Holiday travel includes... a pat-down?

Tom woke the boys and me at 4:55 this morning. That is truly an ungodly, grotesque hour, even if you're headed to Shangri-La via private coach. We were all feeling festive though and once at security, a calm settled. A TSA agent said I'd been selected for a random hand-swab screening, and because positive role-modeling for the kids and all, I said, "Sure thing!" and flipped my palms willingly upward. He used that odd speculum-that-holds-a-round-facial-cotton tool the TSA loves for swabbing any- and everything, and wiped my hands in such a nice way that, modeling and all, I said, "Oh, boys, this is like a nice massage."

Which it was until the alarm sounded, and I was kindly told that because I'd failed and thus issued an alert, I would have to be taken back for private screening. Not to sound fancy, but because the only thing I believed to be on my hands was a filmy remnant of the new Chanel foundation I treated myself to over the weekend, I smiled with confidence and again said, "Sure." I mean really, does Chanel trade in or mimic explosives?

I think not. Though wasn't Coco a fairly awful human? Anti-semitic, a Nazi-supporter, homophobic and so forth? Anyway, I digress.

So, the boys and Tom went one way, and I went another. For a rather lengthy amount of time. All of my stuff was screened twice, the speculum wand swabbed my boots, purse, wallet, iPhone, and two women escorted me to a private, windowless room, shut the door and proceeded to describe a full pat-down and then administer one. I just kept smiling and agreeing because really, if I had anything to hide, it'd be that instead of going to meetings, I rent a room for the hour and sleep (not true, people), but my heart definitely beat a bit more quickly and I was glad to rejoin my crew.

As you might imagine, we all found a fair amount of funny in this -not least because it was 6:30am and how many moms get patted down at that time in an airport while their kids watch as much as they can, mouths agape?- but I also noodled on the experience, more seriously and to myself, for a while.

I hadn't done a darn thing wrong this morning and truly, if it wasn't the Chanel, it was airport bathroom or cab or kids or a confluence of being in public, that dusted my paws with something that set off a random alarm. Of course I want people to be aware and cautious and do their jobs, but it still all made me think.

What might have been different if I were a woman of color? A man of color? What if pat-downs, and their attendant skepticism (at best) and outright distrust (worse) were something I'd experienced before or often? Or frequently? And/or for no reason? Or not a good one.

I wonder how many of our countrymen and women feel watchful eyes glancing upon them with suspicion and feel their heart rates pick up and notice a slight bead of sweat at their brow or a nervous chuckle burble forth as a coping mechanism. I wonder what that does to someone's psyche if it happens repeatedly. If it happens in front of their children. If it happens and doesn't turn out well.

I am sometimes told that I feel things too deeply and cannot right the ills of the world. Both of those claims are probably true. But, it is my firmest conviction that ambivalence about great issues is a moral failure of sorts. One of the most serious problems our society has is constant short-term amnesia that repeatedly excuses us from actually dealing with problems at hand. If everyone cares but only for a bit, the "losers" are the ones who were victimized in the first-place, for they are the ones still dealing with the aftermath of the thing we watchers were upset about for a moment. They are the ones who've lost sons and daughters and retirement funds and farmland. They lose twice.

In the midst of this season, during which so many are celebrating a multitude of traditions, let us not only give thanks for all we have but also issue hope for more justice and fairness for all those who go without. Let us continue to think at once more specifically and more broadly, for by connecting with one or a few, we might be determined to work towards the betterment of all.

Home, and getting here

Oh my god, y'all. It's December! And inexplicably, it's in the mid-60s out there. But I'm not complaining because super-cold is just not my bag. I was thrilled to miss the snow last week. Whew! Yesterday's flight from Munich to Dulles was one of the most interminable, uncomfortable ever. I was assigned a crappy, interior seat in the middle row and next to a mid-twenties, extremely rude, loud woman who was co-leading a youth group abroad; you know, they all wore matching fleeces. The seat felt like an ell-shaped punishment rendered in metal, while the gal, and many in her crew, was the sort who gives Americans a bad name.

I was mystified as to why she felt it becoming to slap my arm THREE times to ask me questions, despite the fact that I had my earphones in and was clearly watching a film. I was puzzled as to why she found it appropriate to talk to her friend three seats down -across me and another girl- with a volume that suggested we were in a hoppin' bar. I found it deplorable that she and her co-leader, two rows up, took it upon themselves to stand in the aisle and judge, audibly, whose carry-ons were too large and should be forcibly removed from the plane. I found it despicable when she pretended to be asleep (yes, I could tell) when I gently nudged her to ask if I could go to the restroom.

Lufthansa, in addition to giving passengers a bit more in the way of seat support, please also remove the vegetarian Thai Curry Calzone from your menu. What a grotesque abomination of a meal idea!!

When we landed, I had a pounding headache and an intense, primal urge to flee from this horrid gal. Fortunately, doing the latter didn't take long.

On a more positive note, it was a tremendous, whirlwind of a trip, and I had a fabulous time. Florence is always a treat, and being an aunt is really the cat's meow, especially when you have access to the baby who's made you an aunt so early in the game. People, I could while away my entire life snuggling newborns. Mon dieu, they are so soft and dear. I find it fascinating to watch them as they take in the world with their eyes and bodies. The little bleating lamb sounds, irregular limb thrusts, instinctual nursing movements made with tiny, puckered mouths...I can't get enough of watching and responding to all of that. Leone provided everything in spades (I nicknamed him Lamby, from Lamb Chop).

And while I adored all of that with my own boys, there's something extremely liberating about experiencing it with a nephew or niece. I could love that baby til the cows came home, but at the end of each day, I could hand him back to his parents and go get a good night's sleep, free of responsibility except loving him.

You can see just how much I cottoned to all this, yes?

Food, Florence, family

What a very special trip this has been. I am besotted with my darling nephew and treasured time with him, my sister, brother-in-law and his family. We all packed much into several days, and I am grateful.

I'm equally happy to be returning to my own crew tomorrow. Tom has done a brilliant job as solo parent, and I am thankful because really, this time to help and support my sister was really wonderful.

I am pooped so am leaving you with some visuals for now. Stories at another time!

Onward home and toward Christmas.