Last week my sister and I travelled to our brother's home in West Virginia for our annual sibling weekend. We call it an annual event although in reality it ends up, for various reasons, happening only semi-annually. Regardless of how frequently we get to do it, the time spent is always refreshing and renewing. Plus, our mother can't make the trek so we are free to be in one another's company without her organ recitals and tedious conversational loops about how her life has no meaning because I won't take her to the mall and how she can't drive herself because we made her sell her car three years ago. Never mind that she is unable to walk more than a few feet without becoming fatigued and we insisted she give up driving when the likelihood that she was going to kill someone topped out at 100%.
Details.
Regardless, the time the three of us spend together is not only bonding and soul filling, it is also very fun. Every time we are together some sort of theme emerges, not because we plan it, but just because it happens. Over this sibling weekend we looked at old family slides on an antique projector my brother had restored. We weren't really sure what we would find in the boxes of musty, deteriorating slides but, it turns out, there are deeply layered stories hidden in those faded images. We discovered that the voices of the past will soon be lost if we don't somehow find a way for the stories to be told.
Fodder for future writing.
Anyway, all of this makes the journey from my house to his house (which isn't easy) worth it. Even in these days of streamlined transportation it takes a good bit of effort to make the trip. Lots of herding, shoe removal, body scanning, and general dehumanizing just to board a plane with no personal space, land in a different city, and do it all over again. Granted it isn't travelling by covered wagon but, given the vast numbers of people crowded together, I do worry a little about contracting cholera. Maybe the real problem is all that talk of reaching my final destination. I guess not that many people get cholera at the airport. Nevertheless, I do employ quite a few 'germaphobic'* practices in an effort to try and avoid the seemingly inevitable and slightly more common head cold.
I really don't enjoy air travel.
Last week the flying leg of my trip ended in Charlotte, North Carolina. My sister had flown to Charlotte from Detroit and my brother, after confirming my plane had left Denver, drove from his house to Charlotte. Our sibling weekend would begin by meeting up at the airport and driving four hours back to my brother's house.
Anticipating the lengthy car trip, I stopped in the ladies restroom after getting off the airplane, before meeting my siblings. Upon entering the restroom, I was met with the booming voice of a woman, employed by the Charlotte Douglas International Airport, who smiled and greeted each woman with a hello as she entered. She kept a running commentary going as women entered and exited the restroom. Her voice echoed against the blue tile walls and her words reverberated with exclamations of "Hello all you beautiful women!" "It is a wonderful day to be alive!" "Safe travels!" "You are all so beautiful!" Each woman was offered a blessing as she exited.
After all the unpleasantness of security checks and cramped airplanes this woman's cheerful greeting was a welcome return to the world of 'human-style' interaction. No matter where I was in the restroom, I could hear her affirming words. I couldn't help but smile.
I'm sure some people were uncomfortable with her boisterous outpouring of goodwill. There may have been a few curmudgeons who thought she was annoying. (Why does my own mother come to mind?) And, undoubtedly a few cynics found her message a bit too schmatlzy. But my sense is that, largely, recipients of her message were encouraged and calmed by her positive energy and loving message.
I don't know why she was doing it. I don't know if the Charlotte Douglas International Airport takes their southern hospitality seriously enough to hire someone to stand in the restroom and offer a generous greeting or if she was doing it of her own accord. I don't know if she had a counterpart in the men's restroom doing the same thing. I sort of doubt it but, lacking a ticket for admission, I didn't check.
But I do know that I appreciated her efforts. Although she was some distance from me, I smiled directly at her to let her know her salvo of cheerful words was welcome.
All this made me think about how I might offer my own version of generous restroom greeter to the strangers who cross my path. I might not stand in restrooms bellowing out blessings but I can offer a kind word, a smile, a polite 'you first' gesture.
It isn't hard to be kind. It just takes being mindful. We forget, in our hurried and harried culture, to slow down, breathe, and be kind. A little gesture goes a long way.
Everyone benefits if we all just take time.
*I guess the real word for this is mysophobia but I prefer the made up version better.
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