I've been traveling a whole bunch. When I travel with a hectic schedule, I usually post updates at Facebook rather than here. Don't know why. When I return home, I want to share more about my travels and the amazing fun time I've had with family and add lots of photos.

But this evening I feel like putting down some thoughts I've lugged around for about 36 hours.

When I travel by air, I've requested a wheelchair for several years. You cannot begin to imagine the gratitude I have for this service. Though I get pre-boarding privileges, the herd is usually cut loose shortly after we're wheeled to the plane. I walk myself on board, but always pause to warn everyone that I'll need a bit of extra time to turn off my oxygen, collapse the metal carrier with wheels, and then stash everything above. (My doctor would not approve, but I've discovered that once seated, my saturation stays high enough.)

Every single time, the other passengers have been most patient and courteous and kind - even the most important looking businessmen who often wear impatience like cheap cologne.

The attendants who wheel me about are always, always spectacular. Hence, I also tip well and drape them with oodles of praise, which swells from me with such honesty.

Yesterday at Portland's airport, the tenor of the employees was cranky. Maybe they'd all had a rough weekend? After one cranky encounter, I factored in the recent security alerts that had been issued - maybe that was the cause for all the tension?

After waiting in line at the curbside check-in, I was escorted indoors. I inquired if I was going to have to wait in line again. I was not whiny. I was not bitchy. I was not unreasonable. The attendant snapped at me, "So what's the problem, you already have to wait three minutes?" Gah. I wanted to take my oxygen line and strangle him, but he scurried off too fast to insult someone else. Check-in was more thorough regarding my oxygen. This didn't bother me a bit because it was the scrutiny I'd expected at the other airports.

Then an attendant arrived to take me to my gate. I guess all these years I've been a bit spoiled. I've always, always had the most engaging people assist me. They've often been chatty and helpful. All she did was push. Never once did she assist - not even when I went through security. Never once did she smile. And did I mention she didn't help me a whit? She pushed.

I deliberated for 2 seconds the size tip (if any) I would give her. And then I stopped myself... because this is how I'm wired. I gave her the same handsome tip I've always given the happy-go-lucky-chatty-helpful attendants. In those 2 seconds I realized that maybe she needed the tip more than any of the others. Maybe sadness was lurking behind her dull eyes. Maybe concerns for her children or an ailing parent or an unfaithful spouse were banging around inside her head. Maybe she was hungry. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I knew I did the right thing. She smiled.

I don't know why, but I feel a little weepy just thinking about her.

I think it's because I know how I feel when life is sucky and then someone tosses some kindness in my direction. It makes a difference. It's nice. It's all so easy to be kind.

Despite all these warm fuzzy thoughts, I do plan to return to Portland... not only to visit my adorable family there, but also to hunt down that first rude attendant like a mad dog.

Nighty-night.