Take my husband’s ex-wife and their two adopted children as examples.  They truly don’t do anything for themselves.  They moved to Minnesota about eight years ago when it became obvious that the Georgia school system was going to put the ex-wife, Karen, in jail for truancy.  Although she has an undergrad degree in psychology and a law degree from a third-tier school (and couldn’t pass the bar after three attempts), Karen didn’t see the value of her two adopted children attending school on a regular basis.  She would load them into her van, drive them to school, and then the van would sit in the school parking lot for 30 minutes while she asked the kids to get out and go into school.  Being teenagers and assholes to boot, they refused.  So she would drive them home, where they would watch TV or go to the mall all day.

When the younger child – Jay – stole Karen’s credit cards and car, that attracted some unwanted attention to the fact that neither kid had been in school for over 30 days.  Jay’s extreme anger earned him two commitments by his mother in a mental facility.  And all this caught the attention of the court system, which ordered her to attend parenting classes and let her know that her kids had better be in school or else she would be arrested.  Rather than make the kids attend school, Karen sold the house, packed up the van with those kids and whatever they hadn’t trashed in the house, and moved to Minnesota.  She dropped off two dogs at Animal Services after telling my husband that she had dropped them off at the Humane Society.  Since telling the truth isn’t her strong suit, I called Animal Services and was in time to save one of the dogs.  The other had already been destroyed.

With a fresh new start in Minnesota, it wasn’t long before the kids were back to their truant ways.  Jay was arrested for breaking and entering and was institutionalized for violence.  Neither he nor his older adopted sister, Kris, finished high school.

Kris has been described by a family member as short, fat, ugly and stupid.  That about sums it up.  She has a lower than average IQ, which isn’t surprising because her biological parents were trailer trash with a capital T.  Kris couldn’t be bothered to go to school or study, so as a result she can’t pass the GED despite several attempts.  She swears she’s going to study and keep taking the test, but somehow she never finds time.  She also can’t be bothered to look for a job because she’s flying around the country and around the world to attend anime conventions and be a groupie for some Japanese band called An Cafe.  Go figure.  She has flight pass privileges since she’s the (adopted) daughter of an airline pilot.  And the good people of Minnesota subsidize her lifestyle by providing public housing for her to live in and food stamps so she can continue being obese.

Jay has no job, no education, married an unattractive girl who also did not finish school and he has anger management issues.  He has a learning disability that didn’t seem to preclude him from driving to Georgia from Minnesota several times to visit friends.  He’s been hospitalized for pancreatitis that he swears was from eating bad food but in reality was from excessive drinking.  He somehow found money for cigarettes, booze and drugs but couldn’t be bothered to work.  Instead his horsey-faced wife worked at Burger King to afford their trailer rent payments, which they ultimately were evicted from.  For some reason they can’t get into public housing – probably because of his arrests and drug issues.  The only exercise all of them get is stretching out their hands for entitlements.

And good old Karen, with her psychology degree and law degree, works at Target part-time and lives in public housing.  She blew through $300,000 in eight years and now doesn’t have two dimes to rub together.  She was hell bent on getting SSI for those two kids, but she knows now that people are watching and will report her for fraud if she moves forward.  It’s hard to justify how those two lazy cretins can qualify for SSI when they seem to be able to drive cars, fly on planes, navigate through airports and use computers to find anime conventions and concerts but somehow can’t find or hold down a job.

Looking at those three fine, upstanding pillars of Minnesota society, I guess it’s not hard to explain why Al Franken won the election.  The state of Minnesota gives and gives while asking nothing of those on the receiving end.  And those receivers voted for Franken – receivers like those kids and the ex-wife.  God bless you good people of Minnesota.  Because of you those loser kids and the ex-wife will stay in Minnesota, a thousand miles away from my husband and me.  Sometimes even that’s not far away enough, but it will do.  And if you’re ever in Alexandria, stop by the public housing and say hello to Karen, Jay and Kris.

But what a way to wake up!  In a private residence in stunning Palm Beach surrounded by water.  Living on the left coast of Florida I see a lot of wealth in the area.  It’s sedate.  Understated.  Not flashy.  Palm Beach County is just the opposite.  The wealthy aren’t just wealthy – they’re uber wealthy.  And they have no problem with letting everyone else know they’re wealthy. 

My last meeting today took place at the Palm Beach boat show.  I was talking to a boat dealer and he pointed out a customer who was ordering a $29 million boat.  That is so far off my radar screen that it’s hard for me to wrap my brain around that figure. 

To me a big boat is 40′.  To the people in Palm Beach, 40′ is a rowboat. 

A talking head on TV was trying to quantify how much money some of the ultra wealthy had lost in this wretched economy.  This talking head said that some billionaires had become “just” millionaires.  That doesn’t sound too bad to most of us, does it.  But it’s disasterous to the billionaires who suddenly find themselves millionaires because it takes someone with billions (with a b) to be able to afford a jet and a large yacht. 

And here I am with my four year old Lexus and a 29′ boat, thinking how lucky I am.    Ignorance is bliss.

For the past four years my husband and I have wanted to either remodel or replace the wretched structure we currently live in.  Built in the early 1970s, the house was minimally upgraded by the previous owner about 10 years ago.  The roof is original, and it leaks.  The rooms are small and the closets are about the size of a bread box.  There’s no storage.   The master faces the road – and we live on the water.  Now what rocket scientist thought anyone would rather look at asphalt than the water?!  Duh!

We live in Florida, and past hurricane seasons brought the prospect of the house being blown away, since it doesn’t remotely meet the current hurricane building standards.  We secretly contemplated how providential that would be – like a sign from God that now was the time to do something with that house!

No hurricanes have come our way and so my husband and I decided that 2009 would be the year of the house.  

We investigated remodeling, but with Florida’s 50% rule, remodeling wasn’t a viable option.  Our only option is to build new.  An excellent architect lives across the water from us and he designed a very livable house with thoughtful, well-designed space for about $200/sq. ft.  That seems like a lot to people who don’t have to build to hurricane codes.  And it is.  We must elevate the house to be a certain height above base flood elevation.  We must install impact windows and doors.  Roofs must be specially built to withstand hurricane force winds.  It all adds up to some big money.  And it’s the price we pay for living on the water in Florida.

We should start construction in another month or two – after I’m done obsessing over the wndows.  I hate small, boring and ordinary windows.  I have one chance to get this right and I don’t want to move into the house and decided I really don’t like the windows.   So right now the architect is probably secretly plotting my demise while outwardly he smiles and tries to please me. 

Our investments that we intended to use to pay for this new house are in the toilet, just like everyone else’s investments.  At our age we sure didn’t want to take on increased mortgage payments through more borrowed money, but it looks like that’s what we’ll have to do.  Despite the land devaluation that Florida has experienced, my husband and I truly believe that our money is probably better off invested in the house rather than the stock market.  As Scarlet O’Hara’s father, Gerald O’Hara, said in the movie:  “The land is the only thing in the world worth working for, worth fighting for, worth dying for because it’s the only thing that lasts.”

It’s because your state offers such outstanding benefits to unemployed people that my husband’s two adopted children and his ex-wife moved there.  And now they live virtually on the dole – on your taxpayer’s dollars. 

Your state does not differentiate between those who have run into hard times and deserve assistance and those who are lazy and won’t apply themselves.  Isn’t that great?  Everyone gets welfare, public housing, food stamps and free medical treatment – even those whose sole ambition is to sit home and do nothing all day.   Isn’t that heartwarming?

Meet three of your finest citizens – Karen, Kris and Jay.  Karen went to a third tier law school and couldn’t pass the bar after three attempts.  So she adopted two kids, hoping they would make her a “more interesting person.”  That they did – to the Georgia school system, truant officers and the courts because she didn’t make them go to school and the boy was in trouble in and out of school.  She packed up the kids and moved to Minnesota when it became clear she would be arrested for truancy.  Now she works part-time at a discount department store and lives in public housing.  She’s also scheming about how she can work the SSI system and get even more government support for these kids – who are now 23 and 27 and have never worked.  Their main source of exercise seems to be stretching out their hands for more “entitlements.”

Kris is the 27 year old.  She’s obese, quit high school and does nothing except sit in her public housing apartment, grocery shop with her food stamps, watch TV, eat, talk on the phone and chat on anime forums on the computer.  Oh, I almost forgot.  Kris travels regularly to concerts and anime conventions around the country.  Even though she’s adopted she still gets virtually free travel privileges because her adopted father works for an airline, so off she goes.  Yet her mother says Kris can’t work because of some disability.  (Karen has an undergrad degree in psychology and can work the system with the best of them.)  Funny – that disability hasn’t prevented her from traveling around the country and to Japan.  She’s capable of driving herself to an airport two hours away, reading signs in order to catch the right plane, and negotiating her way around strange places.  But she’s too disabled to work.  Isn’t that interesting.

And then there’s Jay.  He also quit high school, has been arrested several times – grand theft, breaking and entering, domestic abuse.  He’s been institutionalized several times for anger management issues.  He doesn’t work, and he and his wife live with Karen in public housing.  Jay’s wife also never finished high school but at least she tries to work – most recently in a fast food restaurant.  She quit that job though when Jay became ill with pancreatitis and was hospitalized for several days – on your nickel, dear Minnesota tax payers.  Jay SWEARS his pancreatitis was from eating a bad hamburger.  Look it up folks – pancreatitis is caused by excessive drinking.  Jay isn’t fooling anyone.  His behavior is well-documented – he drinks, he smokes and he has used drugs.  Where he gets the money for these lovely habits is anyone’s guess.

So once again I say THANK YOU to the good citizens of Minnesota for keeping your liberal policies and procedures in place.  God bless you!  Because of all the freebies they get, these three will never leave, which means they won’t be coming down to Florida to become a burden on our system.  For that I am grateful. 

If you’re ever in Alexandria stop by the public housing community and say hi to these three.  Seeing how they mooch off the government might make even the most ardent liberal rethink his or her position.

I am tremendously proud of my cousin, Christine Shively, who founded Knots of Love, an organization whose members knit caps for chemo patients.

Christine is a talented humanitarian who comes from a family of givers.  She saw a need and stepped in to fill that need.   Now she and other volunteers knit thousands of caps and distribute them to hospitals in southern California.

Some of our family members inherited our grandmother’s skill in sewing and knitting.   Alas, I am not one of those family members.  But I still contribute to Knots of Love by sending a box of yarn to my cousin periodically.   A list of preferred yarns is on her website and it’s actually fun to go into a store that I’d never go in otherwise – like JoAnn Fabrics and Michael’s – and buy yarn. 

Check out the Knots of Love website, and if you can please donate your knitting expertise, yarn or money to help chemo patients.  Or contact Christine to find out how to start a Knots of Love organization in your area.  Thanks.

In my travels with my husband over the past 10 years I’ve had the privilege of flying with some outstanding flight attendants and some not so outstanding ones, but the better ones outnumber those who aren’t.

Back in the day a career as a flight attendant, then known as a stewardess, was highly sought after.  A woman (no men in those days) needed some higher education after high school (nurses were desirable for their first aid knowledge) and attractiveness and slimness played a big role in the hiring process.

Travel to new cities, meet new people, marry well – that’s what being a stewardess meant.  You would meet a successful, good looking business man or pilot, quit your job, settle down to a good lifestyle and live happily ever after.  Ah, the glamorous life.

I remember my sophomore year of college.  I was tired of school, tired of taking my core classes, and facing two more years of school before getting my degree and being set free to work in the “real” world was depressing.  I wasn’t clear on my career path other than knowing I’d be majoring in English.  Some students knew they were going to be geologists or teachers or nurses or engineers.  That wasn’t my case. 

I considered quitting school and applying to the airlines to be a stewardess.  My parents, bless their souls, suggested I return home and meet with my high school guidance counselor to talk about options.  Now, Sister Roberta was a tall, gangly, no-nonsense nun who could bore holes through you with her stare.  But she and I had always gotten along throughout my four years in the private Catholic high school that I graduated from. 

So I made an appointment to see Sister Roberta one Friday afternoon on a weekend I was home from college.  She listened to me whine and complain about school.  I broached my tentative notion to become a stewardess.  She glared at me and said “Why would you want to become a glorified waitress?”  I mumbled something and she told me in no uncertain terms to get back to school and finish my degree.  And I did.  (Even after high school I didn’t want to incur the wrath of Sister Roberta!)  It was the kick in the pants I needed and it was some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten. 

Being a flight attendant today is very different than it was 30 years ago.  Back then flying was a treat for most people rather than a common occurrence.  Passengers dressed up and were on their very best behavior.

Not so today.  I just read where Lindsay Lohan threw a fit because she couldn’t get into first class on a flight out of Tampa after the Super Bowl.  That’s what gate agents and flight attendants today have to put up with. 

Consider this:  The captain and first officer are locked in the cockpit.  They will not come out for any disturbance in the back.  That means the flight attendants must deal with all situations that come up, verbal or physical.  They must deal with passengers who are surly, mad, drunk, frightened, medically fragile or just plain whacko.  Crying babies, unruly kids, passengers who have an inflated ego and demand attention – they’re all part of the teeming masses who fly every day.

Also consider this:  If you are elderly or infirm or obese and you choose to fly, should your plane have any malfunction which causes it to crash and you survive but because you’re too old or infirm or too FAT to get out of your seat, who will save you?  One of the other passengers?  Maybe.  It will be a flight attendant who at least will try to save you.  (Here’s a little thought for the day for obese passengers:  How do you think a flight attendant, even a male flight attendant, is going to be able to carry or even drag your fat butt out of the plane if you are injured and can’t get yourself off the plane?  They won’t.  Think about it.)

After your next flight, thank the flight attendants.  Theirs can be a thankless job.  And if any of them are truly outstanding, write an attaboy letter about them and send it to the airline.

My father-in-law was truly an officer and a gentleman and his four children (two boys and two girls) decided they would do whatever they needed to do to grant his most fervent wish – to die at home.  It was a balancing act but with the incredible dedication of my sister-in-law, the baby of the family and the only sibling still near their father, and with the help of Hospice, his wish came true.  He was on full-time oxygen due to COPD and just getting up to go to the bathroom would leave him winded and gasping brutally for breath for several minutes.  So he became housebound and it fell to my sister-in-law to bring him groceries, get his newspaper and mail and bring it to him in the house, take him to doctor’s appointments and call him several times a day to check on him.

My other sister-in-law, the oldest sibling, lives in Colorado and would fly in about every three months and stay for almost a month.  She’s a nurse and she was able to speak with the doctors on a more informed basis than any of the other siblings.

All the siblings knew it was just a matter of time before their dad died.  No one had regrets and nothing was left unsaid.  He was ready to go and knew that he was going to a better place.  He had had the big hoopla celebration with the whole town on his 90th birthday and had nothing left to look forward to except more days sitting in his house, waiting to die. 

My sister-in-law had flown in from Colorado and my husband was slated to fly in after his trip to South Korea.  Now, I can count on ONE HAND the number of my husband’s trips that have been cancelled due to mechanical issues with the plane.  And this turned out to be one of those trips.  He called me from Atlanta and said there was a problem with the plane’s video system and technicians were trying to fix it.  Because Delta’s 777s are all in service, there aren’t any spares to bring over when one has issues.  And this flight was too long for a 767 ER to be substituted. 

Several hours passed and the video system still wasn’t repaired.  My husband called and said he and his crew were going to time out if the system wasn’t repaired soon.  Sure enough, they timed out and another crew had to be called in to fly the trip.  My husband caught the next plane to his hometown.

The next morning he called me and said he and his sister were with their dad and he was agitated and his leg kept tapping.  I paused and said that I thought his dad was actively dying.  In my Hospice volunteer training we learned that agitation and rapid random body movements can be signs of dying. 

An hour later my husband called back and said his dad had died peacefully in his chair.

I’m not a religious person but I believe there was some sort of intervention that allowed my husband to be with his dad in the final hours.   That intervention inconvenienced many people on that flight to South Korea; however, it allowed one old man to die with his oldest son and oldest daughter at his side.  Sometimes, just sometimes, the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.

I still laugh when I think about that event!

He and I recently returned from a trip to Kuwait City.  He had a 50 hour layover so I joined him on the trip.  The 777 flies to the long-range European, Asian and Middle East destinations – China, Japan, South Korea, Kuwait, India, UAE, Israel – and this year will begin flying to South Africa and Australia.  I’ve been to all the current destinations except China.  Their visas are a bit of a challenge to get but after talking to some of the flight crews who have taken spouses on trips there I’ve discovered a work-around to some of the challenges.

Flying 16 hours home from Mumbai and Dubai is not for those who are impatient or have short attention spans.  I can check seat availability through a special employee website so I know how many seats are open in business class and I don’t go on the trip unless I can get in business.  That sounds a little diva-ish but consider this:  The flight over is usually anywhere from 11 - 14 hours.  Our layover is anywhere from 24 – 50 hours.  And then it’s back on the plane again for the flight home, which can take 12 – 16 hours.  In a very short timeframe that’s a lot of hours squished next to strangers in coach.   In business class I can lay the seat back and get a few hours of sleep.  Our layovers are so short that we try to pack as many activities and sights into the available time we have.  It’s helpful to arrive somewhat rested.  I haven’t been on the new 777s yet with the lay flat seats.  I am looking forward to that!  More comfort and more privacy, as I am always seated next to strangers.

On the trip over to Kuwait City my seat  mate was an employee of a subsidiary of the airline and one of the benefits is free air travel.  He was a college student who worked on the ramp part-time at this subsidiary.  He said he’s majoring in aviation and has his general aviation license and wants to fly for one of the airlines when he graduates.  Nice kid from the Midwest.  He was in the seat next to me when I boarded and he was on his cellphone saying “It’s okay Mom.  I’ll be fine.  I promise I won’t go out of the airport.  No, I won’t get killed.  It’s safe over there.  Don’t worry.  Nothing will happen to me.  I’ll call you when I get there.”  I looked over at him and he smiled sheepishly and said his mother was worried about him going to Kuwait City.  I asked him how old he was and he replied “21″.  He said he’s the baby of the family and his mother worries about him. 

I asked him why he was going to Kuwait and he said he had planned on going to Belgium just for grins because he had some time off from college as part of his holiday break.  Unfortunately the Belgium flight was oversold.  (My husband and I had been sitting in the waiting area of that gate earlier and watched as several irate passengers realized they weren’t going to get on the flight.  Security had to be called.  The situation got a little tense for a few minutes.)  So he strolled down the concourse and checked to see what other international flights hadn’t left yet.  He tried to get on the Dubai flight but it was full.  He saw the Kuwait City flight had a few seats left so he listed himself for the flight and was able to get into business class.  He was pretty excited because he had never flown on a 777 before.  I asked him what he planned on doing in Kuwait and he said he wasn’t going to stay!  He intended to get on the return flight, spending the interim five hours between flights in the airport!   And that’s what he did!

Neither one of us had a Kuwait visa so he tagged along behind me as we searched for the visa application area in the terminal.  It wasn’t too difficult to find.  All the websites about obtaining Kuwait visas said it’s no problem getting one at the airport.  And they’re right – unless several planeloads of people are in front of you also trying to get their Kuwait visas.  We took numbers and settled in to wait for our turn.  When we arrived the number counter was on 950.  My number was 37.  The counter started over after 999.  So we waited over an hour until our turns came up.  The websites said the cost was about $12 U.S.   I went first and realized the cost was more like $15 U.S.  My seat mate only had $12 so I handed him a $20 bill so he could get his visa.  I felt like his mom!  And I let him use my cellphone so he could call his mother to let her know he had arrived safely, as his phone did not have international capabilities.

I took a picture of him in the airport under the “Welcome to Kuwait” sign so he could prove he’d been there and wished him well.

The flight attendants had heard about my seat mate and just shook their heads.  But coming home one of them pointed out to me a young man in business who worked for the same subsidiary my seat mate did, and had just done what my seat mate did – went over to Kuwait and then returned on the same flight just to say he had ridden on a 777.  There must be something very strange in the water at that subsidiary!