I wasn’t thinking “website”.  I was thinking “blog”.  I’ve always had a tendency trip over epiphanies (ask my poor daughters) and I’ve kept a journal forever.  Lately, I seem to have more to say than ever before, and a blog just seemed to be a natural for me.

    So I schedule a one-to-one at the Apple Store for my first iWeb lesson.  My tutor is a guy in his early twenties.  Born and bred on ‘point and click’, his world came with Internet access.  It’s all about high-speed processing and intuitive applications.  He mildly jokes with me about his grandmother, she doesn’t know a text box from a tab key. 

    “Do you want to use the RSS feed ?”  he asks me.

    I don’t know. 

    “What’s an RSS feed?”

    Pause.

   I should know this.  It’s ‘patty-cake’, ‘twinkle, twinkle little star’ to everyone in the virtual, civilized world.  I wouldn’t know a hyperlink if it bit me on the butt, and suddenly I feel pretty iObtuse.  He’s trying to be patient. “There’s not enough information here to work with.  You need to bring in some content before I can help you.  Do you have any content?”

    Perfect question.

    Do I have content?

    He might as well have lit a match under a live gas feed.  My dear, young, iJock, have I got content...  And a website was born.

    How does someone decide what to include in their virtual presence?  My life has always been a little Alice in Wonderland, and lately it’s become The Wizard of Oz.  I’ll have to set some criteria.  Only certain moments will make the cut...

    Boarding is well underway.  I’m sitting in an aisle seat in the center section of a Northwest Airlines airbus scheduled for Tokyo.  The coach passengers are settling into their seats.  Flight attendants are rearranging the overheads and handing out blankets and headsets.  I’m traveling alone, and had arrived at the San Francisco airport two hours early, making it through security with plenty of time to spare.  So I’m relaxed.  I feel good.  While the others busy themselves in the ritual of pre-flight preparations, I sit quietly and watch.

    I’m wearing my most comfortable jeans, a white t-shirt and a yellow hoody.  No make-up.  There’s a pair of socks in my carry-on in case the plane gets too cool.  My iPod is in my purse but I don’t want to use it yet.  It’s an eleven hour, non-stop flight and I’ll really want some music later.

    The flight is nearly full and I’m grateful there’s no-one in the seat to my right.  If it stays empty I’ll have room to sleep in a partial-recline.  The video screen imbedded in the seat in front of me is already ablaze with previews and flight information - not interesting - and I wish I could turn it off. 

    There’s nothing to preoccupy me.  Everything at home is current, no loose ends.  And I’m improvising a three week adventure in Thailand, no imperatives or expectations.  Two attendants stand next to me in the aisle.  One of them, a guy, is short one headset and is asking the woman attendant if she has any extras.  She doesn’t.  I just happen to hear them.  I don’t plan on watching the in-flight videos, so I produce my headset, still in the plastic wrapper, and offer it to him.

    “I won’t be using mine.”  

    Twenty minutes into the flight the couple across the aisle, to my left, pushes the call button.  We’d just barely reached cruising altitude and the flight crew is still finishing their routine preparations, but the couple is upset.  One of their video monitors is not working correctly.

    The attendant is conscientious.  She responds immediately to the call and appraises the situation.  They’re just two feet from me.  I can hear everything.  She sees the problem and apologizes for the inconvenience.  This has happened before and there are things that can be tried.  She’ll tell the purser and check in on them in a little while.  She hurries back to her other duties.

    Ten minutes later she returns. ‘They rebooted the system.  Did it help?’ ‘No.’ The couple is impatient with her, insistent. ‘Where was their entertainment?’ She apologizes again and promises to inform the purser.  Good intentions.  It’s obvious she wants to make them happy.  Off she goes to her other eighty passengers.

    Over the course of the next half hour the couple push their call button three more times.  They are disgusted with the lack of service.  ‘What’s going to be done for them?’ There are three crew members jammed in the aisle, sincerely dong their best to correct the problem.  I see what’s needed and tap my attendant on the leg.

    “They can have my seat.”

    She turns to see who’s tapped her.

    “I have an empty seat next to me.  They can sit here.”

    She looks slightly surprised.

    “My video works fine.  I wasn’t planning on watching it anyway.  I don’t mind sitting in their seat.”

    Relief washes over her face. “Really?  That would be wonderful!”

    It takes a few minutes.  Switching places is a little like trading camping sites, lots of incidentals, but the deed is accomplished.  I put on my socks, prop my pillow in the corner between the seat and the window, and try to take a nap.

    Someone taps me on the shoulder.  I open my eyes to see another flight attendant.  This is a new one.

    “Come with me.” she whispers.

    I don’t get it.  Come where?  Why?  She can tell I’m confused.

    “We’ll get your things.  You just come with me.”  She’s still speaking in a low, conspiratorial voice, and smiling, like she’s got a very good secret. 

    I don’t know why I’m going with her or where we are going, but she’s in a uniform and giving me a directive, so I do what I’m told.  In a daze, I gather my bedding and my purse and follow her in my stocking feet.  It feels like we’re sneaking out of a slumber party to go T P’ing.  We’re headed to the front of the plane.  As we approach the partition that separates coach from first class, the steward, the one who needed a headset, comes from behind it.

    “I knew it was her!”

    Now I’m getting self-conscious.  He’s got the same mischievous look as my chaperone and the two of them part the curtain and guide me in. 

    “We like to reward people who do nice things.”  The headset guy, Marco, has taken the lead, and my elbow, and is escorting me to what looks like a high-tech barcalounger. Within moments I am surrounded by attendants intent on serving me; slippers on my feet, a glass of champagne, a flight kit.  It’s a surprise party.  It’s a spa day.  It’s first class.

    “No-one ever does what you did.  They may think of it, but they never do it.”  The purser explains their exuberance as he serves me a petite sirloin with new potatoes and steamed green beans.  Crew members come from other areas of the plane to meet me.  I’m a celebrity.  I’m a hero.  I’m a queen.

    I’m amazed.  I did so little.  They are showering me, as though their kindness were filled to overflowing and needing just the slightest nudge to spill out onto someone.  I smile and I laugh, not knowing what to say.  “Thank-you.  I can’t believe this.  You’re so sweet.”

    Another steward brings me dessert.  “Is there anything else we can do for you?” How many of them are in on this?  I’ve lost track.  The procession continues.  Another dessert shows up out of nowhere.  It’s a marching band.  It’s a Fourth of July parade.  It’s a flyby.

    They attend to me, non-stop, for ten hours.  Eventually I count seven.  Seven angels in uniform.  I learn their names, where they’re from, a little about what it’s like to be a flight attendant.  They check on me.  They watch over me.  They hover.

    As the plane begins it’s decent into Tokyo, the purser approaches me with a bottle of champagne. “We want you to have this.”

    “I need a picture of you guys.  I never want to forget this.”  I loiter as the plane empties.  One of the attendants is helping find a passenger’s coat, and asks us to wait.  He doesn’t want to be left out.  Someone volunteers to be photographer and I give them my camera.  Marco stands behind me on my right.  The stray steward finishes with his passenger, and slips into the seat in front of me. “Here, hold the champagne!”

    And the moment is captured.

    My mother often refers to a line in Edgar Lee Master’s Spoon River Anthology. “Oh, passerby...joy beyond any joy is the joy of having the good in you seen, and seeing the good at the miraculous moment.”  

     I did little more than pay attention.  Simply being present allowed me to see what was in front of me, and act in kind.  It wasn’t complicated and it wasn’t big.  It was easy.  It was a great moment because I was able to see clearly enough to appreciate the good in another.  And in return, they saw and appreciated me.  Joy beyond any joy...

P.S.

    “Would passenger Kimberly Wyatt please come to gate #7, Northwest Airlines flight #27, from Tokyo to Bangkok.”

    I hear my name over the airport speaker and wonder what could have gone wrong with my ticket.  I approach the ticket counter and offer my passport to the the guy in charge. 

    “You’re Kimberly Wyatt?”

    “Yes.”  My apprehension is mounting.

    “We understand you are a very special person, and have been given instructions to take very good care of you on this flight.  Fortunately, we have a seat available in our first class cabin...”