I posted this interesting post last year, and enjoyed it again just now. We read so much about flight attendants being mean or combative with passengers….so its refreshing to read this thoughtful and fascinating article written by a flight attendant who is also a blogger.
FAQ: Some of the Questions I get asked the most as a Fight Attendant
Passenger: “Do you get to sleep on these long flights?” and “Where do you sleep?”
YES! In fact for most flight attendants a shift onboard revolves around the times we get off. A lot of the time crew will say “Let’s finish this service so we can start breaks!”. Our breaks are formulated around time to eat and time to sleep, usually ranging from 20 minutes (an eating break however I have seen crew take power naps on this break) all the way to the longest break I’ve ever had onboard 3 hours and 45 minutes (when you can really have a good snooze!). I’m sure all crew experience this, because it often gets spoken about, having to limit our water intake before our long breaks, because the most annoying thing is having to leave…
I’ll never write another word
–ever– I think, maybe a bit longer.
The Muse has left me, alone and mute
singing quietly inside…but it isn’t writing
not bringing forth words of rhyme
or golden thoughts or phrases that soar
with the uplifting quality that speaks of fulfillment
of the annunciation of the soul
(if that is even the right word.)
What does that mean? My Muse does not respond.
Silence echoes across the lines, across the fields,
rich and full, and absence of sensation…or character.
There is no solution, no evolution…no rhythmic flow
of syllables, or stanzas, flights of fancy…
clever ways to express a notion
…or just to form a simple phrase–
no silver tinged sunsets,
no tales from the depths of despair…
no soaring ecstasy of the bliss of a kiss.
Words which once were at the edges of my repertoire –within easy reach of the empty…
OH! Where do the great ideas go…
those flashes of brilliance
that should have better resilience
and remain in the Brain Cabinet
long enough for establishment
to take hold in the Eureka! compartment.
How many times in the course of the day
does the lightbulb flash in the idea flow
and tug at coat-tails for attention;
hoping and praying that no intervention
takes precedence over the outstanding thought
that begs to be recorded–NOT discarded!
That’s it! Hurry–get to the tablet or pad
and hope there’s a pencil or pen nearby
Scribble or print in quick succession
the words piling together inside…
One after another the poignant confession
or ground-breaking thought to abide
ensconced forever in handwriting or symbol,
keywords or brilliant asides.
The Muse is waiting and prompting the prose
or rhymes that are aching to flow ever forth,
to leap from the pen to the pristine page–
One of the things I love about blogging is the great bloggers…all kinds of people, all over the world, young and old (is that politically correct?) and all political and religious persuasions. I like that. How boring life would be if we never got out of our particular little niche. I DO care about all my … uh…blogging acquaintances…and their opinions and points of view…even the ones that don’t think like I do. That’s OK, feel free to say what ya want and I’ll deal with it. My best friends usually don’t agree with me on everything…some don’t agree on anything…
Blogging is fun because there aren’t many rules, and when it isn’t fun there is always the unfollow button.
This post is supposed to be about My Muse. She stays out of the way, mostly, and pops out with a brainstorm of an idea, or nags me to comment…
Today I managed to spend the entire day blogging, with exceptions for hauling the son around and feeding the cats. By “blogging” I mean visiting lots of other bloggers online, trying to get my photos to cooperate, and writing in my blog.
All my writing life I have felt guilty and self-indulgent when I spent time writing for pleasure. Sure, I got paid for it in various venues, and wrote lots as a student, and even sneaked in some time writing short stories or novels that I never finished. I still have four novels floating around aimlessly, with characters and everything. That kind of writing has always been, to me, more of a treat…a sort of stolen pleasure, so to speak.
Not so much that the Writer’s Life is considered glamorous and exciting and adventurous. When I was a girl I had aspirations to be, in no particular order: an…
Yesterday’s post reminded me of how much I enjoyed the poetry classes I and about a thousand other bloggers participated in last year. The classes were so popular they had to shut enrollment down…I think. The moderators presented us with some really obscure, to me anyway, terms and forms of poetry. I dimly remember poetry classes in school back in the dark ages, the days of my lightheadedness and depth of my soul combined to write really bad poems about lust and love and despair at ever experiencing either.
Having re-read my favorite nonsense poem about the anteater and the eel, my contribution to the assignment for the day, which was Assonance. Reading the poem again I realized that I had no clue as to exactly what assonance was, so I googled it. The link that came up is just marvelous…and made me SO jealous of the famous zealots that wrote and wrote their hearts out back in their day.
One word of guidance…poetry that rhymes and/or possesses a metric cadence just cries out to be read out loud, line by line, not mumbled silently and skimmed for meaning.
I belabor the obvious here, again, and state that I am not a poet. I respect poetry, I do, and although I understand the agony of who are dead serious about writing and rhyming. For me the main rule is that any piece of writing, poetry or novel, song or joke…needs to have meaning.
A bit of toe-tapping helps get in the mood. Jumping rope always sets the pace too… “Dan and Susie sittin’ in a tree, k.i.s.s.i.n.g….” sorry, I wasn’t well enough coordinated to jump rope effectively.
(This rhythym sort of works to the tune of “Sweet Betsy from Pike.”
or even “Beverly Hillbilly song.”)
A natty Anteater’s Aunt wanted a chance to meet an
Easy-going Eel sufficient in charms, the
Idea she had was to learn how to dance, but
Only one catch–the Eel had no arms. So
Unity of moves was hard to enhance
until the Risqué Raccoon suggested:
“Why not freelance?”
If there were a movie about my life, there would be a certain song or instrumental for each segment.
Childhood: Itty Bitty Fishie in the Itty Bitty Pool
Mares Eat Oats and Does Eat Oats, and Little Lambs Eat Ivy
Teen: Vaughan Monroe, Ghost Riders in the Sky
Bill Haley and the Comets, Thirteen Women…on the flip side of Rock Around the Clock.
Third Man Theme
Peg O’My Heart
Work Era: Bizet, Carmen
Mario Lanza, Song Angels Sing
Be My Love
David Carroll’s band, In a Persian Market
I Love Paris
Song of India
CCR, Heard it on the Grapevine
CCR, Bad Moon Rising
CCR, Green River
Stevie Nicks, Edge of 17
Knights in White Satin long version
Roberta Flack, Sometimes…all I need is the air that I breathe and to love you