My new life coach is the gate agent at C19 at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport

CONTAINS FUN SCIENCE FACTS, HUMOROUS ANECDOTES, AND CAKE IF YOU ARE IN THE GENERAL VICINITY OF MY HOUSE BECAUSE WE ORDERED TOO MUCH CAKE.

Hello, newsletterfans. My intention was to write one of these every 1-2 weeks, and then I got nervous because I had one kind of ready to go on the plane ride home. “What if they’re overwhelmed, I’ll have to finish this up later in the week,” I thought, stepped off the plane, and immediately got hit in the face by

PORTLAND POLLEN SEASON (SEASON Season season season)

I’m allergic to the State of Oregon. It’s the only way I know to describe this. When I was a tween/teen in North Dakota, forced to do the springtime mile runs outside, the grass from people mowing was enough to make me wheezy, but it’s nothing compared to what really gets in bloom here, with weird new flora that my body didn’t encounter until I was an adult, and then there’s…

BONUS FUN SCIENCE FUN FACT TIIIIIIIME (THAT IS APPROPRIATE FOR MOTHER’S DAY)

So if you get pregnant there’s a subset of your immune cells that “switch” from one kind to another. They switch from a kind that are more fighting infections and rejecting foreign bodies (called Th1 cells) to a type that are more about dampening the immune response and respond to allergens instead (called Th2 cells). This is so the body is less likely to reject the fetus and more likely to protect it from things like weird environmental effects. It turns out this is great if you’re pregnant and you have something like lupus where your Th1 cells are super turned on (heh) because they turn off and sometimes they STAY TURNED OFF OR DOWN and you can enter permanent remission! Yay! But it can also mean that you are more likely to be allergic to things you weren’t allergic to before your pregnancy if you had a particularly effective switch in pregnancy.

THIS HAS BEEN SCIENCE FUN FACT

Apparently I did have a very good switch. Because now I’m allergic to daffodils. Lilacs. Grass pollen. Butterfly bush. Cottonwood. Oak pollen. Postal workers named Trevor. Like, I don’t know, an unbelievably long and growing absurd list of things that seem to constantly trigger my allergies that not even regular doses of Flonase and Claritin and Sudafed seem to be able to defeat. On top of that, although I mask at conferences and in airports/on planes, I still eat out at restaurants and meet with collaborators while I’m travelling, and I think I either picked up a cold there or from one of my work colleagues who has two school-aged kids who get sick every other week, so we’ve been trading this mixture of wheezing sneezing coughing hacking hell around our household for two weeks. It’s been just a real good time.

Of course, when you’ve got a full-time job with a family including a toddler and a kick-butt band, the treadmill that is life was already on Ludicrous Speed when I got off the plane so lounging about in a satin robe ordering tea was not on the menu and I find that sincerely unfair. Last weekend, The PDX Broadsides did a double-gig weekend, something I hadn't done since before COVID, which was 5 years ago in my actual life and I am physically older now and my body does not remember how to do double gigs outside a con, Jesus Christ on a trampoline. We did a few cons last year which means multiple gigs in multiple days, but at a con, you’re doing nothing BUT the con. Get up at 7 AM, breakfast, get to the con, set up table, do a few panels/concerts, see other people, party, get back to your hotel around midnight, do it again for 2-4 days, sleep on the plane. You’re in a bubble. When you’re home, though? Get up. Regular life. Prep for gig. Do gig. Get home absurdly late. Wake up. Regular day. Prep for gig. Do gig. Get home absurdly late. What do you mean you still have an 8 AM meeting this is dumb.

I still wouldn’t trade any of this for anything and being a scientist/Star Wars diva/burlesque emcee/nerdy pop rocker/fun-loving mama/pretty cool human is a good gig and I hope I can keep doing it for a while yet.

“Passengers for flight 539 to Portland, Oregon, we will begin our boarding process shortly,” begins the gate agent in a standard greeting.

It’s Sunday morning in Hartsford-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, aka ATL, aka The Delta Hub, one of the busiest international hubs in the world, and I’m huddled around a cup of too-hot fast food coffee quickly purchased on my short layover on my way home from Baltimore, just trying to stay awake long enough to get into my seat so I can hopefully pass out for a bit on this five hour leg home.

The gate agent continues, his tone strident, “I would like to direct your attention to the board above my head. And over the line. And over there. If you are on the upgrade list or standby list, if you have a seat, it says your seat next to your shortened name. You have the same information I do. It’s also on the app. You will also get a text and an email. This flight is completely. completely. completely. full. First class. Completely. Completely. Completely. Full. Comfort Plus. Completely. Completely. Completely. Full. Main. Completely. Completely. Com. plete. leeeey. Full.”

Somewhere around the fourth firm but do-not-try-me-I-will-put-you-in-cargo “completely” I look up at the guy across from me, who is also looking back at me, bewildered but impressed at the pure level of professional sass coming off this guy. By the last one, we are fully awake and busting up.

“Your seat is your seat. There are no more seats. I cannot put you with your family or friends. I cannot upgrade you. I cannot move you. There are no more aisle seats. There are no more window seats. There is no more room. Because. This flight. Is. Completely. Completely. Completely. Full. We’ll begin boarding, in the seats you are assigned in 10 minutes.” A small crowd near the podium who were clearly about to ask to change their seats wilt in the face of this absolute boundary setting beast.

The guy across from me clears his throat. “So. Do you think we should ask if it's full?"

I double check. He’s joking, which is good. My beloved mother-in-law was a flight attendant and if I know one thing, it’s that if you would like to arrive at your destination with your carry-on bag not inserted firmly up your rectal cavity or “accidentally” gate checked to Outer Siberia, you do not sass a gate agent. "You ever seen gate agent combust before?"

We’re still chuckling when our new bestie gets back on the mic. “Helloooo, flight 539! We have about 8 minutes until boarding, and I’d like to take this time to invite you to come up now and ask me any questions you might have about connections or checked bags or the meaning of life or anything at all! You will see I have no line, no waiting right now, but in 8 minutes I will be putting people on this plane, and if you ask questions it will stop the boarding process and you will delay the flight and make people very angry. At you. And me. So please don’t. Come talk to me now, about anything at all, really, there’s no one here! Unless it’s about your seat. Because. This flight. Is.”

And the chorus of people at the gate join in: “Completely, completely, completely full.”

I want to get up and clap for this guy. He is not only setting clear boundaries and expectations, but also consequences for what will happen if you don’t act right. People are listening and he had made it very clear that he will be professional but not very nice if you cross the crystal clear and fair rules he’s laid out.

In short, I would like to subscribe to his newsletter.

Boarding starts. A girl a couple people ahead of me gets to beep her boarding pass and Gate Agent Bestie looks at her. “You had wanted a window seat but got an upgrade to a middle, right?” She nods. “Good news, someone left a window seat in main. You’re in 16C.” Hands her a new boarding pass. She thanks him. “Go to sleep,” he says, in a tone drier than in-flight cabin air, and I absolutely bust up. Before I can stop myself, I say to him, “Please be my life coach.”

“What?” He looks shocked.

“You are setting clear boundaries. People are boarding in an orderly fashion. You are running this line to perfection. I haven’t seen a single massive carry-on. You have a future in therapy or life coaching or something.” He looks surprised, then thoughtful. “Think about it,” I told him, then took off down the jetway before I could provoke that legendary gate agent rage for holding up the process.

I hope that he considers it and the next time I come through Atlanta, there’s a big ol’ billboard over the C gates escalators advertising his new business in getting your life together, but I have a feeling that if he does go that route, he won’t need to market at all. His schedule is going to be completely, completely, completely full.

May is a busy month full of celebrations and holidays. May 1st is our wedding anniversary: we just celebrated number 15! We’re going to celebrate our anniversary and my birthday a little later in the month, but we did do a little bit together, including getting each other the EXACT SAME CARD. Hivemind. Apparently two sets of my aunts and uncles have also done this to each other on anniversaries, so we come by this honestly.

Yesterday we celebrated Huddy’s birthday with some family and friends, including a bunch of small children at Raindrops PDX and it was a blast. Today is Mother’s Day, and tomorrow, Huddy will be 3. It’s hard to believe that 3 years ago today, I was still in active labor and getting an epidural. I didn’t know how scary things were about to get, but I also didn’t know how good things could be. Hudson is such a sweet boy. He loves to give hugs and blow kisses, he is very thoughtful and big-hearted. He loves robots, dinosaurs, Bluey, animals, Star Wars, building things, dance parties, and Itsy-Man (which is what he calls Spider-Man). Yesterday, he was climbing the giant big kids play structure without any fear at all and it was amazing to watch him navigate like he’d done it a million times before. He is very clever at taking things apart and figuring out how things work. It’s amazing to watch him and I’m so proud to be his mama.

He just pulled a microphone up from the cat keyboard that Holly gave him, pointed at it and said, “Like Mama!” so I think he’s proud of me sometimes, too.

Until next time, friends, stay well, stay safe, and take your anti-pollen drugs because WOOF. Much love.