Category Archives: travelogue

Fiona the Wonder Dog

19 Wednesday Feb 2014

Posted by in Photography, travelogue

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I miss my dog.

Of all the things to miss when away from home for 2 months, I miss my dog, the eponymous Fiona of this website. I anticipated this reaction before I left and everyone to whom I expressed my anxiety missed the point and told me how happy Fiona would be while staying with my dear friends Sally and Bob. Of course she will be happy there; it’s dog heaven at their house where Bob actually braised beef tips for her and Sally caters to her every whim. Sally and Bob often take care of Fiona when we are out of town and even host her for sleepovers when we’re not away. When Sally or Bob visit us, Fiona displays an embarrassing desire to leave with them that includes following them anxiously to the door and barking hysterically when it is clear she is stuck with us. Sally claims that Fiona just likes to go for a ride, but I don’t know if that’s true, so I’m going to make my case and you decide.

Here’s the difference between Sally and me. I have had a dog for much of my life and Sally, well, she’s really never had a dog so she treats Fiona like a little person, an intelligent little person. This seems to be very effective and requires long explanations from Sally while Fiona cocks her head and clearly pays close attention. Sally takes Fiona to visit friends, to church, to places of business, and to the homes of other people. We take Fiona to the back yard. When Sally has people over or takes Fiona on a visit, she explains (to the dog) what will happen and describes her expectations for Fiona’s behavior. We say “no!” a lot. It was Sally who bought a car seat for Fiona (although we use it, too) and accurately pointed out that a 9 lb. dog becomes a 9 lb. projectile when one slams on the brakes.

Our style of training also differs. When Fiona was very young, about 10 weeks old, I took her to dog training at PetSmart. This is perhaps the only smart thing I’ve done with regards to my dog because she was socialized early and as a result loves other dogs. She didn’t learn anything during the first class and spent the entire time jumping on her hind legs, clearly thrilled about the other 9 dogs. After 2 classes, the very nice trainer (Chris) called and suggested that Fiona start the class over with a smaller group (4 dogs); we wouldn’t be charged….

Mike and I found it hysterical that our dog was “held back.” At the end of the class, Chris suggested that Fiona repeat the beginning class before moving on to Intermediate. I guess I don’t need to mention that she didn’t receive a diploma, just a certificate of participation. Let me paint a picture of what it was like to work with Fiona. There is a thing (an idea, a concept, a dream) called “loose leash walking.” The idea is that the dog will walk before you without pulling on the leash. Chris instructed us to stop and make the dog sit every time she strained on the leash. After 15 minutes Fiona and I had progressed about a foot and a half. This is because Fiona has ADHD and is easily distracted, by everything. Do you know how many things there are to sniff at PetSmart? Besides the other dogs and the aisles filled with tantalizing and frequently smelly products, there were the random pieces of paper on the floor, which commanded all of her attention. I’m not kidding. Even Chris with her puppy crack (Pupperoni) couldn’t get the little girl to focus.

Enter Sally.

While Mike and I traveled across country in Fall 2012, Sally took Fiona to another puppy class where, apparently, she was the star pupil or at least earned a diploma this time. Mike thinks I’m crazy but I think the difference comes down to the way Sally interacts with Fiona. It’s not unusual to hear Sally talking to Fiona in a reasonable and measured tone. “Fiona, I”m taking you to County Schools tomorrow to see some people for Valentine’s Day. You’ll be wearing your red sweater and everyone is going to love seeing you. We’re walking there to bring Valentine cookies and I need you to be on your best behavior, no barking or whining.” And it works. Every time.

At a very basic level, Sally “gets” Fiona. She (Sally) thinks about what it must be like to weigh 9 lbs., although she usually weighs closer to 10 after a sojourn at Sally and Bob’s House of Treats. Anyway, Sally understands that the “heel” command is threatening to Fiona because no one has her back. (When Fiona walks in front of you, she tilts her ears back so she knows–at all times–what you’re up to behind her.) Sally also understood that Fiona was bored with the routines at the class she took her to last spring. It was a field events class or something (I can’t remember) and Fiona checked out half way through going through a tube. If this sounds a little like parents who attribute their children’s inattention/misbehavior in class to poor teaching, boredom, and not being challenged, I can’t help that. Our dog is gifted.

Tonight Fiona and Sally start their new class–an intermediate good citizen dog class–I kid you not. Fiona may have to do some remediation in heeling but I have no doubt Sally is up to the task. As always, they will have a great time together and I’m so fortunate to have friends who love Fiona and take such great care of her. I often say if were a better person, I would give Fiona to Sally. I say it but I don’t do it.

And I’m happy (really I am) that Fiona is so happy and well cared for. Still–I miss her. And in some ways, this surprises me because Fiona is not the perfect dog. The perfect dog was Molly, our 14 year old lab who died 4 months before I bid on Fiona at an auction (I couldn’t help it–she kept looking at me). Molly was a dog’s dog–loyal, affectionate, attentive, and low maintenance. Fiona is a person in the body of an adorable little dog; she is headstrong, persnickety, and smarter than anyone at our house. When I call her (“Fiona, come!”), I can see her considering it. Is it worth it? she wonders; will there be a treat or is this a ruse? Fiona is a picky eater who demands variety. Of course whatever I’m eating has her interest. Fiona does not like to walk in the rain or strong winds. She insists on a minimum of 10 minutes of slowly meandering and sniffing at the beginning of any outing. She enjoys doing the “worm” on the pavement, clearly channeling her inner aerobics instructor. Fiona’s outraged barking follows any person who leaves the house without taking her. In fact, outraged barking is her response to anyone walking or driving by the house and neighbor cats or squirrels cavorting in the yard. Hysterical, frothing at the mouth barking is her reaction to the mailman, UPS truck, and FedEx. What can I say? She’s complicated.

So back to the beginning of this overlong paean to the little girl, the baby dog, the pupska, Miss Fi. I miss her little warm body at the foot of my bed and the cursory lick she gives me when I come home. I miss the grateful licking that follows my providing a wonderful meal or helping her stop doing that choking thing. I miss the way she suffers my affection when I can’t sleep and waits for me to nod off before she returns to her blanket at the end of the bed. I miss the way she prefers my husband, jumping off my lap the minute he shows up and throwing me a triumphant and possessive look when she works her way between us and claims Mike. I miss the way she objects to people hugging (maybe it’s too California for her). Most of all I miss her willingness to hang out and just be.

Little dog

Little dog

The Contemplative Fiona

The Contemplative Fiona

You talkin' to me?

You talkin’ to me?

Got a bone and a sweater for my birthday

Got a bone and a sweater for my birthday

Guarding the bones buried under the tree skirt

Guarding the bones buried under the tree skirt

Breakfast was acceptable

Breakfast was acceptable

The Worm

The Worm

Kicking back in the carseat

Kicking back in the carseat

Favorite toy--the hedgehog

Favorite toy–the hedgehog

Halloween: Angry Tinkerbelle

Halloween: Angry Tinkerbelle

Not leaving without Fi

Not leaving without Fi

Not napping, just thinking

Not napping, just thinking

Baby Fiona

Baby Fiona

Molly, the perfect dog

Molly, the perfect dog

All Roads Lead to Walmart

12 Wednesday Feb 2014

Posted by in Reflection, travelogue

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Every time I am forced, through life’s exigencies, to enter a Walmart, I relive the many reasons why I hate Walmart.  I object to the store and to the corporation on every level: physical, emotional, political, and cultural.  Which begs the question: why am I heading once again into a Walmart when no one is apparently holding a gun to my head?  The short answer is that I am a spoiled, impatient American.  The long answer involves excuses and rationalizations, which I’m happy to offer here.

First of all I only go to Walmart under duress.  I’ve been in the Walmart in my hometown less than 5 times in my life and all of them were traumatic.  Even before I knew about Walmart’s off shore activities, poor treatment of employees, and imperialistic business plan, I hated the store.  I hated the aisles that aren’t quite wide enough, the shelves that look like they’ve been through a minor earthquake, and the way you can only get to some departments by going through several others, creating a “forced march” feeling.  An uncommunicative pre-teen and desperation led me to Walmart the first time.  My son told me the day of the evening choir concert that he needed a white shirt.  After scouring Penney’s, Sears, Target, and K-Mart, I called a friend in desperation and she said, “Go to Walmart-duh.”

There it was—a wall of white button down shirts for the young, the slim, and the under-dressed.  As I roared by the women’s clothing I spotted a red zip-up sweater with a black, fake fur collar for $12.99.  Yes, Reader, I bought it.  And I still have it 12 years later hanging guiltily in my closet, ready to wear every Christmas season, looking as good as the day I bought it—and why not, there isn’t an ounce of anything that occurs in nature in that sweater.  I have been to my local Walmart two additional times: once to purchase school supplies for students who cannot afford to buy their own and once to buy a going away present of cute office supplies for an employee who abruptly quit working in my office to take a similar job in her hometown.  I don’t regret the school supplies, but when I decided that I really didn’t want to give a present to someone who had left our office in the lurch, I gave the items to a friend to return and keep the money herself because as I told her, “I will never go into that store again.” And I haven’t.

Fast forward to retirement and cross country travel where sometimes Walmart is the only option.   Just before leaving my sister’s home in Maryland, I mentioned how uncomfortable certain undergarments (okay, my bra) become after several hours in a car.  She let me try on a comfort bra of hers (I can’t remember the name, but it didn’t push up or enhance anything) and I wanted a couple of my own.  What was the source of this comfortable
alternative? Ordering it during one of those “As seen on TV” ads or going to Walmart.  So I went.

On the same trip, my husband suddenly realized he had left the white short-sleeved shirt he wears under sweaters somewhere in Tennessee, so we needed to buy a new one.  No big deal.  Except in Santa Fe, the only choices are boutiques (white shirt $400) or Walmart.  I am not kidding.  The nearest Macys or Target is 80 miles away.  I don’t know if it’s because the stars have homes there (Julia Roberts to name one), but there is really no shopping that isn’t outrageously expensive.  I don’t doubt that the white shirt in the men’s boutique would have been the white shirt of Mike’s life, but come on.  So off we went to Walmart where we actually did not find a short-sleeved, white shirt, this being November and even Walmart observes the seasons.

I hadn’t had to face a Walmart in more than 15 months, but all that changed recently as Mike and I traveled across Texas on our way to Houston. Western Texas may well be the spiritual center of all that is Walmart.  It is ugly, dry, desolate, unwelcoming country.  No one seems happy to be there.  Sound familiar? Somewhere between Van Horn, TX, where we actually had bad Tex-Mex food and an Egg McMuffin that will put me off eggs for another 30 years, and San Antonio, where everything changes and the terrain starts looking like people live there, I voluntarily went into a Walmart.  The proof is in the pictures below taken by my talented husband, otherwise known as the thumb.  For a couple of years I have been trying to learn how to crochet with limited success, my main problem being that I can’t keep the yarn tension consistent so there’s a waviness to my rows that isn’t lovely.  Somewhere in Texas I found on my iPad an online source for easy patterns that included demonstration video.  Armed with new skills and a whole bunch of yarn that I optimistically brought from home, I wanted to buy a new crochet hook.  That meant Walmart as there is no other place on Route 10 until El Paso.

It was a typical Walmart experience.  The crochet supplies were hidden in an obscure row next to the automotive section.  I asked three people (all of whom wore red tops and some kind of name tag) for help: they claimed not to work for Walmart.  Okay…  The crochet supplies themselves were unlabeled and old.  When is the last time you saw something priced in cents?  I did find a hook that was labeled “I.”   It might have been an “i” or an “L,” which is what I needed. I went with it.  There were 9 checkout stands; 2 had checkers.  On my way to the one at the end for 10 items or less (shouldn’t it be “fewer”?), I crossed in front of a man who didn’t seem to be in line but apparently was if his enraged gasp was any indication.  I stood in line for a while and then a new checker announced that she was opening another line.  She looked at me as she said this but I didn’t grasp her message quickly enough and 4 other customers, ones that were behind me moved into the new line.  I was able to be philosophical as opposed to homicidal because by this time there was only one person in front me.  One person, that I now noted, had way more than 10 items.  Not to worry, though, she was doing 3 transactions of 10 items each.

All of this brings me to my observation about what Walmart apparently does to its employees and its customers.  I think many perfectly nice people enter the store, but after the trauma of fighting through the aisles, trying to decipher what the signs really mean, seeing products that they paid a lot more for in other stores and feeling the rage/chagrin that comes with paying too much plus listening to the worst music ever played (the Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s farm team singing “Satisfaction”), the average person goes to the dark side.  This includes behaviors like snarling at perfectly nice women who pass in front of you saying “excuse me” while you wait in line.  Just saying.

What Walmart does to its underpaid employees must be worse.  Each cashier has clearly just lost a beloved pet a half hour before having to punch in at work.  This manifests itself in mournful sighs, slow motion ringing up, occasional lifeless inquiries (“Did you find everything you wanted?” “No! I’m in Walmart for God’s sake.”), and a genetic inability to open the paper thin plastic bags supplied by corporate.   Before you have picked up your items the cashier has already turned her deadened gaze onto the next hapless customer.  I know my Walmart experience hasn’t been extensive (Thank God) but there is a quality of Hotel California hopelessness that emanates from the store.  By the way, I have never experienced a greeter and I think I’m happy about that.  From what I understand this is a manic and friendly person who is apparently on a lot better drugs than the cashiers.

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Maryland and California

13 Sunday Oct 2013

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October 13, 2013

My dad is 91 years old today and celebrating with most of the family in Maryland as I write this in California.  He was supposed to be here visiting but a bout of vertigo made flying unappealing, to say the least.  (My brother Mike and sister-in-law Peggy did make the trip and we had a wonderful three days exploring the region around Redding: Mt. Shasta, New Clairveaux Vineyard and Winery, the Sundial Bridge and River Trail.) I was looking forward to my dad’s visit as it’s been more than 10 years since we saw each other on this coast.  Last year on this date I was with almost all of the family in Maryland, including my son who flew in for the occasion of Dad’s 90th. It was a great party sponsored by the children (food) and grandchildren (drinks). Entertainment was provided by the 6 great-grandchildren, ages 2 months to 5 years.  They just ran or crawled around a lot, but they were cute. This year’s party is missing my mother who passed away last December and I know Dad is missing his wife of 69 years. I miss her, too.

Below are the travelogues from October 8 and 9,2012. I took a break from writing while I was with my family so these are the last two until October 22nd.

Oct 8, 2012: Elyria, Ohio

This morning we drove to Lemont, IL—not far from Chicago and visited the cemetery at St. James’s church.  This is where several McCulloughs (Mike’s paternal grandfather’s line) are buried in a family site down the hill from the church.  This was wonderful for Mike, kind of a peak experience for a historian and amateur genealogist. I enjoyed the beauty of the place and took several photos trying to capture the autumn light on the trees.  Fall is flamboyant in Chicago; brilliant colors, crisp and cold air and light that makes the leaves glow.  Growing up on the East Coast, I dismissed Redding’s more subtle season.  Later I realized that autumn is the shift in the intensity and direction of sunlight.

We stopped in Elyria, Ohio (home of author Sherwood Anderson) for the night and I finally threw away the cheese.  It could have been a sentimental moment; after all this block of cheddar had traveled from Redding to Ohio without us ever snacking on it. Still, keeping it cold had lost its charm … and for some reason we didn’t feel like eating cheese and crackers (I still have the crackers). While Ohio no longer has the Howard Johnsons of my youth, the buildings remain and are reminders of the past glory of fast food in the 1960s.  Today the long structures with the “rotunda” at the front have been converted into food courts—Starbucks, Sbarros, Burger Kings, etc.  The cool vending machines and white chocolate lollipops with a milk chocolate puppy or kitten in the center are gone forever.  Which brings me to a brief rant about the many “outlet” malls and freeway stop areas in our country.  You literally cannot tell where you are when you turn off the freeway into one of the tan stucco Starbucks, Chipotle, Applebee’s, Chevron, Subway, etc. strip malls.  As for the so-called outlet stores, how can there be so many Gap/Old Navy, Edie Bauer, and Dress Barn outlets?  They clearly outnumber the parent stores, and I’ve never seen a Dress Barn that wasn’t an outlet store.  Explain that!

Still among all the homogenization of the American landscape are the unique eating establishments of our country.  Tonight we ate at Reuben’s, which the 20 year old hotel clerk at the Elyria Best Western assured us served “awesome food.”  I don’t know about you, but when I’m confronted with a huge menu that serves everything from omelets and falafel to Amish style pulled turkey and fried sauerkraut balls, I get a little nervous.  Some of that tension diminished when the waitress brought me an 8 ounce glass of wine… okay, it was Sutter Home, but we’re a long way from California.  We passed on the sauerkraut balls; my parmesan chicken was edible and Mike thoroughly enjoyed the hot turkey with gravy and mashed potatoes.  Why is the gravy yellow?  Just asking.

Full Disclosure: part of the reason the cheese didn’t get eaten in the Midwest is that Mike and I bought a couple of bags of chocolate caramel corn in Iowa…  Tomorrow we drive through Pennsylvania (Cracker Barrel Country) and into Maryland to my sister’s in Mt. Airy.

St. James, Lemont, Il.

St. James, Lemont, Il.

Cemetery at St. James in Lemont, Il.

Cemetery at St. James in Lemont, Il.

McCullough Family Tombstone

McCullough Family Tombstone

Oct 9, 2012: Mt. Airy and Silver Spring, Md.

We arrived at Noni and Dale’s about 5:00 before either was home from work.  Dale had left us a key and we had time to drag all of our stuff into the house before Mike took off to wash the car.  I suppose this is as good a place as any to talk about Mike’s obsession with the car.

Whenever we get a new car, there’s a breaking-in period.  By this I mean, breaking in Mike. Since I know how this process works, I successfully got a few concessions from Mike before taking off on the trip with the Santa Fe Sport.  Yes, we would be able to have drinks in the car and Mike would not freak out whenever I was driving. Except for the exaggerated pantomime of fear when I have to brake quickly (see “Road Rage Fridays”) Mike has limited his mania to cleaning the windows—twice—every time we stop for gas or get ready to leave in the morning (or if I leave the car unattended for too long).  He has a process.  First he sprays the windshield with Stoner’s Invisible Glass and cleans off the bugs (and worse) with a paper towel.  Then he sprays the windshield with Stoner’s Invisible Glass and polishes it with a micro-fiber cloth.  Then he looks through the windshield from inside the car and asks me if it’s “better,” which I concede.  That’s our routine…

Anyway, shortly after we arrived, my sister came home from work.  I just love my sister; we are so close and so similar.  Our lives have not been the same—she married and had children young; I married and had child late.  Put it this way, when I was 36 I had an infant; when Noni was 36 she had a 17 year old.  But we share a sense of humor and a practical, get-the-job-done way of looking at life that is the legacy of our parents.  I always say that Noni, who is 6 years younger than I am and the youngest in the family, is the guardian of my youth.  She has the memories that come with the vantage point of watching older siblings tangle (I mean interact) with parents and she had what my brothers and I consider the great advantage of being raised by parents who were more relaxed about rules.  And by more relaxed I mean she got to spend the night at her friend’s house on school nights.   Really.

Noni is one of my top three favorite people on earth.  My son Max thinks his aunt (and godmother) is hysterical and that he gets his sense of humor from her (thanks, Max).  She is the person who always got along with everyone even through the years when I defected to the West Coast and my brothers lived in Europe.  She has always taken great care of my parents, and now, even though my brothers live near, she is the one who worries most about them.

PA Turnpike

PA Turnpike

Autumn in Maryland

Autumn in Maryland

Seems like a dream

07 Monday Oct 2013

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October 6, 2013

Back from San Francisco and knowing that I won’t have time to post tomorrow, here are the posts from Oct 6 and 7, 2012, from our cross country odyssey…

Oct 6, 2012: Carol Stream, Illinois

Another long day of driving.  Breakfast in Des Moines was better than usual so Mike and I drove without any significant stops until we almost reached Chicago.  Both of us had worked on the iPad looking for motels/hotels/whatever.  Turns out there isn’t anything within a 30 mile radius of Chicago that isn’t booked solid.  I think it was almost 7 PM before we found the Holiday Inn Express in Carolstream by using Hotwire.  Once again we are so wiped out by traveling (why are we keeping this pace?) that we retreated to our room to lick our metaphorical wounds in our own unique ways.  Mike turned on a sci-fi Western and fell asleep; I stated pounding out my experiences in this journal.  To each his own.

I’m so angry that it never occurred to me that in Chicago it would be as hard to find last minute accommodations as say, San Francisco or NYC.  Once again Holiday Inn folks proved to be helpful and supportive.  I am now armed with a list of local restaurants and directions to the train so we can go into the city center (known as the Magnificent Mile) tomorrow.  The young woman who checked us in actually blanched when I asked her about driving downtown.  We are forewarned.

Things I’ve already discovered I would do differently:

  • Bring more warm clothes—I’m going to get very tired of the 2 long-sleeved tops
  • Quit trying to live in two places simultaneously—on the road and at home (also known as taming my inner control freak)
  • Bring all those magazines I never have time to read
  • Bring my dog; so far every place we’ve stayed has been dog-friendly*

*If I had brought the dog, I couldn’t have brought Mike and he’s better at driving and conversation….

Oct 7, 2012: Chicago

So… no one is staying in Chicago tonight unless they’re people with booked rooms months ago who knew that Notre Dame was playing in Soldiers Field or that the famous Chicago Marathon was happening.  We’re staying in Carol Stream at a very nice Holiday Inn Express for our second night (it’s time to slow down).  I’m becoming a fan of this chain as it was a young man at another Holiday Inn who helped us find this room.  By the time we checked into our room, we were wiped out.

Today, Mike and I took the Metra into Chicago’s Ogilvie Station, ending up in the financial district and close to what we wanted to see.  We took a cab for about 15 minutes—in that time we ended up going round the block in slow motion because of the Marathon traffic.  After about $8 we got out and started walking toward our destination, about 3 blocks further away than when we started.  We trekked through s few seedy blocks and finally succumbed to hunger at a cafeteria style deli.  I ordered a Polish Chicago style hot dog and had to convince the guy I really wanted the “hots” (hot peppers); I almost had to trot out my California jalapeno credentials.  For $1.99 we got a “side” of about a pound of macaroni and cheese.  Not knowing how big the portions were, we ordered way too much.

Several blocks later we arrived at a museum I have wanted to visit for decades: The Art Institute of Chicago.  What an amazing place!  The Impressionists collection is stunning AND they let you take pictures as long as you don’t use a flash.  After about 3 hours, we were on aesthetic overload; even I was ready to seek different visual stimulation so we went back outside.  Have I mentioned that it was cold in the Windy City?  Still it was sunny and gorgeous and the skyline is spectacular.  I would love to spend about 5 days in Chicago.  I like the energy of the city and the friendliness of the people.  I would also enjoy being by Lake Michigan during a warmer season. Next time we’re going to take the ferry that cruises around the lake to view all of the different architectural styles.

Ah...Monet's water lilies

Ah…Monet’s water lilies

Sunday in the Park (with Georges and Mike)

Sunday in the Park (with Georges and Mike)

Hologram sculpture in Millennium Park

Hologram sculpture in Millennium Park

Lake Michigan shore (Chicago side)

Lake Michigan shore (Chicago side)

In the Heartlands

05 Saturday Oct 2013

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October 5, 2013

Even though I’m spending this evening in San Francisco I am currently riding south on I-5, the north end of the great interior valley, which spans California and is its agricultural heartland.  Last year on this day we were driving through Iowa,  which can claim the heartland title in the geographical (and probably more valid) sense. I have feeling that dinner tonight will be better than at the Holiday Inn Express in Des Moines a year ago.  Tonight we are meeting old friends from my hometown (Silver Spring. MD).  I love San Francisco and am excited to share a little of it with my friends.

The timing of this trip could be better.  We are remodeling a bathroom with all the mess and bother that implies.  Added to that, my brother and his wife are arriving for  a visit Tuesday and we already know the shower glass won’t be installed by then. Add to that the painter decided to paint the ceiling blue and I am determined to repaint it white before Tuesday.  This is a good place to interject an explanation about  how we get projects done at our house.  First of all, we are solely motivated by company and parties.  So of course we tried to squeeze the remodel in before a family visit.  There is a genetic component here.  I vividly remember my father caulking the new bathtub in the main bathroom in our house as my aunt and uncle and 6 of their 10 children pulled up the driveway in the family station wagon. in my memory parties at my parents were always preceded by major cleaning including washing walls (who does that?).  This genetic mania has affected my siblings as well. Ask my sister who marshaled her friends and family to move and arrange all of the furniture in a new home (including hanging pictures) in one day and then threw a party for the workers in the new place that night! Ask my brother who purchased a table that seats 24 people right before the annual Thanksgiving dinner at his house. Ask my niece who can work all week as a vet, manage two active little boys and their dogs, and throw a Lego theme party on the weekend.  None of these things would be possible were it not for the patient, some would say long-suffering, forbearance of our spouses.  None of whom fully understood what they were getting into when they married us.  So tomorrow morning we will leave San Francisco, less than 24 hours after arriving, so that Mike and I can get home in time to paint, clean, rearrange furniture, garden, shop, change the air filters, fix a sprinkler head….

But tonight–my favorite city, my favorite man, old friends, good food, and great conversation.

Walnut, Iowa--the Antique Capital

Walnut, Iowa–the Antique Capital

Everyone has an opinion... so "fun" traveling during a presidential election season

Everyone has an opinion… so “fun” traveling during a presidential election season

Oct 5, 2012: Des Moines, Iowa

I had just mentioned to Mike that I hated antique shopping and hoped never to be in another antique store when we saw the signs for “Walnut-Iowa’s Antique City.”  I’m not kidding.

Walnut is a picturesque town—old homes in tree-lined lanes, an adorable downtown with brick streets, a bakery featuring homemade jams and pies, and…(wait for it) at least a dozen antique stores.  Shoot me.  In the mood to be a good sport, I slogged through several shops of collectibles; including a disturbing amount of Aunt Jemima products (actually any amount is disturbing).   I did get some good pictures including a sign for Aunt B’s—no Opie, though.

I don’t know why, but this was a tough day emotionally—sometimes the process of leaving the school and 35 years of being an educator is wrenching.  It didn’t help that Des Moines is huge and we went several miles out of our way before circling back to a Holiday Inn.  I must have looked as bad as I felt because the manager who checked us in gave us a break on the room and included a free (full) breakfast and a goody bag with water and snacks.  We were so wiped out that we didn’t want to venture into downtown for dinner.  Plus it was 35 degrees.

Sidebar—a week ago today, I was leaving Playa del Carmen, south of Cancun, after a wonderful, fun, relaxing week with 3 friends.  I had a pale tan (not an oxymoron when you’re mainly Irish and German) and my hair was full and curly from the humidity. Today I’m upset and tired, my tan is fading in ugly patches, my hair is limp and dry, and I have a trip pimple on my chin.

Back to Des Moines: Mike and I headed immediately for the bar, ordered martinis and indulged in complaining.  We decided, before the trip, that we would have “Road Rage Fridays”—a cocktail hour in which we could freely complain about the things that annoyed us the previous week.  All we could really come up with was the truck driver that almost killed us and the exaggerated way Mike grips the door and braces when I’m braking…  Mike didn’t mention my tactless remark about antiquing (he loves it) since Karma had dealt with that…  After that we had a mediocre dinner surrounded by teams of U13 soccer girls.  It took us both back to the days we traveled to soccer tournaments with Max and both endured and enjoyed the relentless energy of youth.

Of Bears and Memories

04 Friday Oct 2013

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October 4, 2013

What I remember about the visit with my Aunt Aggie a year ago is that she suggested I get some of my mother’s old clothes to her so she could make memory bears for the family if my mother passed.  She may have said “when” but I heard “if.”  Aunt Aggie told me that my mother thought it was ghoulish to plan ahead.  But when Aunt Aggie showed me the bears she had made with her husband’s (Uncle Dave’s) plaid shirts for all the children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I could see the love and care that went into each bear and that created each memory. Little did I know that two and half months later my mother would pass away and that Aunt Aggie, my cousin Denise, my sister, and I would look through my mother’s clothes and select the items that would make 24 bears for our family.  Aunt Aggie and Denise outdid themselves.

October 3, 2012: Montrose, Colorado

Last night we drove around BYU, Mike’s alma mater, and then spent 47 minutes trying to find our motel. Provo is laid out in a logical grid, but we didn’t have the secret handshake so we added to our car time. This morning we toured the beautiful campus on foot and I discovered BYU is built on a plateau which is accessed through several levels of stairs. Regardless, I did enjoy the campus and I needed the exercise. From Provo we drove to Montrose, CO, to see my favorite aunt, my mother’s younger sister Aggie.

Aunt Aggie is the favorite aunt of all her 35 nieces and nephews because she’s a kick in the pants. When showing us the huge shower in the master bathroom of her daughter’s home, she said “it’s big enough for a threesome.” Vintage Aunt Aggie! Like her older sisters (Alma, Eileen, my mother, and Mary), Aunt Aggie pulls no punches, tells hilarious stories, and expresses affection through action. These days she makes “Memory Bears” for children who have lost loved ones.

After our visit we checked into a motel, ordered Thai food for delivery and turned on the Obama-Romney debate. No comment.

Oct 4, 2012: North Platte, Nebraska

Ended up stopping late in North Platte—after 3 near-death experiences on the road.  Well, maybe only one could’ve resulted in our joint demise.  Mike was looking at the lane to the left of us, when a truck pulled out in front of us.  Luckily, my inarticulate gurgle alerted Mike and the good brakes on the Santa Fe kept us from hitting the truck.  Later, exhausted, Mike drove around North Platte looking for a place to have dinner; as much as we would prefer to eat at local places, sometimes there’s no choice, so Applebee’s it was.

A word about the so-called breakfasts at the places we stay.  Keep in mind we choose our motels based on having memberships and the inclusion of breakfast.  So far the 3 Hampton Suites we’ve stayed at—including the overpriced one in Colorado, which smelled like cow poop (just outside)—have provided the same limp, almost disgusting choices.  Hot brown water (erroneously labeled coffee), watery juice, 3 kinds of milk (all are skim but they are labeled skim, 2% and whole) are the beverage choices.  No water, which would be better.  Anemic plain bagels, always stale pastries, selections of cereals no one eats, and congealed oatmeal do not prepare you for the horror of the hot dish possibilities. Home fries consist of uniform squares of a potato like substance.  While he avoided those, Mike actually put the “western style omelet” on his plate before coming to his senses and throwing it away.  I don’t know what it tasted like but it looked like it had been made last month in a microwave with powdered eggs and three pieces of bell pepper (2 green, one red).  Not for the faint of heart.  I tend to eat an English muffin with peanut butter and an Activia yogurt.  Yes, Activia.  Yes, for the reason you’re thinking.

Even though North Platte wasn’t the most exciting town, we did manage to get out of there ahead of the snow…  Also, the nice folks at Hampton Suites gave us a conference room, which enabled us to bring in the luggage and repack so that we now have access to our cold weather clothes (since a cold front has definitely moved in).  Mike decided to use a new app on his phone to start the car; it worked and he got the message: mission accomplished.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t our car he started.  Somewhere in the world a car is warmed up and ready to go…

Beautiful Colorado

Beautiful Colorado

North Platte, NE: One of the many Buffalo Bill historic landmarks--apparently he got around

North Platte, NE: One of the many Buffalo Bill historic landmarks–apparently he got around

A year ago today

02 Wednesday Oct 2013

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A year ago today, My husband Mike and I left Redding on a cross-country trip; we planned too many places to visit and I got a crash course on American geography. (“Yes, Erin, there is a Santa Fe” and “No, Erin, New Orleans is not close to Nashville.”) I liked that travelogue: it was fun to write and I had lots of down time to do it.  I wanted to publish it on anewscafe, an online journal that I admire but it seems that my verbose and meandering style is more suited to blogging.  If there’s a way to archive this travelogue on my blog for posterity, I haven’t figured it out.  So I thought I would pull excerpts from last year’s journey and comment upon them (or let them stand on their own merit) on the corresponding day this year.  This, of course, means I’m recycling old work, but I will be interspersing posts with new material.  And I will be working on that novel…  Really.

10/2/12: Orem, Utah

Hard to believe that at 6:30 on Monday night (10/1) we left Redding and today we are in Utah and starting our cross-country, family visiting, genealogy exploring, 37-38 day trip.

The “Plan” was to leave early on 10/2 and do the long haul to Utah in one day. While I was packing I noticed Mike removing the pillows from our bed and bringing in the cooler from the garage; this was my first hint that we were leaving sooner. In the interest of full disclosure I should say that I wasn’t really packing; my dear friend Sally Burnham was packing for me. Sally claims that I’m the worst folder she has ever met and that I completely miss the part about packing where you flatten the clothes and make them smaller not larger before putting them in the suitcase.

So at 6:30 PM (a full 12 hours earlier than I had planned), Mike and I left Redding on a “Road Trip.”

While the term “road trip” conjures images from 20-something movies for some people, it takes me back to family vacations from Maryland to visit relatives. Pretty much every summer, my parents would wake up their four children in the middle of the night, pile us into a large American-made vehicle (okay, a Ford) and take off for Michigan. I remember pillows on the floor of the back seat that Noni, the youngest, slept on. I think I was down there sometimes, too (those were big cars). Rick and Mike, my brothers, were somewhere else—maybe on the back seat, maybe in the 3rdseat (facing backwards) of a station wagon we had for several years (I learned to drive in it). Mom gave Noni and me a Dramamine and we crashed. We stopped in Hagerstown, PA, for breakfast; I didn’t eat, just stared into bleary space until I could climb into the back seat and sleep again. Sometime in the afternoon we would stop for a quick lunch at a Howard Johnson’s on the Ohio Turnpike. My dad was a proponent of “making time,” always striving for a personal best… After lunch, more Dramamine, sleep and arrival at my Aunt Madeline’s around 5 PM. I often woke up in her driveway—no wonder I thought it took 3 hours to get from Maryland to Michigan until I was an adult and made the 10 hour trip myself.

A few words about Howard Johnson’s: Noni and I loved Howard Johnson’s. I always ate the same thing—a hot dog that came in a stiff paper holder with part of a toasted bun cut off. I considered this to be the height of fine dining. But the real draw was the vending machine in the ladies room. Noni and I would save our quarters and choose carefully from the various items that could be had for 25 cents. Over the years we purchased tiny manicure sets (so dull that even the TSA would let them through security screening), lovely plastic rain bonnets, miniature flashlights, “imported” perfume, key chains, small (and fragile) stuffed animals, and coin purses.

I’m pretty sure this road trip will be different, even though the 10 hour haul from Sparks, NV, to Provo, Utah, is reminiscent of Dad’s three stops a day—at most—approach to family vacations. For one thing, Mike and I will not engage in silent battles over space, usually the arm rest. My brother and I would push grimly against each other’s arms, in a no-win contest for dominion of the back seat. Even though we were completely quiet, my little sister (a notorious puker wedged in the front seat between my parents) would rat on us and bring down the “don’t make me stop this car” threat. I was happy when she outgrew her car sickness and was relegated to the back seat. Of course her memories are different and include big fat lies about me singing “Red Rubber Ball” (an unappreciated classic) all the way to Michigan.

The Nevada-Eastern Utah segment of our journey will not be represented in any photos—incredibly ugly terrain– enough said. The highlight? We stopped at a casino in Winnemucca to use the rest rooms and I put a dollar I found in my pocket in a machine I thought was video poker (that’s what the sign said); I pushed a button and the machine went crazy. When all the binging stopped the number 2010 flashed from the left corner. For one heady moment I thought I won over $2000. Since this turned out to be a penny machine (this was not a high end casino), I netted $20.10. I consider that my mad money to be spent on something foolish and fun.  Mike played a dollar, too, and lost most of it in 5 seconds.

On the road again….

31 Wednesday Jul 2013

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“We can’t have another day like yesterday….” -Mike Stuart

Last July Mike and I went on a camping trip to Oregon with our good friends Sue and Randy; we had such a wonderful time that we decided to venture north again. Yesterday morning we left the smoke and heat of Redding and turned our truck (5th wheel attached) toward the mountains. Unfortunately the fire that enveloped Redding in smoke is in Oregon, so the drive to Canyonville was dulled and grey, making the trees lifeless and the air thick. Luckily, about 5 miles from of our destination a north wind blew most of the smoke south and we pulled into the lovely Seven Feathers RV Resort. Here’s a tip for those of you who have succumbed to the comforts of RV travel: any campground associated with a casino will have great amenities. Our site was a level pull-through (very important) with water, electric and cable hook-up. Included also was free Wi-Fi, access to a pool, shower rooms, park, and (wait for it) shuttle to the casino.

Sidebar: Back in my youthful camping days, I stayed in state and national parks, slept in a sleeping bag in a tent, cooked over a campfire, and washed in showers that cost a quarter for 3 minutes. I was contemptuous of “those people” who dragged all their luxuries with them in their trailers–people whose generators roared all night and whose slow moving rigs clotted traffic on winding mountain roads. Of course, life’s little ironies catch up with you and now I’m one of those people. Getting me to embrace RV travel has been a tough sell. Three years ago, my husband bought our Keystone Cougar (complete with a huge painted cougar that would look better on the floor of a gymnasium). It was the proverbial good deal. I said that it was very nice and I looked forward to using it when I retired. At that point, when I was working 50+ hours a week, the trailer just looked like an opportunity to do housework on wheels.

Our trip to Oregon last year was the second time I had stayed in the RV. We’ve used it since on the coast, including a hair-raising drive on Highway 20. That road is so curvy that we actually lost sight of the trailer on some curves. But I digress…

Yesterday we set up and then relaxed with Sue and Randy on the little lawn between our RVs when I heard water running, a lot of water. Keep in mind that we haven’t used our trailer much and that I know nothing about the hoses, that being Mike’s territory. Not being an expert I wondered aloud why water was gushing from the bottom of the trailer; this inspired Mike and Randy to investigate. I just asked Mike to explain what happened to me so I could include it in this post. He said there’s no way to sugarcoat it: he hooked a hose to the wrong tank and overfilled a holding tank. Hence the flood. No big deal or damage as it turned out, but a few exciting moments and some embarrassment. After the tank debacle, we went to the casino, had a drink and lost (collectively) $55. Sue won a dollar.

After dinner we decided to watch the remastered version of “A Quiet Man” in our trailer and use the DVD player for the first time. For the first time… As it turns out, our trailer has a speaker system that includes outside speakers, so about 11:00 a guy who said he was our neighbor from way down the road, knocked on the door to tell us he could hear the movie and could we turn it down. Major embarrassment over this violation of RV park etiquette. We turned off the outside speakers and watched the last few minutes of the film. I had forgotten what a marginal actor John Wayne was. I know that’s heresy but he played every role the same. Maureen O’Hara was good though.

This morning before we left, Mike announced that today would have to be better. So far, so good.

Final Thoughts from Travel Abroad

15 Monday Jul 2013

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Things not to bring on your trip

  • The cute shoes that you can’t walk very far in need to stay home
  • Likewise clothes that need to be ironed because irons and ironing boards are not available everywhere
  • Good jewelry that you would hate to lose
  • Your smart phone with cellular data turned on (You’ll pay a fortune in roaming costs every time an application updates or the timeshare people call with another offer)
  • That heavy book you were always going to read
  • A lock for your canvas duffel bag (thieves have knives and scissors)
  • All of your hair care and cosmetic products—pare down!
  • Every medicine you might conceivably need (they have pharmacies most places); just bring any prescription meds and maybe leave the vitamin regimen at home
  • Stuff you know you’ll use only one time.  For instance bring the dress or shirt that doesn’t wrinkle to wear several times instead of a fancy outfit for the one night you’re going to a play
  • A bathing suit if no one has seen you in a bathing suit in two decades
  • Photocopies of your passports (give a set to your traveling companions)
  • Pictures of your kids, grandkids, pets, etc.  (That’s what your cell phone is for and you don’t need to have the cellular data on to access photos if you do it right.  I don’t know how to do it but there is a way.)

Things to bring on your trip

  • Sunglasses (and probably a hat that packs flat if you’ll be in any sun)
  • A camera that you can charge
  • Converters so you can charge electronics and use your curling iron or blow dryer
  • Your smart phone with cellular data off an a prepaid plan for emergency phone calls (or just buy a phone with minutes when you get there)
  • Maybe a small blow dryer as the ones we encountered ranged from hair singeing heat to the equivalent of a person’s breath
  • A map of the countries you’ll visit
  • A GPS with downloaded app for countries you’ll be visiting; be sure to get it in your language (your Siri or Google map on your phone is probably too expensive to use)
  • A small umbrella and/or waterproof windbreaker
  • A purse or backpack that you can wear across the front of your body
  • Washcloths—you don’t get those in Scotland, England or France (make up remover wipes will work too)
  • More than one pair of shoes so you can switch off or change if you get wet
  • A tiny first aid/utility kit—Band Aids, antiseptic lotion, safety pins, stain remover
  • A large scarf or pashmina—I cannot emphasize this enough.  I wore my pashmina with everything through rainy days in 3 countries; I put it over my legs when the AC on the planes was too cold, bundled it up for a pillow on plane rides, and laid it on the beach like a towel.  Just sayin’

Things you need to accept

  • There will be lots of pictures of you wearing the same thing
  • You will probably get lost once in a while and take more time to get somewhere than you wanted to
  • Some people don’t want to take a picture of you and your traveling companions; probably because they don’t know what you’re asking (“You want me to steal a camera???”)
  • You’re a tourist so you’re really a guest in another country.  Behave accordingly.
  • Customs are varied so watch and learn although you have my permission to be irritated with anyone who recommends a restaurant that would cost $200 a person
  • You deserve decent service and courtesy because you’re paying for it; don’t be afraid to ask questions or state your needs (like for a washcloth.  You won’t get one because they don’t have them but you can ask.)
  • There’s nothing wrong with eating ice cream every day when you’re in a country that has ice cream for sale on every block
  • That cute shirt you bought in France may have been made somewhere else, so if that’s important to you, look at the label
  • There will something along the way that you didn’t do or didn’t buy that you will regret.  C’est la vie!
Pont des Arts, Paris

Pont des Arts, Paris

The best part was the last part

12 Friday Jul 2013

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July 11, 2013
The Cote d’Azur, easily the most beautiful, interesting, and climate friendly part of our trip. On July 3rd we drove into Valbonne and the home of a high school friend of my sister’s. From the moment we entered that welcoming portal the trip shifted from the edginess of finding our way in a foreign country to the comfort of being with people who knew their way around and took us there. Until we didn’t have to cope with driving, unpacking, finding food, figuring out what to see, seeing it, packing, leaving and starting the process over again, I don’t think any of us were aware of a subtle hum of stress vibrating through our adventures.

And then we got to Joe and Laurent’s. Before we dragged in over packed duffle bags or even saw our rooms, our hosts seated us in a lovely garden, served us appetizers and champagne and sent the clear message: “Relax.” Dinner was five (count them) courses and typically French in the leisurely approach to a meal. Soup, followed by salmon and rice, followed by salad, then a cheese course, and (always) dessert. By the time dinner was over, we had a plan for the next day, our only full day in the area.
A great night’s sleep, a few hundred calories of carbohydrates and we were ready to begin. First we walked to the village nearby—very modern and basically the Silicon Valley of Nice with IBM, Apple and other high tech firms providing the impetus for the design of the town. After that we went to Valbonne for lunch and walked around a bit. Then we were driven a little ways to St. Paul de Vence, a striking example of the fortress like towns that were built high up on hills a long time ago (1200’s I think). Along the narrow streets were galleries and shops and many stairs leading to the top of the village and a stunning view of the valley below. We had so much fun looking at the work of local and international artists and (I confess) shopping. Well, while Noni and I shopped, the men moved on to the next gallery or café. I went through an exhibit of photos of Marc Chagall, who spent the last years of his life in St. Paul de Vence and whose later work was influenced by the colors of the French Riviera. At the summit of the village we took many pictures of the view and each other. Then we left and drove to Nice so that the tourists (us) could see the famous hotels and beaches. Because we needed to be in Cannes in time for the fireworks, we just drove through the very busy and crowded city.

It turned out that Cannes has a fireworks competition for several weeks each summer. This year the powers that be decided to add a fireworks display a week before the competition started. I don’t know how it all worked out but Azerbaijan (a country that owns a lot of property in the area) put on the show and they started it with our national anthem since it was Independence Day. Almost everyone on the beach stood up for “The Star Spangled Banner” (and they couldn’t have all been Americans), followed by the national anthem of Azerbaijan, followed by the most fantastic fireworks I’ve ever seen. They were underscored with gorgeous classical music, blasting from speakers on a platform on the Bay of Cannes. It was such a wonderful way to spend our last night in France—perfect, balmy weather, a final serving of fresh fruit ice cream, and the great company of family and friends.

The next day we flew home—well, some of us made it home that day…. The details of that adventure are in “Take the long way home,” a few posts back.