Reservation Roulette (travel planning on a budget)

I stare at my monitor through zombie eyes. Planning a multi-leg trip on a budget sucks the life out of one's brain.There are a gajillion inroads to choose from. Expedia, Kayak, Priceline, just to name a few, each offering their own benefits and dozens of alternatives. 

I also check in with my loyalty (hahahaha!) rewards programs, which are multiplying like dust bunnies. Because prices at my good ol' tried-and-true favorites have often eked their way up and out of my shrinking budget, I've been forced to engage with alternatives. Any and all of them.

Come directly to us, to our URL, they entice. We guarantee you the best deal! they promise. We have a terrific rewards program for which you've earned enough points to receive a free stay, I imagine.

As if.

Back when the boys were young and we only traveled once a year for vacation, it was so simple. 

• Where’s the closest and cheapest hotel/motel to our destination?  (Likely a Super 8. BOOKED!)
• Where is the next McDonald's? (Likely just around the corner. PARKED!)

But now that I’m a seasoned business traveler,  I expect too much, know too much, ask too many questions, have too many options. I've experienced what can happen when things run amuck, know how easy it is to be ripped off deceived taken advantage of miss a detail.

• What does this price include? 
• By the time they add parking and the internet charges, is that room still a good deal? 
• Do they charge for carry-ons?
• Is this coupon for the rental car going to save me money, or is it cheaper using AAA?
• Wonder if that hotel still has AARP rates available?
• If I choose this best-price set of flights, yet I’m knowingly flirting with missed connections... Hel-LO! 
• The neighborhood has changed to not-so-safe anymore. 
• What are my flight alternatives if/when weather turns bad? Perhaps I should choose another airport.
• Sure, I got that super-good, uber upgraded Priceline steal on that hotel, but transportation hassles to get from their location to the book gig ruined my day and offset any savings.

With my insane version of Reservation Roulette, I’m currently holding five hotel bookings for the same dates. I think. Due to my new loyalty program  frenzy, not all chains could email me a confirmation. "After we hang up, just join our loyalty program online," they said, this after I called to inquire about a few amenities, made my reservations and THEN learned about their program. "Just give us your new loyalty number at check in." This means some of the confirmation numbers I found scribbled on the back of an envelope don't yet show a match in my new loyalty accounts.

Terrific, Charlene, you DOLT!

Knowledge is sometimes not power, but vexing, hexing and dogging crazy making. For instance, I know that various booking prices are cheapest on certain days of the week. Sometimes. I’m living with the tormenting fallout of comparing prices every day or two, switching reservations as choices appear and disappear, dollar signs excel and dip, new hotels come to my attention. It is during schemes like this I really do wish I’d won the lottery so I didn’t have to think about travel on a budget. Otherwise, who needs the headache of all that money, all those friends and relatives you don't know asking for massive amounts of  moolah so they can go someplace without all this cheapo planning torment?

But for now, budget questions prevail:

•  Does a manager’s reception really matter to me? (Right about now, a cocktail sounds like a terrific idea, especially a free one!) 
• What have others said about this location? Do I trust them? Maybe they're impossible people who complain about everything or are related to the owner. 
• Do I need a restaurant nearby? Their continental breakfast might not include an ounce of protein.
• Is there a refrigerator and/or microwave in the room? 
• Where is that bedbug list posted again, and why didn’t I bookmark it the last time?! 
• Okay, I never heard of this chain, but thankfully, research shows travelers did enjoy their stays ... Oh. Back in 2008. 

**She sighs.**

The only reason I haven’t locked in the Very Cheapest Prices yet is because to do that, you must pay ahead with nonrefundable bucks, and pieces of my plans are still in flux. My biggest fear is that I’ll forget to cancel the reservations I eventually leave behind, so rather than saving myself money, I’ll end up paying for three rooms in three locations for the same night because they took my credit card info to hold them, and I lost track by writing on the backs of envelopes.


DOLT! DOLT! DOLT! 

At some point, I’ll run out of time to continue playing this game. To be honest, that will be a relief. But until then, although I know I can’t allow twenty bucks to overrule my safety or rob me of sleep, twenty bucks times a bunch of nights can make the difference between a few nice meals out versus another bowl of Wendy’s chili.

Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE Wendy’s chili (only 310 calories in a large with 26 grams of protein), which is why I often buy two of them at a time when I have a refrigerator and microwave in my hotel room.  Which reminds me, I need to recheck the amenities at two of those places…

And so my travel shenanigans continue. At least for now.
------------------------------

A QUESTION FOR YOU, DEAR READERS:


Out of curiosity, does anyone else play this tormenting game? Or do you just trip your trigger, make your reservations and move on, satisfied that any money saved wouldn't be worth the hassles or your time? 


Please let me know in the comments section. So I can either set up my therapy session or tell me husband, SEEEEEEE?! I'M NOT ALONE!

When in Rome (or Minnesota), SOUVENIR THYSELF!

When I think back on all the souvenirs I've purchased on vacation, or as What-did-you-bring-me? business trip "gifts", I sail through a variety of responses.

• I am lucky to have experienced so many swell destinations. (well, not that one bathroom)
• Whatever happened to most of those souvenir trinkets? (junk pile)
• So glad I bought those heavy-duty tee shirts 15 years ago, otherwise I might have forgotten I was there. (still wearing them, complete with frayed necklines)
• I still wish I'd purchased the better necklace on that cruise. (wrong cheap-o decision; beads everywhere)
• Buying consumable regional goods like jams and jellies is practical, but not as memory branding. (belly fat)
• Wonder how much I've spent, altogether, on souvenirs? (don't even thinkaboutit)
• How well do souvenirs define the region? (Don't most sell the same slogans with different city names?)

For better or for worse, souvenirs are markers of time.

Imagine this. You are blindfolded and given a headset powerful enough to block out chatty Captain Announcements. (Oh, baby! suggestions anyone?) You take a flight to "somewhere." After you arrive at your surprise destination, you're led into a car and driven to the closest souvenir/discount store where your impediments are removed. 

I doubt it would take you long to figure out where you were, especially if you were near the beach or circled back into the airport.Towels, tote bags, hats ... all announcing You Were (are) Here!

Well, I didn't experience the kidnapped-to-play-the-souvenir game. But I have to admit I laughed out loud when I saw this Snuggie on the shelf during one of my routine visits away from home. "Only in Minnesota," I said out loud to the stranger standing next to me. Because he was Minnesota nice, he did not respond.

Of course my comment wasn't really true. This type of camouflage everything -- sunglasses, sheets, chairs, lingerie, tents, rifle cases, doll clothes -- can be found anywhere hunters lurk (and hide, what with all that camy). Camouflage isn't just a force of gamesmanship; in some areas, it's a way of life. And there is protocol.

Case in point. Several years ago I was browsing in Fleetfarm in Winona MN (not to be confused with Farm and Fleet in LaCrosse WI) when I came upon a rack of men's insulated hoodies. On a terrific end-of-season sale. I tried one on and thought WARM! Soft. Nice.The price is right! Who cares if it's blaze orange; it'll be easy to find in the closet. So I bought it.

Several months later, I was scheduled to met my grown hunting/fishing son at the local Winona Perkins Restaurant and Bakery. It was a chilly day. I grabbed my cozy hoodie and headed out.

"Mom!" my manly son said when I arrived, eyebrows sailing. He leaned toward me, looked right and left, then all but whispered, "It's not the season for blaze orange." (This might be a slight exaggeration, but not by much.)

A blaze orange fashion Faux Pas? Who knew? The only thing I was hunting for was pancakes. Why should it matter what color anything I wore in a PERKINS?!

In case you're wondering, no, I didn't buy the souvenir (practical?) camouflage Snuggie for my grandgirlies. I do have to admit, however, that I have purchased my Minnesota sweeties a few camy hats and articles of clothing. Pink camoflauge, to be exact. And to the best of my knowledge, pink Camy was a bit of a fashion statement this winter.

Then again, I bought said pink camy items in Minnesota, at least one state that is home to the camouflage Snuggie.

Seriously, they only sold Snuggies in red and blue in the Walgreen's in the Chicago suburbs. I guess practical is as practical does. A fun souvenir to one person is a practical way of life to another.

All Together Now: WHAT ABOUT THE FEES?!

A clever chap’s blog just fired me up. Andy T. Le Peau, associate publisher for editorial at InterVarsity Press, posted a tongue-in-cheek speculation as to how it might look if publishers “look to the airline industry for inspiration.” Since I’m an author and a traveler, his topic nabbed my attention. Odds are you’re a reader with an astute business head, so please take a moment right here and now to read his thoughts before you move forward. His post is short.

[Pause, you're reading ... and, YOU'RE BACK!]

Oh, boy, Mr. LePeau, and AMEN!  I sure do resonate with the preposterousness of it all.

For instance, some book stores don’t allow exchanges, but they will issue store credit for a returned book, barring a few circumstances. Otherwise someone could buy a book, take it home, read it, bring it back and exchange it for another one. (Local book store as lending library. It happens.) But when they do offer an exchange or store credit, how nuts would they be to charge a fee for that type of service? If they did, who’d shop at their store, ever again? Whereas with the airlines, you don’t want to sneakily use the seat you need to exchange. You just want … a different one. Something better for your circumstances, or your body. Yet, the airlines charge a service fee PLUS the upcharge, and we shell out. And fly them again and again. [Southwest Airlines, I do believe you are among the teensy few who still treat passengers with respect, charging only for the difference in current fares at the time of the exchange, even if a live person helps. I seal your mention with a big kiss! ] 

Whether we're talking about an exchanged book or an airline seat, the “product” we leave behind can and likely will be resold to another chap or chapette. It’s not like we consumed it.

Yes, I understand there is employee time involved in scheduling changes. Someone has to pay said employee to do these things. Although shipping and handling fees on Internet and catalog purchases are annoying and sometimes exorbitant, it does take manpower to accomplish the task. People need to earn a living. 

But in the end, doesn't that still circle back to us? We’re often the ones facilitating such online changes. At the very least, airlines could consider our time a fair exchange (pay us instead of themselves), which might look something like this: airlines trade at least one of their scurrilousness surcharges for the time we spend buying upgrades or making our own scheduling adjustments. I'm sure someone could invent a handy app for that.

You know, I feel suddenly compelled to do some tricky math involving OUR TIME: We pay for the seat, the difference in fares if we change the seat, do all the work AND pay an additional   fee for the privilege to give the airlines even more money for the more expensive seat, perhaps even the seat we already earned with hard earned airlines miles?

Okay, now I’m mad.

This past weekend, I watched an awe inspiring segment, video here, on the CBS Sunday Morning Show about the digital revolution. It included an interview with the vibrant Molly Katchpole, the young woman who posted the original change.org effort to revolt against banks (read Bank of America, the first villain) inexplicably deciding to charge us fees to access our own money. (Note, when the banks tried to charge us the way the airlines do, a revolt ignited!) The CBS segment highlighted and affirmed the power we wield when we turn our collective efforts toward determination.

So, is there no way we can put a stop to these blood sucking airline fees?

Seriously, imagine what would happen if the publishing industry—if any industry (keep the banking industry in mind here, aside, of course, from Freddie and Fannie and … the imagination can only stretch so far)—followed the airlines’ lead by so dishonoring its customers. What say ye, road warriors? Is there something we can do to launch change, rather than continue counting on the government or the airlines themselves to stop the insanity? What do you think?

Or are we just doomed to suck it up and pay, no matter how dumb it looks when we see such a comparison lined out by someone in the publishing business.

I think I need a stress tab now. Thanks for that, Mr. Le Peau! :)

In the process of full disclosure, I know Mr. Le Peau. He's a really smart and likable guy. I published my first book with InterVarsity Press, way back in 1991. DON'T MISS YOUR KIDS, they'll be gone before you know it. It is (subliminal message) still in print and available through InterVarsity Press and via other resources. 

When Small Things Matter (or should they?)

Last week, we purchased a new car for hubby. Well, new to us. It had 15,000 miles on it, which put the make, model and year we at long last narrowed our choices down to, in a range we could afford. We felt good about the deal. 

Today, I'll spare you most of the sordid shopping details, aside from the One Thing I really want to talk about, which I shall do later. Suffice it to say that on numerous occasions, our (hubby and I together, to use the word loosely) car buying experiences have been so horrendous, and so funny (in hindsight), that I've sold several stories about the hysterics and drama, the wars and compromises, the song that might best be titled I Left My Spouse at the Car Dealer Blues. If one of us likes it, the other doesn't. Exasperating is the word that comes to mind. I'm told couples can relate.

Having said all of that, we drove happily home in a 2011 Toyota Avalon Limited. (Factoid: the average age buyer for the Avalon is 64.) For two people who qualify for all senior discounts, not just some, we found the Sizzling Crimson Mica color quite exotic. It goes well with our cement driveway and the earrings I wore the day we signed the papers. Su-weet!

We traded in George's 2001 Buick LeSabre with 122,000+ miles. He loved that car; it served us well. My car, a 2003 Lexus RX300, has nearly 120,000 miles on it. We bought it used in 2003 with 5000 miles. I'm still in a love affair with my black comfy beauty. Both the LeSabre and the Lexus ran well, but we decided it was just time to up one, especially since we have a couple long trips in front of us, so we picked the oldest vehicle for our farewells.

I'm sure the Avalon's tricked out Navigation System will come in handy since we love to travel back roads. We adore the hands'-free functions, as well as the bazillion other fancy things the car offers, including reclining back seats and a back-up camera. It's HUGELY roomy. Whatever you need, we have a button for that. As soon as we figure them out and stop turning on our windshield wipers instead, life will be grand. The Avalon's ride is amazing. Street noise is missing. (Nice!) The same day we picked it up, we drove to Minnesota and averaged nearly 31 miles per gallon. YES!

But none of that is what I really want to talk about today. When we were signing the papers—literally—something struck in my craw, and I can't seem to get over it. Perhaps it's because I'm a seasoned traveler. But before I deliver the craw-sticker, let us recap: we dropped a bucketload of money on a new-to-us car, purchased at a Toyota dealer so large, it has access to a test track. (Yes, we used it. Perhaps I'll post about that another time.) Their service department waiting area is pleasant and well lit; the ladies' room is regal. The ginormous overall facility is spotless. But when we went to sign the papers, back in the secret bowels of the building, the gentleman handed us each a very familiar ballpoint pen with Hilton HHonors™  printed on it. One was slightly chewed and missing the cap clip.

"Seriously? These are the pens you give people to sign contracts?" I said this out loud, volume slightly up, without a trace of humor in my voice because I felt none. I didn't sound angry, mind you, but … serious.

"Hey, they were free," the guy said with a smile, thinking this was all in good fun.

"This is pretty tacky." Again, no smile from me. "It's just wrong to hand these to your Toyota buying customers."

"What kind of pen do you want?" he asked, now sounding confused, perhaps slightly offended himself, which I'm sure I sounded by now.

"One that doesn't say Hilton HHnors™  on it. Maybe one that says Toyota and includes your dealer name?" I refrained from adding, One that hasn't been chewed.

"Those disappear," the guy said.

"You mean the same way these pens disappeared from your hotel room? They're advertising. They're supposed to disappear."

By now, the guy figured out I was not kidding, about any of this. He commandeered the Hilton pens and swapped them out for what he called the "plain Bic pens with no character."

"Good," I said. "That's much better." At last, I smiled.

For the record, I am a proud Hilton HHonors™  member, and likely already have a bunch of said pens here and there and everywhere in my travel bags. And my husband and I didn't keep the plain Bic pens, which we weren't offered to keep anyway. To be honest, I don't need another pen and likely wouldn't have taken it unless the person handing us the pens would have said, "By the way, keep the pen, maybe in your car. It has our phone number on it in case you ever need to call."

Since this episode, my husband has brought up the topic with every friend we've visited. "And she didn't have a trace of humor in her voice," he says. "She wasn't kidding." I can never decide whether he's more amazed by the Hilton pens, or my strong objection to them.

(Pause two minutes here while I ask. I can't believe I haven't asked before this!)

I called a quick kitchen-table meeting and made my query. George's response, "I was surprised this bothered you so much. I mean, I'll admit it was strange to be handed Hilton pens, and you could have mentioned it. But maybe you didn't need to sound so … demeaning about it."

In all honesty, since he said that, I feel a little embarrassed. It was surely not my intent to demean the guy! Talk about tacky and disrespectful, Charlene! But I did want to make a point: in business, small things matter. Toyota makes a good product. The sales' team (and of course their managers) had worked hard to give us a quality experience and seal the deal. Why ruin it with a final tacky action? Come to think of it, I guess it felt kind of demeaning, to use George's word of the day, to be handed some guy's chewed pen from one of his hotel rooms, a feeling which is perhaps what set me off. I mean, go ahead, collect the hotel room pens, dude. Just don't hand them to your Toyota customers.

But now, I'm curious: am I the odd one here? Barring my apparently insensitive response to the guy's tacky chewed pen offering (okay, it still grinds me), what do you think? Should this kind of traveling business detail matter? Say if American Airlines handed you a pen with Fairfield Inn and Suites printed on it to sign your credit card purchase for first-class tickets, would you even take notice?

Please weigh in with a comment. Help save a marriage. (Just kidding. Seriously.)

.

On Bucket Lists and Contests

I received an email from American Airlines enticing me with a come-on that says, "Been there. Done that." It's a chance to win one of three trips I have on my bucket list. I know this because they said that after I win it, I can cross the trip off my bucket list. (American Airlines: We read minds!)

All I'd have to do to win one of these experiences (after I register and read the small print and select which trip I desire, making sure to follow the exact instructions provided), is to then, before March 19 of this year, book an airline trip through American Airlines. To enter. And then, if they pick me out of the hundreds of thousands of entries (or however many), VOILA!

Although their trips are, for many, undoubtedly already on your bucket list, I wasn't hugely interested in any of them. Once you check out the link, you might wonder what is wrong with me that I neither crave a Napa Valley Excursion, a Paris Fashion Immersion, or an opening day Baseball Experience in NYC. If I even had a bucket list, my travel wishes would skew more toward ALASKA again! Or what about IRELAND! We have so many old friends in Florida now! Wouldn't it be nice to putter around and visit them before we're all dead? But that's just me. I'm not a huge wine fan (whiskey, please), I'm definitely not into fashion, and although I do love baseball, unless one of the NYC teams is playing the Cubs ... (Why do I torture myself?)

In order to win, you have to have an AA Advantage #, be 21 years of age, and make sure you use the same email to both register and order tickets.You must have somewhere you need to fly, and buy those tickets by the deadline. You also might want to read the entire list of official rules (link located on the choices page), barring you're not already running out of time to achieve your bucket list--especially if you want to allow time to read the privacy statements about what they can do with your information. Prizes are worth $17,000 each (they will award one of each), so you also have to be able to afford to pay the taxes. It says so in those rules.

I supposed you have to be nuts not to register, because, hey, it's free, and it could be fun. All trips, even to your local Denny's, can be filled with adventure and frivolity if you're with the right people, correct? They're all four-day trips, and they are for two. It doesn't say you have to take your spouse or even your significant other. In fact, from what I can tell, you don't even have to be one of the two. But then again, I didn't read all that fine print because I'm now too busy working on my bucket list, since even AA thinks I have one.

In the process of full disclosure, I did register. I plan on taking up a collection to pay those taxes, should I win--and I am, seriously, the luckiest person I've ever met. I'm in for the NYC baseball experience. By the time I read that I'd get to spend time with "a baseball legend," receive a tour of NYC (I do love the energy of that place!), a "spa experience," (okay, they started getting my serious attention), a $2500 MasterCard gift card (to procure a few items on my shiny new bucket list), and dine at Red Rooster Harlem (I'm definitely in now: there's FOOD!), I found myself seriously HOPING to win, this after my whatever beginnings.

But my problem is this: I have no airline reservations to make, which is their motivation for offering the prizes: FLY US. But just in case a surprise journey should pop up by mid-March, when I'll be doing a little book touring, albeit driving, you can bet I'll try to fly AA, just to have a shot at winning. I can already taste those mm-mm ballpark dogs. With my MC gift certificate, I'll be able to afford them.

**I can't imagine why I wrote about this! My personal advertising might cause you to enter, thereby lowering my odds. Then again, maybe if you win, you'll take ME!**

Negotiating Life's Speed Bumps (take heed)

Feel it?

Sometimes, we temporarily need to let go of a few Good Things in order to handle the rest of the Good Things—and a few rocky ones as well. 

Alas, my TravelingLaughs blog posts fell among the “backburnered for a spell”.  (My apparent definition of “a spell”:   Basically since May 2010. Where does time go?!)  Too many deadlines, too much stress, not enough of me to go around. Yada-yada.

But the main reason I had to temporarily uncurl my fingers from a few ongoing due dates:  too many compiling health issues. 

Need a break?

Not surprisingly, the health issues were induced/exacerbated by the deadlines and stress and … you get the picture.  Maybe you’ve been there.  Maybe you ARE there. (I pause here and fire up a prayer for those currently living in those crazed trenches.) Add in a heart monitor, a biopsy, endless medical tests, a high-rise worth of worry and insurance papers, and … fast-forward to this brief explanation about my absence.

The Good News:  I’m ba-ack (at least once in awhile) because after a steep learning curve, I’m wiser (do not ask my husband about this), better paced (for a slow person), and for the most part, pretty well mended. I’m also old, getting wrinklier, but still considering myself fascinating.

It seems not one of the numerous health issues I have--and I “have” several wonky ones, including a rare benign tumor--is going to kill me. YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! There is a time for coping, a time for sucking it up, a time for stopping or at least slowing down, and a time to resume one’s New Normal. Welcome to my world!

As for travel, I no longer board many airplanes, for which I am grateful. This coming May, we’ll be attending a family wedding in Albuquerque. George and I have already decided we’re going to drive, a plan that used to make my nose hairs curl. But these days, Post Physical Meltdown, there is something lovely about the pace of driving, the ability to “Take that back road, George!”,  to stop at local cafes and see a bit more of this great country through something other than a Martian’s-eye view--although sometimes that view is breathtaking. Perhaps driving will even help me adjust more normally to Albuquerque’s elevation. The last few times we flew in, it took at least two days for the headache to subside.

In accordance with my new dedication to living wiser, I herewith proclaim: the mother of the groom should not have a headache throughout the festivities, just because she was in a flying hurry to get to the wedding. (EXCITING! However, due to the casualness of the wedding--but mostly for the continuing betterment of my health--I am totally NOT reading the stressful information on that mother of the groom link!) We shall take our time, see the sites along the way, arrive a couple days ahead of schedule, press through the adjustment, and, as a result, be in our finest shape to witness and enjoy the miracle and blessing of Love.

Perhaps it’s a good day for you to check your schedule, see if you can’t find at least one upcoming road-warrioring trip that allows you a little breathing room. Maybe a tweek here, an extra four hours there before you have to fly out or home. Maybe you can even skip one of those trips. For Real.

These are pretty cool.
They're made out of 100% recyclable
materials, and can be moved--to where you
need speed bumps the MOST!
Get the metaphor?!?!?!

Once you’ve experienced burnout and helped crash-land your own health, you feel it’s your responsibility to at least suggest a few speed bumps in the traveling lives of others.

Signed,

The Voice of Experience

  

Traveling Bags

Always grumbling about your handbag? Yep, me too. My current adorable yet nearly completely useless bag has made me so crazy, I decided to write a TwinkleGram about it. Check it out, then weigh in on your bag by taking the survey. After all, who else is going to listen to us?!

Travel, the Wild Hair Way

At 9:05 on the morning of Cinco de Mayo, I got a "wild hair" of an idea, as my grandma used to call them. I was suddenly crazy (authors are like this, you know—well, at least this one is) to see, IN PERSON, Luis Alberto Urrea, author, among other books, of Into the Beautiful North, which I'd just finished reading. LOVED IT! Moving, funny, insightful, enjoyable, heart breaking and educational. Hoo-za!

That very evening, Luis was to appear at my local book store in Glen Ellyn, Illinois, handily called The Bookstore. I knew this because I subscribe to The Bookstore's electronic newsletter and always check out their super duper blog. (Hey, they're hosting an upcoming Author Happy Hour with Shilpi Gowda, author of Secret Daughter. Check the super duper blog link.  Perhaps you should arrange a trip just to see her!  And/or, come to Glen Ellyn's first ever BookFest  June 19 featuring many authors, including Elizabeth Berg, Melanie Benjamin, and me!)

Sure, some time ago I'd marked the event on my calendar. But truthfully, even though the wild hair idea niggled and waved (Pick ME, pick ME!), I needed to be writing.  Why?  Because book and magazine deadlines niggled and waved: Pick ME if you want to get PAID!  Also, I was in MN, not home in Glen Ellyn. So I pretty much wrote off the opportunity to meet a Pulitzer Prize Finalist as a wild hair idea blown askew. Major pouting ensued.

But wild hairs can be wildly insistent. At 9:10 on said Cinco de Mayo, I reread the newsletter [using up minutes on the ticking clock], which informed me that in honor of Cinco de Mayo and the appearance of Mr. Urrea (@Urrealism on Twitter), the Bookstore would serve multitudes of snacks, provided by Chicks n Salsa, and … MARGARITAS!

An overwhelming thirst urge to Get Thee To The Bookstore consumed me. I knew one thing: the Amtrak train left daily from Winona some time around 10. (In case you haven't had your coffee yet, a refresher: the wild hair idea struck at 9:05.) Although I'd never ridden the train from Winona to Chicago, both my husband and our youngest son had. Different trips; both recounted as "enjoyable". My son said he even had power access for his laptop, right under his seat. (Whoa. Take that, American Airlines economy class!)  After days on end of intense hammering of fingers on the keyboard, a leisurely scenic train ride, just watching the beautiful world go by while I anticipated meeting The Luis Umberto Urrea, sounded dreamy.

Sure, I could have hopped in my car. Without road construction, it's a five-hour trip and the event didn't start until 7. But I was tired. And on my trip to MN, I had suffered through (exaggeration, but we're talking writerly WILD HAIRS here) three loooong delays of orange cones and one-lane-ahead stretches. Blaaach.

Briliant Bonus thought: my husband was driving to MN the very next day. So, I could one-way train it to Chicago, see Luis, enjoy refreshments (hear slurping sound), and ride back with George.

But what about Kornflake, my big red dog? I phoned our neighbor and asked if he could take him out a couple times. [Using ticking clock minutes, but worthy minutes.] Yes, he could. Thus, the wild hair became the plan, and the whirlwind began. (Found poem.)

Pack laptop in pink Life Is Good backpack. (HURRY!) Pack blood pressure pills in backpack. Don't forget cell phone. Do I need to take clothes? [Using precious ticking clock minutes thinking. I'm old, and sometimes thinking is the most difficult part.] No! After all, I will be in my own home for the night, and back to MN the next day.

WHOA! Pack cell phone charger!

Thinking: Wonder if tickets are even available for the train today?

Seriously, you think about this NOW, Charlene?! 

Thinking: always trouble.

However, already packed laptop. By the giant Men's Timex Indiglo watch on my wrist, I noted it was now 9:40. Not enough time to unpack, boot up and check. Not enough time to look up number and call. I'm moving so fast I'm dropping things, running into walls, and becoming one heartbeat short of hysterical.  I decide I'm not even taking my handbag.  I plop my wallet in my backpack.

When I'd called our neighbor to ask if he could watch Kornflake, he'd volunteered to take me to the station. "No!" I'd said. "I'm good. I'll just leave the car overnight in the station parking lot." So, I ran to my mid-size SUV, backpack in tow, only to find my car filled with items I would not want to leave visible all night at a train station. If I started thinking about what I needed to take out … Well, I'd be thinking, not getting to the train station

See me speed dialing. "Can you still take me after all?" I asked my kind neighbor.

"I'm on my way!" I hopped in his car at about 9:48. We were seven miles from the station. We flew down the hill.

"Don't leave yet!" I hollered as I jumped out of the car at the station. "I gotta see if they have a ticket!"

They did. It cost me about $68 bucks plus change. I asked if that was the senior rate. (Quick thinking!) The guy said yes. "But my husband only paid like $38 dollars!"

"Ma'am, your husband probably booked ahead."

Well, there was that.

I bought my ticket, told my landlord thanks and good-bye. As he pulled away, I heard the train whistle. Within minutes, I was Chicago bound on Amtrak, still catching my breath. I could hardly believe it.

SUMMATION: Although seating was not assigned, when I got on the train, a very happy Amtrak worker pointed to a seat and said, "Sit there.  After the next stop, when about 70 kids get on, the train will be full." It was an aisle seat. The woman near the window was wrapped up in a blanket and had the curtains closed. She awakened long enough to say she'd been on the train since 2 a.m.. Across the aisle from me (right), a giant wall of metal.  So, no scenic view, and no power under my seat. When I inquired, the kind woman working my car said they were still swapping some of the cars out. My son must have had a new setup.  She inquired if I needed to charge my phone.  I said no, otherwise she was going to somehow oblige the need.  Super nice.

I texted my son: whine, whine, poor me, no plug, no view …. He suggested I go to the club car, which I did. Try finding that kind of option in an airplane!

Club cars RULE! Nice! Upper deck. Sky. View. Comfy seat. Snacks available. Everyone working the train CHEERY!

They announced lunch would soon be served in the dining car. There would be limited seating. I waited till the last call. I was seated with three very nice folks. Great conversation, and my veggie burger was the best I've ever had! Burger and fries, under ten bucks. Waiter CHEERY TOO! I was impressed!

The train arrived in Chicago 13 minutes EARLY! I walked over to Ogilvie Transportation Station (one block), caught the Metra commuter train ("The way to really fly") to Glen Ellyn, and VOILA!

Luis was awesome, completely worth the trip. He told wonderful behind-the-scenes stories, shared his excitement about his new graphic novel, Mr. Mendoza's Paintbrush, and refreshments were yum.  (Hear plentiful slurping sounds.) The next day, I enjoyed the ride back to MN, husband behind the wheel. I was still basking in the afterglow of the wonderful evening, feeling relaxed, refreshed, and amazed at the events of my last twenty-four hours.

All this to say, if and when a wild traveling hair strikes you (perhaps to BookFest in Glen Ellyn?), try it! You might just like it—especially if it involves a train with a club car AND a dining car, a book event with a superb author AND margaritas, and a free ride on the flip side.
----------------
(PS. Among my other duties/appearances at BookFest, I get to introduce Elizabeth Berg.  But I also shall be cohosting the "Get Lit" portion of the day at the Tap House Grill. Hm. I'm thinking--and you know how that goes for me-- there is a hidden theme in this message.  Slurp.)

Everything Old Is Repurposed Again

My last post, I wrote about how happy I am with my cell phone switch to Sprint. So far, still am. YAY! I also mentioned I talked a friend into giving Sprint a try.  For the sake of expediency, I'll call that friend Brad.  Brad even went with the same phone, an HTC Hero.

A surprise payoff for all that happy enthusiasm: Brad returned the favor by sharing with me his accidental discovery, which I'm now going to pass along to you, you lucky fellow sojourners. This grand discovery will work no matter who your wireless carrier*.  Prepare yourself for brilliance.

But first, let me say that for his 30-day Sprint test period, like me, my friend also made use of a Sprit temporary cell number. He previously used Verizon Wireless (as did I), which he kept during the Sprint 30-day trial. I highly recommend this method because that way, you can doubly annoy your friends by tag teaming them with calls.

"Can you hear me now?"

Click.

Ring. Ring …

"But can you hear me better now?"

After Brad ported his old number to Sprint, one day he called and asked the usual Can you hear me okay now? question. Yes, I could. (Cheers around! Still works!) He explained he was testing something else new, thus the call. He'd loaded music into his Hero and for the first time decided to give it a try in his vehicle. And then …

Here's how the discovery came about.

--He grabbed the car gadget (right) he long ago purchased to use with his portable CD player. (Remember portable CD players? This is why we can never ever throw anything away, right?)



--He slipped the "tape" into the tape deck and plugged the "headset" end into his phone. He did nothing with the power supply that goes in the cigarette lighter.

--He pushed the play button on his Hero, set the phone in the ash tray and voila! Hero music through the car stereo!

But wait for it ... here comes the good part!

--Suddenly the music stopped. But … the PHONE RANG! He pushed "answer" on his phone, and just like that, he heard the caller's voice through his car stereo system too. The Hero has a good enough microphone that the caller (then I, during his test call) could hear him fine, even though he left the phone in the ash tray.

HANDS-FREE, NO-COST cell phone system!

I said, "Wait a minute! I think *I* still have one of those around somewhere!" And indeed I did. I'd stored it away with the old Discman, the one I used to put in a fanny pack to walk on the prairie path. Of course I now use a Sansa clip-on MP3 player [Sandisk pink thing on top of Discman, now old too] for those walks and to listen to books on tape. (We've come a long way baby, eh?) But it never occurred to me to use that same old portable CD car gadget on my MP3 player, which I've now learned works way better than the "tune to one of these station" pieces of static-y junk I bought and tossed!

Although I'm weaning myself from driving and talking on the phone (I promise you, I am), it's still good to know I can listen to my own music on my own car stereo system and still take a call—so that I can tell them I'll call them back when I pull over. (In case the law is reading this.) Or quickly tell my agent that yes, I have decided to accept that measly bazillion dollar book advance. (A girl can dream, can't she?) Or tell my husband, "No, honey, I wasn't in that multi-car pile-up on I-90 that NBC is talking about." Or my lunch date, "No, I haven't forgotten. I'm just running late." Or my editor, "Of course I'm home working on the book!" (Not necessarily in that order. No. Never.)

*The trick here is that you have to have a vehicle old enough to take a cassette tape. (You remember those, right?) And you have to be a pack rat. And a techno geek, and … easily entertained.

If you've found handy new travel uses for other old stuff, please comment here. In this economy, every little bit helps.

And by the way, if Brad and I are the last people to know about this "wonderful old portable CD multi-purpose cassette cord discovery," please keep it to yourself. In my mind, I am about to be a bazillion dollars richer from that new book contract I'm going to accept through my stereo speakers, and he is a genius.

Loyalty Is As Loyalty Does--or does not

I never thought I'd see the day. Three months into the switch, this used-to-be-dedicated-to-Verizon gal is now a happy Sprint believer. I'd been with Verizon since 1995, back when they were Ameritech. Happy with customer service and connectivity, I was one of those Verizon evangelists, singing their praises to hapless "other brand" no-bar folks around me as I blabbedy-blabbed away, cell phone to ear.

I know.  I KNOW.  Sprint takes a bad wrap when it comes to customer service.  Consumer Reports recently (and again) gave them the dreaded solid black circle for "issue resolved."  I did not make this move lightly or without trepidation, and in fact fought against it.  I worked with Verizon for nearly a year to fix an ongoing issue at the main off-site location where I hide to write.  I called and begged Verizon not to force me to leave them.  Seriously.  Called - and - begged.  "Just fix my issue.  That's all it will take.  PLEASE!  You've always been so good!"

From what I'd been told, when Verizon signed the deal to take over many of the Alltel areas, they stopped using Sprint towers--at least in the area where I was on Roaming services.  That's when things went bad.  Real bad.  Incoming calls no longer triggered the ring.  Dropped calls became the usual.  I had no bars.  My Blackberry Storm flipped between types of service.  I'd find out an hour after someone called me that I had a message.  I spent more time redialing disconnects than talking.  And on and on the headaches went.

I can't even guess how many times I called Verizon customer service--oftentimes ending up disconnected.  Because they're good, they called me back.  They were sympathetic.  Stick with us, they said.  Things will change when we're done with the transition in that particular area.  So I stuck, and I stuck.  They kindly gave me minutes for all my dropped calls, which I used making more dropped calls. 

But when the Alltel to Verizon transition was finally complete, the service was no better.  Months later, it still wasn't.  I asked point blank if there was anything (please, oh please!) on the horizon that could eventually make my situation better.  The answer was, "Honestly, no."  They continued to repeat that I was in a "fringe area."  Funny, I said for the forty billioneth time, that I didn't have this same "fringe" problem when you used Sprint towers to roam.

Then one day I heard myself say that last sentence.  Doink!

I chatted with a couple happy Sprint neighbors.  They claimed they even talked "all the way up the hill" without dropping a call, something never possible for me.  "Hey, Verizon," I said during my next call, "Sprint seems to be kicking your connectivity butt in this area."  Verizon suggested I buy a $200 signal booster.  "Do I just plug it in?" I asked.  No.  But all I'd need was a broadband connection to make it work.

Whoa.

A few months previous to their suggestion, in order to end my hate affair with dial-up (the only thing available),  I'd purchased a Sprint broadband card, which, remarkably, worked without fail.  How crazy would it be to pay Verizon $200 for a signal booster, which I would have to use through my Sprint broadband service?

Time to rethink your brand loyalty, Charlene.  What have I got here?  Neighbors who stay connected on Sprint, Verizon that used to work when roaming on Sprint towers, and a Sprint broadband card that doesn't fail.  I said to my husband, who was tired of hearing me yell about dropped calls, "My brand loyalty is not serving us well." 

I visited a corporate Sprint store near my writing location and spoke with a representative.  I laid my cards on the table.  "I don't want to leave Verizon."  He smiled, said I had thirty days to give the Sprint service a try.  What the heck.  I went with an HTC Hero phone (love, love, LOVE it!), used a temporary number for those 30 days and kept my Verizon service--just in case.  Within two days, I was hooked.

I admit I had concerns that Sprint wouldn't work as well when I returned to my home base area of Chicagoland.  But I needn't have worried.  They rocked it as well as Verizon.  I got hubby a new phone (not as fancy as mine, but free after rebate and he can still make use of the GPS navigation etc.) and we ported our numbers. So far, I have absolutely no complaints.  In fact, I raved about their service so much that a friend up north made the switch too and is as happy as I am.  He also went with the HTC Hero. 

In terms of pricing, I believe Sprint is the better deal.  Hubby and I get a lot of bang for our buck. We are on the Everything Data Family - with Any Mobile, Anytime(SM) plan, 1500 minutes.  GPS navigation, unlimited messaging,  free calls to any cell phone using any service, Sprint TV and radio, free nights and weekends with better hours than Verizon ...  All this for $129.00 a month.  I love my phone.  Connections are great.  The Wi-Fi works swell.  I never thought I could love something more than my Blackberry, but I am now an Android believer.  And apps ... Oh, the APPS!  During the Olympics, I even downloaded a cowbell app.  I could shake my phone and ring a cowbell with the best of them.  (See, you're not the only ones who can do all this stuff, iPhone folks!)   I can flip a coin, level a two-by-four, read a book and play Poke-a-Mole! 

But the bottom line is that Sprint is doing for me what Verizon could not:  they are keeping me connected in an area where I spend a good deal of time.  Does this mean I'm mad at Verizon?  Absolutely not.  Who knows, maybe one day I'll want to go back.  But for now I'm a happy little traveler with a question for you:  is your brand loyalty serving you well? 

In like a lion. Out like a lamb. Here like a toothache.

Joe Brancatelli of www.joesentme.biz  is my most reliable and diligent travel guru.  Not only is his industry coverage accurate, he often predicts and reports travel breakdowns before they happen.

Want to receive urgent up-to-the-nanosecond news bulletins before it's even reported on TV?  (How does he do it?!)  Subscribe to www.joesentme.biz, then hit the trails knowing Joe’s on the job.

Joe’s expertise saves me from making booking errors, and occasionally makes me rethink my attitude—which is a good thing.  But there is more to Joe.

He shares his spotlight with trusted professionals who write about travel gadgets, worldwide hotels, golf courses, restaurants, bars …  (FULL DISCLOSURE: He advertises this blog, which, compared to the rest of his posse, is Travel Lite.)  He is a film buff, music lover, fine diner and a quirky curmudgeon with a soft heart.  I relish the receipt of his Friday Brancatelli File email newsletter because he covers all this and more.

But last Friday, the Joester ticked me off.

Following important facts and speculations about the then pending British Airways strike, and after pointing to his astute article on the airlines’ resistance to upcoming regulations (in which he used the word gobsmacked), AND after sharing critical info in the "Steals and Deals" section of Tactical Traveler, he announced he was getting to the “really important stuff.”  Huh? What could be more important than all of that?  Then I read his next sentence.

“Great first day of March Madness, eh?”

Doink.

Yes, Joe. It is March.  And I am mad.  About one thing: March Madness.

“Who doesn’t love upsets by underdogs and double overtime games?” he asks.  I sense the dreamy lilt of true love in his voice.

Me,  Joe.  ME!

Yes, I almost always root for the underdogs.  But I never watch basketball.  Never.  I am MAD in March because my husband doesn’t share my disdain of the sport.  “Gads, George! Isn’t this the last game YET?”

George stares at me.  Blinks.  Rotates one eye back to the TV. Draws a deep breath and begins rattling of a string of endless numbers.  “They start with say 64 teams, then play down to thirty-two, then to the Sweet Sixteen...”  The color guys are screaming.  George stops talking to watch.  I do not look at the TV.  I hear gym shoe squeaks, whistles, gym shoe squeaks, a backboard bang, the hubbub regarding a fake fall to the floor. Time out. “Then,” George says, resuming his fast-talking rundown while keeping one eye on the TV (heaven forbid he miss a drip of their profuse sweat, enough sweat to fill the court for water polo), “it’s down to the Elite Eight, on to the Final Four to the …”

I interrupt.  “Just tell me where we are in all this ‘excitement.’”

He turns his head my way.  “You don’t want to know.”

It’s not just George. Travel during March is a nightmare. Every bar in every airport, every TV in every hotel lobby, every radio in every cab. Basketball.  Seatmates rustle the newspaper, frantically folding and refolding, reading every word about every game likely already watched. And sometimes, they want to talk about it.

"I hate basketball," I say, delivering a preemptive shut down.

But now, it's Joe in my inbox, talking basketball--in a travel newsletter.

Point, shoot, bounce the ball, point, shoot, (yawn), run, gym shoe squeak, whistle, run, gym shoe squeak, louder gym shoe squeak, fake fall to the floor, GYM SHOE SQUEAK.  ANOTHER WHISTLE.  BOUNCING  BALLS.  PEOPLE SCREAMING.  FAKE—FAKE, FAKE, FAKE--FALL TO THE FLOOR!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Truly compelling stuff,” Joe writes.

Oh, yeah.  Compelling.

March MADNESS indeed.

Connecting Life's DOTS

Remember the old expression, blazing a trail? Yesterday, that's what I thought I'd be doing. Yep, blazing a sparkling trail from Minnesota to Oskaloosa, Iowa for a book event at the Book Vault. Lots of preparations on both ends; very excited to see the store (it has an actual vault in it!) and chat with the peeps, share my behind-the-stories stories!  FUN ROAD TRIP!

The night before my scheduled departure, I stayed up till 12:30 a.m. clearing my work slate. You know how it goes with last-minute this and that. Send rewrite file to editor; rethink wardrobe (baby, it's cold outside); make sure have safety kit in the car (wind chills down to 30 below); get up in plenty of time to take dog to kennel—OH! Didn't pack his treats! One more thing, one more thing.

After I finally got to bed, my brain was still going two-forty. It took me about an hour to nod off. Twice I was awakened by the rattling window in the bedroom of this old farm house. Wow! Hope that wind's not causing too much drifting, because if it is, that won't bode well for I-90, I-80, I-35, or any other I-yi-yi-yi kind of road through the Midwest. I'd doze back into a restless sleep until the next time I'd awaken.  Is there ice? Will readers be able to get to the store? Do I have enough juice in my windshield washer thingie? (Hubby warned me twice but still haven't checked.)

At six a.m. I gave up on sleep and fired up my laptop. It's always the last thing I slip into my backpack before heading out the door. I went straight to the Iowa Department of Transportation 511 winter road conditions website to check on the roads.

Yikes! Nearly the entire STATE was RED, much of it CLOSED. The map looked like a schematic of human blood veins. Roads that were open indicated that "travel was not advised." Phrases like "completely covered" kept my attention. I checked the Minnesota DOT 511 site (winter roads) for Southeastern MN which didn't look any better. It didn't help calm my nerves that the day before, there'd been a 40-car pileup on I-35 in Iowa. (Check out THOSE picture.  And shelters open?!)  I thought conditions were supposed to get better!

The maps refresh themselves every minute or so (nice!), so I set about sitting in front of them, staring, fretting. Still closed. More closed. WAIT! That one way down there is now orange. What does the note say? "Roadway is mostly covered with ice, roadway is mostly covered with snow, towing services prohibited." In other words, if you're dumb enough to try this and end up in the ditch, you're on your own, Bucko.

By the bazillioneth screen refresh--and after many cups of tea and dithering about when, exactly, I turned old enough to switch gears from the "I'm sure you can still make it!" mode to the "You better stay safe!" mindset—I called the kind ladies at the Book Vault. Although they said they'd received notification that a portion of I-35 had just opened, there was still too much treacherous traveling to do before I got to that point, and the forecast for the next two weeks was not good. Also, what did "open" really mean when the Iowa DOT still said it wouldn't allow anyone to come rescue you?

Alas, the trip—the event--was cancelled with talk of a later reschedule some time after Mother Nature can no longer huff and puff us into staying put. We FaceBooked, Twittered, emailed and websited the cancellation news. Still, it didn't stop me from continuing to check and connect the online DOTS throughout the rest of the day, wondering if I'd made the right choice. Although it appeared that by nightfall, most roads eventually opened, they were still listed as "mostly covered." My editor sent a sweet email saying she was glad I stayed safe. Me too, I thought.

But at what age did I decide staying safe was the goal?

Is it a smart goal? Of course it is. Still, as I look out at today's sunshine and sparkling snow, I feel a little defeated, a little more creaky and cranky, a little too safe. Perhaps I'll go blaze a trail to somewhere, just to help me get over this—right after I slip my ice cleats onto my boots.

Go With the Flow

Twice while washing dishes this week, I noticed that the entire belly of my sweatshirt was drenched, and that there was a small puddle of water on the floor near my feet. Where, I wondered, was the water coming from? I examined the pipes under the sink, the spray nozzle I use to rinse the dishes… No leaks. Nothing unusual. Huh. Must have accidentally poured a glass of water all over everywhere without realizing it. I'm old. That'll happen.

The third time the same scenario took place I discovered the root of the problem. ("Third time's a charm," my mom used to say.) The mat under the dish drainer was pushed away from the lip of the sink, leaving a huge gap. Therefore, the water that drained off the dishes into the mat flowed onto the counter rather than into the sink. This old farmhouse where I come hide to write is not level, so the water ran like a river along the narrow strip of counter top in front of the sinks. Since I lean into the countertop when I wash dishes, my sweatshirt served as its own Sham-WOW!, although not as well. It sopped up some of the water but the rest overflowed onto the floor.

RESOLUTION: Push mat lip over sink edge where it belongs. Water flows where it's supposed to.  Problem solved.

The next day I went to see the movie Up In the Air starring George Clooney. For those unfamiliar with the plotline, let's just say Clooney is handsome. Whoops! Let's just say Ryan Bingham, the character he plays, flies 300+ days a year and he likes it that way. Due to Bingham's mega accrual of miles and perks, he's able to go directly to the front of most lines, is greeted with first-class familiarity and happy smiles. (Yes sir, Mr. Bingham.  Good evening, Mr. Bingham.) He packs his carryon, his plans and his life with tidy, seamless, unencumbered efficiency. And yet, when he gets to his hotel room door he can never find the correct plastic key card, which is the one condition to which this travel-on-the-cheap woman could relate.

During my drive home from the theater, I attempted to mentally file the ending of the movie in a satisfactory place. I mulled a few plotline details including two surprises and one particularly ambiguous scene. Blamm-o! The sink drainer fiasco popped into my mind. (I have no idea how my brain puts things like this together.)

Of course! It only took me about a half-mile of further mulling before the nuances of the dish drainer fiasco revealed themselves to be the perfect metaphors for not only the movie, but life on the road. I herewith present my perfect endings for both.

--'Tis the flow (get it? water, flow?—told you there's no explaining my brain) of efficiency, not the TSA, that keeps travel running smoothly.

--When we are not careful in our strategic planning (i.e. too long or short of gaps to make connecting flights), things run amuck.

--Airplanes, hotel rooms, cell phones, carryons, dish drainers and especially humans are designed to work best in a certain way. Stay on guard lest things fall apart.

--Always keep a Sham-Wow! handy. You never know when you might need to sop up a mess, i.e. the time Clooney's character found himself diving into the river in his dress clothes to retrieve something important—and let me just say Clooney even looks good sopping wet. No whoops. I said that on purpose and I meant it.

A hearty SHOUT OUT to the AIRLINES (huh?)

The holidays came and went so quickly that it's easy to question whether or not they actually took place. It's like when you indulge in a fabulous vacation (well, I kinda remember what that was like), but after you're home for a couple days you wonder, "Was I even really gone?!" Then you look at your souvenirs, your pictures and your credit card bill. Yep. You were "there" alright.

But this year I'm able to jog my holiday memories via several icons and formats. Between my new lovin' it easy-schmeasy (beware, the upcoming link has sound) FlipVideo (thank you, Dear Hubby!), the camera in my Blackberry Storm, and an aging but reliable digital Canon camera--each used during bouts of random grabs--I can re-live our wonderful family gathering, complete with sound. (Okay, not all moments are wonderful, but in hindsight, even "those moments" seem funnier.)

For this grace-filled gathering, I would like to herewith thank God and American Airlines. CHEERS AROUND!

You see, in the midst of nation-wide storms, on the 23rd of December our oldest son was scheduled to fly from Albuquerque NM (ABQ) to La Crosse WI (LSE) with a connection in Dallas (DFW). Three legs' worth. (Oy.) With cancellations and delays everywhere, during his entire journey I kept at least two http://www.flightstats.com/ screens open and countless other web resources. My stomach sank with each swirl of the http://www.weather.com/ map. Sometimes I didn't know whether to pray they fly or stay safely on the ground.

We even made a back-up plan for housing if--or more likely when--he got stuck in Chicago. "Heavy delays" is not what you want to see.  The historic on-time rating for his last 2 legs of flights were abysmal without storms, and not only was it snowing, but ice was in the mix. (Double oy.) And yet, in the end, his final landing was not much over ninety minutes late.

OUR SON! IN OUR ARMS!

For his Dec. 30th return trip, conditions weren't much better. And yet, he ended up safely back at his home base only about an hour late. Thankfully, whether he was coming or going, each "next flight" was delayed just enough that his tardiness never caused him to miss his connection. (How strange is it to HOPE some flights are delayed?!)

So thank you, God and American Airlines, for every family-complete photo and movie in my database. Thank you for the grateful hugs, the colorful family cookie baking (4- and 2-year-olds sure do love to use sprinkles), oldie 8 mm movie night, a swell pheasant dinner (birds bagged by the brothers), ice skating, games, sledding and endless rounds of happy laughter.

Thank you, Dear God and American Airlines, for delivering our precious son safely into our arms. Even though in the past I've taken my business traveling share of grumbling shots at the airlines, and in particular AA (no need to call security or check the elastic in my underwear; it's only a metaphor), this time, you are the reasons the memories from our holiday season look so very merry and bright, especially when viewed on our youngest son's new big-screen TV.

Roadtrip Ruminations

The last few weeks the gift of a book tour offered me the opportunity to explore a bit o' the Midwest, up close and personal. When possible, I drove back roads. I traveled light (relatively speaking), enjoyed tossing random items in and out of my car, met friendly new people, wore my seatbelt like a good little citizen, and, when possible, sought out the local diner.

[POINT OF REFERENCE:  in my book, "local diner" includes Waffle House. File that where you will.]

Two days ago I boarded an airplane for vacation. Let me rephrase. Two days ago, I schlepped, bounced and careened my body and stuff down a narrow aisle until I reached my middle seat, whereupon I set about wedging all the aforementioned into my miniscule allocated areas. I wore my seatbelt like a good lttle citizen, and, when possble, tried to rearrange my arms without breaking a seatmate's ribs.

These combined recent adventures brought a few random traveling observations to my attention. I find myself talking about them, dwelling on them and wondering what on earth we will come up with next. (Somebody smack me.)

--A SURPRISE encounter that falls under the heading, SAY WHAT?!

I'll preface by saying (admitting, confessing?) that I don't drink coffee. Never have. Don't like the stuff. Sit next to me on an airplane with garlic breath and I won't mind. I like garlic. I will, in fact, suddenly crave spaghetti. But sit next to me with coffee breath and I shall spend the next several hours breathing through my mouth so I don't have to smell your blaaaachy coffee.
I drink tea. Hot, cold, spicy, loose-leaf, latted... No sugar. I drink iced tea all year round. Lots of it. So imagine my surprise (and annoyance) when a gal in a cute little coffee shop in Oconomowoc Wisconsin told me iced tea season was over. "Do you sell iced coffee all winter?" Yes, they did.

I tried to explain that tea is IN now and that tea shops are springing up all over the place, incuding this kiosk-y one at O'Hare airport.  Even tea accessories are on the rise. Tea is GOOD for you, I said. They didn't care, nor did they offer to steep hot tea and give me a glass of ice--which apparently is out of season there too.
Ya know, try telling a beer drinker that cold beer is out of season, especially in WISCONSIN! HEL-LO!
--This next observation arrived in a great little diner in Albuquerque New Mexico: two nongender (well, gender neutral--you know what I mean) bathrooms. It's not that I haven't seen gender neutral potties before, and when I have I always think SO SMART! But the sign on this particular door caught my attention. Check it out.

When I exited, a gentleman waiting on the waiting bench just outside the doors (handy) nearly knocked me over getting into my vacated room--even though the other restroom was available. And even though I knew better, my initial kneejerk and instinctive reaction was that I'd entered the wrong sex bathroom. We don't have gender neutral bathrooms in my hometown suburb, so this "we go both ways" thing is still new to me. But I rechecked both signs, and nope, I was good to go. (Actually, I'd already gone, but again, you know what I mean.) However, after studying the details, I discovered the other restroom did not proclaim the "urinal included" on its sign. Which made me wonder: was that guy a severe creature of habit too, i.e. "Where resideth the urinal, so I must goeth"?

--In a family restaurant in Woodstock Illinois, the bread basket set me to pondering. (I notice Panera's is doing this same quirky "thing" with the cookies and muffins.) When the waitress brought the bread basket to the table, rather than arriving wafting of yeast and yummy, a mound of individually prepackaged items showed up. Now, I get the sensibilities of such packaging, especially during flu season. But this is simply not inviting. It looks more like hospital food.

When I travel, there's a reason I seek out the good old diners, family-owned cafes and independent coffee shops. They radiate "Belly up, sojourner. Come sit a spell, wet your whistle and break bread with us." But seriously, when local fare boils down to "Come sit (or stand at the urinal if you choose the room on the left), wet your whistle on our terms only, and break open the cellophane on our bread," something is lost in translation.