Yesterday, I slept in. I was supposed to have breakfast with Sully, but after eight years of meeting him for meals, I've learned that he runs on his own clock. And Sully time is at last 45 minutes to two hours behind real time. So, I went down to the café and partook in the free breakfast of fresh fruit, chocolate croissant and a non-fat yogurt with hot tea.
By the time Sully got here, it was pretty much time for lunch, so we headed out for pizza. Something that would both appease his palate and mine. I love talks with Sully, and I hate talks with Sully. There's usually some fun elements like us giggling over tourists in Vieux Montreal ordering poutine and taking photos of it when their order comes. I get to learn things about what's happening in his life, and I babble on about stuff in mine. He has a great observation of my physical responses to things. And he digs a bit too deep into things than I'm often uncomfortable with. I blame my Avoidant Behavior issues for my crappy capacity to hold a grown up conversation that has any emotional merit. On the other hand, he's overtly jovial with the waitstaff, which I love, even though I can't bear to even try to talk in French around him. Too many stories about his ears being sensitive to the English person in obvious pain trying to speak French Canadian. I guess it's mercy that he puts them out of their misery by switching to his second language, but if you want to learn -- in earnest -- you're out of luck. Which is funny, because in the States, I always feel endeared to people who are learning English. I mean, it's a huge thing to go somewhere where you don't speak a word and try to make it work and figure it out. It's the people who visit or move places who expect the world to cater to English that drives me mad. Case in point, this asshole at the Depanneur today who wanted to buy aluminum foil. He wanted to use his card, but it was broken, so he asked the attendant to type in the numbers. The card was clearly messed up, so the clerk asked for ID. The American refused. Then he put a $100 in US cash on the counter. The guy threw up his hands and shook his head no (not sure because it was American or because it was $100). But it was only a $3 item, so you know, I'm pretty sure he didn't have the cash to give back to him in U.S. money.
As the guy walked away, he called the attendant a bad name. And it was all I could do not to take my bright orangish/pink Nike shoe and kick him square in the ass as he walked away. Fuckhead.
But I digress from wherever I was about the Sully lunch, oh yes...
Usually by the end of our conversations, a couple of hours have flown by and I'm emotionally drained.
So, in the middle of the afternoon, I went upstairs to my room, I talked to MacTroll and X-man over iChat for a while, watched the Olympics and I read my book. I passed out around 8 p.m. and didn't wake up until my son FaceTimed me the next morning at 8:30 a.m. I talked to the boys a little and got dressed for a walk. Every year I try to walk up Mont Royal to the Chateau from wherever I am staying. I'm not a girl who does hills since I come from a pretty flat land, so it's a hard effort for me. I also had to take a detour around downtown so I could do some window shopping. There were lots of sidewalks under construction or shut down due to new buildings being erected, so my pace was sucky, but the walk was fun.
When I reached the Chateau, I sat down and enjoyed the brightness of the sun and the wispy clouds in the sky with a Gatorade. I smiled at the families getting their photos taken with the city behind them. Then I started back down the hill. Round trip was just under 10 miles. My foot did wickedly awesome, except on a section where they had redone the path from the stair entrance at Rue Peel with vertical bricks. They were a little unlevel and my tendons protested, but I wasn't on them for too long.
Now I've showered, and I have plans to finish reading my book and maybe nap before I have dinner tonight with Ms. M and her boys. Then tomorrow, I get to get in a cab at 5 a.m. to get to the airport. I should be home by lunch time. Let's hope I keep better track of all my bags this time.
Showing posts with label Loosey-only vacation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Loosey-only vacation. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
Cinematic-like Canadian Drama
I flew to Montreal yesterday. The 6 a.m. flight from Champaign to Chicago was no big deal, per usual. And then I sat from 7 a.m. until 10:30 for my flight for Montreal. It was one of those waits where the people sitting across from you, who you don't speak a word to, start to look familiar. The people next to me were a grandma, son and grandson, who was the son's nephew. They were traveling to Texas on the flight at our gate before the flight to Montreal. The 16 year old was reading a book on his summer reading list for school and hating it. The woman next to me (who was also going to Texas) and I picked up our heads. "I have to know what book it is now," I said to him after he said, "This book sucks. I can't read any more of it."
Yeah, Lord of the Flies. Typical sophomore literature. He'll have to endure it the way I endured Catcher in the Rye and the Bronte sisters (in which, by the way Jane Eyre blows the water out of Wuthering Heights, but they're both still annoying).
Anyway, I get to Montreal and my brain kicks in. I get off the plane without having to wait for any carryon items that were too large for the overhead compartments of the regional jet. I take the stairs rather than the escalator in a mad dash to get to customs. If it's busy... you want to be the first out of your plane. As it was -- there was NO ONE there. It was odd. I'd never seen it so empty, unless I was coming in super late at night.
I breezed past the people waiting for family members and down to the taxi line. I waited patiently while the guys ahead of me freaked out that the taxi man was telling them to get in a limo (he wasn't). He was simply pointing to the post where they were to wait while a taxi drove up.
I got in my taxi and rolled off my tongue in perfect anglo-french the name and address of my hotel. I'd been practicing all week. :-)
He looked confused. I took out the paper and handed it to him. He STILL looked confused. So I'm taking that not as a strike against my language skills but of the fact that he had, indeed, never dropped anyone off at Le Petit Hotel before and was kind of surprised that I was introducing a new place for him to go, since he'd been driving a cab for over a decade.
"Those small hotels are always changing their names!" he exclaimed. But indeed, he had a master list of every hotel he'd ever been there with an address cross-listed. He had one for 106 Rue St-Paul Ouest instead of 168 (where I was staying) so, he followed some chicken scratch instructions he'd left for himself about the best way to get there.
Then he said, "You from Toronto?" It was a stab to my heart. I'd once ordered a sandwich from a guy on the Plateau who said to me in English after I ordered in French. "You're too friendly to be from Toronto. So you've got to be from the States." I had encountered similar anti-Toronto-ness in Halifax and Calgary and other parts of Quebec. So it was then that I learned that to come from the States was actually much better when I visited Montreal. There was some kind of acceptance there. Now, that said, I know some folks from Toronto who are very friendly. But I also have witnessed this kind of urban snobbery when I've been there. So I get what the stereotype is about. In the states, it's often applied to New Yorkers.
Not a surprise Le Petit is so small that he missed the door the first time and circled back around the block. It was pouring rain and windy and hot outside. There were storm warnings in the area with 90km wind warnings (read the km Americans). So I paid him, bailed, picked up my bags and opened the first set of doors to the hotel. Then I realized I was missing my backpack with my laptop.
I threw the bags down and took off down the street in my flip flops in the rain screaming, "Arrete le Taxi! Stop the Taxi! Please!" I ran for 8 blocks. Someone in a car speed through an intersection and got to the taxi behind mine. I caught up 30 seconds later, thanked the car driver, and looked at this poor cab driver who wasn't mine and it was like Bart Simpson when he visited France. Words just flew out of my breathlessness in French, almost like I knew what I was doing. He was able to do two things that my brain couldn't do as I was screaming and running, give me the cab company name AND the taxi number.
Now, in my run through the pouring rain, I'd also lost two other things. My shoes. I had been wearing flip flops and I ran right out of them. Ironically, on the plane, I had been finally finishing, "Born to Run" a book I started almost two years ago, but only got halfway through. When they came off my feet, a family screamed, "Your Shoes!" I had only answered, "It's okay, I gotta go faster!" And I did, my bare feet pushing against the cobblestone streets as I ignored stop signs and moving cars like a crazy woman.
On my job back to the hotel, where my purse and suitcase were left in the doors, the family gave me back my shoes. "Do you need a phone?" They were Canadian tourists. It was so sweet. I thanked them, and kept moving. A restaurant worker who had been having a smoke on the sidewalk when I whizzed by asked me if I was okay, if he could do anything. I thanked him.
When I got to my hotel, I was drenched, sad and crazy. I spit out the cab information and the car information and what my bag looked like to the two concierges and they went to work on the phones immediately. They explained that the cab dispatcher at the airport was on it and I'd know if it was coming back by noon tomorrow.
Then I went upstairs to my hotel room and cried in a very hot shower. I also got lucky that the iHome dock in the room charged my iPhone. So I didn't have to wander out to buy any charge cords, which had also been in the bag. And that I had the mental acuity to keep my passport and my wallet actually on me. Because this is the kind of crazy shit that happens to me when I'm tired. I am not a good traveler, and I'm really not good at days that start at 4 a.m.
Afterwards, I got to resetting all of the passwords on all of my mail accounts and tried to figure out the best way to explain to the Tolono Public Library that I had lost a book that I had checked out via the WorldCat program. No one likes to lose a library book, but you really don't want to lose one from ANOTHER library that lent it to your library. That's just embarrassing.
After my shower, I sat in a depressed state in a robe watching the Olympics. It was still storming outside, so I ate some Pringles and water for dinner, and then I started to drift off to sleep, early. At 9 p.m., I was awoken by the hotel phone ringing. I said a silent prayer to the powers that be and picked up the phone. "Madam, your cab driver is here with a package you were looking for."
I pulled on my wet clothes from earlier today and ran down to the elevator. And there was my awesomely petit cab driver with my bag. "I had three riders after you. I hope everything is still there. No one said there was a bag in the back with them."
And it was. Laptop, library book, cords. I tipped him $40 and hugged him. Then I went upstairs, happy, happy, happy.
Only in Canada would it have been returned. Only in Canada.
Yeah, Lord of the Flies. Typical sophomore literature. He'll have to endure it the way I endured Catcher in the Rye and the Bronte sisters (in which, by the way Jane Eyre blows the water out of Wuthering Heights, but they're both still annoying).
Anyway, I get to Montreal and my brain kicks in. I get off the plane without having to wait for any carryon items that were too large for the overhead compartments of the regional jet. I take the stairs rather than the escalator in a mad dash to get to customs. If it's busy... you want to be the first out of your plane. As it was -- there was NO ONE there. It was odd. I'd never seen it so empty, unless I was coming in super late at night.
I breezed past the people waiting for family members and down to the taxi line. I waited patiently while the guys ahead of me freaked out that the taxi man was telling them to get in a limo (he wasn't). He was simply pointing to the post where they were to wait while a taxi drove up.
I got in my taxi and rolled off my tongue in perfect anglo-french the name and address of my hotel. I'd been practicing all week. :-)
He looked confused. I took out the paper and handed it to him. He STILL looked confused. So I'm taking that not as a strike against my language skills but of the fact that he had, indeed, never dropped anyone off at Le Petit Hotel before and was kind of surprised that I was introducing a new place for him to go, since he'd been driving a cab for over a decade.
"Those small hotels are always changing their names!" he exclaimed. But indeed, he had a master list of every hotel he'd ever been there with an address cross-listed. He had one for 106 Rue St-Paul Ouest instead of 168 (where I was staying) so, he followed some chicken scratch instructions he'd left for himself about the best way to get there.
Then he said, "You from Toronto?" It was a stab to my heart. I'd once ordered a sandwich from a guy on the Plateau who said to me in English after I ordered in French. "You're too friendly to be from Toronto. So you've got to be from the States." I had encountered similar anti-Toronto-ness in Halifax and Calgary and other parts of Quebec. So it was then that I learned that to come from the States was actually much better when I visited Montreal. There was some kind of acceptance there. Now, that said, I know some folks from Toronto who are very friendly. But I also have witnessed this kind of urban snobbery when I've been there. So I get what the stereotype is about. In the states, it's often applied to New Yorkers.
Not a surprise Le Petit is so small that he missed the door the first time and circled back around the block. It was pouring rain and windy and hot outside. There were storm warnings in the area with 90km wind warnings (read the km Americans). So I paid him, bailed, picked up my bags and opened the first set of doors to the hotel. Then I realized I was missing my backpack with my laptop.
I threw the bags down and took off down the street in my flip flops in the rain screaming, "Arrete le Taxi! Stop the Taxi! Please!" I ran for 8 blocks. Someone in a car speed through an intersection and got to the taxi behind mine. I caught up 30 seconds later, thanked the car driver, and looked at this poor cab driver who wasn't mine and it was like Bart Simpson when he visited France. Words just flew out of my breathlessness in French, almost like I knew what I was doing. He was able to do two things that my brain couldn't do as I was screaming and running, give me the cab company name AND the taxi number.
Now, in my run through the pouring rain, I'd also lost two other things. My shoes. I had been wearing flip flops and I ran right out of them. Ironically, on the plane, I had been finally finishing, "Born to Run" a book I started almost two years ago, but only got halfway through. When they came off my feet, a family screamed, "Your Shoes!" I had only answered, "It's okay, I gotta go faster!" And I did, my bare feet pushing against the cobblestone streets as I ignored stop signs and moving cars like a crazy woman.
On my job back to the hotel, where my purse and suitcase were left in the doors, the family gave me back my shoes. "Do you need a phone?" They were Canadian tourists. It was so sweet. I thanked them, and kept moving. A restaurant worker who had been having a smoke on the sidewalk when I whizzed by asked me if I was okay, if he could do anything. I thanked him.
When I got to my hotel, I was drenched, sad and crazy. I spit out the cab information and the car information and what my bag looked like to the two concierges and they went to work on the phones immediately. They explained that the cab dispatcher at the airport was on it and I'd know if it was coming back by noon tomorrow.
Then I went upstairs to my hotel room and cried in a very hot shower. I also got lucky that the iHome dock in the room charged my iPhone. So I didn't have to wander out to buy any charge cords, which had also been in the bag. And that I had the mental acuity to keep my passport and my wallet actually on me. Because this is the kind of crazy shit that happens to me when I'm tired. I am not a good traveler, and I'm really not good at days that start at 4 a.m.
Afterwards, I got to resetting all of the passwords on all of my mail accounts and tried to figure out the best way to explain to the Tolono Public Library that I had lost a book that I had checked out via the WorldCat program. No one likes to lose a library book, but you really don't want to lose one from ANOTHER library that lent it to your library. That's just embarrassing.
After my shower, I sat in a depressed state in a robe watching the Olympics. It was still storming outside, so I ate some Pringles and water for dinner, and then I started to drift off to sleep, early. At 9 p.m., I was awoken by the hotel phone ringing. I said a silent prayer to the powers that be and picked up the phone. "Madam, your cab driver is here with a package you were looking for."
I pulled on my wet clothes from earlier today and ran down to the elevator. And there was my awesomely petit cab driver with my bag. "I had three riders after you. I hope everything is still there. No one said there was a bag in the back with them."
And it was. Laptop, library book, cords. I tipped him $40 and hugged him. Then I went upstairs, happy, happy, happy.
Only in Canada would it have been returned. Only in Canada.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Recanting my bitterness
Okay, so Ms. M told me to apologize to the Houston's waitress. She wasn't really trying to be rude and shove her awesome bilingual brain power in my stupid Anglo face. She was being accommodating and trying to make the experience easy on me.
So, Houston's waitress. I'm sorry. I was a little bit cranky when I wrote yesterday's blog post. And if I had a body that made men and women stare like that, I'd probably flash a little happiness, too.
Right?
As it is, I had a total bitch of a time sleeping last night. I kept waking up for no reason every hour, and I didn't fall asleep until past midnight. I was totally in need of a giant hug.
So, Houston's waitress. I'm sorry. I was a little bit cranky when I wrote yesterday's blog post. And if I had a body that made men and women stare like that, I'd probably flash a little happiness, too.
Right?
As it is, I had a total bitch of a time sleeping last night. I kept waking up for no reason every hour, and I didn't fall asleep until past midnight. I was totally in need of a giant hug.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Here We Go
I fell asleep last night early. I had pulled the drapes shut so that it was pitch black in the room. And I didn't wake up until my phone went off. I had enough time to get up and shower and get ready to meet my friend Sully for lunch.
For some reason Canadian chains periodically name their restaurants after US cities. It doesn't make sense to me. Boston's Pizza... Who wants pizza from Boston? We had lunch up the street at Houston's. It's a steak joint. I get that. Texas = cattle. But what I don't get is -- why pick the name Houston? Out of all the cities in Texas, why that one? Isn't Austin or Dallas just as dandy?
But that's neither here nor there. The waitstaff was all early 20's, mostly women. Mostly naked women. :-) Tight black dresses, boobs hanging out everywhere. I felt terribly over dressed in my shoulderless t-shirt and jeans, particularly when she'd bend over to wipe a table. And Sully, bless him, was doing his best not to have his eyes wander in that direction. But I wasn't as good about the boob observation when she'd lean over to refill my water glass. Breasts, breasts, breasts... "Oooh, when did my water get refilled?"
If the revealing clothes weren't enough, I ordered in my lame French, and she immediately spoke to me in English as soon as the dirty words Coke Diete came out of my mouth. French to Sully, of course. English to Loosey. Grrr! At least let a girl try. What's worse is that the menu is mostly French, but on some Americanized things like hamburger... It's just a burger. A burger classique. The description used "bacon" in English. So, you know, it's great when you order it in French and the waitress says to you in English, "You know it has bacon on it." Picture Loosey wanting to slam her head into the table. Yes, I get it. You're bilingual. It's hot. You read English better than I do. You look way better in that dress, and your boobs are anti-gravity. Thanks for the reminder that I'm old and stupid. I knew that coming in.
Then, as usual, Sully set in on a discussion that made me smile, frown, laugh, sigh, look away and blush.
Afterwards, he walked me around the corner back to my hotel before he headed to work. I went upstairs and sat in the window of my room (which I was happy opened) and people watched from above. There on a bench in front of a fountain in Square Victoria was a couple, late thirties, totally feeding each other a sandwich, laughing and making out. Ahhh, Montreal. Women walked by in hot shoes. A high school group came by with kids laughing and holding hands. Happy people on a spring day. It was perfect.
Tomorrow, Ms. Mouse is picking me up for breakfast. Then she's dropping me off. I think I'll head up to the Baie and do some shopping before she comes back to whisk me off to her place for dinner. Then I go to sleep and wake up early, early to get in a cab and go to the airport.
MacTroll's update on Riley is that the ultrasound was sent to the radiologist. All autoimmune issues were ruled out. But the vets thought the spleen looked troublesome on the ultrasound, but they're not saying anything for sure before the radiologist sees the film. MacTroll said that Riley is walking very slowly. He's not steady on his feet. If it is a tumor in his spleen, which is a pretty aggressive place to have cancer, he's in trouble. Even with spleen removal and chemo, dogs don't usually live too long after that kind of treatment. The tumors are most always malignant, and they can spread to the brain, which could be why he appears to have neurological issues.
But again, this is all speculation. We'll know more tomorrow. If he does have cancer or doesn't but isn't showing any signs of improvement in the mobility area, we'll be canceling our trip to Atlanta. He'll need more care, and we want to be around for it. He's given us so much over the last 10 years, it's the very least we can do for him.
But first, I'm going to take a long bubble bath, tuck myself into my zillion-count W hotel sheets and pass out. Maybe I'll even crack one of the 1/2 bottles of wine. Hey, is Roy Dupuis on the TV? Cause I could totally snuggle into the faux fur blanket on my my chaise lounge for 4 and get into that. What do you think, LL?
For some reason Canadian chains periodically name their restaurants after US cities. It doesn't make sense to me. Boston's Pizza... Who wants pizza from Boston? We had lunch up the street at Houston's. It's a steak joint. I get that. Texas = cattle. But what I don't get is -- why pick the name Houston? Out of all the cities in Texas, why that one? Isn't Austin or Dallas just as dandy?
But that's neither here nor there. The waitstaff was all early 20's, mostly women. Mostly naked women. :-) Tight black dresses, boobs hanging out everywhere. I felt terribly over dressed in my shoulderless t-shirt and jeans, particularly when she'd bend over to wipe a table. And Sully, bless him, was doing his best not to have his eyes wander in that direction. But I wasn't as good about the boob observation when she'd lean over to refill my water glass. Breasts, breasts, breasts... "Oooh, when did my water get refilled?"
If the revealing clothes weren't enough, I ordered in my lame French, and she immediately spoke to me in English as soon as the dirty words Coke Diete came out of my mouth. French to Sully, of course. English to Loosey. Grrr! At least let a girl try. What's worse is that the menu is mostly French, but on some Americanized things like hamburger... It's just a burger. A burger classique. The description used "bacon" in English. So, you know, it's great when you order it in French and the waitress says to you in English, "You know it has bacon on it." Picture Loosey wanting to slam her head into the table. Yes, I get it. You're bilingual. It's hot. You read English better than I do. You look way better in that dress, and your boobs are anti-gravity. Thanks for the reminder that I'm old and stupid. I knew that coming in.
Then, as usual, Sully set in on a discussion that made me smile, frown, laugh, sigh, look away and blush.
Afterwards, he walked me around the corner back to my hotel before he headed to work. I went upstairs and sat in the window of my room (which I was happy opened) and people watched from above. There on a bench in front of a fountain in Square Victoria was a couple, late thirties, totally feeding each other a sandwich, laughing and making out. Ahhh, Montreal. Women walked by in hot shoes. A high school group came by with kids laughing and holding hands. Happy people on a spring day. It was perfect.
Tomorrow, Ms. Mouse is picking me up for breakfast. Then she's dropping me off. I think I'll head up to the Baie and do some shopping before she comes back to whisk me off to her place for dinner. Then I go to sleep and wake up early, early to get in a cab and go to the airport.
MacTroll's update on Riley is that the ultrasound was sent to the radiologist. All autoimmune issues were ruled out. But the vets thought the spleen looked troublesome on the ultrasound, but they're not saying anything for sure before the radiologist sees the film. MacTroll said that Riley is walking very slowly. He's not steady on his feet. If it is a tumor in his spleen, which is a pretty aggressive place to have cancer, he's in trouble. Even with spleen removal and chemo, dogs don't usually live too long after that kind of treatment. The tumors are most always malignant, and they can spread to the brain, which could be why he appears to have neurological issues.
But again, this is all speculation. We'll know more tomorrow. If he does have cancer or doesn't but isn't showing any signs of improvement in the mobility area, we'll be canceling our trip to Atlanta. He'll need more care, and we want to be around for it. He's given us so much over the last 10 years, it's the very least we can do for him.
But first, I'm going to take a long bubble bath, tuck myself into my zillion-count W hotel sheets and pass out. Maybe I'll even crack one of the 1/2 bottles of wine. Hey, is Roy Dupuis on the TV? Cause I could totally snuggle into the faux fur blanket on my my chaise lounge for 4 and get into that. What do you think, LL?
Monday, June 14, 2010
Case of the Mondays
Since everyone had a Facebook status of being grouchy this morning, I figured I'd vent my ugly on the blog. Around 9:30 p.m. last night I ended up with MacTroll's stomach bug. In addition, someone apparently left our bathroom door open, so Clawdio peed in our shower. And it was particularly cat urine smelling, but even the rankness of that couldn't get the vomiting to start. And I needed it to start because my belly was swollen to the point where I thought I was going to implode.
Five hours later, I was empty and crippled and exhausted. This morning, I woke up feeling much better in that I knew the vomiting was over. But I felt like someone had hit me with a truck. I had a headache from crying while vomiting. So I've been in bed napping on and off and hoping that X-man doesn't get it. So much for us vacating the house all day Saturday and not being around MacTroll so we wouldn't get it.
Now I have to also hope we didn't give it to our dinner guests last night who are moving tomorrow from Champaign to Lincoln, NE. (Dr. Dave and Ms. K, I swear if I had known I had it I would have canceled!)
Onto other information, every day for the last -- who am I kidding -- for forever we've been getting afternoon thunderstorms. It's not like I live at the Grand Canyon and can enjoy some awesome desert light show. Instead, it just bums us out. We got sent home early from the pool on Saturday, which made X-man really upset. As much as he loves playing and replaying Trouble in our living room, he looked outside and said, "Mom, I want it to be summer." (He means sunny, but I totally get where he's coming from.)
Tomorrow, MacTroll gets his father's day gift early -- We're taking his car in to get detailed. He's so excited about it. On Thursday, MacTroll has a meeting near Schaumburg, so if things go okay, he's going to drop X-man and I off at the Lego Discovery Center, go to his meeting and then meet up with us afterwards to take a trip to Ikea to look at rugs. I guess that means, I need to measure where all of our new wood floors will be installed. The wood is supposed to get delivered this week. Installation should start on the 22nd.
This weekend my Dad is coming down for a visit, which will be nice. X-man hasn't seen him since Easter.
But the big news is that a week from Thursday, I'll be on a plane, by myself, headed to St. Croix in the USVI to see my friend Dr. Robin for four days. She's so going to drink me under the table. :-)
Five hours later, I was empty and crippled and exhausted. This morning, I woke up feeling much better in that I knew the vomiting was over. But I felt like someone had hit me with a truck. I had a headache from crying while vomiting. So I've been in bed napping on and off and hoping that X-man doesn't get it. So much for us vacating the house all day Saturday and not being around MacTroll so we wouldn't get it.
Now I have to also hope we didn't give it to our dinner guests last night who are moving tomorrow from Champaign to Lincoln, NE. (Dr. Dave and Ms. K, I swear if I had known I had it I would have canceled!)
Onto other information, every day for the last -- who am I kidding -- for forever we've been getting afternoon thunderstorms. It's not like I live at the Grand Canyon and can enjoy some awesome desert light show. Instead, it just bums us out. We got sent home early from the pool on Saturday, which made X-man really upset. As much as he loves playing and replaying Trouble in our living room, he looked outside and said, "Mom, I want it to be summer." (He means sunny, but I totally get where he's coming from.)
Tomorrow, MacTroll gets his father's day gift early -- We're taking his car in to get detailed. He's so excited about it. On Thursday, MacTroll has a meeting near Schaumburg, so if things go okay, he's going to drop X-man and I off at the Lego Discovery Center, go to his meeting and then meet up with us afterwards to take a trip to Ikea to look at rugs. I guess that means, I need to measure where all of our new wood floors will be installed. The wood is supposed to get delivered this week. Installation should start on the 22nd.
This weekend my Dad is coming down for a visit, which will be nice. X-man hasn't seen him since Easter.
But the big news is that a week from Thursday, I'll be on a plane, by myself, headed to St. Croix in the USVI to see my friend Dr. Robin for four days. She's so going to drink me under the table. :-)
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Girls Gone Wild -- T.O.
Okay, so it's not a completely appropriate title. There was no breast flashing or drunken madness. But I did have four days of pretty much girl time without family in Toronto.
There was shopping, drinking, dressing up, being dressed up, food, workouts and hanging about. I had my second opportunity to wear my corset and this time, I managed to get it on all by myself, so that's a large accomplishment.
I got to snuggle with two very cute dogs and two very affectionate cats. I learned I liked a new kind of protein bar, and I get to visit with folks I usually only get to see every couple of years. And surprise, surprise, U.S. Immigration even let me back into the country with my crazy inaccurate passport photo.
(The officer did ask me about it and then asked me how I lost the weight -- and then instead of considering me a security risk he confessed that he was terrible at listening and following directions when it came to eating properly. He looked at the image and declared, "Well, your nose hasn't changed. You look great" and sent me on my way.)
We'll have to see what happens when I fly to Montreal in October for the Parc LaFontaine 10k.
I worked out at Andrina and Ian's gym twice this week, and my legs are really showing it today. I have trouble balancing and my brain signals for my body to move, but I can count to three before it actually follows directions. Stairs are -- interesting. The pain is gone, but there's a significant stiffness. On Friday we trained with her personal trainer Greg. Greg did a lot of strength moves (squat jumps, heaving dumbbells, hurdle work, etc.) and then had us run 1100 meters (1600 meters is a mile) as fast as we could up and down hills (which my back wasn't used to and was a bit sore from the next day). Dri estimated that she burned around 1,000 calories in the hour workout according to her watch. The next day we went with Ian to a circuit class. Weight training and cardio activities for 60 minutes, each for a minute at a time as fast and as hard as you can go. The movements were all very different than what I was used to, but I did love the warm up which was shuttle runs (remember those from gym class?).
But we also ate well. I had red snapper for the first time on Friday night and it was so good I literally sucked on it in my mouth. It was followed by a warm butter tart. We shopped at the high-end mall, where I found a hot pair of shoes at Aldo's.
We had pedicures when I arrived (hence the pretty toes). All in all it was a lovely trip, and it was nice to see friends who I normally only get to chat with through Facebook. And as useful as the social networking site is, it's not the same as spending time together.
There was shopping, drinking, dressing up, being dressed up, food, workouts and hanging about. I had my second opportunity to wear my corset and this time, I managed to get it on all by myself, so that's a large accomplishment.
I got to snuggle with two very cute dogs and two very affectionate cats. I learned I liked a new kind of protein bar, and I get to visit with folks I usually only get to see every couple of years. And surprise, surprise, U.S. Immigration even let me back into the country with my crazy inaccurate passport photo.
(The officer did ask me about it and then asked me how I lost the weight -- and then instead of considering me a security risk he confessed that he was terrible at listening and following directions when it came to eating properly. He looked at the image and declared, "Well, your nose hasn't changed. You look great" and sent me on my way.)
We'll have to see what happens when I fly to Montreal in October for the Parc LaFontaine 10k.
I worked out at Andrina and Ian's gym twice this week, and my legs are really showing it today. I have trouble balancing and my brain signals for my body to move, but I can count to three before it actually follows directions. Stairs are -- interesting. The pain is gone, but there's a significant stiffness. On Friday we trained with her personal trainer Greg. Greg did a lot of strength moves (squat jumps, heaving dumbbells, hurdle work, etc.) and then had us run 1100 meters (1600 meters is a mile) as fast as we could up and down hills (which my back wasn't used to and was a bit sore from the next day). Dri estimated that she burned around 1,000 calories in the hour workout according to her watch. The next day we went with Ian to a circuit class. Weight training and cardio activities for 60 minutes, each for a minute at a time as fast and as hard as you can go. The movements were all very different than what I was used to, but I did love the warm up which was shuttle runs (remember those from gym class?).
But we also ate well. I had red snapper for the first time on Friday night and it was so good I literally sucked on it in my mouth. It was followed by a warm butter tart. We shopped at the high-end mall, where I found a hot pair of shoes at Aldo's.
We had pedicures when I arrived (hence the pretty toes). All in all it was a lovely trip, and it was nice to see friends who I normally only get to chat with through Facebook. And as useful as the social networking site is, it's not the same as spending time together.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
23 hours
I'm leaving tomorrow morning for Toronto. It's just me. My friend Andrina is picking me up at the airport and we're getting pedicures, doing some shopping and going out for a girls' only dinner. I am very excited. I love visiting friends, but I also love Canada. And there might be a healthy dose of excitement about a butter tart in there, too.
I started packing my bag last night trying to decide what Non-Mom clothes to bring. I have workout stuff, too. That is if my pulled left abdominal muscle and my right knee, which has gone wobbly today, can get out of their funk.
X-man was really pretty miffed that MacTroll was coming home tonight only to have me roll out of bed and off to the airport tomorrow. "We should be together as a family. Daddy misses you. We want you to stay home."
Seriously, if he was a Mom I'd read this as a totally manipulative guilt trip. But he's not. He's 4. And he loves when we're all together. But at the same time, I have to go. It's good for me. It's good for him to have alone time with Dad. It's good for Dad to have alone time with him. And I adore them both, but really -- Mommy needs to sleep and have non-kid related discussions and carry her vowels in adorably awesome ways.
I'll take my camera, still debating taking the corset. :-P
I started packing my bag last night trying to decide what Non-Mom clothes to bring. I have workout stuff, too. That is if my pulled left abdominal muscle and my right knee, which has gone wobbly today, can get out of their funk.
X-man was really pretty miffed that MacTroll was coming home tonight only to have me roll out of bed and off to the airport tomorrow. "We should be together as a family. Daddy misses you. We want you to stay home."
Seriously, if he was a Mom I'd read this as a totally manipulative guilt trip. But he's not. He's 4. And he loves when we're all together. But at the same time, I have to go. It's good for me. It's good for him to have alone time with Dad. It's good for Dad to have alone time with him. And I adore them both, but really -- Mommy needs to sleep and have non-kid related discussions and carry her vowels in adorably awesome ways.
I'll take my camera, still debating taking the corset. :-P
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Sanctuary
I stayed at the Herrington Inn on the Fox River. I went to their spa and received a sugar and cinnamon scrub and a back facial. I woke up toward the end of the back facial drooling. Nice. Comfortable. Safe. It's funny because when I left, I felt like I didn't want any one around me for 24 hours. I was dreading the spa part. But I thought it might help me relax. Funny how one kind of touch can make your whole body stiff as a board and miserable and another kind of touch can completely reset you, calm you, center you.
I ate at Fox Fire restaurant. I shopped at the local organic food store for breakfast and snacks. I went into some gift stores. I reacquainted myself with some friendly characters in a novel I hadn't looked at in a year. It was lovely.
On Wednesday morning, I woke up in my giant, warm bed to the pitter patter of rain on the river at 7 a.m. I looked at weather.com -- 37 degrees and raining. "Bah! I don't want to run in this crap."
I am ever so tired of it being rainy and cold. Then I looked out my window... at the Fox River Valley path...
and I saw some crazy bastard out running across that little bridge to the left and onto the path in the park.
So I sighed, got dressed and went out and ran 5 1/2 miles. I came back looking like a wet cat. And for the second time this week, a hotel employee told me that I'm crazy for running in this weather.
They're right. I am insane.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Vacation spot chosen
Okay, so the winner of my little one-night hide-away is going to be Geneva, IL. Not to be confused with Lake Geneva (cause I'll admit I was -- but I got lost on a bike path today, so for those of you who think I'm smart... you'll need to reassess), and my apologies to the people of Geneva for not knowing about their little hideaway.
A lot of the places I looked into were too in the suburbs or judged a mite too far. (Galena was an excellent choice, but a bit far.) I've never been to Geneva. I guess Tom Hanks filmed Road to Perdition there... I found a small inn to stay in. There's also a local salon I may hit up tomorrow to see if they have any open appointments late on Tuesday for a haircut. I keep meaning to go, but it never gets to the top of my list. And the Fox River Valley trail is right there. So, pretty hair on Tuesday. Matted, sweaty hair before shower and check out on Wednesday. Plus, a stop over at Ikea on the way home in Bolingbrook... (Quigs, you want anything?)
As it is, MacTroll came home with some respiratory infection. He swears he's better than he was when he was in San Francisco, but it still sounds crappy to me. He's also refusing to go to Convenient Care or call our regular doctor.
So, yeah, I'm so getting out of dodge. Single parents -- how you do it without snapping in two I have no idea. I am humbled by your patience and fortitude.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Ships by night -- passing
So, anyone within 100 miles of O'Hare airport knows that the storm yesterday really jacked the place up. I was stuck in Montreal for an extra 3 hours waiting for weather and traffic to clear for my plane to take off. They canceled the flight after me completely.
When I arrived in O'Hare, I thought, at least I'll have options. LOL. OMG. I was met with a sea of confused activity like I have never seen outside those movies where the aliens have come to kill earthlings or a giant meteor is crashing toward the planet and giant tidal waves are knocking over NYC.
There's simply nothing you can do when the weather goes bad. Alas, the 6:25 p.m. flight to Champaign had not taken off on time, but my 7:20 p.m. one did. And the 8:55 p.m. one was left... but by the time I got there there were 17 people each on the standby list for both flights that only hold 40 people total.
At 10:15 p.m., I made my way down to the LEX terminal. MacTroll had purchased me the bus ticket online, and holy cow, am I glad I decided not to stay at a hotel because the first flight anyone could get booked back to Champaign today started at --- 8 p.m. Plus, the cab line and the congestion of friends and family members trying to get to the airport to pick up stranded folks was a couple miles long. As it was the big LEX bus was completely full. And I wondered, when we pulled into the Illinois Terminal, who in the hell is picking all these college kids up at 2 a.m. on a Monday morning.
Yeah, so as it works out... it takes 15 hours to drive from Montreal to Champaign. Yesterday, it took American Airlines and LEX 14.5 hours to get me home... and I still ended up footing the $63 bus ticket because when delays are due to weather NOTHING is paid for. Because it's not anyone's fault.
Still, I got home and KTDID, MacTroll and I had some random silly 15-minute conversation before we headed to bed. At 5:45 a.m., MacTroll got up, packed KTDID's suitcase (we'll see if mine finds its way back to me today) and took it with him on his 3-city tour of D.C., N.Y. and Minneapolis.
And since X-man woke up at 6 a.m. -- I'm going to deposit him at school at 8:30 a.m. and sleep like crazy today... my brain tried momentarily to explain the 2 half empty bags of Tostitos, the full bag of blue corn chips I bought before I left, another new bag of blue corn chips and two full bags of Tostitos in the pantry. I so totally gave up on that.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Stranded at the airport. Branded a fool. What will they say Monday at school?
Yup, I've been at YUL now for ooooh, 6 hours. The standby flight they tried to put me on got SENT BACK to Canada due to a shut down at ORD due to weather.
Now my 4:20 flight isn't scheduled to board for another 30 minutes and they completely canceled the 6:30 p.m. flight. So, I'm thinking the $9.95 I paid for internet access came in pretty handy because I HATE airport books.
The line for people who want their bags because they're spending the night in Montreal has grown. If given the choice I think I'd rather stay in Chicago. I have people there. :-) But if worse comes to worse, my friend Mitra won't mind if I crash with her. I, unfortunately, missed her this trip since she was off in a chalet with her boys.
But mostly, I've had to move away from the panicking gate lice. You can tell the non-travelers from the travelers. The travelers are quietly reading their books comfortable with the lack of control and timeliness. I mean, what can they do about severe weather? The gate lice are being uptight and bitchy. What's the nice French speaking English lady supposed to do? She's not Superwoman.
Me, I'm sitting on the floor with my laptop plugged into the wall. My one giant complaint about this airport has always been that they built these awesomely comfortable sitting areas with no adequately placed electrical outlets...
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Sunny Saturday
So I had a hard time sleeping last night. I fell asleep around 11:30 p.m. and woke up at 3 a.m. bright eyed and bushy tailed. And then I couldn't fall asleep again until 7 a.m. I got up at 9:40 a.m., took a shower, had some breakfast and left the house at 11 a.m. for a 2 hour and 15 minute walk.
I was up and down hills, but what was strange was that by 1 p.m., as I was cruising up St. Laurent back to the house, my inner thighs and buttocks started to cramp. I'm guessing I was hanging on a bit tighter than I thought while on the motorcycle yesterday.
I took a nap for a couple hours on the couch while trying to read Pride and Prejudice. Now Air Force One is on TV -- en anglais. It is, in my opinion, the last good movie Harrison Ford made.
Tonight, I'm eating in. The bag is pre-packed and tomorrow I'll be calling Gerson, my cabbie, to see if he can come pick me up at noon and go back to the airport.
School starts a week from Tuesday for me...
Friday Fun
So, yesterday I was supposed to have breakfast with Sully, but work kept him late. I didn't see him until mid-morning, so it became brunch. He did, however, make it up to me by showing up with two motorcycle helmets. For years, he's offered to take me for a ride on his bike. And each year I'm in Montreal, the day we're supposed to get together, it would rain cats and dogs. Yesterday, it didn't.
We ate at L'Express, which is kind of a famous place in Montreal. There is no sign above the door, just the name spelled out in tiles on the floor in front of the front door. I think my fresh fruit salad was just slightly more expensive than his two eggs over easy with baguette toast. During breakfast one of the employees was carrying large paper bags of baguettes from the kitchen to the front. BAGS of them. The host did a language shuffle on the phone determining if people making reservations for that night were French or English. Afterwards, I changed into a pair of jeans and put on some sunblock for the ride.
I've never been on a motorcycle, and I'd be lying if I said the idea didn't scare me to death. But once we were going over the bridge past the Belmont Theme Park and the Biodome worry just kind of melted away. We road out to Beloeil, where Sully got some kind of lime slushy with a giant helping of vanilla soft serve on the top. Given my current food schedule, I felt like I had given up smoking and was standing in the middle of one of the smoking rooms in the St. Louis Airport. Sully saw my eyes open wide as I stood with my back almost against the door, "Diet Coke?" he asked. I nodded yes.
He deposited me safely at the door of my apartment. Hugged me and took off for the rest of his day. Sometimes I feel like the drop by friend. I'm here once a year and between him and my other friends on Monkland, we try to make the visits work. Sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't, which sucks because usually I have such a good time with them that I don't want the day to end. But mostly, it makes me want to move to the plateau and become bilingual.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
On my way...
I'm up and my annual trip to Montreal is this a.m. :-)
Plans currently include, sleeping in mass quantities, reading in Mont Royal park, fall clothes shopping and brunch at L'Express.
Monday, April 27, 2009
A Quick Update
We had a heap of fun this weekend and a few surprises. Our biggest surprise came after X-man took a shower on Sunday. Then he watched as MacTroll brushed his hair and his teeth. He got his comb and imitated these self-care habits.
When MacTroll went to use the toilet, X-man ran down the hall to his bathroom, shut the door, made a ruckus, flushed the toilet and came out smiling like crazy. "I went poopy, Mommy!"
"You mean pee, pee?"
"No, poopy!"
And being the Mom I am, I took a wipe to his bottom and sure enough he'd used the potty.
Later that night, he broke the side tabs on his pull up, so I took them off and then put his shorts over them. We were in the neighbor's front yard chatting and delivering them some Jarling's. Suddenly, X-man said, "Have to pee -- now!"
I yanked down his pants and he peed in the front yard. It was like five drops, but his brain seems to kind of start registering the process.
We'll see what happens.
In other news, I have started to have fantasies of being alone. So, I booked my annual Loosey-only vacation to Montreal. I'm going up in August for a long weekend. Hopefully, I'll get to meet my friends' son, get a visit from the Kellys and get some sleep. I'm also hoping I'll be done with my Carle Weight Management program by then, so I can eat a little more freely. But in case I'm not, I skipped the hotel and rented an apartment on the plateau.
Now I have to go back prepping for my activity that I'm teaching to the Turtles at 3:30.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
From the Road 2
This was my first trip to Phoenix as a "grown up" (notice the quotes). And even though it was dark when I arrived, I immediately started having Orlando flashbacks as KAP and J drove me to dinner at Loco Patron in Old Town Scottsdale. Everything was shockingly clean for a place where it rarely rains. KAP and J had never seen what I immediately identified as a retention area next to their apartment complex with water in it.
We ate dinner and chattered. It was awesome to catch up. KAP isn't a phone person. We converse mostly through short e-mails, Facebook messages and letters/funny cards at birthdays and Christmas. I've known her since I was 12 and loved her since I was 14. She and J have been together for over five years, and he's a pretty amazing guy. But holy crap, can they hold their liquor way better than me.
On Saturday, after seeing where KAP works and a bit of shopping (The economy woes seem to be hitting Phoenix pretty bad. Stores like Peek and Artafax seemed overjoyed with me making purchases... even going so far to say, "We're just so happy you're here!") we went to Zipp's sports bar and sat outside in the lovely 68 degree weather watching the Michigan/UCONN game while the three of us and two of their friends (the friendly Tim and lovely Staci) consumed a bucket of domestic long necks, followed by 4 (or was it 5?) pitchers of beer. We shared nachos and wings for dinner. And then we thought we'd go to a movie, but instead, we went back to the apartment, changed into jammies and sat around talking more.
It was fun to be social for the weekend, to be their guest and to see life in the desert, which was a lovely 68-72 degrees each day.
But I have to admit my body freaked out at the sunshine. It was like the joy Illinoisans feel on the first day of spring when everyone goes giddy and starts driving around with the top down and all the U of I students suddenly take up jogging in next to nothing apparel-wise.
At the apartment complex, they had bushes with flowers, damn it. Swimming pools were open everywhere, although none of the locals were in them. To them -- it was cold. Outdoor seating is available everywhere, including PF Chang's where we had lunch one day.
And as we sat in the apartment shooting the shit from 8 p.m. to midnight with our comfy pants on and mixed drinks in hand, it began to rain like mad.
This morning, the retention pond had a lot of standing water. To me it was normal, but to folks who have been in the desert for a year and a half, it completely weirded them out.
So I return to Central Illinois to where it's warmed up significantly over the weekend, but alas, is not yet spring. I've never craved, in February, to see my tulips before.
Friday, February 6, 2009
From the Road
Every week MacTroll visits a plethora of places around the country. For example, next week he'll visit D.C., Miami and New York in three days. He flies over 100,000 miles a year primarily on American Airlines, which qualifies him for Executive Platinum Status.
What the hell is that you ask?
What it means is that although you and I might plunk down our cash for a coach seat with our (or others') shrieking children and overweight thighs that make it impossible to get the service tray to lay flat for our non-existent food -- MacTroll is privileged.
When he buys his tickets in coach they instantly work to try to upgrade him to first/business class for free. He rides up front with his fellow professional travelers enjoying free alcoholic drink service, complete meals that don't suck, cups of warmed mixed nuts, a closet to have someone else hang up his coat for him, clean blankets and extra-wide seats with two times the leg room of a coach seat.
He enjoys access to the fancy clubs at the airport where there are free snacks, free internet, loads of empty, large leather chairs to sit in and free soft drinks. The bathrooms in some Admiral Clubs have marble floors and doors that extend from the floor to ceiling keeping your gassy identity top secret, so no one can identify you as the smelly one by your shoes.
I don't fly a lot, but every six to eight months I get on a plane for a Loosey-only vacation. And each time I use MacTroll's frequent flier miles and each time I get upgraded to first class, where I am reminded how much I am NOT used to be waited on. I sit next to all baby boomers with Louis Vitton luggage and $90 haircuts. I drink water, instead of a mixed drink, and I scarf down my nuts fearful that one of the well made-up, excessively smiley crew that are appointed to the first-class cabin will identify me as a fraud by my old tennis shoes and discount fleece jacket and rip the little ceramic bowl out of my hands.
Today is one of those experiences. I'm flying next to a guy on his way to a conference in Phoenix. He's got a manilla folder on his tray. The tray the uber friendly flight attendent assumed she had to tell me how to use as I refused their fancy smelling dinners. "I'm having dinner with my friends when we land," I said politely.
No one cared, but as a Fat girl it killed me to pass on the glass of ice cream with the hot fudge sauce they handed out 20 minutes later.
Currently my co-passenger, who began our flight arguing with a co-worker in the seat behind him about whether 6B or 6E was the best seat on that particular model airplane due to the extra 1/2 inch leg room -- they apparently once measured, has had his Crackberry out the whole time reading ugly plain text. He tries to put it down, lasts 30 seconds, and then picks it back up again.
We've been in the air for 2 hours. During which I finished my second book of the year (It's a big accomplisment for me you readers! So stop snickering.), Laurie Novaro's "Guide to the Idiot-Girls' Adventure Club."
It was the only book I brought -- for obviously slow reading reasons. Hence my impromptu blog via my school notebook and then typed so diligently on my friend KAP's laptop.
Anyway, when forced with flying solo I get a lot of quiet time, which I use to eavesdrop.
My favorite were the Chicago businessmen enroute to Phoenix where they would be golfing, probably during the same conference as my seat buddy. You can tell the guys were from Chicago because they all had Mike Ditka attributes: Black jeans, white New Balance tennis shoes that are as wide as they are long, black socks, collared shirts underneath fleecy sweatshirts that have either colleges or sports teams on them. Their bellies hang six or more inches over their belts, that seemed to be pulled extra tight for some reason and over-emphasized the years of Budweiser drinking and shouting at the TV. Don't forget the hair either. The short spiky haircuts that match the same gray bushy moustaches.
As the gate agent called for first class to board first (they have to make sure the privileged have a chance to suck back a complete gin and tonic before take off), one of the Ditka replica says to the other, "I didn't get an upgrade, so I wonder how many employees are hogging those seats."
When he finished, I stood to get ready to board. I felt his eyes scan me as I walked to the line, handed my ticket to the gate agent and proceeded down the jetbridge.
As my people boarded 10 minutes later and moved to the cattle car in the back of the plane mooing, I sat with my eyes in my book. Head down. Dont' make eye contact! Refuse a drink! Do not draw attention to yourself! And I wonder how long it took MacTroll to get used to riding at the front of the bus with wings after flying coach on discount airlines when we ran our own business. I also wondered if he'd ever be able to go back to just flying coach.
I mean let's face it. He lives a life of $300 hotel rooms withnmaid service and free pints of Ben and Jerry ice cream when he's on the road.
At home, he gets a wife who runs around hurriedly trying to keep the household in clean underwear, wiping down walls she's glad they paid the extra money for to upgrade to eggshell coatings so that it makes removing dirty toddler finger prints off of them easier, running off to class and meet ups and leaving him with stuff to do or a kid to care for. In comparison to his travel life -- he definitely married a woman who is the epitome of coach.
One that is full of kids who kick your seat, spill their drinks and make you feel grumpy and cramped.
But maybe that's why he upgrades me to first class each time I actually take the time to make time away for myself. Maybe it's his way of saying thank you for grounding him in a reality where sleeping in a pile like puppies with your familiy is way cooler and happier than 1,000 count Egyption Cotton sheets.
Maybe, but I'm too busy losing at the sudoku in the inflight magazine to think about it too much. :-)
What the hell is that you ask?
What it means is that although you and I might plunk down our cash for a coach seat with our (or others') shrieking children and overweight thighs that make it impossible to get the service tray to lay flat for our non-existent food -- MacTroll is privileged.
When he buys his tickets in coach they instantly work to try to upgrade him to first/business class for free. He rides up front with his fellow professional travelers enjoying free alcoholic drink service, complete meals that don't suck, cups of warmed mixed nuts, a closet to have someone else hang up his coat for him, clean blankets and extra-wide seats with two times the leg room of a coach seat.
He enjoys access to the fancy clubs at the airport where there are free snacks, free internet, loads of empty, large leather chairs to sit in and free soft drinks. The bathrooms in some Admiral Clubs have marble floors and doors that extend from the floor to ceiling keeping your gassy identity top secret, so no one can identify you as the smelly one by your shoes.
I don't fly a lot, but every six to eight months I get on a plane for a Loosey-only vacation. And each time I use MacTroll's frequent flier miles and each time I get upgraded to first class, where I am reminded how much I am NOT used to be waited on. I sit next to all baby boomers with Louis Vitton luggage and $90 haircuts. I drink water, instead of a mixed drink, and I scarf down my nuts fearful that one of the well made-up, excessively smiley crew that are appointed to the first-class cabin will identify me as a fraud by my old tennis shoes and discount fleece jacket and rip the little ceramic bowl out of my hands.
Today is one of those experiences. I'm flying next to a guy on his way to a conference in Phoenix. He's got a manilla folder on his tray. The tray the uber friendly flight attendent assumed she had to tell me how to use as I refused their fancy smelling dinners. "I'm having dinner with my friends when we land," I said politely.
No one cared, but as a Fat girl it killed me to pass on the glass of ice cream with the hot fudge sauce they handed out 20 minutes later.
Currently my co-passenger, who began our flight arguing with a co-worker in the seat behind him about whether 6B or 6E was the best seat on that particular model airplane due to the extra 1/2 inch leg room -- they apparently once measured, has had his Crackberry out the whole time reading ugly plain text. He tries to put it down, lasts 30 seconds, and then picks it back up again.
We've been in the air for 2 hours. During which I finished my second book of the year (It's a big accomplisment for me you readers! So stop snickering.), Laurie Novaro's "Guide to the Idiot-Girls' Adventure Club."
It was the only book I brought -- for obviously slow reading reasons. Hence my impromptu blog via my school notebook and then typed so diligently on my friend KAP's laptop.
Anyway, when forced with flying solo I get a lot of quiet time, which I use to eavesdrop.
My favorite were the Chicago businessmen enroute to Phoenix where they would be golfing, probably during the same conference as my seat buddy. You can tell the guys were from Chicago because they all had Mike Ditka attributes: Black jeans, white New Balance tennis shoes that are as wide as they are long, black socks, collared shirts underneath fleecy sweatshirts that have either colleges or sports teams on them. Their bellies hang six or more inches over their belts, that seemed to be pulled extra tight for some reason and over-emphasized the years of Budweiser drinking and shouting at the TV. Don't forget the hair either. The short spiky haircuts that match the same gray bushy moustaches.
As the gate agent called for first class to board first (they have to make sure the privileged have a chance to suck back a complete gin and tonic before take off), one of the Ditka replica says to the other, "I didn't get an upgrade, so I wonder how many employees are hogging those seats."
When he finished, I stood to get ready to board. I felt his eyes scan me as I walked to the line, handed my ticket to the gate agent and proceeded down the jetbridge.
As my people boarded 10 minutes later and moved to the cattle car in the back of the plane mooing, I sat with my eyes in my book. Head down. Dont' make eye contact! Refuse a drink! Do not draw attention to yourself! And I wonder how long it took MacTroll to get used to riding at the front of the bus with wings after flying coach on discount airlines when we ran our own business. I also wondered if he'd ever be able to go back to just flying coach.
I mean let's face it. He lives a life of $300 hotel rooms withnmaid service and free pints of Ben and Jerry ice cream when he's on the road.
At home, he gets a wife who runs around hurriedly trying to keep the household in clean underwear, wiping down walls she's glad they paid the extra money for to upgrade to eggshell coatings so that it makes removing dirty toddler finger prints off of them easier, running off to class and meet ups and leaving him with stuff to do or a kid to care for. In comparison to his travel life -- he definitely married a woman who is the epitome of coach.
One that is full of kids who kick your seat, spill their drinks and make you feel grumpy and cramped.
But maybe that's why he upgrades me to first class each time I actually take the time to make time away for myself. Maybe it's his way of saying thank you for grounding him in a reality where sleeping in a pile like puppies with your familiy is way cooler and happier than 1,000 count Egyption Cotton sheets.
Maybe, but I'm too busy losing at the sudoku in the inflight magazine to think about it too much. :-)
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Let the Countdown begin
Most weeks out of the year, MacTroll packs up a suitcase and tells X-man and I goodbye. He drives down to Willard, checks his bag for free, strolls through security and onto the little American jet planes. He arrives in the G gate area of O'Hare, wanders down to American Airlines' Admiral Club (sometimes when he's going on LONG trips, like to Tokyo, the airline actually sends a little golf cart to pick my non-injured, non-handicapped, non-senior citizen husband up and drive his butt to the fancy club) gets himself a cup of free snacks and a free soft drink and plays games on his iPhone or iChats with his buddies until it's time to jump on his connecting flight -- in business class, with free drinks and free movies. That's what life is like when you have flown over a million miles with an airline since 2004.
On vacation once, our flight from O'Hare to Miami was late coming in. So we missed our plane from Miami to St. Thomas. It was the last one out for the night. Everyone ran to a customer service desk to try and scramble onto a plane the next day (as not to miss out on vacation time) and to get a room for the night. The line was long... really long. MacTroll whips out his phone and calls the "Executive Platinum Help Desk" and talks to some extremely gracious person who has us booked on a 6 a.m. flight out of Miami and hooks us up with hotel accommodations at a Holiday Inn in less than 10 minutes on the phone.
I walk away watching the group of angry people mystified by the power of my spouse's 1-800 number.
MacTroll leaves so often, it's no longer a big deal. This morning on his way out to Boston, he didn't even come up for a hug or a kiss. He just shouted, "I'm going now." So I told him to have a good time and that I'd hug the X-man for him -- lots.
Next Friday, in 10 days, I'll be getting on a plane by myself. MacTroll will have 4 days of uninterrupted single parenthood. He'll get to push X-man in a grocery cart and sing the Bob the Builder song and give the hugs and kiss the boo boos and do all the stuff that X-man won't let MacTroll do when I'm around.
Where am I going, do you ask? I'm going where I always go. I'm going to Canada. I'm going to Montreal. I'm going to the W Hotel. I'm checking in by myself. I'm sleeping in every morning. I'm eating whatever I want. And I'm spending 4 days NOT being covered in ketchup finger prints or watermelon juice. I'm going to wear my contacts and blow dry my hair. I'm going to walk everywhere and not have any one grabbing me or touching me or pinching me. I'm not going to change a single diaper, cut anyone's food but my own or watch children's television.
I'm going to sit in a bookstore with my iced coffee and watch the people on the street below. I'm going to visit the Insectarium and look for a cool gift for X-man. I'm going to look into buying him some back to school clothes at Souris Mini and Roots. I might even take in a movie in French with NO English subtitles.
I'm going to read a book. I might even go to the International Fireworks Competition.
And after 48 hours, I'm going to get completely homesick. I'm going to get excited to take the cab back to the airport, get on the plane in the cattle car, not have any free drinks or watch any movies. I'm going to avoid extra checked bag fees, if possible, by taking few liquid products. I'll end up sitting on the floor waiting for my plane to Champaign in the G gates, because there are always never enough chairs and it's always running late. I won't have an iPhone for my constant enjoyment.
When I get home, it'll be just before X-man's bedtime, that is, if the plane is on time. I'm going to hug MacTroll and cover X-man in kisses and get ready for another several months of being a marathon mom.
Monday, May 19, 2008
A Thousand Hours
Nearly every year since 2004, I have made an annual "pilgrimage" to Montreal.
The first year, I was there in May with Joel, but Joel and I have two different ideas about exploring new cities. I tend to be quiet, stick to my feet and wander just watching. Joel likes a point to the travels. In other words he'd like to get out of the hotel and take a cab to point A, enjoy himself and then take a cab back to the hotel. Minimal walking around point A is okay, but he's not a wanderer. He likes direction.
My problem with this method of vacationing is that it's how I live my life. I don't see the forest through the trees as I'm whizzing from one place to another.
So later that summer I declared a Dana-only 10-day vacation. I drove from Champaign to Montreal and back by myself. I visited friends in Toronto, Ann Arbor and Montreal. I went to festivals, the Toronto Islands, saw Rod Stewart on the street with his new wife (who doesn't look that much different from Rachel Hunter) giggled at hundreds of people camped out chanting outside of Madonna's hotel and I chilled out.
When I came back, I felt fresh. I had perspective. I had time with myself in a different place. I'd stayed at an awesome hotel (go Hotel St. Paul!)
I went back again in January 2005 after I decided to quit my full-time job at the health insurance company. I even rented a lovely apartment on St. Louis Square. Who goes to Quebec in the winter? Me. Everyone looked at me funny when the only solid reason to my calling to go up north was, "I'm going to see a Roy Dupuis movie." :-)
I went on another pilgrimage, this time with my best friend KTDID in June 2005. We spent a lot of time in the Eastern Townships and then up near Mont Tremblant at a cabin on a lake, where we canoed and grilled out. We headed into town just one day. In the middle Kate flew home and Joel flew up and drove back down to Champaign with me.
In August 2005, our friends Mitra and JF got married in Vieux Montreal. We went up for the wedding. I was around 8 weeks pregnant at the time and pretty miserable.
I didn't get back up to Montreal until X-man was 17 months old. I had four days alone to sleep, read, wander... and so many things that I loved the several times I had been there before, I grew to appreciate even more after a long absence.
Now I'm looking at July with wonder. Do I keep going back to spend my Loosey-only 3-4 days in a place I'm comfortable, but still a place that never fails to show me something new? Or do I look past my comfort to a whole new adventure... one that is only limited by points with Hilton and frequent flier miles on American? :-)
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