Travel May Sharpen My Brain But Will I Be Too Tired To Use It?

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I’ve read that we can keep our minds sharp as we age by doing word puzzles, playing bridge, and taking classes. I can tell you that another way is to travel. Yes, the travel itself is mind-expanding – seeing things for the very first time, learning how to get around in a strange city, experiencing different food, art, and music.

I can also attest to the fact that the process begins the minute you decide to go. There was a time when you phoned the airline and booked a flight or you walked into a travel agency and told them to arrange it. Now you go on-line and look at schedules, seats, air fares, plane configurations. You check every airline to get the best of each of those details. Air France has larger seats; Delta has the cheapest fare; US Air has less leg room but better connections.

You move on to more decisions: will we need some Euros as soon as we land? Where do we get Euros in Phoenix? I’ve bought books for my Kindle so I don’t have to drag heavy ones, transferred my music from my computer and iPod to it as well and will download some movies and tv shows before we leave. It has often taken more time to figure out “how” to do it than the task itself.

I’m staying in an apartment in Paris so I found the location on a city map – a paper map –“old school.” Then I gave in to my adult “kids” and got on Google Earth and literally looked at every street, bistro, metro, bookstore and tabac around the neighborhood. I even walked across the Pont Neuf to Notre Dame – live – visual – as if I were standing there. How do they do that??

I’m listening to audio CD’s to learn the language while I read my flash cards to see the spelling because French looks nothing like it sounds and I may need to read some signs and menus. I watch French movies and read the subtitles as I pay close attention to dialogue, gestures and nuances, including clothing styles.

I’ve read books on How to Be French, How to Dress Like a Parisian Woman, Sights and Sounds of Paris. Then came the hours and days of looking at specific web-sites, blogs, u tubes, and chats. Which castles? Versailles or the Loire? Rail or bus? Tour or on our own? The Lido or Moulin Rouge? Which restaurants can we afford? Can we go to Easter services at Notre Dame? What day is the Louvre closed? Where’s the nearest hospital?

I write to the apartment owner: How do we get the key? Do I need an adaptor for a laptop? A hair dryer? Can I use a USB plug to charge our devices on her computer? What size USB? Are they “universal” – a new term I learned not long ago. Oh, I need one with an A on one end and a B on the other and then it will work. I go to Amazon to purchase one, then learn that universal means my cell phone cord will work on my netbook, my iPod, and my Kindle Fire. But not my camera. Luckily my camera has a USB cord of its own!

I start waking at night and dash down notes like: call the bank and credit card companies with our itinerary so they don’t cut us off. Call the Dr. for extra scripts in case bags get lost. Buy a new bottle of Tums.
Then there’s the shopping: French women wear black or other solid colors with scarves and good walking shoes. I have none of those items so I’m off to the mall.

I get out my tape measure and measure my carry-on to see if it matches Delta’s requirements. Then measure my clothes and say to heck with that.

Each morning over coffee I check the Accuweather web-site to see if it’s warming up and pray it is. Otherwise, I may need to find a wool coat which in March in Phoenix will be impossible. We’re in shorts already.

I begin walking daily – 30- 45– 60 minutes. I’ll be walking 7 to 8 hours a day when I get there. I decide to study the Metro map carefully to break up the walking!

My daughter wants to shop so she’s Googling the best areas of town. I’ve researched book stores and the Bastille.

My head is swimming; I’m getting carpal tunnel from texting, Googling, and browsing the web. But I’m using my brain, and I can just feel those neurons firing and those cells expanding and my memory improving!

Now I just hope I’m not too tired to make the trip.

How Do You Plan Paris?

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On Saturday, my daughter came over to begin planning our upcoming trip to Paris. It was March 3, and we leave for gay Paree on April 5. It had suddenly struck us both that time was ticking. We sat in front of the computer oohing and aahing over Loire Valley chateaus. How are chateaus different than castles? They looked like castles to us. Google says that chateau is, in fact, French for castle.Well, whatever — we both want to see Chambord, castle or chateau! 
We agreed that she must see the Louvre, the Eiffel, Place Vendome, Champs-Elysees, Arche de Triomphe, The Thinker—the list grew. I want to get out of the city this trip. She wants to shop and eat and drink wine, which I reminded her, is spelled Vin and pronounced VAH! To which she replied, you just told me “i” is pronounced “ee”! Oh, yeah, that–.
Seemed like every word she came up with was an exception to the rule. Much like English I observed. It didn’t help with her frustration! She assured me I would be the speaker this trip. To which I replied, “You’re in charge of food and beverages. I’ll do directions, names of places and the Metro.” She has a great sense of direction which she proved all too often in Florence. But I’ll take a metro map and a city map just in case.
She added the Moulin Rouge to our list and Montmartre, and I added Shakespeare and Co. and the Bastille. We considered the Opera as well. “How about the underground?” she asked. “I just want to hang out in parks and read and people watch,” I said. Do you want to see the Picasso Museum or the Orsay? Can we do both? “I want to research a winery,” she added. “And I need to check on a hotel in Avignon for the day you leave for the states,” I said. “You forgot Versaille,” my son, who had remained silent for hours, piped in.
We looked at each other and began to laugh. Can we change that return to the end of May? And really, how can you plan Paris? 

Model Homes

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I love going through builders’ home models. I get loads of decorating ideas, plus it’s just fun to imagine myself in a new home. I also love to move – well, I love to move; I don’t love “moving.” I’ve built four houses in my lifetime, and I like to see new floor plans and use of space. When I built my current home I visited the models at least a half dozen times. And during the build, went back again and again as I made choices about flooring, counter tops, cabinets, light –fixtures, etc. There were things I didn’t care for, of course – like the burnt orange walls the decorator chose in the living room and master bedroom. And there were things I couldn’t afford – like true cherry wood kitchen cabinets. Mine are maple stained cherry.
I loved the 8’ long bar/countertop that curved in stone along the kitchen, living room and dining room. When you open the front door, the three open rooms appear spacious and lovely. A great party house, my realtor kept saying, and it is. It’s light and open with room for people to stand around and visit and graze from the open bar. It’s easy for the cook to set out more food and prepare beverages while being part of the party. When people come for dinner, we wind up sitting at the long bar. The dining table has been used a half dozen times in six years. On holidays, it is nice to stand and prep or cook while the kids sit and talk to me. Sounds great, right?
Funny thing is though – in the model, they didn’t have mail stacked on one end, a purse flung beside it, note pads and pens and grocery lists strewn full length. They didn’t have dirty pans and preparation utensils sitting in the sink just opposite the dishes you just served. Their stove wasn’t covered with spills or boiling pots, or cookie sheets cooling from the oven. Their stainless refrigerator had no smudges; their dish washer wasn’t humming a few feet from guests. There were ceramic roosters and red glass canisters, a bowl of fruit, a vase of flowers – lovely to look at until the practical every day living begins.
You walk in the front door to the smells, the oven heat, the noise of the dishwasher, and the pots and pans stacked in each of the two stainless steel sinks. The bar is a catch-all for everything that comes through the garage door on its way to other rooms. Some times it’s stacked so high I have trouble sitting down alone to eat dinner.
My next house will have a breakfast room at the front, an enclosed kitchen, and a kitchen desk to hold the receipts, bills, lists. For now I’m stuck with the openness and if I just spend an hour or two a day cleaning up after myself, it works just fine.
It’s sort of like the satin ribbon-tied towels in the model bathroom, and the paperless office desk and the always made and wrinkle-free beds. Lovely to look at; impossible to keep.

Poem at the Lake

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Poem at the Lake

The poem seems familiar
As I read the metal plate
On which it’s written
On the back of a park bench
Beside the duck-filled lake.
I add the numbers twice
To get it right
1993-2000 equals seven
2008 – would make him fifteen
When he died.
“We love you, Dylan”
Printed below the verse.
The family I do not know
Nor the story behind the young death,
But as a human I make up stories,
As a woman my eyes fill with tears,
As a Mother I feel a searing pain.

The Dreaded Scale

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I stepped gingerly onto the scale at the doctor’s office this morning. I’d been avoiding the one at home for weeks. Every day my jeans fit a bit tighter but I hadn’t outgrown the size 4 I’d worked so hard to wear. It’s close to two years now and I find that sooo hard to believe. I’d grown out of my 10 petites and was creeping on up, one pound after another, when I made the realization I couldn’t do it alone. I had no will power, as I have none now.
So I went to a weight loss clinic, signed up for weekly meetings and bought my $120.00 per week bag of meals. The food was good and I could eat more than I had before. Just healthier food items and smaller portions. It took two months – $120/week x 8 — you do the math – but I dropped 16 lbs. So when I stepped up on the scale today fully clothed, even wearing shoes, I wanted to close my eyes. I started eating at Thanksgiving, then Christmas, New Years, etc. as most of us did. That sugar rust felt so good, addictive really – and once it was surging through my body, I couldn’t stop. I know the routine: get it out of the house, take one week to detox and cleanse the body of sugar, ya da ya da.
Easier said than done. First I made the brownies I’d not had time to bake for my nephew when he was here. Well, the mix had to be used, right? I ate the whole pan in a week. I bought Valentine candy in mid-January, although it was a month away. A friend gave me a belated Christmas gift of Frango mints! Who can resist those? And ice cream somehow wound up in my grocery cart each trip to the store. I’ve been out of control for weeks now – well past the allotted, and allowed, holiday binge season.
I opened my eyes at the last minute as the P.A. slid the bar further to the right- not as bad as I’d feared, not as good as I’d hoped. Four and a half lbs. but I deducted half a pound for clothing and shoes. The P.A. saw my face and reassured me she’d gained much more. It didn’t help a lot.
I know that one more pound or two, I’ll be buying an entire new wardrobe which I just did 22 months ago. My wallet can’t take it again. Memembership, food, new clothes. No, I yelled at myself tonight as I ate an entire pizza (it was small), then topped it off with a small bowl of ice cream, followed by a Kit Kat bar from the top shelf of the pantry. I bought them recently to take to movies to save money but I didn’t hide them well enough. Looking in the mirror following my shower may have done the trick; those muffin tops have grown back along my waist, things are hanging that shouldn’t be. I sucked in my stomach, lifted my neck to stretch out my body, and wrapped a towel around me in disgust.
Tomorrow, I swear— tomorrow I’ll do better! Vegetables and fruit and protein – not one ounce of sugar or fat. Hmm, this feels like deja vu – I could swear I’ve said that before. I wonder when……….

Expiration Dates

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               A friend was over the other day. Yes, it has to be a male friend as no woman would probably even notice, let alone care………

Anyway…….
I handed him a yellow squeeze bottle of mustard for his brat. He shook it and squeezed. It spurted clear, then brown, then yellow. “How old is this?” he asked. To which I replied, “I have no idea, why?”
He handed me the bottle and pointed.
“Hmm,” I said. Then I grimaced, “ohhh….”
Well, doesn’t mustard last forever? I mean, really, how bad can it be from June 2004? He shook his head. “May I?” he asked a he tossed it into the garbage.
I was nervous later as I handed him the container of half and half for his coffee. Let’s see, I bought that for my brother- in- law at Christmas. He saw me squinting through my bifocals at the top fold. “Whew! February 6,” I said and smiled. It was only Jan. 22. I was safe.
After he left I took inventory.
Refrigerator, pantry, lazy Susan, spice drawer.
A can of beets – hmm — nothing I usually eat – July ’01. Oops. Evaporated milk – no- – – 2000? A container of green Cool Whip – yuk. Almond Accents – no date – they must not expire. A silver rectangle in the butter holder on the door – hmm – cream cheese? soft Crisco? butter? Odd consistency; a finger tip to my mouth confirmed – Crisco.
None of these compared however to my spice drawer — oh, my, that alone filled the trash can. My daughter, the cook, who uses only fresh ingredients, would die if she saw the Cumin from 1985 and the white pepper in an unrecognizable label marked 49 cents. A jar of Ginger reads OK27C. I am praying that doesn’t mean Oklahoma as I haven’t lived there for 40 years. Nahhh ! Impossible. Rosemary Leaves marked 39cents. Ok – Ok –  I began to toss. It will cost me $100.00 to replace my spice drawer alone at this rate.
I opened the Dill and it still “smelled” like Dill. That went back to the drawer. How often do I use Dill? Of course that’s the issue – I obviously use none of these very often. But Cream of Tartar at 59 cents goes….
Don’t judge me my friends until you go through your own kitchen. We do this, we women. We save it for a rainy day (well, a day when we’ll need it for something we’re cooking).
That reminds me, I need to make a replacement list before I trash these as the next time I make Rosemary Chicken, I’ll be driving frantically to the store.

Angry Birds

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Angry Birds are everywhere. Correction — Angry Birds IS everywhere.

I was first exposed to the concept while standing in line at Nordstrom’s Rack with my mid-30’s daughter and her purchases. She suddenly squealed with delight as she did at age five when she spotted the newest Strawberry Shortcake doll.
“They have Angry Birds,” she insisted, showing me a silly stuffed- animal in the shape of a bird. It was red with a black beak and black head feathers.
“What in the heck is an angry bird?” I asked. And I got the usual, “Mother….” that only a daughter can stretch into to a full sentence that says, where have you been for the last decade?
I still didn’t quite get it; ok, it’s a game you play on your phone, a silly video game, waste of time most likely.
“And there are others?” I asked as I pulled out a yellow one and then a smaller blue one.
“It’s a game, Mother,” there are lots of birds. You have to kill the pig.”
I was lost by then and honestly didn’t care enough to inquire further.
The next thing I knew I was Christmas shopping with a close friend who had to find an Angry Bird for her nephew for Christmas. We were eating lunch so I texted my daughter to ask where you could buy Angry Birds and if there was a store close by.
She wrote back quickly telling us the name of the store, exact location and how much they were.
So we returned to the mall to buy an Angry Bird.
This store had the full collection including the pig, so as my friend purchased the red bird, I decided to buy the pig for my daughter. A waste of $5.00 but aren’t most Christmas presents?
The next day I mentioned having seen the pig doll and was told, no one wants the pig; you try to kill the pig. She wanted a red one.
So back to the store to exchange “pig” for “red bird.”
I still didn’t get it, the concept was foreign to me, but I also bought every Strawberry Shortcake doll they designed and lived with the ever growing scents in the house.
For my birthday, I opened a present I had loudly hinted for all fall. A new Kindle Fire!  I was thrilled. I was only going to read books but would also enjoy streaming an occasional movie or retrieving e mail when I was away from my computer.
And then it happened….
Angry Birds appeared in my apps section. It was free. I downloaded it.
I played one game. Ok, the birds appear in sequence on the screen, only to be thrown from a sling shot at the ever growing pigs and the various items that protect them – boulders, ice, you name it. Sling shot after sling shot, my birds went careening into the ever more difficult towers of protection. I was determined to kill the pig, and later – the pigs. (They grow in number too.)
When I heard the beep that said low battery, I was stunned. How long had I been sitting there? How long had I been playing this ridiculous game? Two hours? No way…
Yes, way….
I don’t know anyone who has played who hasn’t become an addict. It’s like cocaine (I guess) – one hit and you are hooked, hook, line and sinker hooked.
Hour after hour after wasted hour. I am embarrassed. I am ashamed. I am guilty. 
I am determined to kill the pigs….

Better Late Than Never — Happy New Year!

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“How can it be January 7,” I asked myself this morning when I realized I’d missed my blog deadline by six days!
A week ago today my out- of- state company (family) and I were planning New Year’s Eve – it feels like yesterday. I hadn’t had visitors in a year or two, and the house filled up with bodies and noise and life. I put roughly a thousand miles on the car just around the valley. We hiked (well, sort of) Superstition Mountain, shopped and ate and played at Dave and Buster’s, spent the evening at the block party in Tempe, and saw the best football game ever. Luckily “our” team won. In fact, both of my OK teams won Bowl games here.
            And then Wed. night the house emptied like a vacuum and all the energy was sucked out. It left a large, cold space that needed to be cleaned. I did my usual nonsense in order not to feel the loneliness: I stripped the beds, dusted, vacuumed up glitter and crumbs, took down and packed up, and folded and washed and made more lists like – clean the plant shelves above the kitchen cabinets, wipe down the pantry, clean out the garage – you get the picture. I blamed it on the weather as it pushed 80 degrees and started spring house cleaning as if it were March. After two days I was more exhausted than I’d been when I dropped them at the airport, and last night I sat down. Turned off the tv, put away the lists, and sat down in the dim quiet. A few tears welled but memories of the past week made me smile.
I miss the chaos and confusion of four people making a simple decision. I miss the clutter on the tables and counters. I miss the noise of non-stop chatter, Angry Birds and television. I miss family.
So this morning I sit in silence over coffee and watch the sun rise; I tear up the lists of tasks and errands, and I down-load photos to re-live those precious moments that seem to move too fast these days. I thank God for a wonderful life, a close family, and all the blessings of the past year and those ahead in 2012. Happy New Year!

Christmas Finally Came

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At midnight Christmas Eve, I received a text: “Well, we have unwrapped yet another Christmas . . .” And that’s how I feel this morning, December 26.
Christmas, 2011, is over. The tree stands stripped of gifts. The refrigerator is full of left-overs. The carpet is flecked with odd pieces of ribbon and paper and plastic. The dishwasher is full for a second round. Gifts sit in small piles by person. A large garbage bag stuffed and tied tightly resembles Santas’ the night before. The house is quiet for the first time in a week. Too quiet…
I want to fight it –
I want to get up and buzz around and appear busy and productive.
But I sit in a sugar induced stupor drinking a third mug of coffee instead.
I don’t want to feel the quiet but it comes. It sits inside me like an anchor, grounding me to this moment and place. We have unwrapped yet another Christmas and found it wanting.
Then in the silence my memory releases the tiny bubbles of gifts opened throughout the year, and I feel its spirit descend on me.
Friends surviving surgeries and cancer
Precious moments during trips with children and relatives and friends
An Amish tour, a hike along Oak Creek Canyon,
The Eiffel tower at night, Westminster Abbey
A chocolate crepe outside Notre Dame
4th of July fireworks in OK
6 pieces of published writing with my name just under the title
New friends around a lovely Christmas lunch table reading each others’ work
A note of encouragement from my mentor
Old friends laughing over memories, crying as they bury parents
The ocean at sunset
The crisp autumn leaves under foot in MN
Delivering gifts to church
Watching my son beat his sister at a game for the first time ever
Yelling for a home-state football team as my sister texts with every play Photographs of loved ones on the book shelves, along-side autographed books
A text from someone who had left my life and amazingly returned —
The most unexpected gift of all.
I thank God for his gift of Christmas and for each of those remarkable blessings.
          And, as the text continued: “Jesus Christ showed us that the gift of self will out give all of the rest.” Thank you, dearest friend, for that reminder. I feel that finally, even the day after, Christmas has indeed arrived and I feel humbly blessed.

Welcome Christmas, Christmas Day

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Christmas is tomorrow. The house has been decorated since Thanksgiving. The tree is lovely in new silver and white decorations and glittery ribbon. I’ve baked a tiny bit – made lots of Chex mix to give as gifts – gave in and made puppy chow for my son. I’ve shopped and wrapped and finished my lists. I even sent a dozen cards to friends and relatives the other evening.
 I bought snacks and beverages and got out the good silver. The CD player is full of Christmas music. The front yard glows with red and gold, and the plastic snow man waves his upraised arms slowly side- to side- each evening. My new blow-up Olaf smiles with his hands in the air. It is crisp for Arizona – I’ve worn my boots, gloves and scarves. I’ve snuggled in the warm chenille throws watching Frosty and Charlie Brown and the Grinch. I’ve been to church and sung carols.
And yet … it isn’t here; not yet. I wait  — I sit with coffee and candles and music and memories. It hasn’t arrived. When will it come? I worry that it won’t come this year. That it won’t come at all. I want to feel it! That internal spirit, that feeling of warmth, of happiness, of hopefulness.             It has a fullness of its own when it settles inside me. It sometimes brings tears, sometimes smiles, but always it comes – the spirit – the unseen – the joy within…

I want to know the for sure that Christmas in ”Who-Ville” will come. Somehow or other it will come just the same.

It will come without ribbons; it will come without tags;
It will come without packages, boxes or bags.
For Christmas doesn’t come from a store.
Christmas, I know, means a little bit more.
“Welcome Christmas, bring your cheer
Cheer to all Who’s far and near.
Christmas day is in our grasp
So long as we have hands to clasp.
Christmas day will always be
Just as long as we have we.
Welcome Christmas while we stand,
Heart to heart and hand in hand.”
Dr. Seuss, How The Grinch Stole Christmas
Merry Christmas to each of you and a happy, healthy New Year.