By the time I came back... they hadn't been changed. So I called once again... "This is really unacceptable..." And then I'm pretty sure I threw in some B.S. how this is especially unacceptable since I have "status" with Hilton.

They sent up the maid.

She was middle aged, but perhaps even older, as african american women do tend to age very well. She mumbled, not speaking clearly, and had a hard time looking me in the eye.

Something didn't feel right. There I was, sitting comfortably at my desk, typing away on my laptop, in my new comfy old navy pajamas (since I'd left mine in DC) .... and here is this maid... a woman more than twice my age... who more than likely has never gotten out of Jackson... or the halls of Jackson hotels.

Feeling too guilty for the situation, I started helping her take the pillow cases off the pillows. It just didn't feel right to sit there and watch her. I asked her where she was from. "West Jackson" she said, not looking up at all... out of an uncomfortableness to have a conversation with me.

After I shared the effect this experience had on me... Mr. Pratt told me about a book that he actually gave my sister when she graduated high school, called "The Help."

The book takes place in Jackson, Mississippi during the civil rights movement, "where black women were trusted to raise white children but not to polish the household silver." (amazon) Ultimately the book is about the plight of black maids in 1960's, taking care of the white families of Jackson.

After having been to Jackson, I knew I would thoroughly appreciate a book like this.

And after having been to Jackson, I could thoroughly connect with Mr. Pratt's former experiences.  

And after having this conversation with Mr.Pratt... I suddenly became very grateful for all that I was born into... and how.... perhaps I complain a bit too much about the demands of my job... the exhaustion of travel... the stress of sales... I reminded myself that the world is truly at my footsteps... and there is no excuse for not grabbing it with everything I've got.

And if you are reading this, the same is true for you.

Virginia gems... ;)

I didn't get on one plane this entire week. That's rare.

I did however have three meetings in Chesapeake, VA in today. After which I was tired and hungry. I discovered (by excellent recommendation of one of the folks I met with today) an oceanfront restaurant in Virgina Beach called Catch 31. It was out of the way to get to, but I thought- what's the rush to get back to DC? Why not enjoy a nice meal and go see what this place was like.

SO glad I did. The restaurant is located inside of the Hilton and I HIGHLY recommend. I ordered fresh Tilapia- and it came with all sorts of goodness on top and under it including mashed potatoes, sweet glaze and carrots.... yumminess!

The view... was amazing. During lunch I had to dial into a team meeting back in DC and listen in while I put the phone on mute and indulged my taste buds. I just couldn't help but want to scream through the phone, "I am eating delicious warm pudding pudding for dessert overlooking the beautiful blue ocean right now!! SUCKERS!!!" ;)

It was an exciting moment for me. Living a life on the go, you really really learn to apprecaite the small things- like sitting down, having a nice meal, and enjoying the view... and did I mention, sitting down? And... having a nice MEAL??

I headed out of Virgnia Beach and after a slightly horrendous encounter with rush hour traffic, headed back to DC. I had contemplated just taking a flight out of Norfolk and avoiding the 3.5 hour drive home late in the afternoon. But after passing signs for "Williamsburg" last night, I thought it could potentially be nice to have a little coffee break in colonial Williamsburg. Again, there was absolutely no reason to rush to get back.

I called my girlfriend "Ruthie" who is from Virginia Beach and said, "I'm headed to colonial Williamsburg- where should I go?" After freaking out that I was "going to all of her spots" she told me to definitely check out "Aromas".

So, here I am in Aroma's- LOVE this place. As I was parking I had the sense that this is like a college town or something and I thought to myself, "What college is here??" Then walking into Aroma's I see a chick with a green and gold hoodie on that says in big block college letters: "WILLIAM AND MARY."

DUH BETSY! Seriously- sometimes, I think I've just lost all common sense!  :)

I had one of those "oh my gosh I am in love" type feelings when I walked in. Hardwood floors, counters full of colorful biscottis, flowers, paintings, burlap sack coffee bags, and to top it off, the Amelie soundtrack was playing in the backgrond. (Mom, think FRENCH wonderfulness).

How fitting that the girl sitting beside me was wearing a grey french beret and graciously offered to plug in my laptop chord since I was wearing a skirt (which she and 5 other people complimented today- thanks to CAbi!)  :)

Time to start heading back to DC- my Mom just called and I could tell she was anxious I haven't left yet...

"You know Bets... since you were on business travel today, don't you think you could just spend the night there and drive back in the morning??"  :) I probably should have planned that better and I could have had a nice little Williamburg getaway.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed the Virginia gems I discovered today instead of rushing back to DC.

Just as I finish typing this, Jack Johnson is playing in the backround..  He's singing "Slow down everyone... you're moving TOO fast...."

How perfect.

The Valentine's I won't forget... that I hope you won't either.

I have a story to tell.

This is the lengthiest blog I have ever written and probably will ever write- but I really encourage you to read all the way through to the end. Since I am extremely chronological and detailed when I write, this will be quite tedious to read but I hope it will provide some potential life changing guidance.

I had a rather unforgettable Valentine's Day yesterday.

It started out as a usual day at our office in Washington, DC. I had an afternoon flight out of DC which had me connecting through Memphis and arriving in an undisclosed remote Mississippi town by 8:19 pm. From here, I will pseudonym the city “MON” which stands for “Middle of Nowhere.”

Now typically, I no longer fly out of DC in the late afternoon. I had gotten into the habit last year, of working at the office all day (9-5) and then flying out to my destination, which often had me traveling late at night, by myself, in unknown, and often very "in the middle of nowhere" places. I had had enough scares to make me realize that without exception, I need to stick to the rule that I do NOT travel in the evenings unless I am absolutely comfortable and familiar with my destination.

In this particular case, I didn't really think it was a big deal that I would be landing at 8:19 pm in MON because I was also planning to book my hotel in MON for that night- Therefore, avoiding driving very far from the airport. No big deal, right?

Well I didn't plan very well, and come yesterday morning, I still hadn't booked my hotel.

Through our company we have an internal website that allows us to type in a city and then view a list of all the nearby hotels within about a 25 mile radius. There are typically, dozens and dozens of options that come up. For instance even in my small hometown of Pawley's Island, SC, the hotel search yields 107 results.  

These hotel searches typically provide instant insight as to how remote or not remote your destination is. I often joke to my colleagues and myself that, "you KNOW you're gonna be in the "boonies" when you try to book a hotel in a city and only a handful of options pop up."

When I tried to book my hotel yesterday morning, there were only 10 options for hotels within a 25 mile radius of MON. The options were a collection of: Days Inn, Econo Lodge, Super 8 Motel, America's Value Inn, and the Hampton Inn.

"Sweet!" there's a Hampton Inn. "Perfect," I thought. I clicked on it and quickly realized there were no vacant rooms. I called the hotel just to confirm, and it turned out that yup, there were no rooms at the Hampton Inn.

I didn't feel entirely comfortable staying at one of the other options, especially in such a middle-of-nowhere town, well, and especially because of the options themselves. So I called our company travel agents to talk through the issue. They recommended that either I stay at the Comfort Inn, or drive 40 miles to the next biggest city with some better hotel options.

I did NOT want to drive 40 miles once I landed in MON. I wanted to stick to my "no driving on the roads at night" rule; A rule that I had founded by the way due to a scary late night drive in this exact region last fall. There was no chance in hell I was going to drive 40 miles from the airport.

So I sucked it up, and booked a room at the Comfort Inn. "What a Valentine's Day...." I thought. I was already imagining landing, getting fast food, and staying in a crappy hotel and writing some sort of sarcastic facebook status about how romantic my evening is. I was secretly glad that this would potentially make a funny story to tell.

I ventured over to one my colleagues and told her that I would be staying at the Comfort Inn in MON for Valentine's Day. She had been to MON before, visiting the same hospital where I had a meeting the following morning.

She couldn't believe that I was going to spend the night there. She had previously gone for the day, and felt extremely uncomfortable, even in daylight. I felt a tad nervous at this, but figured that I could handle it. Not to mention, a part of me thought she might be over-exaggerating just a bit, with her larger than life New Orleans southern expressions. (Love you Linds!!)

As the day passed, I organized my things, made sure I had all of materials, etc. At one point I started to think in the back of my head that I should try and change my flight so that I fly directly into Jackson, the capital of Mississippi where I would be staying on Tuesday and Wednesday night.

If I flew into Jackson, I would enjoy the comfort of a nice hotel, for three nights in a row, in a MUCH larger city. The problem, was that Jackson was over two hours away from where my meeting was the following morning. I would have to get up really early if I stayed in Jackson. I quickly dismissed the thought of flying into Jackson. The main reason why, and I am embarrassed to admit this, is because the stupid side of me, thought that I might just end up with a funnier story to tell if I fly into MON. Unbelievable.

Fast forward to my connection in Memphis. All is well so far. Except that I'm in the Memphis airpot. I HATE this airport. It smells like old BBQ, the bathrooms are disgusting, there is tacky, gaudy, Myrtle Beach type souvenirs everywhere... I don't like this place. (Not at all how I feel about Memphis by the way- just the airport).

On the way to my gate, I pass Corky's BBQ- my colleague warned me about Corky's so I snapped a a quick picture, sent it to my Mom and colleague with the subject title: "What a romantic Valentine's dinner." My funny story was unfolding quite well and I started laughing to myself.

I proceeded to my gate, and eventually boarded the plane for MON. We had a small plane. That I expected. I'd say that the plane had seating capacity for 50 people.

There were only 7 people on my flight.

Apparently we were supposed to have 9 people, "But two must have gone to Popeyes," the Stewardess joked. (Popeyes = Bojangles).

I chuckled to myself. This is really getting good.

It was a short flight. And it was precisely the moment that we landed, that I realized, this was not going to be a funny evening.

Typically when your airplane descends at night, you see lights down below. You see signs of civilization. You can tell how close you are getting to the ground because of this. The sky last night was pitch black. I could feel that we were descending, but didn't see any lights anywhere. Then all of sudden, BAM, we touched down. I was so jolted at first because I thought that our airplane had hit something in the sky. The landing came out of nowhere.

I gazed out the window as we were coming to a stop... and I couldn't see a thing. Not one light- not even on the runway. It was pitch pitch black. It was actually kind of creepy, because here we were, moving quite fast on the runway, but you couldn't see anything.

As I collected my things and walked to the front of the plane, I asked the flight attendant if she knew of any fast food restaurants in the area. I was hungry. It was technically 9:15 to my body, and I hadn’t had anything to eat since noon. I figured I should pick something up before heading to my hotel. Her response when I asked her if there was fast food nearby: "Be careful."

I think a lump started forming in my throat at that moment. My heart started racing a little bit. Why would she say that? What could be so dangerous about getting fast food at 8:30 pm?

I de-planed and headed towards the airport (there are no jetways/gates/ramps at airports this small, you just walk down the steps of the plane and go on your merry little way.

I went to the rental car counter to pick up my car keys. As I was waiting to get the keys, I figured it would be a good idea to go ahead and type in my hotel address in my GPS so that I wouldn’t be sitting in the parking lot trying to figure this out in the car, alone… in MON. I wanted to get in the car and start driving asap.

I typed in “MON” in the GPS. No results. “Are you kidding me!?” I thought. I told the girl at the counter that the GPS wasn’t recognizing MON. “Are we really THAT small?!” she joked. It was one of the “Ha ha… ummm… holy crap” moments.

So I called the hotel and figured they could direct me from the airport since it was less than 7 miles away.

“Hi there, my name is Betsy Barrows and I am a guest in your hotel tonight- can you tell me how to get there from the MON airport?”

Silence.

“Umm..” the girl replied….. “I don’t know how to get here from the airport.” She wasn’t “that familiar” with the area.

I hung up the phone and the girl at the rental car counter asked me where I was staying and then directed me. (It was literally, 3 turns from the airport.) She gave me her phone number and said I can call her “just in case.” I asked her if she knew whether or not it was a safe area. She told me I should be fine since there is a police station right next to the hotel. Don’t know why, but that actually didn’t calm my increasing anxiety one bit.

I got in the car as quickly as possible- as quickly as one can with two roller bags and a purse.

I pulled away from the airport and started driving through MON. And that’s when everything sank in, that this was a really bad idea.

I want to pause here, and remind my audience that I have now been traveling for my job extensively for nearly 10 months. I have seen my fair share of “sketchy areas”, and not so safe neighborhoods. This was probably the most unsafe I’ve felt in a town I’m visiting. So unsafe, that I did not want to stop when approaching stop signs. It was run down… abandoned… scary.

Rounding the corner towards the Comfort Inn, my eyes scanned the parking lot to see what kind of cars and how many were parked there. I hate to say that- but that was my first thought. It looked like a decent mix- perhaps a few random business travelers were staying there.

I pulled up to the front of the hotel, unloaded my things and headed inside to check in. There was no-one at the front counter and one of the main lights flickered on and off. I felt like I was in a horror movie.

I cautiously approached the front counter and my friend who didn’t know how to give airport directions popped out from a back office. As I proceeded to check in, I asked her if there were any fast food restaurants nearby so that I could get something to eat. Again, I am pretty hungry by this point.

She thought for a moment and then said… “Ummm.. there is no fast food but if you want, there is a couple of casinos down the street that have a good buffet.”

Oh my God. Casino buffets….?  In MON?! Are you crazy?!

Just then two men walked into the hotel who looked like they had just wandered in off the street. They were guests who wanted to switch rooms because they didn’t like the rooms that the “boss man” had put them in.

One of them handed a to-go box of food to the girl behind the counter and said in a mumbled sort of English, “Here, you can have leftovers if you want them.”

“That’s it” I thought. I am OUT OF HERE. I waited until the men left because I was actually scared to walk to my room. And if I wasn’t on the first floor, I don’t think I would have gone up the elevator. So I thought to myself, I’m going to go to my room and figure out what to do.

Once in my room I did some serious back and forth about what to do. I can honestly say it is one of the first times in this role that I didn’t know what to do. Do I stay in this freaky hotel, without anything to eat, OR do I get the heck out of here and head to Jackson- a much bigger city where more than likely I could try to get into my nice hotel one night early.

On the one hand, if I stay in this hotel- at least I am safely put. If I go to Jackson, I risk driving at night on these roads that I know from experience are not good.

“Alright, it’s 8:45 pm….” I thought. “I’m going to watch the rose ceremony of the Bachelor for the last 15 minutes and then get out of here.” (I actually can’t believe this thought crossed my mind).

I started having second thoughts about leaving once I looked down at my key and saw a number for dominoes. Perfect. I can order pizza and just stay put. That’s it.

I called Dominoes. An hour and a half wait for delivery.

I hung up and called my Jackson hotel and asked if I could check in a day early- just to see if this was an option. It was.

What to do? What to do? What to do? Precious moments were going by and I knew I had to think fast.  

Somewhere between trying to map out the route to Jackson on my iPhone and seeing Michelle get voted off of the Bachelor (finally), I decided, I’m getting out of here, and FAST. It was 9 pm, I would be getting into Jackson after 11 pm (central time).

I typed the address of my Jackson hotel in my GPS while in the hotel room so that I could get in the car and go. I checked out and loaded my things back in the car.

I headed out of MON and within seconds realized that it was a very very bad thing that my rental car only had ONE cigarette lighter charger. Why was this so bad? Because both my cell phone and GPS were dying. (I was only going to be driving a few miles from the airport at 8:19 pm- why would I need them to be fully charged?)

In that moment it was more important to charge my GPS so that I could get headed in the right direction. Then I could always switch out and plug in my phone if needed. Luckily, this time,  I actually had my cell phone car charger with me- an absolute absolute must on the road.

I headed out of there with only 12% battery left on my iPhone and a nearly dead GPS. And then I did what any female marketer would have done in that situation: I called my mother.

She answered (after all, the rose ceremony was over), and said in a cheery voice, “Hey Bets! So how was Corky’s?”

WHAT I WOULD HAVE GIVEN TO BE AT CORKY’s in that moment! Corky’s was NOTHING compared to what I had gotten myself into.

I don’t know what was scarier: MON, or the driving through complete darkness, all alone, with no other cars on the road but mine.

I’ve driven at night alone plenty of times. Lot’s of times. This was very very different than driving down an interstate or main highway at 10:00 pm. I was on a two lane bumpy road, in the backwoods of rural Mississippi going 60 mph, driving through swamplands with a dying cell phone. I was scared. And 20 minutes into the drive, I wish I’d never left the “Comfort” Inn.

I knew if I kept talking to my Mom, my phone would die. But I was too scared to hang up and be all alone. At one point she suggested hanging up so I could save my battery. But I asked her to please stay on the line. I’m sure my Mom was worried from the moment I called and told her the situation I was in, but I would guess that it was in that moment, that she realized how afraid I was.

She then tried to stay as calm as possible and talk about normal things: How was my day at the office? What’s new? How is apartment searching going? I knew that she could have cared less about the answers… she just wanted me to keep my mind as preoccupied as possible.

At one point I started telling her the names of the towns I saw on road signs so that she could track where I was on “google maps.” You see, my crappy GPS does not allow me to see the entire route that gets me from point A to my final destination. I only can see what my next turn is. So for instance, I didn’t have visibility into the fact that I will be on Road A for 10 miles, then Road B for 15 miles, then Road C for 7 miles….. etc. etc. and then end up in Jackson. I could only tell how far it would be until my next turn, and then go from there. And I was zigzagging all over the place. So at any point, I never knew how far I was from Jackson because there were no signs for Jackson, or for ANYWHERE.

Then the inevitable happened- my phone died. And it was me, my car, and darkness.

Just when I thought things could not get any worse, I started driving through fog. The fog would get worse, and then light up, and then get worse again. It seriously looked like ghosts hitting the windshield of my car. I had to reduce my speed, and turn off my bright lights so that I could see the road. “Why so foggy all of a sudden?” I thought. I looked to the right and noticed a bank that went down into a body of water. I was driving over a bayou. Please note in this definition the part that says “Many bayous are home to crawfish, certain species of shrimp, other shellfish, catfish, frogs, american crocodiles, american alligators, and a myriad other species.”

Oh lovely. My heart really started pounding fast and there was a few brief seconds that I thought I could have a heart attack. It was getting late now, I was tired, hungry and scared and getting more and more so.

I did my best to just stay calm. But of course it was impossible to not think about the possibility of hitting an alligator, hitting a pothole and having a flat tire, getting pulled over by a cop on a deserted road…

Eventually I unplugged my GPS and started charging my phone again and after it charged back up for 10 minutes I called my Mom back.

She had now gotten my Dad involved and they were looking through a huge paper map of Mississippi trying to figure where I was, and how far I was from Jackson. I would tell my Mom, “My next turn is this road called “16” and she would say, “16?!?! Why is it telling you to go to 16?? It looks like if you just stay where you are you will eventually end up in Jackson but I can’t quite tell….”

I kept driving and driving and driving. At one point my Mom put my oldest sister on the phone because I think she’d run out of things to say to me. Bonnie got on the line and I told her the whole story of what had happened that night from start to finish- from being in the office in DC, to 7 people being on my flight, to the alligators… and at the end of it she waited for a few seconds to say something and then said, “Well…. I walked around the Island today.” J Thanks Bon!

EVENTUALLY, I got to a critical point where my GPS was telling me to turn onto yet another deserted road in 2 miles, while my Mom was telling me I should keep going straight. As I approached the turn I decided to keep going straight, perhaps there might be a sign up ahead. Just as my GPS was blaring in my ear “Where possible, make a legal U-Turn”, I saw a green road up ahead. It said…. JACKSON 36 miles. PRAISE YOU JESUS!!!!! JACKSON!!!!

We both screamed on the phone we were so excited! Shortly after I merged onto a 4 lane highway. A four lane highway! It was so exciting! I exclaimed, “Mom! I am on a 4 lane highway now!!!!” (Which by the way, still by all accounts was not the safest place to be at night but was 10,000 better than the roads I had just driven through).

Eventually I made it to Jackson. I swear I will always think of this night when I hear the song Johnny and June Cash’s “Jackson.”

It was almost 11:30, and hungry, I passed my hotel exit to get to the nearest McDonalds a few miles down the road. The lights were on, people were inside, thank God. I pulled up to the drive through and an automatic voice virtually slapped me in the face and said, “we’re sorry, this location is now closed.” YOU WOULD BE CLOSED! I thought.

I turned around and headed back to my hotel. Luckily, there a Wendy’s right beside it. I got a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger, Combo. Happy Valentine’s Day.

I staggered into the Hilton, so very glad to see a Hilton, while carrying my bags, soft drink, fast food bag… I looked ridiculous.

I got to my room…. heaven. Dropped to my knees and thanked GOD that I made it there safely. I haven’t felt such relief in a long time.

I sat in bed and started chowing down, just in time to catch some late night comedy on TV; Also just in time to notice the “In room dining” menu with room service until midnight. Go figure.  

I downed the burger- took a hot shower, and looked forward to putting my comfy PJ bottoms on that my sister got me for Christmas. Too bad however, once opening my suitcase I realized that I’d I left them in DC. Along with deodorant and underwear.

This was one night that had beat me down. And all of it could have been avoided if I would have followed “the principle of the path” (the life changing guidance I mentioned at the beginning of this blog), but this I will save for next time, because I’ve been typing for four hours, and I have meetings tomorrow in other middle of nowhere Mississippi towns.

Goodnight from Jackson.  At least I can smile at that. J

Angola prison... and my grandfather?!

Where to begin.

Really had a special experience today visiting with a Vice President of Human Resources at a Southern Lousiana hospital. One that I won't forget.

As we started our typical small chat- I learned that she used to live in Asheville, North Carolina. I shared that I used to spend childhood summers in Asheville going to a summer camp called "The Cove Camp" at the Billy Graham Training Center. I figured that because of her age, and that she had spent time in Asheville, she would be quite familiar with Billy Graham and potentially my grandfather, Cliff Barrows who was the music director for Billy Graham's crusades for over 50 years.

Billy Graham and "Papa" to the right, probably in the 50's?

I don't typically talk about my "Papa" in meetings, but something told me that this VP of HR would be intriqued if I shared that I was his grandaughter. Perhaps it was the fact that she had told me she was a Southern Baptist Christian?!

After I told her, she excitedly told me, "Your grandfather came to Angola State Prison here in Lousiana and spoke/sang and told the prisoners that he would donate one of his organs (musical instrustments) to the prison." Apparantely it was big new in Lousiana, or at least, among the Baptists... :)

She then proceeded to teach me a bit of the history of Angola prison, and that it was once known as one of the most brutal prisons in the country.

She then shared that, in fact, she couldn't remember whether or not my grandfather had said he would donate an organ, or if he had said that he was going to have his casket made by the prison since apparantely they make wonderful wooden caskets. (At this point I'm thinking, when in the world am I going to get to my sales pitch?)

But I felt intrigued and told her that I would call my Mom to investigate which one it was- something about the organ being donated sounded terribly familiar- but I just couldn't put my finger on it.

Then we somehow got on the subject of George Beverly Shea- the third original team member who was famous for singing beloved hymns at Billy Graham's crusades, most notably, "How Great Thou Art."

Papa, Billy Graham, and George Beverly Shea

She had thought that George Beverly Shea had passed away, since he was the oldest of the group. I shared that he in fact was alive and very much still kickin'. "In fact," I exclaimed, "... my Mom and I visited him in his home this past fall."

And that's when it clicked!

When we were there in his home I remember "Uncle Bev" proudly showing us his brand new organ; one which could play songs automatically. He told us that the organ was also his alarm clock, and he would set it to play this extremely loud music all throughout the house and this is what he would wake up to!

I told the VP of HR that I think in fact it was not my grandfather who came to Angola prision, but George Beverly Shea... but that I would double check with my mom and get back to her.

Sure enough, after my meeting I called my mom, told her the story, and she said that yes, in fact, it was George Beverly Shea who wanted to donate an organ to Angola prison. After we had visited with him last fall, on our way out the door, Uncle Bev had pointed to a much older organ of his (he must have had 5 organs in the house) and exclaimed that in a few weeks he would be traveling to Lousiana to give the organ to the prison.

The reason why my Mom remembered this, is because, in her typical Lydia Barrows humor, she turned to Uncle Bev and said, "You are the only living organ donor I know."

It was as if a light bulb went off and I remembered exactly the organ which now sits in Angola Prison here in Lousiana.

Next time I think I might have to go find it. ;)

"Go out to see the world. Come home for love."

I love this quote!

I first spotted it on a decorative block of wood in a cute San Diego shop earlier this summer. It has become a fitting motto for my life.

Over this past year of extensive travel I've learned that though there are so many interesting and wonderful things to see in this world, one should never expect from the world what can only be fulfilled by what we each consider "home."

To me, "home" means family. And over the past two weeks of no travel, meetings, or phone calls, I have soaked up a whole lotta love from this crazy group. In fact, I think I might have overdosed. 

Introducing... Buzz Lightyear.
Earth name= Nephew Jackson.

Buzz helps Papa cook some bacon on Sunday morning.

Introducing Miss Mailey... here she wears the little dress my Swiss nanny gave me when I was a baby!

My hero. She can eat and sleep at the same time!

Buzz gets a surprise from Daddy. A Toy Story 3 inflatable ball to roll inside of!
It took Papa and Justin hours to manually pump this ball up!



Papa rolls Jackson around (while wearing Jackson's hat).
P.S. It's snowing in South Carolina!

Aunt Betsy jumps in! (Harder than it looks).

Yay! Jackson gets big boy Toy Story underwear for Christmas!

Too bad they fit Auntie JJ better than Jackson.



Hard to keep up with the Barrows' stockings.



Bobby was responsible for filling Dad's stocking, per our family tradition. Not knowing where Dad's stocking was, Bobby improvised,and literally hung Hanes socks across the mantle with Dad's goodies inside. (Please note the last Hanes sock to the far right. Bobby filled it with... Hanes socks).

Mailey loves to pull Uncle Bobby's hair.

Mom... being Mom. ;)

Bobby.... being Bobby.

Buddy/Bobby... being Buddy/Bobby  :)

Jackson loves dressing up in our coats. Here he wears Bobby's poofy vest. I love this!

For New Years, 4 generations of Barrows girls (and Buddy)  watched fireworks from our front porch in our new bath robes.

STAY TUNED... VIDEOS COMING SOON!