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.

Bathroom Turbulence

Since the methodology of Accomplishing Your Business in public restrooms is ever changing, one never knows what to expect.

Back in the good old days, the obvious was.

• Reach for your share of a small roll of toilet paper.
• Flush toilet to flush it.
• Turn faucet to start water.
• Turn faucet to stop water.
• Pull cotton roll or paper towels to dry hands.
• Or, push button on hand dryer and spend next five minutes trying to dry hands.
• If used paper, toss paper towel in giant and obvious waste paper basket.
• Open bathroom door with (OH MY! We DIDN'T!) bare hands to exit, which, if you were forced to use the dryer, were still wet because the air dryer puffed (barely) cold air.
• Done.

Then things, they fluxxed and changed in a hurry. Before we knew it, new (new, new!) procedures started going something like this:

• Attempt to enter stall and turn around since toilet paper roll is as big as a small child, waste basket takes up space, door swings in (Duh!), suitcase can't fit between you and toilet and door you're trying to close ...
• Toilet flushes.
• Squat and toilet flushes.
• Reach for toilet paper and toilet flushes.
• Do your business—and toilet does not flush.
• Engage in calisthenics in stall until toilet flushes or you hear your flight number boarding.
• Put hands under spout to start water (or not).
• Water turns off before you're done singing Happy Birthday five times.
• Put hands under spout to start water again (or not).
• Wildly wave hands in front of electronic "eye," which does not dispense paper towel.
• Discern there is no "eye" in this towel dispenser so try to look casual as you push the button, like you knew it was there all along and were previously trying to flag a fly out of your face.
• Open bathroom door with paper towel (H1N1!!!!!!!!!!!) and toss towel …
• Stuff damp towel in your pocket because waste basket is not near enough.
• Done. Sort of.

But just when I thought I had every option in the system down pat (well, you know what I mean), during a recent trip to Denver, things switched up again when I found myself in the nongender (wow!) restroom at the Rioja Restaurant! (A short review of yummy restaurant follows this post.)

When I got to the dry-your-hands part, I discovered the Dyson Airblade. (ACTION video link) With the Dyson Airblade (scary name, no?), one dips ones hands down into the BLASTING AIR, or "blade." (See Rioja directions in top photo.) Sha-ZAM! Your hands are dried.

I don't wear acrylic nails, but I'm wondering if they could endure such a swift and complete BLAST without taking flight! If you want to dry your hair, you're out of luck--unless your head is unusually small. And if you could fit your head down into the "blade," I'm guessing it would blow your eyes out of their sockets, and maybe an ear or two off your head.

The whole experience was so exciting and efficient that I returned to the table and told my tablemates they simply must check it out, which they did.

What next? A bidet (first two link definitions will crack you up, and I am, BTW, talking about #1-hahahaha!) that does it all? If Dyson takes to this idea, HANG ON TO YOUR PARTS!

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

Charlene short review of the Rioja: LOVED IT!

The Rioja Picnic appetizer (above) is worth the trip.

Breaking Up Is Hard to Do (right?)

Yesterday I received an email from Hilton HHonors. The opening line: “We’ve missed you!”

"Aw, gee. I kinda miss you too," I said out loud, "don't I?"

They were writing to let me know that it’s been nine months since they noticed any activity on my account. (Okay, so they did not say they missed my cutesy-pie face, or my natural beauty mark on my right cheek, or the sound of my perky voice, but I’ll take it.) In fact, they were so personally and tenderly sad about my absence that they took time out of their busy day to remind me of our long history together. “Remember, to keep your account active, you must earn HHonors points at least once every 12 months. Otherwise, your membership may be cancelled and all of your points forfeited.”

So, if I am unable “to be one with them" some time during the next three months, our entire history together--including my previous decades of brand loyalty--will be erased. Gheesh. Kinda reminds me of a traumatic high school breakup.

But still, Hilton HHonors loves me more than United Airlines because at least Hilton HHonors took the time to warn me I’ll lose my points (not brownie points, but points I earned by spending money with them) if I don’t activate. United? When I got within a couple months of losing all my points, they gave me the silent treatment: they stopped sending me statements, which is even worse than a text message break up. Next thing I knew, my nearly 40,000 points were simply gone, as was my desire to ever “be one with them” again.

The truth is, even though Hilton HHonors is, at the very least, threatening to break up with me, I do still like and miss them. Comfortable beds. Reliably clean and consistent. Easy-to-use alarm clocks. In the case of Hampton Inns, cutesy pictures near the room doors and in the elevators to help me find my weary way back to where I belong.... In fact, I was recently so lonesome for them that while making travel arrangements, I instinctively clicked on the familiar face of their website. However, after checking a few prices, I discovered that brand loyalty would cost me twenty to forty bucks more per night over the Holiday Inn Express, so I two-timed and booked with them. I must say, the Holiday Inn Express' free breakfast made me think twice about bragging on the free breakfast at the Hampton Inn. Plus, I chalked up some Priority Club points with the Holiday Inn Express stay, including 1000 extra points for staying two nights and skipping full service for my room! (Call me a point hussy if you must.)

I’m gearing up to book two more stays for an upcoming trip. Of course I don’t wish to intentionally break up with Hilton HHonors, or to have them erase me from their memory. But seriously, if I have to spend more money to date them, to keep my relationship going with them, how am I ultimately coming out ahead just by racking up points—which can disappear due to my lack of travel plans?

Hilton HHonors did tell me this in their not-quite-dumping me email: one of the ways I can keep our relationship hot and steamy is to purchase a resort condo with Hilton Grand Vacations. Within the next three months.

You know, if I could afford to do that, I wouldn’t be writing about trying to save twenty bucks. I guess all relationships are relative to what matters most. Right now, it’s my pocketbook.

Don't Miss Your Life!

I'm taking a moment here to publicly celebrate the publication of my 13th book: Don't Miss Your Life!: An Uncommon Guide to Living with Freedom, Laughter and Grace. I am grateful, ecstatic, excited and hopeful the book will find its way into the hands of those who most need a boost, an encouragement and a laugh. Early reader feedback is FIVE STAR! (Click on above link to the Amazon site to see for yourself.)

An excerpt from the Publisher's Weekly review said readers are, "... treated to poignant essays on the power of imagination, the importance of questioning assumptions, awakening every sense, living in a balanced way or falling with a splat. Baumbich’s text is just what the doctor ordered for a time such as this; laughter is good medicine indeed and there are plenty of guffaws to be found on every page.

Yesterday I learned that Don't Miss Your Life! hit #5 on the Chicagoland Indie Bestseller list for trade paperback nonfiction for the week ending June 7--and it just released June 2!

So, if you're looking for the three Ls in a good travel book (light-weight [as in weighs little], laughter laden, lifting to the spirit) for your next trip, pick up a copy. Even though the cover features ladies legs and twirly skirts, Publisher's Weekly also pointed out, "The author’s comic rehashing of life’s more ironic and bizarre happenings will be valued by readers of both genders."

YAY!

To learn more about my writing and speaking, visit my website.

Expect the unexpected

This I know to be true about travel: one must expect the unexpected. To "celebrate" this truthism, I herewith submit my "favorite" list of things to unexpect when traveling:

• sleep (how to "make" it happen?)
  
• favorable conditions (both with your body and travel schedules)
• no road work (is there a reason the roads can't be as indestructible as black boxes?)
  
• removal of tolls (I live in Illinois. Hear my prayer.)
  
• easy segues from one side of a security checkpoint to the next (honestly, if it's not the person in front of me causing the problem, it's me!)
  
• weather that does not impede plans (why don't I just bang my had against the wall?)
  
• short lines for anything (especially restrooms)
  
• toilet paper holders in restrooms smaller than a grocery cart (can they put them higher up the wall so they're not causing us to sit sidesaddle?!)
  
• flushing only when you want flushing (showers where you do not want showers)
  
• pricing stability (for better or for worse)
• short productive meetings (sometimes I'll take either)
  
• favorable salt-in-the-food conditions (I hate it when I blow up like a puffer fish)
  
• happy seatmates (I'm sure I've failed at being one)
  
• sanity (defined as ... ???)
  

But sometimes, we do get what we hope for, but do not necessarily "expect." It's always the little things that mean the most:

• a sympathetic, patient, determined ticket agent (YAY!)
  
• a heart-warming and just right bowl of soup with warm bread (Mmmm)
  
• toilet paper (thank goodness)
  
• a magazine that lasts the whole flight (with publishing the way it is, this is a miracle!)
  
• a roadside cafe where you are sincerely welcomed when you walk in the door (bless you)
  
• a just right mattress (my heart beats for Goldilocks)
  
• an air conditioner that doesn't bang when it turns on and off (HAL-LE-LU-JAH!)
  
• a boiled egg in the midst of donuts (protein!)
  
• finding the thing you fret you forgot to pack (celebration!)
  
• fresh brewed iced tea (it's good to be awake when speaking in front of an audience)
  
• an abundance of smiling faces (there is power in a smile)
  
• the perfect hot dog or veggie sandwich (perfect, as in, tasty, available and fast)
  
• a surprise encounter with someone you know (grace)
  
• the determination to make the best of each circumstance (grit)
  

When I truthfully examine each item on any of my traveling lists, above all, the determination to make the best of each circumstance is The Most Important--which is why I travel with a wad of toilet paper in my handbag. Just in case.

Here We Go 'Round the Roaming Ring (or doesn't ring)

Old story, new twist. And it just keeps getting twistier: how to stay connected to the world when one travels, or one lives in a remote area? I'd appreciate it if you would weigh in with your opinions. A decision must be made.

--I am at The Farm where I come "hide" to write. We rent this place all year long, and I come and go.

--I've been a Verizon wireless cell phone user since they were Ameritech, which not even my spellcheck remembers. I stay with Verizon because their customer service rocks and I can always get and keep a connection, even when fellow travelers using other wireless companies cannot.

--I should have written that last item in past tense, as in, "used to could." The Verizon commercials showing all those kinda creepy stalking "network" folks currently sends me BALLISTIC! In my cannot-stay-connected state, I can only imagine that that severely nosy herd of people is standing on--and therefore compressing and ruining--whatever used to make my connection WORK!

--Lots of people, as in many, have told me, "Beware of Sprint!"

--The only options I have here for Internet are: dial-up (currently using HBCI); driving 6 miles to town to a free Wi-Fi zone; broadband card; satellite ($$$); or a private guy who charges spendy fees plus an expensive equipment buy-in, and who will not buy equipment back should we decide to stop renting here.

--Verizon said, "Pay us $30 extra/month and use your Blackberry Storm as a modem!" Interesting how well that worked at home in IL but not here, where my signal switches (hyperactively flips and flops) between EVDO and 1X and dropped and no service at all--same as with my voice usage.

--I am on Verizon "roaming" when here at The Farm (a-HAH!). Here, Verizon partners with Alltel, who earlier today told me to my face that they're currently using (as in switched over to) a Sprint tower (say what?) until Verizon takes them (Alltel) over within the next few months. Supposedly Verizon is "doing something." As of 9/1, this Alltel store will be a Verizon store (Alltel customers have been notified), but ... will the towers all hopefully be upgraded, or steadied, or redirected, or get over their menopause, or be on Ritalin by then?

--Over the past several months, I have put in three tickets with Verizon to have them figure out why I cannot stay connected via CELL PHONE here, to which they respond--and I am reading this directly from one of the three identical ticket responses they've sent me--"(Verizon) trouble ticket NRB etc. has come back as a marginal coverage area." When I say I cannot stay connected, I mean sometimes for hours at a time I have no service at all. Or one bar (never more than 2) and/or tons of dropped calls. Or supposedly 2 bars but my phone doesn't ring and 5 hours later I find out I have a message. Or, a good connection with no troubles.

--This "marginal coverage area" didn't used to be that, at least in terms of consistent service, so ... what happened? I assured Verizon that I did not move the house, so why did I used to (at least five years' worth) happily live without this misery? Alltel "roaming" issues? Sprint tower "roaming" troubles? A bad Verizon marriage with renegade roamers?

Since it is YOU I pay, Verizon, it is from you I expect intelligent answers. How did I recently and mysteriously become "marginalized" in a location you are soon taking over, which means I shall no longer be roaming? (Then, *228 will hopefully actually WORK, which your tech support has recommended to me several times, but which does not work in your ROAMING areas!) But does that mean that in the end, I will, or will not, still be marginalized?

--A couple weeks ago, Sprint offered a two-day deal: free broadband card, no activation fee, 30-day trial, pro-rated on a month-long fee ($60 per month). After which a 2-year contract locks in.

Can you say, desperate? Despite the warnings, why not try it?

--I spent nearly FOUR HOURS in the Sprint store while they worked to get my laptop operating with the software for their free high-speed broadband card. Which they never did figure out. So they gave me the upgraded card for free. (Do you SEE the good customer service in the free upgrade, and the irony in four hours for high-speed?) Nonetheless, the end result is that they prevailed (YAY!) and the USB card immediately finds and holds a "CDMA EVDO REV A" connection like nobody's business! It works best when I use the tether, as seen in the photo, rather than plugging it straight into the port. It has not operated at less than 40%, most often is 60%+ and sometimes 100% of that CDMA EVDO REV A. Compared to dial-up, it is greased lightening. I am ecstatic! So, I got that high-speed Internet connection going.

But what about my cell? And ...

-- Since my Sprint 30-day broadband card test period is winding down, I wonder:

• once Verizon kicks in here, might they totally get their act together, and for $30/month rather than Sprint's $60, will my Blackberry Storm actually work well as a modem?
• Or, might Verizon's presence change "something" about the towers that causes the Sprint card to not work as well, i.e. might the FCC ding Sprint or Verizon over those fair trade "issues?"
• Verizon told me they don't have control over tower things (it's in the hands of the FCC, they say, so no promises), so assuredly, Sprint has no control either. But when will I know For Sure?
  

--Verizon is taking over Alltel here in "3rd quarter," (July?) but cannot (or won't?) guarantee anything will get better here due to that "marginalized" status, which Sprint did not use as an excuse since they've come in with new 3G service. However, Alltel store guys (soon to be Verizon employees) tell me the service will absolutely positively assuredly get better once they are Verizon.

So, NOW WHAT?!

• Do I return the Sprint card in order to keep from locking in a 2-year contract, banking that Verizon does get their act together?
• Do I keep the Sprint card anyway, and then have 2 options for calls: Verizon cell phone or Sprint broadband using Skype?
• If I keep both, I could (and financially would have to) rid myself of the Qwest land line, Qwest, who has--YIKES!--partnered with Verizon Wireless! And obviously, no land line, no dial-up as back-up. If I don't need it, who cares? But I'm just sayin' ...
  
• However, is it possible that the FCC could cause both Sprint and Verizon to let me down? I wouldn't think so, but then I never thought Verizon or their current roaming partner, which is either Alltel or Sprint or "marginal" inducing aliens, would annihilate my ability to stay connected either.
  

HELP! Opinions, please? I'd especially appreciate your opinion if you are one of those bazillion Verizon network guys supposedly following everybody around but me.

Readers, I'd appreciate if you'd use the COMMENTS section of this blog to weigh in rather than email me. That way, we can comment on each other's comments too. Hey, pretty soon, we, too, might create our OWN "network" of stalking people and therefore rule the world.

Still my dog.

Still my dog.
Originally uploaded by twinklechar

Some days, the best traveling companion is the one who doesn't complain, and who loves you just the way you are.

Kornflake is ready to hit the road at the drop of the word "ride?" He travels light, settles in well and occasionally sniffs my ear. He is kind, interested and loves the drive-through windows that hand him a treat too.

All hail the tail-wagging traveling doggies of the world!

Brain Trippin'

Since for a few weeks I've been sequestered in MN to write (and still a couple more weeks to come), the most traveling I've indulged is local. Still, in my mind, I am often "gone." Hanging out "over there," which is anywhere but at my keyboard.

Since I write fiction, the ability to mentally transition to "over there" is a good thing. But sometimes, my mind zings right through the back door of my fictional town and takes flight.

For instance, as I type, I sit in a coffee shop in this here college town, occasionally raising my head to look out the window. I watch in amazement as cars, pedestrians and bicyclists flash by. So many people on the move. So many real and muse driven stories whirring into the cosmos with each step and turn.

Curiosity begs I study the five women at the table across from me who just burst into laughter. I imagine the dreams tucked deep inside, their friendships (jealousies, betrayals, distortions, heartaches, secrets), adventures and travels.

When I log into my Facebook account (“Writer at work. Please interrupt.”), I take special notice of those who are packing, leaving, returning, sightseeing, working a trade show, vacationing or rendering a teary farewell to visiting friends and relatives. "Traveling mercies," I whisper, recalling tired hours in airports, frustrating seatmates, disturbing noises in the hotel room next to mine.

But just like that, I also long for the days when I deplaned in a far-away place and soon spotted an exotic new restaurant. Or thanked the bell hop who carried my bags to my room. Or chatted with the most interesting people sitting next to me on the trolley in Amsterdam.

Yes, so many stories whirring into the cosmos with each step and turn.

For now, 'tis mine to be happy where I'm planted. It's enough--and it's exciting--to be able to take that mind's ride to the foreign and familiar places my fictional characters lead me. And I shall do that, right after one more study of those five women. One more look out the window at all those people going all those places.

Right after one more evaluation of why the grass is always greener on the other side of my day-trippin' mind.

Traveling Vanities

After I wrote about my two Kipling bags, I merrily packed them, tossed them in my car and headed to The Farm for a long writing encampment. YAY! But once I got here, I had to carry my largest bag up 20 steps. That was up, in case you missed it.

The gasping incident got me to thinking about something I said (hear the happy chirp in my voice?), which was that I can always stuff one more thing into those bags. However, is that the Good News or the Bad News? Today, my back tells me it's the latter.

Let's consider the pros and cons of all expandable bags.

GOOD NEWS:

• can accommodate vacation souvenirs
• one more book fits down the edge
• one more rolled pair of jeans tucks into a corner
• one more anything, really, always fits

BAD NEWS:

• one more anything always fits

And still, for this trip, even though I continuously added one more item to my ab-fab bag, I forgot to bring a few necessary items with me. Yet, I also stuffed in several more items than I need. That's the way it is with me and packing and expandable bags. When I'm off my carry-on only style packing, I'm often off my good sense.

The Good News is that when we forget something, we can almost always buy what we forgot and pack it in the expandable bag. Then hope we don't have to carry it up any stairs, or that it now doesn't fit in the overhead bin. (How often have you witnessed that?) The Bad News is that we can also saddle ourselves with exhaustion--especially if it's a multi-legged trip.

Let's consider a new point of view: finite space. If, when packing for a business trip, (fill-in-the-blank) doesn't fit and we choose not to swap it out for something else, we can usually make do without it for a trip. No shopping. Packing multi-purpose items is smart. A lipstick serves as a blush. We can dress up jeans with the right top, sports jacket and/or accessories. Toothpaste cleans my jewelry and plugs nail holes in walls. (I'm just saying ...) Socks and underwear can be washed, or, if desperate enough, worn again. I realize we have the euwwww factor there, but I'm talking desperate and efficient, not Hygiene 101.

And let's face it, when I get on an airplane or climb behind the wheel, I am dressed in at least one of everything I need to proclaim decency. If I forgot to pack a second whatever, it's not the end of the world. In cash-strapped times such as these, I ask: is "having to shop" to maintain appearances for one trip really necessary, or is it a vanity? Unless, of course, you're the best man at a wedding and wearing Bermuda shorts. Then again, no matter what anyone is wearing, vows can still be taken, right? Lifelong commitments don't depend upon decorum, no matter what the wedding photographer says. And in the world of business, contracts can still be signed, deals negotiated and widgets sold. To show up and admit your clothes don't match because you are human and forgot to pack something might even tip the scales in your favor. Honesty and humor don't take up any space in a suitcase, and they might even help seal the deal.

If I take myself to my own bottom line, the only thing I truly can't live without on any given trip is my medications. (Even when I once ran out of meds on an extended trip, Walgreen's bailed me out.)

I can already hear you saying, "But Charlene, what about phones and laptops?" Come on, people! They're all around us. Do I want to travel without them? No. But I could. My speaking notes? Can I talk for an hour without them? You betcha! Would I be coherent? Maybe. My winter coat during January? Can I not layer enough other stuff? Don't I usually just scurry from the airport to the hotel room to the venue anyway? Hey! I used to live on a farm. I can tough it out for a day or two, can't I? Sunscreen? Bet I could borrow some, or pay somebody for a squirt of theirs. Money? Got my credit cards.

So I ask you, what could you absolutely not do without? Or better yet, what could you leave behind that you always lug along, yet almost never use? Seriously, I'm asking.

As for me and my bags, I'm thinking expandable can be abused, and finite space can be tricky. But given the choice, I'd pick traveling lighter--and with someone who brings a giant expandable bag.

Bag Lady

My Class of '63 high school graduation gift from my parents was a set of luggage. My favorite piece: the cosmetic case--the item that, should I actually fly anywhere, stayed with me, making me feel utterly grown up. It was a beige, vinyl, hard-shell, double snap-lock rectangular case, complete with a "vanity mirror" built into the lid.

Although it hasn't traveled with me for nearly 40 years, it remains with me, serving as official Keeper of the G.I. Joe body parts (not a single soldier remains in tact, long ago blown to bits), hand gernades, and other miscellaneous weaponry and camo/combat clothing. My sons, now 44 and 38, occasionally take a look-see and relive an explosion or two.

Over time, I've worked my way through several more versions of what I imagined to be the perfect catch-all carry-on, until I used it/them. They've ranged the gambit of color (including polka dots), material, size and handiness--or not. I've tested wheels vs. no wheels. (For the record, one of my 2 carry-ons must have wheels. End of story.) The jumbo vs. how-small-can-you-live-with versions (the more regional jets we're forced to fly, the smaller the bag). Then there's the "pockets are a good thing"; why don't I ever look in the right pocket first?!

I never discard the older bags since one never knows which one might best serve an upcoming trip, or one day become a kind of morgue for sundry items. Sometimes I drag one out and think, "What was wrong with this?" By the time I'm home, I remember. Back in the corner it goes, waiting for the next time I forget.

But sometimes, that oldie bag serves just the right purpose for "such a trip as this." You know what I mean. While one journey requires three changes of clothing, the next only needs a clean pair of underwear. Some gigs need props, notebooks, laptop and an odd assortment of shoes, while the next works best with two pair of bluejeans and a bulky sweater. Different bags for different strokes.

But I have to admit that this red Kipling bag (comes in many colors) has been traveling with me for several years now, and it still looks like new. So far, I've had no desire to swap it out. I discovered Kipling bags in an airport during one of those loooong layovers. I bet I opened, closed, zipped, unzipped and pretended I was packing at least a dozen different sizes.

Some of my favorite things about this awesome Sherpa:

• When empty, it weighs almost nothing.
• When I'm not using it, it wads up for easy storage.
• I can always manage to cram one more thing into it.
• It's sort of waterproof.
• The interior is beige, which makes it easy to explore. (I've sworn off black interiors, including in hand bags.)
• The exterior pouch pockets hold just the right amount of stuff.
• The long exterior zipper compartment offers all types of slots for all types of organizing of all types of little things.
• The zippers and snaps are incredibly strong and easy to work.
• It has both hand grips and a shoulder strap, the latter which I never use.
• It easily rides on top of a wheeled bag, and in fact has a sleeve to slip over the handle of same--although the grip on the handle of my favorite Briggs and Riley wheelie (mine looks likes this, but doesn't have this type of handle, so I'm not sure ...) is too wide to fit through the sleeve, and that's the one I usually couple it with.
• Thankfully, the thumb-sucking gorilla geegaw (for real) that comes with it is detachable.
• Items can be rearranged within the bag so as to I'LL MAKE IT FIT! into some of the small stowaway compartments.

I own another of these Kipling bags, a big one. Again, I can always stuff one more thing into it, and it weighs nearly nothing when empty. When stuffed, I have to check it (although when not over packed, it can schmoosh into the overhead bin), but when I travel back and forth to The Farm, where I go hide to write (new website, so check it out), it's awesome! Socks in one end zipper compartment, undies on the other (easy to find), and everything else in either the exterior zipper compartment or the generous duffel.

I went a Googling so I could tell you exactly which model of that large bag I have. Although I couldn't find either on the actual Kipling site (could just be me), I did manage to locate the smaller one on ebags.com. Of course as with all things (wallets, bras, toilet paper ...), my favorites never seem to stick around long, so I was glad to find at least the Sherpa still going strong. (Check out the awful gorilla hanging on the left side in that ebag.com photo.)

While I was toodling around, looking at other Kipling bags, I heard myself think, "Oh, that new bag looks even more perfect!"

Charlene, DO NOT FALL FOR IT! Reread your own post. You have the perfect bag!

What about you? What's your favorite carry-on, get-the-job-done bag? Or, do you, too, have a gem of a retired oldie you're using for special storage? Please, let us know about it by posting your comment here, under--duh--COMMENTS!

A First-Class View

In real time, I'm in Chicagoland, staring out the window above the top of my monitor at today's gray sky. But in my mind, I'm in Amsterdam enjoying the exquisite panoramic view through the bathroom window in room 343 of the Hotel Okura.

It's interesting, the way some things lodge in our memories and spring to life on the grayest of days. Last October's business trip to Amsterdam was a grand one. But among my most alive memories is the glorious moment I first witnessed that view from the bathroom. Never mind I had the same view from the bedroom, but from the bathroom? Through those giant windows surrounding the over-the-sink mirrors? And from the throne? WOWIE!

Lest you think I'm gearing up for potty talk, nay. I'm done with it and moving on to a few other fine Hotel Okura details. As described on their website, the Hotel Okura Amsterdam is "An island of tranquillity in a city full of surprises."

Indeed.

To set a baseline for my review particulars, I am a budget traveler. My typical self-booked itineraries are filled with the likes of Hampton Inns (predictably clean and worthy), coach-class airfare and casual dining. I love Waffle Houses, hot dog stands and a good old greasy spoon breakfast. Sure, during my Dearest Dorothy book tours I was treated to many lavish and wonderful hotels (thank you, Penguin Books), but were I to "credential" myself on my life-long qualifications to review facilities the caliber of Hotel Okura, my title might be something like The Lame Gourmet and Budget Broad. Nonetheless, I know elegance when I experience it.

Marcel P. van Aelst, general manager, and Tamara Tong Sang, PR manager of the hotel, graced our group with a personal behind-the-scenes tour of the Hotel Okura's facilities, including The Suite, which is 5390 square feet and includes a private cinema. Oh, baby. That was something! If you have to ask how much a night, you can't afford it. But if you're one who doesn't have to ask, book it. You will not be disappointed. Our tour also took us through the Ciel Bleu kitchen mid-afternoon (doors not open yet), when chefs were fast at work. Who wouldn't want to eat at that Chef's Table, when again, you have that view?!

A couple more personal favorite highlights of Hotel Okura Amsterdam:

--Ciel Bleu Restaurant on the 23rd floor, the only restaurant in Amsterdam awarded with two Michelin stars. (Honestly, I'd never heard of that starry award before. But now, having eaten there, I get why--and it has nothing to do with tires and all to do with first class.) My rich dinner dining experience lasted for hours. I've never seen so many shapes of dishes; the courses just kept on coming. If you think you go the extra mile to prepare for dinner guests, study that picture. Yes, she is ironing the tablecloth.

MY VERDICT: Every tasty crumb and sauce smear was worth every euro I paid for it.

--Cocktails in the Twenty Third bar. Great, warm atmosphere. Comfortable. Kitschy. Whatever all is in that crunchy blend snack they serve, it kicks popcorn petoot!

THE VERDICT: I went back the second night of my stay, so obviously I enjoyed it.

--The lovely location along one of Amsterdam's tranquil canals (picture from in front of the hotel, not at the hotel), and the easy access to transportation just about anywhere.

THE VERDICT: If I ever get back to Amsterdam, count me in at the Hotel Okura for at least a night. I'm already saving my money for another dinner at the Ciel Bleu and once again daydreaming about Amsterdam, its loveliness--from just about any view imaginable.

Flying High and Grateful

The moment I laid eyes on this photo, I emitted a happy, deep, belly laugh. After a quick study, I cried a bucket of happy tears.

Of course not everyone had the same reaction. Some folks playfully queried the subject, who posted this self-portrait on his Flickr page, as to whether or not the "matter" on his face came from his nose. He explained that what froze to his face came "mostly from deep within the lungs."

Awesome.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Hear the swoosh. Picture the snowboarder whisking downhill, cutting right, then left. Up. Airborne. Soft landing.

Inhale. Exhale.

Energy. Beauty surrounding energy. Twinkling eyes taking it all in as it looms ahead, rushes by. Warm streams of well-spent exhilarating breath vaporizing in the high-altitude air, collecting as ever increasing evidence that this man travels fast, unbridled, unaware of anything but the freeing rush of his rocky mountain high-speed decent.

If you can't relate to my laughing/crying response to the icy-faced picture, perhaps you didn't look closely enough. Stare deep into his eyes, then allow your eyes to blur a bit, as if allowing those dotted pictures to sort themselves into an emerging 3-D image of ... you. See the happy look in your eyes when you stand knee-deep in a glorious ocean, or slice your water skis through warm lake water, hook a lunker musky, sink a twenty-foot put, ring the bell at the county fair, ace your test, catch that first glimpse of your loved one deplaning--or recognize the muse tapping you on the shoulder with the most playful and uncommon story.

Now.

Now can you recognize the look in the eyes of the shining face in the above picture that caused this mother to first laugh, then cry?

The utter look of satisfaction in his familiar, warm, brown, 44-year-old eyes serves as a testimony to this magnificent news: "YOUR SON FLEW TODAY! Your son, your wild child--your born-to-fly child--flew alive and well in his soul. Fast. Downhill. Free. Gathering life, and memories, and a photo opportunity birthed from deep within his precious lungs."

Inhale. Exhale.

Laugh. Cry.

Fly, baby, fly.

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

With all the muck in the world, I hope this post serves as a reminder that unbridled joy still exists. I encourage you to find small pockets of it, capture it, and pass it on!

Photos used by permission of Bret Lee Haskins, the one and only.

IMPORTANT CORRECTION

Isn't this the way of All Things Cosmic? Shortly after I posted "Family Planning (no, not that kind)" I heard from Lisa Tawn Bergren, one of the founders of FamilyTripster.com. Due to the infiltration of some bad guys, their forms for submissions are presently out of commission. However, the site is fully operating and she's standing by, eager to hear from you, so ... I'll let Lisa tell you how you can submit.

"We'd love to hear about your family's travels! To submit a report and encourage others to travel in a multi-generational sort of way, just send a Word document to Lisa@familytripster.com, along with a few pictures that document the trip (please note: our form to submit is currently disconnected, so please submit it this way). You might end up on our front page for March's update!"

--Lisa Tawn Bergren, FamilyTripster.com

Family Planning (no, not that kind)

Back when my youngest son was a toddler (he's now 38, so we're truly talking "back when"), our little family of four drove from Chicago to New Mexico to visit my parents and do a little skiing. Even after all these years, here's a few "highlights" I remember about that trip:

• Our diaper-wearing toddler experiencing "stomach distress" on the drive out there, back before the days of "family changing tables" in every public restroom. As I recall, he--all of us, including the car--needed a bath by the time it was over, not just a diaper and clothing change.
• How good it was to laugh and share with my folks; how glad they were to see us.
• The pristine beauty of the ski slopes.
• The hospital where they put the cast on my leg.
• Watching my husband pack the car--ski equipment, suitcases and our oldest son--for the drive home without me. There was no way I could endure the trip.
• Sitting in the bulkhead seat, battered leg extended in front of me, toddler trying to slide down my cast, PAIN, and the utter lack of help anyone (flight staff or seatmates) were willing to extend.

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FACTOID: a toddler and a straight, casted leg do not both handily (or unhandily) fit in the lavatories in airplanes. Unless you've experienced this contortion, you can only imagine .... But don't. It will give you a headache.
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My, how things have changed for family travelers. (Not including airline lavatories.) Sure, toddlers still get stomach distress in inconvenient places, and so do we. But these days, there are so many family-friendly resources--right down to those handy-dandy changing tables. Now, I marvel as I watch that same son disappear into the men's room with his daughter, who needs a diaper change, and think, HURRAY for PROGRESS! (Take that any way you like.)

If you travel with family (and even if you don't), check out this truly unique resource with an interesting concept: FamilyTripster.com. Not only do the seasoned traveler founders of the site (the Shonts and the Bergrens) offer superb and detailed first-person experience as it relates to their own family travels--complete with pictures, tips and a few warnings--but they also collect first-hand information from families who've ventured to all kinds of places (Petra, Nevis, Dracula's Castle to name a few), and from those who live in those places.

Opening words on their "About Us" page: "We’re the Bergrens and the Shonts's, friends who dared to venture to Italy together and returned home better friends than ever (a feat in itself!). Our trip in Fall 2005 from Rome to Venice was fabulous, and only whet our appetite to travel more—and show our kids what it means to be a global citizen."

WORTH A REWIND OF A REREAD: "...show our kids what it means to be a global citizen." Now that, dear reader, is a worthy goal in and of itself!

Examples of helpful family hints in the FamilyTripster.com travellogs [sic] section:

• the special young-family WARNINGS (i.e. "...'coupling' on the beach ... send a scout first...")
• tips and pertinent info that applies especially to those with children--and sometimes grandparents--in tow, like what simple household item you can travel with as an antidote to an encounter with a jellyfish.

HOW TO HELP GROW THE NEW SITE: The Trip Advice page accepts shorter input from readers such as, "Share Knowledge. Think: Recommendations ('Do this!') & Warnings ('Avoid this...') Post as many as you would like." There's even a place to tell out-of-town visitors what they might want to do when they visit your home turf. FamilyTripster.com invites you to send "postcards" from the best day of your trip and, like I said, to upload full-fledged family travellogs [sic]. Those posted are always well thought out and interesting (hint-hint); I haven't yawned once during a read. The folks running the site then vet and organize them.

Real people helping real people. Seems especially important when traveling with your family, and much more reliable than some of the come-hither information contained in glitzy brochures and souped-up travel sites that make everything appear so remarkable. Yes, I know, I KNOW that brochures and websites can also be highly spot-on and helpful, but when you're taking your munchkins along, you want to make sure.

So, you submit, the site organizes and grows, and we all read and benefit. You read before you travel, and maybe not only find a few out-of-the-way and uncommon gems, but you save yourself some headaches.

As they say, it's all good.

Toot-Tooting Down Memory-laden Tracks

In the midst of a way too busy schedule, yesterday I decided to take time out for lunch with a friend. Sometimes I just need to air out the old brain so that I can return to the heavy work load in my office with a sense of refreshment. You know, change the scenery, think about something for an hour or so that doesn’t relate to my own “issues,” deadlines and why-is-everything-so-last-minute?! frustrations. I find when I don’t do this, I end up spinning my wheels and getting cranky. Very cranky.

My friend and I decided to meet at a nearby and relatively new restaurant, one that delivers the food to your table (or seat at the counter, where most of the eating takes place) via Lionel electric trains. Decades ago, there used to be a little independent café in a neighboring town with this same unique attraction. I remember going there as a kid, watching, waiting for that little train laden with my burger and fries to make it’s way out of the kitchen, down the counter, until it chugged to a stop right in front of me.

Upon entering the 2Toots Train Whistle Grill, I was happy to see the same type of setup. After I got seated, I couldn’t help but watch the anticipatory eyes of the little boy seated between his grandparents on the other side of the loop. It was like catching a glimpse at what my excitement must have looked like way back when.

Here’s how the food delivery works: the flat bed train car containing say your hand-pattied burger (their specialty), tuna salad, or egg salad sandwich, stops in front of you. (video here, but for the Downers Grove location, not the Glen Ellyn location which we frequented.) Then your waitress “unloads” your order (all meals come in a plastic basket, aside from my soup, which did not arrive via train) and asks if you’d like anything else. Occasionally someone blows what sounds like a train whistle mounted on the wall; occasionally one of the children orders the Train Whistle Cupcake that comes with a plastic train whistle on top, and of course the first thing they do is to toot-toot away too. If that isn’t enough ambiance, the theme restaurant in Glen Ellyn is located right next to real train tracks, and you can actually feel the building vibrate when a train goes by—total-package effects better than any 3-D movie.

Although the food and the company were good, what I especially enjoyed about my brain break was the trip down memory lane. For much of the lunch, we chatted about our own railroad recollections, including those of the restaurant from our past. But mostly we talked about real train rides. In fact, our dining adventure is still igniting memories, including annual childhood trips (then those with my own children) on the local Metra to “downtown Chicago” to ogle the Christmas windows in what used to be the grand old Marshall Fields, but which is now a Macy’s which, in my opinion, lost its lure during the switchover.

My husband, soon to turn 70, owns several train posters he sent away for as a youth. I keep telling him he should go to one of the monthly Great Midwest Train Show gatherings right here in our county (billed as “The World’s Largest Monthly Train Show”) and show them off, see who else might own them, swap a few yesteryear stories. One poster is from the Monon, a railroad both my grandfather and uncle worked for. I just Googled “Monon train” and wow, the memories those results evoked! I learned there’s even a book called Monon: The Hoosier Line. That’s the one my relatives, who lived in Lafayette, worked for! I am this close to clicking the “buy” button.

I remember my cousins riding the Monon from Lafayette. We’d pick them up in Chicago and go straight to Riverview. I recall taking what I believe (could be wrong here) was the California Zephyr--all the way to California to visit another cousin. I was in high school, and oh, the array of young service men riding the train on that particular Christmas break! Be still my beating heart!

George and I once traveled from Chicago to Albuquerque with our two young sons. During my very short college days at SIU, I can still remember the exhaustion I felt after taking what we referred to as the cattle run from here to Southern Illinois. I think it took 8 hours—when things went well—and stopped at at least a bazillion stations.

Then there was my brother’s Lionel; the train I rode from Thirsk to York to celebrate my 50th birthday trip to England; the entertaining and champagne swilling stream train ride on the Grand Canyon Railway wherein the bad guys rode up next to our steam engine powered train on horseback and “robbed” those of us who paid to experience the reenactment; that little train at Kiddieland I rode as a child, then later stood waving at my own children in it when they passed by…. I even learned about a brand new steam engine (who knew?!) while a-Googling, chasing first one rail trail, then the next, each memory launching me into a new one. Plus, check out this cool site that enables you to find all the surviving steam locomotives in the whole USA!

All this spawned by a lunch break to air out my brain.

I highly recommend you stop what you’re doing and schedule a brain break for yourself. Who knows what mind’s-ride journey you might embark upon.

If this post triggered a train-riding memory for you, rather than email me privately, please share it publically here under COMMENTS. A memory shared helps multiply memories for its readers, and the next thing you know, even in the midst of our otherwise overbooked schedules, we’ll all be traveling—chug-chug, toot-tooting along--to our happy places, even if we don’t have those cute little plastic whistles in our mouths.