Normally, when a flight attendant starts talking about safety, I buckle my seatbelt and get out a book. When she/he gets to the part about using your seat cushion as a floatation device, my eyes roll up into the back of my head and I think something along the lines of, "My plane goes into the water and I'm going to float to safety? Yeah, right, sure..."

And then this happened. I'm not sure anyone had to float, but you can bet they were pulling out seat cushions right and left.

Next time I fly, I listen.

Got our new valuation in the mail this week.

Who knew my old house with its old roof and old furnace and old air conditioner and rotting deck and out-dated kitchen and little bedrooms and small closets and a single shower could have risen in value more than $32,000 since last year?

I love my house. I even love the old rotting deck (with the hole for the hot tub, but no hot tub)! But it's not worth that much, trust me.

I see the musical "Jesus Christ Superstar" is coming to the Lied Center in a few weeks. I never saw the Broadway play, but I did see the 1973 movie version at the Douglas 3. I was 13. I remember liking the songs and thinking Jesus was quite cute. As a Missouri Synod Lutheran this seemed wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

But it probably comes as no surprise to the people who have sent me nasty letters about this.

I loved Don Walton's tribute to his UNL English professor in his column today.

I never had Robert Knoll, but I did have teachers who fit the description. "In his classroom, you could sense, feel, almost hear or touch the magic of learning."

My junior high English teacher Mrs. Wingrove, and my grade school teachers Mrs. Cunningham and Mrs. Wright, women with passion for books who made them come alive for girls like me. (Mrs. Cunningham tried to do the same thing with math but it didn't take...)

A great teacher is a powerful force. And I wish every child at least one teacher who makes them feel like they can conquer the world.

I was going to blog about my lunch today. The tomato basil soup I picked up and brought back to the newsroom only to discover they had neglected to give me the little container of parmesan cheese to sprinkle on top. Can you imagine? I mean really.

And then I thought about this.

My colleague Deena Winter is still in North Dakota with her family, keeping vigil for her dying brother, David. And I'm cranky about cheese.

He stopped being able to carry on a conversation years ago, but he could still smile. He had the biggest smile in the world — his mouth would open wide and you could see his Mountain Dew-stained horse teeth.

He stopped being able to even enjoy the pleasure of a Mountain Dew years ago. After dysphagia made it difficult to swallow without choking, he got a feeding tube and largely stopped eating and drinking.

So the world would look at David and see what he can’t do: eat, drink, write, talk, walk — or any of the things in between.

But he could smile.

How dare I complain about my life?