I Want To Be Photobombed By A Lllama

The beautiful free gym I share with everyone else in Denver…here is the top set of 190 stairs above the stage

This summer hubby and I are taking the trip of a lifetime. We’re going to hike the Inca Trail in Peru. The hike covers roughly 27 miles in three days and at its highest point reaches almost 14,000 feet. One of the ways I’ve been training for this trek is by climbing stairs because the Inca Trail is loaded with them. If you’ve ever done stair training on the machine in the gym, the one with the actual moving steps, you know how badly that sucks. To avoid that, I’ve been taking my stair workout outside. The beauty of living in Colorado is that we have a fantastic natural venue for exercise, which is probably why we’re continually listed as the fittest state. I like to climb my stairs at Red Rocks Amphitheater, arguably one of the most beautiful pieces of workout equipment in the country.

A couple times a week for the past month, I’ve been driving the 20 minutes from my house to Red Rocks, donning a lightweight pack, and trudging myself from the bottom of the stairs beneath the stage all the way to the top of the amphitheater. It’s a solid workout, especially with 10-pounds on my back, and I’m definitely getting some stair practice in, which is great. But as much as I do, I feel it’s not very impressive. On any day of the week, Red Rocks is a haven for crazy cross-fit insanity. There are always people running up the stairs. I mean, running. Full on hauling butt as they barrel past me. And as I continue doggedly trekking up the outer stairs, I look into the amphitheater and see the fitness junkies who are jumping the inner steps two at a time or doing burpees or push ups or crunches on the benches inside. It’s downright discouraging. Even though I am more fit at nearly 46 than I was at 26, I usually end up leaving Red Rocks thinking my effort was lackluster at best.

Today, though, I did something I’ve never done before. I counted the steps as I climbed. From the parking lot beneath the amphitheater to the place where I take my first break on the level of the stage, there are 196 steps. From stage level to the top, there are another 190 stairs. Doing some quick math in my head, I realized that each trek up is 386 stairs. I pulled out my iPhone and did some more calculations. My standard hike up is the rough equivalent of climbing up 24 flights of stairs in a high-rise building. Then I turn around on my tired legs and walk back to the bottom where I start again. On my shortest workout days, I do three full sets. That equates to 2,316 stairs in a half an hour while wearing a weighted pack and without using handrails or walking sticks to assist me. Did I mention that Red Rocks is 6,000 feet above sea level? Even more awesome is that at the end of the day back at home I can still walk up my stairs carrying a basket of laundry without any struggle or discomfort. Sometimes I even go to yoga afterwards.

One of the first quotes I read in Bunny Buddhism is one of my favorites and it is appropriate to my discovery today:

The wise bunny knows we rarely see things as they are; we see things as we believe them to be.

I’ve been looking at my workout and seeing only what I believed, which is that it is weak by comparison to what others are doing. And that may be true. There are some nauseatingly fit Coloradans. But, you know what? Most of the folks in the amphitheater today weren’t in their mid 40s, and most weren’t carrying any additional weight. And while I don’t look like the 20-year-old girls proudly displaying their flawless, six-pack abs, I’m out there. I may be flop sweating like a farm hand on a midsummer’s day in Georgia but I’m there and I’m busting it out in my own way, which is a lot more than many other people can say.

I’m not exactly sure how much this training will help me this July over the long days in the Andes after nights spent sleeping in a tent, but it can’t hurt. What I do know, however, is that when we reach the apex of our trek and I am standing in the ruins at Machu Picchu, I’m going to take a moment to make sure I am seeing things as they really are. I’m going to soak in my realized dream and be grateful for the body that brought me there. And then I’m going to look around and see if I can find a llama willing to pose for a photo with me because that’s what life’s all about.

Posted on 18/04/201419/04/2014 by Me 1

Paradise – Day Four

Angels Trumpets...deadly if ingested but fun to look at. — Angels Trumpets…deadly if ingested but fun to look at.

We must be getting adjusted to the time zone difference because our day got off to a later start. We began with a quick lunch in Koloa, grabbing a slice at Pizzetta before heading to Allerton Gardens in Poipu. As a rule, I’m not a big garden fan but this a National Tropical Botanic Garden and because it contains all kinds of exotic plants it seemed like something I should see. Besides which the garden has been used for scenes in several movies, including Jurassic Park and a Pirates of the Caribbean film. I figured if it was good enough for Steven Spielberg and Johnny Depp it was good enough for me.

It rained lightly the entire time we were there, which further proved that our decision to do garden over beach today was a phenomenal idea. I was afraid that the 2.5 hour garden tour might send our boys over the edge, but they did fairly well considering they were the only children surrounded by 16 adults. Truth be told, they held it better together than I did because I found 2.5 hours a long time to stare at plants. I tried to be zen about it, but I’m not particularly patient that way. I was, however, fascinated to learn that a type of cluster bamboo plant in the garden can grow 1-3 feet per day. When the plant reaches the end of its life cycle at 150 years, it flowers to spread its seeds and then dies. Who knew?

And I did enjoy standing in the roots of a Moreton Bay Fig Tree that was used in the filming of Jurassic Park. The roots were about 5-6 feet tall, but the tree itself is only 70 years old. Nature is amazing. Still…I’m with my son, Joe, who said he prefers the fauna to the flora as a rule. So it seemed appropriate that as the tour was winding down and we were on our way back to our parked car a pod of humpbacks was surfacing just offshore. That’s the way I roll.

Post whale watching, we headed back to Koloa for more souvenir shopping (and a latte) before returning to Poipu to check out Shipwreck Beach. Joe had his heart set on doing some body surfing but the red flags were out, so he and Luke settled instead for sandcastles near the edge of the surf. While they watched their creations wash away, I watched a couple brave (read: insane) souls jump from the cliff into the ocean below. One guy used his 30-foot freefall to execute a flip, which I caught midway with my iPhone camera. When I looked back over at the boys, the sandcastle activity had been scratched. Both boys were drenched.

Luke, who had failed to put on his swim trunks this morning, was soaked in his clothes….cargo pocket shorts full of sand. Oh…the joys of boys. I shrugged it off and watched a monk seal do the body surfing the boys had hoped to accomplish.

On the way home, boys clothed only in beach towels in the back seat of the Jeep, the rain began to pour. When I read the guide books about Kauai in preparation for our trip, I was concerned about our trip here over the boys’ spring break during the wet season on Kauai. I worried that the water temperatures might be too cold and the rains might ruin our beach vacation. So far, the author was right. A little rain will not ruin your Kauai vacation. The wet season means rainbows. And sure enough on the way back to our home base this evening someone was looking out for us. We got our Hawaiian rainbow.

Posted on 25/03/201327/03/2013 by Me 5

Paradise – Day Three

Started our day out with no real idea of what we would do and finally settled upon hitting Waimea Canyon on the west side of the island. Popped the top off the Jeep, loaded up the boys and some snacks, and headed northwest on the highway. We found the canyon road without trouble and started our ascent, amazed at how steep sections of the winding road were. When we reached the Waimea Canyon Lookout, we found a couple young Hawaiian men there in full native garb. They explained that they were there simply to share some of their history and culture with the tourists. They had a little basket that people were throwing donations into, so we handed each of the boys a buck and the young men outfitted our boys with garlands and spears and we snapped a couple photos. Luke told me then that “you’re not a real man unless you’re holding a spear.” So wise at such a tender age.

Seven miles beyond the Waimea Canyon lookout, you reach the pull out for views down the Kalalau Valley. It was incredibly misty, so we weren’t sure we’d be able to see anything but we trekked up to the edge of the view anyway, just in case. The clouds lifted for a minute and we were able to catch a small glimpse of the view. Steve was standing dangerously close to a treacherous drop off at one point, busily snapping photos without a care in his usual “Safety Dad” brain. I made sure to remind him that his accidental death would net me a million dollars in insurance money so he’d best be careful. After the photo op, we were starving. So back down the canyon we flew in search of food.

We found a cute little food shack back in Waimea called the Shrimp Station. Didn’t really see how we could pass that up. The menu, with the exception of a couple sides and one hot dog, was mainly shrimp dishes. Steve opted for the garlic shrimp with rice, which he enjoyed. I had the best coconut shrimp I’ve ever had. Joe tried the shrimp burger, which defies description but which he devoured. Luke, our picky eater, even ate a portion of one of my coconut shrimp so you know it had to be good. We followed our shrimp with JoJo’s Shave Ice. I’m going to need to purchase a muumuu to wear for the flight home if I persist with this eating pattern. Grateful that my new juicer is sitting in Denver anxiously awaiting my return so it can chew up some kale for me. I’m going to need it.

Replete after our meal, the boys decided swimming was in order so we hauled it back down the coast to Poipu. The boys opted to do some body surfing. I chose to lounge in the sun because although I don’t tan I would prefer to return home from Hawaii slightly less white than I currently am. Joe and Luke finally spotted a sea turtle, which made their day, and I caught sight of a couple humpbacks breaching off shore. (My fingers are still crossed that they will show for us on Monday night’s cruise.) Poipu’s resident monk seal was back in its cordoned off, private beach section of Poipu, and he was kind enough to pose for a photo for me. It was a successful afternoon of creature sightings.

As the clouds and mist began to roll over the beach, we packed it in and headed back to Koloa Town for some shopping. We purchased some souvenirs and the boys got afternoon snacks. I couldn’t resist snapping this photo. Trust me. They’re animals. Spend some time in a car with them and you will know my truth.

No idea what our plans are for tomorrow. Maybe a native garden. Maybe Wailua Falls. Probably the beach. Joe is already depressed that we’re halfway through our seven days here. Given that we received about 10 inches of snow at our house in Denver today, I empathize with his sadness about leaving the island. I’m not ready to hang up my flip flops. Is it summer yet?

Posted on 24/03/201324/03/2013 by Me 2

Paradise – Day One

On marker of paradise...at least for a gal from Colorado — On marker of paradise…at least for a gal from Colorado

We’re in paradise. We escaped from cold, snowy Colorado during the boys spring break and now we are on a family trip in Kauai. There are five of us (hubby, the boys, my mom, and I), and we’re all Hawaii virgins. Kauai, after hours of research, was on the top of my Hawaii must-see list. So after a very long day yesterday (awake at 4 a.m., 8.5 hours in the air, topped off with a four-hour time change), we at arrived in Lihue ready to rest up for our grand adventure.

This morning we were awake in the dark at 5 a.m. (courtesy of the aforementioned four-hour time difference). Anxious to start our vacation, we threw on our swimsuits, jumped into our rental Jeep, and headed to Starbucks for caffeine. We drove toward Wailua and landed at Lydgate Beach Park just a few moments after the official rise of the sun.

The boys, we discovered, are not mountain boys at all. They love the beach. As the adults snapped photos, the boys ran along the empty beach, kings of their own little universe. Their joy at building small sand structures and watching the ocean “demolish” them repeatedly was a beautiful reminder of how important the little moments are. Serenity is a beach sunrise. (Or a mountain sunrise at Maroon Bells in Aspen, Colorado. I’m not picky.)

After the caffeine had kicked in, we headed up to Opaeka’a Falls Lookout. We enjoyed the falls but mostly we were happy to catch a quick view of the Wailua River where we are going to kayak on Monday morning. Back to the car, we headed to our home base to gather up some things for the rest of our day. We stopped off at Hilo Hatties for some kitschy Hawaiian wear (it had to be done…hubby insisted) and a bobblehead for the dashboard in our Jeep.

Kekoa...our bobblehead surfdog — Kekoa…our bobblehead surfdog

As the rain poured down in Lihue, we headed to the reportedly “sunny” south shore for some swimming and snorkeling at Poi’pu Beach.

The instant we’d unrolled our beach mats, the sky opened up for a couple minutes. We thought about packing it in, but decided it would pass over. It did quickly, leaving behind sunny skies and warmer temperatures. We hauled out the snorkel gear we’d purchased one day on the Internet while sitting in snowy Steamboat Springs and hit the water. I was grateful that it was warmer than I thought it might be. I didn’t even need the dive vest I brought. While snorkeling, I saw oodles of fish, including a spotted eel, colorful parrot fish, and a very cool Moorish idol. No sea turtles sightings yet, but it’s always good to have something to look forward to for another day.

Five hours and five mild sunburns later, we departed the beach in search of sustenance. We found Puka Dogs. The Ultimate Kauai Guidebook gave this place high marks for their hot dogs, so I felt compelled to give it a try. If you have to eat a hotdog, this place does not suck. The polish dog is roasted until its skin is crispy and then it is tucked into a wraparound bun with spicy garlic jalapeno aioli and sweet relish (our choice was mango). Loved it. Totally worth the $6.25 price tag in my humble, hot-dog loving opinion.

As we were preparing to leave the area, we decided to shoot around and hit Spouting Horn and see what that was all about. Glad we did too because we were able to scout out the location of Allerton Garden, which is on our list for another day, and we caught our first sight of humpback whales off the coast. Steve and I have seen humpbacks while on a cruise along the Inside Passage in Alaska, but the boys were so excited. We’ve got our fingers crossed that they will hang around for a few more days as our sunset whale-watching cruise isn’t until Monday night.

A view of Allerton Gardens…destination for another day

All in all, it was a good day. I hope you’ll indulge me as I use my blog as a travel log for this week, although I won’t blame you if you don’t. While I certainly don’t mean to torture anyone who is still enduring winter that is spilling over into spring, I want to catalog my time here in paradise because too soon I will be back in Colorado watching spring snow fall. I need to have something to look back on as I tuck my flip-flops into the back of my closet and pull out the boots again.

Posted on 22/03/201323/03/2013 by Me 3

The Three Meanest Words In The English Language

For a few years now, there’s been a television show on NBC called Parenthood. I rarely watch network television, mostly because our evenings are filled with homework and getting the boys ready for school the next day and family time. What little time is left at the end of the night is primarily devoted to my trying to scheme up an idea to write about in this blog. My sisters have been talking to me about the show for years and telling me I should watch it. Frankly, though, it looked a wee bit too sappy for me so I have taken a pass on it without a second thought. A couple weeks ago when I finally told my mom we were having Luke evaluated for possible learning disabilities, she suggested Parenthood to me too. I started wondering if there was some sort of reward from NBC for people who bring new viewers to the show. But, Mom told me that the show might validate some of what I go through with my boys because a couple on the show has a child with differences. She thought I might be able to relate to it. So, I caved and started watching it via Netflix.

Well, it turns out that my mom and sisters were right. It’s a really good show. And, yes, watching Kristina and Adam negotiate the waters of Asperger’s Syndrome with their son Max does seem a wee bit familiar. It’s nice to be able to identify with a parenting experience similar to mine rather than watching a parenting experience I wish I had. The episode I watched today, though, hit a little too close to home. The teenage daughter buys a sexy black lace bra from Victoria’s Secret. The parents are not too happy about it because they realize what it means about the escapades of their fifteen year old daughter and the boy she has been seeing. As the mother leaves the daughter behind to go on a business trip, she whispers the three meanest words in the English language to her. She says, “I trust you.”

Oh, how I hate that phrase. That phrase is a lie. If you trust someone, you don’t tell them that you trust them. You simply do. If you tell someone you trust them, what you’re really saying is something like “I want to trust you so if you go behind my back you won’t be able to withstand the crippling guilt of having disappointed me after I put my faith in you in this very obvious way.” The implication is that whatever it is you were thinking you were going to do in some way goes against some underlying compact and will destroy the very fabric of our relationship. Those three words completely remove the fun from whatever it is you wanted to do. I hate that.

My husband has said these words to me on more than one occasion. Oddly enough it’s always been under the same circumstance. I’ve wanted something expensive and threatened to buy it against his wishes and better judgment. Then, he utters those three words and renders me powerless.

“I think I’m going to go ahead and book us that trip to Costa Rica,” I say. “The one I told you about.”

“I told you we really can’t afford to do that right now,” he replies.

“I know. But, we’ve only got one life, and it’s such a fabulous deal on a trip I really want to take. We can find a way to make it work,” I plead.

At this point, he’s running through for me the long, boring, laundry list of items we honestly *need* to spend our money on, stuff like carpet cleaning, a new water heater, and a stack of bills. Meanwhile, I’m rolling my eyes at him and singing “lalalalalala” with my fingers in my ears (in my head, anyway).

“You can’t stop me, you know. If I buy the trip, you’ll go and have a great time,” I say.

“But, you won’t buy the trip,” he replies. “You know how I feel about it. And, I trust you.” And, with that, the trip slips through my fingers. We won’t be going to Costa Rica, at least not this time.

I began watching Parenthood because I was looking to make a connection that would make me feel better about my life. As it turns out, though, the similarities between that show and my real life have become a bit too surreal for me. It’s as if the writers and Ron Howard have been stalking my life for material. And, let’s face it, there really is no escape from reality in television if the television you’re watching is mirroring your life. Perhaps it’s time to switch to The Walking Dead. I bet there’s nothing in that show that will reek of the too familiar. At least, not until the predicted Zombie Apocalypse occurs.

Posted on 09/11/2012 by Me 2

Slow Poison

All that matters is the path that lies before me.

“Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” ~Malachy McCourt

My friend, Heather, posted this quote on her Facebook page today. I am certain I’ve read it before, but it washed over me then because I had no use for it. Today, though, it hit a little closer to home. I took the time to think about it as I was on my long, open space hike with my dog, Ruby, this afternoon. As much as I’d like to be able to say I’ve never felt resentful, that would be a whopper of a lie. I’m guilty of letting the green-eyed monster take control of my brain from time to time and allowing it to work me over. Sometimes, I fail to recall how very lucky I am and find myself focusing instead on what I don’t have rather than what I do. In those times, I become resentful of those friends I have who appear to be living my dreams. There are quite a few of them.

It’s stupid, really, the energy I have expended feeling annoyed, frustrated, or depressed by opportunities that others have had. In the time I’ve wasted begrudging someone their happiness, I’ve deprived myself of my own. I suppose this is one of the reasons that I began this blog. Although I’ve so far been unable to stop completely the greedy gimmes that vex me, I at least now understand that I need to spend more time living in the present and letting go of the things that don’t serve me. This, unfortunately, has always been easier said than done. I am working on it, but I’ve a long way to go.

Why do I find it difficult to remember that the only road that matters is the path that lies before me? ME. Not the gal next to me or the guy across the street. Their journey is their journey, and I don’t know what it’s about. I have no right to judge it as preferable to my own. I don’t know where they’re headed. Perhaps they’re going somewhere I’ve already been. (Of course, if to reach that place I’ve already been they have to travel through Italy, it hardly seems fair.) It’s no wonder I’ve been tripped up on my journey because, as I’ve been looking over someone else’s itinerary, I’ve not been paying careful enough attention to where I am going.

Posted on 22/10/2012 by Me 2

You’ve Got To Leave If You Want To Be Missed

Last week was a whirlwind for me. Flew to Boston on Friday. Spent Saturday, Sunday, and Monday in New England hitting five states in three days as was my goal. Arrived home late on Monday night. Put in my usual mom day on Tuesday beginning at 6:30 a.m. Whipped my way through laundry, grocery shopping, and packing so I could get up at 5 a.m. on Wednesday to head to the airport with my own mom to head to Vegas to celebrate her birthday there. Was in Vegas from 9 a.m. Wednesday until 8 p.m. yesterday. During our time in Vegas, my 70 year old mom and I did a ton of walking. I wish I’d been wearing a pedometer to measure it. (I mean, when do you go to Vegas and eat out for every meal and come home to discover you’ve actually lost weight on your vacation?) Today, a full week after my travel commenced, I collapsed. I love travel more than most things, but it was such a gift to be home today that I did nothing. Literally. No-thing. Not one thing. From 6:45 a.m. when I heard my boys wake up and head into the computer room to play Minecraft until 3 p.m., I sat in my bed. It was a stick-a-fork-in-me kind of day. I was done. Done physically. Done mentally. Done emotionally. I needed a day to recover from my vacations. Go figure.

Tonight, we went to spaghetti dinner at my dad’s church. Riding over in the car, it occurred to me that I hadn’t spent much time at all with my boys in over 7 days. While I was gone, I was too busy to miss them. Every moment of my travel had been filled with things to do. When they woke me up at 6:45 a.m., I wasn’t annoyed. I popped into their computer room and sat on the floor hugging them for a few minutes. Even though we were all home today, they spent most of their day playing outside with friends while I convalesced in my room. So tonight at dinner they had to keep telling me to stop hugging on them, staring at them, and telling them how handsome they are. I was embarrassing them with all the attention. I couldn’t help it, though. It wasn’t until tonight that I noticed how much I had missed them without even realizing it.

This evening I was reminded of why we need time away from our children. We need to step back a while so when we return we can savor them. How often do we get caught up in the day-to-day routine and fail to appreciate our kids for their creativity, their fourth-grade humor, and their dirty faces? The things about them that really get on my nerves when I’m faced with it day to day, like the way Joe likes to wipe his greasy, buttered hands on his nice shirts or the way Luke goes straight to whining mode when we mention it’s time to read, made me smile tonight. I had more patience for their antics. When we were finished with dinner, we drove them to a nearby playground and sat and watched them play for 15 minutes. Watched them play. I never take the time to do that, to simply be still and enjoy witnessing their childhoods. Today was a good reminder of why we leave our kids. If you can get beyond their sad faces when you’re leaving, beyond the forty text messages you receive from them daily when you’re gone, and the immediate question “what did you bring me” when you walk back in the door, you will discover that you actually missed the little buggers. You might just find out that they missed you too. But, you’ll have to leave first.

Posted on 13/10/2012 by Me

Five States In Three Days – Chapter Two

Our car trips (and, sadly, our entire lives) are fueled by Starbucks. Knowing we needed a latte for our two hour drive to Mystic, we decided this morning to tempt map fate by driving to Connecticut directed solely by the map on our Starbucks app. So, we picked a store near Walpole, Massachusetts, as our first stop and then continued following the map of Starbucks stores ever further south, inching our way toward Mystic. Chasing Starbucks stores…that’s how you live life on the edge.

While we drove the entire length of Rhode Island, we were on a mission to meet our friends and didn’t stop to visit the state properly. Still, we spent two full hours on its interstates, so we’re calling it an official visit…with the caveat that we will return and visit Providence and Newport one day.

We arrived in Mystic and met Edie and Tom at, you guessed it, Starbucks. From there we headed to the lighthouse museum in nearby Stonington. We don’t have many lighthouses in Colorado, so the maritime information was quite interesting. The museum is housed in what once was a functioning lighthouse. We climbed the stairs (and a small ladder) to the lighthouse tower to take in the scenery. I got to use the panorama feature on my iPhone 5 to capture 180 degrees of the view. The museum also had whale bones. Colorado doesn’t have many whale bones either.

Preparing the apple mixture for the press

Our next stop was the B. F. Clyde’s Cider Mill in Mystic. We made it there just in time for the 3 p.m. cider pressing demonstration. The mill contains the last steam-powered cider press in the United States. We watched as they spread the chopped apple mixture onto the pressing plate and then ran the plates through the machine. Once the cider had been collected, they moved the remaining apple pulp out to a collection bin behind the mill. The mill, aside from producing incredibly tasty cider, also makes apple wine and hard apple cider. We purchased some apple cider donuts, which we devoured, and some 28-proof hard apple/cranberry cider for later.

It was raining when we left, so we headed into the shopping and restaurant part of Mystic along the Mystic River for some dinner. Edie had picked a cute little restaurant called The Ancient Mariner. Steve had lobster macaroni and cheese and we both tried “stuffies,” which are stuffed clams. We’d never eaten clams before (don’t have many good clam restaurants in Colorado), so we had to give it a shot. Afterward, we took a short drive to get a scenic view of Mystic. The town, which is as darling as you would expect, was even more charming today in the rain.

It was another great day of travel. Tomorrow we spend some time in Massachusetts. Planning to visit Salem before heading back to Denver, exhausted, well-traveled, well-fed, well-educated, and ready to see our boys!

Posted on 07/10/201207/10/2012 by Me 3

Five States in Three Days – Chapter One

When we found out we would be attending our friend Jeff’s wedding to Megan in Massachusetts, my brain went into furious planning mode. Neither Steve nor I had ever been to been to New England. We had a lot to see. I planned a full on assault. I wanted to attack the northeast the way greedy Americans tour Europe, voraciously soaking up a micro dose of culture before moving on to the next target. Here, then, begins my travel journal…five states in three days.

We left our hotel in Peabody, Massachusetts and headed north on I-95 bound for New Hampshire. First stop was Starbucks for our morning caffeine. We blew through the state in 46 minutes and landed in Maine in search of the Nubble Lighthouse in York. As soon as we arrived in York, a quaint seaside vacation spot, we stopped for a brief walk on the beach, where we watched a tiny Yorkshire Terrier fetch what might as well have been a moon-sized tennis ball. I took off my shoes, let the Atlantic wash over my feet, and took a self-portrait to mark the event.

Next stop was the Nubble Lighthouse. The lighthouse sits on an island just offshore. It was a perfect 65 degrees and sunny. A wedding party arrived for someone else’s big day. I took a photo of Steve taking a photo. I have a lot of those.

We jumped back in the car and headed down towards New Hampshire, bound for Portsmouth. I had a goal of visiting at least one historic place during our east coast trip. Colorado is a young state, comparatively, so we are short on awesome historical sights. I found one that was a must-see in Portsmouth. Strawberry Banke is a historical museum comprised of an entire neighborhood of clapboard homes dating from the late 17th century. Many of the homes have been completely restored and furnished with period furnishings. There are period costumes, toys, and stories to offer a complete experience of what this area was like for the centuries proceeding this one.

Our final stop was in downtown Portsmouth. Steve, on a friend’s recommendation, was set on a lobster roll for lunch. Walking on the brick sidewalks through Portsmouth’s quaint shopping district, we happened upon The Dolphin Striker, which just happened to serve lobster (lobstah) rolls. While Steve devoured what had to be a pound of lobster, I dined on a delicately balanced dish of butternut squash ravioli with fresh spinach, dried cherries, and apple slices in a light cream sauce. The window view was of the river and sailboats floating by.

After our perfect lunch, we hopped back in the car headed to Peabody…two states under our belt. We stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for Steve’s requisite afternoon coffee. (Note: I think this state needs a few more photos of New England Patriot tight end Rob Gronkowski. Get working on that.) We’ve got a beautiful wedding to attend in Beverly tonight. Tomorrow, we’re hitting Rhode Island and Connecticut…still on our mission.

Posted on 06/10/2012 by Me

Window Seat Wars

On the rare occasion that my husband and I are able to jet off somewhere alone, we’re are generally quite amicable and cooperative travel companions. We share suitcases equitably, although he usually gets a bit more bag space because his “clothes are bigger.” We jockey phone chargers and reading material like seasoned pros. He drives. I navigate. We get an Almond Joy to snack on so we each get a fair and measurable half. He tries to tolerate it as I coach him to the best parking spot or security line (because I am highly insightful). I try to tolerate it when he tells me he needs to stop for a second or third latte (because he is highly caffeine dependent). As a rule, things are smooth and seamless.

It’s all quite pleasant…except for one issue. The window seat. There is only one. We both want it. Love? Honor? Cherish? Absolutely. Window seat? I think not.

Savvy girl I am, I am chief travel agent in our family. I book all our travel. I print itineraries. I check us in online. I keep the scannable boarding passes on my phone. He’s at my mercy.

“What are our seat assignments?” Steve asked as we boarded the plane to Boston today.

“22E and 22F,” I informed him.

“Window and center,” he said, appraising the situation.

“Yep,”I replied.

“I’ll be taking the window,” he reported.

“Oh no you won’t,” I enlightened him. “I am 22F. Window seat is mine.”

“We’ll see about that,” he retorted as he sped up to jump ahead of me boarding the aircraft.

I tried to elbow him out but he slipped by me and was the first one in the narrow aisle. I stayed doggedly on his heels, bantering with him on the way.

“You’d better not even think about it,” I warned.

“It’s done,” he said. “You’re too late. Accept it.”

“Never,” I replied, still plotting a hip check that would get him out of my way.

But, alas, it was not to be. The rows in front of ours were occupied so I couldn’t check him. It wouldn’t be right to hurt a fellow passenger in our private war. He slipped into row 22 and plopped himself into my window seat.

“Get out of my seat,” I said under my breath through my smiling, clenched teeth.

“No,” he said defiantly.

I’d had enough. I hit the flight attendant call button.

“What are you doing?” he snapped.

“Get out of my seat and there doesn’t have to be a scene,” I told him.

“Possession is 9/10ths,” he said trying to call my bluff.

The flight attendant approached. I flashed her my sweetest smile.

“I think this gentleman is in my seat,” I said, showing her my boarding pass with 22F clearly displayed.

“Oh…is this your seat?” Steve said innocently. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. “Oh…you’re right. I’m 22E on this flight and 22F on the next one,” he lied. He them stood up, shifted his things, and moved out into the aisle. The flight attendant, happy to have avoided conflict, gave us a curt smile and left. I walked past hubby to claim my rightful seat. He followed me in and took the center seat.

“Ha,” I gloated. Triumph!

I lifted the shade on the window and prepared for a peaceful flight. You don’t mess with my window seat. You just don’t. I’m a generous woman. I’ll negotiate on most things. I’ll give you the last bite of my candy bar or my very last fry. I’ll tolerate the three snoozes it takes you on a weekend to decide you’ll just exercise later. I’ll even interrupt my day to let you back into the still-idling car you accidentally locked yourself out of. But, the window seat is sacred. Even if it was overcast all the way to Boston and I didn’t get to see a flipping thing, it’s a matter of principle. The window seat is one of life’s little pleasures. It’s worth doing battle for it. Marriage is full of compromises, and this one is his.

Oh, fine. He can have it on the way home.

Posted on 05/10/201205/10/2012 by Me

Live Now and Zen

Because even when it seems like a gag gift, the present is still a gift