Being a Creative means juggling several projects at all times, not only because our spectacularly large (right) brains are always coming up with something AMAZING, but also because we have to pay the mortgage.
My favorite pet project is a week-long school initiative called Songwriting IS Writing! The Write to Record for Literacy Project. We usher kids through writing to recording fully produced songs. This week we get to do it at The American International School in Sofia, Bulgaria. (Put the accent on the So, not the fia)
We’re flying the German airline, Lufthansa.
The how-can-you-be-that-tall, male (not that I noticed, because I am super politically correct), and incredibly handsome (again, refer to prior parentheses) flight attendant, who had already handled several seating emergencies with both gentle and authoritative diplomacy, including dealing with the mother of (impossibly tiny) newborn twins in front of me, who could not produce the paperwork to prove that one of her carseats was allowed to be buckled into the plane (can you imagine?), wheeled a beverage cart by our row. He asked, “Ich ben drinky yum griffen buff?” because he clearly mistook me for an intelligent, non-American who speaks more languages than the Queen’s English. But being the capable partaker of alcohol that I am (and the astute observer of bottles on a cart), I replied, “May I have red wine?”
The man seamlessly transitioned to (the Queen’s) English WITHOUT AN ACCENT. And by that, I mean that he sounded like someone from the Midwest! Of America (The United States of), and not someone from London (God save the Queen). Or France.
He gave me the wine without charge (Pretty sure he liked me).
At this point I should note that my husband, who was sitting beside me, rolled his eyes, and also asked for wine (though later regretted not asking for Warsteiner, which he did not know was available until after the fact). He was also not charged.
The meal came next. We were not in first class, People. It was warm and there was a roll AND crackers shaped like butterflies. There were vegetables of several colors. There was butter and a brownie. The smell that filled the plane was- Oh my gosh! I didn’t even tell you about the hot hand towel!!
A woman followed my German admirer with another cart of bottles and poured another glass of wine for me. Five minutes later, ANOTHER woman walked down the aisle with two bottles in her hand, one red, one white. JUST TO TOP US OFF.
So…there is only an hour till we touch down in Frankfurt. I’ve had a little nap. I mean, can you blame me? I concede that getting passengers to sleep is perhaps the thought behind the liberal pour. But I have nothing but great things to say about Lufthansa thus far.
Follow up: Got to Frankfurt airport, checked email, and found a pass from an agent on the book. It was 8 am in Frankfurt, but 3 am in New York where the agent was. Agents need to get more sleep so that they can see the GENIUS of my query. (Don’t get me started on the ridiculousness of writing a query)