Yes, I have the ticket for that seat.

So a couple of the airlines want to charge $8 for a pillow and a blanket.

Tell you what. I’ll give you eight bucks–heck, I’ll double that amount–if you’ll promise me those disgusting, lice-infested,  nasty things won’t touch me. Have you ever seen one of those airline blankets that looked as if it had been laundered since the Wright brothers took flight? Yuk.

I think commercial planes are frightfully nasty places, in general. I’ve seen a flight attendant simply flip over the cushion in a seat that was soiled. Do you wonder how many times that was done mid-flight?
I freely admit to flying armed with antibacterial wipes. Yes, my seatmates sometimes snicker as I proceed to wipe down the arm rest and tray table…until they see how filthy dirty the wipe is after I’m finished. Most of the time they end up asking if I’ll give them a wipe for their place on the plane.

Oh, but that’s not all. I also travel with my own washable Plane Sheet. Mine is the “classic leopard” style that fits nicely over the germ-infested plane seat. Sometimes people laugh, but usually the flight attendant asks me where I found it and proceeds to tell me it’s a great idea. Check out Planesheets.com, and you, too, can be the proud owner of one in leopard or even pink, beige, denim or toile.

Yes, I bring my own water, and I probably have a purse full of hand sanitizer, too.
So, I’ll be okay without that $8 re-usable, cootie-infested pillow and blanket. I’ll settle for landing safely, along with my luggage I paid extra to check.
And am I the only one who thinks it might be better if we let people check luggage for free and save the charges for people who want to cram all their jumbo-sized junk in the overhead bin? But that’s another blog.

My back has hurt for a week, and I can tell you exactly when the problem started this time.

I say “this time,” because I will admit to my back causing me problems in the past. Oh, I’ve been to physical therapy, and they had me do “baby exercises” compared to what I do in my aerobics class. No measurable improvement, either.

But this one started as I sat on an airplane, minding my own business. I even had carefully made sure my coat didn’t spill over into his seat, because whoever sat there didn’t need to be putting up with my stuff.

Then this perfectly pleasant, yet very large man, asked if I would mind if we would raise the arm rest. Yes, the arm rest that previously had designated which seat was mine and which one was his. He wanted all of his and part of mine.

Now I have much sympathy for people who need to lose weight. Gee, I’d even put myself in that category, not being a skinny girl. I know dropping some pounds can be a difficult, all-consuming task.

So since my momma raised me to be polite as possible, I raised the arm rest, and he proceeded to take up a seat and then some. When I found out his wife was sitting in another row, I offered to trade seats. Yes, take my aisle seat, I said, and I’ll take her middle seat. I was hoping I could at least have the arm rests down.

Nope, he didn’t want that. Have you guessed why? She wasn’t so tiny herself.

So I spent an hour-and-a-half with my feet barely touching (another issue that I have on airplanes) and leaning to the right so my seatmate could have all the space he needed.

And I’m thinking my new friend’s need of two seats should have made his wallet hurt since he was in need of not the one seat he paid for, but the almost two he actually used. But, alas, it’s my back, not his pocketbook, that hurts.

I didn’t plan it. It just happened.

I think I’m a New Orleans Saints fan.

It just so happened I was in the Big Easy for the Saints’ play-off game against the Vikings. I thought, “Well, isn’t this nice.” Get to be around town watching all the hoopla before the Saints and the Vikings hit the field. Wouldn’t it be great to see all those happy people rooting for their teams.

Then slowly, but surely I was sucked into the “Who Dat Nation.” I wasn’t even sure about all this “Who Dat” bidness, but it was explained to me by an oh-so-nice fan. As a matter a fact, a lot of their fans were really nice, and they wear really great gear…like beads and feather boas and fancy umbrellas. I like all that. A lot.

When their team won in overtime–and it was an exciting game–the town just about exploded. They danced in the streets and honked their horns. I admit all of the sudden I was dancing with them (is it “second lining?”) and screaming “Who dat” at perfect strangers.

Those Saint fans are happy people who care alot about their team, but also took time to thank the Vikings for showing up and playing such a great game. What southern hospitality!

So Feb. 7th–Superbowl Sunday, you’ll know me. I’ll be wearing black and gold, sporting as many beads as the legal limit will allow and screaming “who dat.”

Something to celebrate Monday night at the 4th Annual Celebrity Chefs Benefit and Auction…Mid-Cities Supporters of SafeHaven jumped into a new category.

With co-chairs Donna Burdette and Anna Saunders organizing the event at the Hilton in Southlake Town Square, Monday night the group surpassed the $1 million mark in its donations to SafeHaven.  Early numbers have this year’s total topping $90,000.

The fundraiser, which aids child victims of domestic violence, included a stable full of fabulous chefs who not only trotted out their specialty dishes, but also offered up exclusive dinners for auction. For their part, the chefs whipped up an impressive array of treats for us, the lucky party-goers. From pulled pork to tenderloin to gourmet mac ‘n cheese to crepes, the food was outstanding. Participating in helping a crowd of people blow their new year’s diets were Chef Jaime Aguilar of Copeland’s of New Orleans; Chef Hans Bergman of Cacharel Restaurant and Grand Ballroom; Chef Sally Bolick and Chef Mike Swirczynski of Strong Bravo!! Catering and Event Planning; Chef Joanne Bondy of the Gaylord Texan’s Old Hickory Steakhouse; Chef Jon Bonnell of Bonnell’s Restaurant; Chef Susan Clark of Creative Memories Cakes & Catering;Chef Eric Hunter of Fire Oak Grille; Chef Brian Olenjack of Olenjack’s Grille; Chef Morris Salerno of The Grotto; Chef Manuel Vera of Truluck’s Seafood, Steak and Crab House; Chef Chris Wilson of Market Street; Chef Mark Yamada of Trophy Club Country Club and Chef Charles Youts of The Classic Cafe.

Very special in this year’s live auction was a ruby-and-diamond brooch. The jewel had belonged to the late Colleen Meadows, a long-time supporter of Mid-Cities SOS, and her friend, Leah Shaver, had the honor of circulating the ballroom enticing potential buyers to bid on the sparkly reminder of Colleen.

But besides the money raised for a worthy cause, the evening was a delightful way to start the week. Just as we got to the end of the red-carpet entrance, we were offered a glass of bubbly. Nice touch. And maybe a bit of a good luck charm because by the end we truly had something to celebrate!

Jeanie Luskey signed on to raise funds for a hospital, not compete with football playoffs.

All the planning in the world still doesn’t mean you can control the world.

Something I know from experience, and I’m sure others have learned this lesson, too.

Last year I served on the steering committee for a celebration marking my sorority’s centennial at the University of Oklahoma (Boomer Sooner, of course). It was a big darn deal. Most of the women had worked on dozens of similar committees, so these volunteers were pros in the field of gala-throwing. Invitations, underwriting, bands, centerpieces, seating charts and ice sculptures were not foreign turf to this crew.

We met for months, going over every detail for this two-day event. Account balances in the black, RSVPs duly noted, speakers lined up. The highlight was to be a black-tie ball on a Saturday night with a fabulous dinner, fun band and even husbands.

So for a bunch of type-A women, we had it under control…or so we fooled ourselves into thinking.

The football gods aligned the planets so that our beloved Sooners played a big game on national TV.  Kick-off? Exactly the same as the time printed on our oh-so-lovely invitations.

So now as the Dallas Cowboys make a rare Saturday night appearance on national TV in a play-off game with that Philadelphia team, I’m not worried about Jerry’s boys. My concerns are for the Jewel Charity Ball in Fort Worth. That party, an annual event for Cook Children’s Medical Center, has been on the books longer than Tony Romo’s been wearing ball caps backwards.

Jeanie Luskey, president of this year’s ball, probably is wondering what the heck happened to Monday night football.

Well, happy, healthy 2010!

Can’t say as 2009 was my favorite year, but I’ve had worse, too. So to ensure a lucky new year, I’ve eaten my share of black-eyed peas. How about you?

But now we’re moving on, trying to get used to writing the year 2010 on official papers and deciding if we want to say “twenty ten” or “two-thousand and ten” (For the record, I prefer the former, not the latter.) I’d like us to move on in other ways, too.

I’m just sayin’ some people’s 15 minutes of fame are up. Done. Finished. O-V-E-R.

And here’s just a start:

Jon Gosselin and Kate Gosselin. The TV mom and dad, now divorced, who allowed TV cameras into their home and heads just because they had eight children. A set of twins and a set of sextuplets does make for an unusual family, but Jon seems to resent the contractual obligation he agreed to and Kate seems to admire herself increasingly. Then when the family fell apart, the fighting got ugly and sad. So for the good of the children, can these parents please remove themselves and all their dirty laundry from the public spotlight?

Tim Tebow. Okay, so he won a Heisman Trophy. That was a couple of years back, and correct me if I’m wrong, but he’s not the only person who ever won that prize. And I’ve heard rumors that he really doesn’t walk on water, but the unusual PR buzz on this Florida Gator would have you wondering about his supernatural powers. If you tell me he’s a nice guy, I’ll certainly believe you, but why do we have to hear about it all the time? And the crying….enough! I’m just guessing there are other really, really super college football players out there…and some of them might have Heisman Trophies on their bookshelves, too.

Lady Gaga. The singer, a.k.a. Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, is another one who I’m ready for the timer to run out on. I know she’s recorded some catchy dance tunes and has sold millions of CDs, but what’s with the get-ups? Does a truly talented singer need to invent those weird costumes?

That’s it for now, but I reserve the right to add to my list. So you can take a turn, too. Anyone you’d like to see fade into the background?

Could we interrupt this day to talk about Santa Claus for a minute?

Do you remember some of your favorite Christmas presents from Santa? I know I always wanted a doll, and looking at them, along with that fabulous majorette costume in the Sears catalog. There’s also a faded picture of me proudly holding a doctor’s kit, but I’m guessing I thought it was a special purse because I never wanted to be a doctor.

I remember one year—I was probably 12 or 13—and feeling SO GROWN UP because my dad got me the same present he got my mother and my grandmother—Estee Lauder Youth Dew!

One year, when I was a senior in college, I got a trench coat! I still own it—a symbol of my journalism career.

At our house, my little girls who I used to dress in matching velvet dresses and bring to church, are now 20, 22 and 25. They don’t let me dress them in matching outfits any more, but they still believe in Santa Claus. I’ve told them, like Virginia was told by that newspaper man so many years ago that

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus!

So at our house we believe in Santa Claus. What we wish for might not be found in the Sears catalog or even online in any Cyber Monday door-buster bargain. But we believe and we hope.

And I still have things I hope for, and the list changes from one year to the next. It might be a good grade for one of my daughter’s in a certain class or hoping that a certain soldier stays safe. Every year, though, one of my favorite Christmas lists comes from a song made famous by singer Amy Grant.

Grown-Up Christmas List
(by David Foster & Linda Thompson Jenner)

Do you remember me
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you with childhood fantasies

Well heaven surely knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal a hurting human soul.

So even at Christmas, when people are torn apart from so many things in an imperfect world, I’m grateful for friends like you. I’m happy we have each other. And I wish for you, my cyber friends, a merry Christmas and that Santa brings you everything on your grown-up Christmas list.

Outta my way! My turn for the spotlight!

Many sights to behold during December in New York City.

I was lucky enough to catch some of them earlier this month. The Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center–bigger and brighter than I could imagine and an experience most definitely. You couldn’t stir the people with a stick, and who knew that Santa accepted tips? Yes, the Santa we took a photo with lost his ho, ho, ho after the photo and surprised us with this grumpy woman–where was Mrs. Claus?–who held out a bag for tips.

The store windows lived up to their reputation. Loved the creativity that went into them, and I wish I could get a gig where I could dream up what they should look like. I’d leave the execution to the engineering types, though. Too many moving parts for me to organize.

I also loved the fashions in those department stores. Cute, cute, cute. Lots of red, lots of animal print. Two staples for moi.

Then there were the Santas–hundreds of them–participating in some sort of city-wide pub crawl. Never have I seen a white-and-blue Santa–or was that a Hanukkah Harry? I couldn’t have imagined a Santa with a black veil over his/her face, and the image of two skinny Santas smoking outside a bar is one I’d like to erase from my memory bank. Forever.

But my favorite memory happened on Broadway. My friend, Rebecca Robinson, and I bought tickets to the revival of Hair; The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical. Of course, we loved it, but we were more than ready for the finale. Managing to climb over one pregnant woman, down a flight a stairs–all in high heels, mind you–we were number one and two on the stage when the audience is invited to dance.

Yes, ladies and gents, I can mark one major accomplishment off my lifetime “to do” list. I actually have danced on Broadway. Rebecca and I, blonde hair flying, “Let the Sun Shine” at the Hirschfield Theater.

One of the best New York City sights this December for sure.

Some of the poinsettias were silver. Most of the women wore black. The party was to raise some green.

But purple was the color of the night at the Presbyterian Night Shelter Christmas Gala Friday at Ridglea Country Club in Fort Worth. You know, purple like Horned Frogs from Texas Christian University.

At this party where the weather outside was wonderfully wintery, raising funds for the Presbyterian Night Shelter was the goal. And helping reach that goal was a purple autographed helmet with TCU Coach Gary Patterson’s sig plus football players that helped get TCU that number four ranking in the latest college football polls.

Food stations scattered around the country club offered prime rib and a delish risotto bar, and a band played for dancing. Still the helmet was the topic of discussion for many of the party-goers dressed in cocktail attire.

A bidding war broke out for the helmet, and at last sighting it was drawing more than $3,100. Don’t know who walked off with it, but maybe they’ll get to take it Jan. 4 to the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl in Arizona.

Presbyterian Night Shelter Christmas Gala

6:30 p.m. Friday

Ridglea County Club, 3700 Bernie Anderson Ave., Fort Worth

Individual tickets cost $150 and include dinner, dancing and a silent auction

Not being a techie, I surprised myself when I was counting the days until my contract allowed me to have a new cellular phone.

The old phone was a piece of junk that kept turning itself off whenever I was in the middle of a really good conversation. I even replaced it once–per the terms of my phone contract–and the replacement turned out to be exactly like the one I had before. Sigh.

So this week the magic day arrived. My contract allowed as I could subject myself to more abuse from my “service provider.” I presented myself, accompanied by my piece o’junk phone, and told the bright young man I am ready for a new one, but that I hoped for one that actually worked this time.

Well, about 2,000 questions later, the store was closing, and my new friend Eric advised as how he would be there the next day. Service with a smile.

I returned a couple of days later, and my friend Eric (wisely) has the day off, so my next new friend, Caleb, draws the short straw and has to deal with me. Too many options, all accompanied by the nagging thought that I might pick the one phone that opts not to do its job before I’m allowed to replace it. Do you think the reason there are no chairs in the phone store is so people like me will hurry up and decide?

This phone turns sideways. That one has a keyboard. The other one comes with a rebate. This one is the trendy one. This one can drive my car and bake a cake, too. My eyes glaze over.

What finally convinced me to select a model was when my new buddy Caleb showed me how I could find a Sonic anywhere on the planet. Wow! Now my family says I have Sonic radar anyway, and I do admit I’m pretty good at it, but not perfect. (True story: ask Larre about the time he stayed at his computer until he could navigate me toward one in another city.) So the Sonic-finding phone is now the one I took home.

Anyway, I now am the proud owner of a phone I must keep for at least a year. I have in my vast, messy purse a flimsy pink plastic cover that cost too much protecting a phone that cost too much. I did all this from a company that had me under contract for a phone I couldn’t get to do its job. Is this insanity?

Here’s a question for you: anyone remember how indestructible the phones were when we RENTED them from the phone company?