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carry on

adjective
1. of a size and shape suitable for being carried onto and stowed in the passenger compartment of an airplane: carry-on luggage.
noun
2. a piece of carry-on luggage.
First recorded use between 1950 – 1955.
The question is whether to carry on or check it. On a flight from San Francisco to Paris to teach the French distributors about our high tech product, I chose to check my bag. After all I needed business attire for a two-week stay. Of course, that would be the first time that my bag did not accompany me across the Pacific. Instead, I arrived and lived in the same comfy travel clothes that I left in. Decision made:  carry-on.
Then we have the TSA and all that screening.  Take out your liquids packed in a single quart-sized bag, take off your jacket, your shoes, your belt, jewelry …. and then take out your computer, any computing device. It became easier to pack it and check it and then it was a quick dash through security…take off your shoes, jacket, belt…
With the advent of becoming a Trusted Traveller, I could count on TSA-Pre and that alleviated the removal of shoes – who wears a belt to the airport anymore? – and keep the liquids stowed, but dump the water bottle.  Back to the carry-on.
I always go shopping when I travel and I pick up those one or two things that I have been seeking. I live rather rural now and don’t have access to such luxuries as large department stores, not even a Target. So in my haste to pick up that missing little trinket I have now had to gift them to the airport. Stopped how many times at security – the uniformed agent asking, “Whose bag is this?” and it is always mine. “May I open it?” Do I have a choice? And then he or she asks “Think before you answer. Is there anything sharp or dangerous in this bag?”
I think “of course not,” then the image of the ceramic knife I gifted myself at the big Home Goods in Austin, Tx flashes in my mind. “Oops,” I say, there is a knife I bought. “Merry Christmas,” I smile trying to hide my embarrassment.
On my most recent flight I thought this out ahead of time. My aunt and uncle are downsizing and they laid out items on several tables for my sisters and I to share. I bypassed the jewelry and linens and crystal for the three odd hammers that bespoke their age. “Grandmother used to keep these in her kitchen drawer,” my uncle offered. The tack hammer seemed similar to one my parents had, the wooden-handled meat tenderizer seemed a real find and the funny little all metal hammer was a “must have” for me. Soon after I took them, I realized that while I had plenty of room in my carry-on, these would certainly trigger an investigation by security. I checked my bag for the return flight.
Thought I’d share that. Now carry on with your day.
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sisterhood

noun
(1) the state of being a sister.
(2) a group of sisters, especially of nuns or of female members of a church.
(3) an organization of women with a common interest, as for social, charitable, business, or political purposes.
(4) congenial relationship or companionship among women; mutual female esteem, concern, support, etc.
…In my case, it is the relationship I have with my six sisters. Yes, I said SIX – there are a SEVEN of us all from the same mother and father, all raised together, though with a spread of nineteen years between the oldest (me) and the youngest. We have differet perspectives on many  memories.
It is that time of year again when we all come together. People ask, “What do you do when you all get together? What are your plans?”  I laugh. It is simply time together. We laugh, catch up on what is going on in our lives, our children, grandchildren, and then we cook and share meals. We reminisce and offer counsel to one another. We find new threads to attach ourselves to one another and then, we go shopping.
Our sister-weekend this year will be a whole week and we will be sharing this with our uncle and aunt and two cousins. There can’t be anything sweeter than that. We just passed the twenty-five-year mark on the loss of our mother, our father went only five months before her and we have made a concerted effort through these years to be there for one another.
Sisterhood to me is a blessing. I also count it as the greatest gift from our parents to each other. Thank you mom and dad for giving me this wonderful family and for my six sisters who are my best and closest friends in the world.
I encourage you to latch onto your siblings or bring a best friend into the fold of your own “sisterhood” and laugh together this week as I will with my sisters. I will laugh until I roll on the floor and then … oh, depends!
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reading

noun
(1) the action or practice of a person who reads.
(2) Speech, the oral interpretation of written language.
(3) the interpretation given  in the performance of a dramatic part…
…Today I have another wonderful opportunity to read from my books at a public gathering. It is in fact in an art gallery. On my mind is the responsiblity of the author to read their works in a manner that is true to the words and at the some time entertaining to the listener – keeping them engaged. Bottom line, the author wants their audience to want to buy the book right then, right there and to follow them.
The question is do you read them from the book word for word starting at the beginning until the time is up? Or, do you read specific selections that will provide a more tantalizing experience? Do you read a portion of a story letting the suspense build, but stop before the ending unfolds? 
I did that once and then pertly said, you will have to buy the book to see what happened next. Oh the verve we have one day!
I haven’t decided for today. Catch five local authors at One of a Kind in Port Angeles this afternoon at 2:00 for a Wine & Sign event.
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perception

noun

the act or faculty of perceiving, or apprehending by means of the senses or of the mind; cognition; understanding.
…September 1964 I entered my sixth period English class. It was my first day of school in a brand new school. The Campbell Union School District had redrawn the boundaries for Blackford and Campbell high schools, pulling in their borders allowing for the new school, Westmont.  Mrs. Sally Pehlps was the instructor and she was middle-aged, dark-haired and pert. She introduced herself and established the general outline for this junior class in Journalism. I looked around the class and realized that I knew no one. There were several that exchanged smiles of recognition. She began to outline how to write a news story, the five W’s. Who, what, where, when and why.

Abruptly the classroom door slammed open and a stocky man entered and crossed the room to where Mrs. Phelps stood. An argument erupted. A gun was pulled. A shot fired. Mrs. Phelps turned to the class, “write a news story on what you just witnessed.”

More than fifty years have passed but the memory of that class remains. A lot of the details are lost. I was immediately in love with Mrs. Phelps for her courage in creating such an intense lesson in how to write what you witness. Of course, the object was that no matter how close we are to the scene, how we interpret it is an individual as each of us. Afterward we must have had an opportunity to go around the class and discuss the event. There were so many differing views, details caught by some, missed by more. A few students knew the name of the stocky man who was in fact Michael Slavik the speech instructor, many did not.

 

It was the fact that the thirty-odd students in that classroom had all first hand witnessed the same event yet written differing reports. Fast forward through the fifty years and how many times have I encountered the same misinterpretation. We interpret events passed on our own experience and bias. Reality is filtered through a prism.  Let alone the fact that two teachers a gun were used in this classroom demonstration. In retrospect, I doubt that the gun was real and maybe I don’t remember the details as well as I thought I did. Anybody want to weigh in on this memory?

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