Facing My Greatest Fear: Flying in an Airplane (Yes, I Did :-))

I've been afraid of airplanes ever since I can remember.  I flew to Florida once when I was a little kid, and the trip back to Boston was rough--turbulence-ridden, and the pilot thought he was being funny by referring to himself as "Bud Weiser" as he pretended to crash into Boston Harbor.

Yeah, my parents decided that it was easier to load three children into a station wagon and drive three days for subsequent trips to the Sunshine State.  It was easier than trying to force me onto an airplane.

Just to give you some idea ...

So I have flatly refused to fly throughout my life.  I missed out on a high school exchange program in Australia, spring break in Mexico, lots of visits, not seeing family members that I should have seen, one of Belle's modeling events (thank you, Mom and Addie, for bringing her), and so on and so forth.

I've gotten close a couple of times.  My mother bought me a ticket to go to Florida with her, but I'd had recent surgery and was concerned about that (the details would probably make it clearer as to why it was an area of concern, but I'm not going there).  I called the doctor about anxiety medication for flying, and he happily gave me some ... but I was so anxious about flying in the days leading up to flying that I took all of the anxiety medication before it was the day we were supposed to leave.

And then last weekend my sister needed me.

Evidently, being a big sister trumps lifelong fears.  Who knew?

I think part of why I was finally able to pull it off was because it came up so quickly.  I only had a day to be anxious, nauseous, petrified, and so on.  Mainly, though, my sister's need was significantly more ... well, significant than my being a baby over something people do every single day.

Addie (who has been to Europe twice, never mind all the flying she's done in the U.S.) walked me through the entire process step by step, telling me what I had to take out of my bags during the security check, comparing landing to being in a car that slams on its brakes, and so on.  It was a huge help :-)

Addie opined that the security check is the worst part of flying, my mother felt that when they drop the wheels just before landing is (yeah, I was sort of polling people), but the worst part for me is sitting on the airplane waiting for it to take off.

Thank God for Valium and Stephen King books you've read so many times they're like old friends ...

Anyway, the flight down was fine.  A single mother and her 18-month-old asked if they could sit with me (Southwest Airlines has kind of a "cattle call" seating deal ... it's unofficial tagline is "When you can't afford anything else ..."), and that turned out to be a good thing.  I was pretty sure I would not totally lose it in front of a little kid, and I was right.

So I spent the weekend in Baltimore (lowlighted by the fact that I put my wallet on the back of a car then drove off with it), and that was all good.

The flight home, though ...

I should probably mention at this point that I have three serious fears--flying, thunderstorms, and snakes.

Well, there was a thunderstorm shaking its fist at Baltimore as my sister drove me to the airport.  In fact, there were severe thunderstorms up and down the entire eastern seaboard, to the degree that my flight was delayed.

So, yeah, the flight home was more like I'd pictured flying to be in my nightmares.  It was dark outside, you could see lightning all around, and it was bumpy and scary and not fun.  I took extra Valium.

And then, when I finally landed, Henry was late picking me up so I was very grouchy to him.

It's a male/female thing, I think.

He knew what time I left at since I texted him just before we took off, and he's also one of those ridiculous techies that has an app for everything.  I figured he'd be flight tracking me and would be waiting when I deplaned.  Probably with flowers.  At the very least, he'd be at the cell phone lot, reading a book.

Nope, he hadn't left his house yet.  So I had to wait for him to get there after being on the flight from hell, then lightning started flashing in the sky, and ...

Well, he spent this past weekend on a mini-vacation to Bangor, Maine with me, so I assume he's forgiven me, but I was pretty unpleasant.

Anyway, people keep asking me if I'd fly again.  The answer, by the way, is yes.  I'd still dope myself up pretty well and probably be on a hair trigger, but I would.  There is just so much to see and do, and I could Gibbs-smack myself for missing out on so much.

I've also learned from numerous unimpeachable sources that the flight home is by far the exception rather than the rule.

So, yeah, I faced my greatest fear, and the irony is that it took my sister being in distress to make me do it, which makes me feel like kind of a jerk.

But then I got thinking about it ... two years ago, I think I would have taken a train or driven to Baltimore.  I would be there if she needed me, but it would be on my terms because flying was just ... well, just too much.

And I've gotten a lot better about thunderstorms, too, in large part because my golden retriever is even more scared than I am, so trying to comfort her makes me less afraid.

Snakes?  Dear God!  I don't think I'll ever get over that one ;-)

So what are you most afraid of?  Have you ever overcome major fears?  How did you accomplish that?  

And here is a pic of Mary and my nephew Eddie, just so you can see how amazing my family is and why I had to go <3 nbsp="nbsp" p="p">

Fiction 500 Opportunity

The Badass Geek (a.k.a. Michael Goodwin) has a site called Fiction 500, and I truly believe that anyone with interest of any sort in fiction writing check out this site (the Fiction 500 one, not Badass Geek's personal blog--although that's pretty cool, too :)).

In brief, this is what you'll find in the "About" section:
Fiction 500 is an on-going short fiction project, created in 2008. The project is based upon a simple idea: write a fictional story using no more 500 words. These stories could be part of a series, connected through characters or events, or each story could function as it's own entity. Either way, the goal is to be as concise as possible, creating a complete, stand-alone work. Telling a story in just 500 words forces the writer to get to the point and decide what the most important things to say are, and what parts of the story can be left up to the reader to come up with on their own.

There is no doubt about it: writing a complete story in only 500 words is difficult. Are you up to the challenge?

Say what you've got to say. Just keep it short.

Anyway, I just submitted my piece. I'm really excited for two reasons:
1. I actually managed to write a complete piece in 500 words. Any of you that know me well are aware that this is a minor miracle : )
2. I posted excerpts from my second novel and only got a couple of comments. I know that comments just mean that someone wrote a response and that lots of people probably read it but didn't have time to comment. Or maybe they hated it and were too polite to say so. Yeah, that's gotta be it. See, I'm a little neurotic, and writing is very difficult for me when my confidence is shaky. My confidence is shaky right now, so you can certainly help by reading the excerpts posted a couple of days ago and commenting (unless you're going to say, "You suck. Find another dream!")

Anyway, check out Badass Geek's Fiction 500 site and consider submitting. It might well be worth your while : )

Nature or Nurture?

Well, this has been quite a week. I am a creature of habit; when something upsets my routine, I tend to flounder.

Pythagorus left for Georgia Monday afternoon, leaving Belle in the care of my mother. My mom is on our cell phone plan, so we brought her new cell phone to her on Sunday afternoon. Sometime between then and Monday morning, her new phone stopped working. She flipped out and, as is her wont, became enraged about everything else (when I got home from work on Monday, for example, she went off on me about my dirty refrigerator--it was really pretty disgusting, I admit that, but it had been a long day and it was not the first thing I needed to hear about). I finally took my old cell phone down to the Verizon Wireless store, had her number switched over to it, and returned home. I showed her how to use it (well, I tried), and then she was fine. The repulsive refrigerator (and everything else) ceased to bother her as soon as the phone fiasco was fixed.

It's funny because I'm exactly the same way. I get a bee in my bonnet about something, and I'm pissed off at the world. As soon as that particular bee is eliminated, I'm fine. Ah, Mom ... is it nature or nurture? The world may never know.

Anyway, things settled down nicely after that. I cleaned the refrigerator as soon as I got home from work on Tuesday, my mom has been a tremendous help (she's been dropping Belle off at day care, which doesn't open until half an hour after I have to leave for work), and it's been a lot of fun to relax with my mom and the girls.

I had my own meltdown moment yesterday when I went to pick up Addie's friend Cassidy and bring them to play rehearsal. As I was backing up to turn around in Cassidy's driveway, my car got stuck in the infamous New Hampshire spring mud. It was horrible; the more I tried to move the car, the further mired it got. Cassidy got a shovel from her garage and we tried digging and pushing to no avail. Addie and Cassidy went to get the high school boy who lives across the street, and he came down and did what he could, but the car just seemed to move deeper and deeper. At about that point, Addie called my mom, who graciously agreed to come help out. Fortunately, before she could get there, Cassidy's parents arrived. Her father chained his tractor to my car and pulled it out, my mother got there and brought Addie and Cassidy to their rehearsal, and Belle and I went home with the mud drying onto the wheels making the car shake like crazy.

When my mother called for help in locating Cassidy's house, I just started crying. When Addie whined about being late for rehearsal, I was pretty short with her. And Belle ... oh, I couldn't even respond when she kept asking, "Why aren't we moving, Mommy? Why aren't you driving? Why is the mud flying? I want to go home. Why can't we go home? Why aren't we moving, Mommy?" in an incessant monologue because I was scared of what I would say.

It reminded me, of course, of my mother's fit over the broken cell phone making her so upset about everything else. My mother is a fabulous person, but this trait of hers is something I walked in fear of my entire childhood. It bothers me that I seem to have the same trait.

And, of course, it makes me wonder whether the same will be true for Addie and Belle.

Just Stuff it Under the Bed

It's funny sometimes to think about where the line between child and adult is.

I am thirty-two years old. I'm married with two children of my own. I have a successful career, and I pay my bills on time (mostly). However, the mere thought of my mother coming to stay with us for four days while Pythagorus is in the South on business has me cleaning my bedroom in details that haven't been reached for ... oh, I'm going to say years. For some reason, my mother being in this house brings out the child in me.

I guess the reason for that is obvious. She lived in this house for almost fifteen years. What is now "my" bedroom used to be hers. The fact that it wasn't exactly clean on a regular basis when it was her room will no doubt be lost in her memories. Oh my God, the wainscoting is dusty! (I have a black lab and white wainscoting ... it's always going to look dusty).

What gets me, I think, is that you always want better for your kids, and I think that's why my mother is so quick to pass judgment on my (lack of) housekeeping skills. In a recent conversation with my sister, we came to the mutual conclusion that Kay (my mother) is "special", for lack of a better way to put it. She has a good heart and would do anything for anyone, but she has eccentricities that impacted us adversely when we were children and have made her the subject of many eye rolls and inside jokes she will never understand as we've gotten older.

I love my mother dearly. After the girls and Pythagorus, she is the most important person in my life. She knows this as well as I do. In fact, she was the first person to whom I e-mailed the illustrious first edition of the brand new school newspaper. In much the same way, I am the first person she comes to with things both good and bad. My mother, the bane of my existence for the first twenty-three years of my life, is now pretty much my best friend. Life is strange.

Which is why I can't figure out why I'm reeling on Klonopin as I clean my bedroom in anticipation of her arrival. This should be a photograph from earlier years, and I find it intriguing that it's still the case all these years later.

Is there some point in time where that magic parent/child role reversal takes place? Although I guess it's true, once a mother, always a mother ...