The Journey

In recent years, I've found myself snapping quick self-portraits with my packed bags before I leave on a trip.  I'm not sure if it's the idea of capturing the moments BEFORE a life-changing trip that moves me, or the attempt to stop time before it speeds up, but it is like a reflex for me now.  I took this one before I left for Italy on Tuesday morning.


After leaving LA, I had a fabulous, easy flight to Philly, then a quick layover and another flight to Rome. Because it's the off season (I mean, really, why would anyone be traveling to Italy when it's cold and rainy???) and we had a ton of airline miles to use, I wrangled my way into getting first class seats for my trip.  It wasn't as though the aisles were paved with gold or I felt like a celebrity or anything cuckoo like that, but it was really a wonderful experience, starting with a complimentary glass of champagne as I sat down.  


Anyway, I'm telling you this because I was able to take advantage of that part of the journey being an end to itself.  I settled into my seat and watched a Glee marathon on my iPhone - seven episodes in a row, nearly a whole day's worth of show tunes and teen drama - happy as a clam.  It was sublime.  Just that - the ability to be a "captive audience" without distractions or phone or email or kids or anything - was such a gift. 


The second picture is from the 4th leg of my planes-trains-automobiles journey toward Cortona, taken as the train sped quickly away from the Roma Termini (main train station in Rome) toward Tuscany.  I had suddenly remembered the last time I was at the Roma Termini... I was 17 and going with a school trip from Naples to Paris.  We'd changed trains in Rome and, as the train left the station, I was making out with my boyfriend, the steel and chaos and noise of the trains and rails and travelers on the platforms fading rapidly as we raced away from Rome.  


I hadn't thought of that day for years, but now I sat on the train as a woman in her late 30s, wondering how life had wedged so much time and distance between that memory and the current scene. I wondered how it was that I could remember so well what it was like to be that girl on that long-ago train, could empathize with her insecurities and desire to be grown up already damn it, and yet be so far from her.  I thought of the book "A Wrinkle in Time" and the concept of time as a tesseract, a line that connects point A with point B in a nonlinear fashion; instead of being a long line between the two points, it is like a strand of yarn that dips down in the middle and the ends meet each other, so you don't need to cross the entire strand of time to get from one moment to another.  That's what I felt like, sitting on that train listening to Florence & the Machine's "The Dog Days are Over": like I was touching my hand through the window of time to the girl that I was the last time I was here. 


Even the first part of my journey illuminated the difference between now and then - the girl who would sometimes dodge the train conductor and get off the train as soon as it stopped rather than buy a cheap ticket and the woman who had enough airline miles to travel first-class and boarded a train with a pre-purchased rail ticket.  The dog days are over, indeed... but sometimes they are missed.  

Antici-----pation!

Oh, the nail-biting suspense of a trip that is only hours away.  I'm eating breakfast, then will board a shuttle, then go through security, then find my gate, then get on a plane and hope to sleep or watch a few movies... just trying to contain my EXCITEMENT about going to Italy again.

Sure, I've been making light of this trip, which literally knocked on my door and invited itself in.  

"You can stay in Cortona in a friend's villa," Opportunity said, settling onto my couch and sitting back, gazing carelessly at its nails.  "I'll bet you've got airline miles you could use..." and here Opportunity stopped and looked up at me, smiling sheepishly, "...an upshot of your (ahem!) advanced age."

I was about to feel insulted and show Opportunity the finger, then the door, when it presented the prize: two weeks in Italy.  My favorite city (Florence) and the one I've been wanting to see again (Rome).  It's been five years since my last Italian journey and every time I return I feel like I'm home.  I love Italy and I've been saying that I want to go for my 40th birthday for years... not realizing the power that an idea has once you've set it free, that sometimes these magical words can search for a way to make dreams real while you're going about the business of the "real world."

Seeing my shock and the wheels turning above my head like a halo, Opportunity snorted.  "Not so concerned about being 39 anymore, eh?"

"I suppose I could work it out... No, no, I can't..." I stammered.  "The kids, Raf... Who'll walk the dog?" 

Opportunity shrugged, waited.

"...My cat's a nightmare, the laundry piles up, Emme's got so many 5th grade activities... It'll be February for chrissakes, freezing and rainy..."

"You done?" Opportunity asked.

I nodded.  

"The offer stands," it said, suddenly standing up, putting its coat and hat back on.  Winking, it said, "Consider it."

But by the time Opportunity reached the handle of my front door, I'd already shouted, "I'll take it!"

And here we go... Two hours til flight time...

Wanted: Tooth Fairy with Frequent Flier Miles

Marlowe's first tooth was lost in the driveway of our new house.  Her second fell out during our first night in Paris.  And this one just fell out in Texas, the night after Serena lost a tooth at my parent's house during Christmas dinner.


I wonder where we'll be when the next one gets loose?

Mama's Lil' Sharp Shooters

These photos are the ones that I will treasure when I'm older, when my kids are grown up and my own Daddy may be too frail to still be shooting bull's-eyes with incredible accuracy. When I look at them, even right now, my heart feels all warm and fuzzy.  And I'm a Democrat from a blue state, so that's saying something big.


This is my youngest daughter, with her Grandpa, shooting a rifle for the first time.  She is so small, she had to stand up on a wooden box to reach.  (Like I said to my sister, "Only in Texas do they offer a booster for shooting...")


My dad, who wasn't born a Texan "but got here as soon as I could," gave the girls a safety lesson before we left the house -- he said they wouldn't focus as well on the range, and he wanted to be clear about what was expected from them so that everyone had a safe, fun time.  Not only did the girls keep their attenuators (the headphones that muffle high-pitched sounds) on, they didn't fuss about the yellow goggles we had to wear. And they started to realize that shooting guns isn't just about mean people or gangland drive-bys, but can also be a sport of skill and accuracy.

But best of all, they were AWESOME.  Emme shot 12 of 20 targets, still clicking the trigger with her finger after she'd run out of bullets.  On the first try. Nina shot her first bullet about 1/2" off the bull's-eye.  Marlowe stepped up onto her booster like a pro and listened to her Grandpa and gave it her best try.  The accuracy will come, but the courage to try something new is in her heart.  On the video I took, you can hear my dad turn to me and say, "You'd'a never done that at her age."  

And that's who I still am.  My dad loaded up a Civil War rifle for me, first adding the gun powder, then a piece of pillow ticking, then a huge 50 cal. bullet, then some real black powder onto the striking plate, which a piece of flint rock would strike to start the fire that would roar through the barrel to fire up the powder and send the bullet toward the target.  (Can you believe that we fought a war in which all of these things would have to take place before a gun could be fired?  No wonder so many died in the Civil War.)  There are two triggers: the first sort of takes the "safety" off and the second is the "real" one.  There's smoke and there's a loud boom.  When my dad did it, he turned to me and said, "You next?"


I said yeah, but when I stood there with this machine in my hands, I got really nervous and ended up letting my sister have a go at it.  See what I mean? My girls have Texas in their blood.  Guts and glory.  Mama's so proud.

Las Vegas: Moms Gone Wild

Before

Las Vegas is one of my "happy places."  I don't go very often, but I really do love it.  Glitz, glamour, sugar, coffee, liquor, lights, sounds, crazy people watching... it's all there.  And it was so much fun the last time we went -- over Thanksgiving weekend -- that it's taken me a month to even write about it!


I am only including these two photos of me and KP, even though there are many, many more from our capers around the hotel and casino, mall and environs.  We had a scavenger hunt, for goodness' sake, and our list of things to do was extensive; a sampling:


* introduce yourself to a stranger
* take a picture with a statue (this was accomplished several times - extra credit)
* compliment a stranger on his/her hair

After

* make a friend
* take a picture with Elvis (statues, impersonators and velvet portraits all OK)


We also had the brilliant idea to make 3 "days" out of 2, by separating our days into shifts (9 am - 6 pm for shopping, gambling and spa, 9 pm - 3 am for dinner, fun and gambling, then sleep, then more fun in the morning). Hey, if you're a mom and you only have a few days in Vegas, you're gonna make the most of what you've got, right?


(Disclaimer: I talk big, but let me tell you that KP and I had the Brambleberry Fizz drinks -- in our hands in the pix to the left -- and we didn't drink any more after that.... we were both brambled and fizzed.... Some girls can't handle Vegas, I suppose!)

A Cruel Joke in Texas

When this car pulled up to the rental car stand in Dallas, the first thing I noticed was not its shiny paint job or that it looked like a rapper's pimped-out ride (in a good way), or that it was a brand-new "flex-fuel" model of my beloved Suburban.  No, what I saw was the license plate, issued in New York.

"Uh," I said to the young valet, "are you kidding me? My dad's gonna laugh me out of Tyler.  Won't the rangers pull us over with New York plates?"

He smirked and shook his head.  "Ma'am, I'd like to say no..."

"But you can't?"

He shook his head again, wiped off the door with a clean rag and offered us an ice scraper.  In case it snows. Yikes.

When we got to the Fairmont in Dallas, the valet asked, "Is it cold up in New York?"

"Oh, we're not from New York," I said, explaining the rental car thing.  "I just hope we don't get pulled over on the way to Tyler."

He smiled and said, "Well, at least you've got your Texas accent, ma'am."

I squinted back at Raf and the kids, who like to poke fun at how easily I slip into a slight drawl when I'm in the South, and said, "Yes, sir, I do."

Christmas, Lone Star Style

I love me some Texas, I do.  And, since my parents live in East Texas, I am lucky enough to be able to visit the Lone Star State more than most.


My parents live about an hour and a half east of Dallas, so it would be easy enough to fly from LA to Dallas, then drive a little to get to their place by dinnertime.  But, and maybe it's the residual memories of the "Dallas" soap opera ("Who shot J.R.??") or the historic proximity to the grassy knoll where JFK inhaled his final breaths, I have a soft spot for the denim-n-diamonds city of Dallas.  Our favorite hotel is the Fairmont, where the five of us can fit comfortably into a corner suite and decompress from a travel day before heading to Grandma and Grandpa's house. 


What is it about this ritual that I love so much?  Many years ago, I read a photojournalistic book called "the journey is the destination," and the phrase stuck with me.  I mean, are any of us really going anywhere? Or are we firmly stuck in the "here" and the "now," which is all that we really have control over?  In which case, we don't know if we will ever really reach "the destination," so we may as well relax and enjoy where we are, even if we are en route to a fabulous or far-flung or family place.


And so it is that Dallas has become my Texas "rest stop."  All the "work" has been done - for this trip, it means that the gifts have been wrapped and shipped from home and the kids' school is out, there is no work for Raf, no dishes or meals or laundry - and we can breathe and be together, watch a "still in theaters" movie on the hotel TV while snuggled up in the big fluffy bed, order room service that arrives with a side of the Southern charm and hospitality that we've come to know with the Fairmont staff. The kids take long baths and emerge, sparkly clean and fresh smelling, in white robes.  We love it so much that we rarely ever even leave the hotel room.


When we do leave, the streets remind me that we aren't in California anymore.  Shoe shine stands, BBQ joints with smoke curling up from the roof, the flagship Neiman Marcus department store, men strolling in cowboy hats and boots, lots of dusty pick-up trucks... as well as Starbucks and glitzy stores and well-turned-out ladies.  I wonder, sometimes, what it's like to live there, but that thought defeats the purpose.


Be here now.  How can I enjoy it as much as possible before moving on?  With a healthy dollop of spicy Texas BBQ sauce and a nod from the brim of my hat, that's how.