Chasing dreams among the clouds

Daleen Berry
Cumberland Times-News

April 06, 2007 12:27 pm

— You know it's going to be a bad day when ... your cosmetic case falls into the toilet.
The hardest part was watching all that money go down the drain. Literally.
Cosmetics are expensive, so I don't own a wide variety anyway. And I hate shopping, so my bathroom faux pas meant I would have to do just that - which is something I put off until absolutely necessary, and then only after I have used every conceivable excuse in the book, not to. (I recently went without milk, bread and eggs for two weeks, before breaking down and doing the inevitable. Talk about being inventive when it came to making breakfast.)
Standing there looking over it all - numerous eyeliner pencils, a few squares of shadow, mascara, blush and powder - something caught my attention. My favorite eyeliner pencil, of which only a remnant remained, and it being just slightly longer than its cap. It was my favorite not because it was a cross between silver and a hue of baby blue (a good color for me), but because it was easy to apply. It has been, in eight years, the only eyeliner that went on smoothly, without digging into my eyelid - or my having to soften it by waving a hot match over the pencil tip.
Eight years? I know, I know, all cosmetics having to do with the eyes should be tossed after six months. But do eyeliner pencils really apply, since they become "new" each time they are sharpened? Besides, this was a special pencil. Aside from the color, and velvety feel, it's also something I picked up at Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport, en route to a job interview at Delta Airlines, back in 1999.
Flying is something - like newspaper ink, or booze - that gets into one's bloodstream. And I had dreamed of learning to fly since I was a little girl. But it never materialized, so I decided if I couldn't sit in the left seat, behind the controls, then I would have to be satisfied in the cabin, serving the drinks. Thus, my quest to change occupations and become a flight attendant. It would at least help me to reach a portion of my goal: I would be traveling in the clouds.
But after the interview, I missed my flight, having failed to realize the gate where I was to board had been reassigned. Since the flight was free - as an applicant, Delta paid my way - I didn't know then what might be done to help me return home. I envisioned a long, tiring wait on standby status, until an extra seat opened.
That isn't what happened, however. Within a short time, I was on the next flight, seated comfortably in the first-class section. I was both surprised and pleased, for it brought back memories of sitting next to my father, as we flew together throughout my childhood. Mostly small Cessnas, where Dad taught me to scan for air traffic, as he sat in the left seat, but also that one other flight I had taken with him, both of us in first-class. We had flown across the country for the funeral of a family member. Then there were the flights from Martinsburg (MRB) to Bridgeport (CKB), W.Va., when I had to get a monthly tune-up on my orthodontia appliances.
We were a family who loved aviation, and I grew up being regaled with stories about Chuck Yeager, Amelia Earhart (Lady Lindy), Charles Lindbergh, and many other aviation greats. That was in the mid-70s, while I was just a scrawny seventh-grader. My father would sit at a table covering the principles of flight with a student, while my mother would make some of the best meals ever to be served at the little MRB cafe. Nicknamed "Crystal," by the local flight service folks, she had pilots flying in from airports all over the region, just for her great Wednesday lunch specials. (She downplays this by saying: "You know how pilots are, Daleen. They'll use any excuse to go flying.")
Every day after school, my sister, Lisa, and I would race each other down the long road. Inside, we would don aprons and help serve customers, doing our homework at the dining tables later in the evening. One of the final occasions I recall from the place where we had so many great times, was the party where my mother had everyone down on their knees, searching through the grass for her lost wedding ring.
On the return Delta flight, my second one seated in first class, I had about five hours to think about all those times. My father the pilot had died unexpectedly just a short while before, and had no idea I would consider taking a job as a flight attendant. He would have approved, though, of whatever it took to get up in the air.
While I did not get the Delta job (Not sure why, but I was probably nixed as a candidate when they learned I missed my flight, and wrote: "Cannot find her way around an airport.") a few years later, I finally reached my goal of getting my wings - my very own pilot's license. I'm sure Dad would be proud. I know I was, for then almost 40, it was something I was beginning to doubt would ever happen.
You see, it really doesn't matter whether it's the small things or the big - a favorite eyeliner, or fulfilling your life's ambition - life is too short not to go after what you want.
And that's the beauty of it. Just when you think your dreams are about to go down the toilet bowl, something happens and you reach out and pluck them out of the water.
But, should they happen to involve cosmetics, I strongly discourage you from trying to salvage them.
Daleen Berry is a reporter for the Times-News.

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