The song goes: It’s that time year, when the world falls in love. The words in my version are slightly different: It’s that time of year when…I FALL APART!

Seems I’m not the only one. The number of items left behind in airports during the holidays is about 1000 times higher than during the rest of the year. How do I know? Because the gals in the Continental Airlines Lost and Found at the Houston airport (hidden behind baggage carousel #7) told me when I stopped in looking for my laptop.

I don’t usually use my computer on planes, but I was fast approaching an article deadline (it was due that day)  and I needed to make some final revisions before submitting it. So, I took it out of its happy green case, stowed my bag in the overhead and carried the little black, blends-right-in-with-the-floor laptop with me to my seat. It was a bumpy ride from Denver but I pushed through and made the revisions—brilliant ones, if I say so myself—and got the article and photos all ready to send. Tres satisfied, I stowed my trusty laptop it in the back-of –the-seat pouch and pulled out my book.

However, when landing time came around, the flight attendant informed us that back-of-the-seat pouch was not an “FAA approved laptop storage bin….”

Fast forward a day, a zillion frantic phone calls, a lot of hand wringing, head bashing,  and more phone calls to the next night: As I waited at the Continental Baggage Claim desk to see if my laptop was the one found on the flight I had taken, but tagged with Bernard Something or other’s name,  two baggage handlers came in pushing wheelchairs heaped with  more lost and found items.

“How many more days til Christmas?” someone called out. They all laughed and someone else remarked, “We are going to get buried in stuff before the holidays are over.”

Seems the holidays are the major lost item times–and the closer it gets to Christmas and New Years, the more the mounds of lost items grows. Good news: over 90% of lost items are turned in, the Lost and Found folks told me. But not everyone claims them. “You should see all the laptops, Nintendos, cameras, phones, books, coats, we are holding,” the agent said. I was hoping my laptop was among them while trying not to get my hopes up too high. It hadn’t been the best of evenings…

On the way to the airport—my friend, Joy, rode with me—we’d had to pull over to let a fire truck zoom past.  A little ways farther up the highway, something happened and everyone in our lane had to slam on the brakes. You know the squealing, screeching, honking, veering out of the lane kind of forced stops that make you  scrunch your shoulders and listen for the crash? Fortunately, no crash followed, but when we started back up the car was abnormally loud. Just as we reached the exit from I45 to the Beltway 8 the reason for the noise became apparent: we blew a tire. We were riding on the rim. This was 9:30 at night, in not the best part of town (is under an overpass ever good?) I pulled on the emergency flashers and we inched the car to a lighted parking lot ahead.

The parking lot turned out to be that of a way-too-popular- with- the- wild-bunch sports bar in a strip center with a lingerie shop named “Candy’s.” Guys were drag racing motorcycles, burning rubber, blaring bass with trunks vibrating.  In limp two middle-age crazies in a giant, gold, Chrysler “pimp mobile.”

Joy and I are not namby-pamby’s. I’ve changed a tire. I knew how. We knew how to muscle the suitcase out of the trunk, and our bags of holiday shopping, and to tuck our purses in the back seat and lock the doors. “And put our phones in our pockets, just to be sure.” What we didn’t know was how to use the new-fangled jack, or where the heck the lug nut taker-offer was.

But…we were right in front of a tire store (with the garage bays open.) I went in to beg the tire center guys to help us. Reluctantly one followed me out to “see” what was going on. From the way he was barely walking, it was clear he really didn’t want to play “good Samaritan.”

While I was in begging the tire guys, Joy flagged down a young black guy. He was already working at the jack when  tire store reject and I arrived. Soon, the young guy was joined by another (his brother, we found out when we complimented them on their willingness to help.) In less than 15 minutes they had our tire changed, the old one stowed, and our luggage back in the car. “Your Mama would be proud,” we told them, “we sure would be if our boys behaved the same.” We slipped them a Christmas thank you. (We had to call them back to thank them as they took off as soon as the job was done.) But we noticed later, from their giant smiles, they were happy to have our “thanks.”

But a changed flat and a returned lap top are not necessarily the same thing. Could I get lucky twice? I hoped and waited and hoped. The lost and found handler was smiling as big as I was when I turned on my little black ASUS and the familiar “Kelly B” password square popped up.

Laptop and  flat tire in toe, we zipped over to the rental car office, exchanged our car for another one—and a delightful girl there, with bright eyes and a happy giggle, helped us transfer our stuff to the new, identical gold Chrysler, and away we went.

This was definitely one of those character definers:

One kind of person would dwell on the lost laptop, traffic scare, and flat tire and call it “rotten luck.”

Another kind of person would consider the two young guys who stepped up to help a couple of strangers, the returned lap top, that it was a rented car, and  call it “great luck.”

What do you say?

I say: It’s that time of year so…MIND YOUR STUFF!

Happy Christmas!

There is nothing, nothing, absolutely, positively nothing as thrilling as sharing a new book with kids! With readers! Thanks to my niece, Grace, I had the chance to do that Friday. Here’s Grace–and my brand new book, Your Mommy Was Just Like You (which won’t even be in stores until March!)

Me, my sweet neice, Grace McAndrews, and YOUR MOMMY!

I’m in Reno visiting my family. My mom and  big brother, Joe, sis-in-law Joanne and my talented, smart and georgeous Grace and her brother Devin (equally talented and smart but more handsome than georgeous) live here. Grace is in the 3rd grade at Caughlin Ranch Elementary. I was thrilled when she invited me to visit her class–and especially happy her teacher, Samantha Fryer, said it was all right!

1st we looked at the globe to see where I had come from to visit!

Jakarta, Indonesia is all the way around on the other side of the world--it took me 5 flights: 1- 1 1/2 hours; 1-12 hours; 1-7 1/2 hours; 1-6 hours; and one last 1 hour long flight to get here.

We talked about writing and illustrating and where story ideas come from–and I shared my famous, never fail trick for thinking of story ideas (Shhhhhh! Don’t tell!). Then we read DANCE Y’ALL DANCE and admired Terri Murphy’s incredible art!

Who can tell me the name of that critter?

Next we took a vote on which book to read next. Lots of kids wanted me to read NOT NORMAN, a GOLDFISH STORY, because they were familiar with it. But, in the end they voted for YOUR MOMMY WAS JUST LIKE YOU illustrated by David Walker. And so, for the first time in the history of the world, I read YOUR MOMMY to students!

Your mommy was.... Just like You!

Afterward, we had had had to read YOUR DADDY WAS JUST LIKE YOU….it was the fair thing to do!

Equal time for YOUR DADDY!

And then, even though we could have gone on reading and talking and asking questions all day, it was time to leave. But, before I left, we had all posed for a group photo! Thank you, Grace, for inviting me to visit your class. Caughlin Ranch is a fantastic school and Mrs. Fryer’s 3rd grade class is the best!

Mrs. Fryer's 3rd Graders are Fab-u-tastic!

Thank you for making me welcome! Write on! Kelly

From Gypsy, the musical based on the life of infamous Burlesque stripper, Gypsy Rose Lee, (Styne, Sondheim & Laurent 1962) I learned “You Gotta Have a Gimmick.” Translation: What’s your hook? If you can’t tell me in one sentence what your story is about, then you aren’t sure….and make it sticky (ala The Tipping Point)!

From My Fair Lady, based on Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, (Lerner and Lowe 1956) I learned “Now once again, Eliza, where does it rain?/ On the plain! On the plain!/And where’s that soggy plain?/In Spain! In Spain” and “Ay not I, O not Ow, Don’t say “Rine,” say “Rain.” Translation: Practice makes perfect and grammar counts.

From Mary Poppins (Richard and Robert Sherman 1964) I learned how to deal with critique and rejection letters: “A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down…”

But the most important lesson of all, the life lesson that has helped me focus, direct my energies, and define what I want to achieve through my writing and for my life came from The Music Man (Meridith Willson, 1957). Professor Harold Hill, a smooth-talking, womanizing, flim-flam man cons the “good people” of River City, Iowa,  into buying band instruments and uniforms for their boys under the guise of forming a “town band.” Professor Hill (Robert Preston in the movie)—who can’t read music or play an instrument—instructs the boys using “The Think System,” asserting that music can be learned just by thinking it.

At the climax of the show, a moment that still stops and then warms my heart, the boys, in their ill-fitting uniforms and wielding their shiny new instruments, are assembled in the gym. The tar is hot, a bag of feathers handy….Love interest, Marion the Librarian (Shirley Jones in the movie version) snaps a pointer in half and hands it to the handcuffed Professor. It’s do or be done to time for good old Harold.

Professor Hill raises the pointer, cocks his head, squeezes his eyes closed and implores: “Think, boys, think!”

And they do. Every boy in that room blows, bangs, or beats his instrument with every drop of musicality he  has. And I’ll be danged if they don’t make music!  It’s not perfect; the band is far from on key or in time, but those boys play music! Before our eyes the motley crew become a shining, high-stepping brass band—76 Trombones strong. “That’s my Barney!” one dad calls out (our family’s ataboy!)

The current name for it is the  “Art of Abundance” defined as:  “ The secret to getting the goals you set begins with setting an intention — a powerful tool that generates results because it reprograms your brain to see the truth: That you are easily and effortlessly accomplishing what you desire.”Oprah touts it, preaches it, devotes programs to it. Books like The Secret and The Passion Test teach it. Before all of them, Meridith Willson had it (it may have taken 8 years and 30 revisions, but he proved it with The Music Man.): The Think System.

You can do it! As sure as those boys played those instruments, you can do it–whatever your IT is. You can write that poem, that play, that book! You can achieve everything you want…but first…first….first: You have to Think It.

To paraphrase Professor Harold Hill “Think, Writers. Think!”