Take him from the fire into the frying pan

I googled the Jerry Seinfeld episode where he traveled with his girlfriend and things did not go well. I was looking for a quote but couldn't find it. Instead I found about 3,490,000 Google results for traveling with your girlfriend. 3,150,000 results for traveling with your boyfriend. Who knew traveling with your bf/gf could cause over 6 million internet anxieties? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Anxiety is the new black.

As usual, I'm seeking information too late. That's a good thing. If I don't know ahead of time what to be worried about, I'm less likely to look for trouble or to spend a lot of energy second guessing, leaping to conclusions and seeking out ulterior motives.

The Electrician and I have already clocked two weeks of traveling together and I'd say it's going well. If he were speaking to me, I'd tell you what he thinks.*

It helps, that we're traveling for work, not pleasure. We're not trying to be entertained or to entertain 24/7. We're both working most of our waking hours so our time to get on each other's nerves is limited to the 4 hour drive and the couple of hours we're awake at the end of the day.

Now that his situation has changed and my work is portable, it makes sense for us to live in the same place even if that place is an economy hotel populated by other traveling workers who require the basics - no bed bugs, heat and air conditioning, hot water, a comfortable bed, free wifi and expanded cable.

We're developing a rhythm helped by the fact that we're both creatures of habit. He's up first and out early. I get up, shower, go to the lobby to fill my giant tumbler with an unhealthy amount of caffeine, grab the USA Today for later and return to the room to get to work. At the end of the day, he returns, showers, we eat, do the USA Today Crossword puzzle together, watch a little TV and go to bed.

This week the hotel's hot water tank blew and it was -2 degrees in the West Virginia Panhandle. It's perfectly reasonable for someone who's been doing physical labor outside all day to expect to come back to the hotel for a hot shower. There were probably 300 men who couldn't do that for nearly two days. A pall fell over the Days Inn. The housekeeping staff got a feral look in their eyes if you asked when the hot water might return. Discussions were held about vacating. I feared mutiny.

It's the closest I want to come to pioneer life. Out of desperation, I took a cold shower. So cold it hurt. Water like shards of glass. Or maybe it was ice. Thankfully I'd warmed enough water to rinse my hair. Thank goodness for the in-room microwave, the ice bucket and the coffee maker. I tried to fill the tub with enough hot water so The Electrician could take a bath, but was stymied by the non-functioning drain stopper. I even tried to Life Hack a stopper to no avail.  I'm taking that as a sign that I was right. Life is meant to be weird and difficult.

We survived the ordeal and smell clean again even if my hair does have a slight scent of coffee.

The trickiest part of traveling together is the drive. Four hours each way is plenty of time for me to get under anyone's skin. It's in that quiet car that The Electrician and I are still playing emotional chess - being ourselves, but not quite. We range from letting our freak flags fly to staring silently out the window at the mind-numbingly flat landscape of central Ohio.

I pull out my Kindle and play Solitaire. He jokes it's the most expensive deck of cards he ever purchased. I switch to reading a book until he's no longer paying attention. He recounts the plots and characters of his favorite TV series and movies. I listen and think if I ever have a script or a book completed, he's going to be my pitchman. Sophie Facetimes me and rides along in the car with us. There is much talk of cats.

The Electrician downloads music often. His tastes vary and he tends to play a song over and over until he's had enough. Last week's song was Yelawolf's Til It's Gone. This week's jam is Stephen Bishop's On and On. I had the 45 of that song when I was 10 and music was still pressed onto vinyl discs.

The music provides background for the conversation and filler for the silence. Last night, we rode along singing, neither of us surprised at the lyric muscle memory, both of us off somewhere in the mid 1970s when we couldn't have imagined the strange and wonderful turns our lives would take.

On and on...
You just keep on trying.....

*joke!

What's your song this week?

Take a good look around

The trip to Cincinnati was more than a business trip, more than meetings. It was a quick trip to the past, a visit to my childhood. A return, but with the knowledge I have today. Which, when you're playing penny slots, isn't much.

During the meeting, we stayed at the Hilton Netherland Plaza, a Depression era hotel that has been restored to its original opulence. I loved it, not only for its French Art Deco design, but for the history, the sense of stepping back in time. Until you realized you had to Instagram the shit out of the place.

Which hardly does the place justice, I know.

Then I posted this photo and what I'd been thinking and what my colleagues had been thinking was confirmed by tweets.

What? No twins?

The room corridors are reminiscent of The Overlook Hotel. At fourteen, I saw The Shining at least twice in movie theaters in the Cincinnati area. I loved it for its psychological thrill. I'd enjoyed a steady diet of slasher films, but this movie frightened me in a much deeper way.

One evening, my boss, another coworker and I skipped the optional group activity, had pizza in my room  and watched The Shining. It didn't frighten me like it used to - that exciting, fun kind of scared, but I confess - when I went to bed, I conveniently forgot to turn off the closet light.

The Netherland has its own ghost story. A woman in a green ball gown appears in the elevators, the guest room corridors and The Hall of Mirrors. Many of us joked about hoping to see her.

One afternoon I stepped onto the empty elevator and pushed the button to my floor. 28. At the mezzanine level the elevator stopped and a man from another large group meeting at the hotel got on. He smiled a hello as he fumbled with his tote bag of meeting goodies and pushed number 23.

On the seventh floor, the elevator stopped. The doors opened, but no one got on. Both the man and I leaned forward and craned our necks to see if we should hold the door for someone. There wasn't anyone there. The doors slid closed.

I could feel the man glance at me. Once, twice.

"Do you think she's on here with us?" I asked him.

He laughed. "I wondered that, too."

We both looked around at the gleaming wood, the Art Deco details. There was no green ball gown, no rush of cold air one might expect during a ghostly encounter.

We chatted about how pretty the hotel was as the floors ticked off. At floor twenty-three, he gave me a wink and said "Maybe she'll show herself on your way up to twenty-eight."

I laughed as the door closed behind him. Alone, I gave a shiver and pressed my back against the paneled wall. If the ghost was going to appear, I didn't want to be taken by surprise. I was in serious need of a pee as it was.

I never did see the ghost, but I did get to relive another part of my youth. Our group went to the Great American Ballpark to watch the Reds play the Mets. It was a great game with far better seats than I ever had in Riverfront Stadium back when the Cincinnati Enquirer gave free tickets to straight A students. We had a gorgeous night for it and the Reds were in fine form.

After the meeting, my brother collected me and deposited me at my parents' house in Rising Sun where there was homemade ice cream and Texas sheet cake waiting.

For a day and half, I wasn't a wife or a mother. I was simply a daughter again.

Before my brother arrived at the hotel, I mentioned to my colleagues that I was a little worried that the time would drag. My parents and I don't see each other very often. We don't have much in common. They don't have internet service. How would I survive?

My boss said that her parents were coming for a two week stay one day after she returned home from this trip. My coworker noted that she only wished her parents were still around to visit.

Ah. Perspective.

After the traditional family meal at the Big Boy, where my brother, sister and I reminisced over cherry cokes about eating there when it was a drive-in with carhops, I returned home with my parents. Now what would we do? I was stuck there - no car, no internet. I looked at my phone longingly.

Dad turned on the Reds game and I asked Mother if I could look through some of her boxes of photos.

The rest of the time flew.

We drove around town so I could see what had changed. And what had not.

Over coffee and donuts, they told me about their adventures with private health insurance and doctors visits. Without a lick of irony, Moter mentioned I should really take better care of myself. And I know she's right.

She helped me identify people in old family photos. It's become a project of mine to know these people ever since we accidentally got the Ancestry.com account.

My father called me Liza Jane, his pet name for me. He helped me find some photos of our former family cars. I've had an obsession with them since going to some car shows this summer.

I dragged them to the library to use the wi-fi to show them all the cool things I'd found on Ancestry.com. There they were - listed on the 1940 census. Their parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, some going all the way back to the 1850 census.

In retaliation, they dragged me to the casino on the riverfront.

My mother and I split a twenty on slots. I played for pennies and she suggested I'd become quite the skinflint. I remembered the story my friend told me about watching a guy over the security cameras. The guy masturbated and ejaculated onto one of the machines.

"It's your turn," my mother said.

"No, that's okay. You go ahead."

When the twenty was gone, we retired to the pub to watch baseball and wait for the Friday night drawings for cash prizes. I tried not to dwell on the fact that the casino was one of the most depressing places I've been in years. And that's coming from me, who for the last two years spent at least one day a month at the Department of Labor with all the other unemployed and desperate.

I ordered a beer. My parents drank water. We ate baked potatoes and watched the Reds game on the big screen overhead. A duo played music on a keyboard and guitar. People came and went. My parents knew many of them. My former gym teacher and her husband, once the high school basketball coach and sports director, took a seat in a booth near us. I wouldn't have recognized Mr. W. if his wife hadn't been with him.

It's hard to see these once lively and physically fit people aging. I ordered another beer. My mother wondered aloud if I might have a drinking problem.

I offered the teetotalers a taste of the Blue Moon beer. It took some wheedling. When I finally threatened to hold my breath until my face turned blue, they tried it. Dad didn't hate it. Mother pulled a face and said it tasted like vinegar. This coming from people who willingly drank Fresca.

Or maybe they were clever - they knew their children wouldn't drink it. Not even on a dare.

"Some Baptist you are," I crowed to my mother. "Gambling and drinking!"

"If I weren't so arthritic, I'd be dancing, too," she shot back.

Without elaborating, I mentioned that when she comes to the casino, she should bring hand sanitizer in her purse.

At 10 p.m. sharp, we headed back to their house where I took as many photos of their family photos as I could before I finally tumped over, tired and happy to have had a chance to hang out with my mom and dad. It didn't matter what we did, it was just nice to be there.

Besides, coming from these party animals, what could I expect?

Boogie with a suitcase

Source

Suzy traipsed all over Europe for a month.

Teri went to Italy. So did Sherry. Heck,Cat lives there! And she took a trip to Paris.

Downith, who lives in England, went to the Olympics.

Having conquered France, Bobbi is now moving to Switzerland. Averil left the desert for the green coolness of Portland while Laura just bought her first house and susan is getting ready to move into her new place in Halifax.

Me? I'm going to Cincinnati.

For work.

While this isn't New York London, Paris OR Munich, I'm still excited about it. I come from a small town on the Ohio River, not far from Cincinnati. Growing up, when we mentioned "the city," we were talking about Cincinnati.

In between meetings, there will be the comfort foods of my youth, a Reds game at their new ball field and a trip home to see my parents and siblings, provided my brother remembers to come get me at the hotel.

What's on your itinerary?

Shift into freewheeling and let them follow

During our recent trip, we passed the time by listening to Radio Classics on XM radio. Of all that we listened to - some Phil Harris and Alice Faye, lots of Dick Powell playing various gumshoes, Bob Hope and Baby Snooks, we heard the best episode of Pat Novak for Hire featuring Jack Webb of Dragnet fame. The writing was pulp fantastic. Over the top is what the Radio Classics host Greg Bell called it. He's right.

Here are fragments of dialogue from the episode Rita Malloy from April 23, 1949. (You can listen to the full episode and find more info about the program here.)

It sneaks up and paws you like a wet ghost...
I'm not crazy about waking up with strangers sitting on my bed especially if they got baritone voices....
I don't want chatter and cocktails, now give me those keys....
He didn't even give me time to pick a dream....
I stretched out on the floor, dead as a Philadelphia night club....
If you get any good answers, save a couple for me...
I'd have to do something fast. I had about as much a chance as a pound of liver at a cat show....

Lots of fog tonight, huh, Joe?
You're walkin' on it....

Shift into freewheeling and let them follow.........

He's a good man except he thinks it's a waste of the taxpayers' money to put alcohol in torpedoes.

It was the perfect spot for a missionary. The lobby looked like the first act of Rain. There was a pinball machine in one corner, a couple of last year's girls in this year's slacks, and a bleary-eyed little night clerk. He looked like a well-groomed laundry bag. He gave us the fisheye as we started up the stairs....

I view you as my penance, Patsy. The sackcloth for a misspent life.

You'll always be in trouble because you're a patsy and you're dangerous because you move in the twilight
zone between good and evil without any predisposition toward either one.

I think you'd pick the lock to the gates of Heaven....

It was a pretty room if you like dead women on your rugs....

This all ties together since I've been immersed in researching wartime circa 1944 and I've recently developed a thing for listening to music from that era, as well. When I run on the elliptical, I watch episodes of Homefront on Youtube.

 Technology the time machine.

As I listened to these shows, I was listening for the rhythm of the words, the patter, the high points and pauses. For example, I noticed that David Letterman's monologue rhythm is very similar to that of Bob Hope, especially back when he was doing the USO stage shows. Hope, not Letterman. He's not quite that old yet.

Have your eyes glazed over like mine do when MathMan talks Calculus at me? I swear, I wonder sometimes if I couldn't be found on the autism spectrum in the high functioning segment - Asperger's or such because when I'm in, I'm all in. Until the next bright and shiny thing catches my fancy.

Ooooooor, perhaps as one of the bone idle unemployed, I have just a little too much time on my hands. Either way, I quite like escaping into the past where the future looked brighter and you didn't have to fuss with dropped cell phone calls when you're on the phone with AT&T's customer service. I mean, we're in two wars and a chick can't even find a factory job riveting shit.

I know, I know, I'm romanticizing the past, times were tough for a lot of people, you brushed your teeth with powder, tampons weren't mainstream and the internet wasn't even a gleam in the government's eye. I'd never survive without Google for chissakes. Please don't harsh my nostalgia buzz, okay? See this straw? I'm grasping it pretty hard. So.

I've done it again. Completely sidetracked. Back to what I meant to write about. The things that make the dialogue of The Pat Novak show pop are the similes and the wicked turns of phrases that, if you don't listen carefully, you might miss. Sure it's dated and corny, but what's not to love about it? It makes me want to start calling people Bub and Sister and prefacing my declarative sentences with "Listen, see......"

What kinds of dialogue do you like? What are your favorite similes, metaphors, phrases? What movie lines or sentences from novels do you repeat? What's your favorite era?

What Ryan Adams said

It's funny how in the span of a couple of days one can go from this:

Central Park, Across the Reservoir

Central Park West

Strawberry Fields in the morning.

Metropolitan Museum of Art, Sackler Room

Metropolitan Museum of Art, Sackler Room

Metropolitan Museum of Art, Sackler Room

Metropolitan Museum of Art

She was so close she could see each of Van Gogh's brushstrokes. Quiet squeals of joy.

Metropolitan Museum of Art, Picasso.

Metropolitan Museum of Art, Monet's Rouen Series

Near the end of the trip. You can tell, right?

And bam! We're back. Sophie is back to school today and I'm back to this.

Except she looks much better than I do while I'm doing chores.

From magical adventure to loading the dishwasher, scooping the litterboxes and wondering how much fiber can be counted in all that cat hair you inadvertently consume. This is life, isn't it? If it weren't for the dreary days of the mundane, I suppose we wouldn't appreciate the little sidetrips into fun and whimsy.

And still, I titled this one I know how she feels......

Thank you for the well wishes. We had a great time. It's something we wouldn't have done if we'd thought it through properly because there were definitely a couple of times where I fretted about the details, but there was no turning back. We tossed a few clothes and toiletries in a bag and left our comfort zone. We were rewarded for it by learning that we can manage a trip like this on very little money and have lots of fun together on our own. And that's the lesson I'm sure Sophie and I will take from this. Oh, and that the Cuban food at Sophie's rocks. Right, GMB? (Thanks for lunch!)

What's the most spontaneous trip you've ever taken?

The third time's the charm

I'm writing this on exactly 1.5 hours of sleep since Saturday night, so please excuse me if my you're is a your.

Saturday we got an email message from a friend, do you remember the blogger Eebie? Well, he was flying back to Honduras to his home in New York City. His flight was canceled due to Hurricane Irene and he was going to need a place to stay in Atlanta. Most of the hotels were booked up.

We offered him a place in our home and went to pick him up at Hartsfield Jackson. Eebie, or let's call him by his real name Martin took us out for dinner at our fabulous local place Okinawa, then we all settled in for the night.

Sunday it became clear that Martin was going to have a hard time getting another flight, bus or ride. He was pretty agitated by this because he really needed to get back to work. I jokingly offered to drive him back.

Today is Monday, I think. Anyway, I drove Martin back to NYC. Sophie came with me. In exchange for the ride, Martin offered to pay our gasoline and gave Sophie and me a place to crash. We left Georgia at 5pm Sunday and arrived at Martin's great apartment in a fabulous neighborhood at 10:00 a.m. Monday.

Today is a blur because I haven't slept since Saturday night, but here's what we did:
Walked to Central Park to see Strawberry Fields.
Walked to Times Square. Gawked like the tourists we are.
Ate street meat and loved it.
Bought a subway card and took the train north to Martins apartment.
Laid around for half an hour and caught our breath then showered.
Went back to explore more of Central Park and then sat and people watched at Strawberry Fields. Loved that.
Ate a giant pretzel for dinner because I could.
Counted 42 people speaking languages other than English. Loved that, too.

We're heading back tomorrow afternoon because Sophie has to get back to school. I think I'll write her an absent note and say that she was on the best damn field trip ever.

Before we leave, we're going to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And having lunch, I hope, with Pissed in NYC!!!

I think we'll arrive back home around 5 a.m. on Wednesday. I'll wake up on Friday, around noon. Maybe. I should note that we disappointed Martin by not having the energy to go back out and see Times Square at night, but next time. Next time. Lots of next times.

This is the first time I've been back to New York since the bad thing happened.What did I learn from this? I will never let fear stop me from living.

And now you're all caught up, she said with a satisfied grin. Right before she toppled over snoring.

xoxoxoxoxox

Lisa

P.S. I still love Utz potato chips.

The One Where I Get Booed

DAY ONE

We actually left on time-ish. For us. Okay, we were a half hour behind schedule, but it was no big deal. Unless, of course, you ask Nathan to whom everything is a big deal.

Mathman drove for a while and I snapped photos, handed out gum to help pop ears as we drove through the mountains and refereed when the kids fussed about who had more space. Kitty Noir, aka PorkChop, mewed from his cat carrier. He was confused. I'd tried doping him with the tranquilizers from the vet, but didn't give him a large enough dose so he was sleepy and confused.

Finally, Sophie took the cat out of the carrier and he settled right down.

We drove through North Georgia, Tennessee and Kentucky. Like Erma Bombeck, I entered most states butt first as I hung over the backseat sorting out one thing or another. Kitty Noir aka Porkchop curled up on top of the cat carrier and slept.

Nathan's new fun habit is to boo things that displease him. During the drive north, he booed traffic, his parents, a man in a car next to us who accidentally swerved into our lane, his sister, the Congress, MSNBC, Bob Hope and Tchaikovsky.

We looked at the pretty scenery. And talked about everything and nothing at all.

Nickajack Lake in Tennessee

We reached Indiana, the longest, most boring state through which to drive north to south and vice versa. So I took a photo at the rest stop where we stopped to relieve ourselves and paw through the brochures. I love seeing how my homestate markets itself.

We'd originally planned to stop at the halfway point which would have been just north of Louisville, but MathMan's sister said she didn't mind if we disrupted her sleep by arriving in the wee hours so we pushed on through.

Between Indianapolis and Chicago, we noticed red lights dotting the landscape. They blinked in sync. What is that?

Windmills. A wind farm in Indiana. Alternative energy in the same state that has privatized its toll road? That privatization sucks, by the way. They cut their costs by replacing the human beings with ATM machines. I've never sat in such long lines at a toll booth. And the road quality? Horrible. Mitch Daniels Fail. Illinois hasn't gone that way and by comparison, their tollroads are a delight.

We arrived in Des Plaines and tumbled from the car, but not before we drove around the block and gawked at our old house in the dark. It looked okay, new siding, new fence, but the huge tree in the back yard was gone and so were the Chinese Elms that I'd planted as sticks. When we left in 2003, they were well over ten feet tall. I had Nathan boo the new owners.

We woke up and went for breakfast at a traditional coffee shop. No Starbucks when there's a Sugarbowl, thank you.

We drove around the old haunts until it was time to take Pork Chop to his new home. The photo below is from the drive north. I didn't want you to think we forced the kitten to drive around Chicago and its environs.

MathMan and Nate took the train downtown where they walked from Madison and State up to the Water Tower and back. Sophie and I took kitty to his new home. One word. Love. We love Lyra and her family and PorkChop is going to be so loved. He even has his own perch, lucky kitty. Lyra tells the story best.

We had dinner with MathMan's brother and his family. It was nice and lowkey. While talking to my sister-in-law, I was struck once again with how nice it is to be able to hang out with someone you've known a long time and it's like no time has passed at all.

Nathan didn't boo a single thing while we were there.

DAY TWO

Mathman, Nate and I went out for our traditional bagels at Bagel Country in Skokie. I had toasted with cream cheese, MathMan had untoasted with lox and the full plate, Nate had PBandJ. We ate like it was 1999 all over again. Nate noted that he could never be an Orthodox Jew, it's too restrictive. Yeah, I get that. But wouldn't you like to be part of a community like this sometimes? I wanted to know. He scanned the room as he chewed his PBandJ bagel and nodded. Sometimes.

This face was anxious to get to the beach. It would be her first time that she remembered going.

But first we had to have Super Dawg. Hiya!

Joe the Cop aka Bubs joined us at Super Dawg. We've known Joe for about four or five years now as bloggers. It was so nice to sit and visit with him. Joe is as awesome as I expected, even more.

We made it to the beach. It was a gorgeous day for it.

MathMan and Nate took another train to go see the White Sox at U.S. Cellular Field. We picked them up after the game and went to Joe the Cop's police station for a tour. It was so cool.

I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to say, but we had a very thorough tour of the facilities, including the firing range where they have these targets featuring Chuck Norris and Gary Coleman. I mean, right?

We also saw the room with the confiscated firearms including the first one Joe had to take from a suspect. We got to hold a rifle from WWII. Dang. Those soldiers were toting some heavy kit.

Joe asked for volunteers to spend a few minutes in a cell. Nate and I said sure. That's an experience I wouldn't want to live through involuntarily. There was a bed attached t the wall, a sink and a toilet. There was a slot in the door where you get your food. The sound of the door clanging shut is what really gets to you. I have video of the door closing behind us and I'll post it if I can figure out how to download it from my phone. All that time spent in jail slowed down my technological learning, you know?

Come to think of it, if they left the lights on, that cell would be the perfect place to finish my novel.

Yes, Nathan booed when the door went clunk. Of course.

Joe knows his business. If I'm ever arrested, I hope it's in (redacted), Illinois. I mean, my brother could arrest me, too, but then my parents would hear about it and it would turn into a big thing and everyone would get involved and there'd be yelling and tears and oh I'd never live that shit down. So (redacted) it is.

We arrived at MathMan's sisters to a Lane Tech Band party in full swing. I met people I've only heard of for years. Good people, all tied together because of the influence of my late father-in-law who I never got a chance to meet. Looking around at all those people who still love making music, I can tell you, he left his mark on the world.


DAY THREE

Mathman dragged me from my hiding place and made me get in the car. I pouted as I drove south on I294. Nathan booed us all for good measure. We made great time, considering the construction traffic jam somewhere on I65. At my behest, Nate booed the construction workers. Then we took it back because I can tell you, after crossing many, many bridges, this country needs to put some money into infrastructure improvements.

The wind farm in the daylight. It's wild. You can learn about it here. We actually saw some of the rotors on trailers being hauled by large trucks. Enormous. No booing. We cheered the ingenuity of it all.

On the way back, we did get to visit amyg. It is such a kick to meet in person the people who make up this wonderful community. Amy is as gorgeous and full of life in person as she is online. Before we met, I phoned her to let her know that we were a pretty surly bunch. I was driving, Mathman was shotgun and referee and the kids just wanted to be home already. Amy was undeterred. She brought along her two little ones and joined us for some Big Boy outside of Louisville. We had a great time, as always, too short. Amy's kids are precious and my own even behaved. Nathan didn't boo anyone.

Cliched as it is, it's good to be "home." Now to get busy finding a way to get back to where I really want to be...

List unfinished

Okay, you guys. I'm typing this from my hiding place. We're supposed to leave Monday morning for home, but I'm not ready for the fun to end so I'm doing what little kids do when they don't want to go home. I'm hiding in the back of the closet. I tried to squeeze under the futon we've been sleeping on, but I'm just not as svelte as I was when I visited my cousints' house on Salem Ridge Road. We always had such a good time and it never lasted long enough. Besides Mom always found me under the bed. Maybe the closet is a better bet.

We've had such a great day and I don't know where to begin - Sophie's first trip to the lake (that she remembers)? The short stay in a jail cell? The party of excellence or the walk around the block that made me a little sad? It's been a busy visit. A good visit. A visit that makes me want to seriously step up the job search in Chicago because when you finally figure out what feels like home, you just want to be there already. Maybe it's because I'm getting older and I realize that family and shared history and memories do matter. Maybe it's because it looks like we might leave Chicago without having had pizza.

I better go. If MathMan hears the click clack of typing, he's sure to make me get in the car.

Love to you all.

From the road

Thank you all for the well wishes. The cat hand-off went perfectly except I could have used much more time hanging out with Lyra. I'm so happy for this cat. He's in a wonderful home where he's going to be loved to pieces by everyone except Pearl, the fifteen year old cat. And who can blame Pearl? Who wants to be intruded upon by a younger, more energetic hottie?

I'm pleased to report that no family member has killed anyone else thus far. There have been quite a few funny lines delivered, but I'm reluctant to repeat them here because then you'd have further evidence of what savages we are.

The trip so far has been wonderful. MathMan's sister and her husband have put us up in her suite of rooms which is lovely and newly remodeled. We've seen friends and family and driven around the old haunts.

Have I mentioned how homesick I am for this place?

There will have to be more later. There are still bagels and hot dogs to eat and can you believe we haven't even had a single slice of pizza? There's also a potential meet up with one of my long time blogger friends and a trip to the beach.

Did I mention how homesick I am for this place?

Until then, I miss you guys.

And we can listen to XRT!

It's going to be a busy weekend. We're leaving today to take Pork Chop to his new home in Illinois with Lyra and her family and while we're there, we're going to visit family and friends and eat. So far our list of food musts includes:

Super Dawg
Lou Malnati's
Adreani's Pizza
Marie's Pizza
Bagel Country
And one of any number of coffee shops like Kappy's on Dempster.
We'll also be bringing home a sack of Kaufman's bagels, I tell you what.

When we come home, I'm going to weigh 20 lbs. more, I tell you what. And yes, I realize that our list lacks a certain variety, but we'll probably squeeze in another hot dog joint or two, if we can. There's a fiscal method to this madness. After this trip, we won't have to buy groceries for the remainder of the month. We'll live off our fat.

We're also stopping at the halfway point and I hope I get see amyg show is celebrating her birthday today so you might want to go wish her the best.

I am really looking forward to this. I've been so homesick for Chicago, I can't even tell you. So on Monday, if you hear of an incident involving a silver-haired woman who had to be forced to stop clinging to the Welcome to Illinois sign while she cried that she wanted to staaaaaay! you'll know who's been at it again.

Here's our route. Fascinating, I know.


View Larger Map
 

See you on Monday or Tuesday. Until then...love, peace and all the rest.

P.S. CSPAN''s Washington Journal read one of my tweets this morning. It was both cool and odd to see my face on TV. Good thing I stopped using that avatar where I'm mooning the camera.

 P.S.S. In case you're worried about my reckless broadcasting that our house will be standing empty, please note that the house is under tight security. You've heard the stories about my crazy ass neighbors, right? Well, they're keeping an eye. And the five Pussies for Peace will remain at home where they are in very bad moods about being left behind. They have a few stern words for Rahm and are pissed to be missing the opportunity to meet with him in person instead of via Skype the way they usually conduct their bullying advocacy. Be warned.

What Took You So Long?

Things I've learned been reminded of this week:

!. You can go "home" again.
2. Just because friends don't call you doesn't mean you shouldn't call them. Maybe they're giving you space and maybe you hurt them just a tiny bit.
3. Three years is a long time and not very long at all.
4. You have to ask for the job.
5. There may be hope for me yet.
6. Lots of things don't change in your absence. Lots of things do.
7. One person's small action can set off a chain of events they don't even realize they triggered. There's a story there. I know, it's been done.
8. It is possible for someone to disappear without an Invisibility Cloak or faking their own death.
9. Old friends fall quickly into established patterns when they're reunited.
10. As much as I hate to admit it and even more, I hate to do it, it's very good for me to get out of my charming domestic box with its cat hair lining and ironed curtains.

New readers don't remember when I used to write about work, but some of you will remember the old job where I used to travel with a small, tightly-knit band of rowdies who liked to party late into the night. My role was noisemaker, singles stuffer into g-strings, cheerleader, herder of cats, director of traffic and den mother. Now doesn't that sound more fun than being the Executive Director of a small professional association of people who manage something?

Yesterday, I went as a guest to my old association's luncheon and saw a lot of old friends and acquaintances. I didn't know what to expect since the last time I saw these people, my life was coming apart. After I left that job, I stopped talking to those folks because I was a little hurt and I was embarrassed about my situation. So when I wrote one of the past presidents to ask him for a reference, he said of course and also invited me to the luncheon. I was afraid to go, but just like he used to when we worked together as partners, he insisted in his way. He often knew what was best when I couldn't see the forest for the trees.

It took me no time at all to get my networking legs back. There were handshakes and hugs and many questions about where I'd "disappeared" to. Most of these people thought I'd gone to New York. They didn't know I'd stayed for only one day.

I glossed over the details and collected business cards and suggestions for where to look for work. A recruiter asked me to call her. I even got hired by one of my old friends to do some freelance writing and editing.

I learned about the changes in some of my friends lives and oohed and aahed over photos of kids, lost weight and job promotions. The most familiar moment came when the featured speaker, a Georgia State Representative, was giving his speech. I was seated between two past presidents. The one who insisted I come and the other with whom I once drove from Atlanta to New Orleans. Mr. Insist leaned over and whispered "Your job is to ask during Q and A if he's ever tweeted photos of his privates."

I laughed, drawing the attention of my other president so, of course, I had to repeat the joke to her. They both leaned in and I shared with them that I'd learned to be more subtle than that. I would just raise my hand and ask for the State Rep's Twitter handle.

One said to the other, that's why she's the writer.  

As we chatted in the parking lot afterward, Mr. Insist talked about finding happiness and wondering if he would ever find it. He asked me what had taken me so long to get in touch. I could think of many reasons, but I didn't have an answer. I changed the subject. I told him how I'd been thinking that it was our meeting at a national training for the parent organization back in 2002 that led him to recruit me for the job in Georgia so that my family moved here and all the things that had happened as a result.

He wanted to know if I blamed him?

Blame him? No. How could I? But it made me think of how our actions, no matter how insignificant they seem at the time, have ripple effects we'll probably never be aware of.

Promises were made to not be a stranger and we said goodbye. I drove home and emailed gratitude and resumes to the people who requested one. I got in touch with the fellow who hired me to help him with writing and editing. I wouldn't let another three years go by.

She Walked Through the Corn Leading Down to The River

When I saw the movie Strictly Ballroom for the first time, I was pinned down in my seat by one line. This line, the key line of the movie, was so familiar to me and yet no one had ever actually uttered those words.

I realized this weekend why those words held such meaning for me.

But let me back up. The trip to my hometown was fun. Nate decided to join Sophie and me. He reminded me that we had to listen to XM Bluegrass Junction as we drove through Tennessee and Kentucky. And so we did. Did I ever tell you that my maternal great grandad was a fiddler? That music is part of my heritage so it was not only geographically appropriate, it was also a great segue for talking about my family to Nate while Sophia slept in the backseat. And if we hadn't tuned in, I might never have known that there's a bluegrass version of Fox on the Run.

It was great to see family and friends of my parents who I'd not seen since 1997 or before. I saw my first grade teacher Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Curry who used to babysit me and let me play with her fireplace tools in her pristine living room as long as I promised to leave the poker alone. I saw cousins I hadn't seen in ages and gave unsolicited advice about how to get labor started to the girlfriend of one of them. Come to think of it, I spent a week in Cincinnati in 1982 babysitting that father to be.....

Anyway, the anniversary party was very nice, just as I expected. Quiet, dignified, and a little self-conscious. I come from people who like to have a little fun. Not a whooping loud lot of fun. A little fun. They're skittish about letting people see them cut loose. And by cut loose, I mean drink soda pop, eat a good country buffet meal and sit around a pole shed catching up, telling stories, and laughing. These are not nor have they ever been cocktail partiers or chandelier swingers. They're just regular folks with no pretensions and don't accuse them otherwise. And as per usual, there was no alcohol served. And that's okay. They have their reasons.

My mother is the daughter of an alcoholic who died young. My father claims to have never liked alcohol, but the bigger reason, I suspect, is that he saw drinking and smoking as complete wastes of money and impediments to climbing the socio-economic ladder to the safe middle class.

So I had a root beer with my barbecue, cole slaw and delicious potato casserole. It didn't kill me.

On the way home, Nate and I chatted about what a nice weekend it had been. Now, Nathan was always an observant kid. Even when he was young, he'd pick up on my moods and ask "What's wrong?" So it was no surprise when he noticed the frequent use of a certain phrase during our short stay with my parents.

"Mom, have you noticed that they say 'I would have, but I was afraid' alot?"

I had noticed.

"What are they afraid of?"

It's a good question. I know that I'm more a risk taker than my parents are. Sometimes it works out well, sometimes it's a disaster. Most times it's just another moment in my life to be cataloged, categorized, dissected and done with. I can't say for sure what they were afraid of, but I could guess...Fear of failure? Fear of being judged?

It got me to thinking about how we kind of cover our mouths when we laugh. How we worry so damn much what people might think, or worse what people might say about us. That's part of life in a small town, of course, so I don't blame them. They sought and achieved security. They met their goal and they've had a pretty pleasant life. They probably look at MathMan and me and wonder how we manage with the constant uncertainty that underscores our lives. Knowing that family is far away from any potential embarrassment is a large factor in how I manage living in a small town these days. No one really knows us enough to care or gossip about us. And I like it that way.

I thought about that while I drove. Finally I said, "I hate to think about how much of their lives they didn't live because they were afraid."

Nate nodded. "I guess they're happy enough."

It's something I am learning to appreciate, but I wonder....was it best to always hold back? What might life have been like if they laughed out loud more, if they didn't worry so much about what people might think, if they stopped comparing themselves and simply just did what they wanted sometimes.

And you? Do you hold back? Take risks? Somewhere in the middle?

There Will Be No Parking in the Rear

Friday, March 19, 2010
Travel log: Trip to Rising Sun, Indiana

Special note: No computer will be available. Any updates will be issued via Facebook and Twitter
Can you believe it - my parents don't have a computer? Thank goodness, otherwise I'd have to stop blogging.

View Larger Map

Sophia and I are making this drive on Friday. You can track us via the wonders of GPS and some left over vajazzling rhinestones that we've attached to Roxanne's roof. The sun is supposed to be out so that little white car should be easy to pick out as it sparkles its way up I75.

The drive should be fine, but I hope that Sophia sleeps some because if I have to listen to 20 on 20 on XM, I may stroke out. I mean, I love Lady Gaga, but after hearing Bad Romance for the sixth or seventh time, even I will need a shot of Led Zeppelin as an antidote.

Anyway, the trip should take us about seven hours, half of which we will probably spend talking about the food we'll eat when we get there (Hello, Skyline Chili!). Before we go to Rising Sun, we're going to make a little side trip to Corydon, Indiana for some Butt Drugs.

Since Sophie has never seen a real soda fountain/lunch counter before, I thought this would make a great bit of Americana to show her. Even after all these years, I can remember drinking Sprite through a paper straw at the little drugstore on Main Street.

On Saturday, I'll be getting sloppy drunk with my family. Okay, that's a lie. I'll be getting sloppy drunk and falling down and embarrassing my parents. They'll be standing around trying not to notice. Their folded arms and red faces will be a dead giveaway, though.

More lies. My parents are teetotalers of the highest order. There won't be a drop of the good stuff within a mile of the community center where this gala is being held. Well, except for the trailer park that sits about two hundred yards from the fairgrounds where all this celebratin' is taking place. Even now, I remember drinking Jack Daniels straight from a bottle at a New Year's Eve Party 1980 at that trailer park....

But enough about my distant and whiskey-soaked memories. I just wanted to tell you that I'll be back on Monday or so. Depending on what goes on at this shindig, you know how it is. Once the Rook cards come out and everyone is lit up on lime sherbet punch, you never know what kind of crazy might happen.

Have a great weekend,

Lisa

Home Movie Summer 2009

I really hope that the candy of my youth has restorative powers, otherwise, I have no business sitting here consuming massive amounts of Charms, candy cigarettes, Clark bars, French Chews, Slo Pokes, and, of course, M&Ms. Now, M&Ms are hardly exotic, but I'm convinced that life without M&Ms would not be worth living.

Anyway, the only reason I've removed the wax lips from my face is to pop another yummy sweet morsel of candy into my mouth. It's all part of my long work-week recovery plan. Some people do retail therapy, I do Sugar Therapy.

I wanted to tell you about last week - my family joined me on a business trip to the North Georgia mountains and about what a fun summer we're having, but it's easier to show you.

There's more to come, like how I got to meet Dawn and her incredibly talented husband Scott who provided music for the people attending our work function last Thursday evening (not an easy gig, I can tell you).

But for now, I have to go......I'm still trying to figure out how to add more hours to the 24 we get each day and failing.........

Rewinding Part 2 It's a Trip

A thrilling story of exotic travel on a budget, family bliss and regional food.....

We got on the road yesterday at about 7:20pm. We endured/enjoyed the typical travel drama. Garbo issues the warning that she's "not feeling well." Mama (that's still me, dang it) manages to handle the news with her usual lack of grace.

"This is why I wanted to travel alone." The words just hang in the air. MathMan, who had balked at my idea of going by myself when I initially announced that idea, played peacemaker by suggesting a stop at the CVS for chewable Dramamine for Garbo, beef jerky for The Actor/Ninja and chocolate for me.

MathMan is wise.

Fueled by Chic Fil-A because we had a gift card and a coupon for a free kids meal that Garbo and I could split (we are, after all, frugal travelers), we navigated our way through Cartersville and onto I75 North, pointed towards our destination of Rising Sun, Indiana.

At about the fiftieth mile, Mathman was tossing Rolos into my mouth. By mile sixty, I was asking if we were there yet. Around about mile seventy-two, we'd already heard the Miley Cyrus song The Climb twice. By mile ninety, the Actor/Ninja had announced, yet again, that the Jonas Brothers are talentless goombahs invented by Disney, except he didn't use those tidy terms.

By mile one-hundred, MathMan and I had re-asserted our dominance over the radio and were dancing and singing and moving to the groove when somebody turned around.......

Finally, before we become totally weary travelers, we pulled off in Clinton, Tennessee, not quite half-way, but north of Knoxville. We bypassed the Holiday Inn properties and chose the Country Inn and Suites instead. I can't leave the Toyota by the roadside, but I can choose not to patronize a hotel. (boycott reference)

I'll let you know how the free breakfast is. So far the place is clean, pleasant and a good space for us. The bed gets a thumbs down for being too firm. And I discovered that The Actor/Ninja who slept in the double bed opposite the one I shared with MathMan (Garbo slept on the foldout sofa in the living room area) talks in his sleep. And his sleeping patterns mirror mine. MathMan, as he tells it, fell asleep during the first episode on the Rosemary & Thyme dvd we brought along. He also fell asleep during the second and third. The Actor and I were still wide awake until somewhere in the third when we conked out around 2am. Ah, the joys of being hyper.

This morning we make the second half of our journey to the place of my beginnings. We'll stop in Lawrenceburg for food (I've already declared that we should stop for lunch before we make our presence known so that no family member feels compelled to offer "lunchmeat" at their house.) We may be traveling on a budget, but I don't go to the place of my birth for boiled ham on white bread with Miracle Whip. Oh,no.

We'll have Frish's Big Boy or Skyline Chili or we'll have nothing at all.

Tonight is the reunion. I really am looking forward to it. I know that some of you would rather chew glass than revisit your past, but for me, this is going home and that's not so bad in small doses. I'm rather happy to re-connect with the people with whom I shared my youth. Maybe it's because it was such a small school or maybe it's precisely because I don't get back there very often, but every once in a while, it's good for me to know that as rootless as I am now, there was once a place that I really called home*.

Oh, yes, the Royal Pains love to see their parents sing this and seat-dance. The shame and horror made them go all quiet.

*Let's see what I'm saying on the way back. Heh.

Well, It Ain't the Ritz

But it's home.....

To wrap up our trip to Lake Oconee. After we learned that the car was possessed - okay, the electronic locks were all cattywampus - I ruled that The Dancer was not going to drive to Athens by herself. Imagine, if you will, she's driving alone for an hour, nervous, on unfamiliar roads, on her way to a really important audition, still feeling sick and no sure how often she'll need an emergency bathroom break. Add to the mix, being locked into the car and well - I wasn't having it. It seemed like an invitation for more trouble.

So she extricated herself from the car and went back to the room to sleep while I attended my meetings. The University emailed us and someone is supposed to call about possibly rescheduling the audition. Here's hoping.

Finally, The Dancer and I got on the road. It was a quiet, uneventful trip, punctuated by the sound of an occasional received text message or me asking her if she was still doing okay. We zoomed along in the possessed car, sealed in tightly and all locked up.'

We arrived home and I pulled into the garage. The Dancer exhaled a long breath. "Man, do I have to pee," she said.

I switched off the ignition. "Me, too," I agreed, undoing my seat belt. "This stuff is going to have to wait." I gestured over my shoulder at the luggage.

Automatically,we both reached for the car doors. Click. Click. They weren't budging. Oh, fuckery. Having to pee is great motivation to move quickly. We bumped heads as we clambered over the car seat and went tumbling out of the passenger's side rear door (the only one that had stayed unlocked). Shoving and fighting each other all the way up the stairs, we reached the top, and ran down the hall to the bathroom.