The Plane Flight West*

*My husband took our youngest out to Yellowstone.  He wrote about it.

Boundless energy, never at rest. Does she not realize that she got up at 3:15 a.m.? She does not. Everything is either interesting, or a source of polite impatience. "Flight attendant?"  She asks as each one passes by, hoping to catch their ear to ask for a drink. "They will  come when it is our turn." I reply.  More than once. "How far away are they?" Inspecting the in flight menu and determining biscotti and Minute Maid Apple Juice is what she will get. "All flight attendants seem very nice" as the cart arrives. "What would you like peanut?" asks the solicitous Renee. "Dad, what would you do with a billion thousand dollars?" "That would be about 100 trillion"  I reply. "I would give it to the poor and homeless and sick and keep a quarter of it for our selves. "We probably wouldn't need that much money." "Then one - sixth." "What are you doing dad?" "Keeping a log of our trip."  Her face lights up with joy when she realizes herself in the description. "You are the best dad ever."  Before launching into:  "What does taxiing mean?" as she reviews every feature of the safety manual.  I wouldn't miss this for the world.

Not on my List

You've seen them. You've done them. You've made them. You've bought books that tell you about them.

100 places to go before you die.
100 books to read before you die.
100 movies to watch before you die.
100 foods to eat before you die.
100 wines. 100 beaches.
100 Non Star and Star Bellied Sneeches.
100 trails. 100 snails.
100 clubs. 100 bars.
100 places to be seen with stars upon thars.

Seriously, at first it was fun but now it feels like a giant nag.  So if I've checked them off it's okay to kick the bucket? I'll have squeezed out of the world my allotted pound of fun and fed my brain its prescribed regimen of intellectual vitamins?  I'll have Phineas and Ferbed my life sufficiently to say I carpe diemed? 

Carpe Diem doesn't mean a list, it means living.

You know what?

The greatest books are not the ones that please your English professor.  They're the ones that move you, that speak to something you didn't know you were holding in your heart and that needed to be understood. 

The greatest foods are not the ones recommended by the Food Network.  The greatest foods are the ones that contain a touch of one's past.  Food Network is not going to think sandy hot dogs burned over a bonfire at Port Bolivar rock, but to me, they evoke a touch of perfection that isn't found elsewhere.  Same goes for corn tamales with chili, cherry Popsicles in a hammock and peach cobbler from the French Quarter, (a restaurant that went out of business 20 years ago).  I can't make a one of these the way I remember (maybe the  burnt hot dogs), but these things rank on the best list, on my list because I've done them in the course of not checking off things until I die, but in the process of enjoying the business of living. 

But curiosity got the best of me and I did check off all those lists. Movies (35), Books (41), Places (29).  That's what started all of this.  The thing is, most of the non checked books, I'd like to read and most of the places, I'd like to go but other things have taken priority (as they should).
My travels have been mostly stateside, but I did have one venture to the old country and thus checked off The Cathedral of Notre Dame in France.  But the list doesn't tell the story that I went up the stairs that said "Do not cross" and sat on the roof of a spire and had a fellow disobedient tourist snap my picture of me as a Gargoyle. Being to the Swiss Alps doesn't tell the story of being offered a tour by a stoner of the Rhine fall (I refused), or going up to the top of a mountain in Lucern with a Kindergarten class that was very interested in being photographed with a Texan. I felt like an exotic creature being shown off at the zoo.  

There were lots of "Places to have been" that were in New York City, but the Brooklyn Bridge wasn't one of them.  Sitting on the Brooklyn Bridge for the "Mother of all Parades" --I went with my dinner and sat at 6:30 so that I had the spot right in the middle of the bridge, a perfect vantage point for the fireworks on the river.  It wasn't until after the last firework faded that I recognized, "You know Sher, being alone in New York after 12:30 in the evening with a subway ride and six block walk to make followed by work the next morning is probably one of your dumber things to have done."

To me, the greatest place in the world is not on the 100 places to see before you die because the list is more 100 places it's awesome to be and say you've been than places that simply speak to your heart.  Millions go and see the Mona Lisa. Millions go to the Sears Tower.  What one feels or thinks when seeing a great painting or being at a great place or tasting a wonderful food is decidedly idiosyncratic.  Others will go to those places and have different physical epiphanies from being on top of the Eiffel Tower or walking the Vegas strip. The stories of those 100 places is what makes them great places to go.  But those stories aren't conveyed by where you've been.  They're conveyed by you in the course of telling the why you've been or the what you felt when you read  this book.  

So now it is 10:30 am on a Monday and I'm going to take most if not all of my kids to a park, then for burgers to celebrate my son's birthday, and then the littles will be given bath and bedtime stories, most likely "10 Minutes 'Til Bedtime" (a current favorite), or Dr. Seuss's "The Sneeches"(The most requested lately) or "Pinkalicious" (another popular choice).  The boys will go see Spiderman.  None of these places or foods or movies are on the 100 list, but they're honestly, the best places to be today, while I'm living, for me. 

Because places are places
and food is food
books and movies,
They're all good. 

100 things to accomplish,
while fun and true
that's way too limiting.
Way too few
and too many if that's all you do.

So go outside
If you like, read a book.
With the people you love, go thrive
For it isn't the places or things or foods that you eat before you die.

It's the people you love that makes life alive.

Top Ten Things I Did that Scare the Hell Out of Me

Larry D over at Acts of the Apostasy tagged me in what is only my second meme ever.  I liked the concept, though I discovered, my ability to use good judgment goes way down when not in the presence of others; and now, Ten things I did that scare the hell out of me, and probably my Mom.

10) Rode on a motorcycle sans a helmet on my 20th birthday up and down the Beaumont freeway.  (I know, I'm pretty tame but it was scary and cool to me and also if Mom is reading, yes I know, very stupid). 

9) Doing lots of flips, back dives and back flips off the High Tower (25 feet up) at the YMCA. 

8) I volunteered to have an elective tracheotomy under local anesthesia the day before my first child was born to ensure his and my safety. (I wore head phones, so to this day, the Blue Danube brings back flashbacks of that surgery).

7) Taking 8 children to the March for Life by myself.

6) In 1991, I was living alone for six weeks in New York City finishing out my contract with NYC public schools and the "Mother of all Parades" happened.  I wanted to see it so I parked myself on the Brooklyn bridge with dinner and stayed for the fireworks.  It was great until I realized, when the show was over, I had to take the subway back to Astor Place in Greenich Village and go through the park to get back to my apartment and it was after 1 am.

5) While living in Houston, I found a man standing on the ledge of our third story apartment with a long drop to hard concrete below just outside our door.  After calling 911, I talked to the guy who was strung out on something until help arrived.  It still gives me shivers.

4) I did stand up comedy at the Erma Bombeck Conference in 2008 and now, it's permanently on Youtube.

3) While in Paris, I climbed on top of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, and onto the roof of a spire to pose as a Gargoyle for a picture. 

2)  I used sign language to persuade the Swiss Guards to let me go into the special area for guests when I was in Rome and at the Vatican, allowing me to get a picture of Pope John Paul just three feet away.

1) I have caught a 20 pound shark in the surf.   (And cut it up to eat, very tasty). 

Hmmm.....perhaps this should have been at least in part, ten stupid things I've done....Now, five bloggers I need to tag.  Let's see...

Haus Frau over at Cheaper by the Half Dozen
Violin Mama over at Rosey School
Heidi over at Extraordinary Moms
Simcha over at I Have to Sit Down
Munchesmom over at Four Blessings Academy

Uncle Dan is in Town

My brother is in town so he introduced my kids to this video. It's fun. Enjoy.
First this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNF_P281Uu4

Then this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY

If nothing else, it has inspired me to load up the car, go to the mall, and maybe be less afraid of taking all 9 out into the world. If it works, it will be a good memory. If it is a disaster, tomorrow, you'll have a good read.

Natural GPS vs TMI

When my beloved spouse and I first traveled together on our honeymoon, he quickly surmised that I was not a map reader. North, south, east west, I couldn’t give directions that way at that point. My directions were more like, “We turn left on Such and Such street.”

“When is such and such street?”

“It’s after this and that street and I think it’s on your left. You can’t miss it.”

“North or East?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are we on the map?”

I’d be silent for a moment, trying to ensure accuracy, but this would rattle him as he felt my lack of instant response indicated I didn’t know where we were. He’d reach over and amazingly touch the exact spot where we were on the map without taking his eyes off the road.

“If you knew where we were, why did you ask?”

“I’m verifying. You’re the navigator.” At that point, I volunteered to drive.

Since then, I have gotten better, but he’s also stopped asking me to read the maps.

For the record, he’s never been lost. I cannot say the same thing, even within the friendly confines of this county where I have lived the past 13 years. I cannot even say it is true for the past four months, but I blame pregnancy, not my innate navigational compass which seems permanently wired to “guess wrong.”

My husband’s natural GPS has been passed down to our posterity. Some of our children can always tell when I’ve made a wrong turn and will ask suspiciously, “Mom? Where are we going?” I’ve tried dodging that question, ”Don’t worry, I know where we are…” but they don’t buy it anymore. They know, if I suddenly stop at a gas station for a “Diet Coke” and fuel, that really, I’m getting directions.

Sometimes, they’ve even checked the gas gage to see if we “really” needed gasoline. Whenever they’ve seen a discrepancy between perceived need and actual stopping, Dad gets a full report. “I think Mommy got lost over near Quince Orchard when we were coming back from the Orthodontist.”

Now I believe in plausible deniability. It’s good for marriage. It’s good for the ego. It’s good for the children to not be able to entirely embarrass their mother.

My husband will give a raised eyebrow and look, but he too has mellowed over the years. Knowing that knowing too much might mean I ask him to do the scheduled errands out to softball practice and the orthodontist, he doesn't ask even when they tell. And since he doesn’t know where the practice field is, or which dentist takes care of our daughter’s braces, he’d have to put up with my directions.

“It’s on such and such street just past this and that. You can’t miss it.”

Communication and non communication, it's what makes a marriage work.

Don't get lost on your way to the forum, funny things are available at Humor-Blogs.com!

Airport Security Depends

It’s always a cheap shot to talk about the hassles of travel, but when the flight attendant announces that the bathroom on the plane is inoperative ten minutes before boarding, when life hands one something that choice, that absurd, that rich with possibilities...well, I just couldn't resist.

People raced to take care of things and fretted when the stewardess reminded us that drinks would soon be served. It didn’t help the collective mood of the passengers when the pilot asked us to reshuffle seats prior to take off to “balance the load.” Had the co-pilot taken the effect of full bladders into account when considering how the weight needed to be redistributed?
As the plane began its taxi down the runway, preparing to leave ground and reasonable walking distance from working facilities for the next two hours, I heard speculation about what other essential non-essential equipment on the airbus might not be fully operational. Those of us who had decided we had camel kidneys and would grit it out, began to experience flyer’s remorse.


As the news traveled through the back of the plane, the woman next to me who had missed the announcement at the gate asked “What are we supposed to do? Open a window?” I had seen Goldfinger and said, “I hope not.”


The first thirty minutes passed uneventfully, except I was keenly aware of the fact that there was at least 1000 miles to go and 30,000 feet between me and the nearest restroom. Turbulence became an issue, making those of us who chose fortitude over the expedient stress of trying to go through a line longer than the one for security in less than ten minutes, even more regretful. Our agony would be prolonged and exquisite, just as theirs had been intense and brief. As the star bellied sneeches on the plane, they could rightfully gloat at those of us who had none upon thars and we prayed for brisk tail winds and no funny jokes or sneezes that might make sitting in the middle row a bit awkward.


At this juncture, the stewardess, who had overheard the word “bathroom” from our conversations, discovered that we thought the bathroom was broken. “They announced it at our gate ten minutes before boarding.” We explained.


Going back to the front, the stewardess spoke to us all, “Our bathroom is working. They must have gotten the wrong flight number.”


I’ll say. Some other flight has some really good material for a humor column, particularly if it was the flight boarding from DC to Vegas.


Day One of the Erma Bombeck Conference...I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, try www.humor-blogs.com!