I don't like creepy airplane noises. When the bell dings twice and the cabin stewards run up the aisle to the cockpit, intellectually I know that the captain probably only wants a cup of coffee, but I still get nervous.
My first airplane trip took place when I was eighteen years old. I was flying from Michigan to Texas and my parents were so worried about the transfer in Chicago that my father flew with me to O'Hare Airport then flew back home after he'd escorted me onto the proper flight.
From the start I have been a skittish passenger, but some years ago I found myself on a cross-country flight that was the scariest, most turbulent trip of my life. The plane was pitching and roiling and my stomach was churning. Every time we lurched, I got more frightened. And then things deteriorated. It was at that time I promised God that if he could only see his way clear to get me safely home to my babies, I would never fly again. Never! And I meant it, too.
Time passed. The kids grew up, our son moved out west, our daughter had our first grandchild up north and we moved down south. Suddenly, not only am I flying, but I'm flying on tickets paid for by frequent flier miles. Don't get me wrong, I still don't like creepy airplane noises and turbulence still makes me crazy scared, but when I get to choose between thirteen hours riding in the car and an hour and a half gliding through the sky, well, I'll pick the airplane every time.
I can almost hear God laughing.
Katie overheard me telling her father that I function best in an ultra-clean environment. She laughed a long time. The sound of her laughter is beautiful; joy bubbles over into the room. It always lifts my spirits and I enjoyed hearing it, even though I knew she was not laughing with me. The joke, in her mind, was that she's known me her whole life and has yet to see me achieve anything that could even creatively be described as "ultra clean." That does not negate, however, the fact that I function best with surroundings that are orderly.
I spend a lot of time cleaning and get very little bang for my buck. Because of my propensity to get distracted midway, it takes a long time and the threat that one cleaning day will bleed into the next is ever-present. To be frank, I stink at this. It's strangely liberating to write those words. Now whenever people just drop by, they will know in advance that they aren't going to find "hotel clean" when they step over our threshold. I try to get there -- a lot -- I just fail most of the time. Like right now, for example. I stopped cleaning to write this post.
Minutes ago, as I was cleaning the house, I thought, "What if when I die, God yells at me?" What if he says, "Christine, I gave you a gift and you squandered it by spending all your time dusting, cleaning toilets and swiffering?" Then he might continue, saying, "Meanwhile you denied someone whose true passion was cleanliness an opportunity to do what she does best. How do you justify this?" What will I say?
It is possible that one of my true gifts is rationalizing. But what if?? Maybe I should consider getting a cleaning lady, just in case. Covering all your bases, I think that's what the guys call it.
