Nose to Nose I Suppose!

It was tough; I wasn't quite sure I could pull it off .

My reflection begins. In 1998, after some discussion, my sister and I agreed to have sinus operations. We both have been plagued with sinus problems most of our lives. Having a chronic sinus condition was an annoying problem that, well, annoyed us. :-0

Diana made the dates; she picked a well known doctor. Within a few days we both had had a sinus operation. My sister's procedure turned out fine, but, oh my goodness, I suffered a nose collapse. This was not at all my sister's fault, as she, at times, has blamed herself. "It was the luck of the Irish draw.", I would quip to myself.

As denial turned to realization that my face had changed, I jettison my emotions toward wacky humor. I announced that I was moving to Alaska, to live in an igloo and be among my brethren. What really happened slowly and insidiously was my onset not wanting to be with people. New people that I met after 1998, wasn't too bad; they thought I was a distant cousin to Owen Wilson. Those that I have known all my life presented a conflict to me. I didn't want for them to see " the change." My weight fluctuations have been part of my life for all my life, and that was part of me. This nose was not mine. I truly disliked my nose.

I wanted to shoot myself in the "nose" for those thoughts. Many of our soldiers returning from war were maimed. Many had multiple disfigurements, and here I was obsessing over my dent in nose. I watched soldiers get on with their lives in spite of carrying the knowledge it was war and not birth that had altered them. I wanted to be magnanimous about myself, but it wasn't happening. I felt small. I didn't look small, but I felt small inside.

My 1965 high school reunion was coming up soon. My sister wanted to attend the reunion, and it was so, so important for her that we go together. I thought how she probably is not aware that twelve years, of being different than I was, had affected me internally and socially. Unlike her I was not in the public; it had become easy to stay out of the public eye.

This was difficult, for I hate to disappoint a sister who has done a great deal for me these many years. I kept thinking about our soldiers' determination. With reluctance I said to Diana, "Let's go for it." I attended, but my heart was heavy.

The reunion turned out fine. Diana crowed, "No one mentioned your nose, Charlene?"
"No one did."
"No one asked if you've had an encounter with the boxer, Tyson?"
"No, and my ears are fine, thank you."
"No comments?"
"No comments."
"And why do you suppose?"
"I suppose they didn't recognize me!" (;-)

The reunion was fun. Many people I didn't recognize either.

In a way, I came out of the closet of insecurity nose first; it's all I can do not to turn around and follow my nose back inside. It's tough. And I'm still not sure why.

The Day I Met Him October 1973

As an airline employee, flying on standby is a maybe yes, maybe no constant factor. It becomes part of our life style.
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When he saw me coming on board Western Airlines, he had no idea who I was. Dressed in jeans torn and patched way before that was the "in" style, he glanced up at me walking down the airplane aisle. With long brown hair, an old T-shirt completed my wardrobe. If he thought I was a hippie, I wasn't. Heck, I graduated from Ole Miss in '69. Archie Manning was our man, and beer bust parties were the school politics of the day. He may have thought I was a hippie. All I needed was a flower necklace around my head, but I can assure you underneath those grubs was a Tennessee Southern Belle.
***
There was one available seat on Western Airlines that day. It was a short flight from Los Angeles to San Francisco, but this seat saved my waiting a couple of extra hours for the next flight. Not that would have made a great difference to me, being a TWA flight attendant I took the perks with the disadvantages.
***
I smiled at him when I asked if the seat beside him was free. There he was dressed in a suit, black framed glasses...very formal looking. He wasn't my type. The flight was less than an hour. I could engage in pleasant conversation for that length of time. In the seventy's, even on short flights, champagne was being served, and the minutes passed by quickly. As the airplane began to descend, out of the blue he said to me, "I know where there is the best Italian restaurant in San Francisco." The one and only line that rang my bell, he had nailed it.
***
He gave me his business card, telling me he would call later. I gave him my telephone number. As I did, I said I hope I have enough gas to get home. I wasn't sure I did. He'll remember that statement later. He soon lost me at the airport, as I had vanished into the bowels of the airport where employees go.
***
In an apartment on California St., in San Francisco, I was telling my roommate this guy might call to take me out to dinner sometime. The phone begins to ring; I knew it was he..I just knew it and so soon too. My roommate, Christa, lifts up an eyebrow. "Are you going to answer?"
"Not today!"
***
That was the day Swiss man met Southern Belle camouflaged as a hippie. Five years later, my email address would read "MrsSwiss". Who would have "thunk" it? :-)

The Tongue in Cheek Gothic Style Escapades of a TWA Flight Attendant

Part A: "The Lighthouse"

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If there is one thing I like to do is to drive. I'm not talking about boring interstate driving. I'm talking about driving when the knuckles on the steering wheel are white. The time period is early '70's.

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On a cliff at the North side of an island in the state of Hawaii, stands a lighthouse. My two fellow flight attendant friends and I contemplated a fragile trail that lay before us. Years of erosion had not only gutted the surface of the dirt road, it was listing toward the menacing waves of the Pacific Ocean. The treacherous track braced itself on the rocky hillside, hoping that by hanging on to its edge, it could prevent its very existence from slipping into the reaching arms of the violent pool below. Yeah, it seemed like a fun road. I, the elected driver, pressed forward, not quite convinced the road's width would sustain us, but what the heck...

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Around a bend and then another, we felt the beckoning call of the lighthouse. We teetered, tottered struggling to answer. Another corner executed, we burst upon a automobile hanging precariously on the side of the cliff. The left front wheel of the vehicle was spinning midair readying itself to dive into creamy white foam while hungry peaks stretched to grant its wish. A six pack of beer in the car confirmed that a bumbling buffoon and his comrads were aching to swim.

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Turning our auto around was an advent! We inched ourselves carefully toward the opposite direction. Although the hillock staunchly stood its ground, the mischievous mist teased us with spray. White knuckles withstanding , we prevailed, and the three of us cheered.

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Later in time, I would try to convince my husband, who was on a business trip in Honolulu, to invade the elusive lighthouse on the north side of the island. Albeit, I received a lecture on his being responsible for the rental car, bla, bla, bla. One of us has to be practical; so let it be Ruedi. If there is a thrill driving on the interstate, let him do that too.

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Over these years, my thoughts have intermittently returned to a lighthouse and a beat up road in Oahu. I wonder...are they still there? The old lighthouse...is whispering!

;-)