Books!!

It occurs to me that I must have a strange idea of what constitutes the perfect souvenir for each journey I take. Some will get lost in gift shops finding a cute little decoration of some kind, a vase, a cute figurine, or even an ornament. For some they'll pick up a sticker to put on the car or in a journal. The list of what people bring home for travel mementos is endless. I'll admit I've been in the habit of looking for magnets for each city I visit. I love looking at my fridge and recalling all the places I"ve been. I've also taken to getting a pretty Christmas ornament to put on my tree as a reminder of where I've been.

My favorite habit though is one that most don't do. I also hunt out a book shop to visit on my trips. In Ireland, I brought home four magnets and five books. Seattle, two magazines and four books. Montana two books. You get the picture. It's fun for me to read my books and remember where I got them. Heck the books I purchased in Ireland even have the euro price stickers on them. It's just fun for me.

Perhaps it is a little odd, but for a book lover like me, I love the memories tied to my books. In some cases, the books are set in the locations where I was on my trip. I love reading the books I picked up in Ireland as they are all set in England, Scottland, or Ireland. I get to read the ones set in Ireland and smile as the characters move through places I've been. It is just such a fun habit for me.

I'd guess my favorite part of having books as souvenirs is that not only do I take an actual journey but I get to travel again through the authors imagination between the covers of a book.

An Irish Fright

“You can go in groups of three.” The man says jovially, like what he is offering is just a lighthearted romp through a field of flowers. Instead though he is urging all the guests of our tour group a trip through their haunted house. Mom and I both decline the offer, the idea of going through a haunted house is not exactly our idea of fun. The three Australians in our group decide to go along with it. Two of the guys are excited at the prospect of entering a haunted house, the third however, is a little more reluctant.

So mom and I watch, laughing as the two men who are excited about entering force the third to stand in the front of the group. Our tour guide opens the door for them and explains to us that they go in groups of three because the first gets the surprise, the second can still be shocked, the third might not be as surprised but they can still get the third person. Any group larger than that then the fourth and fifth and so on won’t get scared at all. Just as he explains this we hear a bang and a roar on the other side of the wall followed by a scream and loud laughter.

I look around at the displays of the history of Ireland during the potato famine and try to concentrate on the sadness the displays attempt to convey and fail miserably. The bangs, screams, and laughter continue as the three men make their way through the haunted house. I give up and find myself staring at the black wall as mom, the tour guide and I follow the screams, groans, and hoots of laughter. We briefly discuss the woes of how early advertisers start on Christmas advertising. Our tour guide says, “They barely wait until Halloween is over before they start to stuff Christmas down your throat.” We can relate, and tell him that at least in Ireland there aren’t any major holidays between Halloween and Christmas, Thanksgiving is pretty much overshadowed by Christmas. The conversation quickly fades off as the three men in the haunted house suddenly get louder just before they break through a door and onto the walkway where we are. They are red-faced and guffawing as they try to convince mom and myself to complete the haunted house. We briefly argue that if the other goes first we might consider going but neither wants to give in and be the one scared first. In the end we were a couple of wimps but it sure was fun listening to those Aussies. 

Tiny Plane Rides

Here we were. Ready to take off in a little tiny plane. I was heading to Idaho Falls from Denver in a baby plane, a planelette if you will. Nerves bumped a bit higher than normal at boarding when i saw people checking bags that would normally fall under "carry-on" status but were now too big to fit. if you don't believe this plane was tiny, let's put it this way. It is 13 rows long, 2 seats on each side of the aisle, no first class (not enough room), 1 bathroom, and 1 flight attendant. After we boarded, I settled, determined to relax. Then my nerves bumped up again when the crew asked for one passenger to move from the front to the back of the plane to "balance the plane load."

I mentally worked to calm myself and had nearly succeeded when we began to taxi. That's when my brain kicked in. An internal argument warred between crazy unreasonable me and sane reasonable me both shouting to get my attention. First thought, "Wow, I can feel every bump & hear every noise." Interesting observation until unreasonable me chimes in with "Yeah, but how do you know which noise and which bumps are normal?"

We zip down the runway and normal me thinks "This is safe, you rarely hear news stories on plane crashes anymore." Crazy me: "Yeah, the only one's you hear about now are the crashes with little planes...like this one."

As we hurtle down the runway, eventually lifting away from the earth, the cabin rattles, something behind me squeaks with every bump. Thankfully we level out and the squeaks and bumps stop. However, I swear the plane jiggles a bit as my seatmate jiggles her leg. Also, I think I just heard a conversation from the front of the plane?

Eventually, the one attendant makes her way up the aisle handing out snacks and drinks. It doesn't take long to reach the back of the plane where I am. I guess that's the upside to a small plane. Hey, I was thirsty.

The Microwave Picnic

Lately I've been thinking about  a trip I took with my mom to North Carolina. We were heading out to Charlotte for my Step-Sister's wedding and I'd decided, if I was going to be that close to the Atlantic ocean I wanted to go all the way to it and see the ocean. I'd been to see the Pacific on numerous occasions but never to the Atlantic. When I was planning the trip I had several people laugh at me and say "One ocean looks just like the rest." Now that I've traveled a bit, I can tell them that is just not true.

In southern California, the ocean meats up with sandy sunny beaches with various shades of aqua and blue. Heading north in California, the landscape grows bluer and cloudy. In Galveston, Texas, the boardwalk and beach borders a browner churning water of the Gulf of Mexico. Ireland, the air is crisper, bright green borders the smooth sandy beaches with deep blue water. The Atlantic off of Bald Head Island is rich and relaxed. Some might argue that the differences lay in the beaches and surrounding communities rather than the ocean, but to me, those differences are what makes the ocean in that part of the world.

Anyhow, we spent the day driving from Charlotte down to Bald Head Island and Southport, North Carolina. We'd explored the island, seeing an old lighthouse (Old Baldy) and having a great time. When we finally made our way back to Southport we searched out the hotel we'd reserved with only to find no one was on site and no one was answering the phone. We were stuck in Southport, suddenly with no hotel and the prospect of a four hour drive back to Charlotte that night did not sound appetizing. So I hopped on my trusty blackberry phone and searched out a nearby Comfort Suites hotel, we were in luck, they had a room available. So we drove over and checked in and were treated so well. The drawback now was most of the restaurants in this small community had already closed down for the night, and neither of us had eaten since lunch, we were HUNGRY.

Luckily, next door to the hotel there was a grocery store and our room, had a little wet bar with microwave. I knew we were set for food. I told mom to grab her purse we were going to go get dinner. It was fun running through the Lowe's Food looking for dinner supplies. With my knowledge of prepared food we ended up with a three course dinner of prepacked salad, macaroni and cheese, cooked chicken, a steam in bag microwave veggies, and individual ice creams for dessert. I don't think mom ever realized you could pretty much get a fully prepared and yummy dinner from a grocery store. With my experience of having zero time to cook from hours of school work, I'd become well acquainted with this part of grocery stores. It wasn't a fantastic five star meal by any means but I still think back with fond memories of that night when I showed my mom the ropes of getting a good meal while only having a microwave to cook with. Best part, no leftovers so no food wasted.

It was fun, that little twist of fate in our plans, a lesson learned and one that's proven to be true over and over in my journeys since then. Sometimes the unplanned adventures are the best adventures.

Good Plans, bad hotel!

In my travels, I've gotten pretty good at figuring out what hotels to choose and which hotels to skip. I've learned about hotels that are in good locations and one's that might be a little questionable. I've learned how to navigate through reviews and know which reviews to ignore as they are biased toward the good or the bad and which reviews are reliable with information I should trust.

For the most part, this skill I've developed has served me well...except last Friday. I'd planned a weekend trip to hang out in Williams, explore the area relax in a nice hotel, spend some time with both locals and visitors, and getting a feel for the town. That didn't go as planned.

The hotel was terrible. The reviews had mentioned that the place was under renovations so construction materials were everywhere. Okay, that happens. Glad to know the hotel will be getting nicer, as long as it's clean. Other reviews commented on the dated and ugly rooms, I guess that's why the renovations right? Again, as long as it's clean none of this bothers me. Renovations usually happen during the day and I'm usually out and about exploring all day anyhow so no big deal. Oh was I wrong!!

I arrived to the hotel, yes it looked a little run down on the outside, the place needed a good sand and paint job but otherwise not too bad. There were construction materials stacked around the hotel so it did me good to know that they were working to make this little place nicer. The pool and the parking lot both were in good condition so my initial impression was this won't be too bad. I pull into the check-in area and thus begins the experience.

Check in was easy enough, usually is when they want to take your money. Then I was directed to my room, he started out showing me the room location on a property map on the counter, when I easily deduced the room was visible out the window from where I stood, things began to degrade. The concierge talked to me like I was a child when I pointed to the physical building that I could see out the window instead of looking down at the property map he had on the counter. Then immediately told me the free breakfast that I'd been offered through the website booking I'd done wasn't being offered during construction. No apology, no voucher for a local restaurant, no discount...oh and no communication from anyone prior to my reservation to inform me of this booking change. I brushed this annoying little interaction off as just the end of a long stressful day at work and was eager to get to my room and get some dinner, I was exhausted and hungry.

As I drove to my room, all eyes were on me. Every hotel guest standing outside their rooms (and there were several) stood, staring me down as I drove my car around to a closer space. I felt extremely uncomfortable. I brushed it off and headed up to my room. OH.....GEEZ! This place wasn't just under construction, this place wasn't just old, it was DISGUSTING!! The floors were dirty, I don't think the carpets have been vacuumed in a long time. Only one lamp of five was even plugged in, I had to hunt for plugs for the other lamps just so I could have a little light in the room. The toilet was disgusting, there was no towel rod despite the brackets being in place and anchored. The shower curtain was stained and filthy. The only word that could describe the bed...SAG.  I wanted to cry, in fact, I did. I wasn't going to stay in this place, so out went the bag and back into the car. Out went me, being stared down the entire time by the same guests. Off I went for the hour and a half drive back home.

I find it ironic that I'm writing a book set in Williams about the owner of a crappy hotel that is working to fix it up and that is exactly what I got. I am fine with old, I'm fine with renovations, I've stayed in both types of hotels but they had one thing in common. They were clean!

Music on the Road

Today as I work on final preparations for my 2nd epic road trip I pulled together my Road Trip 2017 play list. This meant a day of downloading songs I purchased or owned already into my media player to create the ultimate mixed CD playlist.

On past journeys I've done similar things so I would have all my favorite songs right at my fingertips and avoiding taking my massive CD collection with me. (Yes I still do CD's and love them!) I've driven through Yosemite to the tunes of a unique guitarist. I've flown down the freeway to California motivated by Rascal Flats' Life is a Highway. I've climbed the freeways to Northern Arizona to the strains of Sheryl Crow and weaved my way through a vineyard listening to Under the Tuscan Sun.

The emotion I felt as we emerged from the red rocks into Page still sings through me as I listen to Lenka's The Bright Side and Celtic Women sing with me as I relive driving down the roads of Ireland. All have tied those lovely songs to wonderful memories of the trips I've taken.

There are so many memories tied to the music I listen to, so many trips that stay with me through that music. As I prepared my CD playlist for the next journey, I organized the songs, figured which I indeed wanted to take with me on this trip and then spent the next couple hours burning those CD's. Now as I've just completed the task and have the small stack next to me waiting until I tuck them into my travel CD case. I look forward to the memories I will get to make with that music. I just hope my rental car has a CD player.

Visiting Inishmore dun Aengus

It sounded like distant thunder. I kept looking around, the day had been threatening rain but nothing that looked capable of producing the booms I heard every couple minutes. As we climbed the mildly steep trail I looked at mom and asked if she new what it was, she didn't either. We continued our way up the trail from the visitors center, today we were going to be seeing Dun Aengus on  Inishmore. you may not be familiar with the name, but I'm positive if you've seen cliff pictures of Ireland, you've seen the cliffs by this historical fort. It was a beautiful walk up from the visitor center. Rock walls, sturdy in construction but appearing haphazardly constructed lined the pathway. Most followed the path but some rule breakers climbed over the wall and headed toward the cliff face. 

To the left I could see where the land ended in a sharp drop off and knew the sea would be far below. To the right was a gentle slope downhill to the ocean. Both sides though I could see the sea stretching far out ahead. Ahead up the hill was the stone fort, a massive structure surrounded by a wall. A single entrance, large enough for one person. Despite the number of people, there wasn't a wait to get through the opening. We just went inside the fort. I was surprised to see how open and large the space was surrounded on three sides by rock walls. The fourth side, there is was, the view I'd been waiting to see. The view that had been on my bucket list for ages. The famous cliffs of Inishmore, I was finally here. 

As I neared the edge of the cliff, it occurred to me the booming noise I'd been hearing wasn't thunder, it wasn't a canon shooting in the distance. It was the ocean hitting the bottom of the cliffs. It was amazing to stand at the top and see the wonder of the landscape and feel the power of the ocean. Far below the water had carved a hollow at the bottom of the cliffs, when the water slapped the rock, a loud boom could be heard. It was beautiful, majestic, breathtaking there, a view I will never forget.

After a time we finally had to peel ourselves away from the cliffs, we had a guide waiting for us at the bottom. As we traversed down the trail back to the visitor center I knew that this was an event that would never leave my mind. I knew that for years to come I'd remember that feeling of standing at the top of the cliffs, feeling the breeze on my skin, smelling the salty ocean, seeing the dizzying height, and hearing the thunder of the sea against rock.

Salad and Soda in Ireland

One thing I learned in my three weeks in Ireland was that communication wasn't always as easy as I thought it would be, even when visiting an English speaking country. I knew of the commonly used differences in language like "lift" instead of "elevator" and "boot" instead of "trunk" but there were so many others that I'd never heard of until I was there. I learned quickly to ask for directions to a "petrol" station instead of a "gas" station if I needed to fuel the rental car. Asking for a gas station just led to directions to getting propane. If you ordered food and wanted it "to go" you asked for "take away." Those differences were easy. There were two things though that I never did quite master in the three weeks, one I still haven't figured out how to do.

First, salad. In the states, salad is often in references to a group of ingredients tossed together. Fruit salad is several types of fruit cut up and tossed together in a bowl. Tuna, potato, and egg salad have the main ingredient by name plus mayo and other staples that often end up in the bowl, mixed up and served. In Ireland, salad was lettuce and tomato unless otherwise noted. If the sandwich you ordered was advertised as having salad it didn't mean a salad on the side, it meant there was lettuce and tomato on the sandwich. An egg salad sandwich wasn't what I thought it would be. Instead it was a fried egg (the yolk cooked through) on bread topped with lettuce, tomato, and mayo. Not bad but a little weird when your expecting the states version of egg salad. By the end of my time in Ireland, I'd pretty much sorted out that bit of information and had mastered many of the other differences in language. (although I will admit I never did figure out what the street sign "traffic calming" meant.)

There was one thing though I never did figure out. That was ordering a soda. I understand that throughout the states alone there are different ways to order that fizzy drink you want. In some parts you might order a pop, in some a soda (like we do here in Arizona), still others you order a coke regardless of what type of soda you want. In Ireland, I tried ordering a pop and got a confused look. I tried ordering a soda, they thought I meant a soda water. I tried ordering a fizzy drink, no luck. I tried all the different ways that I could think of and each time I resorted to describing drink brands, Dr. Pepper, Coke, Pepsi, Sprite, etc and the server would then understand what I was requesting. Never once did they correct me, and I really wish they had because I still don't know to order a soda. One day when I go back I hope that I'll be able to figure out exactly how to master this particular challenge. One can only drink so much water and tea before wanting a little variety in the sweet icy coldness of a soft drink.

A Vineyard Tour!

We rolled along a gently rising road, music played softly in the background, the soundtrack to Under the Tuscan Sun. This music was fitting as we drove up toward Firestone Vineyard with rows of grape vines stretching out in both directions.

The day had been perfect and we were finally doing something I'd wanted to do for a long time. Visit and tour an honest-to-goodness vineyard. It was gorgeous! We made our way into the parking lot, mom, who has been my companion on many of my journeys was in the passenger seat of her car snapping pictures as quickly as she could.

 The main building which housed the tasting room, a small gift area, and where you purchased tour tickets was huge! Inside was beautiful, large glass windows filled one wall giving way to an amazing view of the hills surrounding the area. The bar tops and walls were beautiful with rich wood polished to gleam. Two words could describe the place, elegant and beautiful!

On the tour we were able to see where the grapes were crushed, learned about the differences in wines, and saw where the fermenting process took place. We saw the vineyards up close, standing right next to a row where the tour guide showed how the vines were protected and harvested. The entire experience was like stepping out of reality and onto the set of a Hollywood movie, it was all so perfect. The beautiful buildings, the breathtaking vineyards, the well-kept but more rustic rooms where the grapes were harvested and turned into wine. As the tour drew to a close, we stopped at an odd looking tree, we learned this tree was a cork tree. The bark of this tree is harvested to make corks for wine bottles (which doesn't hurt the tree). It was interesting to feel this tree and the spongy texture one might expect from a natural cork.

I was sorry to leave the beauty of the vineyard but loved the experience. The elegance, the beauty, and yet the knowledge that hours of hard work went into making the place what it was at that moment.

Oh the Jellies!

I watch as the waves roll onto the stone steps and black rocks. The scenery is beautiful at the tip of St. John's Point in County Donegal, Ireland. Mom and I have just finished walking about a mile from the car to this point. Behind me is the road I'd just walked away from and the lighthouse we'd walked out to see. The lighthouse itself was alright but nothing spectacular. A simple white tower with a little trim of red but completely inaccessible as it was surrounded by a wall and signage that made it clear that entry was not permitted. For the entire walk to St. John's Point we'd seen no one, it was just us, the grass, the waves, the lighthouse, and a few cows off in the distance. It was beautiful.

As I walked away from the lighthouse toward the water, I noticed a small concrete walkway with steps that led down to the ocean. I supposed people used this point to enter the water or possibly, tie a boat up to the shore. I neared the walkway and immediately came to a stop, perplexed I noticed little blueish-purple blobs dotting the cement all the way down to the water. Curious, I continued down the steps toward the water, careful to avoid the blobs, but it was quite impossible since there were so many of them. I studied them wondering what they were but then noticed the same little blobs were floating in the water. Only those little blobs had shape, some were pulsing in the water even. Then it hit me, Jellyfish. Thousands of Jellyfish were floating in the ocean, caught in the gentle waves that buffered them against the rocks and cement. These little creatures had no hope of surviving where they were. I wondered as I watched them swirl in the water, how had they ended up in this little cove?

I longed to help the Jellyfish but knew that it was impossible. I felt a bit sad for the little guys, my sadness was short lived though. Mom, not noticing the little blobs on the sidewalk had zipped past me to the lowest steps she could get to without being hit by the water. Her camera was focused on the water, she was fascinated by the little blobbies and was taking as many pictures as she could, trying to get the perfect image. At this point she asks what they are so I tell her Jellyfish and mention they must be caught in the current to be getting washed up on the sidewalk.

She paused in her picture taking to look up at me, then realization dawns on her as she looks back down at her feet and sees the Jellyfish dotting the cement. "Oh my God!" She cries and immediately tip toes her way back up the steps and off the cement walkway doing her very best to keep from stepping on any of the little blobs. This doesn't stop the fascination though, before long, she's back to the walkway and takes several close up photos of the walkway blobs before zooming into the ocean again to capture images of the ones in the water.

As sad as it was to see all these Jellyfish, there was a beauty to it all. The experience of life and death at the hands of nature, and the knowledge that this circle of life continues regardless of anyone's presence or knowledge of these occurrences. In this circumstance, it seemed that life just is.

Lighthouses

Three Lighthouses, three experiences, all amazing. In my travels I've been lucky enough to visit and climb three different lighthouses. Each experience was unique and had wonderful views from the top.

The first lighthouse I'd ever visited was on Bald Head Island just off the coast of North Carolina, the lighthouse, Old Baldy, was a concrete tower and not the round shape I'd expected of a lighthouse. In my mind, lighthouses were striped standing tall with a regal light twirly regally at the top. Not in the case of Old Baldy. This old guy was concrete gray with angled sides. I'm not quite sure if it was badly in need of a new coat of paint or if the concrete is starting to crumble on the outside. The light part itself, wasn't perched regally at the top but rather off kilter to one side of the top. The light itself was long since gone as the lighthouse was no longer in operation. The stairs, made of wood, creaked under my feet as mom and I climbed to the top, she oo'd and ah'ed at the views taking pictures at every window of the island and marsh below. The fact that the landings all creaked and cracked beneath our feet not fazing her in the least. I however, was a little more concerned about the reliability of the old wood. I slowly followed mom up the steps, flight after flight as the stairs curved around, hugging the concrete wall. We finally neared the top where a single metal ladder led the way into the very top where the light would have been housed. Not to be swayed from going to the very top for the ultimate pictures, mom scampered on up the ladder. Me on the other hand, I stayed where I was at the top landing and waited for her to come back down. My sense of adventure my be into exploring but where heights are concerned, this part was just a little to far out of my zone. Eventually she'd gotten her fill of pictures and made her way down the latter. We slowly climbed back down the stairs, mom moving slower than I as she paused A LOT to take more pictures. Me, well, I moved as quickly as my legs could handle and didn't stop until my feet hit the ground outside the lighthouse. It was neat to see for sure, but a little more adventurous than I'd like. Still though, the history of the place, the peacefulness of the island made this a great and slightly scary first lighthouse experience to have.

My second lighthouse experience was just outside of San Diego on Point Loma, I visited the Old Point Loma Lighthouse. The lighthouse was shorter than expected but still neat to visit. Mom and I wandered the property, taking in the information and history of the keeper's house and the lighthouse. It was neat to see the garden and the different buildings. This lighthouse had a set of stairs leading near the top but not going all the way up. Unfortunately, the lighthouse offered no views from inside of the outside. The simple grey stairs had a dizzying effect as they were tight and swirled up with little break from the greyness of the interior. Going down was more challenging as the colors ran together, messing with your eyes in trying to watch each step while making your way down. Each person had to take a turn going up or down, there was barely enough room for one to navigate the steps, passing nearly impossible. This lighthouse though, I have a favorite picture of mom. She is climbing steps to the lighthouse building, the simple white building with the small tower of the lighthouse itself sticking out above the rest of the structure stands brightly in front of her. Her back is to the camera as she looks up at the lighthouse. It is an angle that shows her and her love of the lighthouses she visits. A memory and picture I'll cherish.

The third and final lighthouse in my journey's was Hook Lighthouse in Ireland. This beauty is the world's oldest operational lighthouse and has quite the history behind it. When this place came into view, this was the quintessential lighthouse I'd been looking to visit. Massive in size, black and white striped exterior. Tall, straight, and round with the light at the top swirling majestically around. Coupled with being shrouded in mist, this would be the lighthouse to beat, at least for me. We were lucky enough to go on a guided tour, like always, mom had camera in hand ready to shoot pictures of the interior and outside from every window at every level as we climbed. We learned of the history of the monks who ran the lighthouse, the origins of phrases light "by hook or by crook" inspired by this structures location, and other tidbits on modern operations. We climbed to the observation deck on concrete stairs embedded in the walls of the lighthouse. Each flight was flanked by walls until a landing was reached and the floor opened up with a space designed by the monks for a specific purpose, a chapel, the kitchen, and sleeping quarters. The view from the metal observation deck was gorgeous and one I love to relive.

It has been interesting to see the difference between the three lighthouses and I'm sure in my future travels I will have adventures exploring other lighthouses, most likely with mom at my side as she loves the things. Me, I mostly prefer the view from the ground but with mom's sense of adventure, it's good to get out of the comfort zone and climb those stairs. Wood or concrete, rickety or solid, defunct and old or well cared for and operation. All these lighthouses have one thing in common. They are amazing with a history that can't be beat.

Air Travel

Many of the trips I’ve taken involved going by plane. From my very first plane ride to my most recent plane trip there has been a uniqueness to each individual journey. Sure some of the broad details are the same. The terminals of Sky Harbor airport never change, I can count on that sameness in knowing what to expect each time I travel. The wait to board the plane is always the same (once you get to the gate that is). The uncomfortable knowledge that the person who is annoying the hell out of you on the ground, may very well be your seat mate on the plane. There’s always the gorgeous man, totally drool worthy but you keep your eyes off him as much as you can because inevitably, there will be an equally gorgeous woman who joins him, either for the flight or at the other end of the flight. Then the know-it-all, the one who tells everyone else in the group what to do, all the information anyone will ever need to know about anything, this one seems to know.

 Of course, there are the smattering of other groups, the hopelessly clueless older generation, the I’ve-got-it-together travel smart ones, the hot mess couples with kids barely in control and stuff barely strapped together (you know these guys, one funny look at one of their bags and sproinngg!! their bags will pop open and stuff flies everywhere.), then there’s the youth, slumped in their chairs, hair tied up in messy buns, yoga pants and tank tops, perhaps a small carry on but the rest is checked in.  I must admit, I’m not immune to any of these groups, I myself have ranged from the hot mess (minus the children) to the careless youth in yoga pants, and I’ve even moonlighted on occasion as the “I’ve-got-it-together” group.

Once the wait is over, that long (even though it might just be a half-hour) interminable wait to finally, finally board the plane. The announcements begin. Special boarding privilege folks get called, along with those who need extra time and assistance. Priority boarders all slowly make their ways down the jet way to the plane. Then general boarding begins, the cattle call. It used to be the time when my stomach would begin to jump, jitters taking over my body as I wait to board the plane, terrified that somehow I’ll still miss getting on my flight. After all, I’m still not on the thing that will be leaving. Now that has changed, the jitters no longer take control and instead I fight the urge to loudly moo at everyone cramming together to get in line. Instead of jamming into the rest, I’ve begun chilling in my seat waiting until it’s absolutely necessary to get in line with my assigned area group. I figure the longer I wait to board, the less time I’m sitting board in my seat.

When finally, we get settled into our seats, thankfully head unbashed by someone who’s carry-on really should have been checked, we wait until they began to departing process. The announcements and safety instructions begin. The plane begins to move, I’m counting the minutes until the wheels will lift from the runway in the exciting but stomach dropping lift from the ground. I’m waiting until I get to see the ground from way up high, the unique perspective of cloud formations. I’m looking forward to hours of uninterrupted reading and writing time (my personal little bit of heaven).  I’ve found that I like being in the air. Once I’ve overcome the stress of making my way through security, finding my gate, and getting onto my flight concerns drop away with the ground below the plane. I turn my attention to the present, and think a little about my upcoming destination. I wonder about what my journey at the other end of the flight holds for me but really, it doesn’t hold my attention all that much. I’m mostly in the moment. I’m heading on a destination to a new location, the annoyances of my fellow travelers has disappeared. I’m in my own cocoon of space, an introvert’s paradise. A window to my left, a book in front of me, and a combination of plane noise and music from my headphones have all but blocked out the rest of the passengers.  This right here, is what the journey comes to, the trip instead of the destination.

Once the wheels touch down, the concerns will return, worry about finding my connection, or finding the rental car company, the hotel, just finding my way in general. Now, right now, in the air, I’m free. Nothing I have to do, nothing to worry about, no responsibility. I can’t wait until I can fly again.

Wonders of the Fourth

We sat on the hillside, bursts of color explode overhead. We've spent the day at my grandparents house, relaxing, eating yummy summer foods and keeping cool in their house. We spent the morning watching the annual parade downtown Prescott. It has been a wonderful Fourth of July. Now here we are, the day is nearing the end. My grandparents opted to stay home while my parents, my brother and I went down to the high school to watch the fireworks before heading home to New River.

"Wow, those fireworks look really close." Mom observed, and indeed they did look like they were close enough to touch. In my young mind, I fantasized about what it might be like to touch one of those glittery pieces of light. I imagined they'd be like pieces of glitter, all smooth and prickly at the same time.

Suddenly a fiery piece came floating down landing on the hillside where we were sitting. It extinguished and cooled quickly. Before long, my brother picked it up and we examined the burned piece of firework. Just a burnt piece of cardboard I think. It was fascinating and disappointing all at the same time. A part of me lost the illusion of the magic fireworks had to offer, so far in the sky. Unreachable, untouchable, and suddenly in our hands.

Deciding it was too cool a thing, my brother kept the piece of firework to take home and show his friends. On the drive home we quickly learned one more thing about fireworks. The unreachable, and untouchable glittery magic was unbelievably smelly. Barely a mile or two into the drive home, the smell of sulfur was so strong dad pulled into the next rest station and my brother sprinted to the trash can.

The wonderful smelly piece of sky glitter was gone for good. The memories of that night however, will live on forever in my mind.

Par Impossible, Hole in none

"Try it again." Dad reached down and placed another ball in front of me. We were at the driving range and he was showing me how to hit a golf ball, perhaps just looking to have some fun daddy daughter time, maybe he hoped to turn me into a lover of golf like he was. Whatever the reason, we were there and I was trying and failing to hit a golf ball any sort of respectable distance. At the time, my ten-year-old mind would focus briefly on hitting the ball, then I'd glance longingly at the mini golf located next door, or wish we were doing the putting green across the street. The resort had lots of golf options to offer. of them all, the driving range was not one high on my list. The only thing the golf course had to offer someone like me was lots of green grass to wander over and beautiful ponds to sit and dream by.

So there I was, at the driving range, dad looking proud that I'm doing my best and giving encouragement with every ball I hit. I knew I was terrible but he kept going, "you can do it." "Your grip is perfect." "That was much further than the last ball." All in repeat cycle as I made my way through the thirty balls. Before I knew it I'd hit the last ball and I was so glad to be done. It had been an hour or so on the driving range but it was a tiny glimpse into the world of golf. The fun that my dad had remained foreign to me. It was good to spend some time with my dad during that vacation but I knew future golfing excursions would be limited just to the mini golf course. And that...was okay with me.

Seattle Rentals

Yesterday I was with mom at a car rental place getting a car to explore Mount Rainier. We had made the trip to Seattle from Phoenix and were excited to finally be getting a car to take our journey out of the city. After confirming our rental we went to the car lot and stood in line for an agent to take us to our car.

A nice looking tall man came up and confirmed my name saying he would take us to our rental that morning We walked through the parking lot and I quipped that a small car would be preferable as I drove better in little vehicles. He assured me it would be an economy car which worked great for me. As we neared the end of the lot he slowed a little looking around and commented that he thought there were economy cars at that end. We walked a little further and sure enough, there they were, two little cars just hiding behind a large SUV. I pointed to the little silver car on the left and said that would be perfect.

We started through the various routines, verifying the GPS was in the car, how to get out of the lot, loading our bags into the car, etc. Then the agent pulled out his tablet to finalize everything and asked about insurance. We debated the merits of insurance versus just using my own to cover and finally decided to go with the insurance.

Just as I finished signing mom pointed to a scratch on the paint near the gas tank and asked if that would be an issue. The agent explained that the scratch wasn't deep enough to warrant as an insurance issue because they could just buff it out. Well, it was at that moment that my brain decided to kick into humor mode. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep. Maybe the early up before the crack of dawn wake up. Or it could have been a serious caffeine deprivation finally coming head. Whatever the reason, my internal filter had completely shut down.

Just as the agent states, the car is fully insured, I lift my hand in the air with the car key in it and shout "FULLY INSURED!!!!!" and proceeded to act like I was keying the car. Mom and the agent both stopped and stared. I stopped and looked up, the agents eyes practically bugged out and jaw was wide open. I laughed quietly and said, "Kidding." Mom and the man just started laughing, the agent looked shocked and quipped, "The cars covered for damage but don't do it in front of me!"

Ladies and gentlemen, this experience is complete proof that a lack of internal filter, sleep, and a good dose of cynicism may very well result in giving a car rental agent a heart attack.

Travel and writing

In traveling having a romantic mind can be a dangerous thing. I think about the next journey I want to take and find myself thinking about the potential for the perfect story, the perfect romance. These things never come to fruition but it certainly gives me some material for my stories. I find as I see beautiful destinations or locations that hold a little enchantment that I can't help but wonder how I could work it into a story. 

I've been up the California coast and watched little white butterflies flutter among purple flowers while enjoying a meal on the patio of a small cafe. I wondered about the butterflies and what magic they might bring to that space. I've traveled along beaches and pictured meeting a handsome stranger with his great dog. I've stood on the cliffs of Ireland and journeyed in my mind on the daring tales of a faerie and her friends. I pictured the genteel nature of southern gentleman while walking the boardwalk in Texas or North Carolina. 

No, the imaginings of my mind don't come true to my own life but I still greatly appreciate every experience. While reality is different than what my imagination stirs up, I find that every experience leaves me with a desire to see more, and wish to visit new destinations. With each real life experience my imagination flows a bit more and before I know it, I have another story idea, another journey of the imagination that happily hops into the queue in my mind, impatiently hopping from one foot to the other while waiting its turn to change from imagined to reality on the pages of a book.

Wind

Music blared through the headphones of my favorite band as I settled into the backseat of my mom's car. At ten years old, I was a travel buddy to mom while she drove the family car to Indiana where we would meet up with my dad and brother on a visit around Indiana, Michigan, and into Canada to visit family and friends. My cherished Walkman was nestled between my leg and seat of the car. I held tightly to my Laura Ingalls Wilder  book while trying to push my hair off my face. I had been spending time alternating between reading the book, cozy in the back of the car, and watching the changing scenery as we traversed across the country.

Mom and I were driving back to Indianapolis from Phoenix together to on an amazing trip I won't forget. There were moments of flat landscape and the trip was long but I don't really remember ever really being bored by the trip. There was so much to see, and even when the landscape was flat as we crossed Oklahoma I remember recalling reading Little House on the Prairie and her description of the prairie land and how miles ahead of her and mile after there was nothing but flat grassland. I'd heard description of this part of the country as being flat and dull but I was fascinated. In my ten year old mind, it was awesome to see this part of the world. All I had been exposed to in my life was the mountainous terrain of Arizona and the hot valley, Phoenix, where we lived. I'd never experienced anything outside of Arizona and this was all new to me.

Going through the Texas panhandle was interesting as we passed over hot dry grasslands where it didn't seem were moving. I remember stopping for gas and a quick lunch at a cafe and gas station. I remember picking out a small horse with plastic hair and a velvety type material over the horse designed to make the horse feel real. It wasn't exactly realistic but I loved it just the same.

We crossed into Missouri and we crossed over a river, it wasn't huge but it was full of water. I asked my mom what they did with all that water. When she told me they didn't do anything with it, my reply "What a waste." She still laughs about that response today. In my perspective, living in Arizona it was all about conserving water, not letting any of it go to waste. So why would any other part of the country be different. My exposure to water running under a bridge to this date was either a canal channeling water for use or a flash flood which usually resulted in the bridge getting closed.

We spend hours in the car stopping for food or gas. At times mom would pull to the side of the road and make me run around the car a  few times to keep me up and moving. I was lulled by the movement of the car and happy to read my book and listen to my tapes. I don't know how much of the trip the windows stayed down but that is what stands out to me, blasting music, fighting wind while trying to turn the pages of my latest Laura Ingalls Wilder and watching the countryside move past, all while the wind blew into the car. It brushed my face, sent my hair flying all over but was an enjoyable feeling of flying.

Past, Present, and Future

It’s been almost a year since my last trip, over a year since I last went out of state and I can honestly say, I miss the travel. I used to have a desire to travel but a small fear to go ahead and chase that desire of travelling. After a few small solo trips and one massive trip with just myself and mom, that desire for travel has come out into a full place case of wanderlust. I want to see so much more than I’ve seen. I find myself wishing for a new destination, to revisit previous vacations to find the things I missed in the last visit.

Ireland’s journey has an ever changing ever growing list of things I want to see and places I want to visit. I want to go back and see The Book of Kells in Dublin, heck I want to see Dublin University. I would love to spend more time in Sligo or in Kilarney to see what other treasures they have to offer. There is so much more that I have yet to see.

I find myself wanting to visit San Francisco again. I have seen quite a bit but there’s still Coit Tower, Union Square, and so many parts of the city I’ve yet to explore. Yosemite is a destination to revisit, perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to nail down a parking space and actually get out of the car to explore a trail or two.

There is so much I wish to see again but there is also a mile long list of places I’ve yet to see. I’m excited about my upcoming trip to Seattle where I will get to explore Pike’s Marketplace, the Seattle Space Needle and other amazing sites, but am sorry to know that heading to coast won’t be possible this journey, it’s just too far. Sadly, but there is a destination goal for another trip.

I hope one day to explore the Champs-Elysees in Paris, take in the Eiffel Tower and Louvre and view the wonder of Notre Dame. I want to explore the views in Tuscany and take in the wonders of Pisa and Rome. In the States I would love to explore Route 66, see the majesty of the Statue of Liberty, or be enchanted by the beauty of Glacier Park. Yellowstone and Old Faithful call my name as does the views off the coast of Maine.

There is so much to see, so much to explore. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see all I want as it seems every time I visit a new destination I find so much more I want to see. All I know is, I can certainly try. One day, I will look back and see all the great places I’ve visited and be able to say that I’ve had some amazing adventures. Even if that day is today, because I truly have had some amazing adventures…I look forward to so many more!

A journey to the falls

When I was a little girl, my family and I traveled to Canada, at one point we went to Niagara Falls. That was an extremely long but memorable day. Some details are still quite clear for me but other moments I find to be as mysterious as the mist that floats around that impressive fall of water. We headed up to Niagara Falls from Lake Muskoka, leaving extremely early to make it to our destination. My first impression of the falls was how big they were.

I remember we walked around the tourist areas and visited the gift shops but what I remember most is standing at the overlook off to the side of the falls and wandering through the tunnels that went up to the water. At the entry to the tunnels we were handed blue disposable ponchos to wear as protection from the mist. The roar as we headed through the tunnels was deafening, we had to shout to one another to be heard. As we neared the water I kept wanting to move closer. We had a limit as to how close we could get, the railings kept us back a little. I remember the amazing power of the falling water and was mesmerized by the constant motion. It was just beautiful.

We stayed all day and as the sun began to sink an amazing thing happened. Lights turned on and illuminated the water as it poured over the edge. I couldn't look away. My family was ready to move on but I never wanted to leave. The constant pour of surging water. The powerful roar of the falls. The cool misty air that fell over me. All pulled me, called out to me and tugged at my very core. Still today, nearly 30 years later, I can picture the falls and feel the strength within me. One day I hope to return and view the beauty of the falls from new angles. Perhaps I'll even take a tour on the Maid of the Mist at the base of the falls, or take a tour of the river upstream. One day though, I want to go back.

On the Salt River

A few days ago I was talking to a co-worker and he brought to mind memories I have of days spent tubing the Salt River with friends. I only went a handful of times but each trip was a mini-vacation and good times and good memories. Two in particular come to mind that I want to remember. 

One trip was the day after a massive monsoon storm. The evening before there had been a tremendous storm, lots of rain, major wind. I remember the power went out when I was working at KFC. It was an odd experience because the power went out but only in half the store. We figured that it must be that the store was on two power grids because on the side of the store with power the surrounding buildings had power but the side without power the buildings surrounding were also dark. The trip home was an experience, downed tree branches and road closures making getting to my home a challenge. I wondered as I headed home if my friends and I would actually be able to get to the river as planned. 

The morning of our trip the skies were clear and the temperatures were already soaring. We decided to go forward with plans to head to the Salt River and see if we could go, we didn't know if it would be open but figured we could go do something else if the river wasn't open for tubing. So we grabbed lunch supplies and coffee and headed on out. Luckily the river was open and the water was MOVING! We loaded our cooler, paid our rental fees and grabbed the shuttle down to the river.

That day on the water was amazing. The water levels were really high and we were really moving. It was a relaxing day, watching the landscape zip by and float with the current. We had a mini-marshmallow war drank water and make jokes as we floated along. At one moment we all had to dig in to fight the current. I used my whole body to lean into the current so I would stay in place and not float away from the rest of the group. We all were watching and waiting as one girl of the group was caught in a whirlpool she was unable to get out of. One member tried to move toward her to help pull her out. It would have been challenging enough but the amount of laughter staying put and moving against the current was even harder. This day went by so fast and we were at the end in such a short time about half the time that it normally would have been. It was such a fun day full of adventure and laughter.

The other trip was a typical summer day in Phoenix. Hot, sunny, and slightly humid. We loaded up the cars and coolers and headed out to the river. That day was very different from the last journey (the one after the monsoon). This day the river moved much slower and the water level was so low in comparison to my last experience. It was relaxing again, we enjoyed ourselves as we floated down the water. The water was cool in opposition to the hot sun and felt good to get out and cool down when needed. The entertainment portion of this trip was going into the rapids. This usually meant shallow water and in some cases we touched bottom on the rivers. So the person in front at the rapids would shout back to the group "butts up!" and we knew that the raft would keep moving but you'd best pick your bottom up or it would be dragged along the dirt and rocks (and goodness knows what else) of the riverbed. That day was a long day but so much fun. 

I'll never forget the memory of the day after monsoon tubing experience versus the "butts up!" experience of my second trip out. So different but similar at the same time. Both were fun in their own ways and memories I love to remember. 

Sunny days and sunny beaches

With the promise of summer not too far away I find myself thinking to the times my friends and I would head to California for a day of ocean, beach, and fun. There were times I would go and grossly under use sunblock to protect my extremely fair skin from sunburn. One such fateful trip my friends and I all spent the day on the beach, didn't use near enough sunscreen and came back from vacation with lobster colored skin. Those weren't pleasant experiences. Don't get me wrong, the water was great, the beach was beautiful and the sun felt so good with the cool California breezes. After a day on the water though, we were in pain. I remember after this one time having a sunburn so bad that I had to wear pajama bottoms for the drive home as my jean shorts hurt too much. My entire group spend the majority of time in the car, shoes kicked off on the drive because our feet were sunburned too.

I learned from that trip, I wasn't going to experience that level of pain again. The next trips to the beach, I slathered sunscreen with high SPF on a regular basis. When my friends decided to lay in the sun for a tan, I laid one towel beneath me and put another over me like a blanket. I still enjoyed the warmth of the sun but, dang it, I wasn't getting another sunburn. Not if I could help it! They laughed at me, but I didn't get burnt.

I still have longing to go back and spend time on the beach or on the water. I love being on the water or even near it. Seeing the cool water rush at the shore, feeling the warm sand between my toes. Crossing closer to the water and feeling the sudden shift in temperature of the sand as it goes from dry and warm to wet and cool. I love standing ankle deep in water and feeling the pull of the tide as it washes the sand out from under my feet. I love standing, waiting as waves rush in and out, taking a little more sand each time until I can't keep my footing any longer. I find a new spot, stand in the water, and wait. This hasn't changed but now instead of lightly coated sunscreen and no hat as I enjoy the water, I now stand hat firmly in place on my head, a coat of SPF 50 on my skin as I watch and wait for the sand to wash out from under my feet.

A New Journey

Four years ago today I began a whole new type of journey. This wasn't a vacation but rather a move to a new city. This new home had been a vacation destination of mine for a few years and one I tended to escape to when I needed to get out of town. Now here I was, moving to that city. This was a new journey for me. Something I'd never done before. A new city, no job yet, and not really holding a plan for the future beyond the next year. This was a trip into the unknown.

As I headed up the highway with my mom I reflected back on some of the trips I taken to what would now become my home. I thought back to the first time I "ran away" from home, for an overnight trip. It was a moment of desperation, a need just to get away. I recalled the various Thanksgiving vacation trips I'd spent in rental places or hotels around town and how I'd explored the town and neighboring small cities. I also recalled how much I loved coming up with my family to visit my grandparents when I was a girl. This new home was a familiar and yet unfamiliar destination. I didn't know what the future would hold, I didn't know if I'd be moving back down after my year was up. All I knew was that this new journey, a new chapter in my life had just begun.

Here I am four years later, 34 days from completing my master's degree program. Counting down to graduation and finding that, once again, I'm on the precipice of a brand new journey. Another step into the unknown. What does the future hold? Will another city be in my future or will I stay where I am now? Only time will tell..I only hope that fate will be kind.

Rainy misty day

Days like today take me back to the days of Ireland where we spent many days in a misty rain. Soft weather is what days like today is called (at least in Ireland). It reminds me of the misty rain that surrounded mom and I as we toured Hook Lighthouse. That same misty rain followed us as we climbed through an old ruin, fascinated by the old grey stone covered with a fine green moss while wild greens grew unchecked inside the open top of one building. And still the same mist surrounded us in the Kilmokea tea garden adding an air of romanticism to the beauty of the gardens.

Mist filled the air with mysticism in Waterford in the early morning as we began our day. We watched through the window as schoolkids in Killarney disappeared into the mist as they headed out to catch their bus. It was another misty rainy day on Inis Mohr as we bounced along in a horse drawn cart back from the amazing views of the cliffs toward our hotel.

Misty rainy days like today make me think of the wonders of the views, the amazement and enchantment I experienced from all the beautiful places we visited. One major difference from today and those lovely memories though, Prescott in February is much colder than those September days in Ireland.

Never Ending Day...or Night

Here is was..Las Vegas. The end of a week long road trip, the end of a seven hour day of driving but here I was, finally, in Vegas. I was excited to be here. My friend Kris had met up with me and together we Uber'ed to the strip for dinner and all the touristy trappings. Dinner at the Wicked Spoon was fantastic but it was EXPENSIVE!! We were able to enjoy a tapas style buffet with all kinds of yummy dishes from many different ethnicities. After dinner we wandered the hotel/casino the Cosmopolitan. It was amazing, knowing it was nearing 9 or 10 at night and yet the amount of people was just as crazy as it might have been in the middle of the day. I always heard that famous line of "the city that never sleeps." I can see why it would fit so well.

I spent a short time enchanted by a bar designed to look like it sat in the center of a chandelier. I laughed at the storefront of "Stitches" where a line of old fashioned sewing machines covered the front windows.

Finally we made our way outside and I goggled at the amount of traffic, lights, and people. So many people!! We made our way to the Bellagio and I spend a happy moment watching the fountain dance to "In the Mood." We made our way inside and found a Tiffany and Co. The jewelry inside was so dazzling but I knew I couldn't afford to buy any. I just wanted to say I'd been inside a Tiffany's so I approached the stern looking, intimidating security guard. I asked for permission and said I just wanted to say I'd been in a Tiffany's at least once in my life even if I never would own a piece of jewelry of my own. His stern appearance softened and he smiled, softly laughing, telling me to come on inside and look around. I drooled over the beautiful jewelry and smiled at the sharply dressed staff who stayed in their respective areas. Even knowing that my friend and I wouldn't be purchasing anything they offered assistance and answered questions. As I left I thanks the guard and wished him a good night. He smiled back and wished me a good night as well.

Next up was Paris at Las Vegas. I stared up at the pretend Eiffel Tour and drooled over the pretend Arc du Triumph, wishing desperately that I would one day see the real thing. Inside I was amazed, it was so busy, stores all along the "road" because going inside was like stepping outside onto a street of shops somewhere in Paris. The ceiling was even painted a sky blue with clouds and was lit. I felt like it was still daytime. Eventually we moved along from Paris to the Venetian but had to cross in and out of several casino/hotels. The movement from nighttime to false daytime as we moved inside and outside was disorienting. I had lost all track of time. Finally making it to the Venetian, I experienced a similar view as the Paris at Las Vegas but less ornate and with a "river" with Gondola's in the river. I was enchanted by this experience.

After wandering for a while my feet began to tire and my head began to swirl with exhaustion from the length of the day. Glancing at my watch, I was stunned to see it had crossed past midnight. Kris and I agreed it was time to call it a night. We grabbed a taxi and I watched as we exited the bright lights of the Las Vegas strip and headed back to my hotel. That night after bidding goodnight to Kris, I crawled into my bed, head swirling from the memories I had built. What seemed like days of experiences had all been crammed into one evening. I smiled as I drifted off to sleep. I would definitely come back, but next time with more than one evening to enjoy the experience...and perhaps with a little money saved for a small piece of jewelry from Tiffany's.

Ireland Continues

Today as I work on my Ireland Memoir a little more I thought I might share another little piece of my story with everyone today. I hope you like it...once again unedited and a little messy.

September 14, 2013

(a.k.a. packing day)

The rain patters softly outside, the air cool on my skin but sweat from the effort I'm exerting still beats on my face. I push boxes out of the way in my storage area and dig out my suit cases. The old ones I've had a while, and one massive new suit case. This suit case was one I bought specially for my three week trek to Ireland. It wasn't a joke suit case, this was a suit case to be reckoned with. Purple in color and standing to my hips in height this suit case was like another member of the party. Seriously, this suit case was big, I could have curled up in this bag and taken a nap it was so big, except the metal handle bars running on the inside of the bag might be a little uncomfortable to lie on. This would be a bag that could double as a chair when standing up, a coffee table when laid on its side, and a foot stool when laid flat.  Formidable as it was, I wondered if I'd be able to get everything I needed into this bag for the three weeks I was going.

Finally successful in freeing my luggage, I roll them across the patio and into my bedroom. Music from Flogging Molly blares from my small CD player, a nod to the Irish music I would hopefully hear quite a bit while overseas. I heft my massive suitcase onto the bed and mentally go through my checklist of items to pack. Then going to my closet I start to pull what I want to pack and toss it on the bed. I do the same with my dresser until I have a mountain of clothing, underwear, and pajamas on my bed next to the suit case. I pause and hit the bathroom and pack my toiletries in the five zipper pouches that will serve as my bathroom for the next month and shove the pouches into a smallish bag that will take up a corner of the purple behemoth on my bed. After shoving the bathroom bag into the larger case, I sort through the mountain of clothes on the bed. I eliminate items, fold the ones that make the cut and start to fill my case. Then the agony of deciding on shoes, I go over my shoe options and finally narrow down to three pair. My cross trainers for the days of walking ahead, a pair of boots (for the many rainy days I was sure to see), and slippers I could wear at night. The boots and slippers are shoved into the bag, my sneakers stay out to wear on the journey. Finally finished packing, I lower the suitcase to the floor, nearly throwing my back out in the process.

Finn, my little dog, begins to dance around me as I pack his belongings to go. He's coming down to Phoenix with me but will sadly be left there with a friend. After I have everything I need for my trip, and for my dog placed by the front door, I put together a small bag, for the next two days so I don't have to continuously dig in the large bag. Then I put the unused luggage back into storage and lock it up. I tidy up my apartment and make sure everything is in its place. I have spent the last week ruthlessly cleaning every nook and cranny of this place. No way was any bug or creature going to squat in my apartment while I was gone. I was making sure of that! T-minus 15 hours before I headed to Phoenix! What a great night.