Seat Mates

Late last week, George and I drove to The Farm in MN from our permanent residence in IL. We set out on the five-hour road trip in order to celebrate first our anniversary, and then three days later, my birthday. We decided it would be fun to hold my birthday festivities near our youngest son Brian, his wife and our grandgirlies (3.5 and 1.5), who love to party with their Grannie B and Grandpa George. Or anyone.

After 39 years of marriage, you’d think we’d be better at getting ready to hit the road together. But instead, the usual happened: we yelled at each other while packing the car. George puts stuff in the car too early, even though I’ve spent 39 years asking him NOT TO DO THAT! I forget things and we have to go back home, even though he’s spent 39 years asking me if I have everything—and I always answer YES! For an engineer, he seems to harbor a block against the spatial concept of “nesting” items for tighter packing. For a creative type, I seem to harbor a great hostility when pointing this out to him. But in spite of ourselves, eventually we got Kornflake, our big red dog, in the back seat, and with a great exhausted sigh, we backed out (for the second time, after we had to return for whatever it was I forgot) and settled in for the drive. Since we were finally in Party Mode (once we got over the SCREAMING part), about half-way to our destination, we even veered off and enjoyed a short visit with friends who have been married a very long time, friends who know what married life is really like.

The next day was our anniversary. What to do? Brian told us about a band that was appearing at the historic Trempealeau Hotel in Trempealeau WI, about a half-hour drive from The Farm. We decided to make an evening of it, and thus a dinner reservation was made for 5:30.

Dinner reservations. Now there’s something we almost never do. We are decidedly your “extreme casual type”.

Since we’re old, we arrived a half-hour early. Yes, they could seat us anyway. Would we like to be out on the screen porch so we could see the river? You betcha! We ordered an hors d’ouevre (which we almost never do—and we highly recommend the walnut balls), a cup of soup, entrées (we never have a taste for the same thing), and we even split a dessert, something in which we almost never indulge.

But before we ordered, we experienced a SHOCKING FIRST, and it seems we had to be on the road together in order to do so. Hang on to your carry-ons: we sat on the same side of the table - next to each other! If you want to see a 6’2” man freeze, picture George staring at the placemats when the hostess set them down side by side. To be honest, it gave me pause, too. But, why wouldn’t we both want to have that terrific view facing the river? So I seated myself. After a moment, so did George. But it just felt so strange.

I noticed the couple at the table to our right were side-by-side, both facing the river, too, as were the couple to our left. I guess the assumption is: couples are comfortable this way, even if they’ve been married a billion years. Or, perhaps after a billion years together, it’s a relief not to face each other. Who knows.

“It’s our anniversary today,” I said to the gentleman to my right. “Thirty-nine years, and this is the first time we’ve sat on the same side of the table!” (I have no self control when I’m flabbergasted.)

“We do it all the time,” he said, gently smiling at his wife. “There’s no going back. You’ll love it!”

George did not look convinced. My jury was still out.

By the time we’d devoured half our hors d’ouevre, the couple to our left received their main course, each of their plates set before them on the same side of the table. It was then I witnessed a hostile break in this “no going back” new “norm.” As soon as the waitress disappeared, with a look of great relief, the man to our left moved himself, his placemat, his plate and his glass of wine across the table from his wife, river view be darned. His wife’s expression was hard to read since it was mostly hidden in her giant wine glass, which she seemed more intent on keeping to her lips once he moved. Read into that what you will.

I glanced sideways at George, waiting to see if he noticed, wondering if he’d be next to break ranks. But he did not. Not even after our meals arrived. All the way through dessert (warm cranberry cake with vanilla sauce—mmmmmmmm), side-by-side we sat, staring not into each other’s dreamy anniversary eyes, but at our food and the river.

When we were done with dessert and ready to move onto the next thing, George asked, “Do you have everything?”

“I think so,” I said.

We took my to-go box to the car and retrieved our lawn chairs. Time to set up camp (side by side, which was only sensible for this part of the evening) for the entertainment out under the stars. (See September 20.) Of course George liked the opening band best, while I preferred the headliner (oh, baby, I love a wailin' harmonica!); we are almost never on the same wavelength about anything. The ol’ Mississip rolled by in the background while we sat side by side and people watched—again not staring into each other’s dreamy anniversary eyes.

When we decided we’d had enough, we packed up our stuff (“Do you have everything?” “I think so,”) and headed back to The Farm. I yawned all the way, thinking, “What a lovely anniversary evening. Isn’t it funny what we had to go through to enjoy it? We had to yell at each other while packing the car (usual), drive five hours (usual), unload our stuff (usual), cross the river from MN to WI to go to the Historic Trempealeau Hotel (hardly ever), all in order to, for the very first time, sit on the same side of the table during dinner

.

Since I often travel alone, one of my favorite pastimes is people watching. I’ve always noticed and wondered about those couples who sat next to each other. They appeared so romantic, so pleased with themselves and each other. And now I know that perhaps it was their first time ever to do so too. Maybe they didn’t stay that way after I left and the main course arrived. Maybe they yelled at each other all the way home. Maybe they were just sick and tired of looking at each other. Maybe they never sit any other way, even at home. (Maybe it was a blind date and they were trying to impress each other.) I’ll never know.

But I do know this: for a few hours on a beautiful fall evening, we were those lovebirds. And it was Just Right.

- - - - - - - - - -

How about you? Ever sit on the same side when there's just the two of you? Always? Never? CHIME IN and post a comment!

Poetic License

The onslaught of fall and fall weather always makes me melancholy. (Plus, it's my birthday month.) Thinking back on the remarkable stories I've heard and/or overheard, whereby the unsuspecting takes place during an otherwise boring business trip, the poet in me began to pray open the Hard Core Business Woman, and with that breakthrough came a poem.

Thus, with great joy and a convergence of muse and opportunity, I was once again able to attend my monthly poetry group. I've been a member for probably twenty years. I almost never used to miss. Then, I started my business travels. Month after month, I read the invitation with a fierce longing. But last night I enjoyed the opportunity to wallow in the good company of fellow poets and an onslaught of creative words!

Weariness, turbulence, annoying conversations, loud people, deadlines . . . these things often do not inspire The Poet Within--at least with poetry anyone would want to read. But this week, you, you lucky-lucky traveler, "get to" read the fruits of my poetic and melancholy, birth-day month labors.

Enjoy. And remember, anything is possible, especially with the airlines!

--------------


A Wing & A Prayer

By Charlene Ann Baumbich
©September 2008, Charlene Ann Baumbich


she first noticed
the tiny black wings
hovering over the head
of her seatmate
as
they sat
side by side
in the 727
sipping of sweet wine and
each other

wondering at


the swirly and magnetic
light in his eyes
still
she noticed
the wings
hovering near his
left ear
then hers

bzz
bzz
bzzzz

resisting the
urge
to swat
she stared
straight
to her right
straight into
that magnificent
eye-light
of his

without
WARNING
the tiny black wings
soared
into her ear
and
followed a channel
right into her mouth

unable to stop herself
she swallowed
the weensy rogue
until it dove
straight
into her heart
which it bit

who could have
guessed that
those tiny black wings
attached

to such a tiny taut torso
would cause
such a
life-altering change

once again
and
at long last
without warning
the love bug
had answered
yet another
prayer

Perspective Pause

Our neighbor is currently undergoing therapy for a bad back. Watching her struggle to get to the bathroom, walk down the hall, or get in and out of her car reminds me to stoke the fires of my gratitude for my own unhampered mobility. If you are currently enjoying good health, I encourage you to do the same. Every sprint for a gate, every fold and unfold out of an airline seat, every stretch we take in the current night's bed which we can make without a grimace is a gift.

Sure, I suffer with an odd hitch or twitch every now and again. I’m 62. However, it’s nothing that doesn't work itself out after I get the ol' bod moving. But I remember well the book tour I endured while lugging a carry-on bag and my torturous pain from state to state. When I stop and open my memory portfolio to that trip log, I still recall--can almost feel--how long it took me to stand at the end of a flight by uprighting a quarter-inch at a time, switching between holding my breath and panting in order to stifle a scream. I still applaud the kind travelers around me who asked if they could help with my bag.

Medications, prayers, guts and grit, sheer will . . . What we endure on the road is too often taken for granted--until it stops us dead in our tracks.

If you are living through one of those grinding spells, know I am cheering you on and encouraging each of the rest of us to watch for opportunities to help a wounded sojourner. Perhaps it will be you. Sure, we like to gripe about the folks whose carry-on bags are too heavy for them to handle; but sometimes any bag--no matter how lightly we've packed--is cause for intense distress. We cannot always judge a "situation" by the sour look on a face, a discombobulated moment or a short temper. Perhaps the miracle for that person is that they've arrived in front of us at all!

Some of you might remember that early last year, my husband underwent two knee replacements. The second surgery took place shortly after I broke my leg. The kindnesses of friends, neighbors and strangers in parking lots helped to see we two ambulatory messes through the . . . ambulatory messes. Sure, today we might be in a hurry or a tad under the weather ourselves, but it only takes a moment to make a world of difference in the spirit of a fellow traveler. Besides, what does our selfishness gain us on the road, aside from maybe a quiet moment, a well chewed meal, the best seat in the fuselage or airport cafe, the front of the line, a room away from the elevator, an uninterrupted life. . . .

Whoops!

Please step forward and remind me about gratefulness and a helping hand the next time I'm ready to knock the snot out of the slow-moving and/or whining person in front of me. The next time I’m whining to you about “them.” It seems that I, too, need to listen to me. Sometimes I know some pretty darn good stuff. And no, I’m not talking about how selfishness pays!

Why is it that . . .

When you turn on the television in a hotel room, the volume is pre-set loudly enough to wake up everyone on your floor? Sincerely, I want to know, why?

A number of possibilities come to mind.

--Hoteliers assume that only seasoned travelers (read hearing impaired from the constant ROAR of jet engines) are frequenting their establishment. Since it will take said travelers such a long time to locate the volume toggle to turn it up (can't they make those remotes uniform?!), why not give them a head start.

--The person who dictates pre-sets is hearing impaired.

--We're all being taped by cameras hidden within the remotes (delightful nose hair shots), and our "bad words" will be used as the background for a violent new rap video.

--It's really an orchestrated technique to help us sharpen the "state" of our reflex abilities. (How fast can we find the correct button?) You know, a little involuntary testy-poo to keep our reactionary muscles in tip-top shape for those last-minute gate changes.

Why is it that:

So many of us leave our cell phone chargers (cords, cradles etc.) in hotel rooms? Have you ever seen the dozens of them in the lost and found? Or called and tried to describe YOUR black cord among their dozens of other black cords? It's mind boggling! (Hint: we should put a name tag on those things!)

A number of speculations come to mind as to why we are so forgetful:

--As a whole, we road warriors are ADHD, which is why we cannot remain in one place for too long, nor remember to unplug our stuff from the sockets.

--"Charge phone" is on our daily travel check lists. We never added "pack charger."

--We don't have an "appropriate," visible and usual place for our cords, one that's emptiness would indicate we are missing one. (Ah, there is always a need for just one more travel bag, the one that gets everything right!)

--We are always in too big a hurry to consider how much more time efficient and, in the end, cost efficient, it would be to pack the cord when we unplug the phone, rather than having to spring for a new one. (This is so DUH! that I can hardly stand it!) Throughout all my years of travel, I've only recovered one lost cord. For the most part, hotels either seem to toss them ("No, we didn't find a cord in that room."), or cannot detect yours amongst their maze.

Why is it that:

We know so much about the disgusting, germ-laden ooky state of the remote controls in hotel rooms (so much so that some of us have taken to using the shower caps to cover them--come ON!), but we don't give a second thought to pushing the buttons on the remote controls in our homes--while using the same hand to eat popcorn. I mean, you KNOW what goes on in your own home. Things related to:

--your nose

--your mouth (this includes what's excavated from between your teeth)

--your children

--your negligent hygiene habits when nobody's looking

Why is it that:

I am now running for a can of Lysol, and that I shall never ever again touch a remote control anywhere without first shower capping it?

Why is it that:

I think about stuff like this? Do you?

Vista to XP-Pro Downgrade Dance--OY!

Once again, I am glad I’m not flying home from this five-week long business trip. Reason Number One, and enough reason in and of itself? I’m traveling with two laptops.

I have my new laptop, shipped to me on location during this trip. Why? Obviously, you didn’t read my last post. Although I am disheartened, I shall now give you the chance to correct your oversight by clicking here. But I still also have my old laptop, my dead one. Why do I still have it? Why do you have YOURS? Truthfully, if I kicked you in the gut, tell me why you still have your cashed-in laptop, and I’ll tell you why I still have the two that died before the dead one I’m traveling with. Not only that, but if you missed my post about this vintage “portable computer” I found in my closet, the picture alone is worth a look-see.

But I digress. (No surprises there.) Let us get back to why I’m so happy I’m not flying home. Can you even imagine the confusion at an airport check-point should I arrive with two computers? Do you think they’d buy into the premise that one of them is for my imaginary—and thus invisible—friend, who, while they are busy haranguing me, is stealthy passing through their crack security with three four-ounce bottles?

However, since I do not wish to write to you from jail, I shall refrain from walking into that trap by happily getting into my little SUV and driving five hours.

As promised in my last post (read it yet?), I shall herewith present my “technical report” as to how I survived (mostly) transitioning a brand new machine loaded with Windows Vista (NOOOOOOOOOO!) to Windows XP Pro. I used the “downgrade” disk supplied by Sony that came packed with the new machine. A downgrade. How hard could that be?

Let me count the ways.

Way Number One, and enough reason in and of itself: Fallout. Or, perhaps it could best be described as fallin, as in, I fell in to a four-day process, exacerbated by the fact that I was staying in a remote area (book deadline) with DIAL-UP.

I’ll give you a moment here to recover from the exhaustion you likely encountered by screaming, “WHAT KIND OF A NUT CASE TRIES THAT?!”

The "easy part" of the Vista-to-XP downgrade, albeit the most nerve wracking: inserting downgradable disk one of two and doing what it said, which was basically to “click here.” Well, before the “click here” part, there were those licensing tomes, likely some blather about making sure you know what you’re doing, and a release waiver claiming it isn't their fault if your heart stops during this maneuver, since you are basically wiping your hard drive completely out before the new operating system installs. Hopefully. PLEASE, GOD!

In hindsight, I now know that perhaps the hardest part was pushing that button. That, dear traveler, takes guts.

I also vaguely recall some fail-safe instruction that said you could always go back to Vista. You had to write some IMPORTANT piece of information down, though, which I think I did. I was so stressed about the click part, I was hyperventilating and therefore not thinking clearly. Truth is, I am a “somewhat savvy” Computer Person, which I realize makes me extremely dangerous. People who are utterly clueless about computers know better than to try stuff like this without a backup team of experts surrounding them. And then, they’re smart enough to hand the computer to them.

I cannot explain to you how fretful I was, watching whatever you call that little thingie that lets you know how far into the process the machine is. (Told you I was dangerous.) The disks should have come with a warning: THIS WILL TAKE A VERY LONG TIME. I’m guessing it was more than an hour for the first disk, maybe closer to two. Why I started this near my bed time, I have no idea--other than BOOK DEADLINES. But no way was I leaving my new traveling mate’s side while it was frying its own brain and growing a new one. PLEASE, GOD! Waiting for the machine to reboot—seeing that it actually had something in its head—was torturous. I was so happy to hear that "delightful" Windows sound, to see the familiar XP graphics, and to watch it come to rest with a desktop full of happy icons and colors.

That, as it turned out, was the easy part. Of course my new machine recommended I go straight to the Microsoft update website (it tried to take itself there—HA!) and update everything. On DIAL-UP?

Oh, my STARS! I have a DUMB machine now!

I went to bed to try to sleep this nightmare off. When I awakened, first things first: I needed to get to a high-speed connection. However, I couldn’t use a public zone ; I wasn’t about to start downloading eons of updates via “unsecure networks,” especially with anti-virus protection not yet in place. Sure, there was a trial 60-day super-duper Norton everything available in the machine, but I didn’t want to unpack all of that into a computer brain dumb enough to try to update Microsoft on dial-up. So I uninstalled it. (Take that!) I already owned a multi-machine license for Norton Internet Security . Still, I needed to get online to download it.

(Let me take a moment here to say how happy I am that I was, as always, traveling with a reliable--HEAR THAT, EQUIPMENT?--HP iPAQ. I sync it with MS Office, so all that account info was with me, even though I was on the road. Something to think about, should you be self employed.)

Luckily, I had a friend in the area whose house was Wi-Fied. But first things first: hold breath, turn on laptop, turn on Wi-Fi and see what happens. YIPPEE! DUMB machine was smart enough to look for networks! My friend gave me her password and I connected right up! With that, I started my endless hours (days, as it turned out—more later) of downloads and updates.

After a brief e-mail exchange on a writers’ loop, I learned most everyone who had MS Office 2008 hated it as much as Vista. I was (still am) in the midst of two book deadlines. I didn't have time for a learning curve that turned out to be a road straight to hatred. So, I uninstalled MS Office 2008 Small Business Edition (another pre-loaded trial version) and popped in my copy of MS Office Small Business Edition 2003 my husband sent from home, then started those updates.

I’m gonna stop now with the “uninstall/install my own stuff" descriptions and cut to the part that made me the most disappointed and insane, and might you, too, should you try this downgrade--at least with a VAIO. It turns out my new machine was designed to work at its optimum performance with Vista. This is a piece of info I did not learn—because they do not tell you—until after the downgrade, and after I started running into things that did not work, at least the way they were supposed to.

For instance, I was unable to independently turn off the blue tooth when running Wi-Fi. (Why waste battery?) A call to CDW’s tech support, where I bought the machine—and their tech support is why I ordered from them, especially while on the road—directed me to a Sony PAGE of downloads, drivers, patches etc. which were created for this Vista-to-XP downgrade purpose. Also on that page (or links from that page) was the first notice I’d seen as to how some things about my machine would not ever work "optimally" with the XP downgrade, even after the downloads, and this included maintaining maximum battery life.

Check out this page, then click on, say, the first item on the list. Take a look at the warnings!

Let me be clear here: I love Sony VAIOs. I am happy with my sexy new little (2.8#) Sony VAIO VGN-TZ290, and the two VAIOs I owned before this one. I am glad I am not running Vista. But I’ve lost a little somethin'-somethin' with my machine by "doing the downgrade"—soon to be a new dance craze near you. (Or perhaps a new Olympic event. It SHOULD be!) The first thing I lost after the first direct-from-Sony download was the ability to get on line using the Wi-Fi! CDW tech support rose to the occasion, and we got it straightened out, but . . . not fun.

Just know that should you decide to try to kill the evil Vista with the XP-Pro downgrade, at least on a machine like this, you might have a price to pay in terms of time and makin’ things happen. I have managed to get everything working on the machine that I need to work, and I have managed to get myself back to work, too. There is no going back. But had I known what I was getting into, I might have made a different choice in machine. Maybe. If I could have still found one with XP-Pro already loaded on it.

Then again, I was on the road with a dead machine. I was desperate. So I went with the tried and true: Sony VAIO and CDW. We do what we must and we live with our choices. LONG LIVE MINE!

Death On The Road

I recently endured the terrible death rattle of an intimate friend, a near ever-present sojourner on the highways, byways and skyways I travel. At first, I didn’t realize how serious his affliction was. Looking back, of course I should have seen it coming. There were signs. But when one is often on the road, one has the propensity to turn a blind eye to brewing trouble. After all, what could I—what can any of us--really do about such a terrible circumstance when we're on the road, our bevy of trusted advocates and helpmates left behind?

When I witnessed his first signs of distress, I simply assumed he hadn’t weathered our previous late night out very well. You know how it is the “morning after,” when you’re thinking back on one of those expeditions into unfamiliar territory, and you were in a hurry, and were already exhausted from travel, and you overworked yourself, and now . . . your “systems” (as in all systems that make things “go”) don’t. So, at first I was patient with his predicament. “Just give him time,” I said to myself. "He'll recover. Then we'll get back to go-go-going." But after several more hours of rest, and many attempts to snap him back to normal, he just didn’t. Not only that, his condition worsened.

Even though he didn’t talk about it with me, I could tell he needed immediate professional assistance. I consulted the yellow pages of a local directory and called a vaguely familiar establishment. “You need help,” I said to my friend. “I think I’ve used this outfit before.” He stared blankly at me, not once even blinking. (How/why does he do that?!) Nonetheless, I struck gold with my yellow pages choice. Without even asking my friend to come in for an examination, the yellow pages guy gave me a few suggestions over the phone as to how I might help my friend. I passed them along, and VOILA! Just like that, he was back up and running full steam ahead.

I should have known better.

Later that day, he became sluggish again. Temperamental. The light in his eyes, the one that lets me know he is truly awake, seemed to turn on and off at will. His symptoms grew even worse; at one point he seemed to completely lose his mind! But even though he babbled and stuttered, occasionally, he still acted as if he were back to normal. He’d do so just long enough to make me believe he was. After all, we were on the road! I repeat: who doesn’t want to believe everything will be okay, especially when you are on the road?!

But then, he suffered a complete meltdown. No matter how hard I tried, I could not wake him up. My faithful intimate friend, my good old 3-3/4-year-old Sony VAIO laptop was, for most practical or useful purposes, dead. No matter how many times I removed the battery and popped it in again (yellow pages man), how many efforts he made to crank himself up, or finish booting, he simply would not, could not, stay awake for longer than a few minutes.

I had to face the reality: my machine was doomed, and, therefore, so was I. I was on the road, feverishly working toward two book deadlines. The only good news in all of this? During those brief episodes when he came to life and pretended everything was okay, like a cannibal with no other food in sight, I stuck a back-up appliance in one of his orifices (USB hub, cd tray . . .) and sucked out his guts.

But even though I had fed my need for “my stuff,” now what? Who was I going to call to help enable me to make use of it again? I WAS my I.T. guy! I WAS my purchasing department. I WAS . . . officially hysterical! Without my old friend, I couldn’t even go online to shop for his replacement!

Think. Think. While you’re on the road, Charlene, do you really want to go to a big-box store and buy any old machine ? One already loaded with . . . Vista?

NOOOOOOOOOO!

Think. Think. AHA! I used my cell phone to call CDW. They’re located not too far from my home base, and I know they ship all over the place. I’ve purchased through them before, as have a few of my friends. Their tech support is always available and top notch. Although I didn’t buy my last machine through them (I happened upon a really good deal via another local source), I explained what I had (VGN-T150P), what I liked about it, and asked what the next generation of that same machine might be. I also explained that I absolutely for positively did not want to run Vista. (Everybody I know hates it. What kind of doofus ignores the advice of everybody?!)

Turns out they only had four machines left that fit all my “gotta be light--under 3 pounds--and teensy enough to fit in my handbag” criteria, “really want another Sony VAIO,” and for which I could bypass the dreaded V. Well, the four machines in question sort of met this criteria: they were teensy VAIOs loaded with Vista Business--that came with “degradable to XP Pro” software. (Sounds easy, right?) I had them e-mail me a quote.

As if launched into a jealous rage by the mere threat of being replaced, my old death-rattling friend booted up (all the way, this time) and stayed booted just long enough for me to jump on line and compare CDW's price, then he expired again. It’s as if he were surrendering his last gasps, to me. (Who knew a computer could drench you in guilt?)

Turns out CDW’s price for my new machine was very competitive. The description contained words such as "masterpiece" and "luxurious," and "more than strong enough to take the rough and tumble of life on the road." AND, they were offering a $9.99 shipping special for regular DHL ground. Two-day UPS? Twenty-something bucks. I decided I needed some time to emotionally pull myself together anyway, so I went with the $9.99 DHL ground—which arrived in two business days anyway.

Imagine my trepidation as I opened that box. Sight unseen, I had acquired a new and intimate traveling mate, one who would hopefully be with me for at least the next 3-3/4 years. Thankfully, he was everything I dreamed he’d be, and more. He adores me so much that while I’m staring into his brightly lit face, he can even capture my picture and save it in the depths of his whirling hard drive. He can record my words, play my music, store my stuff, connect me to the Internet, and I even adore his shiny looks and kick-butt keyboard!

A week after his arrival, I have, for the most part, completed all the necessary transitions to aim him toward my way of thinking. We are getting to know each other quite well. But let me also say this: advertising that a machine comes loaded with Vista Business, degradable to XP-PRO sounds easier (perhaps less time consuming, would be most accurate) than it turns out to be. It happens there were (sadly) things about my new friend that were built to work best with V and not XP. (Ah, nice if Sony would indicate that before you buy a machine that comes with the “downgrade,” ey?) In many ways, it was kinda like thinking you can change someone after you marry him or her. However, we usually anticipate that “imaginary process” will produce an upgrade, not a downgrade.

Whether machine or human, go figure how dumb we can be!

Next week, I will give you a “technical report” (wink-wink) as to how this Regular Person--a highly creative writerly type, who also has to serve as her own tech support, even though she is not--survived (mostly) such a whopping transition. For now, together my new friend and I must sign off our blog and dive into storytelling waters, where we will, linking fingertips to key pads, swiftly paddle toward the shores of deadlines.

I take that back. Let me rephrase: together, my new friend and I must sign off our blog and journey into the completely dry lands of storytelling. No water for my new friend, lest he short out his brand new brains and take me down with him.

Before we go, I would like to send a special shout out to Joe Brancatelli (if you're not a subscriber and you often travel, click through and take his free tour), who, after he heard my saga, said, “There is nothing worse than a new machine.” Thank you, Joe, for truly feeling my pain. Just don’t let my new friend get wind of our sentiment, though. I’d hate for him to become moody and depressed. After all, we’re on the road together, and I’m depending on him.

Round and Round We Go!

Last week, my husband and I set off on great traveling adventures--in different directions. From our home base in Chicagoland, I drove to The Farm in Winona MN. As you long-time readers will recall, that's where I "hide" to write, which is my labor. George hopped in his friend's car and off they journeyed toward Naples FL. As you long-time readers will recall, George is retired.

--TEST ONE: Notice anything missing from our travel plans? (RIGHT! AIRPLANES! Yippee! )

I always drive to MN. Since I currently have two book projects in the works, I fill up my little SUV with bins and boxes, notebooks and a laptop, food and miscellaneous supplies. I bet these days it would cost me no less than $500 to check or ship all my stuff. George and Butch, his long-time friend, first considered flying to FL to cheer up their ailing buddy. But then they got to talking about how much fun it would be to stop on their way and visit another friend. After all, Aiken SC wasn't that far off the trail. And hey! If they drove, they could take their golf clubs, a cooler, and any size liquid or gel products they wanted! A no brainer.

Helen, Butch's wife, stayed home in WI to hold down their homestead, continue her part-time and volunteer jobs, do some weeding, and command complete power over their remote control. Oh, and to cut the grass. For the first time ever. Yes, they have a riding mower, but Butch claims it cuts the grass too short. Helen could use their non-riding self-powered machine.

When Helen told me what she was about to do, I shared with her a few details from my virgin mowing experience. "I somehow accidentally ran over the bagger and mowed a hole in it. That's the last time George 'let me' mow."

--TEST TWO: Who's the dummy? (RIGHT! )

But back to our road trips. Let me render a few traveling stats. I get 19-22 miles per gallon in my vehicle. The journey to The Farm is about 300 miles, takes one tank of gasoline and 4.5 – 5 hours, depending on a few things, mostly my bladder. Kornflake, our big red mutt dog, rides in the back seat. He has a bladder of steel. Once I arrive, it takes me about a half-hour to unload my car and drag everything in. Neither Kornflake nor the cows help with this process; they just stare—although I find them to be a relaxing audience.

Butch's Honda Civic Hybrid manages about 50-55 miles per gallon. The guys switch drivers every two hours. They need a couple twelve-hour days to get to their destination. Add another day for their Aiken-buddy stop, a few days in Naples, an overnight and a round of golf or two on the way home . . . . I'd venture to say a few tanks of gas will be in order, along with some great camaraderie and memory building.

--TEST THREE: Who did I say was retired, and who is still working, mowing, volunteering and typing? (RIGHT!)

George, Butch and I travel with cell phones. When I'm at The Farm, where I'm forced to use dial-up, I still manage to log on once or twice a day. When Butch and Helen were on cruises together, George and I would receive emails from them. Butch has even managed to send off a line or two during this road trip, too. Woman to woman, guys to gals, guys together on the golf course, we are all staying connected. This is one of the wonders of modern-day travel.

Our round-robin "touch-bases" with each other can be summed up a number of ways. Let me line out a few:

*Entertaining
For instance, George called just to tell me that Butch likes Waffle House as much as I do. George isn't a big fan of Waffle House, so I found this tidbit very entertaining!

*Frustrating
Why isn't George picking up his cell phone! I have a piece of business he needs to know about.

"We didn't want the phone to interrupt our golf game."

I used to golf, so I get that. Nonetheless, I am frustrated I can't go on vacation right now!

*Comforting
We all take comfort knowing that those whom we love are safely tucked in for the night.

*Humorous
George loved hearing how our granddaughter enjoyed the tilt-a-whirl at the county fair. (Hey, I get to have some fun here in MN, what with family just 20 minutes away. Check out that county fair find! Aren't those three little--okay, biggie--piggies adorable?) George found it very humorous that as I staggered toward a bench after our round-and-round ride, I had to say to our beaming granddaughter, "Grannie B needs to sit down for a minute." The feeling in my gut, dear reader, could best be described as one of a Round-and-Round Traveling Travesty.

--TEST FOUR: Can you say hurl? (PLEASE DON'T!)

What you can say, however, is thank you. Yes, give thanks that we live in a time when traveling spouses, family members and friends can head out in separate directions, or stay home and hold down the fort, and still remain in touch. We can collect and share travelogues as we go, sometimes in Real Time and with instant pictures!

--TEST FIVE: Is it funny to laugh at someone's Round-and-Round Traveling Travesty? (WHY NOT? HOW ELSE WILL WE STAY SANE?)

Besides, the whole tilt-a-whirling incident kinda reminds me of business air travel today. Before you can take off, you gotta secure yourself with safety equipment. You are crammed in. You don't have control. You're not sure when the "ride" will end—or begin. When you finally get off, you often feel like you've been going round and round between websites, customer service, canceled flights and your sanity. Sometimes you're so exhausted and dizzy from it all that you just wanna hurl.

But you don't. After all, someone's grandchild might have her eye on you, beckoning you to hop right on that colorful Twirling Dragon. I believe you might be able to compare this dizzying adventure to connecting flights between AA to UA.

But you, dear seasoned traveler, are smart enough to say NO.

The Bag-O-Rama Boogie

In response to my last couple posts, astute TravelingLaugh reader Linda Toft emailed details of her recent Bag-O-Rama experience. I laughed, I groaned, I felt her pain and determination to meet the rules while maintaining her senses. I have her permission to share her email. She, too, is married to a George.

Enjoy!
-------------------------------

George and I flew to Austin TX last week for a conference. We flew Delta out of the Cincinnati Airport on our way to a conference in Austin TX. As we started for our security check gate, the line was FOREVER! We crawled along with the group and were stopped by a guy with a radio at the top of the escalator. He said a few words into it and finally let about 10 of us proceed down the escalator. We were greeted by his radio buddy at the bottom. But we had to stop again when we came to another long line winding through the maze of roping leading to the security check.

I found it so funny that the airport had to dispatch two employees to guard and control the traffic on the escalator, but I could see how it was necessary: how else do you control a moving escalator with creeping lines of people? I couldn’t believe how angry travelers were as I watched the guy stop them at the top--especially the privileged Fast Pass people who were used to sidestepping the lines at security! If I were that top guard, I would have been tempted to send them on down and watch the pile grow.

I didn’t have a carry-on bag when we arrived at the airport--at least until George found he was going to have to pay $25 for our third bag. I did some fast repacking and turned one of them into a carry on. At least until we boarded and they told me it was too big and I had to check it plane side…at no additional fee?! Makes sense to me. Or does it?!

On the way back, we decided to take the bag as a carry on, again planning to check it plane side. We got to check in and our other two bags were set on the scale, only to find one was way over weight (the junk from the conference we just had to have!). The clerk said it would be an $80 charge for the over-weight bag! $25 to check a third bag…

I’m no dummy. Once again I did some repacking right there at the desk, and the third bag turned back into a checked bag! Creative math is needed now for flying.

After all of this, I am wondering if we might someday have to “pay to pee.” Remember Pay Toilets? I can see it now! It could happen! We empty our pockets of change, pack away what we don’t need to go through security . . . and we’ll find we need a quarter to go to the potty on the plane. A new venue for the Random Acts of Kindness Folks: passing out quarters to desperate looking folks on planes!

Thank you, Linda Toft, for sharing your drama. Like you also said in your email to me, these are the days we're learning to travel lighter! Let me just add that they are also NOT the days to lose our lighter sides!

I got it wrong

Thanks to astute comment poster Finprof and a phone call from one of my devoted UA relatives, I stand corrected: United Airlines's Mileage Plus program does still offer award flights for 25,000 miles. They are in a category called "United Saver and Star Alliance Awards." During my frantic attempt to reinstate my miles, I did not notice there was a redemption category lesser than "Standard Awards."

I apologize to United Airlines, and to any readers whom I might have mislead. I sincerely thank those who take the time to make sure I get things right.

As for anything any of the airlines offer that qualifies as a lesser category than "standard," well, what more do I need to say? Those of you who spend a good portion of your life on the road already know what I'm thinking.

"Accidental" Traveling Lapses

I recently accidentally let 39,526 United Airlines Mileage Plus (or minus, and in this case ALL minus) "award" travel miles expire. I noticed this two days after they expired.

At first I was ticked off, mostly at myself. I should have seen this coming and at least purchased something through their program, just to keep those miles "live" and/or use them up. Of course I also wasn't too happy with UA because, well, I'm used to being unhappy with them, which is why I've been avoiding them--for a long enough period to let my miles expire.

(BTW, did you know if you don't fly for a quarter, they can choose to stop sending you any notifications, statements or updates? If you use that last click, don't miss #9. Pretty handy the way they can help you forget your "almost expired" status, should they so choose.)

However, even though I hate to admit this, sometimes (okay, many times) I'm more dumb-cluck than the airlines. I actually wasted valuable work time pouring through the website to see if there might be a way to reinstate the two-day-old lost miles. Perhaps they were still floating in the traveling waters near my pier and I could simply net them. (Can you tell I'm daydreaming about fishing?) The "opportunity" was buried, but YES! it existed. Imagine my fingers excitedly clicking away toward what I imagined would be a simple "REINSTATE" button.

But alas, nothing is that simple--or cheap. Turns out I could recapture them for a mere 1.25 cents/mile plus a $25 service fee, which would cost me $544.08. (I'm sure they'll round that extra penny UP.) To buy back miles I'd already earned but which had poofed into thin air because UA said so, and I was zoned. And don't forget the EXTRA $25 they would charge me to use those miles to actually fly. I won't.

As in my last post, once again this torment turned out to be the good news. While I was holding those miles, obviously subliminally and "accidentally" backpedalling away from a tortured "opportunity" to accrue 10,474 more so my husband and I could enjoy a "free" vacation flight, United raised the coach miles per trip from 25,000 to 50,000. (Man, I am living in a CAVE! Even AA, for whom I have lost all allegiance, only requires 25,000 for a standard flight, at least as of this second.) Plus, that monkey of a 39,526 disappeared off my back. Expired. Poof. Gone. Not even buying them back for a total $544.08 will get me anywhere. So now I don't have to force myself toward those friendly skies for anything. THANK YOU, UNITED!

Perhaps you should review all your "award" programs, just to make sure you're not missing any opportunities to miss opportunities. Afterwards, please share your "good fortune" stories under comments. Now that I don't have to spend time fretting about any of my mileage programs (since I no longer give a rip about any of them), I might find more time to go fishing.

Backhanded Thank Yous

The things that make me the maddest are often the things for which I end up giving thanks. Who knew that even the airlines and their additional fees could cause such gladness?

How do they glee me? Let me count the ways, beginning with luggage fees.

When the big six began setting and sustaining new records for lost luggage, at first I was angry. I was angry when, a day after my bag didn’t show up on the AA carousel, their recorded message still had no idea where it was. I was angrier when I drove to O’Hare, my home airport (group groan, please) only to find it sitting out in the middle of the floor along with eight billion other “lost” bags. However, ultimately those sneaky airlines taught me to travel lighter, which is a wonderful gift. Now, if it doesn’t fit in my carry-on, I deem it unworthy; if it makes my carry-on too heavy, I don’t pack it. My non-aching back thanks the airlines, as, I’m sure, will my fellow travelers when they no longer have to endure the very loud GRRHUUUUUUH! I used to emit as I heave-hoed my lunker roll-aboard over my head. All along, those clever airlines were simply preparing me to avoid their new checked luggage fees. Right on!

When they started charging for peanuts--and now US Airways will soon make us ante up for water and a soda (can the rest of them be far behind?)--I stopped eating handfuls of things that weren’t good for me. I now carry my own little baggies of healthy mixed nuts, or a protein bar, or maybe even a sandwich. And I never board without a bottle of water—accept when I forget. (My bad.) Since we’re so crammed into the overbooked and ever shrinking seats, I don’t have room to bend over to retrieve my wallet anyway, so thanks again! Think of the money I’m saving!

And speaking of money, when American Airlines said they would begin charging us to use our very own hard-earned frequent flyer miles, even when we book online, I was beyond angry—especially since I was already paying an annual credit card fee to accumulate miles even faster. (I know: dumb!) But even their grab to render to them what has already been rendered delivered good fortune. You see, they tripped my IT'S TIME TO DO SOMETHING, CHARLENE! trigger. The first thing I did was to phone my credit card provider to cancel my AA credit card.

But wait! It gets even better! After some discussion as to why I was doing this, the agent advised me I could keep my same cc number (what a pain-ola when you have to change numbers, especially with all the automatic “bill to credit card” we have set up) and simply change the type of card. Now, rather than earning airlines miles I have to pay to earn and pay to use, and which I can only use for 6 a.m. flights, I will earn cash back. Cash I can apply to gasoline purchases, for which I will also earn cash back. I realize that’s not on the same scale as the Lion King’s “Circle of Life," but still, it’s a circle that sure beats paying to use my very own hard-earned miles for which I already paid--twice. Plus, my new type of card gives me even more perks. How about that?! Again, I thank the airlines.

I’m anxious to learn what they will think of next to improve my life. Perhaps Will Allen III already came up with it: “Pay to pee.” He astutely speculates that they could also sell tiny rolls of toilet paper. But no problem-o! I consider the very idea another new training program to enhance my life. How so? Because I’m grabbing a few yards of toilet paper right now and tucking them into the outside zipper compartment of my bag, just in case. What could enhance my travel experience more than being able to use my very favorite brand?

A Different View

I'm currently "hiding" in the beautiful bluffs of MN to work. Writing fiction is a solitary labor. Luckily, most days I find my characters to be entertaining company. Sure, I occasionally get together with a few real-life friends in the area during these encampments, but I don't need to pack a suitcase to do so. I just hop in my car and drive down the hill. Bliss. Predictable. My friends are there—and always will be, right? We take so many things for granted.

However, even though I'm encamped, yesterday I had to hit the road to do a little research for my novel. Yes, fiction is . . . fiction. Even so, I still need to render some things "factual." It's not fun to receive cranky emails from astute readers as to how dumb I am, so I try my best not to introduce falsehoods when I'm talking about real-life places, objects, careers etc.. In keeping with my last post, and since I had the time, I decided to once again travel the back roads to reach my destination.

What struck me this time was just how easy it is to miss things. Little did I know. . . .

Take a moment to scroll up to my opening image. See how the farmer plows circles around that stand of trees? When I first noticed the oddity off in the distance, I wondered why the farmer didn't just down the trees to make life easier for him or herself. Maybe he just likes going around in circles. Sometimes I do, or at least I act like it. Or the airlines renders me that way. Or maybe the trees are growing up through a marsh that makes that pocket of land unworkable. Maybe there's buried treasure in dem thar branches. This is, of course, why I write: my speculations never end. But not until I passed by the trees did I catch a glimpse of the object of the circuitous plowing. A house. A decaying house. Since I had a little time, I turned around for a closer look.

I usually travel with my teensy Canon PowerShot in my handbag or the pocket of my jeans. It's only an SD600, but it does a terrific job. I can even take short videos if I want, with sound. I keep pictures of my granddaughters on it (high-tech Grannie B, always ready for show-and-tell!); a shot of an Oriole that stalks me, then yells at me when I sit on the front porch to write; and a few other wonders of nature I discover along life's travels. But mainly I keep my camera close by since I never know when I'm going to want, or need, to capture something I'm afraid I'll forget (at 62, those odds grow increasingly higher), which is another reason I turned my car around and snapped a series of shots as I approached the trees from the opposite direction. The only thing I didn't know yesterday was why the scene captivated me. Today, I do.

All the trips we take, the places we fly, the meetings we sit through, the hassles we encounter, the victories we score, the people we meet on the road . . . they often get lost in the big blur of our crammed-with-dumb-stuff memories. What rises to the surface is far too often the chaotic, the terrible, the skeptical, the things that make us whine and complain. For instance, just today, I received an email from travel guru Joe Brancatelli informing me that American Airlines announced it would soon charge passengers $15 to check a single bag. Of course there will be exceptions. But since money-grabs like this have made me reject any type of airline loyalty, I won't qualify. I go with the airline that offers the best deal at the most convenient time. Nonetheless, the email set me off. I engaged in an immediate volatile diatribe. ONE MORE THING! DANG AIRLINES!

But the next email I read was from a friend's daughter letting me know she was catching a 2:30 plane today. Her father's medical condition--our long-time and precious friend--had worsened. Please pray, she asked. She is not ready to lose her dear father. Who is? No matter how brutally I was whining about the airlines, my spirit immediately U-turned toward thanksgiving for them, and I began to pray, to both God and the airlines. Get her there, and on time—in time. Give her a comfortable seat, a cool drink of water, a smooth ride, a smiling attendant.

I recalled all the flights I've made under extreme personal emotional duress. "Your mother had a stroke," my dad told me on the phone at 2 a.m.. "We don't know if she's going to make it." My mother was only 56! How could this BE! My heart raced the entire flight. The nonstop Chicago to Albuquerque flight felt like months. After ten days of sitting bedside in her hospital room, I had to come home. My babies needed me. Two weeks later, she was gone, and back I flew—to a funeral and my grieving father.

Fast forward.

"Your father died. Suddenly," I heard again on the phone in the middle of the night. A terrible shock and grief. A vacation ended. My life as I knew it, changed. When the representative of my airline (or so I called it then) didn't seem to care that I needed an immediate flight—or that I was crying on the phone—another airline's agent worked with me, expressed her sorrow, helped me get to where I needed to be in an expedient manner: to identify my father's body .

As in all of life, the line between good and evil often appears, and often is, wavy. One day something is our curse; the next day it's our life jacket, our hope, our chance to deliver a final "I love you" in person. One decade a young family builds a home; decades later, someone honors their memory by plowing around its decay. We are, in the grand scheme of things, here on this earth for such a short time. As we travel, may we be mindful of the needs of those around us. May we keep a check valve on our attitudes, perspective on our priorities, and the good sense to remember that nothing is all bad, not even the airlines, and that nothing good should ever be taken for granted.

Sidewerds Glances

During my recent earthquaking (literally) business road trip, I occasionally enjoyed the luxury of spending time traveling the back roads of Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky and Tennessee. Given my druthers, this is how I'd always get thyself from Point A to Point B: by winding my way up, down and sidewerds, as my Grandma used to say, on the grey roadmap lines between them. But alas, sometimes I'm just stuck with the airlines, and you can interpret that any way you like.

Will Allen III, another business traveling blogger, and one I always read, describes his occasional road trips in glorious detail—including traffic conditions. Sometimes we choose our cars over the airlines in a desperate attempt to assume and resume our sense of control over traveling matters, and sometimes it actually works. Other times, getting behind the wheel feels a draw at best, and an exhaust sucking nightmare at worst.

As for me and my auto traveling tales (and since I'm known as a "humorist"), I most enjoy discovering and sharing the uncommon, the absurd, the splendiferous and the Say WHAT?!s, even when at the time they seem nothing more than the terrible. Ain't it funny how hindsight can birth the amusing, when in Real Time, reality, and especially airline reality (is that an oxymoron?), is often nothing more than a headache.

But since I'm currently sitting here in Hindsight Mode, I'd like to share a few of the highlights you miss when you choose the commuter airlines over a sidewerds trip in your own comfy vehicle in which you can choose your own music, pack as many bags as you like with however many over-sized liquid containers as suits you (Bring it ON, you 3.5-oz bottles!), pull into any restaurant or drive-in that grabs your taste buds (LOVE Sonics!—and did you know that "participating" Sonics have a "happy hour" every day from 2 – 4?), and remember that the miniscule details of the Real Earth in Real Time are actually more lush and fascinating than any Google Map view, or the view from 27,000 feet.

So, in no particular order, I present to you a few highlights from my Chicago-to-Nashville-and-back-again journey. Yes, the business (you'll find me listed as a bonified AUTHOR) got done, but so did some mental refreshing away from my typical keyboarding grind.

WORTHY BACK-ROAD TIDBITS

*A Coney Dog from Sonic, although we've already covered that.

*Wild flowers and a few wild-and-woolly (one on the floor, face down, getting handcuffed--no KIDDING!) in Nashville.

*The opportunity to "Sleep In A WIGWAM," (they're cement) which we did not because we had to move on, but maybe one day. This is nothing new folks; this establishment had already been there for 60 years in 1997, it says so on their website! We would never had known this place existed if we hadn't accidentally discovered it alongside one of our "Let's try THIS road" choices, even though in looking up the info I discovered that NPR talked about them in 2001. You can listen to the audio! (That last click is SO WORTH IT, just for the READ!) If I wasn't currently stuck on a dial-up network (yes, they still exist), I could listen, too!

*TWO breakfasts at Waffle House, one in IN and another in KY. I've never been to a Waffle House where I wasn't greeted with a hearty HELLO! We don't have Waffle Houses in my home area, so I'm always excited to get the opportunity to order a "Regular hash brown, all the way," which means it comes smothered (onions), covered (American cheese), chunked (hickory smoked ham), diced (tomatoes), capped (mushrooms), and topped with Bert's Chili. If you think Bert's Chili isn't special, did you know there is an official Ode to Bert's Chili? I also get jalapeños in the "all the way" mix, too, but I can't remember the "call" for them. I just know they're included. Mm, mm, mm. The only thing that could be better as a hearty breakfast is the "double" or "triple" order of same, but that's more than I can handle, which I learned the hard way several years back.

In case you think Waffle House doesn't consider your health, please know they stock sugar free syrup. Neener-neener.

*A marvelous starry sign . You can see the lit version here--although I'm still wondering if it flashes. The motel's exterior was neat and tidy and their lot was filled with cars. We didn't get to stay here either, but like the Wigwams, maybe one day.

*A farm house with a giant sleeping dog on the front porch, and a wide-awake goat standing next to him or her. I'm still sorry I didn't stop and take a picture!

I'll leave you here with a word picture of one of the best reasons to occasionally take your business traveling backside to the back roads. People out in their yards in rural areas, and those traveling toward you on the county roads, almost ALWAYS wave or nod at you, and smile. You feel welcomed, honored, seen—really seen—and glad to be waving and smiling back. Whether traveling frontwerds, backwerds or sidewerds, now there's a travelin' grace worth gittin'. As Arthur Landers, a character in my Welcome to Partonville series would say, "Ya perty much don't in-counter that kinda be-havior in the airports no more. And that's a serious cryin' shame."

Didn’t see THAT coming!

So, I went to Yahoo to search for verifiable info about the earthquake I experienced at 4:37 a.m. last Friday morning. (Stay tuned for details about my ridiculous location at the time of the shakeup.) Yahoo led me here, to a site which appears to be that of an Official Government Agency. (For those of you unwilling to blindly click anywhere near a government agency, it’s http://earthquake.usgs.gov .) However, since many Official Government Agencies seem to function far better in “appearances” than “realities,” my radar was up.

But info I found! I discovered numerous links to last Friday’s southern Illinois event, including Details, Summaries, Maps, and Scientific and Technical data. The site even offers colorful swirly maps, which, oddly enough, I was talking about in my last blog post. It touts zip-codey maps, Seismogram Displays and a section called—and, like Dave Barry would say, I am not making this up--“Earthquakes for Kids.” (Is it just me, or does that sound alarming? Might not “Earthquake Information for Kids” seem less ominous?)

The endless pages even tout “Animations” which, once activated, remind me of the old Pac-Man game. (Scary implications, ey?) You can find links to just about any piece of information you might want (or not), regarding not only last week’s southern Illinois earthquake, but just about every earthquake happening NOW or throughout time, including listings of individual earthquakes that claimed hundreds of thousands of lives. Quite the "Top Ten." Make sure you run your mouse over every graphic, since most of them allow you to go even deeper (again, creepy) into the stats at any point on the graphic.

Wanna really freak yourself out? [WARNING: If you DO the following, the page takes so long to load, you'll think your computer seized up!] Go to this global page of “recent earthquakes within the last 8 to 30 days,” then spend time wondering how any of us have a filling left in our heads! Surely we should be jolted to pieces by now. And if you still haven’t had enough, head straight to “Today’s Earthquake Fact.” (Did you know there is “no such thing as ‘earthquake weather’?” Take THAT www.weather.com!)

If you live in, or often travel to, the west coast of California, you won’t want to watch the Animations maps for very long. If you reside in Minnesota and follow the links to the history of, say, Iowa earthquakes, you’ll learn that “Iowa has experienced only minor earthquake activity since the United States obtained control of the State under the Louisiana Purchase in 1803. It was not until 1857, 11 years after Statehood, that the present boundaries were drawn up. As a territory, Iowa had included Minnesota and parts of North and South Dakota.” Imagine, Minnesotans! Your state bird could have been the Eastern Goldfinch rather than the Common Loon, which is maybe why they let you go.

But I digress, and I can hear your burning question: So, Charlene, exactly where were you during the earthquake?

SHORT ANSWER: Business trip. Bowling Green KY. Holiday Inn. Fifth Floor. Room 523. On the toilet.

It is unclear to me if the earthquake awakened me and then I had to pee, or if I had to pee, so I woke up, stumbled to the bathroom, plopped down and then the earthquake hit. (Oh, MY! I hope the impact of my ample posterior didn’t cause it!) All I know is that I was sitting there basking in the familiar glow emitted by the night light built into the hair dryer (who thinks these things UP?) when I noticed that the toilet seat was vibrating.

As a business traveler who has never encountered an earthquake, my first response was not that of EARTHQUAKE! My initial thought was that perhaps the guests in the room next to mine had a Jacuzzi tub and an early morning breakfast meeting. Then I noticed that the entire bathroom felt like it was vibrating, or shaking, or . . . . I wondered if my room might be either above or below the laundry room. Perhaps someone had turned on all the industrial dryers. (I know this is reaching for explanations, but . . . ) As the shaking reached a crescendo, I thought, “Hm. I wonder if this is what an earthquake feels like?”

And then it stopped. I flushed and went back to bed, convinced I’d dreamed the whole experience. No more BBQ before bedtime, Charlene!

The next day, after I learned about the honest-to-gosh quake, a few simultaneous emotions and thoughts intersected. 1) HOW EXCITING! 2) What a great Traveling Laugh blog post! 3) A journalist’s regret: Why hadn’t I stood up and checked the water in the toilet. Just to see. I mean, when a quake shakes a building, does it cause waves? Ripples? Would they have appeared the same on the second floor as the fifth? 4) If I’d been brushing my teeth, would it have felt like an electric tooth brush? 5) GRATEFULNESS! I lived through an earthquake!

That last thought slam-dunked me into the profound. Every time I return home safely from a long or short business trip is a great time to give thanks. Oh, how easy it is to whine and complain; but compared to the horrific surprise disasters that befall so many around the world, how benign it is to have to sit in an airport for a few hours—or on a quivering toilet for a minute or so. For each safe mile we travel, each new breath of life we can breathe, a dose of perspective and a grateful heart can sure help breed its own reward.

Too bad it took an earthquake to shake some sense into me.

Whether Or NOT to Weather

IMAGES: Posted on the Bowling Green KY
Fountain Square Park site

There’s always something about the weather. Sometimes we can’t wait to get out of it, and sometimes we’re fretting we’ll have to fly or drive into and through it. Then again, maybe we’re hoping we can fly through it, or up and over it, or at least around it, since the option means our flight will surely be canceled. Argh.

We bookmark http://www.weather.com/ or set up options on our home pages to keep us up-to-the-minute-and-radarly informed. We watch the moving bands of swirling greens and yellows, blues and reds, highs and lows. Not even an old hippy-dippy lava lamp can compare to this action! The graphics speed and dip, swirl and pause. We groan. We hope. We tune in again at 5, then catch the late-night weather report before setting the alarm.

Airlines love to blame things on the weather. Sometimes the twirling and diving masses look to be headed out of our area before flight time. Hip-hip-HUR…WAIT a minute! Somewhere along the line, the storm actually ends up dinging us anyway since it hurdles itself toward the location where our scheduled flight originates, which makes it late, which makes us late. DANG! Who KNEW?!

When I tuck myself into a hotel room, the last thing I look for is the weather channel. The weather will do what it will do, no matter how much I think about it. Just let me rest in peace, okay? Only God knows, and to be honest, sometimes I think God is completely fooled, same as the weather guy, or gal—all whom my husband knows by name. He’s a weather channel addict. Let’s discuss.

One day George and a friend were downstairs speculating as to whether or not someone had had their baby yet. Overhearing their conversation, I sat in my home office mentally scanning our list of friends, their kids, their grandkids. I couldn’t imagine who the guys were talking about, so I went downstairs and asked. In unison, they named a name, one completely unfamiliar to me. Someone on the weather channel. I should have known.

Watching, waiting, speculating. Comes in all FORMS on the weather channel ey?

Today I’m packing for a road trip to a two-day speaking/appearance engagement in Bowling Green Kentucky. (For you book fanatics, check out the Southern Kentucky Book Fest. Even Mitch Albom is gonna be there!) We’re leaving a day early to spend a night with my cousin in Jamestown Indiana. I’ve double checked the KY hotel reservation, then our Sunday night Nashville stay, since HEY! We’re only going to be 65 miles from there, so let’s go enjoy the Country Music Hall of Fame before heading back. They've moved into fancy new digs since we last passed through.

But I have to admit, I’ve also checked http://www.weather.com/ for each destination. Looking through my office window, if we get out of here soon, we’ll be traveling in sunny skies. But if I can believe weather.com (and did you know you can check upcoming weather for a MONTH? BWAAAA-ha-ha-ha!), by tomorrow when we leave Indiana, we’ll be traveling with dark clouds. In Bowling Green, we’ll be slogging through thunder showers, and in Nashville, more dark clouds. Overall, we’ll experience highs in the 70s and lows in the 40s. This all either will or will not happen. This makes me alternately happy and sad we’re not flying.

Man, like I said, there’s always something about the weather.

The Waiting Game

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
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On second thought, this past week it was--and continues to be--the singularly Worst of times if you and/or your captain and crew members depend upon MD-80s for any flight and/or connecting flight that might--as in might--end up taking you to wherever you need to go, and within a reasonable amount of time, which is hopefully before your meeting is over or you age out of life as we know it on planet earth.

If you're an American Airlines devotee, please know I'm praying for you as I type. If you fly any other airline, odds are your Worst of Times is coming, might already be here, or will come again, so I'll go ahead and pray for you, too. I'm sure every carrier is deluged with the onslaught of AA spillover, so may we all try to maintain peace, if not pleasantries, which are, of course, better than punches, upon which the TSA would surely frown.

In case you are stuck in an airport (or hotel room, or inside a plane, or sitting on the toilet), I thought I'd give you a little something to do to help you smile, or at least groan. (Hey, we take what we can get, right?) Please consider this multiple choice quiz my gift to You Who Wait. Although there is one legitimate answer for each question (I'd give it to you, but Googling for the answers will kill a bit more of your time), you'll note that some alternatives definitely qualify.

Enjoy!
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1. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times ..." This quote is by:
a. Shakespheare
b. Charles Dickens
c. the CEO of Southwest Airlines
d. the CEO of American Airlines
e. the Chicago Cubs

2. "What is written without effort is in general read without pleasure."
a. Samuel Johnson, 1700s
b. Presidential speech writer
c. American Airlines, recent round of missing excuses

3. "When you drink the water, remember the spring."
a. flight attendant unable to serve beverages due to turbulence (accent on the word WHEN)
b. Chinese proverb
c. vacationer in Mexico

4. "You must continue to gain expertise, but avoid thinking like an expert."
a. Dilbert
b. FAA
c. Charlie Brown
d. Denis Waitley
e. all of the above

5. "It is pleasant to have been to a place the way a river went."
a. Henry David Thoreau
b. Ralph Waldo Emerson
c. Hermelda the cow
d. American Airlines

6. "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."
a. NASA
b. Albert Einstein
c. The designer of the electrical components of the MD-80

7. "Life is divided into the horrible and the miserable."
a. Woody Allen

If you're STILL in the airport, you deserve a break, so pick him and be done.
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Will Rogers said, "We are all here for a spell; get all the good laughs you can." To this I say, AMEN!

I'M GROUNDED!

Moments ago (well, by the time I get this posted, it could be hours, and you might be a little slow on the read-me trigger so it could be days), I received an email from Joe Brancatelli with the words "Breaking News" leading the subject line. When Joe talks, I listen. Always. When it comes to astute, timely, wry, invaluable travel information, Joe is my hero .

Joe was advising his subscribers (worth every penny!) that American Airlines had grounded some of its MD-80s today, Wednesday, March 26. Since I neither work nor travel with the news broadcasting in the background (just give me silence or some great tunes), as usual, Joe was my first source for this critical piece of info. But even if I was Our Lady of the Perpetual Need for News, Joe often reports pertinent travel news hours—and sometimes days—before the news actually does. I don't question his sources; Joe knows, and that's all I need to know.

The reason for this MD-80 grounding had to do with the FAA and the inspection of wires. (Yes, better safe than sorry, but that's not my point here.) At the time of Joe's email, 200 flights already had been or would be cancelled today. Just like that, at a first (or second or too often thousandth) sign of possible trouble, a major airline ACTIVATED. Whoa.

This got me to thinking. I believe I'm personally exhibiting signs of faulty wiring, if you will. I've experienced many warning signs lately (yawning, forgetfulness, sparks), and yet, I plow on. Perhaps—and who would have ever guessed I'd say this?—I should take a lead from the airlines and abruptly ground MYSELF from all activity until someone declares me safe enough to fly, baby, fly (write, speak, write, do laundry, clean the toilet, write) again!

Picture this approach working for you. Without warning to those who depend upon you, you quietly—because you don't want to upset anyone (or wake them up) or make them think you can just do this kind of thing—send out a high-priority email with the subject line, "BREAKING NEWS: I've grounded myself." The body of your missive might go something like this.

Take note: I might not be safe. I might yell, scream, roll my eyes, experience a breakdown or spiral downward from the height of your admiration. Because of this, my departure to reach our meeting could be anywhere from five minutes to eight hours late, depending on the climate of my temperament. I need time to get a grip on myself.

Due to rocky moods, when and if I do arrive, I won't be serving coherent thoughts, so bring your own.

Should you entrust me with your fancy widgets anyway, they likely won't pass my evil-eye inspection. But even before that, I will--and you can take this to the bank--ask you to remove your shoes when entering my office, even though I'M GROUNDED and we're NOT going to move one inch toward completion of our project any time soon.

Should you decide to abandon me for another partner during my sudden and temporary (oh, please, oh please!) grounding, you'll likely discover that all you've accomplished is to swap one rocky road for another. But go ahead and try it anyway. I'm sure you'll be back. After all, I'm ME!"

Flying Featherly High

It's an exciting time to be anywhere near MN, and I'm currently in it! I'm in MN because I'm "hiding" to work on a new book project, which is always exciting. But it's double exciting to be here because the National Eagle Center in Wabasha ("Home of 'Grumpy Old Men' movies"—but sorry to say, you've already missed this year's annual festival ) is only a hop-skip away from me, and this weekend, March 7, 8 and 9, the annual Soar With the Eagles celebration takes place. If you're within gettin'-here distance, GET HERE! You won't be sorry.

Last week, my husband came up to MN (we live in Chicagoland) to take a break with me. We enjoyed a relaxing (well, aside from the POT--feel teeth gnashing together--HOLES) and scenic drive up the river on Highway 61 to Wabasha, where, for the first time, we visited the new National Eagle Center. (Take several 360-degree tours.) It's right on the river, and it's chock full of educational info; LIVE up-close-and-personal eagles, both in and out of the center; souvenirs; and a stunning view.

Wabasha itself is a Worthy stop. Some of my personal favs: the Chocolate Escape (indulge yourself in gourmet chocolates while sitting in front of picture windows facing the river); the Book Cliffs book store (Nancy, the owner, is a wealth of knowledge, not only about books, but the area); and the historic Anderson House ). But I have to say, the National Eagle Center is now WAAAAY up there on my list of pleasurable educational experiences in the entire southeastern MN area.

This weekend, the National Eagle Center will not only enable you to SOAR with the eagles, but staff and volunteer workers will offer you a number of ways to get "nose to beak" with them, including via a narrated PADDLEWHEEL cruise, and/or a guided motor coach tour! (Tickets available online--although at the time of this post, they're currently instructing visitors to phone 877-332-4537 .)

To whet your appetite, here's a personal testimony from our recent visit. We enjoyed browsing the center and taking in the 3 PM Eagle Feeding and Education Presentation. A volunteer brought one of the resident eagles right into the room with us, and we got to watch her (the eagle, that is) chow down on raw rabbit and fish.

If you think that type of show will be the top billing, consider this: you can learn all about eagle POOP, too! Yes, eagle POOP is worthy of its own educational exhibit. Think about it, then consider why your pet's poop is not "display" worthy.

Then again, if you do believe your pet's POOP is display worthy, do not tell me.

The eagle has always represented all we hold dear, and through our combined efforts, it's about to come off the endangered species list. What else might we save if we all worked together?! Even funny man Steven Colbert is talking about this, and, as always, he's worth a thought-provoking, grin-inducing watch. Check out his show clip, and you'll not only get to meet Harriet, one of the eagle residents at the National Eagle Center, but watch her eat a snack. Get yourself to SOAR WEEKEND and you'll get to meet Harriet in person.

INTERESTING TIDBIT: Harriet is The Eagle on Minnesota's Veterans' license plates project.

DISTURBING TIDBIT: the awesome twangy feathery hairdo on the top of her head (watch the Colbert clip) was AIR BRUSHED OUT for the picture on the plates.

The eagle, our American symbol, air-brushed to perfection.

I'm not even gonna allow myself to think about all those implications.