Dream of Skyler Mountain – February 20, 2015

A spiritual advisor who worked with me on dream interpretation years ago told me the more we write down our dreams, the more dreams we have (or remember). I love to dream, so I did as she said and now have a book full of fantastical stories, some which I can remember today because I wrote them down 15 years ago.

I have begun recording my dreams again and find it a very fulfilling exercise. I date and title each dream and often find meaningful messages in what my subconscious sorts through while I sleep.

My most recent entry is nothing profound, but it intrigues me just the same. In this dream of Monday night, my father announced that he wanted to climb a mountain, his goal being to get up high where his daughter has been so often when hiking in the Colorado Rockies.

Because he lives only 1,200 feet above sea level, I was mildly anxious about his ability to adjust to the altitude. He is a healthy man but he is just two months shy of 86 years old, so his age was also a worry. Confident in his capability and determination, he poo pooed my doubts.

My biggest concern, however, was how to spell the name of the mountain he chose to hike (remember this was a dream): Schuyler Mountain. Or Skyler, or Skylar. Which was it? In my dream, I tried every variation of the name and could not settle on the correct spelling. I leaned toward the “S-c-h” version but wasn’t sure if there was a “u” in there or not. The meat of my dream was not the safety of my father but the spelling of Schuyler. Go figure.

Don’t know Schuyler Mountain?

Me neither.

I Googled it to see if there was a hidden meaning to the name. Two options surfaced:

1) I discovered that Schuyler, Virginia is home of Earl Hamner, the creator of “The Waltons,” the 1970s TV show based on his life.

“Good night, John Boy.”

“Good night, Pa.”

Granted, my dad enjoys his daily nap(s) so the “Goodnight, Pa” part works. And John Boy leaves home for the city to be a writer so I could manage to eek out a correlation there. But I’ve never been to Virginia and I haven’t watched “The Waltons” since I was 12 years old. Maybe I’m missing something but I’m not seeing the significance of the spelling of Schuyler Mountain and my life as John Boy.

2) The name Schuyler is Dutch in origin and means shelter. Because I am trying to figure out my place on this planet, I wonder if I dreamt about the correct spelling of Schuyler, or shelter, because during my waking hours I am in the process of seeking shelter, or a sense of place—physically, geographically and psychologically.

Deep stuff and far-fetched, I know. But our minds work in mysterious ways.

Back to my former spiritual director: Rita said that when we get good at this dream interpretation practice, we can actually direct our dreams. Before sleep, make it clear what our question or concern is, then catch some zzzzz’s and REMs. After journaling about it in the morning, we may have the answer.

When I figure it all out, I’ll let you know. Until then, sweet dreams.

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More Spirit! – February 13, 2015

Last week I traveled to Chicago via Spirit Airlines. I paid $68 for a round-trip ticket and was determined not to spend another dime for seat selection, bags (checked or carry-on), early boarding, food, water, an arm rest, a folding tray in the upright position, extra leg room, the ability to recline my seat, a smooth take-off and landing, or any other frills that come with modern air travel. I was not going to let Spirit beat me at my own game of Thrift.
Spirit Airlines won.
No, I didn’t check a bag nor carry one with me, other than my daypack, which fit under the seat in front of me. I wore layers—lots of layers—so I wouldn’t have to pack clothes, and stuffed my pockets with socks and toothpaste. That part went well.
I was able to check-in online. In fact, if I’d waited to check in at the airport, it would have cost me. Advance check-in online was free and hassle-free.
Once at my gate, I noticed the departure time appearing on the marquee kept getting pushed back, yet it continued to flash “On Time.” We departed more than half-an-hour late. On time.
Although the plane was only about half full, my randomly assigned seat was toward the back, in the middle between a guy with dreadlocks down past his shoulders and a woman wearing too much Guess perfume. (I should have told her about rubbing the scented strips in magazines on her shoulders. Obviously since she was flying Spirit Air she was interested in saving a buck. I’m sure she would have thanked me for my helpful suggestion.) We stooges sat three abreast while several rows ahead of us were empty. Passengers were told we could move to an empty seat after we’d reached altitude but by then Dreads was snoring and I knew I’d wake him if I tried to crawl over him with my stuffed backpack. I decided to Let It Be. Or Let It Go. Which is it?
Chicago was arctic cold and buried in snow when I arrived which made the warm embraces of friends and family all the more heartening. (The wine, brandy, and Bellinis didn’t hurt. Not all in one evening, mind you.) My visit was just the right mix of getting out and about and staying tucked inside, perusing Overstock.com (and not buying a thing). Twenty-four hours before my scheduled return flight I tried to check in online, but something was wrong. There was no “check in” button. I looked on every page and found no such place to click.
They tricked me! Spirit Airlines charges to check in at the airport yet they make it impossible to check in at home. I knew this would happen. It was a scam!
I scrambled to locate Spirit’s 800-number, which isn’t easy to find, and when I reached their customer service department, someone began talking to me in Yupik or Silbo Gomero or some similar gibberish. There are 500 million people who speak English on this planet, and I didn’t get one. Nonetheless, after asking her to repeat herself several times I figured out that, unbeknownst to me, I scheduled myself to fly back on March 6, not February 6. As I mentioned last week, Spirit Airlines doesn’t change or refund tickets. No matter what the tragedy, the emergency or the trauma, you’re out of luck. Buy a new ticket or don’t fly.
I want to make clear that whenever I book a flight I check and double-check my dates, times, flight numbers and—no surprise—cost. I truly believe Spirit has a way of making one think she has selected one date on their website when in reality she has clicked on another. I don’t know how they do it, but that flimflam is what I read about again and again when I checked online reviews of Spirit Air. After the fact. (There is even a website titled “How to Fight Spirit Airline.” It describes how notorious Spirit is with ignoring customers who feel they’ve been “harmed, cheated, robbed or humiliated.” Woe, they’ve made it look like it’s my fault and I cannot prove otherwise.)
So instead of flying round-trip to Chicago for $68, I paid $86 for a one-way return ticket. A $154 round-trip fare was still a bargain, and to see my friends and girl-cousins it was well worth it. But for that I could have flown Southwest and checked a bag for free, I could have selected my seat, I wouldn’t have looked like little brother Randy in A Christmas Story (“I can’t put my arms down!”), I would have gotten a bag of six pretzels to eat, and I wouldn’t have spent several early mornings lying awake in the dark, trying to figure out how it happened that I was duped.
Nonetheless, I thank Spirit Airlines for arousing my spirit. I learned the hard way, and had a whole lot of fun doing it.

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That’s the Spirit– February 6, 2015

The challenge is on! It’s me against Spirit Airlines, and I’m going to win.
In general, I’m not very competitive—I’m a middle child, after all. When playing games I don’t gloat when I win or pout when I lose. It’s just a game, you see. If I want something and you want it too, I’m likely to let you have it just to keep the peace.
I’m not driven to make a buck, clinch the sale or close the deal. But tempt me to save—rather than earn—a dollar, and I’m all over it.
Ergo, me against Spirit Airlines.
Spirit is an “a la carte” airline. You pay for your tickets—to get you there and back—and everything else costs extra. It has become more common when you fly on most airlines to purchase any food you get on the plane (although Southwest, my favorite, still gives you a free, wee bag of snacks, and most airlines still give you a little cup of a lot of ice and a couple of swallows of beverage drizzled over it) so I would expect to have to pay on Spirit. But I won’t. I’ll bring my survival fare with me.
On Spirit you have to pay to get a seat assignment, and if you want to change your ticket, you’re out of luck. They don’t do that. You simply have to buy a new ticket and trash the old one.
You pay for each checked bag, of course, but if you want to carry on your luggage, you have to pay for that too. And if you wait to check your bag(s) until you’re at the airport, you pay $100 per bag. Yikes! You can have a small personal item at no extra costs but it has to fit under the seat in front of you.
Spirit claims to be “proud to have broken the rules” regarding air travel. However, it appears they have more rules than any other airline. (i.e., “Want water? Pay for it. Gotta go? Cough up a buck for toilet paper. Headrest? Seat belt? Air bag? Pony up.”) The good thing about all of these stipulations is that flying Spirit Airlines is cheap. My round-trip ticket to Chicago cost a mere $68.20.
Spirit calls this their “Bare Fare” but for me, it’s the exact opposite. You see, I am going to beat the system. I truly am going to fly for $68 and not spend a penny more, which means there’s no “bare” about it. Since I can only carry on a small, personal item (my day pack), I intend to wear as much clothing as possible to leave room in my pack for essential, non-wearable items such as chocolate and playing cards (for the anticipated delay at the airport.)
My trip to Chicago will be a short one to visit friends and get together with several of my girl-cousins. Packing would be easier if the windy city hadn’t just gotten clobbered with the fifth-biggest blizzard in its history, but the added challenge just inveigles me. (I looked it up and love this word! It’s pronounced in-VAY-gul. Try it, you might like it.)
I’ll “pack” as soon as I’m finished writing this column, and it’ll go like this:
I’ll wear all of my underwear. This is not as space-efficient as wearing only one pair right-side-in one day and inside-out the next, but I am willing to sport the layers in order to have a fresh pair every day. I’ll only wear one pair of socks and switch left with right each day. My only shoes will be the hiking boots on my feet (think snow), and I’ll forgo my slippers for fuzzy footies. I’ll slip a bra by its straps onto my belt before I put on the belt, so the bra will hang down the back, its cups falling perfectly in place over my bum, and then my nightgown on top will hide the undergarment. A couple of shirts with a sweater or two over them and one pair of jeans for the two and a half days I’m there will complete my get-up. Due to the frigid weather in Chicago I will need my heaviest winter coat, a scarf, gloves and a hat, and with that I’ll be good to go. No form, all function. No frills, no fees. The only way my friends will recognize me when I waddle off the plane is by looking for the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man bulging out of a red winter coat and carrying no luggage.
Spirit Air boasts that its smaller seats allow more passengers on each plane, which lowers the cost of each ticket. (You can buy a big seat up front if you’re willing to shell out the dough.) This afternoon, when I board flight #660 to Chicago I am going to redefine “tight legroom.”
That’s the spirit!

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Name Game

The name game isn’t over yet. Linda Hardgrove says there are yet more Lindas in Estes Park than Marcia/Marshas or Susans. Here is what she has to say:

“I am sure that there are indeed a good many Marcias and Susans in Estes Park, not to mention the world! But how many Lindas do you know? When I was in college there were almost 250 girls in our dorm and 16 of them were named Linda. Of the seven girls who were my closest friends, three of us were Lindas. In the Estes Park area I know of 10 Lindas: Gardner, Wold, Ostmeyer, Williams, Hoak, Moak, Steele, Strandberg, Hardgrove, Villanueva. I am sure there are many others [Thunker interjection: Adam-Hall, Cleeland, Dilts, Emsing, Ferguson, Hardin, McCreery]. There was even a popular song at that time entitled ‘Linda.’ [Another Thunker two cents: When I go to sleep, I never count sheep,
I count all the char-ar-ar-arms,
About L-L-L-L, L-L-L-Linda sung by the surf music duo Jan and Dean].

It may be a bit dorky, but here is my tribute to the millions of Lindas in the world:

Please always remember & don’t ever forget
That if your name’s Linda you surely can bet
That though we are different & no two the same
there must be a million that share our name.

So whether you spell it with a Y or an A,
And whether you live in Maine or L.A.,
And whether you’re skinny or pleasantly plump,
For certain & sure you’ve learned not to jump—–
When someone yells LINDA.
You don’t turn your head.
You assume they are calling another instead.

And when you phone someone you say your last name,
’cause dozens of others are named just the same.
But I’m counting my blessings & you count yours, too,
For it’s what’s in your heart that makes you be you.

So your name may be Lindaor Patty or Pam
Or Susan or Marcia or Sally or Sam.
A name is a name & only the start.
The thing that’s important is what’s in your heart.”

Linda may just win the prize for being the most common female name in Estes Park. As the author of this poem points out, however, we’re all winners if we have a good heart, no matter what our name is. Just ask Clem Kadiddlehopper. Or Bolivar Shagnasty, Cauliflower McPugg, or Willie Lump-Lump. Know who these guys are? All characters portrayed by the comedian legend and all-around good guy Red Skelton.

Can you believe that once, in 1947, he was censored from the airwaves for using the word “diaper”? My, how times have changed. What goes into a diaper isn’t even censored these days.

Maybe when the name Linda once again becomes the number one female name for babies, we’ll see some good, clean humor come back too. Like this Red Skeltonone-liner: “We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.” The only four-letter word in that joke is “shop.” Nothing wrong with that!

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