There is something magical about flying.  My dad marveled at the idea of flying, how something that heavy could actually get up in the air at all.  He shared his wonder with me, taking me to the airport to grab a snack and watch planes take off and land.  I maintain that today, loving the feeling of take-offs and landings, a flight being the only place where I can just sit and think and not have to do anything or be lulled to sleep by the sound of the engines.

Flying back from Grand Rapids yesterday, I found myself sitting in the front row of a tiny little plane and I could observe the flight attendant and her activities up close and personal.  At one point in my life, when I was floundering at my first attempt at college, I considered becoming a “stewardess” – it was the 70’s.  After all, I loved to fly, to travel and how glamorous! The young woman I was observing fit the image I had always had.  Fit and trim, she wore her wings on her professional dress, her hair, make-up and nails done beautifully and on her feet, over hose, she wore heels.

Self assured and articulate she did all of her duties quickly and yet with great detail.  When she finished her safety speech, as the plane began to taxi, she lost her balance a few times on those heels but never lost her composure.  In her dress and heels, she had to pull out her heavy seat and strap herself in, but not before she began preparation of the coffee and service.  Her movements reminded me of the opening scene from An American in Paris.  In a silent and graceful dance, in heels, she moved through the tiny space, turning things on and off, moving levers with her fingers and the tip of her shoe, squatting in the most graceful way, balanced on the toes of her shoes while moving drawers filled with bottled and canned drinks.

Later in those same heels, she pushed her trolly down the aisle, locking and unlocking the cart wheels with the toe of her shoe, balancing herself when the plane hit a bit of turbulence, always smiling and professional, taking time to speak to a young mother and her toddler along the way.  When finished, every detail was quietly taken care of, things put away, trash collected, counters and trollies cleaned, items restocked and fresh coffee prepared.  Then things locked up again, the same dance as before, using the toes of those heels to once again lock some things into place.

In the last ten minutes or so before we began to descend, I noticed her stand in front of the counter with her back to everyone and tried to figure out what she was doing.  I soon realized she was taking time to eat.  Quietly standing up and hiding her food, she took the few minutes she wasn’t working to throw something down.  She quickly rinsed it down with water and walked over to make another announcement before walking down the aisle one more time to check everyone and gather the remaining trash.

What I was watching was a person who took pride in what she did from the mundane to the essential, pouring coffee and making sure everyone followed the all important safety expectations.  The impeccable dress with the heels let people know that she not only took pride in her work but in how she presented herself.  I found myself feeling slightly proud of her as I watched her do manual labor, lifting, pushing and pulling heavy things on a tiny, moving plane, multi-tasking in a dress and heels and doing it with the grace that only women can do.  Not as glamorous as I imagined as a youngster, but still intriguing.  Think I would stick with flats instead of the heels though.