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.