It's Thanksgiving! I love the family-ness of the holiday, and the fact that it's about love and blessings, eating good and watching football, spending time and not being obliged to find a perfect gift for everyone you know. I'm happy to be "home for the holidays" too.
Two years ago, I was hosting Thanksgiving in the 60+ degree California weather. And even though the forecast for the Midwest is calling for above 50 degrees, it feels totally right to be here with that weather prediction. A friend was chastising me for noticing that being in California on a too-warm Thanksgiving was different than being in Wisconsin on an above average weather day. All I could say is that it's just different being here. The contrast is that I'll be in my mother's kitchen, helping her mash potatoes and stirring the gravy. I'm grateful for my mom in ways I can't express.
Home is where the heart is--trite and true (tried and true?) if I do say so myself. Part of my heart stayed in California when I left, but my traditions are here. It's not like my family does anything spectacular for the holidays, but there's a comfort in the routine that we've adopted in that big ol' farmhouse with our big ol' crazy mixed-up family. We are like a bunch of misfits who have found a way to celebrate our differences and enjoy each other's individual backgrounds. There's not one of us who hasn't suffered the loss of an immediate family member. I have three step-brothers, one real brother, and two step-cousins cum step-sisters, a stepfather, and my mother. We are the Millennium Brady Bunch. It's hard to describe how we all fit in as a family!?! From my vantage point in the family, we've collectively lost two fathers, a mother, a sister, a brother, and six grandparents. I'd like to think we've learned to accept the blessings of each other at holiday time. Having a family to reunite with is a good road for all of us to travel. There is a comfort in the familiar faces that come back to join in the prayer led by my dad before each meal we share during the holidays.
While today is the typical Thanksgiving I've grown used to, there are other Turkey Day memories that have wandered to the front of my mind. I spent one year making my traditional Thanksgiving meal for hunters who wanted my husband's restaurant to be open for the holiday. That was interesting. I really didn't need to get up so early to start that meal, but old habits die hard and I found myself among the industrial grade appliances at 6:00 a.m. that morning. I worried and fretted about the preparations for those who are not family, but save for a few minor flubs, that meal was a hit. I hope it's a good memory in their bank of Thanksgivings.
A few Thanksgivings later, after the restaurant was sold, I made a feast at home for some hunting friends who are like family. Trying to be helpful, Jake offered to make the gravy. What?? Oh no, my friend. The gravy is just too important to pass it on to someone who has never done it. I did take the moment to show him how you make good gravy. "Stir fast and pour slow," my mom always said. It works, and he learned fast, and we made a great gravy that day. Glory be to my birthday twin, Jake. I love you like my own brother.
The year after that Thanksgiving, I skipped making the big meal and traveled home to ensconce myself in the kind of day I'm heading for today. The next year I didn't cook either, but I had a turkey in the freezer for a dinner later, like December or January. Little did I know when I bought that turkey that I would prepare it as a mourning dinner. My best friend died before Christmas that year. Her mom and dad, husband and daughter needed friends. I thought a get-together over a good meal would lift all of our spirits, so I invited them over for this. Her 5-year old daughter came and spent the day with me, cooking (well, mostly playing in pie dough). That little girl had some astounding statements that day. That's why that day goes into my Thanksgiving memory bank: Nothing makes you realize your blessings like witnessing a little girl's newfound understanding that her mom won't be reading her anymore bedtime stories. Today I give thanks for years I knew Alissa and pray for Lauren.
Thanksgiving--turned around it reads "giving thanks." The Pilgrims celebrated the harvest, made a feast of the bountiful food that the earth had produced with their hands. It's cool that we still do this, isn't it? I mean, Christmas isn't about Christ anymore. Easter isn't about the Resurrection anymore. Memorial Day and Labor Day have no meaning to most, except it's a long weekend. We've lost a lot of our holiday awe. Thanksgiving stands proudly as a day for joining with those we care about to enjoy a fantastic meal. We are blessed to be able to choose the foods we want to prepare in abundance for those we love the most. We are lucky to be in the greatest country in the entire world! No matter the disappointments, we have much to give thanks for today.
I need to pick up dinner rolls. My crabby mother is feeling pushed and shoved from a too-busy week, and is peeved that her house isn't decorated. I just assured her that we don't come over to see her house. I need to get that green bean casserole put together too. I know when I come through the door and ask how everyone is, my step-dad will get that silly look on his face and tell me that my mother has been eating crab salad this morning. It'll be good to be home, and by the time we are putting spoons in the hand painted bowls filled with potatoes, dressing, corn, and yams, my mother will be smiling and relaxed.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Sunday, November 19, 2006
"Callie Elizabeth"
"Callie Elizabeth." He crowed it over and over as we prepared for the Saturday night crowd. I heard him tell the hostess. Then I heard him tell the salad maker. Then, when I was ducking into the storeroom for a pad of paper, he said it to me: "Callie Elizabeth." On cue, I asked who that was. "My new cousin's name," he beamed. I smiled and nodded, trying to be excited for him, but babies aren't my thing. And hearing the story five more times before I could disappear into the abyss of diners made it that much more annoying.
Gary (*not his real name) reminds me of Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man when he keeps spouting, "Wopner at 4, Wopner at 4!" When his mother vacationed in Hawaii, God forbid an hour went by without us hearing that his mother was in Hawaii with her new husband. I feel obligated to appease the child in him that wants the attention of his big news. And I usually give him the questions he hopes the person who landed within conversation distance will ask of him. He can yammer on with little encouragement, and I know that work is the highlight of his day. What's the harm of listening to him while I chop lettuce or fill bowls with individual creamers?
But there's another side to this childish creature who has found a niche in our kitchen. When it's his turn to close, he will lock the back door early, ON PURPOSE, just so he can tell us waitresses that he's locked it and we'll need to exit through the lobby. And he shuts the lights off before we are done in the dining room only because he sees there's no customers left, therefore, no reason for the lights to be on. We routinely go back over and turn on some overhead dimmer switches so we can finish our work out there. He loves to be in charge! He's earnest about it. It is a responsibility with his name in capital letters. He savors the moment when he can walk out to the bar and tell the bartenders that the kitchen is closed--no more pizzas or bar chicken.
Yep, he's smug about his minor authority. And lest anyone feel sorry for the big kid who has a slight mental handicap, behold the following air of egotism!! On a night that was particularly busy and ragged, one of the owners (who is also the head chef) made sure he let everyone know what a great job they had done through the course of the evening. Gary stopped to chat with the owner who was relaxing with a beer at the bar. As Gary walked away, the owner said, "Hey, by the way, you did a great job tonight!" Without skipping a beat, Gary turned to look at the owner and said, "Yeah, I know."
Oh man. You gotta love a kid like that, huh? Just one of the cast of characters I meet up when I walk through the door and behind the curtain of what really happens where your food is prepared. "Callie Elizabeth." I heard it all over the kitchen tonight. If anyone left without knowing this kid has a new cousin they just weren't paying attention. I hope I don't have any dreams about this Callie kid tonight.
Gary (*not his real name) reminds me of Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man when he keeps spouting, "Wopner at 4, Wopner at 4!" When his mother vacationed in Hawaii, God forbid an hour went by without us hearing that his mother was in Hawaii with her new husband. I feel obligated to appease the child in him that wants the attention of his big news. And I usually give him the questions he hopes the person who landed within conversation distance will ask of him. He can yammer on with little encouragement, and I know that work is the highlight of his day. What's the harm of listening to him while I chop lettuce or fill bowls with individual creamers?
But there's another side to this childish creature who has found a niche in our kitchen. When it's his turn to close, he will lock the back door early, ON PURPOSE, just so he can tell us waitresses that he's locked it and we'll need to exit through the lobby. And he shuts the lights off before we are done in the dining room only because he sees there's no customers left, therefore, no reason for the lights to be on. We routinely go back over and turn on some overhead dimmer switches so we can finish our work out there. He loves to be in charge! He's earnest about it. It is a responsibility with his name in capital letters. He savors the moment when he can walk out to the bar and tell the bartenders that the kitchen is closed--no more pizzas or bar chicken.
Yep, he's smug about his minor authority. And lest anyone feel sorry for the big kid who has a slight mental handicap, behold the following air of egotism!! On a night that was particularly busy and ragged, one of the owners (who is also the head chef) made sure he let everyone know what a great job they had done through the course of the evening. Gary stopped to chat with the owner who was relaxing with a beer at the bar. As Gary walked away, the owner said, "Hey, by the way, you did a great job tonight!" Without skipping a beat, Gary turned to look at the owner and said, "Yeah, I know."
Oh man. You gotta love a kid like that, huh? Just one of the cast of characters I meet up when I walk through the door and behind the curtain of what really happens where your food is prepared. "Callie Elizabeth." I heard it all over the kitchen tonight. If anyone left without knowing this kid has a new cousin they just weren't paying attention. I hope I don't have any dreams about this Callie kid tonight.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Getting Back on Track
It's been so long since I was on a regular blog schedule that I feel all discombobulated about what to write. And as every writer knows, the longer you procrastinate the harder it gets to regain your focus. So with absolutely no forethought, I present my grab bag of thoughts on this Friday before Thanksgiving.
Yesterday my internet went down for most of the day. This little annoyance was doubly aggravating to me given the fact that I've been searching for a new ISP. I have called my phone company (who provides my DSL, as well) several times in recent months to attempt to lower my billl by taking unused features off of my phone line. My phone is mainly installed to provide me the escape of my online folly. Yeah, I use it once in awhile for the few local calls I need to make, but my cell phone is my main source of phonery.
But I digress. Somewhere in my cluttered mind I realized that I was paying too much (even with all the stripping down I've done) for my phone. In checking around the net, I found I could save a cool $25.00 a month with a national provider. A gal at work told me they had said company and they loved the service! When I called the nationally-recognized phone company, I learned that the company I have right now is actually regulated. As far as I can tell, regulated means that a company is given carte blanche to own certain parts of every city in which they offer service. In other words, they control my online service and I can't do anything about it.
Don't believe me? Let's review what I've checked into, shall we? No national ISP's will work on my street with DSL service. I can get dial-up until the cows come home. (I don't want to downgrade to dial-up). No cable companies offer internet in my area. Satellite internet is on my short list of people I won't deal with. Oh, it's a long story as to why, so I'm going to ask you to trust that the shoddy treatment from the past is reason enough not to go down that road. Wild Blue (the dedicated satellite internet of its own) is over-the-moon expensive!
So when the provider had outages in my area yesterday, you can imagine my rancor. After executing all of the "fix" options on the window displayed in my browser by the ISP, I called them. After no less than five minutes of waiting, and five minutes of giving information that the woman couldn't seem to understand, I was finally informed of these regional problems that the technicians were working on as we spoke. I'm sure I was on the list of cranky callers she dealt with yesterday. They were on my shit list before they dropped the ball yesterday. Now I'm just plain pissed at them. I haven't given up my search for a new ISP, but I'm dejected about the possibilities. Maybe I'll move come spring; I have been here for over a year. (Note to readers who don't understand: I have moved almost every two years for the last decade)! :p
Another thing that has been derailing me is the time change. I just hate the early darkness, the cold that greets you when you walk outdoors, the gray days that string themselves together. I want sunshine and green and warmth! I notice the lack of drive in myself every year about this time. I'm working hard to find a cure for this annual disruption of my body rhythm, but it seems inevitable that I will go through this phase of sleeping nine hours every night and requiring an afternoon nap. Please don't tell the people who think I am a boundless bundle of energy and production.
Not everything is blah and oy in my world though. Thanksgiving is the best holiday of the year for me! I love that Thanksgiving is simply about being together. Think about it. As great as Christmas is, the whole gift-giving thing has put a spin never meant to be as the focal point on a holiday that is deeply sacred to Christians. Giving thanks on Thanksgiving is all that is required of you! Just show up at your mom's house with your casserole, pie, hors d'oeuvres, whatever it is you always bring to the table, so to speak. Maybe you just bring the new grandbaby, or the dog who is like a member of the family. Or perhaps you are the host to your family and friends on the best Thursday of the year. In that case, you will rise early and begin preparations for the dear ones who will arrive later to enjoy your home, your company, your meal. There's a lot of joy in welcoming folks into your home for a great feast.
Yeah. I love Thanksgiving. I'll probably do a whole blog next week on the holiday so I'll shut up for now.
Work has been interesting. I could probably do a whole blog on it too, but I won't. We had a business consultant review our restaurant and its workings for about six weeks. The results are in, and oddly enough, he listened to a lot of our suggestions from the survey he made us complete. I can only surmise that what many of us pointed out were things this business consultant also noted. Hmmm. Ya think the owners might have listened to us instead and saved a bundle on what this man told them? A few things from my own answers that are coming to fruition: supervisors beyond the "trinity" we currently have are being implemented, POS (point of sale computers for those who don't know the term), small training seminars in our products, plus a few other techniques that were no-brainers.
Sure, they'd rather listen to some outsider who thinks he knows their business. It's annoying. Or maybe I'm annoyed that my expertise hasn't been called upon? I've got around 12 years in at this place. I moved away, moved all over, and moved back, and they welcomed me back when I called looking for a job. Classic case of not burning your bridges, that. I used to do bookwork--including weekly deposits, bartending, hotel check-ins/check-outs, waitressing, and lots of other jobs before I left. They even asked me to be a manager at one point. And now? Apparently my status is that of a one year employee again.
Ah, I must be thinking too much again. Maybe when winter really sets in, my brain will get numb or freeze. For now, I'll just keep plodding through the days that seem to tax me so much. Even my writing is strained. Or rusty. There's a film over too much in my life. Pass the Windex, it's time to spruce up the view. There's always next time...and the next blog should be better.
Yesterday my internet went down for most of the day. This little annoyance was doubly aggravating to me given the fact that I've been searching for a new ISP. I have called my phone company (who provides my DSL, as well) several times in recent months to attempt to lower my billl by taking unused features off of my phone line. My phone is mainly installed to provide me the escape of my online folly. Yeah, I use it once in awhile for the few local calls I need to make, but my cell phone is my main source of phonery.
But I digress. Somewhere in my cluttered mind I realized that I was paying too much (even with all the stripping down I've done) for my phone. In checking around the net, I found I could save a cool $25.00 a month with a national provider. A gal at work told me they had said company and they loved the service! When I called the nationally-recognized phone company, I learned that the company I have right now is actually regulated. As far as I can tell, regulated means that a company is given carte blanche to own certain parts of every city in which they offer service. In other words, they control my online service and I can't do anything about it.
Don't believe me? Let's review what I've checked into, shall we? No national ISP's will work on my street with DSL service. I can get dial-up until the cows come home. (I don't want to downgrade to dial-up). No cable companies offer internet in my area. Satellite internet is on my short list of people I won't deal with. Oh, it's a long story as to why, so I'm going to ask you to trust that the shoddy treatment from the past is reason enough not to go down that road. Wild Blue (the dedicated satellite internet of its own) is over-the-moon expensive!
So when the provider had outages in my area yesterday, you can imagine my rancor. After executing all of the "fix" options on the window displayed in my browser by the ISP, I called them. After no less than five minutes of waiting, and five minutes of giving information that the woman couldn't seem to understand, I was finally informed of these regional problems that the technicians were working on as we spoke. I'm sure I was on the list of cranky callers she dealt with yesterday. They were on my shit list before they dropped the ball yesterday. Now I'm just plain pissed at them. I haven't given up my search for a new ISP, but I'm dejected about the possibilities. Maybe I'll move come spring; I have been here for over a year. (Note to readers who don't understand: I have moved almost every two years for the last decade)! :p
Another thing that has been derailing me is the time change. I just hate the early darkness, the cold that greets you when you walk outdoors, the gray days that string themselves together. I want sunshine and green and warmth! I notice the lack of drive in myself every year about this time. I'm working hard to find a cure for this annual disruption of my body rhythm, but it seems inevitable that I will go through this phase of sleeping nine hours every night and requiring an afternoon nap. Please don't tell the people who think I am a boundless bundle of energy and production.
Not everything is blah and oy in my world though. Thanksgiving is the best holiday of the year for me! I love that Thanksgiving is simply about being together. Think about it. As great as Christmas is, the whole gift-giving thing has put a spin never meant to be as the focal point on a holiday that is deeply sacred to Christians. Giving thanks on Thanksgiving is all that is required of you! Just show up at your mom's house with your casserole, pie, hors d'oeuvres, whatever it is you always bring to the table, so to speak. Maybe you just bring the new grandbaby, or the dog who is like a member of the family. Or perhaps you are the host to your family and friends on the best Thursday of the year. In that case, you will rise early and begin preparations for the dear ones who will arrive later to enjoy your home, your company, your meal. There's a lot of joy in welcoming folks into your home for a great feast.
Yeah. I love Thanksgiving. I'll probably do a whole blog next week on the holiday so I'll shut up for now.
Work has been interesting. I could probably do a whole blog on it too, but I won't. We had a business consultant review our restaurant and its workings for about six weeks. The results are in, and oddly enough, he listened to a lot of our suggestions from the survey he made us complete. I can only surmise that what many of us pointed out were things this business consultant also noted. Hmmm. Ya think the owners might have listened to us instead and saved a bundle on what this man told them? A few things from my own answers that are coming to fruition: supervisors beyond the "trinity" we currently have are being implemented, POS (point of sale computers for those who don't know the term), small training seminars in our products, plus a few other techniques that were no-brainers.
Sure, they'd rather listen to some outsider who thinks he knows their business. It's annoying. Or maybe I'm annoyed that my expertise hasn't been called upon? I've got around 12 years in at this place. I moved away, moved all over, and moved back, and they welcomed me back when I called looking for a job. Classic case of not burning your bridges, that. I used to do bookwork--including weekly deposits, bartending, hotel check-ins/check-outs, waitressing, and lots of other jobs before I left. They even asked me to be a manager at one point. And now? Apparently my status is that of a one year employee again.
Ah, I must be thinking too much again. Maybe when winter really sets in, my brain will get numb or freeze. For now, I'll just keep plodding through the days that seem to tax me so much. Even my writing is strained. Or rusty. There's a film over too much in my life. Pass the Windex, it's time to spruce up the view. There's always next time...and the next blog should be better.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Post Secret
If you look to left of this post you will see a list titled Blogs I Love. The third one down says Post Secret, right? You should visit that site every Sunday when Frank Warren puts up about 20 new anonymous secrets that have been mailed in on postcards. If I remember correctly, he started with a batch of like 200 postcards that he left in coffee shops and other places. When those postcards ran out, people made their own and kept sending them! It seems the idea is a wildly popular way to release your secrets.
Today I had the pleasure of seeing his traveling exhibit which is at my alma mater university. When I read the secrets on Sunday and saw that postcards would be on display so near to me, I knew I'd go. The internet has certainly brought vivid images close, but I wanted to see these secrets in their physical manifestations! I have to say that the exhibit did not disappoint.
For those unfamiliar with the site (get thee to the link I've provided), the secrets that folks want to find release from vary in extremes. Some of them are hysterical. Some of them are more sad than you want to be for a stranger. Some pierce your heart because you could have written them yourself. Some are odd. Others are crazy bizarre! I guarantee if you read the Post Secret blog, you'll wish there were more. Yes, it's that kind of a read each Sunday. I look forward to it, sometimes cheating to peek in late Saturday night to find the new postcards are awaiting the nation's morning coffee. I swear, it's better than the newspaper.
The postcards I got to see today were wonderful. Some I've seen online, but most of them were new. It was great to see some from the website in person, but because I devour these things like Raisinettes, I loved seeing all the new private thoughts made public. My mouth turned up in a smile over many, and I laughed out loud once. My heart ached for the people whose secrets were so devastating. I rolled my eyes more than once. I found the one that my hand could have written, and I lingered over it.
One postcard came with $.12 due. Apparently, Frank paid the twelve cents because it was on display! Some are elaborate with the secret owner's artwork. Yet others are postcards that have been bought, then written over in longhand. Some people type and tape their words on to assure their anonymity. Several appeared to be family pictures, most with a bar through at least some identifying part of the person so they wouldn't be recognized. Some are a mix of all of the above.
All I'm saying is it's a very human experience. It reminds us that even in our differences, our emotions fall along the same fault lines. Experts say that forgiving someone via a letter is very healthy. I'm sure that the folks who send in secrets experience great relief in the letting go process of sending away their classified information. And hey, Frank Warren is capitalizing in a big way from this service! Good on him for taking a leap on a crazy experiment with 200 postcards and hitting an American nerve! It's great fun, as well as thought-provoking, to read the secrets at Post Secret. And I wouldn't steer you wrong, so go take a peek!
Today I had the pleasure of seeing his traveling exhibit which is at my alma mater university. When I read the secrets on Sunday and saw that postcards would be on display so near to me, I knew I'd go. The internet has certainly brought vivid images close, but I wanted to see these secrets in their physical manifestations! I have to say that the exhibit did not disappoint.
For those unfamiliar with the site (get thee to the link I've provided), the secrets that folks want to find release from vary in extremes. Some of them are hysterical. Some of them are more sad than you want to be for a stranger. Some pierce your heart because you could have written them yourself. Some are odd. Others are crazy bizarre! I guarantee if you read the Post Secret blog, you'll wish there were more. Yes, it's that kind of a read each Sunday. I look forward to it, sometimes cheating to peek in late Saturday night to find the new postcards are awaiting the nation's morning coffee. I swear, it's better than the newspaper.
The postcards I got to see today were wonderful. Some I've seen online, but most of them were new. It was great to see some from the website in person, but because I devour these things like Raisinettes, I loved seeing all the new private thoughts made public. My mouth turned up in a smile over many, and I laughed out loud once. My heart ached for the people whose secrets were so devastating. I rolled my eyes more than once. I found the one that my hand could have written, and I lingered over it.
One postcard came with $.12 due. Apparently, Frank paid the twelve cents because it was on display! Some are elaborate with the secret owner's artwork. Yet others are postcards that have been bought, then written over in longhand. Some people type and tape their words on to assure their anonymity. Several appeared to be family pictures, most with a bar through at least some identifying part of the person so they wouldn't be recognized. Some are a mix of all of the above.
All I'm saying is it's a very human experience. It reminds us that even in our differences, our emotions fall along the same fault lines. Experts say that forgiving someone via a letter is very healthy. I'm sure that the folks who send in secrets experience great relief in the letting go process of sending away their classified information. And hey, Frank Warren is capitalizing in a big way from this service! Good on him for taking a leap on a crazy experiment with 200 postcards and hitting an American nerve! It's great fun, as well as thought-provoking, to read the secrets at Post Secret. And I wouldn't steer you wrong, so go take a peek!
Sunday, November 05, 2006
(Travel) Tidbits #4
Going on vacation is such a production! With all the planning, packing, driving, flying, laying over, picking up, hauling, situating, sightseeing, repacking, hurrying up, etc, etc it's no wonder we don't do it very often. As if that's not enough, you have to find: someone to take care of your pets, someone to cover your shifts at work, someone who wants to spend vacation time with you, someone who wants to look at your pictures...
It's exhausting to put it all in place.
But we earn those chores, dammit. I worked hard all summer to merit the right to jump on the hamster wheel of travel. And so I've done it. I've been home for four days and I think I'm almost back into the routine of being here again. Talk about jetlag. I have what the ENT calls "motion sensitivity" so my travels on planes, trains, and automobiles often end up with a nice case of vertigo. The best way to explain how I feel after a lot of travel is to have you imagine walking through the Fun House at a carnival where the floor moves up and down as you try to walk through upright. That's my world after travel. Sometimes, (like this time) I'm lucky and I only get the slight light-headed wooziness for a few days. The floor has been steady and solid this go-round.
I probably sound ungrateful for a vacation. I'm not ungrateful. I enjoyed some warm California sun and saw some really cool places during my visit. I had good company. I ate well. I even got a little tan. But if I'm honest, I was confronted with demons from my past that won't quit howling at my door. Much like traipsing the steep paths of Yosemite National Park, my footing is challenged. I need some maps, some good hiking boots, maybe a GPS for my heart. I think the jetlag I'm experiencing is not from being in an airplane, rather from the whirlwind of moving so many times in the last decade trying to find a place where I belong. There's some pensive pondering taking place, and I desperately wish to rein it in so I can be comfortable with who I am.
At least the microcosm of the airport was entertaining. I found it interesting that the computers you can pay to access in the terminal of an airport fetch a buck for every four minutes. A tidy profit, eh? I'm always appalled that the food courts in the airport are allowed to charge you almost double for a quarter-pounder just because you are stuck there at their mercy. I call bullshit! God help you if you want a cocktail during a layover.
The security screening is always a jolly time too. I didn't once make it through a checkpoint without having someone dig through my duffle bag while I watched. Once it was oddly laid out sheets of Sudafed and Benadryl, another time a bottle of water, another time no known reason to dig through my bag. I didn't know you couldn't have lighters in checked luggage, so I handed that over to the man I saw digging through the bag ahead of mine upon my first departure. "Let me save you some time," I said to him as I unzipped the compartment and relenquished my new green Bic. And when I opened my checked luggage when I got home I found a nice little card from the TSA saying my bag had been physically inspected. I think it's funny that they put the card in there now. They know you are gonna see that it's not packed the way you did it, don't they? It's like the card should read, "Uhhh, yeah, we looked at your dirty underwear and souvenirs but we were unable to put things back so you wouldn't know we rifled your suitcase. Sorry."
Travelling is a world all its own. One of my favorite pastimes while waiting in airports is to take in the fashion show around me. Man, some people totally overdress. Who are they meeting on their destination end? Other people look like they rolled outta bed, picked up their bag, and got a ride to the airport. And there's the mandatory business guy traveller--always in a suit and always carrying a laptop. Me, I always go casual comfortable. I have to admit that I stress a little about dressing for travel though. It's not because I'm worried about how others will view me, it's because I am usually going from a cold place to a warm place or vice versa. I want to hop off the plane ready for my weather, but if I do that, there's going to be discomfort in my temperature when I leave. As with everything in my life, I strive for that in-between that will allow me to be temperately satisfied.
I feel sorry for parents who travel with little kids. It's hard enough to drag your own stuff through the obstacle course that is an airport, much less yours and your kids' belongings. And kids, for the most part, don't travel well. I recall how drained I feel after long lines and too many people. Parenting is a tough job on a day with no travel, so hats off to those who get their families to their destinations!
Standing outside of the Denver terminal to suck in some nicotene, I stood watching intently the shuttles, taxis, personal pick-ups of the arrivals area. Sooo interesting to see people catching their rides!! A TSA official who was finishing her cigarette looked at me quizzically and asked if I was waiting for a personal pick-up or if I needed help finding my shuttle. Oops. I didn't mean to look that intently on the scene before me. I explained that I was on a layover and just getting a smoke. A Sheryl Crow look-alike, a group of excited girlfriends, a guy who thought I might know where his shuttle would be, two women, one dressed casually with pumps and the other dressed nicely with tennis shoes, and many others entertained a portion of my time in the chilly, shaded underpass that is the arrivals area.
Back in the terminal awaiting the last leg of my air travel, an old man and woman waited in the same gate area as mine. He was smitten with her, wrapping his arm around her as he showed her off to his new friend. She was coy back at him, tilting her head and offering her cheek for a peck. Hurried travellers jogged to a gate that was closing, weary people trudged in to find a seat to wait, others milled impatiently. A young girl sat on the ledge of the window that overlooks the tarmac explaining to a concerned party on the other end that she'd be back in January for her birthday, but only for a few days. Tears filled her eyes with the reply of the party on the other end, and she walked away. She clung to the phone and the person to whom she spoke, pacing the area looking teary-eyed until our flight boarded. Another man with a hooded sweatshirt jacket, work boots, an orange baseball cap, and oddly, a laptop, bantered with a man several rows away from him. An eclectic group of people sported brand new World Champion Cardinal redwear. Many people put their noses in books to pass the time. Some people scarfed down fast food while they waited. Almost everyone checked his or her cellphone and used it.
Yep. Travelling is interesting. I'm always reminded how insanely different we are when confronted with such a diverse population as maneuvers through the maze of airports. If you travel, take some time to watch the drama around you. Two-hour layovers are not nearly enough time to take it all in. Oh, and make sure your socks don't have holes in them because you will be throwing your shoes into the tub at the conveyer belt of the security checkpoint.
It's exhausting to put it all in place.
But we earn those chores, dammit. I worked hard all summer to merit the right to jump on the hamster wheel of travel. And so I've done it. I've been home for four days and I think I'm almost back into the routine of being here again. Talk about jetlag. I have what the ENT calls "motion sensitivity" so my travels on planes, trains, and automobiles often end up with a nice case of vertigo. The best way to explain how I feel after a lot of travel is to have you imagine walking through the Fun House at a carnival where the floor moves up and down as you try to walk through upright. That's my world after travel. Sometimes, (like this time) I'm lucky and I only get the slight light-headed wooziness for a few days. The floor has been steady and solid this go-round.
I probably sound ungrateful for a vacation. I'm not ungrateful. I enjoyed some warm California sun and saw some really cool places during my visit. I had good company. I ate well. I even got a little tan. But if I'm honest, I was confronted with demons from my past that won't quit howling at my door. Much like traipsing the steep paths of Yosemite National Park, my footing is challenged. I need some maps, some good hiking boots, maybe a GPS for my heart. I think the jetlag I'm experiencing is not from being in an airplane, rather from the whirlwind of moving so many times in the last decade trying to find a place where I belong. There's some pensive pondering taking place, and I desperately wish to rein it in so I can be comfortable with who I am.
At least the microcosm of the airport was entertaining. I found it interesting that the computers you can pay to access in the terminal of an airport fetch a buck for every four minutes. A tidy profit, eh? I'm always appalled that the food courts in the airport are allowed to charge you almost double for a quarter-pounder just because you are stuck there at their mercy. I call bullshit! God help you if you want a cocktail during a layover.
The security screening is always a jolly time too. I didn't once make it through a checkpoint without having someone dig through my duffle bag while I watched. Once it was oddly laid out sheets of Sudafed and Benadryl, another time a bottle of water, another time no known reason to dig through my bag. I didn't know you couldn't have lighters in checked luggage, so I handed that over to the man I saw digging through the bag ahead of mine upon my first departure. "Let me save you some time," I said to him as I unzipped the compartment and relenquished my new green Bic. And when I opened my checked luggage when I got home I found a nice little card from the TSA saying my bag had been physically inspected. I think it's funny that they put the card in there now. They know you are gonna see that it's not packed the way you did it, don't they? It's like the card should read, "Uhhh, yeah, we looked at your dirty underwear and souvenirs but we were unable to put things back so you wouldn't know we rifled your suitcase. Sorry."
Travelling is a world all its own. One of my favorite pastimes while waiting in airports is to take in the fashion show around me. Man, some people totally overdress. Who are they meeting on their destination end? Other people look like they rolled outta bed, picked up their bag, and got a ride to the airport. And there's the mandatory business guy traveller--always in a suit and always carrying a laptop. Me, I always go casual comfortable. I have to admit that I stress a little about dressing for travel though. It's not because I'm worried about how others will view me, it's because I am usually going from a cold place to a warm place or vice versa. I want to hop off the plane ready for my weather, but if I do that, there's going to be discomfort in my temperature when I leave. As with everything in my life, I strive for that in-between that will allow me to be temperately satisfied.
I feel sorry for parents who travel with little kids. It's hard enough to drag your own stuff through the obstacle course that is an airport, much less yours and your kids' belongings. And kids, for the most part, don't travel well. I recall how drained I feel after long lines and too many people. Parenting is a tough job on a day with no travel, so hats off to those who get their families to their destinations!
Standing outside of the Denver terminal to suck in some nicotene, I stood watching intently the shuttles, taxis, personal pick-ups of the arrivals area. Sooo interesting to see people catching their rides!! A TSA official who was finishing her cigarette looked at me quizzically and asked if I was waiting for a personal pick-up or if I needed help finding my shuttle. Oops. I didn't mean to look that intently on the scene before me. I explained that I was on a layover and just getting a smoke. A Sheryl Crow look-alike, a group of excited girlfriends, a guy who thought I might know where his shuttle would be, two women, one dressed casually with pumps and the other dressed nicely with tennis shoes, and many others entertained a portion of my time in the chilly, shaded underpass that is the arrivals area.
Back in the terminal awaiting the last leg of my air travel, an old man and woman waited in the same gate area as mine. He was smitten with her, wrapping his arm around her as he showed her off to his new friend. She was coy back at him, tilting her head and offering her cheek for a peck. Hurried travellers jogged to a gate that was closing, weary people trudged in to find a seat to wait, others milled impatiently. A young girl sat on the ledge of the window that overlooks the tarmac explaining to a concerned party on the other end that she'd be back in January for her birthday, but only for a few days. Tears filled her eyes with the reply of the party on the other end, and she walked away. She clung to the phone and the person to whom she spoke, pacing the area looking teary-eyed until our flight boarded. Another man with a hooded sweatshirt jacket, work boots, an orange baseball cap, and oddly, a laptop, bantered with a man several rows away from him. An eclectic group of people sported brand new World Champion Cardinal redwear. Many people put their noses in books to pass the time. Some people scarfed down fast food while they waited. Almost everyone checked his or her cellphone and used it.
Yep. Travelling is interesting. I'm always reminded how insanely different we are when confronted with such a diverse population as maneuvers through the maze of airports. If you travel, take some time to watch the drama around you. Two-hour layovers are not nearly enough time to take it all in. Oh, and make sure your socks don't have holes in them because you will be throwing your shoes into the tub at the conveyer belt of the security checkpoint.
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