Riding Elevators

Doors are opening, doors are closing, 
People come and go. 
But I'm still riding elevators...

I suppose it might tell you something if I confess that I recently had a fascination with a hotel elevator. I’m not quite sure what it might tell you though. But it’s true.

A short time ago, I attended a conference held at the Galleria, in Houston. If you have no knowledge of the location, it’s a giant mall. In fact, it’s the largest shopping center in Texas and fourth largest domain nationally. There are two hotels, one on either end of the mall, and the middle is about 400 great stores. There are restaurants as well. I found there was no need to leave the place at all.

One of the hotels has a convention type facility located directly across the mall and most of the meetings are held there and in that hotel. Attendees stay in either that hotel or the other one at the opposite end of the mall. I have always managed to lodge in the hotel closest to the rooms holding the sessions. That is until this year. I don’t know if I was ‘overflow’ or if I accidentally asked for the wrong hotel. Whatever the reason I ended up at the far end compared to where the majority of my friends were staying.

Actually, I had a far nicer room than I’d ever had at the conference hotel. It was newly renovated and was spacious and clean. And the elevators were the most unique I’d ever seen.

Upon check-in the clerk told me to go to the elevators and using the keypad enter my floor number. I did as instructed and there entered my fascination. On the outside of the elevator bank was a number pad. Above the number pad was a screen. After your floor was entered a letter and arrow flashed on the screen instructing you to the elevator that you would enter. There was no panel above the lift to show what floor the car was approaching or where it came from.

I punched my number and entered when the doors opened. Inside there were no buttons but the open/close doors and the emergency buttons. It was eerie. It wasn’t until the second or third trip up that I noticed a thin strip beside the door that noted what floor was selected.

One night I came in after dinner to go up to my room. As I approached the number pad I was puzzled. My number wasn’t listed. Instead it was a keyboard that resembled a telephone dial pad. I stood there for a couple of minutes trying to decide what to do. An Asian man, wait-staff probably, approached me and asked if I had a problem. I explained that I needed to get to the 17th floor. He looked at me as if he couldn’t quite believe anyone could be that dense and explained that all I needed to do was punch the number one and then the number 7. Oh.

Feeling completely ignorant I climbed in and went to my room. Embarrassed, I thought about why the obvious hadn’t occurred to me. My logic, although there wasn’t much, was that some elevators are programmed to only go to certain floors. And I was positive the first time I punched in there was a number 17, not a combination of numbers to make the number 17. Yes, that was probably it.

The next day I went on a hunt to find the original keypad I had punched upon arrival. It was gone. Apparently I just thought I had pushed a button that said 17. Then again maybe the Saki Sangria had something to do with it. Regardless, I really loved those elevators.

Waiting to put my feet on the ground 
I'm tired of going up and down 

I’ve wanted to make this little bird for a while now. My friend’s birthday was coming up and I decided she needed one. I’d found a bowling pin that she wanted but I wanted to yarn bomb it. The bird was perfect!

I made the first one just to see how to do it. He’s kind of cute.

First try. Rainbow bird.

Then I gathered the materials for hers. I really like how it turned out. She took this picture. I think she liked it too!

Bird of Paradise? Bluebird of happiness? Rachel's choice!

Never here or there, 
On the ground or in the air.
But I'm still riding elevators...