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Leaving the kids & flying to Europe: Part 2 (or as Dave likes to say, “The fun Part.”)

December 9, 2011 in Travel

Airport Vine Ripened Tomatoes

9.21.11 London Heathrow Airport 10:30 AM-ish GMT. In our wisdom or what we like to call our wisdom, Dave and I only brought carryon luggage. Sleep deprived and in high need of a chiropractor, we deplaned and started walking. We found ourselves walking and walking down long, enclosed and never ending hallways. Occasionally we saw windows, where we could see people on the other side.  I felt far away in this winding no-mans-land hallway labyrinth and the only thing separating Dave and I from the other side was customs. With passports in hand, we made our way to a lady. I think it was a lady and if it was the lady. She was definitely wearing some sort of Muslim headgear (we would be going through customs twice this day).

Once through (I always love having my passport stamped) we walked three more miles (not really) to the Airport entrance, where Dave purchased me two bottles of water.

I just need to say this. Even the largest US airports are no match for the lengths of hallway you will walk in UK Airports.

Slightly scattered and unsure, we walked outside to catch our bus. See, Dave found a deal and booked us a 36 mile ride on the Easy Bus to the Luton Airport, where we would then fly to Geneva. Finding the bus stop, however, was not easy. By the time we found the Easy Bus bus stop (we followed the smoking lady and figured she would lead us to the bus and she did). I was sure my knuckles were bleeding and my feet were blistered as we hoisted our luggage on what we thought was the Express Bus to Luton. No. No, my friends, we were not on the Express Bus. Somehow the bus we boarded was the stop-at-every-single-bus-stop-and-even-stops-that-are-not-bus-stops-so-you-can-pick-up-every-single-old-lady-and-her-friend-down-the-street-and-every-single-child-coming-home-from-school, Easy Bus. We reached Watford, our half-way point, the point where we got off the bus so Dave could buy a prepaid European calling card. If any of you know my husband, you know he must have found some screaming deal with that particular cellphone provider and that is why we made this particular trek. We  most certainly not going to pay the $1.00 US a minute to use our At&T plan.

Veggie Percy - Yum!

Clumsily I yanked and shoved my luggage along bumping elbows and feet as I followed my tall and stealthy husband off the bus. For fifteen long minutes I was weepy as we walked in circles until we found a sort of town map posted near the bus station. Dave took my carryon luggage and ran like a super hero down the street pulling/carrying all four pieces of luggage while I barely kept up. By some small miracle we found the cellphone store inside the indoor/outdoor-styled mall. I just remember the dark-brown-haired-gum-chomping-sparkly-blue-Lee-Press-on-nail girl who said in her thick British accent, “You have to wait before you text or you will use all of your money before you even make a call.” She told us all of this while making her long, Sparkly-Blue-Lee-Press-On-Nail fingers set up Dave’s SIM card. With no time left to eat, we scrambled, I whined, we found the bathrooms and then ran the mile or so back to the bus station. Good bye Watford. You were lovely-ish, yet I am ok if I never see you again.

Watford to Luton seemed much less painless. In my delirium I grabbed hold of our adventure, turned to Dave and said, “Really, who does this? This is crazy! Crazy Awesome!” Sadly, once in the Luton Airport I was ripped off by the Starbuck’s guy, who neglected to tell me that I would immediately have to dispose of my large cup of tea before going through security. Yes. Yes, I should now the whole going-through-security issue. Starbucks dude also neglected to tell me that there was a Starbucks on the other side. Damn him! I think I paid $7.50 US for one sip of my Green China Tips Tea! And then, there it was. I heard a choir of Angels singing in my head, “Halelujah,” as I walked into Marks and Spencer for the very first time. “They don’t sell fresh produce like this in the US! Dave. D-ahhh-ave! This is the best thing EVER!” I snapped pictures of the fresh vine ripened tomatoes and raspberries. I managed to purchase a healthy salad and find a yummy “Pork-Free-Gelatin” Treat. Oh, how I love you Veggie Pigs! In one happy and deep breath I was on my second, third and fourth wind. We would make it to Geneva and we would make it in one piece. We were through security in a Southwest-Airlines type of Cattle Call working our way down some hallways to board our plane. In the line we met an older lady and an older husband and wife. The woman had been watching her grandchildren and the man and woman were just flying to watch their grand children. I felt like some sort of Karmic moment was happening and Dave and I were playing the part of the young couple who leave the country and leave our children home alone with their grandparents. They let me know how much they enjoy watching the kids and I got to let them know how grateful we were that our kids were in safe hands. What a cool way to start our adventure.

Jet D-Eau Fountain Geneva - I took this!

EasyJet to Geneva was easy. We landed. We deplaned. We heard announcements in French, German and English, made it through customs and made it to the Starling Hotel, where we would be spending the next few days.

Cow Statue The Starling Hotel

*Favorite part of the Starling Hotel: The Swiss Cow Statue at the Hotel Restaurant Bar Entrance.

We were in Geneva  for Dave’s business trip.  While Dave worked and met with clients, I slept and slept a lot. When I woke, I got ready, grabbed my camera and walked to the store, the store where literally nothing was written in English and all the food, including the sweetened-condensed milk seemed to be in tubes. I cobbled together my cognantes and tried to find food I was not allergic to. I bought some turkey lunch meat and soy yogurt or I think that is what I bought. Back at the hotel I knew the boys were just getting up. I  iChatted with them and my mom. This video chat became the daily re-center for all of us.  Again, “With things like the big time difference, was it worth the?” I will answer the same way each time you ask, “Absolutely. Peace of mind is a big deal on both sides of the Atlantic!”

Sweetened Condensed Milk in a Tube

After a day of Dave working and me sleeping we decided to connect with a friend of a friend, who I would like to call the quintessential hipster dude, Geneva Style (down to the groovy glasses).  To meet our hipster friend, we took the train (which took much longer find than the five minute train ride into Geneva.  As soon as we met, I immediately knew he would make that Northern European lip-scoffing gesture while saying something under his breath in French if I asked he to take us to a pretty castle or a Koo Koo clock factory.

There is this otherwordly feeling I get when I travel. It lasts just a few minutes and I cannot guarantee I will get that rush each time I hit the road. I felt the rush as Dave and I got off at the train station in the middle of  Geneva,  and I felt  it once more as Stephane, our Hipster friend, walked us around the city. As we walked along my thirst dictated we stop at a little street vendor. Stephane pulled out his wallet, spoke some French to the vendor, bought me a Coke and paid for it with about four dollars worth of Swiss Francs. We walked up the long dock on the water. I could tell this was one of Stephane’s favorite places. African street Vendors were out selling their trinkets and as we walked by them, Stephane showed us where women topless bathe in the summer. Yes, women bathe topless in downtown Geneva. They are separated by a tiny divider from all the other swimmers. This bathing spot also happens to be the same place where people order, sit at the water and eat fondue during in the winter. I do not know if it was the “enlightened Hipster” in him, but Stephane then walked us through the legal prostitution part of town and I still am bummed that I did not take a picture. I asked him about the appropriateness of taking a picture. He pushed through his disdain and told me it would probably be ok if I took a picture of the whole area and not ok if I took a picture of one specific person. I was mesmerized by the elegant, yet drag-queen looking female prostitutes standing soundly on the streets, waiting for customers . Yes, I did feel like I was walking in a strange and lovely, Dali-esque dream. When Stephane asked us what we wanted to eat, I, who really had not eaten in three days, was starving and I blurted out, “Thai Food!”

Best and most Beautiful Yellow Curry Ever

He didn’t really confirm that yes, we would be eating Thai food. We just continued to follow him. We walked a few more blocks and arrived at this cool little restaurant.  Honestly, it was   the best Thai food I can remember having and I eat a lot of Thai food. Say what you will about the Hipsters. They always know where the eclectic and cool restaurants are. Stephane ordered in French and when the Asian woman heard me speaking English, she immediately switched. She seemed relieved to be speaking English. The menu was only in French and English, but Dave and I ended up ordering some of the dishes using their  real Thai names. Take that, Swiss guy who’s been translating for us! Stephane amused me and answered my questions about how many times you kiss on the cheek as a greeting. He said, “Three.” Our conversation ended and we were on our way back on the train and back to our hotel.

Sitting on the train in Geneva

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Leaving the kids & flying to Europe: Part 1

December 8, 2011 in Family, Travel

Church next to Chateau Gruyères in Gruyères, Switzerland

It was exactly two months ago today when a really cool opportunity knocked on Dave’s door. With his job he often gets to travel to pretty amazing destinations.  I had no desire to accompanying him half-way around to Singapore earlier this year, but when a last minute trip to Geneva, Switzerland came up, I simply inserted myself into his itinerary. I was actually shocked with how easily I jumped in.  Many of you know that Kyle has been very sick this past year and as a result I have been terrified to leave his side (even at home).  For me to throw caution out the door was this giant, enormous and huge step. I guess this gift came at just the right (time of the month) and like I said, I simply inserted myself into Dave’s Itinerary.

“Dave, I want you to know that I am coming with you. I talked to my mom. She can watch the boys and we are set.”

We cashed in some frequent flyer miles, booked our hotels, did a little research and literally with that, we were on our way. Slow down! Now let me tell you what “literally with that” really means.  Once my mom said, “Yes,” instead of carefully packing (did not look st the weather) or shopping for my trip, I spent the entire week before we left writing out and calendaring a very specific & extremely detailed-down-to-the-second schedule.  I had numbers and extra numbers.  My mom would  know Kyle’s doctor, the doctor she could call if that doctor was not available, the Urgent Care facility she could take Kyle to if that doctor was not available and if that Urgent Care was not open, she knew where the new hospital was. She knew who could pick the kids up from school, who to call if it snowed (yes, it does snow in Park City in September) and who would help her fix the internet. I printed out well labeled maps to the schools, maps to friend’s houses, maps to the grocery store (there are three we go to), a map to swim team and a map to boy scouts.  Not only did she know where the kids should be at all times, she knew who they should avoid, who they could be around, what parents were cool, what parents were not-so-cool, that yes, they did need to shower every single day, that they should pick their school clothes out every single night,  they would try to weasel their way out of doing their homework (especially Kyle), and more specifically how Kyle would try to weasel his way out his homework,  precisely how their morning routine should go, down to the shower,  Strawberry Special K, Yogurt & Granola (their breakfast of choice that week), vitamin C, allergy medicine, hair combing, tooth brushing and an “I love you” as they walked out the door. I did all the laundry, making sure that the boys had something clean to wear every single day. Then I readied their weekend bag. My mom was taking them down to her house. They were packed down to their iPod Touches, DSis and extra underwear.

When asked if all the work I had to do so I could leave was really worth it, I did not hesitate. “My peace of mind is worth tens times the effort I made. I know I can leave, my boys will be ok and my mom won’t be nervous or at least not very nervous.”

Saying Goodbye!

On September 20, 2011,  we kissed the boys goodbye, I drove Kyle to school, hugged, kissed and told him that I loved him again, my mom arrived, we reviewed the contents of the map, calendar and instruction-filled three-ring binder,  and we were off. Well, not really off. We told Eli we would stop by his school and say good bye one more time so we did.  I emailed his teacher to give her a heads up, thanked, said goodbye to my mom and we left the house. Eli’s class happened to be outside for morning recess, which made it really easy. We walked over to meet him, greeted his lovely teacher, asked him to walk over to the car and promised him to return him promptly so he would not miss too much of the game he was playing. Then  we hugged and kissed him (away from his classmates, of course), took a picture and we were really off.

Dave in our little airport hiding place

We drove to Salt Lake City, parked our car at our favorite parking place, took a shuttle to the airport and checked in. At the gate as fate would have it we ran into Carl, the very same and very compassionate American Airlines Gate Agent/Supervisor, who had helped us the last time we flew AA when Kyle was so sick.  We talked. I jogged his memory, told him how awesome he had been, he pointed out his boss, who is never at the gate. She heard my compliments and Carl made sure we had very nice seats all the way to London.  Yes, that is right. London. See, to use our frequent flyer miles we had to fly to London because American Airlines does not fly to Geneva.  We walked on the plane, fastened our seat belts, when asked, put our electronic equipment away  and flew to Dallas, our first stop over.

I won’t talk a lot about Dallas because I want to get this story to Europe. What I will say is that I crashed, shed some tears, washed my face, out some deodorant on, got mad at Dave because I was hungry, could not figure out what to eat and spotted Ian Ziering from the 1990s 90210 television series. During our several hour layover, Dave did catch up work and I did find something to eat. Of course we also called and checked in with my mom and the boys. So far so good.

Dave and half of me

We boarded our Red Eye flight to London and were on our way. Because we used frequent flyer miles we were in the way back of the plane where the seats were grouped two, five and two. Luckily we were had the two seat section and luckily I am the size of a ten year old boy (that is my kids say) so I could flop and spread out all over my tall (6’2″) husband. Aside from a passenger fight over overhead luggage at the very beginning, our flight was not eventful, just long.

[to be continued]

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Gunnel Starting our Sandwich Generation

November 9, 2011 in Family, People I know, Travel

(I know I said I would continue our Stevens-Johnson Syndrome Story. I have a lot already written and ready to post. It will have to wait until tomorrow).

Gunnel and Makeda August 2004

October 30, 2006.

Dave, the boys and I were in our hotel room at the Beaverton, Oregon Springhill Suites. The day before we had driven from Park City, Utah to Portland to spend Halloween with Dave’s brother, sister and their families. I will never forget what Eli said as we entered downtown Portland at the end of our long drive: “Hey Mom, I have an idea! Next time let’s take an airplane.”

My lovely sister-in-law, Dori, her husband Miah and their new baby Andrew had just stopped by to have breakfast with us. Mayhem is an understatement to what has happening in our tiny hotel room. After being trapped in the car the day before and now trapped in a tiny hotel room, the boys were ready  to break free. Kyle was six years old and Eli was four at the time, and before they and their young cousin completely fell apart, we decided we should go swimming, which really meant everyone would go swimming but me. I was looking forward to the peace.

The television was on. I could hear SpongeBob conversing with Patrick in the background as I located the swimsuits.  I was in the bathroom when I heard the ringing. I loked at the caller ID and saw that  it was my super fly bestie, Marianne. I answered and our call went something like this:

“Beth, I am at my mom’s. I went over to check on her after she didn’t show up for dialysis. A police woman met me at the door. She would not let me in before she checked and made sure everything was ok.”

Because Marianne was so calm and matter of fact it seemed as though it had been a few hours instead of a few minutes since Marianne had found her mom. So I asked ”Marianne, are you serious? She is dead? What happened?”

“Probably a heart attack.” Later they found that Gunnel’s heart simply stopped working, from one beat to the next, her heart was done. “Beth, she is in the other room. I don’t like it. She is on the floor and they won’t let me move her until the coroner gets here. I want to cover her. It does not seem right.”

It took me several “Whats?” and, “Are you serious?” to process that my dear Marianne was seconds away from finding her dead mother. It was confusing and surreal. I wanted to reach myself through the phone and be there with her. I wanted to fix it.

“Oh Marianne. I am coming. We are in Portland, but I will be there. I am coming. Don’t worry. I will be there.”

I remember hanging up the phone and seeing my sister-in-law, Dori’s eyes.  I could see that she knew something was up.

“Beth, what happened?”

“Gunnel died. They think she had a heart attack. Dave. Dave. We have to go.”

In shock I quickly explained to Dori who Gunnel was, probably giving more details than necessary. I told her how she was Marianne’s mom and that I had known Marianne since I was five, that Marianne was more of a sister, that I had just seen Gunnel two years earlier at the birth of Marianne’s daughter, Makeda, that Marianne was in the process of a divorce and how sad it was that Gunnel died now. Even though Gunnel had been in poor health, her death was completely unexpected. She had actually been doing better.

Then, as I seem to do when things get really bad or really sad, in a breath, I threw myself on autopilot. On autopilot, I can deal. I can tell you every little detail and even tell you how sad I am and somehow I will not shed a tear. Not because I do not want to shed a tear. I am a mother and I have children to care for. I must get us to the funeral.

We stayed in Portland through Halloween and then drove ourselves back to Park City. We were on a plane to Minneapolis six hours later. The Minneapolis Airport is a hop away from the Mall of America and as we headed to the viewing, with nothing to wear, I had Dave stop. I stood in the Mall of America Banana Republic trying on black skirts and having the sales lady tell me the shirt I chose was too tight.  In the dressing room, alone, I had I moment to let down. The sales lady pounding on my dressing room door, I say, “I am buying clothes for a funeral.”  She didn’t seem to care. I said it again. “I am buying clothes for a funeral. My best friend’s mother just died! I have nothing to wear.” I still don’t think she understood and I really wanted her to understand. We had to be at the viewing so without the sympathy I was longing for, I opted for the larger size, bought a skirt and another outfit and we were on our way. In our rental van, I put my new clothes on. Dave had already changed and we would ready the boys once we arrived.

It was a beautiful fall day and the sun really was shining just so. Perfectly the rays hit the autumn leaves as we pulled into the funeral home. As sad as I was for my friend, a gentle warmth and excitement came over me. I was home. Immediately I saw Marianne’s brothers and knew I was where I needed to be. Like a birth or a wedding, a funeral is a place to connect. I was home and I was connecting. I found Marianne and stayed close by her side. She has always protected me and even in the midst of all of this, she was making sure I was ok.

Marianne, Beth & Sara

We eventually made our way into the viewing room. It always amazes me that the body sits alone in a big chapel-like room while all the guests find their ways into the small passages of the funeral home. It was the same when Dave’s father passed last year. Marianne and I had Gunnel to ourselves. I brought the boys in with me at first. They were not sure what to do and left. Marianne and I stood there. We stood there talking about sweet Gunnel. We imitated Gunnel and Marianne’s Dad, Jack, who had passed years earlier. “Gun it Gunnel.” Jack would say as he slammed his hand on the dash whenever she was driving too slow. Gunnel had bravely moved from Sweden to the United States as a young woman. We talked about how cool and awesome that was. We talked about her cooking. She was always cooking and making so much good Swedish food. We remembered her huge, belly-rolling laughter. We talked about how she never said an unkind word about anyone, even when we wanted her to. We talked about the time before her eye surgery how she had sat so quietly at Marianne’s wedding. She was freezing and needed her sweater. Because it was dark and Gunnel could not see well, she patiently waited for someone to notice. I was glad it was me. I was glad I had noticed and had that moment with her. We laughed about how easily everyone in their family cries. Marianne told me how much she already missed her mom.

“Beth, I talked to her every single day. I do not know what I will do.”

Then I noticed. I noticed what I had been doing. The entire time we were talking I was moving my hand through Gunnel’s beautifully set, soft silver hair.

“She looks so pretty.” I said. “I hope this is ok,” referring to me touching her hair.

“Oh Beth. You know it is. It is my mom.”

Since that time I have watched Marianne long for and  miss her mom. I have seen those lonely moments and wished I could bring Gunnel back. Gunnel is not here to watch Marianne’s babies grow.  And now, somewhere in the middle of my life,  I see that I am part of the Sandwich Generation. We are raising our children while caring for and then watching our own parents die. Gunnel was the first. And since then I have seen more parents become ill and have seen more of our own babies be born. Dave’s dad passed away a year ago. And just last night another dear friend’s father died. It is such a strange place to be, right in the middle of this sandwich.

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the beautiful sounds of my sons screaming at each other

August 12, 2011 in Family, My Three Cents, Travel

“AHHHHHHHHH!” I hear from the basement.

In my mind I see the boys fighting all American Gladiator Style and I am sure one of them must be near death.

“Hang in there young sons,” I think. If I say it out loud then they might find me.

See, I am hiding in the office, which happens to be several feet from the basement. I am guessing unless there is bloodshed they will not summon the desire to locate me. I will just hear their shrieking sounds, “MOM! MOM! He’s [insert super dramatic moans here] I [pause] cannot [pause] breathe.” Then one of them will stumble back into the t.v. room and the other will push play only to be lulled by the sweet sweet sounds of “Phineas and Ferb.”

I hear a door slam. Was I hoping for too much? Will they continue. I am silent and they still do not know where I am. Thank God!

“OWWWW!” Kyle exclaims and then it is silent.

Again I hear Kyle, “Ahh ahhh.”

Now I am curious. He has expressed interest in the dramatic arts and I am thinking he is on to something. Give me a second. Invisible and like a fly on the wall, I will see just what is going on. Not a Deer Fly, however, those things with their crazy scissor teeth slit you open and put their fly juice in the wound. No, not a Deer Fly, just a quiet and pleasant fly on the wall.

I am back and this is what I heard:

“No!” Eli shouts.

“Then stop being mean!” Kyle responds.

“I am not being mean.”

With my boys now ages nine and eleven, I think it is high time they work it out on their own. I leave them be with them not even knowing I was there. Success.

By the way, Eli just informed me that he cannot look at, touch or think about Kyle or Kyle will shoot him with a bow and arrow, a Nerf bow and arrow, that is.

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Override

May 27, 2011 in My Three Cents, Travel

The word is override. I could be all ninth-grade-speech-contesty and start my lengthy diatribe (post) with the definition.  (Yes, I was in a ninth grade speech contest and yes, I did quite well I must say with my dictionary definitions and poems I stole from the Especially for Mormons special thought book.) No, writing out the definition of the word override will simply get in my way, an earnest poem will totally distract me. I will giggle as I think of ninth-grade-me boldly reciting the words from my ninth grade speech contest, “Stick to your task, till it sticks to you. Bend at it. Sweat at it. Smile at it too. For out of the bend, the sweat and the smile, will come life’s victories after a while.” I will totally get caught up in the Kitsch Factor, yet I will actually see that ninth-grade-me was on to something.

As I think of that earnest poem I recited all those years ago, I think that maybe I had something on all those Midwestern non-Mormons, something that now I need to embrace, not delete, perhaps just reorganize. I need to fight the urge to hide the whole me and not hide, for starters, my intensely religious upbringing. Sure, my classmates were convinced and often told me that my crazy cult family could not drink Coke or dance, but because I was a Mormon, I also had my secret-poem-book weapon.  In fact I had two volumes of my secret-poem-book weapon, a poem-book-weapon that carried me to the ninth grade Oratorical Speech Contest.  Mormons, in all their cultish ways [wink wink], are on to something. They have cornered the market on public speaking.  Steven Covey’s 7 Habits ring a bell? While all the other ninth grade orators had to go to the library (no internet back then) and read card catalogs that led them to books which led them to quotes, quips and impactful sayings, I had two action-packed and organized-by-topic volumes of thought-provoking anecdotes in my arsenal.  Pow! Pow! My topic: Endurance. And in my special Mormon book were pages and pages of stories and quotes all about enduring to the end.  Those Mormon books made the research easy, painless and involved no Dewey Decimal Systems. Take that. All I needed to do was speak, and with my Mormon training, speak I did well. That memory is something I can keep. I do not need to re-write or change.

OVERRIDE

The word looks like it is spelled incorrectly. I checked. It is not. It is also not two words, over and ride; and there are two r’s, not one. Override is today’s epiphany and yes, I plan on having as many epiphanies as my soul can handle.  When I heard the word override in reference to my life, instantly images and pieces of my past shot into focus, yet all in a new view. Of course. What was bouncing around in my brain is the utter realization that you really cannot delete your past. Instead, you can reshape, reform and, most importantly to me after today, you can override.

As I sat listening to the sage advice that I can override my past, like I said, images shot through my head. I immediately saw myself hopping over my crappy dark memory abyss. Ok, too vague. What I saw was me hopping over a Volcano. I mean, me, leaping with long, sinewy legs over an awesome Hawaiian volcano; steam rising out next to the deep black volcanic rock with the lush green Big Island backdrop.  Did you ever listen to Free to Be You and Me? I did. I loved the soundtrack and cartoon TV special and still love it today. Free To Be You And Me is [insert super awesome chorus here] Awesome!” If you are too young to know or lived on another planet in the 1970s, let me tell you. “Free to Be… You and Me, a project of the Ms. Foundation for Women, is a record album, and illustrated book first released in November 1972 featuring songs and stories sung or told by celebrities of the day.” As I heard the word override I saw me as Free to be You and Me’s character Atalanta, based on the athlete in Greek Myth. In Free to be You and Me, Atalanta wins the race and thus overrides her destiny and wins the rite to choose her husband. And seriously, without even remembering the story at that moment, that is what I saw: Atalanta, leaping, in her 1970s-sinewy-legged-animated glory, leaping over the giant Hawaiian volcano.

I can override. When I get in my way, I can push easily-influenced-by-others me off to the side. I can hop over confined me and I can simply override the dark and crazy me stuck in one place. Pretty cool, that whole ability to override.

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