Found 3 great posts...
"As long as the river still runs to the sea..." Words from a song by my favorite band, Great Big Sea.
It's hard to keep this in mind at times. Life moves on like a river; always changing, moving over the uneven dirt, rocks and other miscellaneous items that have settled on the bottom. The river takes some of these things and carries them along in the current occasionally hitting a snag, but inevitably moving on. And when it gets to the sea, the river simply merges with the larger body that is the sea.
I am so close to scheduling a procedure for my back which would improve my life immensely. I would most likely be able to return to all of the activities that I was able to do before the back injury I received in a car accident 3 years ago. The idea of being fit again is such a hopeful thing after over 3 years of constant pain. The river has been carrying me along, despite the fact that I've often felt like I'd gotten hung up on a branch along the way.
The river moves over obstacles on the bottom, the surface deceptively ever changing. I have moved into a new home, had a Kentucky Derby party, worked Preakness, had a root canal, craziness at work, odd technical difficulties, learning curve that is much slower than I'd like. Everything seems scattered and volatile, but somehow I keep moving along.
The river cannot be stopped. Even a dam will only create a temporary slowing. I still have a job. I'm still working to be more healthy. I'm still finding new ways to overcome the obstacles in my work and personal lives. I cannot be stopped.
The river is often simply beautiful. I have a crush on someone who is probably out of reach. Yet, I am enjoying the feeling immensely. It is difficult to describe as a sunset reflected on the river is difficult to describe. It is warm, and sparkly, and doesn't need participation to be enjoyed; just observation.
Jump on a raft, and the river is just plain fun. In August I get to go see the above referenced favorite band. Orchestra pit seats. Sheer luck that I ended up with them. The only thing missing is my favorite concert buddy. But it will feel so good to go see the b'ys again. It's been far too long. And the show is a musical equivalent to hitting the most exciting rapids, while knowing you are going to be safe.
The river occasionally forks. There are decisions to be made; sacrifices, gains, chances to take. I've made some poor choices in the past year. I've made some great choices as well. In a recent conversation about whether I would choose to be blind or deaf, I didn't hesitate to say I'd rather go blind. Never hear music again? I'd go crazy. Hopefully not a choice I'll ever have to face; especially if it's going to hurt. :) I have more choices ahead of me. Hopefully the forks I take will lead me down to the sea. Because I like the sea. Sometimes I still want to run away and be a sailor.
"As long as the river still runs to the sea, hey, lucky you, lucky me."
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If you want to complain about an airline (especially AirTran!) here is the page: http://airconsumer.ost.dot.gov/escomplaint/ES.cfm
After a year-long battle to get the "free" flight offered in a promotion (one which involved many hours on hold and numerous employees with very different answers to the same questions) I couldn't believe the way they behaved.
By the time it was all said and done, the flight I wanted the ticket for had passed and I was told I would have to pay a $50 change fee. To add insult to injury they wouldn't even do it over the phone or online. *I had to drive to the airport to pay the fee and rebook the flight.*
It took me 20 minutes to get someone to even acknowledge me at the kiosk. When I tried to pay the $50 change flight fee in cash, the representative didn't know what to do. "We don't accept cash payment." After I pointed out the "legal tender for ALL debts public and private" the guy took my money and put it in his pocket! I told him I wanted a receipt. I got a blank look. “We don't print receipts.”
I asked to speak to a manager and was told that the manager would only tell me the same thing. I said I wanted to talk to one anyway. I had to repeat this several times before he finally went and brought back a supervisor. "We don't have any way of printing a receipt," he told me. I told him that was ridiculous and to hand write one if he had to because his employee had just pocketed my money. "I don't have any paper," he said.
He actually refused to go and find paper and a pen, and I had to pull some from my purse. I even had to tell him what to write on it.
This is merely the abbreviated, tail end of a very long story.
Cut to 2 years later.
I just got back from a business trip where I was required to fly AirTran. I had to go from Baltimore to Atlanta in order to get to Minneapolis. Both flights were delayed.
On the outbound flight, my gate was changed, and there were no screens in the terminal to indicate such. I had to go and ask a representative, and I barely made the connection on the second leg of my outbound flight.
On the trip back I upgraded to business class just to avoid the knee bruises I'd gotten when the person in front of me leaned his chair back on the original flight to Minneapolis. Not his fault. There just is no room between rows. So I had business class and was disgusted when I had to go back to the staff and ask that the seat be wiped down because there was some unknown substance on it.
My wallet fell out of my pocket on the first flight. When I said something, they claimed nothing had been found. I refused to leave, so they finally sent someone else in, and he came back out with my wallet. This delay nearly caused me to miss my second flight.
On that second flight, as we approached Baltimore, the pilot claimed the flight would be arriving 15 minutes early. The flight ended up being 20 minutes late, and we still had to spend half an hour on the plane to wait for another plane to leave the gate.
With the exception of a dying relative and no other options, I will never fly AirTran again.
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12 April 2009
As a child, I read Marguerite Henry's "Misty of Chincoteague", as I'm certain many others have done. Like many of those people I have always wanted to see the ponies being brought across the water from Assateague island, or even just go and glimpse the wild ponies in the forest or on the beaches.
I finished up a fun weekend with a group of people in Ocean City, Maryland. I hadn't been to OC since I was very young, and never to that area. I saw a sign, indicating that I was 8 miles away from this fabled island of mysterious wild ponies. Exhausted as I was, how could I not take this opportunity? The drive to OC is 3 hours, and I hate going over the Bay Bridge. Going back soon was unlikely.
I headed over to Assateague. On the way I encountered a bridge that I liked even less than the Bay Bridge, despite being much shorter than the 4.5 mile metal structure that straddles the Chesapeake Bay. I swear it went up at a 45 degree angle, even though it didn't.
Surpassing this obstacle, I passed the state park and drove until I was absolutely certain that going further meant running onto beach sand and then turned right. I drove up to the ranger station and asked a few questions. The kind ranger gave me a map of the island, pointed out some trails and gave some hints as to where the ponies were most likely to be. The day being quite windy and chilly, despite the bright sun, the ponies would likely be amongst the trees. I didn't have much hope of seeing any ponies at all.
I drove around the various roads, passing by the different paths shown on the map, and gave a great deal of consideration as to whether my back would hold up to a tramp through the woods in search of these apparently elusive creatures. As I turned around a bend, there was a woman at the side of the road, standing 4 feet from a brown and white pony, taking pictures and occasionally reaching out to touch the pony's nose.
What the???
Of course I stopped. I took some pictures with my camera phone, not having a proper camera at this point. I wanted to pet the pony, too, but there are signs everywhere telling people not to approach or feed the ponies. So I just studied him.
He still had his winter coat, all fuzzy and looking kind of scruffy. His legs were solid and sturdy with tufts of longer hair running down the backs. The hair gave clear indication that the pony had recently been standing in muddy water at least to his knees. However his mane was a clean white, and long enough that it dragged several inches on the ground when he lowered his head to graze.
He moved along the road, occasionally lifting his head to regard the people who had gathered around to take pictures of this nearly mythical animal. Then he walked up to a minivan and stuck his head in through the open passenger window, clearly expecting a treat of some kind. Apparently there are plenty of people who don't follow the rule about not feeding the horses, and the horses know all about it. When the first car failed to produce, he moved on to the next. Eventually he went back to his grazing and moved on.
I was rather astonished. These wild animals from children's stories and children's fancies were pretty much like your average barn pony; looking for treats, maybe the occasional head scratch, but mostly just interested in grazing and minding their business, and not the least bit shy of people. In fact, it seemed to know that the simple humans all around were basically there to adore him. He may have been part cat.
I got back in my car and drove around some more. I encountered a pony grazing along the side of the road, possibly the same pony, because I'm pretty sure I made a big loop. This time other people were there taking pictures. I got out of my car and walked over. One of the people offered to take a picture of me with the pony. I hadn't even thought of that! I handed her my phone and slowly approached the pony. Horses are horses after all, and you never really know what will set them off.
This one just kept grazing. Then he scratched his head on a fence post. Then he went back to grazing. I knelt down by his head and rubbed his cheek. I reached up to touch the surprisingly soft mane and then the scruffy winter coat covering his neck. Everything about this pony was ordinary. Just a pony you could see being led in circles under a saddle and small child at a local fair. Or maybe in some kind of children's horse riding competition. Healthy and strong.
An ordinary pony with his head being scratched by the side of a road leading into a parking lot, with stunted brush along the side, and beach sand beyond. A parking lot. Pavement. Those little bump things that keep you from just driving forward out of the spaces. Painted lines. And a pony.
It was magical. There I was touching one of the famous ponies of Assateague Island on a sunny day. Peace. Contentment. Nothing but the moment and a charming animal. Moments like that are truly rare and precious.
Wish I'd had a real camera. *sigh*
It's hard to keep this in mind at times. Life moves on like a river; always changing, moving over the uneven dirt, rocks and other miscellaneous items that have settled on the bottom. The river takes some of these things and carries them along in the current occasionally hitting a snag, but inevitably moving on. And when it gets to the sea, the river simply merges with the larger body that is the sea.
I am so close to scheduling a procedure for my back which would improve my life immensely. I would most likely be able to return to all of the activities that I was able to do before the back injury I received in a car accident 3 years ago. The idea of being fit again is such a hopeful thing after over 3 years of constant pain. The river has been carrying me along, despite the fact that I've often felt like I'd gotten hung up on a branch along the way.
The river moves over obstacles on the bottom, the surface deceptively ever changing. I have moved into a new home, had a Kentucky Derby party, worked Preakness, had a root canal, craziness at work, odd technical difficulties, learning curve that is much slower than I'd like. Everything seems scattered and volatile, but somehow I keep moving along.
The river cannot be stopped. Even a dam will only create a temporary slowing. I still have a job. I'm still working to be more healthy. I'm still finding new ways to overcome the obstacles in my work and personal lives. I cannot be stopped.
The river is often simply beautiful. I have a crush on someone who is probably out of reach. Yet, I am enjoying the feeling immensely. It is difficult to describe as a sunset reflected on the river is difficult to describe. It is warm, and sparkly, and doesn't need participation to be enjoyed; just observation.
Jump on a raft, and the river is just plain fun. In August I get to go see the above referenced favorite band. Orchestra pit seats. Sheer luck that I ended up with them. The only thing missing is my favorite concert buddy. But it will feel so good to go see the b'ys again. It's been far too long. And the show is a musical equivalent to hitting the most exciting rapids, while knowing you are going to be safe.
The river occasionally forks. There are decisions to be made; sacrifices, gains, chances to take. I've made some poor choices in the past year. I've made some great choices as well. In a recent conversation about whether I would choose to be blind or deaf, I didn't hesitate to say I'd rather go blind. Never hear music again? I'd go crazy. Hopefully not a choice I'll ever have to face; especially if it's going to hurt. :) I have more choices ahead of me. Hopefully the forks I take will lead me down to the sea. Because I like the sea. Sometimes I still want to run away and be a sailor.
"As long as the river still runs to the sea, hey, lucky you, lucky me."
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
If you want to complain about an airline (especially AirTran!) here is the page: http://airconsumer.ost.dot.gov/escomplaint/ES.cfm
After a year-long battle to get the "free" flight offered in a promotion (one which involved many hours on hold and numerous employees with very different answers to the same questions) I couldn't believe the way they behaved.
By the time it was all said and done, the flight I wanted the ticket for had passed and I was told I would have to pay a $50 change fee. To add insult to injury they wouldn't even do it over the phone or online. *I had to drive to the airport to pay the fee and rebook the flight.*
It took me 20 minutes to get someone to even acknowledge me at the kiosk. When I tried to pay the $50 change flight fee in cash, the representative didn't know what to do. "We don't accept cash payment." After I pointed out the "legal tender for ALL debts public and private" the guy took my money and put it in his pocket! I told him I wanted a receipt. I got a blank look. “We don't print receipts.”
I asked to speak to a manager and was told that the manager would only tell me the same thing. I said I wanted to talk to one anyway. I had to repeat this several times before he finally went and brought back a supervisor. "We don't have any way of printing a receipt," he told me. I told him that was ridiculous and to hand write one if he had to because his employee had just pocketed my money. "I don't have any paper," he said.
He actually refused to go and find paper and a pen, and I had to pull some from my purse. I even had to tell him what to write on it.
This is merely the abbreviated, tail end of a very long story.
Cut to 2 years later.
I just got back from a business trip where I was required to fly AirTran. I had to go from Baltimore to Atlanta in order to get to Minneapolis. Both flights were delayed.
On the outbound flight, my gate was changed, and there were no screens in the terminal to indicate such. I had to go and ask a representative, and I barely made the connection on the second leg of my outbound flight.
On the trip back I upgraded to business class just to avoid the knee bruises I'd gotten when the person in front of me leaned his chair back on the original flight to Minneapolis. Not his fault. There just is no room between rows. So I had business class and was disgusted when I had to go back to the staff and ask that the seat be wiped down because there was some unknown substance on it.
My wallet fell out of my pocket on the first flight. When I said something, they claimed nothing had been found. I refused to leave, so they finally sent someone else in, and he came back out with my wallet. This delay nearly caused me to miss my second flight.
On that second flight, as we approached Baltimore, the pilot claimed the flight would be arriving 15 minutes early. The flight ended up being 20 minutes late, and we still had to spend half an hour on the plane to wait for another plane to leave the gate.
With the exception of a dying relative and no other options, I will never fly AirTran again.
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12 April 2009
As a child, I read Marguerite Henry's "Misty of Chincoteague", as I'm certain many others have done. Like many of those people I have always wanted to see the ponies being brought across the water from Assateague island, or even just go and glimpse the wild ponies in the forest or on the beaches.
I finished up a fun weekend with a group of people in Ocean City, Maryland. I hadn't been to OC since I was very young, and never to that area. I saw a sign, indicating that I was 8 miles away from this fabled island of mysterious wild ponies. Exhausted as I was, how could I not take this opportunity? The drive to OC is 3 hours, and I hate going over the Bay Bridge. Going back soon was unlikely.
I headed over to Assateague. On the way I encountered a bridge that I liked even less than the Bay Bridge, despite being much shorter than the 4.5 mile metal structure that straddles the Chesapeake Bay. I swear it went up at a 45 degree angle, even though it didn't.
Surpassing this obstacle, I passed the state park and drove until I was absolutely certain that going further meant running onto beach sand and then turned right. I drove up to the ranger station and asked a few questions. The kind ranger gave me a map of the island, pointed out some trails and gave some hints as to where the ponies were most likely to be. The day being quite windy and chilly, despite the bright sun, the ponies would likely be amongst the trees. I didn't have much hope of seeing any ponies at all.
I drove around the various roads, passing by the different paths shown on the map, and gave a great deal of consideration as to whether my back would hold up to a tramp through the woods in search of these apparently elusive creatures. As I turned around a bend, there was a woman at the side of the road, standing 4 feet from a brown and white pony, taking pictures and occasionally reaching out to touch the pony's nose.
What the???
Of course I stopped. I took some pictures with my camera phone, not having a proper camera at this point. I wanted to pet the pony, too, but there are signs everywhere telling people not to approach or feed the ponies. So I just studied him.
He still had his winter coat, all fuzzy and looking kind of scruffy. His legs were solid and sturdy with tufts of longer hair running down the backs. The hair gave clear indication that the pony had recently been standing in muddy water at least to his knees. However his mane was a clean white, and long enough that it dragged several inches on the ground when he lowered his head to graze.
He moved along the road, occasionally lifting his head to regard the people who had gathered around to take pictures of this nearly mythical animal. Then he walked up to a minivan and stuck his head in through the open passenger window, clearly expecting a treat of some kind. Apparently there are plenty of people who don't follow the rule about not feeding the horses, and the horses know all about it. When the first car failed to produce, he moved on to the next. Eventually he went back to his grazing and moved on.
I was rather astonished. These wild animals from children's stories and children's fancies were pretty much like your average barn pony; looking for treats, maybe the occasional head scratch, but mostly just interested in grazing and minding their business, and not the least bit shy of people. In fact, it seemed to know that the simple humans all around were basically there to adore him. He may have been part cat.
I got back in my car and drove around some more. I encountered a pony grazing along the side of the road, possibly the same pony, because I'm pretty sure I made a big loop. This time other people were there taking pictures. I got out of my car and walked over. One of the people offered to take a picture of me with the pony. I hadn't even thought of that! I handed her my phone and slowly approached the pony. Horses are horses after all, and you never really know what will set them off.
This one just kept grazing. Then he scratched his head on a fence post. Then he went back to grazing. I knelt down by his head and rubbed his cheek. I reached up to touch the surprisingly soft mane and then the scruffy winter coat covering his neck. Everything about this pony was ordinary. Just a pony you could see being led in circles under a saddle and small child at a local fair. Or maybe in some kind of children's horse riding competition. Healthy and strong.
An ordinary pony with his head being scratched by the side of a road leading into a parking lot, with stunted brush along the side, and beach sand beyond. A parking lot. Pavement. Those little bump things that keep you from just driving forward out of the spaces. Painted lines. And a pony.
It was magical. There I was touching one of the famous ponies of Assateague Island on a sunny day. Peace. Contentment. Nothing but the moment and a charming animal. Moments like that are truly rare and precious.
Wish I'd had a real camera. *sigh*