Lent [Day 5]: Approach and Departure

Two-Six Left

A train yard's beaded chevron unravels, almost imperceptibly. An abandoned unbuilt neighborhood passes below. Bold weeds and unapologetic brush build the picket fence that encircles ghosts of dogs and two point five kids on streets with squandered names. Long forgotten are the artists' cheery renderings in glossy brochures. Further on, a kidney carved by an age-wrinkled river. Filaments of sea froth unwind across a lake, echoed a hundred feet above by a sparkling white thread of birds in low sun.

The countdown from one-hundred-ten reflexively begins as the gear drops - a test of a flight attendant's tension-easing small talk several trips ago. A fling of a mooring rope to land about the time that faith in fluid dynamics wanes. (One-hundred-twelve to a crooked touchdown - owing, perhaps, to an errant forty-six and inconsistent pacing. The human measurement of the mechanical.)

Ascent again. A loosely-collected town, no planning commission to sweep together the fragments and splinters. Color leaches from earth as a brilliant ribbon of atmosphere - trapping the terrestrial from the celestial - intensifies. Details obscure until glitter sharpens against velvet. Light cast and light swallowed and light cast again. A tangerine moon rises as if from within the earth. Drawn by its gravity, we yield to its pull home.

Originally written 1 January 2010

The Long and Difficult Road

I was on the Big Island of Hawaii recently, where I broke a bone in my foot. It's a crummy thing to have happen on vacation, surely, but if it was going to happen, at least it was after we got to the volcano - I'd been there before, so I only missed out on one hike I hadn't done before.

There was a surface lava flow just outside the park, so we drove to the county-run viewing area. On a foot broken only 48h earlier, and no crutches, I set off from the parking area as the sun slipped behind the mountains. One mile out (though I didn't really realize it was that far at the time - but a) I'm known for my ridiculous death-march hikes and b) it's not like we have a volcano at home. I was gonna see lava.)

One younger-dad type passed us, saw my limp, but encouraged us to keep going. We were maybe only a third of the way in. He said it's still a long walk, but it's incredible. So we continued on.

Later, maybe another third of the way, we passed an older-dad type, who told the group walking in front of us that the walk wasn't worth it, they may as well turn around, there wasn't anything more to see.

Ever the eternal optimist, I chose to believe the first guy. We walked about as far as you could go on the paved path. We didn't get close enough for the lava to singe our toes or melt our shoes or anything, but we did see some fires where the lava was consuming trees. And slowly, as night continued falling, more and more red spots on the hillside became more and more visible. It was quite a sight, even if not the apocalyptic lava fountains one secretly hopes to witness on such a vacation. But something, for sure, unlike anything I'd seen before. Standing on rock (1) younger than me - younger than my students, even - watching island-building in action. A whole fiery hillside sliding toward the sea under a glassy black crust.

But back to the two men who offered very different advice along the way. It's interesting that neither saw the lava in its full nighttime glory. We passed them on the way out, while the bright tropical sunlight was still obscuring the more subtle incandescence from the lava.

Maybe the first one had seen it on a previous evening. Who knows. It's easy to feel sorry for the second guy, who spoke from a hardened heart, of sorts, and who doesn't even know what he doesn't know.

These encounters echoed a passage from Brent Curtis and John Eldredge's The Sacred Romance that I read the very next morning (2).

When we face a decision to fall back or press on, the whole universe holds its breath - angels, demons, our friends and foes, and the Trinity itself - watching with bated breath to see what we will do. ... The question that lingers from the fall of Satan and the fall of man remains: Will anyone trust the great heart of the Father, or will we shrink back in faithless fear?

So, to whom am I listening on other journeys? The acknowledgment that the road is long and, in my broken condition, may be quite difficult and painful, but that in the end it is all worthwhile? Or the voice of easy abandonment: turn around now, you've already seen all that's good to see? We'd probably like to say the first. But the second is so dismissively seductive that it's easy to choose.

Broken, I press on, with the promise of the spectacular.

-----

1 Which has since been covered by new lava!

2 I've encountered an incredible amount of well-timed reading in the past few months. Skeptics may call it coincidence or an artifact of my awareness. I see their points, but choose a different explanation.

California Dreaming

So I'm about to go back to CA for the first time in five years. I'd been having strong Monterey cravings over the past year, and I am super-excited to be visiting again.

Something I've always remembered from the treacly Life's Little Instruction Books is:

"Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard."

I've done the NorCal thing, and I get what he means. I led a very cushy life. Very comfortable. An embarrassing wealth of pleasures. And I'd love to live in New York - sort of almost kind of did once - but I get by with visiting regularly.

Whenever I mention to people where I used to live, the question I get is "...why did you move to Florida??" I always mention the cost of living difference, and, to some, the divine direction. Sure, there is a lot of stuff to love about the Central Coast of California. I miss the contrast in topography - the mountains diving down into the ocean. That just can't be found here, in the Land of One Contour Line. But I do enjoy that I can get in the ocean here. I miss the food - the freshness and the culture. I miss the intellectualism (though it borders on snobbery - oh, who am I kidding? even though it often trampled right into snobbery) - at least, the greater value of education, even if sometimes it was misguided.

If only I could take my friends and my work and my students and export them to California. Or, like the backdrop of a movie set, switch out Florida for California behind us all. But, maybe there's something to the discomfort of Florida. I've had to work a lot harder to find the things that brought me pleasure that were found so easily in California - the farmer's market, the art supplies, the beauty, the wineries (okay, not the wineries - just checking that you were still reading). And as a result, I appreciate them more. I don't take my discoveries for granted as much as I otherwise would. And it's also a useful reminder that this world is far from what it was designed to be. And a further challenge to be content in my surroundings, no matter the circumstances.

NYC, Day 1

Had a mixed-bag kind of day today.

It started rather inauspiciously when I discovered that I had lost my favorite rhinestone airplane brooch from my winter coat. I halfway recall having it catch on something last night, but I can't remember whether it was at MCO or EWR or anywhere in between, but I don't suppose it matters. And a quick scan of the internets shows no duplicate on offer anywhere. I wish I didn't attach such significance to stuff and things, but I really miss that pin.

Anyhow, I had been looking forward to my day out on my own in the city all week. I hadn't done much in the way of trip-planning, so I was mostly planning to re-visit places from previous trips. It has been just about three years since I was last here (Spring Break 2007), which is by far the longest I'd gone between visits in the last ten years or so. Previously, I'd managed to make trips here at least once a year. Anyhow, my point is that I didn't have much on my to-go list that were new. Which is perhaps what set me up for the day I had.

I planned quite an ambitious schedule. I knew that once Mr. Jenspin arrived, we likely wouldn't go at quite a breakneck speed, nor would he be terrifically interested in endless thrift-shop shopping or art museums. So, I crammed my solo day in the city full of those very things. I decided to get an early start, because I didn't know how long it would take to get into the city from New Jersey - this being the first time ever I wouldn't be staying with my Manhattan friend. I stayed up relatively last night, researching opening hours and directions and addresses and filling in my new fancypants city book. Plus I'm operating on a significant sleep deficit, so I knew it was going to be an exhausting day.

At some point, I took out my camera to take a picture. I had "charged" my camera battery the night before leaving so I wouldn't have to tote my charger with me. Well, when I pulled my camera out to take a picture at some point in the morning, I discovered that my charger had effectively DIScharged my battery. So now I had no camera, instead, I now had a couple useless pounds to tote around all day, taking up space in my bag. I had to resort to my phone camera, which meant no creative control and, thus, no artsy shots of Grand Central like I was planning. :( It did, however, offer instant uploads. At least it has that going for it. At one point, I popped into a camera shop and explained my predicament, and asked them their price on a charger. Admittedly, I was hoping the guy would offer to just charge it for 10 minutes or so and send me on my way, but no. Silly midwestern altruism, sure, but it certainly would have been appreciated. Because I had no intention of spending $50 on a charger.

Across the street from the curmudgeonly photography shopkeeper was a delightful little Belgian cafe that had packaged Liege waffles in the window. I ducked in and bought one as my afternoon snack. I probably would have enjoyed lunch there, but I was on the move!

I discovered last night that the Strand bookstore had closed their Annex location downtown, and I didn't think Century 21 alone was a sufficient draw downtown, so I aimed for their 12th and Broadway location. I liked the Annex better because it just seemed like there was a better selection, reminiscent of the stacks at university - endless numbers of rows of musty old books and utterly delightful. Anyhow, I asked them about an obscure author, and they have never had any of his books in stock, ever. Wow. That's impressive! Anyhow, I had been hoping for that (again, high expectations) , so it was a bit of a bust when they didn't have any. I looked around a bit, bought a Paulo Coelho novel for $4.95, and saw a book that looked terrifically interesting, but I didn't know that a) it's very recently published and b) it was a pretty good price until I got back to the hotel and looked it up on amazon. So I will go back and get it later this weekend.

I continued on my long loop around the east and west village, stopping at a couple shops, but again, either finding them shuttered and moved (Broadway Panhandler), or without what I was seeking (Pearl River Mart). As I walked around, I just chose a route based mostly on the direction of the Walk sign at an intersection, and I found myself on streets I knew, seeing shops and restaurants in which I'd been before. Pleased at the familiarity, I pressed onward towards a Housing Works thrift shop. I had been in one of their stores (and bookstores) before, and they have a really well-edited collection of items in lovely condition. I didn't recall that they commanded such a high price, however. I love to look for neckties at thrift shops - they're always so cheap. Here, though, I found some lovely items, but at $25 or $40, it was hardly thrift! Another frustration.

Popped into a fountain pen store - the likes of which I wish we had at home. Everything from Pilot Varsity to Montblanc. Bought myself inks and pencil lead: a bottle of Private Reserve in Sonic Blue, a pretty tin of J. Herbin cartridges in Rouge Bourgogne, and some red and blue Pentel mechanical-pencil lead!

Down the street from the pen place was Grand Central Terminal. I had had grand designs of getting artful shots in the station, but alas, I had to settle for camera-phone pictures. Did pop into Penzey's, the Official Spice Supplier to our household for some curry powder, garlic powder, cinnamon, and whole nutmeg.

I really treasure days of solo travel. It's very likely a function of my only-child-ness. Since I travel (or, rather, used to travel) a fair amount for work, I often have occasion to explore new places on my own. Even when my husband and I travel together, our interests are sufficiently different that we'll usually take a day to have separate adventures and then enjoy telling each other about them over dinner. Anyhow, I also don't mind going to a movie on my own, though eating out solo is always a little awkward (even with a book). Nevertheless, I do travel well by myself. Somewhere south of Abingdon Square, heading uptown towards the library (in which I want to live one day), I realized that even if I'm by myself, I'm never truly alone. I tote around with me the people whom I love. I see something and think, "Oh, she'd really love this." "I can't wait to tell him all about that." I also love presents (mostly giving them), and so I'm constantly on the lookout for treats to take back home. Some kind of token to show them that I was thinking of them while absent from them. Postcards often fill the same role - particularly with how much I love mail. Another benefit of solo travel is the freedom to not compromise. I can indulge myself in ridiculous itineraries without having the pressure of a companion to whom I feel I owe a well-crafted experience.

Anyhow.

It was getting on to afternoon, so I had a decision to make. The Met or The Guggenheim. I had been to the former about a decade earlier, shortly after taking my first art-history course as a freshman in college. I have never been to the latter. I wound up at the Met. I figured I wanted to see "Big" art. The instantly-recognizable pieces.

London's National Gallery is incredible for its collection of recognizable artworks. It's also has a more friendly layout, with a map and labeled rooms. The European Paintings rooms were not well-outlined, and very difficult to navigate. Well, after plundering around European Masters, I popped into the shop, where I was reminded of their American art, which includes Madame X by John Singer Sargent, one of my favorite paintings. So I tried to find my way over to the American Wing. Once I finally found my way there (no easy task), I learned that the American Wing would be closed for renovations until 2011. Grrr. So, though I saw some fantastic art (including a phenomenal collection of drawings by Bronzino), I still had a swing-and-a-miss at the museum.

Earlier, my husband had messaged me to tell me that he had jumped an earlier flight, so I had to cut short my dinner plans. Well, cut my dinner plans, period. And to pick him up at the airport, I would need to get back to the hotel, grab a friend's car, and drive to EWR. This was the second-most intimidating drive of my entire life! (First was driving a manual transmission overnight in the wee hours of the morning through the hills of Missouri and into Kansas, as we moved to California. #3 was a pre-dawn drive on the opposite side (Between Melbourne and Adelaide) to take pictures in sunrise light. Eeep - the NJ Turnpike and toll booths without easypass and the very real likelihood of making a wrong turn and ending up in a tunnel into the city... I realized how dependent I am on my own car's navigation system. I looked up directions to the airport, but neglected to figure out how to get back to the hotel. All's well that ends well, certainly. It just took a phone call to a friend with a laptop and Google Maps to make sure we stayed in New Jersey and didn't wind up in Pennsylvania or Manhattan.

Today's soundtrack: an eclectic mix of club/dance tracks to which I would never have listened, had someone not given them to me.

Sponge-o-Rama!

Today, I took my parents on a Gulf-Coast Adventure. We drove 2+ hours to Tarpon Springs, a touristy community north of Tampa, known for its Greek-immigrant population, drawn originally for its sponge industry. The spongebeds are mostly depleted, but the old-Florida tacky-fabulous "museums" and sponge shops remain amidst Greek restaurants and bakeries.

We arrived late in the morning, and scored free parking (under a wire popular with local fowl, who proceeded to foul my car). We went first to get tickets for a boat tour of the Anclote River and out to the Gulf, stopping at a barrier island (Anclote Key) for seashelling.

From there, we went to lunch at Mykonos, where we had potato patties (patatekeftedes or something similar), flavored with lemon, parsley, and feta, followed by souvlaki, Greek salad, and pan-fried shrimp. Too stuffed for dessert, we wandered the main strip, in and out of shops, wishing I had any desire for a natural sponge. They just look gross. It's a textural thing, but they just look icky. I'll take my hot pink synthetic bath poof over a natural sponge any day, sorry Tarpon Springs.

Anyhow, we puttered around until boarding time. Off we went! It was a slow tour out of the river in the no-wake zone, but we got to see several large birds and some dolphin frolicking (and later, fishing).

We motored on out to the key, were we went ashore and collected seashells. I don't know why, exactly, I collected so many, but I will find something to do with them. There were so many, everywhere! Way more than the east coast beaches. We were warned against taking any with live critters in them, partly because we should leave living creatures go about their business, and partly because of the dreadful funk they would create. I noticed a bit of funk coming from my trunk (the whole island emanated that scent). Later, at home, when rinsing, I discovered that I brought a couple of the wee beasties home. :-/

Anyhow, following our return to the dock, we drove out to Sunset Beach, but sunset was obscured by some high clouds, so we took some pictures, watched an engagement-photo session, and were entertained by a trio of high-schoolers who lost a football in a palm tree and subsequently lost about eight large rocks in futile attempts to knock it loose. Watch your heads under palm trees in the middle of Sunset Beach, Tarpon Springs, everyone. Anyhow, we took off towards downtown Tampa, where I knew of a Taco Bell with Chili Cheese Burritos. We navigated there, only to find the Taco Bell... well, no Taco Bell. It is now some pizza place. The up side was the car wash next door, where for 5 bucks, I got my car cleaned (including bird-poop-pressure-wash and hand dry.

Not a bad way to spend a day.

Kitsch Tally:

Pressed Penny Count: 2 (well, okay, 3 because the first one didn't turn out well)

Wacky Wavy Inflatable Arm-Flailing Tube Man Count: 4

O-Rama Count: 1

No Audience

...the world requires no audience, no witnesses...

(Conor Oberst, I Must Belong Somewhere)

At sundown, I often think it strange that the waves continue crashing, the mountains keep on standing, even after they dissolve into inky black. All the beauty on earth is routinely hidden.

The mere fact that I can't see it doesn't keep it from happening. Which immediately feels extraordinarily self-absorbed; I know that these things don't exist exclusively for my pleasure. (Sure, they do, to some extent.^{1 ,2})

Hearing the ocean - but not seeing it - always reminds me of my size in the universe. And the beauty in the promise of a sunrise.

On Aviation Incidents

Rest in peace, all souls from CJC3407.

Commuter aircraft get a bad rap for a wide variety of reasons.  I've long disliked prop planes, and I'm sure I can trace this back to the Roselawn ATR accident.  I know they're as inherently safe as any other tube of metal hurtling through the air, but they sure are noisy and cramped, and to be honest, I generally prefer to divorce myself from the operation of my aircraft as much as possible.  Contrast a shaky takeoff in winter in a turboprop with an impossibly smooth climb out of a tropical airport in a 767.  (It's nice to have a home airport at which I have more choices than commuter planes.)

Still, I know that air travel is really safe.  Really safe.  I have lived and used to work for years right next to airports where hundreds of planes operate without incident each day.  I can rationally examine the statistics - and my brain acknowledges it readily, as I sit here on the sofa.  Surprisingly, despite all my frequent-flier miles, I can be a bit of a panicky flier if I'm not otherwise distracted.  Even a clear-sky approach into Orlando with rising thermals and wake turbulence from other inbound aircraft makes me hold on to my seatbelt a little tighter and start praying.  Again, even though I KNOW (far more than the average flier) the reasons for the turbulence we encounter at the top of the boundary layer, I often have to consciously unclench.  It's irrational fear and I know it.  It smacks of a larger issue I've been wrestling with lately - that of trust between me and God.  I guess it's easier to trust when your feet are on solid earth, but we have no more control here on the ground than in the air.   I ROUTINELY put myself in exponentially greater danger during my 1.5-h daily commute by car.  And yet, some days, it takes a boarding pass to get me to pray?  

I was on a commuter plane a couple summers ago from EWR-DCA.  It was a smooth summer-evening flight; midway through the final turn to line up with the runway, the gear came down and it felt like all hell broke loose on this plane.  Okay, maybe not all - we felt under control after what was likely just a few seconds and most likely always under control.  The NTSB today released FDR information from 3407's final moments, which made me think of that flight.  The gear dropped and the flaps lowered and, apparently, all hell broke loose.  Popular speculation is that a combination of icing and interrupted airflow from the lowered flaps caused a tail stall.  What's interesting is that procedures for recovering from a wing stall are exactly opposite to those for recovering from a tail stall.  So in an instant, a pilot has to determine what's gone wrong and correct it, with the wrong choice ending in disaster.  I make a ton of mistakes in the course of my career, so I have a lot of respect for pilots (consummate problem-solvers), who, bearing out the statistics, get it right almost all the time.

In reference to a passenger whose flight from MSY-EWR was delayed, keeping him off the crashed plane, a contributor on an aviation forum said an experience like that would change your life forever.

I missed a flight from London this summer, with 27 students on a tour.  Surrounded by a lot of panic and upset, I was relatively calm.  Part of it was my comfort with commercial aviation procedures.  Maybe it's because I'm on the ground, but I don't usually sweat delays or missed flights, though, and I attach a lot of baggage (pun intended.  would "gravity" have been any more acceptable?) to the deliberation when opting to switch flights or stand by for another.   To know why, rewind to 25 May 1979.  

Right before my third birthday, my parents and I flew to Los Angeles for my aunt's wedding.  We were going to take United ORD-DEN-LAX, but United pilots were talking about going on strike, so my parents booked American ORD-LAX instead.  We were originally ticketed on AA191 on the day before it became the deadliest crash on US soil (prior to 2001), but then my parents decided we would fly the next day.  They figured that if we were going a day later, we should take an earlier flight.  That was to put us in the air on the flight right before 191 crashed on takeoff.  That morning, we all overslept, had a 90-minute drive to Chicago, and had to return a rental car.  By the time we got to O'Hare, we had to run through the terminal in a flat-out sprint (my parents carrying me) the whole length of the concourse to make the flight.  Otherwise, we'd have been on 191, which was our back-up reservation.  Our tickets had 191 printed on it, but crossed out and our flight number written under it - I think my parents still have it.  

He's right.  It does change your life forever.

Believe what you will about your gods.  Mine kept me off that plane.

Look, I know I'm just one in a sea of people whose planes don't crash on any given day.  But I can trust a God who orchestrates infinite events, of which I'm not even aware, to put me where I need to be.  And I don't.  I've been bought at a price and have purpose.  And I let a little fluid dynamics freak me out?

I have a wrestling match to get back to...

Complete Nerdvana

I just got back from the BEST weekend EVER!

Mr. Jenspin and I attended an event for Continental most frequent fliers.  It was totally free, put on by employee volunteers who seem to have as much fun as we do.  We just had to buy plane tickets to Houston.  We went to one a couple years ago, and had the best geeky fun time.  We had face time with the President and CEO and a lot of the top brass - VPs from every department.  They did Q&A sessions, and a lot of the suggestions we made were put in place later.  I mean, an airline that listens to what its most frequent, loyal customers have to say?  And indulge us in nerdy fun like behind-the-sc

enes tours of all sorts of things - baggage claim, the corporate headquarters, flight simulators, the executive tasting kitchen for catering.  So when I learned there was another one this year, I didn't want to pass up the opportunity.

And what an opportunity it was!  I haven't stopped smiling.  We arrived on Friday night and went to the airport hotel, where they had a dinner buffet for us and a Deal-or-No-Deal game called Miles or No Miles where we competed for frequent flier miles.  We didn't get picked, but it was fun to watch, nonetheless.  We all got a gift as we left - sets of four surplus cups-and-saucers from an older first-class service.  I mean, an airline that does an event like this and then gives me dishes?  What's not to love?? 

Anyhow, when we registered and got our name tags, we also got our tickets for the next morning's tour.  We ended up on the Mystery Tour, and I was so happy.  I don't know why, but I was hoping we would get put on the Mystery Tour.  We'd already toured headquarters.  The simulators don't really thrill me, and catering certainly would have been fun - so would inflight training (they got to slide down evacuation slides) - but I really wanted the surprise.  And I can't believe they kept it a secret until we got on the bus that morning.  Especially with everything that was involved in this tour!  So we board the bus, and not even the employee guiding us knew anything until he opened the envelope.  We'd all been speculating about what it was, and we were making all kinds of airplane jokes about the bus.  So when the announcement was made that the Mystery Tour was going to be known as Continental Flight 9920, my initial reaction was, oh, that's cute.  But then he kept reading.  We were going to the airport to board a 757, which would give us a tour of downtown Houston, a buzz of the tower at Houston Hobby airport, a loop over Galveston, then over towards Austin and back to the airport.  It slowly dawned on me that we were going on a joyride around Texas.  In a commercial 757.  Who DOES this?  Well, we do, apparently.  Ha ha ha!

We finally got through the fence of the airport and drive over to our plane, outside one of the hangars.  We went through a security screening and milled about the plane, took pictures of the landing gear, peered into the engines.  Then the VP of Inflight came down the air stairs and talked to us (~100 of us) about some of the things we'll see on the aircraft, like the on-demand entertainment system in every seat.  We'll have champagne and a snack, and our crew are the flight attendants from the safety video!  Okay, that might not mean much to the average reader, but it's just... perfect.  We fly a LOT.  We have seen this video hundreds of times.  So we "know" the flight attendants featured in it like you'd "know" a character on a tv show.  There couldn't have been a BETTER choice of crew for this group.  That's how well this thing was put together.  So we boarded and took seats in row 9, on the A-C side, which turned out to be a most fortuitous choice for sightseeing.  The execs made a few announcements, refreshingly dispensing with the usual airlinese.  Then they announced that after we make our pass over the other airport, once we get back up to a cruising altitude, the flight deck will be open for us to come up and meet the pilot and sit in the cockpit.

WHAT.

In the cockpit.  Of a commercial aircraft.  Post-9/11. 

Words cannot convey how cool this was.  We took off, 

staying pretty low.  We sure lucked out with weather.  Perfectly clear air.  We flew past downtown at 3000ft, then descended to 1000ft with full flaps and flew over the terminals.  What Houstonians must have thought!  

(presuming any noticed)  The pilot pulled back on the throttle, taking us back on up, where we did a 270-degree loop-de-do around Galveston, conveniently dipping the wings on my side of the plane.   The line for the flight deck was pretty long, so we just stayed in the cabin and chatted with the flight attendants 

and by the time we got up to the cockpit, we didn't have much more time than to put the pilot's cap on, take a couple pictures, gawk out the windscreen, and let someone else have their turn.  We landed, gathered up our swag (new business

 class amenity kits, pillows, blankets, and headsets - with this and our china, I'm surprised staff on Sunday didn't think we were stealing the entire cabin of our last flight), took some more pictures milling around

the bottom of the plane, then boarded the bus to return to the hotel.

So.  We took a commercial airliner on a joyride for an hour with celebrity flight attendants and an open cockpit door.  I'm going to need a grin-ectomy.

The afternoon was Q&A sessions with executives, including one by the CEO and President.  Then the evening's hangar party, where there were more fun and games (a Continental trivia match, hosted by the CEO; a Price-is-Right style competition; and a Let's Make A Deal game in which someone picked the gold curtain and won a galley bar cart, and someone else opted for the box, under which was a pot of cheese soup), a 737 to climb all around, a band, and a buffet.  

They really outdid themselves with this.  I thought the last one we attended was pretty great, even if I took a fair amount of ribbing by my colleagues for spending a weekend at an airport.  But I don't know how they'd ever top this weekend.

Europe Tour-o-Matic II

Excerpts from the Travel Journal

Monday, 23 June 2008
Paris, France

We arrived in Paris yesterday, but I wasn't fully aware ofthe differences between Paris and the Italian cities we visited [Florence and Rome] until today. The light is completely different - the sunshine that buttered Italy in gold has given way to a crisper light, one that renders Paris in more of a greyscale. It's not gloomy, but the light - like the air - is cooler.

After last night's dinner, a group of us took the tunnel under the Place de l'Etoile to the Arc de Triomphe. It was that part of the early evening where the sun is low and accentuates any haze or particles in the air to give photographs a romantic blur. I was hoping to convince them to go up to the top of the Arc; the last time I was in Paris (November 2001) , I took this gorgeous photograph of the city from the top. Usually I'm not much for aerial shots, but from that relatively low height, you see a lot more detail in the rooflines and there's a lovely shot of the city that includes the Eiffel Tower. And the light was perfect for it. Alas, they didn't want to.

As if to make up for that missed opportunity, later in the evening, a few girls from the group asked me if I would take them into the city the next morning (today) at the crack of dawn so they could get good pictures of the Eiffel Tower. Well, after a country's worth of pictures in harsh midday sun, I was more than happy to agree to their offer, which I negotiated for a free Metro ticket and a bottle of wine [which still has not been delivered!]. We took off from our hotel at 600a and got to the Tower in dramatic sidelighting, with virtually nobody (save for some workers clearing leaves) in the Trocadero plaza opposite the Tower. We made some beautiful photographs, walked up the Champ du Mars, and caught the Metro back. Well, not before stopping at McDonalds for breakfast. The girls were so cute - even excited about the orange juice - and celebrated their first hot breakfast in a week that wasn't crusty bread.

I took our dear student to the Embassy this morning. We rode with the group to the same Metro stop, then they entered the Tuileries on their way to the Louvre, and we crossed the street to find the embassy. Even though I was missing the Louvre, I was happy to volunteer because I, quite honestly, really wanted to see an embassy, and anymore, it seems like you have to have a really good reason to go in one. The location on our maps didn't seem right - and I could tell we weren't in the right place because of the conspicuous lack of heavy security. Even the US embassy in Oslo had barriers that required you to cross the street - ours and Israel's. The sign on the door said that consular services had moved down the street, across the Place de la Concorde. So we walked in that direction, where the presence of armed guards and security fencing confirmed our bearings. I wish the students had had a chance to see this, to see the buffer zone our embassy requires. Maybe it's security theatre, but it just seems unfortunate no matter how you look at it. Anyhow, we got a replacement passport in under 3h and were able to rejoin the group at the Eiffel Tower in the afternoon.

[Public service message to readers who intend to lose their passport in a foreign country: a copy of your passport is invaluable, as is a copy of your passport application or birth certificate, if you have it. Unless you remember your parents' birthdates and locations (which our student did not), in which case you're probably fine without it. A police report of your lost/stolen passport may be required; the Parisian embassy did not ask for it, others do.]

European Tour-O-Matic I

Top Fives, European Edition

1. Abundance of sparkling water (frizzante!)
2. Paying for pizza by the 100-g increment
3. Reliable and useful public transportation
4. Affordable and well-crafted espresso drinks that don't come in gallon-capacity takeaway cups
5. Masterpieces as public art

Honorable mention: the chocolate




Bonus Joke!

What do you call a dehydrated Frenchman?

Pierre.

Hippo Birdie to Meeee!

It's May! Oh dear. I don't recall much of the last half of April. It is that time of the year that sort of accelerates away from me. And then it's August and we're back to school again, it seems. Time to make the long, overly ambitious to-do list for the summer, too.

Before all that, and since it's my birthday at the end of the month, I present my wishlist:

Hand-written letters, poetry, art, etc etc, from friends!


1G SD memory cards. I can't believe these are only $5 now! I think I spent $80 three years ago on one? At this price, I can use a few and not waste time pruning.

Nikon Flash. I can't decide between the SD-400 and the SD-600. I probably want the 600, but the compact size of the 400 is appealing...

Nikon Remote Shutter Button.


Pen Station. Dark Cherry with Raven Black ink. Or maybe Natural Cherry.

Fountain Pen Ink. Standard (not large) cartridges in Raven Black, Amethyst, Cardinal Red.


Blank books. I'm making two significant trips this summer - Europe Tour-o-Matic and Australia/New Zealand - and I want a couple travel journals for recording adventures. (hence all the photographic equipment)


Airplane Scarf. Since I can't find the US Airways flight attendant uniform scarf online anywhere, this would do.

Music: Albums from Brandon Heath, Smalltown Poets, The Sundays, Poi Dog Pondering (but not Volo Volo or Pomegranate).

On the Road

(Yeah, it's a back-dated post. Leave me alone. I only have dial-up here. Makes it tougher to spend time online.)

I drove the length of Indiana today, from my in-laws in the south to my parents in the north. Almost five hours of driving gave me a lot of head-time. Here are some of the things I scrawled on the fast-food bag laying in my passenger seat:

It's remarkable how I take my iPod and XM radio for granted. I'm at the mercy of a "seek" button and a lot of FM junk. Why so many automobile manufacturers fail to include a "scan" button on their radios is a mystery. By the way, I'm driving this Suzuki that's the product of some cross-pollination between an SUV and a station-wagon. It was dreadful enough until my father-in-law proclaimed it "a hearse". Crap - he's totally right.

Driving across expansive stretches of gently rolling farmland, I wonder whether my affinity for this kind of countryside is merely a product of the location of my upbringing. Granted, I've lived in and visited some excruciatingly beautiful places (sorry, Florida is not one of them...) - but there's something appealing about this kind of scene. I'm sure not everyone shares my opinion. I mean, who's going to deny that there are some places on earth that everyone finds unspeakably beautiful. But I can't imagine the same percentage would hold midwestern corn fields in the same esteem as I do. But if I'd grown up in Florida, would I consider swampy marshes as lovely? Maybe it's a moot point, trying to separate out the pure beauty from that which is simply familiar. Beauty is beauty. A product of the beholder, yes, but why question it?

Top Five Midwestern Ephemera

1. A dark sky, highlighted by the silvery undersides of maple leaves exposed by the gusts of an approaching storm. There's always a crescendo to a storm - when the sky gets progressively more ominous, but there's always a subtle dissatisfaction to the denouement, as the sky begins to lighten.

2. A temperate summer morning - not cool, but not overly warm, either - one you know is going to give way to a toasty afternoon later. We never seem to get these in Florida, presumably because of the humidity, which tends to assault you as you step out the door.

3. A bright snowy night, as any available light gets bounced all around off myriad white surfaces.

4. Tree trunks darkened by spring rain, punctuated by the bright green of young leaves on an overcast day. Also: The same thing in autumn, when those leaves have turned red and orange.

5. Late afternoon sunshine across fields in late autumn. Pewter stratocumulus in the sky, growing progressively more grey as the sun slips below them and casts sidelong illumination, gilding everything it touches.

One fun thing about driving long stretches in Indiana is the License Plate Game. License plates are issued by county, of course, and the first digits on standard plates indicate the county. So, 71 is St. Joseph (South Bend), 79 is Tippecanoe (Lafayette), 49 is Marion (Indianapolis). When I was young - middle school, maybe - my parents and I went to Indianapolis for the State Fair one summer. [Warning: severe geekiness to follow!] In advance of the trip, I made a spreadsheet on our new computer (using Lotus 1-2-3, a precursor to Microsoft Excel. On a DOS platform! And an amber monochrome monitor!) of all 92 counties in Indiana, along with their corresponding license plate number - they're numbered in alphabetical order. I remember the hardest to find was Switzerland county (77, IIRC...?) - a tiny little county in southeastern Indiana. Oh, the joy when I finally found that one! Anyhow, it was fun, playing that game again (without my lists, I got to be pretty good about interpolating between counties I knew; I've gotten rusty in the past decade) - though a lot of the fun has been lost with the rise in popularity of specialty plates, which carry no county designation.

I passed an old stone church for sale, on US31 in Tipton County, I think. Too bad there's not much around it, because it would be an awesome building to buy and turn into a bed-and-breakfast! I've long harbored desire for architectural reuse. As I've mentioned in this blog before and am too lazy to link right now.

Train tracks. This state is lousy with 'em. There really aren't many in Monterey, and I don't encounter many in Orlando, either - roads are built around or over them.

Just north of Indianapolis is a Wendy's on US 31 that was always the first indication that you're entering the Indy metro area. At least it was for me as a kid. Now, there's so much development going on around it, I hardly recognize the landmark.

Passed a fancy-looking high school (Westfield?) north of Indianapolis that advertises itself as a Verizon Smart Campus. Remind me to look this up later.

I should make some baklava when I get back to my kitchen. I haven't made that in a while. We also need to have a housewarming party. If for no other reason than to give us a deadline to finish painting the bathrooms. :)

Stopped at Trader Joe's in Castleton (NE Indianapolis). I went in looking for vanilla paste. Came out with $55 worth of stuff - and no vanilla paste. :-\ Did get some interesting foods. I shall report back later on them. Passed the hotel where I remember staying with my parents and some friends for the 1994 boys basketball state tournament, which our high school won. Turns out two of the players from that team have returned to the school as coaches. I wonder how that is, to be a player, with a giant picture of your coach at your age, staring down on you from above the bleachers. I know I'm romanticizing it all, but I can't help but think of Hoosiers. Which is a good movie, by the way. Go rent it - if you've never seen it, you are wrong.

More fields. Seed corn signs at the side of the road. Lonely irrigation sprinklers amid the dessicated remnants of chopped stalks. The demise of the family farm at the hands of mega-agribusiness operations saddens me, even though it seems an inevitability. Cue the John Mellencamp... seek... seek... seek... oh wait, there it is! Rain on the scarecrow...

Just when I looked down to my gauges and see that the temperature outside is 32, I notice some stuff in my headlights. Snow! Just a flurry here and there at first, but as I put my car in park, big floofy flakes started to fall. We have more in store for this week! A nice welcome "home". I catch myself when referring to this as home. I grew up here. Lived in this state for 24 years and one week (minus one summer). But looking around at all the changes, it's no more home than any other place, really. I suppose it always will be home, even if only home to my memories. Which grow fonder with time. It really was a good place to grow up.

Stuck in Chicago

So I'm currently stuck at O'Hare. Not the most exciting airport in which to be stuck, either. "Flight rescheduled due to air-traffic control"...

Now, one could argue that I would make good use of my time by grading exams, but that really involves spreading out papers across surfaces and there just isn't that much table space around here. But there is wi-fi (albeit not free - but cheap). So blogging it is! I'll save my book for the jet.

The people-watching has been fun. Normally, I'd be up for browsing booksellers or grabbing some ice cream, but I'm particularly tired, so slogging my exam-laden backpack up and down the terminal concourses just doesn't hold much appeal today. I'm on United, which isn't my preferred airline, but it does have one significant benefit: Channel 9. The air-traffic control broadcast to the seats in back. My next segment is a regional jet, which won't have it, but I got to listen to ATC on the Airbus. Glimpses into otherwise unseen worlds like that are fascinating. Kind of like factory tours - you get to see how it all happens. The arrivals controllers talk pretty much nonstop, carefully arranging their ballet of aircraft. I think it would be an interesting job, but I don't know if I could do it.

We had rain at home, but we took off just before sunrise and had sun the whole way, but icy grey stratocumulus clouds between us and earth. I was reminded of one thing that I loved about flying out of Monterey. Invariably, the airport would have a blanket of stratus over it. But the stratus layer is usually thin, and once you get through a few seconds of grey after take-off, you pop out of the clouds into a brilliantly sunny sky, with a cottony blanket of cloud below, snuggled up against mountain peaks that rim the bay. I was always a slightly nervous flier out of that airport (probably because of all the turboprop aircraft - not a fan of those), but I that particular moment always made up for the white knuckles.

I should go grab some lunch and wander on down to the gate. Wintergreen candy canes and Barnaby's pizza await my arrival.

No. 100

Woo hoo! My 100th post. Seems like it should be more meaningful. Eh, not keeping with the spirit if I did.


Central Florida is such a study in contrasts. There's a lot of fake touristy crap, but there's a lot of real life, too. You just have to hunt a little harder for it. Yesterday, we spent the day doing real-life Florida attractions; today, we spent the day doing the touristy Disney thing.

Yesterday, we went to Lake Wales, south of Orlando. We drove Hwy 27 south, through citrus-country-turned-housing-developments. I bet it smells divine in March when the orange trees are in bloom. I'm quite convinced that if heaven has a scent, it's the smell of orange blossoms on a warm spring evening. It used to be the main pre-interstate artery of southbound migration. A major attraction of Lake Wales is Bok Sanctuary, a lovely preserve and gardens, the centerpiece of which is a carillon tower. With a resident carillonneur and twice-daily carillon concerts. We arrived in time for the 300p concert, and strolled the grounds during and after. The sun filtering through mossy oak trees in a grove was particularly lovely. Lake Wales is remarkably high, for Florida, the State of One Topographical Contour Line. There were some nice vistas from the gardens. Too bad you can't go up the tower - I'm sure the view is lovely. I took some pictures and will have them up online shortly. The visitor center had some interesting information about Mr. Bok and how he decided to put up a carillon tower in the middle of Florida, and we got to bang on a carillon bell - always fun. I was surprised to see that the bells and clavier are mechanical, not electronic. After our stroll around the gardens, we drove down to Spook Hill. Not so spooky. We put the car in neutral and rolled back "up" the hill, as per the directions. Woo. Of course, with a sign featuring such a benevolent-looking ghost, I guess I shouldn't have expected much in the way of spooky. Santa Cruz's Mystery Spot was far more interesting. Florida's Natural has a visitor's center on Hwy 27, but it's just a video tour, not an actual tour. It was getting late, so we passed it up. We also passed up "Goat Milk Fudge" and boiled peanuts.

Today we did Disney, a brave thing for the day before a holiday. I was expecting much larger crowds. It was busy, don't get me wrong, but it wasn't the crush-of-humanity for which I was braced. I try to avoid the public at all costs, but the Disney theme park crowd is far from "general public". That said, I've exhausted my quota of others' children. Admittedly, we were privy to only one nuclear meltdown, and only came across one band of disgraceful teenagers all day. But still... I've had my fill. There were loads of girls wearing princess costumes - very cute. And I wound up being the very object of my own personal vehemence: The Person Who Stops in the Middle of the Sidewalk. Seriously, I loathe these people. And my parents continually did it, forcing me into stopping, too. Mrmmf. We did a big mishmosh of rides and shows. I suppose the highlight of the day was our Jungle Cruise guide. That ride is wholly dependent upon the personality of the guide, and ours was nonstop witty, without being obnoxious. As a local, I always feel like an outsider, observing theme-park tourism from a distance. We don't deal with resorts or dining plans, and there is not a lot of pressure to do/see everything before flying back home. Not that it's a bad way to see the parks. It just seems like a vastly different experience from that of the average park-goer.

I feel like I had some more things to write about, earlier this afternoon, but they're gone. This is why I need to carry paper/pen around with me more often. I don't have the patience to text-message myself notes.

And today I am thankful for not traveling this Thanksgiving holiday. The weather in the Midwest is atrocious, which has to be bad for on-time departures tonight. Plus, as Jess and I discussed today, you have travel amateurs dragging down operations. You know the kind: people who haven't flown in the last ten years, don't know how to navigate the idiosyncrasies of the TSA, want to check three bags per person and carry on eight, and - heaven forfend - try to carry on a Walgreens worth of liquid, gels, and creams. Not missing that at all.

I should get to bed. There is cooking to be done tomorrow! I can't wait to take my kitchen for a serious spin. If you're looking for a place to spend Thanksgiving, come on over - we'll have plenty of good eats.