Flying Flock Style

The flight from Chicago to Paris was long – over 8 hours. Fortunately for me, my seatmate – a Lebanese woman in her 60s – took it upon herself to befriend me. Perhaps it was the fact that I was traveling alone, or the fact the we were both women… more likely, however, it was the fact that I happened to be assigned the seat next to her, and I was stuck there for the whole night.

She was already seated when I boarded the plane. I learned, later, that she requested special assistance at each end, and took her seat separately and in advance of the general boarders. This did not surprise me.

As I took my seat next to her, I could feel her inquisitive gaze upon me. I ignored her, as I was busying myself with my bag and jacket, and then fastening my seat belt. Settled in, I began observing the other passengers as they arranged themselves into their assigned spaces. My seatmate observed them as well, but not nearly so silently. Not – in fact – silently at all.

“Ah!!” I heard her exclaim as a couple claimed the central strip of seats ahead of us. “A baby!” They placed a baby seat between them. My new companion turned to me. “Is a long flight for a baby.”

“Yes.” I concurred.

She turned back to the other passengers. “Why,” she began in a disgusted tone, “so much luggage? Why you need so much luggage? What you have in there?” The question was apparently directed at a man five rows ahead of us, but he obviously did not hear. She turned to me. “Why everyone need so many bags?”

I admitted that I did not know. In truth, I had thought this myself – many times – as I observed passengers trying to outmaneuver the carry-on regulations by packing all of their belongings in the most massive “allowable” bags possible.

The woman shook her head sadly, but perked up when she spotted the next passenger boarding the plane. He was rail thin. Really. His waist could not have been any more than 24 inches around. He accentuated his slim build with a pair of the smallest and tightest skinny leg jeans that I have ever seen. These were topped with a tight t-shirt and blue and gray striped cardigan. His skin was deathly white (I think make-up may have been involved) and his hair – which was at least 6 inches long – protruded from his head in many artfully constructed layers and angles. He was a vision to behold, and I could feel the Lebanese woman practically vibrate with excitement.

“Is a man.” She hissed.

I looked at her, trying to determine whether or not she really believed that I might not have realized that, and she nodded wisely at me. “Him.” She gestured with her shoulder. “Is a MAN.”

I looked back at the Depp-esque character. He was seated, clutching his carry-on coffee. My neighbor, however, was not done. Her son, she informed me, was FRIENDS with “some of them.” She launched into a long and colorful story about the previous Saturday, on which she had accompanied her son to the local Wal Mart. There she had spotted a statuesque black beauty, resplendent in dress, heels, and loads of gold jewelry. She described this – and the person’s massive physique – with many hand gestures. Then – she informed me – her son had revealed that THIS PERSON WAS A MAN. She looked at me, eyes wide.

“Americans!” She exclaimed. “Strange.”

I did not hold this against her, as she had made it clear that overall she was fond of Americans. She did – in fact – spend two to four months a year in the states. Her son had moved to Louisiana, married, and had children. He was now divorced, but stayed put for his kids. This topic got more interesting as the evening progressed.

There were lulls in our conversation, during which I noticed the frequency with which she fingered what appeared to be a rosary in her hands increased. This was particularly noticeable during takeoff, as she also became silent. As the evening progressed, I could tell that she was developing a fondness for me. This seemed to increase her involvement in my life. She began to ask me a number of what might – to some – be considered personal questions.

When she asked who I was going to Paris with, I told her I was going alone. She stared at me for a long moment. “And that,” she pronounced, “Is crazy too.”
I was momentarily taken aback, but primarily because I appeared to have missed the first part of what was crazy. What was this “too” business? I didn’t have a chance to consider it for long, because she had developed a burning worry.

“You have muzzer?” She leaned toward me, her face nearly in mine, and clutched my arm.

Yes, I assured her, I have a mother. She sighed in relief and her body relaxed a bit. “You live with her?” she asked in a slightly more cheerful tone.

No, I told her, I did not live with her. I could see her begin to tense up again. “You live with family?” She asked.

No, I was forced to admit, I lived alone. She looked quite concerned and wanted to know how far from my family I lived. I told her two hours, and she shouted in despair.

“Ahhh!” She exclaimed. “Is FAR.”

I felt very glad that my mother was not there at that moment. I could not even begin to imagine what a force the two of them could be together. My seatmate then began a detailed description of her living conditions in Lebanon. The key point – stressed over and over – was that NONE of her family members (including her sisters and daughter) lived more than 10 minutes away from her.

Fortunately for me, there were natural conversation-breakers periodically throughout the night. Beverages were served, food was served, announcements were made, movies were shown. It was all commented upon. “Ah!!” She would practically shout, every time an announcement was made by the pilot, “We heard you!” She was especially put out by the fact that he would make his statement in English, but then repeat it in French. As he talked, she would open and close her mouth in an apparent imitation of what he might look like. I sincerely hoped, for his sake, that she was not skilled in the art of imitation.

There were regular flare-ups of worry on my behalf. When I revealed – after quite a lot of questioning – that I had been married in the past, she began a rant against the Mexican men that “married poor American girls” for their green cards. I should not worry though, she assured me, someday I would meet someone who would be good to me and I would fall in love. I thanked her and tried to look as if she had lifted a weight from my shoulders. I thought that she would appreciate that sort of effect.

As the night grew later and later, I would occasionally doze off. I had entered just such a dreamy state when I felt a violent jab in my right side. My companion had elbowed me to alert me to the fact that the thin spindly fellow had lifted out of his seat to use the restroom. “Did you SEE?” She hissed as he walked by. I had not only seen, I had felt. My rib was throbbing a bit. My seatmate, meanwhile, was shaking her head again, nearly overwhelmed by the state of the world.

[Part 1 of 2 – to be continued.]

The Spice Of Life

Ways to "spice up" one's life:


1 - Travel to foreign country, preferably with at least a portion of the trip alone, even better if you don't speak the language of said country.

2 - Include as many countries as possible in itinerary, preferably ensuring that each country speaks entirely different language.

3 - Overpack, thus ensuring even further difficulty in moving from location to location.

4 - Be vegetarian. This is most exciting in previously mentioned countries in which native tongue sounds like Klingon to you.

5 - Travel with all pre-purchased airline/train tickets under slightly different name than that which is displayed upon passport.


6 - The night before flying out of the country, accept new job. To increase excitement, agree to begin job the first business day after returning from trip, thereby allowing yourself only one day to make full recovery from trip.


My life, these days, has become absurdly exciting according to these standards. I have much to say on the matter, but won't say it tonight. Instead, I'll offer a few photos from my recent Tour O'Europe. MUCH more to come.



This is an example of why I loved Paris!



Part of my most recent art project... a series of self portraits. Very experimental, with some disastrous results that will NOT be posted.




Taken in MONaco, land of MONey.



And insanely beautiful, as well.





Taken in a TASTY tapas bar in Barcelona!! TASTY.

More photos will follow, but my new life requires a much more regimented schedule... this means that I have to go to bed. I'm actually a bit behind on my pre-created timeline. Sigh.

Parisian Adventures

Ahhhh... Paris. It is nightime here, which means that it is afternoon in my body's motherland. This is something that my body is refusing to let go of. It is not being a good sport at all, my body. It has also developed - on only DAY 2 of my trip - horrendous shin splints. I cannot see how this could have happened unless my body is being unreasonable, which I suspect is the case.

Yesterday I did walk quite a lot, mosying alone about the streets of Paris (not a single person tried to attack me, Mother, although I did receive an exuberant profession of love. Details will be covered in a later blog, when I can type at an acceptable speed on an ENGLISH keyboard.) It certainly wasn't enought to account for these shin splints, though. So that's another unexpected development. Those (unexpected develepments) have ABOUNDED already on this trip.

But back to my body's bad attitude. I'll admit that it did do without sleep for quite some time, but does that justify it falling asleep in the bath last night? I think not. PARTICULARLY when the bath was an appeasement effort for the whiny legs. Also - today when I was taking a tour of Paris, it decided that it was sleepy AGAIN and I ended up riding the entire route twice. (Not a bad thing, really, as it allowed me to see a lot of things and absorb everything in a way that I would not otherwise have been able to.)

I will write lots more when I am home, and post pictures. Now, though, I cannot take much more of this keyboard! Tomorrow I am scheduled to take the train to Nice, although I've been told that there is a rail strike! Hopefully it is over by tomorrow.

So much more to come! Stay tuned.

Conundrum Compromise

Current Conundrum:
I WANT to write. Really I do. I have things to say, and I want to say them here. Unfortunately, I am also tired (this tends to impair the writing ability, and also makes me think that I am saying clever things that I actually am not but generally don't realize until several days after I've posted something when I bother to re-read it.) Plus I have to get up early to meet friends for breakfast, after which I have to load the car up with the pets and all their accessories, then race to Sparta. It has been communicated to me (by the Maternal Unit) that it is ESSENTIAL that I arrive in a timely manner, as there are all sorts of apparently URGENT things that must be accomplished. (The urgency of these things is a TOUCH unclear to me as the agenda appears to include such non-life-threatening items as "pedicure.") Obviously, if I stay up to write tonight, I will be writing stupid things poorly, but I will think that they are brilliant and well-written. I will also be at risk of getting behind schedule tomorrow, which - apparently - would be VERY bad.

Solution:
I will still post, but will try to entertain you all with meaningless and random things that will not necessitate that I write. Photos are always good for this. Here you go:


Okay... here's a good one. If you like that blurry, "is-she-high-or-drunk" sort of look. For the record, I was neither. This was Becca's wedding, BEFORE we even got to the reception.


All I'm going to say is this: You haven't been to a party until you've been to an EIGHTIES Party. No, it is NOT fair to others that I posted a photo that does not include me. That's the way it goes when one has SUPREME control over one's own blog.



There. Does this help make up for the photo that doesn't include me? How does a photo like this even get taken??? Halloween, many moons ago. MANY moons ago.

This is not a happy face.

But at least I didn't have to wear this outfit!!!

That's all the lame filler that I have the energy for tonight. Maybe next time there will be some sort of logic or order to my photo selections - but that could be the fatigue-induced delusion talking.

Fasten Your Seatbelts

A birthday is just the first day of another 365-day journey around the sun. Enjoy the trip.

~Author Unknown


Today I begin my 31st journey around the sun. What I find most disturbing, as I consider this, is how very spotty my memories are of the 30 other trips that I have taken. There are – undeniably – huge gaps in my recall. It is the celebration of the birthdays themselves that has made this painfully clear. I cannot, for example, remember any of my birthday celebrations – in any detail – before the age of 21. (And no – that one does NOT stand out for the reasons that you think it does.)

What the fruit? The more I think about this, the more feasible the possibility that I am actually an alien seems. Or perhaps I have undergone some sort of brain erasure/false memory implant procedure – like in Men In Black or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Hmmm. Actually, that second possibility is beginning to seem VERY likely. It would certainly explain why I am not independently wealthy right now, yet FEEL like I should be. If I am actually the rightful heir to a HUGE fortune, there would be a great many people who would want me to believe otherwise, and who would not only want me out of the picture, but would want to ENSURE that I stay distracted by this “other life.” Yes – I’m pretty sure I’m on to something here.

Tomorrow I shall have to hire an investigator to uncover my true past.

Since I can only remember a handful of my birthdays, it would stand to reason that in a fair and just universe those memories would be spectacular, to offset the disappointment of not having others. Unfortunately, this is not necessarily the case. Here, in order, the birthdays that I can remember:

1 – 21st Birthday, Calvillo, Aguascalientes, Mexico
I was in a bar/restaurant in a tiny town in Mexico (population DEFINITELY under 1000.) I was the only female at a table full of young men, and was one of two white people in the entire town. The beverages offered consisted of cheap alcohol cut with random substances intended to “flavor” the drinks. Somehow I kept ending up with something called a “vampiro” (vampire, for those of you oblivious to obvious translations) which was – essentially – salsa mixed with tequila. Enough said.

2 – 29th Birthday, Hubbard Avenue, Middleton, WI
“Girls Night” (AKA “Adios Rigo” Party.) Hmmm. That sounds kind of awful, in retrospect. Really a celebration of the first 365-day trip – in many years - sans a testosterone-ridden companion. A lovely group of women in attendance – women who faithfully honor my birthday each and every year. It was – perhaps – the first year that I realized how much female friends enrich my life. (Not that male friends don’t – but one could NEVER ever argue that they are at all they same. If one did argue it, one would be an idiot. Or an antagonist. Or perhaps both. Regardless, one would annoy me and then I would not want to spend time with one. Undoubtedly this one would be a male. See my point?)

3 – 30th Birthday, Ginza’s, Madison, WI and Sweeney Dr., Middleton WI
A two-day blowout. Well, one evening and one day, actually. Hibachi and a giant flame-lit beverage (NOT my idea, and no – I did not drink the entire punchbowl as requested.) The following day I was honored with a visit from the parental units. Even here, you can see how my memory fails me… Seems as if a number of details are missing from my recount. Sigh.

4 – 31st Birthday, Various locations, Chicago, IL; The Great Dane, Madison, WI; and Various locations, Madison and Middleton, WI
A full-weekend affair. I have chosen to include Saturday in the equation, because then it means that I managed to see nearly ALL of my favorite people in the span of three days. (Parental units ARE included on the list of favorite people, and will be seen at a later date. There is NO need to call with accusations of ingratitude and/or lack of emotional investment. Also included: Anita, the Colorado resident who should REALLY move back to Madison.)

Day 1: Chicago – My favorite Chicago residents – Becca, Nick, and Finnegan. A lovely day, with lovely company. I will spend much of this next 365-day journey visiting with them. New resolution.

Day 2: The Great Dane. A roomful of lovely and generous friends, who I cannot thank enough for being so fabulous and thoughtful. (Note: I hope that some of us learned – from experience – that it really is not a good idea to take photos of someone from six inches away. That is all I will say on that subject.) (Note 2: See included photo that is an EXAMPLE of why it is not a good idea to take photos from six inches away.)

Thank you to: Laura for being lovely – as always, Cathy for being clever – especially with the cupcake card (What are the odds???), Tiffany for being so thoughtful and cute, Stacy for her boundless energy and enthusiasm, Rob for being Rob (a plug-in part of me, what would I do without him?), Michelle for being so sweet AND for squeezing past twelve chairs in her VERY pregnant condition to make it to the far side of the table, Ted for his unflappable good humor, OJ for giving up ice fishing to be there (HOLY CATS!!), Katy for her smile – one of my favorites, Britt for making me laugh, and laugh, and laugh (like always!!), Dan for… well, it might be easier to try to think of things to NOT thank him for… so we’ll just say “for being Dan” and for providing the MOST FABULOUS, beautiful and delicious cake that I have ever seen/eaten in my life, and Mike for being the evening’s photog and for managing to retain a good mood despite Stacy’s constant antagonistic behavior. Crap. This sounds like an awards-ceremony speech, and not even a good one. Plus it got really hard to think of different descriptors (that were all equally good) for everyone… especially since you’re ALL so great. I’m going to stop now, because I’m practically spewing Hallmark card. Seriously. I’m starting to think it may actually be a blessing that I can’t remember my other birthdays, because look at what happens when I do!!! Obviously a mind-safety mechanism, this memory failure. Some sort of release valve.

So, on to Day 3: Various locations – A day of leisure, which felt very, very natural. SUSPICIOUSLY natural. (Once again – this confirms my new theory that I am genetically INTENDED for a life of leisure.) Spent the morning having “bird time,” and then met another of my favorite people for coffee! Doing so much in one morning was exhausting, so I recovered by spending over an hour on the phone with an airline representative who had an interesting obsession with name pronunciations. I lost count of the number of times that I repeated my last name and she parroted it back to me, giggling and making comments about how she liked name pronunciations (as IF I could have missed that…) Wrapped the day up with a lovely, lovely dinner.

If these past three days are any indication of what the next 364 days of this particular trip will be like, then I am READY. Best of all, I’m taking the rest of you with me.

Look at that cake!!!

And here we have it... THIS is why we generally position ourselves some distance AWAY from the subjects of the photos.

Undeniably a great success.