Terror In The Sky

Let’s talk about my trip home from AZ to Chicago, shall we? It took eight hours. That’s eight hours of sheer frustration and agonizing terror. And I'm not exaggerating.

First, The Frustration. We went from an 80 degree Phoenix to a layover in Kansas City, smack-dab in the middle of an unseasonable blizzard. Lovely. We boarded our plane to Chicago in which they graciously de-iced the wings for our safety, only to then close the airport and taxi us right back to the gate. We sat in the KC terminal for a terminally long time, as they cancelled all the flights after ours. I was worried. I SO did not want to have to drag three children around KC in the middle of a blizzard looking for a hotel. We ate airport commissary ham sandwiches that expired 3 months earlier and cost $8 a piece. And Lorna Doones, which are the armpit of cookies, in my humble opinion. (And my opinion should mean something, as I am a former Girl Scout.) I sat there, twizzling and fretting and just wanting to be home. But finally it was announced that our flight would, after all, fly off to Chicago in 30 minutes time. Halleluiah.

And now, The Terrror. I hate turbulence with a passion. I am a slightly nervous flyer anyway, still skeptical that 133,000 pounds of steel can remain airborne. It makes no logical sense to me. But whatever. Flying is the means to an end. It gets me to Vacation. But this flight was petrifying, even to the stout-hearted.

I assumed it was not going to be good when the pilot made an announcement at the beginning of the flight that went like this: (In an ominous voice) “Uh.....folks....uh...we’ve just received word from the control tower.... (static static).” Which lead me to imagine all kinds of scenarios. What word from the tower? WHAT WORD???? Is a rogue Airbus A380 piloted by a man with a death wish headed straight toward us? Have they spotted a twister in our path? Or a large flock of eagles?? What???!! .......and then he came back on, “It’s gonna be a very bumpy ride through the storm. Buckle up your seatbelts tightly, make sure all belongings are secured under your seat, text your loved ones good-bye while I down a shot of vodka to settle my nerves, and thank you for flying Southwest.” (He probably didn’t say they part about the text. Or the vodka. But in my sheer panic, I could have sworn he did. That’s what I heard, anyway.) And we were on for a ride!

It was dreadfully dready dreadful. The flight attendants weren’t able to leave their seats, so no drinks, folks. We were up, then down, then up again. The phlegmatics among us jovially lifted their arms up when the plane dropped, while others were pale and white-knuckled. Every airplane disaster movie I’ve ever seen flashed before me. I was scared witless. Falling out of the sky from 30,000 feet is not my First Choice Way To Die.

I know that turbulence isn’t supposed to be deadly. It’s normal and routine, so my pilot and flight attendant friends reassure me. But I don’t believe them. Not one bit. And I’m wondering why they cannot pass out xanax with the peanuts. Or offer us a light dose of general anesthesia, hanging with the oxygen masks as a flight option. Or have Airline Stress Counselors on board to help us meditate and think positive thoughts and give us soothing massages. It sure would have made my personal experience more tolerable.

Eventually we landed safely, as clearly I’ve lived to tell about it. But I am not anxious to step on a plane again anytime soon!

Arizona, Day 6

Our AZ Spring Break comes to a gratifying end. Much enjoyment was had by all.

Little Squirt and I haved logged in many poolside hours. I have read “Twilight” and tanned, while he has romped about in the water, surfacing only for Dove bars. The Teens occasionally joined us in the sun, specifically went they needed money.

I have taken many jaunts around the property, investigating the terrain and admiring the mountainous backdrop. I am absolutely in love with the cacti! There is a large Saguaro down by the pool, who greets me every morning. His stance makes it clear that he wants a hug. I nicknamed him “Fluffy” and would really love to take him home with me, if there was any way I could get him through airport security. That is doubtful, as they found my lip gloss threatening. Super Hubs suggested I dress him in Little Squrt’s jacket and call him “Bill.” Hmmm.

We’ve eaten out at different restaurant almost every night, usually in Cave Creek, a nearby town that was established as a cowboy settlement. We are stuffed nightly with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, chili and hamburgers. The finest of Cowboy Chow. Tonight we went to a saloon that features real live bull riding every Friday night. A parked pick up held two baa-ing sheep in the back. Now that’s something you don’t see every day in Chicago.

I discovered a little studio across the streert from our resort that sells all kinds of fine art made from blown glass. The lovely resident artist proudly showed me the beautiful, colorful works made by local sculptors. He gave me a parting gift of a beautiful pendant in colors of blue and yellow. “I believe it carries with it a little bit of luck,” he said. I was touched by the sweet sincerity of his offering. Which is an appropriate segue to this thought....we have been lucky. This last-minute trip has been a blessing.

See you back in town!

Arizona, Day 5

I hang around the pool, and people tell me their stories. Some lovely, interesting characters at the resort have made my vacation even richer.....

Ted is a nervous bundle of energy from Milwaukee who recently separated from his wife. He brought his two young, autistic children here for Spring Break, God bless him. He’s infinitely patient when his little daughter tries to grab people’s drinks and throws things in the hot tub. I honestly do not know how he manages them all by himself. He usually sits in the lounge chair to my right, and tells me the on-going saga of his life. He is a kind, good father, and I wish him well.

Josh is an eight-year-old boy from Denver who is the first one in the pool every morning. He’s thrilled that Little Squirt gets to the pool only minutes later. Josh has taken my son under his wing; teaching him water somersalts and sharing his snacks. He has given Little Squirt a new pair of goggles daily, each of which my son has broken within 30 minutes. He has truly enabled my son to gain confidence in the water.

There is an older couple from Rockford that love to swap Chicago-living stories with me. They, too, have gotten out of the cold, rainy Midwest for a bit of relaxation in the sunshine. They share real estate magazines with me, and we dream together about moving permanently to the desert. They miss their grandchildren, and have immensely enjoyed watching Little Squirt frolic.

Karen is a homeschool mother of two who has a passion for cloudless, blue sky. She has driven down with her family all the way from Vancouver, Canada. We trade “restaurant reviews” with one another. I have eaten at many ‘a place around here based on her recommendation.

Don is our shuttle driver. On the even hours, he will drive us wherever we need to go, and pick us up when we call him for a return trip to the resort. On our first day here, I tipped him $5 each way. Then Super Hubs later informed me that gratituity is included in the room charge. But how can I now disappoint Don, when he’s expecting my daily $10 tip?? And he’s been so accomodating and friendly! He’s taught us about all the desert wildlife, and given us the history of the town of Carefree and nearby Cave Creek. And he recognizes my voice by phone. Last night I called him from the restaurant in Cave Creek to come and pick us up, and after “Right away, Mrs. M,” I heard running footsteps and the shuttle tires squealing. He showed up within 7 minutes. Now that’s service!

Lance is a Native American of the Hopi tribe. He is employed by the resort as the Story Teller. He sits around the campfire at sundown, and entertains the guests with his intriguing narrations of All Things Arizona. He’s invented more variations of the s’more than I knew were possible. He is enchanting.

I love me some resort vacationers. And these are my favorites.

Arizona, Day 4

In the past, I was never great at keeping in touch. I was a “thanks for the memories and let’s move on” kind of girl. I closed chapters of my life with the same regard I’d return a library book. I have since grown and learned, and sincerely regret neglecting valuable relationships.There are people I wish I’d held onto a littlle tighter.

Anya is one of those people. We met Freshman year in college, and hit it off right from the start. We shared the same major, nursing. Subsequently we had many of the same classes, in which we’d pass catty notes back and forth to one another when we’d get bored. We had a mutual love for certain nursing instructors and a mutual loathing for others. We socialized together on most weekends and laughed at the same things. We had nicknames for people we didn’t care for. We occasionally traveled together; snowmobiling in Michigan, a transcultural nursing class in Hawaii, and Hilton Head with my family over winter break. I remember lying on a beach somewhere together on a New Year’s Eve; drinking champagne under the stars and dreaming about our futures. In short, my fondest college recollections include Anya. She was special.

After graduation, we somehow lost touch for a decade; building marriages and families. I found her address years later in a college newsletter, and we began keeping in touch through Christmas cards; our former closeness replaced with an annual family photo and signature. She and her family moved to Phoenix.

I called her yesterday. I somehow found her phone number, and, thought, since I am vacationing in Az, possibly we could reconnect. Shoot the breeze? Rehash our past? Meet for a drink?

Uh uh. She was in a hurry and had only ten minutes to talk. I offered to call her back, but she said, “Ten minutes is good.” So we made a little awkward conversation, and then she hung up to go out with her family. She didn’t offer to call me back or meet me later in the week. It made me sad. So many memories....I wish it could be different......(Big sigh of regret)

Arizona, Day 3

While waiting for the Resort shuttle to take us on a jaunt into town, Little Squirt began a career as a doorman. He saw a deficiency and filled it. Resort guests struggling with towels and drinks and sunblock clearly could not be expected to open the lobby door by themselves! So my son graciously stepped up to the plate. He took his job as seriously as if he were performing brain surgery, politely opening and closing the door on demand. And when a kind lady tipped him a dollar, he gleefully said, “Mom, I’m getting money for this! I think we should move here. They need me.”

...That's just the excuse I need. Kids, we're movin' to AZ!

Arizona, Day 2

Simply put, I love Arizona. And what’s not to love? The ever-present sunshine, the warmth, the desert terrain. It’s all incredible, and so very different from The Midwest.

Basically, the first two days of vacation have unfolded around this schedule:
1.)Pool time
2.)Dinner

Little Squirt has wakened me at dawn, which is okay, because my body is still on Central Time. We quietly put our bathing suits on, tiptoeing around so as not to wake The Teens. (The Teens are operating in different time zone all together. It’s not Central Time. And it’s not Pacific Time. It is closer to a time zone found in South East Asia. We don’t see them make an appearance until much later in the day.)

Little Squirt and I spent the day at the pool. He froliced in the water, and I lounged. And a handful of little munckins froliced with him, which allowed me to lounge without the guilt. We stayed by the pool for 6 hours straight, even ordering lunch poolside, which felt frivolous to no end. I got bold and ate cactus fries with prickly pear sauce. The traditional Little Squirt had normal fries with ketchup.

Butterfly eventually joined us at the pool, where she proceeded to send and receive text messages the entire time. Rock Star stayed in the hotel room downloading music to his ipod and then wandered around the resort lobby.

Yesterday we walked a mile into the town of Carefree for dinner. But a mile was a bit too far for the short legs of Little Squirt, we discovered. And he spent the whole time fearfully looking around for rattlesnakes. With that in mind, this evening, we took the resort shuttle into Cave Creek, another nearby town. We ate cowboy-style food at the charming Silver Spur.

Late evenings we have spent around a campfire, making the resort’s “S’More of the Evening.” Yesterday was one with nutella. Tonight will be a banana split or something equally yummy. A Native American from the Hopi tribe tells stories around the campire. Last night he gave us the 30 minute Constellation Tour. The Space Station moved across the sky directly overhead, to add a dramatic flair.

So it’s been lovely. Wake up....relax by the pool....go in search of good grub. Tomorrow: More of the same?

Arizona, Day 1

The wonderful Super Hubs surprised me and the kids with a Spring Break trip to Az! And how timely this surprise was, what with our house being torn about for the past month. Living in constant chaos was starting to get to me. It really was. I was getting cranky. And pale. I needed sun. And warmth. And when I get a chance to sit down for a minute, I will blog about my trip in greater detail. But right now I need to run out to a campfire with my kids and make s'mores.

I'll summarize my day with an equation: Sunshine + 80s = A Happy Me

Arizona Or Bust

I will be here tonight. 'Nuff said.

A Celtic Blessing

May you have-
Walls for the wind
And a roof for the rain,
And drinks beside the fire.
Laughter to cheer you
And those who love you near you,
And all that your heart may desire.

Happy St. Patrick's Day from this Irish blogger!

Is It Really Just A Number?

I am feeling ancient this week for a coupl’a reasons. One is that I have a birthday coming up in less than a month, which puts me in an interesting mood; a little bit melancholy and a whole lota contemplative. Every birthday since I turned 40 (and there have only been a few of them, just so you know) makes me navel-gaze.

And then my 6 yo considers me to have one foot in the grave. As I attempted to lift him onto the monkey bars today, I inadvertently let out a groan. “You should work out more, Mom,” he said. “You’re getting old.” He watched a commercial for wrinkle cream recently and suggested I buy some. And then he informed me that, by the time he goes to college, I’ll probably be dead. Why? “Because you’re old, Mom! Duh.” This child of mine does not mince words.

In my defense, let me just say that I am not that old. If I was living in the Pioneer Days, where the life expectancy was not far past 30, sure, I’d be considered The Matriarch of The Meadow.The Grimalkin of the Lea. People would come to me for advice on herbal remedies, and I’d deliver all the babies. But were I inhabiting a goat-hair tent in The Old Testament Days, when people blew out 500 candles on their Birthday Manna, I’d be a mere babe. So really, it’s all relative.

And speaking of relatives...I attended a suprise birthday party this weekend for a friend who turned 50. Which led me to remember when my parents turned 50. And when they turned 40. And I have a distinct memory of my mother’s 30th birthday....and feeling sad and wistful because my mom was leaving her 20s, and I grieved that she was “getting old.” But my mother is now in her 60s, and still looks amazingly youthful. And so did her parents. I’m hoping it’s in the genes.

And speaking of jeans....I can fit into my daughter’s, and she’s 17. So that’s something positive! And I always look for the positive. But yet.....I get crickety when I sit in one position for too long. And my stamina is not what it used to be. And I only use moisturizer with alpha hydroxy acids. And I get peri-menopausal rages over stupid things, like a red sock in the wash turning all the whites rose. And don’t ask me about my memory. My kids say I’m starting to repeat things. My kids say I’m starting to repeat things.

Must end now. My fingers are beginning to get arthritic from so much typing.

Anytime, Anywhere

I love the pure faith of little children.....the simplicity of the way they embrace the spiritual practices. It doesn’t have to be as complicated as we adults make it......

Little Squirt, my kindergartener, was sitting on the potty yesterday for an extended period of time with his feet dangling. He was doing his bid’ness and loudly praying the “Our Father.” Multi-tasking, if you will.

Somehow I believe it made God chuckle.

Employer Tutorial, Anyone?

Project Pandemonium continues and I’m frazzled....

I am just not good with having Workerbees buzzing all over my home. I never know what to do or say. I’m trying to take it all in stride, but it’s not been easy. Here’s a little-known secret about me: I am a very private person. I know; odd. You’d think that a blogger would be all about Exhibitionism, but actually it’s Selective Exposure. Having strangers crawl all over our inner chambers and use my toilet and view my linen closet gives me the heebie-jeebies. It really does. My privacy’s been invaded and it makes my skin crawl. I don’t feel free to exercise or scold my dog or fold clean lingerie in their presence. I’m neurotic that way.

Am I grateful they are here to fix our mess? Absolutely! Do I have confidence they’ll do the job well and be finished soon? Okay, here’s where I’m gun shy. These are the men who dry-walled my cat. I have a secret fear they’ll be here until June, and we’ll be several pets short when all is said and done. But they are polite to me, and uber friendly to my 6yo who follows them around and asks if he can "help.”

I’m feeling a compulsion to feed them, and I know that sounds weird. But people who visit my home get fed. I cook for my guests. It’s what I do. No one leaves my domain hungry! So I’m getting the yen to fix the men a souffle. But is that appropriate? I have no idea what is the social protocol for workers who’ve been intimate with my toilet. I offered them water bottles, which they debated in Polish and politely declined.I was embarassed. What were they saying? Did my offer sound cheap and presumptuous? Were they offended? Should I have given them a cigar and Guinness Draught instead? See?? I am not good with these things!

Do I engage them in conversation? Ask about their health? Knit them a sweater? Take tips from the lonely Frances in “Under The Tuscan Sun” and include them as part of the family? Or just leave them the heck alone?

I’m clearly becoming unraveled. I’d better go distract myself and bake something tasty. And then see if I can round up a friend or two to nourish. Then maybe I'll feel better.

HIding Hobbit

Dang, but yesterday was crazy....

We finally had the Restoration Workerbees back after several weeks of a standstill, in which we were waiting for our Insurance Co. to issue us a check. That done, we had to have said check signed by our Mortgage Co., which took a multitude of phone calls and lengthy explainations and listening to bad elevator music in their automated voice message system which tested our patience to the endth degree. Finallly we received the endorsed check and called the Workerbees back in. Whew.

So Super Hubs and I spent the day running home-restoration errands, and buying a new chandelier, and cleaning up sawdust to no avail. The more we’d clean, the more sawdust appeared. We made no progress, kind of like running in water. We also tried to keep two sick children comfortable and out of the way of the Workerbees, who put up dry wall in all the water-damaged rooms.

I headed to a movie with some girlfriends early in the evening, in the hopes of a bit of refreshment. We shared a Mexican dinner and some laughs, but the movie was dark and violent and depressing. I left with a pall over my soul, and the desire to scrub it out with a brillo pad, and then do something sweet and innocent, like frolic with lambs and butterflies. And hold little babies. I didn’t get to do any of those things, but it probably would have helped.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch....Super Hubs put the feverish Little Squirt to bed, and heard a faint meowing. Then louder meowing, and scratching. He wandered around the second floor, opening closets and doors, trying to find the source of the noise. Back in Little Squirt’s bedroom, the mysterious meowing graduated into howling and seemed to come from his interior wall. For the love of All Things Feline, our idiot cat, Hobbit, had gotten herself dry-walled into the wall! Our tabby is, on her best day, not the brightest of cats. A couple fries short of a Happy Meal. But my gosh, what was she thinking when the workers began nailing dry wall to her hideout?? Clearly not, “I’d best exit immediately.”

I did not witness any of this. I was at the movie at that time, nibbling on Reese’s Peanutbutter eggs which I’d sneaked in my purse. So I missed the whole, sordid Cat-In-The-Wall episode. I was really lucky. Because seeing Super Hub’s face as he realized he’d need to spend hours removing dry wall to rescue a dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks cat, would not have been pretty. Just sayin’.

Practicing Solitude (Part 3)

I walked into the large but empty dining room, where a tattooed man in a pony tail greeted me by name. “Kelly? I have a place set for you down here. You’re the only one here today.” I felt like an honored guest as he walked me to the head table and began to spout off potential lunch options he would cook for me. I stopped him at “steak.” “That sounds wonderful!” I said.

I feasted. Alone in the mural-painted dining room on a linen-covered table, I thoroughly enjoyed homemade soup, a caesar salad and filet mignon, thinly sliced and sautéed in a garlic and red wine sauce. I washed it all down with a large pitcher of iced tea and fresh lemon, all the while watching the rain pour outside my window. A white lily in a vase sat to the right of my place setting.

It was almost surreal in its irony. Just a week ago, as our toilet flooded and devastatingly damaged much of my second floor and a bit of my first, I shook my fist at God. “I wouldn’t treat one of my children like this!” And now here I was, being treated like royalty, with my own personal chef and lunch of filet mignon. I felt like a princess. God has a sense of humor and impeccable timing. This act of receiving did my soul worlds of good.

I spent the remainder of my day reading, wandering, and thinking. I would love to have explored the beautiful grounds that surrounded the monastery, but the weather was uncooperative. Perhaps next time...

The day flew by. I had been just a little bit hesitant about this Day of Solitude, thinking that I’d get bored. Or lonely. But it was quite the opposite. I felt renewed and refreshed, like I’d dove into a pool on a hot summer’s day. The time spent in silence, away from all the other external voices and distractions, allowed the internal voice of God to come bubbling up to the surface and be heard with greater clarity. It was if the blurry edges of my life were fillled in with bright magic marker. I learned a lot about myself and some next steps that I should take. I would do this again someday soon.

I drove home at the end of the day in a hazy fog. It felt metaphoric, somehow.

Practicing Solitude (Part 2)

I can only sit still for so long. I get bored every 7 1/2 minutes. I truly do. It’s kind of like having Adult ADD, except that I can concentrate really well when I’m interested. Just entertain me and I’ll be good.

I couldn’t Solitude the entire day away sitting in my rocking chair in my little room at the Jesuit House. I’d go absolutely insane! I needed to stretch my legs. I decided to do a little exploring. I had the entire 2nd floor to myself, so I began there. A beautiful painting of a young mother and baby was hung outside my door. It was probably supposed to portray The Madonna and baby Jesus. But the model in the painting reminded me of my daughter. In a huge way. So the picture felt familiar, and comforting, and like a little sign from God that I was supposed to be in exactly that room. (The picture I took does not do the painting justice. It was taken by my cheap digital which I replaced when my expensive digital died…but I digress.) The rest of the floor was filled with little private rooms.

I wandered all the way down the stairs into the basement. I ran into no one, and loved the intriguing sensation of having an entire monastery to myself. I felt a guilty pleasure, like I was Mary from “The Secret Garden”, drifting through the halls of Misselthwaite Manor. I passed the simple workout room filled with treadmills, rowboats, exercise bikes and a few hand weights. (If I’d thought ahead and brought my sweats….) I strolled though the new conference center with it’s polished railings and leather couch. I enjoyed someone’s collection of shells in a little book case. I adore the beach.

I wandered into the chapel, admiring its stained glass windows and hand-carved stations of the cross. I sat on a bench, and breathed deeply. The fragrance of incense permeated the room. I sat for a while on my smooth bench and was still.

I meandered through more halls and feasted my eyes on more beautiful religious art. I stopped in the kitchenette for a refreshment of hot tea and graham crackers, and then made my way into the cozy library. A book of poetry written by one of the Jesuits lay on a table. I curled up with it in a comfy chair, and enjoyed the priest’s gift of beautiful words woven together. His verses grabbed my soul deeply. I read until satiated, while listening to the rain patter outside the window.

A glance at a nearby clock informed me that my Solitude day was already half over. I hadn’t even opened half of the books I’d been planning on reading. But yet I felt rested, refreshed, and innately peaceful. Had God, in His incredible resourcefulness, been able to minister to me through the exploration of an old building with its rich history? Through the unexpected gifts of poetry and a hot cup of tea? Through sea shells and art? Incense and polished railings? The tranquility that transcended my soul proved He had.

The noon bell rang. Time for lunch. My stomach growled in anticipation…..

Practicing Solitude (Part 1)

I am not brilliant at getting places. I never look at maps, and I don’t follow directions well. Come to think of it, I don’t actually read the directions, which is clearly My Bad. I find directions boring. And that explains why I am often lost. I always think I know where I’m going, and try to find places on pure instinct, and then it turns out that I am very wrong. I have no Directional Instincts. I really ought to remember that. A GPS System would probably be a good birthday present for me, if you were wondering about a gift……

I showed up frazzled and later than I’d planned at the Jesuit House for my Day of Solitude. I was cranky that I’d gotten uber lost and driven 20 miles out of my way. I thought I knew where I was going, hadn’t listen well to my husband’s directions, and I was wrong. I stormed out of the car with my bag full of books, marched over to the monastic building, and pushed open the big red door. It creaked ajar, and I walked in. A sweet little woman came out of an office to the right, and greeted me. “Are you Kelly? I was expecting you! Let’s get you settled into your room, and then I’ll give you a tour.” My orneriness melted away under the warm gentleness of her manner. Even her voice soothed me. She gave me a tour of the monastery and a map, (Ha! She did not know with whom she was dealing.) and informed me that, as I was the only retreatant booked that day, I would have the run of the place. (Yipee!!) And that I was welcome to use the “Exercise Room” if I was in the mood for a workout. (On my day off? Was she kidding??) Then she left me alone in my private room, and vanished. I was on my own to begin my spiritual practices of Solitude and Silence.

I was a smidgen apprehensive. The long day stretched ahead of me. How would I fill an entire 8 hours by myself? I sat in a rocking chair overlooking the beautiful grounds and began by lighting a fragrant candle which I’d brought from home. But the wick was funky, and created a roaring, smoking flame that I feared would set off the fire alarms in my first few minutes at the monastery. That would not be an excellent way to endear myself to the good Jesuits who owned this house! Okay, no candle with crazy wick. But I had my Bible, a journal, and much reading material. I was about to get familiar with my new homies, Solitude and Silence.

My only plan was to have no plan. No agenda. No shouldas. (I should read this book. I should pray for this person. I should journal, because the Spiritual Giants journal, do they not??) No. Just try to keep my soul at peace, relish every simple moment, and trust God to move. I spent the next hour or so peacefully reading and listening.