Travel Archives - Page 28 of 38

Leaving the kids & flying to Europe: Part 2,

by CrazyUsDecember 9, 2011May 26, 2015Travel5 Comments

(or as Dave likes to say, “The fun Part.”)

Luton Airport England — 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.

Pork Gelatin Free Gummies — 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.

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.

*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!”

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!”

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.

Beth & Dave — Sitting on the train in Geneva

Leaving the kids & flying to Europe: Part 1

by CrazyUsDecember 8, 2011May 26, 2015Family / Travel2 Comments

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.”

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.

Dallas - Forth Worth Airport — 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.

Our flight to London — 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]

Life Does not Discriminate

by CrazyUsNovember 21, 2011September 23, 2022Family / People I know / Travel9 Comments

There was a time when I could not wait to write. I formulated. I thought. I wrote entire posts in my head and when I finally had a free moment, I would race to my laptop, sit down and the fresh, new words could hardly contain themselves before they lept out of my brain, through my fingers and onto the page. I do not know it if is because I am older, much more protective of what I say, more resolute (meaning less unhinged) or just simply because I am so out of practice. Nowadays, instead of flowing like an easy river, I have to twist, shove and push myself to even sit in front of my laptop. And words, well, they seem much more comfortable staying right where they are, stuck in my brain.

Just two days ago I attended the funeral of a dear friend’s father. The man who died was almost eighty. He was kind, well loved and had been sick for a long time. I am guessing that after years of suffering, he was tired and ready to go. And if you believe that there is something beyond this life, like I do, then you probably would have sensed what I did. It felt like my friend’s dad was somehow there with us and that he was letting us know that life moves on and that he is happy. I don’t always experience that kind of happy peace when someone dies. I did this time.

What I could not get out of my head, however, was all of us who have been left behind. Maybe it was what Dave said at some point during the weekend, “Everyone’s dad seems to be dying and it is getting a little weird.” Maybe it is that all my peers are getting older and thus our parents are getting older and closer to the end. Maybe it’s the fact that the days we have in front of us are shorter than the ones we have left behind. Maybe its all of these things.

I keep trying to find the right group of words to convey what I saw, what I felt and what I experienced this weekend. I am still struggling. What I do see is how completely delicate life is. Instead of watching our grandparents die, Dave and I are at this weird sandwich space (that I have mentioned before). We are raising our own children while instead of watching our grandparents die, now it’s our parents. Just a few years ago Dave’s dad was hiking with us at Sugarloaf Mountain, MD and now he is gone. It is also strange and difficult for me to see my own parents, who I always saw as so strong and so knowledgeable, lose who they once were. When my dear mom forgets that she told me the same thing already, instead of admitting that she is more forgetful because she is getting older, I rationalize and say, “Well, I do the same thing myself.” It scares me, makes me really sad, and I am just not sure how to express it. I am totally freaked out by this. I cannot stop thinking.

And then at the funeral, there was this moment, a moment where a beautiful young woman, who seemed about my age, was wheeling her stroke-stricken mother up to their seat. As they passed, I looked into the mom’s eyes and as I watched her try to communicate without words and really any motor control whatsoever, I could see that she was trapped. She totally knew what was going on and could do nothing about it. Then, I started to cry.

I am getting old. We are all getting old. I know people of all ages deal with all sorts of health issues. I have watched my own young son deal with his own life-threatening and life-changing health issues. However, if you somehow missed bad health in your youth, life has this very cruel way of evening things out. Life does not care who you are, how much money you make, how pretty, how rich, how mean or even how sweet you are. Life does not discriminate. If arthritis, heart disease, a stroke, cancer, Parkinson’s, ALS or all the other cruel diseases do not get you, then life seems to go for the mind and I just do not understand.

We are raised to strive, to thrive, to succeed and to better ourselves. hen, each and every one of us, gets old and we die. And even if there is nothing beyond this life, I want there to be. I need there to be and that is why I believe there is. I like to think my dear Grandma is just a thin layer beyond my reach. I would like to believe that when I sat in that room in my house on 1500 South and 1300 East all those years ago, that I really did feel Grandma Koener there. I want to believe that she was hanging because she really liked our guest room and that she wanted to reach across and let me know that she is still here. I need to believe there is more.

So when I saw that beautiful woman at the funeral trapped, I want to believe that she will have beyond, that her kids will see her well and that she will be free. When life strips away our beauty, our physical strength, our vitality and our mental facilities, I need to believe that this is not the end. And mostly because life can be absolutely cruel, I need to know that after we die, that we somehow keep on living.

Updates and Moving Forward

by CrazyUsNovember 14, 2011May 26, 2015Family / Health / Travel14 Comments

[UPDATE] On Friday I was freaked out. Kyle was sick again and I was sick of him being sick again. With a fever that was not letting up and after a frustrating day of Kyle seeming to get worse instead of better, history told me that we had better do something. I knew it was Friday and we did not want to wait until Monday. I was not up for a Sunday ER visit. Kyle needed to be seen or at least I think he needed to be seen. I called and spoke with my very favorite nurse at my very favorite pediatrician’s office. She is well aware of Kyle and his recent health history. “Beth, you need to bring him in before the weekend starts.”
Continue reading “Updates and Moving Forward”

I should be continuing our SJS story, but Kyle is sick — again.

by CrazyUsNovember 11, 2011May 26, 2015Family / Health / Stevens Johnson Syndrome / Travel / Travel Tips9 Comments

Today my writing is sloppy and brief. I will fix it when I can. Shortly we are leaving to take Kyle to the doctor.

As most of you know, a year ago Kyle was diagnosed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome. Recently I began sharing our story. I have alluded to the fact that Kyle is still not out of the woods. Today is another reminder of how delicate life is. His immune system is weak. When Kyle gets sick his body always embraces the whole go-big-or-go-home attitude. Strep Throat can get him back in the hospital and a cut will turn into a serious staph infection. That’s just how it is, our new normal. Two weeks ago he had Strep Throat (again), Hand, Foot & Mouth, and a Staph Infection on his upper thigh all at the same time.

Last night I came home from the Salt Lake City H&M Grand Opening Event (pays to have press connections, by the way). When I walked in the door, I could hear Kyle moaning. I settled him and about an hour later he came running into my room screaming. “MOM, MOM, I can’t breath! My stomach! Mom! Mom! I don’t feel well!” Deliriously I watched him try to throw up in my bathroom and eventually we made our way to the kitchen where after a few minutes of helping him relax (or relax as much as one can right before you throw up), he puked his guts out and continued to puke his guts out all night long while Dave and I played chicken with each other over who would get up and be with Kyle next.

It may be nothing. These days with Kyle, it often is somthing. My head aches and I am not sure what to do. This is how we roll.

Gunnel Starting our Sandwich Generation

by CrazyUsNovember 9, 2011June 2, 2015Family / People I know / Travel14 Comments

(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).

At the birth of Marianne's daughter Makeda August 2004 — 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.

Gunnel's Funeral — 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.

Tagged : Death / Family

CrazyUS.com

Category: Travel