Elite for the Day

Are you Silver Elite, Gold Elite, Platinum Elite or riff raff? These are the questions that can’t help but run through your head these days when waiting to board an airplane. My curate, Anne Emry, and I flew out to Minneapolis for the Festival of Homiletics yesterday and as a parade of pre-boarders strode past us to the gate it left us wondering. In a need to make nearly every traveler (except us evidently) feel special, the lady behind the counter making announcements into the ubiquitous handheld microphone must have reeled off ten different categories of “specialness.”

I’m used to people pre-boarding. Fine, let the first class folks board first — they paid for it and they all look like they need a drink. And having been one of those parents traveling with small children, I understand that special ring of hell — let them get on with their car seats, diapers, screaming children, etc. They, of course, also look like they need a drink. But then there’s that middle group that I don’t understand — in addition to the “Olympic” travelers awarded gold, silver, and bronze (or whatever it is) there are a host of others with “preferred” status. There’s the Chairman’s Club (though you might have to be a Chinese communist to qualify), and the President’s Preferred members, and Advantage Gold, to name a few. 

As that original Biblical stage mother — the unnamed mother of James and John — clearly knew, rank matters. At least to humans. When she pulled Jesus aside to try and persuade him to let her sons sit at his left and his right in the Kingdom of Heaven, she was basically trying to get them Platinum Elite status. And Jesus would have none of it.

Despite what titles the airlines convey we’re all in this together. The whole notion of frequent flyer royalty is just another way to mask our deep insecurities. By pumping up our egos with absurd-sounding memberships we’re feeding into what we crave: being assured that we’re better than others.

My favorite title bestowed upon airline passengers? The vaulted “Elite for the Day.” I’m not sure how you earn that or what the airline screwed up to give out such a title, but even fleeting eliteness was enough to let you board before the clergy from Hingham. As I said to Anne, “I don’t need to be elite for the entire day — how about just the next ten minutes?” But then again we — and our luggage — all made it to the same destination on time and in one piece.

Round ‘Em Up

Greetings from Grimes County, Texas. I’m down here for the Episcopal Communicators conference at Camp Allen, located 45 minutes from Houston. I have no idea in what direction.

Besides some engaging workshops and catching up with friends and colleagues from across the country, I’ve been experiencing a bit of Texas culture.  Some might argue that “Texas culture” is an oxymoron. “Flavor” might be a better word. I am at a communicators conference after all so word usage is important.

Last night we were treated to a “chuck wagon dinner” out by a lake. There was a genuine (gen-U-ine) chuck wagon and what I was assured were “real” cowboys cooking up the chow. This was no Euro Disney cowboy experience; this was serious stuff. If I’d asked for tofu I might have had my head blown off with a 12-gauge shotgun. The head chef may well have been the original Marlboro Man — though, as I think about it, I believe he died of lung cancer at some point. So perhaps it was his brother. But I ate the largest steak I’ve ever seen. It was huge! I mean this thing would be enough to make a vegan crawl into the fetal position and weep. And it was delicious.

This morning I went out for a pre-dawn run (had to do something to atone for that hunk of meat) and I saw more stars out in the Texas sky than I ever knew existed. It was stunning and one of those unique encounters with the divine through the beauty of creation. As the sun rose, I encountered various pieces of that Texas flavor. I passed a property raising llamas (not sure what you do with them and, actually, maybe they were alpacas. Not sure what you do with those either); set off a whole string of angry dogs barking as I passed through a neighborhood of trailer homes; passed a bunch of horses eating breakfast; and saw a sign that read: “Fourclosure (sic) — Double Wide — $14,800).”

After 13 miles I came back in and had cheese grits with black coffee. A perfect way to start a day somewhere in the Lone Star State.

Up-To-Date

I’m sitting at Kansas City International Airport on a rainy afternoon waiting for my flight to take off. I have a sneaking suspician it’ll be late since it hasn’t yet arrived at the gate and it’s due to leave in 30 minutes. I’ve spent the last two days here for an Episcopal Life Board of Governor’s meeting. In between a heavy dose of meetings I was able to get in a nice dose of barbecue at the famous Jack Stack Barbecue restaurant. I’m not sure if everything is up-to-date in Kansas City (certainly not my flight), but the BBQ is delicious.

Unfortunately the small bottle of barbecue sauce I had in my carry-on bag was confiscated by the TSA gestapo. Sorry, Bryna, I’ll be arriving home empty-handed. They did let me keep my tube of toothpaste after rifling unceremoniously through my bag so you’re welcome to that.

One of the reasons I’m carrying on my bag (aside from time-saving convenience) is because Midwest Express now charges $15 to check a bag. That’s the fee for the first one; the second is $25. I understand USAir is now charging $20 for a blanket/pillow combination. Of course you get to keep it which will certainly get you through a long, cold winter. Or at least your lap. In a climate controlled, pressurized environment. I’m almost used to the fact that many airlines charge for snacks and the formerly complementary soft drinks. But some airlines are even charging extra for window and aisle seats.

Stop nickel and diming us! I’m happy to chip in for things like, oh, jet fuel but what’s next? Charging a fee for the drop down mask in case there’s a drop in cabin pressure? A lavatory fee? A barf bag surcharge?

I realize I’m just cranky because my plane’s delayed and they confiscated my BBQ sauce. I’ll go ask for a discount at the ticket counter.

Mississippi Burning

I can cross Mississippi off the list. It was one of the few states I had never been to but I write this from the Credo Conference being held in Canton, MS at the Gray Conference Center. So it’s off the list. I realize getting to Mississippi before you die generally doesn’t make anybody’s top ten list. But it did make me reflect upon which of the United States I still haven’t gotten to.

Alaska’s the big one — though listening to Sarah Palin makes me feel like I’ve been there. Or at least that I can see Russia from here. But there are others: South Carolina, Montana, South Dakota, Oregon, New Mexico, and Idaho. I knocked off the state of Washington in the spring by attending an Episcopal Communicator’s conference out there. I do hope to get to every state before I kick the bucket. Not for any particular reason, but just because they’re there. 

In the spirit of “when in Rome” I had grits for breakfast this morning. I used to eat grits in Army chow halls but I now realize they were pretty lousy as far as grits go. I remember choking them down because I had a commanding officer from Alabama and he basically ordered us to eat the grits. This morning was the real deal — and, with a touch of brown sugar, they were delicious.

The grits were followed by crawdad etouffe for lunch and topped off with broiled catfish and turnip greens for dinner. Incredible. And not a bad culinary introduction to this much-maligned state. I might have to move here just for the food and southern hospitality. Just don’t tell Bryna.

The Way Life Should Be

That’s what the sign says when you drive in on I-95. “Maine: The way life should be.” I’m not sure if that’s true during the bleak mid-winter, but in late August it seems about right. Definitely some undertones of the Kingdom on earth.

We started yesterday as we do most of our time up here — with good coffee. And ended it as we usually do — with good seafood. We discovered the Portland Roasting Companyand kicked things off with a steaming mug of Tanzania coffee. Then up the coast to Wiscasset which bills itself as “The prettiest village in Maine.” Not sure about that but we get up there every summer to visit our good friend Ann Johnson. Ann’s another seminary friend from Seabury-Western who’s the rector of St. Philip’s, Wiscasset.

Ben and Zack love her dog Schooner, an enthusiastic black lab but the best part this year was meeting Ann’s recently adopted two-year old daughter Azalach from Ethiopia. She is a beautiful and amazing little girl and after spending a bit of time with her Zack dubbed her “the smartest two-year old I’ve ever met.” High praise indeed.

After hot dogs for the boys, crab cakes for Bryna, and a lobster roll for me we drove back to Portland to watch the Portland Sea Dogstake on the New Britain Rock Cats in a Double A minor league game. The three boys had a blast, Bryna froze, and the Sea Dogs took the game 6-4. Ben and Zack look quite fetching in their new Sea Dogs hats.

The day ended with a quick post-game meal at Gilbert’s Chowder House in Portland. Incredible clam chowder. Of course what else would you order at a chowder house? Unless you’re Ben and Zack for whom it may as well have been Nathan’s — hot dogs all around!

Good Day

Any day that begins with coffee at your favorite coffee shop in New Hampshire and ends with eating a lobster in Maine is a good day. We woke up in Portsmouth and met our good friends the Stevens at Breaking New Grounds in the heart of the historic district. We’ve known Rob and Jennifer since our seminary days and nothing beats hanging out with old friends — we had dinner with them at Rye beach the evening before as our kids frollicked together in the surf. Rob’s the rector of St. John’s in Portsmouth, a thriving parish in a great town.

After breakfast (and letting the boys blow off some steam in the hotel pool) we headed up to Portland, Maine. This included a stop at the outlets in Kittery. Stopping at outlets always makes me want to both cringe and hide my wallet. Though it’s not mywallet I really need to worry about. Fortunately we were able to get out of there relatively unscathed and ironically I was the only one that bought anything — they happened to have a pair of the shoes I run in, the Nike Air Structure Triax, at the Nike outlet. And I saved $20! Okay enough of the shopping mania.

Back to the beach in Scarborough, Maine with our friends the Mazzolas who are renting a house for the week. Then lobster and fried clams at Ken’s Place. Not a bad way to spend a summer day.