Friday, September 27, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Because I have a stalker....
I have had to change my passwords on EVERYTHING. I have had to cancel my debit cards. I have had to block. I have had to buy a taser (actually, my daughter bought me one). I have had to buy mace. I will probably have to cancel my email address (that I've had for years) and change to a new one. I've had to lock all my windows when normally I would leave them open on a hot summer night (and day). I can't take my dog for 10pm runs. I check around corners when I'm about to unlock my front door. I am paranoid. I have had to spend two days in a police station and the courthouse. I got 4 days behind in my homework. I don't enjoy life. I worry that my car will get keyed or the tires cut. I sit low in my lounge chair on the back deck so I can't be seen above the railing by passers-by.
So much for being "Fearless Over 50" but I am trying. I think I changed the name of my blog because I wanted to remind myself that I will be...fearless. I think I'm going to get a tattoo that says "Fearless", right on my arm, to remind me when I get afraid. I am afraid now.
I dread dating because I have come to realize that I have a pattern. I choose abusers. Whether they are obvious (the recent one) or subtle (my ex-husband).
I have to have therapy. I was told by the victim's advocate that I have PTSD. I will be single for a really long time.
But I have my children. And my wonderful grandson. They make me feel loved and cherished and really funny. Not that I feel funny, but they help me feel like I can make people laugh. My youngest has become my protector-ish. (He still needs to be reminded to lock the front door) And my oldest, who has never been that involved in my personal life (I don't blame him!), is now getting involved in even little things like telling me how to block someone. My daughter has rescued me so many times in the last two weeks just by being here to be my guardian. She is tougher than I. She continues to remind me that this is not my fault.
But I am still afraid. I am afraid I will let my guard down and there he'll be. 9 months and I can move away. Stuck with a stupid apartment lease that won't let me leave. Somewhere with beaches and palm trees and peace.
Thinking about this always makes me sick to my stomach so I think I will stop for now.
So much for being "Fearless Over 50" but I am trying. I think I changed the name of my blog because I wanted to remind myself that I will be...fearless. I think I'm going to get a tattoo that says "Fearless", right on my arm, to remind me when I get afraid. I am afraid now.
I dread dating because I have come to realize that I have a pattern. I choose abusers. Whether they are obvious (the recent one) or subtle (my ex-husband).
I have to have therapy. I was told by the victim's advocate that I have PTSD. I will be single for a really long time.
But I have my children. And my wonderful grandson. They make me feel loved and cherished and really funny. Not that I feel funny, but they help me feel like I can make people laugh. My youngest has become my protector-ish. (He still needs to be reminded to lock the front door) And my oldest, who has never been that involved in my personal life (I don't blame him!), is now getting involved in even little things like telling me how to block someone. My daughter has rescued me so many times in the last two weeks just by being here to be my guardian. She is tougher than I. She continues to remind me that this is not my fault.
But I am still afraid. I am afraid I will let my guard down and there he'll be. 9 months and I can move away. Stuck with a stupid apartment lease that won't let me leave. Somewhere with beaches and palm trees and peace.
Thinking about this always makes me sick to my stomach so I think I will stop for now.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Yesterday, I flew...
Still recovering from my jump yesterday. I don't regret a minute of my choice. I went with 7 of my co-workers (and other brave hearts). We didn't know if we'd be jumping or not because it had been too windy. We went and had brunch while we waited to find out (I shouldn't have eaten anything) and I filled up on Huevos Rancheros and OJ (bad choice). My biggest fear in making this jump was that I would throw up. Not that I would plummet to my death, or even break my leg in landing wrong. I love roller coasters but I can't ride them. Even ferris wheels make me whoozy. I've taken dramamine for family road trips since I was little. I can never be a passenger, always a driver, unless you wanna pack a barf bag in your glove compartment.
When we finally got to make the jump, they had separated our rather large group into three groups. I flew with Jill and Dustin. When my instructor, a short little guy named Mike, asked if I wanted to go first, I said "sure". Next thing I know, I'm standing in the doorway with my toes correctly over the edge. The photographer I paid extra for, hung onto the outside of the plane, waved at me, and fell to the earth effortlessly. I laid my head back onto my instructor's shoulder, arched my back, and we were gone into a backflip I've never attempted in my life. They had told us in pre-flight to breath through our teeth because breathing through your mouth when you jump is like trying to drink water through a fire hose. I never noticed that. My mouth was dry at first but after that, I was fine.
I wavered between awe and trying really hard to not be nauseated.
The earth was so far away. The instructor had me grab onto the feet of the photographer (who has more guts than I've ever known) and smile for the camera. I still wasn't afraid. Seriously. The thought of being scared, hanging 13,000 feet above ground never crossed my mind. We free-falled (is that a word) for 60 seconds (seemed much longer) , then the instructor pulled the cord. I remember him saying "We have a good chute", like I was worrying about it. I wasn't. At all. It was crazy. I was calm.
The problem with being so far above the earth and aiming for a small plot of land, is that you have to spin in tight circles. Mike (the instructor) asked me if I was ok. I was breathing deeply, inhaling cool air to try and alieve the wave of nausea that kept hitting me. Spinning in circles is not something someone with years of motion sickness should be attempting. I told Mike that I was getting sick. He said "Oh, then you don't like roller coasters". "No, I love them. I just can't ride them". He told me to keep watching the horizon and breath deeply. It didn't help. I closed my eyes, totally missing the view around me, and inhaled a lot. I would open them once in awhile to see if we were any closer to landing but it was taking forever.
One thing I did notice, once he pulled the chute and we were gliding earthward, I could hear perfectly when he spoke to me. He didn't have to yell. The world was so quiet and calm. No sound, no roar of the wind. Like standing in a room with no other sound. Peaceful.
Then, just as we were heading into landing, my breakfast decided to make a reappearance. I managed to block the first wave but, just as we were about to touch down, the second one hit like a vengeance.
The landing was so easy. Effortless. I was more concerned with the Huevos Rancheros on my shirt, my pants, the harness, and even the leg and shoe of my instructor. Poor guy. I was apologizing over and over. He was great about it but I think he was pretty horrified. He didn't know what to do first: shower from head to toe or carefully pull the gunky harness off of me.
The cameraman, who would normally interview you after you land, very graciously let me know they would close the video he'd shot just as I landed so the proof of my flight faux pax would not be evident.
All in all, I loved it. I didn't love the barfing part, but I had a blast. If I hadn't reacted the way I had (stomach-wise), I would probably make a hobby out of this. An expensive hobby, but a hobby just the same.
If you live in Utah, go see SkyDiveUtah.com. Just don't barf on Mike.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Yay ME!
Yesterday started out badly. Mind you, I work graveyard this week (long story) so my day starts way after yours. After only about 3 1/2 hours sleep I was awoken by my phone ringing (it's on vibrate but even the vibrating is enough to wake me up). It wasn't the caller that made my day start out badly. Them I can ignore. It was the 6 chunks of text messages that had popped up on my screen during my sleep that did it.
Did I mention that I'm divorced? Last February. The guy I married no longer exists in the body of my ex-husband. In it's place is an angry, spiteful, self-righteous old man. Every time I have to listen to his false preachings, I thank Heavenly Father that I am not married to him. I imagine though, that he utters the same prayer about me. Touche'.
I have moved to Utah, albeit temporarily until I figure out what to do when I grow up (I'm still trying to figure that out). My car is licensed in Washington. That's the easy part. The hard part is that my car is in my ex-human's name because he signed the loan papers. SO, the tabs are also in his name and his address. Last year he paid for the tabs (we were not divorced yet-just separated-he was still civil then) and then gave them to me. (I still lived in Washington). So, I sent him a text message a couple of weeks ago and asked him to let me know the cost of the tabs and I would send him a check to pay for them. All he would have to do is mail them to me. He texted back that I could renew them online and pay for them myself. When I attempted to renew them online, it asked for the driver's license number of the vehicle owner which, of course I do not have.
I texted him again and told him that I could not renew them because I needed his driver's license number and could he please just tell me the amount and I will pay for them through him.
How easy it would have been for him to just say "Sure. This is how much it is...blah blah blah" Nope. Silly me. I'd forgotten that my formerly human husband had turned into the husband of "horse face" (another long story) and she was the controller of his brain. He was Jennified (think Zombified). He was gone. Instead, I get the 6 chunks of self-righteous lecturing diatribe on how I need to respect him, I got myself into this mess and I need to get myself out of it, blah blah blah. He refused. Instead, he accused me of living in Utah illegally (I guess I am an illegal alien? I'd better ask my mom) and I was breaking the law. He told me I had to get my car licensed in Utah.
I don't want my car licensed in Utah. I am not planning on staying in this state longer than I need to. I moved here to be near my children. To help Natalie with her wedding and help my son get his own life established with his new-found freedom-ish. My time frame was 1 year. My lease is up the end of May then I hope to be moving to places far warmer and ocean-ier.
Instead I have Mr. High-and-mighty once again telling me what to do. Since I am not his wife anymore, by his choice, he gave up all rights to telling me anything. For this I am thankful every time I hear his name uttered by my youngest son because his dad decided that he too should receive one of his weekly false religious preachings (yes, I am angry. Do not mess with my children).
Aaaaaanyway, so this conversation went back and forth through text messages. He had contacted the Utah DMV and they told him I only need a letter of authorization stating that he allows me to get my vehicle licensed in Utah. He was more than happy to do that. Which I thought was really funny. He will take the time to write a letter giving his authorization but he will not take the time to tell me the amount of the tabs and sending them to me. Can you see the issue I have with his? It was HIS control. He wanted it done HIS way. Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me the amount? I would have even thrown in an extra 45 cents for the stamp to mail them to me. In fact, while I have since discovered that the tabs were only $43, I was going to mail him a check for $60 so he would have had a bonus. Silly me.
Because of his ridiculous refusal to just do what I asked, and his continual preaching about what I've done to him and how I treat my children badly (although I'm pretty sure I'm the one who relocated three states away and spend every possible waking minute with my children and he has only seen them twice this year AND only communicates with them thru text message preaching AND he didn't even know that my oldest son had relocated across country to NYC and that he and his wife were expecting their first child...I am the one who treats my children badly??? Yes, I know. Run-on sentence. Breathe, Sheri. Breathe.) I was angry. I was upset. I was frustrated. If I had owned a gun and lived anywhere within shooting distance, he'd be dead....but don't quote me. This is WHY I will probably never own a gun.
I think what gets me is that to others who don't/have never lived with him, he comes across as a wonderful human being. My dad was the same way. People who didn't live with him, looooooved him. They worshipped him. But those of us who lived under the same roof as my father, knew who he really was. Mind you, my dad was a great man. He was very loving. But on the opposite side of the spectrum (as my Mom always said "Jekyll and Hyde") he was a very mean, angry man who treated his family members as punching bags and verbal back stops. He taught me that love comes with anger and pain.
So, during 22 years I discovered that my ex-human was also this same type of person. To others he was a very religious, perfect man. To his immediate family he was so flawed. He had weaknesses. If he didn't feel like dealing with something or someone, he just didn't. He never wanted to try hard enough. If it was too much work, he gave up. I called him band-aid guy. When something goes wrong, do just enough to stop the immediate problem but only just enough. The problem with that is, the issue continues to come back until it is permanently fixed. He only dealt with band-aids, not stitches or surgery. He didn't want to put forth the effort.
He was a great dad when the kids were little. They laughed at everything he said. He was the fun parent. I, on the other hand, was the disciplinarian. I made sure they did their homework, went to bed on time, got along, behaved, did the things they were supposed to do. He was rarely home because of his various jobs so I was both mother and father. I dealt with all of the crap that went on, not only with my children, but also with bill collectors. He would swoop in, make them laugh, then swoop back out. Yes, he worked hard. Yes, he paid the bills (ish). But I did everything else.
When the kids became older and formed opinions and problems of their own, he no longer wanted to deal with it . It was too much work. I was raising my children alone. He may have been there more often in our later years of marriage, but mentally he was not. He checked out. I never did.
**I do have to say that when my older two boys were little, I made bad choices. Horrible choices that I can not take back. No re-do's. I chose my own life instead of being their mother. For that I will have eternal regrets. When my younger two children were growing up (marriage numero due) I could never understand how I could have possibly abandoned my older two for some life I thought I needed to have (note to future young mothers: wait til you are adult enough to never ever ever abandon your children) . I would never do it again. If I could go back in time, I would do everything completely differently (which is why I moved to Utah last June to be near my children)**
Where was I going with this.....
Oh yeah, so to the outside world, my ex-human is a happy, perfect, righteous man that was treated badly by his wife. Hmmmm. That's why his own children don't like him and think him to be ridiculous.
Once again, ex-human, please explain to me how I am the bad guy here?
So last night, as I'm working yet another graveyard shift, clarity formed in my mind. If my ex-human could call the Utah DMV why couldn't I contact the Washington DMV for the same reason? I went online and looked up the ever-present "contact us" on their website. I sent an email explaining my dilemma: I had my car, the car was in my ex-human's name, he refused to send me the invoice for the tabs, how can I get the tabs anyway. This morning I received an email back with the instructions. All I had to do was click the option "the owner is divorced, the owner does not have the car". YAY ME! I went to the Washington DMV website and BAM BAM BAM!! Purchased the tabs for my car, even going so far as to change the address on my car. Spoke with an actual human when there were issues with the debit card address not working, made sure MY address was now correct on the registration, and BAM! Got a receipt for my tabs for my car. NOT in Utah as my ex-human tried to control but in Washington where I prefer to call home until I can figure out what to do with my life when I grow up. I controlled my own destiny. My own circumstances. Not the ex-human.
YAY ME!!
(on a side note: I told the ex-human that I was able to get my tabs in Washington, and his reply? "I told you it could be done..." Whatever. I still won)
Did I mention that I'm divorced? Last February. The guy I married no longer exists in the body of my ex-husband. In it's place is an angry, spiteful, self-righteous old man. Every time I have to listen to his false preachings, I thank Heavenly Father that I am not married to him. I imagine though, that he utters the same prayer about me. Touche'.
I have moved to Utah, albeit temporarily until I figure out what to do when I grow up (I'm still trying to figure that out). My car is licensed in Washington. That's the easy part. The hard part is that my car is in my ex-human's name because he signed the loan papers. SO, the tabs are also in his name and his address. Last year he paid for the tabs (we were not divorced yet-just separated-he was still civil then) and then gave them to me. (I still lived in Washington). So, I sent him a text message a couple of weeks ago and asked him to let me know the cost of the tabs and I would send him a check to pay for them. All he would have to do is mail them to me. He texted back that I could renew them online and pay for them myself. When I attempted to renew them online, it asked for the driver's license number of the vehicle owner which, of course I do not have.
I texted him again and told him that I could not renew them because I needed his driver's license number and could he please just tell me the amount and I will pay for them through him.
How easy it would have been for him to just say "Sure. This is how much it is...blah blah blah" Nope. Silly me. I'd forgotten that my formerly human husband had turned into the husband of "horse face" (another long story) and she was the controller of his brain. He was Jennified (think Zombified). He was gone. Instead, I get the 6 chunks of self-righteous lecturing diatribe on how I need to respect him, I got myself into this mess and I need to get myself out of it, blah blah blah. He refused. Instead, he accused me of living in Utah illegally (I guess I am an illegal alien? I'd better ask my mom) and I was breaking the law. He told me I had to get my car licensed in Utah.
I don't want my car licensed in Utah. I am not planning on staying in this state longer than I need to. I moved here to be near my children. To help Natalie with her wedding and help my son get his own life established with his new-found freedom-ish. My time frame was 1 year. My lease is up the end of May then I hope to be moving to places far warmer and ocean-ier.
Instead I have Mr. High-and-mighty once again telling me what to do. Since I am not his wife anymore, by his choice, he gave up all rights to telling me anything. For this I am thankful every time I hear his name uttered by my youngest son because his dad decided that he too should receive one of his weekly false religious preachings (yes, I am angry. Do not mess with my children).
Aaaaaanyway, so this conversation went back and forth through text messages. He had contacted the Utah DMV and they told him I only need a letter of authorization stating that he allows me to get my vehicle licensed in Utah. He was more than happy to do that. Which I thought was really funny. He will take the time to write a letter giving his authorization but he will not take the time to tell me the amount of the tabs and sending them to me. Can you see the issue I have with his? It was HIS control. He wanted it done HIS way. Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me the amount? I would have even thrown in an extra 45 cents for the stamp to mail them to me. In fact, while I have since discovered that the tabs were only $43, I was going to mail him a check for $60 so he would have had a bonus. Silly me.
Because of his ridiculous refusal to just do what I asked, and his continual preaching about what I've done to him and how I treat my children badly (although I'm pretty sure I'm the one who relocated three states away and spend every possible waking minute with my children and he has only seen them twice this year AND only communicates with them thru text message preaching AND he didn't even know that my oldest son had relocated across country to NYC and that he and his wife were expecting their first child...I am the one who treats my children badly??? Yes, I know. Run-on sentence. Breathe, Sheri. Breathe.) I was angry. I was upset. I was frustrated. If I had owned a gun and lived anywhere within shooting distance, he'd be dead....but don't quote me. This is WHY I will probably never own a gun.
I think what gets me is that to others who don't/have never lived with him, he comes across as a wonderful human being. My dad was the same way. People who didn't live with him, looooooved him. They worshipped him. But those of us who lived under the same roof as my father, knew who he really was. Mind you, my dad was a great man. He was very loving. But on the opposite side of the spectrum (as my Mom always said "Jekyll and Hyde") he was a very mean, angry man who treated his family members as punching bags and verbal back stops. He taught me that love comes with anger and pain.
So, during 22 years I discovered that my ex-human was also this same type of person. To others he was a very religious, perfect man. To his immediate family he was so flawed. He had weaknesses. If he didn't feel like dealing with something or someone, he just didn't. He never wanted to try hard enough. If it was too much work, he gave up. I called him band-aid guy. When something goes wrong, do just enough to stop the immediate problem but only just enough. The problem with that is, the issue continues to come back until it is permanently fixed. He only dealt with band-aids, not stitches or surgery. He didn't want to put forth the effort.
He was a great dad when the kids were little. They laughed at everything he said. He was the fun parent. I, on the other hand, was the disciplinarian. I made sure they did their homework, went to bed on time, got along, behaved, did the things they were supposed to do. He was rarely home because of his various jobs so I was both mother and father. I dealt with all of the crap that went on, not only with my children, but also with bill collectors. He would swoop in, make them laugh, then swoop back out. Yes, he worked hard. Yes, he paid the bills (ish). But I did everything else.
When the kids became older and formed opinions and problems of their own, he no longer wanted to deal with it . It was too much work. I was raising my children alone. He may have been there more often in our later years of marriage, but mentally he was not. He checked out. I never did.
**I do have to say that when my older two boys were little, I made bad choices. Horrible choices that I can not take back. No re-do's. I chose my own life instead of being their mother. For that I will have eternal regrets. When my younger two children were growing up (marriage numero due) I could never understand how I could have possibly abandoned my older two for some life I thought I needed to have (note to future young mothers: wait til you are adult enough to never ever ever abandon your children) . I would never do it again. If I could go back in time, I would do everything completely differently (which is why I moved to Utah last June to be near my children)**
Where was I going with this.....
Oh yeah, so to the outside world, my ex-human is a happy, perfect, righteous man that was treated badly by his wife. Hmmmm. That's why his own children don't like him and think him to be ridiculous.
Once again, ex-human, please explain to me how I am the bad guy here?
So last night, as I'm working yet another graveyard shift, clarity formed in my mind. If my ex-human could call the Utah DMV why couldn't I contact the Washington DMV for the same reason? I went online and looked up the ever-present "contact us" on their website. I sent an email explaining my dilemma: I had my car, the car was in my ex-human's name, he refused to send me the invoice for the tabs, how can I get the tabs anyway. This morning I received an email back with the instructions. All I had to do was click the option "the owner is divorced, the owner does not have the car". YAY ME! I went to the Washington DMV website and BAM BAM BAM!! Purchased the tabs for my car, even going so far as to change the address on my car. Spoke with an actual human when there were issues with the debit card address not working, made sure MY address was now correct on the registration, and BAM! Got a receipt for my tabs for my car. NOT in Utah as my ex-human tried to control but in Washington where I prefer to call home until I can figure out what to do with my life when I grow up. I controlled my own destiny. My own circumstances. Not the ex-human.
YAY ME!!
(on a side note: I told the ex-human that I was able to get my tabs in Washington, and his reply? "I told you it could be done..." Whatever. I still won)
Friday, November 9, 2012
Snow falls in Utah
We got our first official snowfall of the year today. I love snow. If I don't have to leave the safety of my home. I can drive perfectly well in the snow. It's the other idiot drivers on the road I worry about. I often tell my children to be careful when they are traveling, whether by bicycle or car or even walking, not because I think they might be careless (although, watching Luke zip thru traffic on his bike freaks me out) but, because other people can be careless. In the days of increased traffic on the roads and people who insist on either texting or talking on their phones while driving, it is far less safe than it was back when I was zipping thru traffic on my own beautiful blue ten-speed.
Just the other day, when I was commuting to work, I noticed a man merging onto the freeway in his car. He was talking on his phone (it was in his left hand blocking his view of the freeway he was merging onto) and I could tell he was going to head right into my lane...where I would be in his way in my car. In his back seat were two dogs. One of the dogs, a German shepherd who I could only see the top of his head to his muzzle, was peering out the window on the rear driver's side. As the driver headed into my lane and, directly into my car with nary a turn signal activated to alert me, I wailed on my horn. He swerved back into the lane he was trying to leave without even giving me a courtesy "oops" and, in the process, his poor canine passenger went slamming into the window he was trying to enjoy the view from. The driver continued on his way, never even interrupting his conversation.
So, this is why I dread being on the road when it snows. Two days ago, when that driver nearly took me out of the human equation, it was a lovely sunny day. Imagine what he could have accomplished in the snow.
I drove to the local "Trax" station and commuted safely to work via public transportation. I'm not a complete idiot.
As I left work tonight, at first I was walking quickly to avoid getting wet by the continual snowfall. Then I looked up. One of my favorite things about snow is nighttime. Have you ever noticed at night how quiet it is when there is snow on the ground. The world is muffled. Even when I was young I loved to play in the snow at night. I remember coming back from the family trip to Hawaii one Christmas. We were stuck in the airport in Hawaii for several hours because there had been snow in Seattle and they had trouble allowing us to land in the airport. When we finally got back home, I had been up several hours already. But it was nighttime and there was snow everywhere. One of the heaviest snowfalls I can remember in my youth. My next door neighbors and I grabbed our sleds (which were rarely used in Washington) and spent the entire night sledding. Roads were empty of cars and full of snow. It was amazing.
So, tonight I walked out of my hotel and suddenly noticed the snow coming down around me. I could see it in the streetlights and neon of the hotels and office buildings illuminating the flakes as they fell. For one brief moment I was young again and felt that same wonder. I paused my steps and looked around. And smiled. It wasn't too cold as everyone who came into the hotel had been complaining about. It was perfect. Not quite enough snow on the ground yet to cause that complete peace of a heavy snowfall but, beautiful just the same. I walked the rest of the block to the Trax station much slower and enjoyed the white world around me.
Of course, now I have to commute back home from the Trax station. I hope those idiots are all safely tucked in their beds...
Just the other day, when I was commuting to work, I noticed a man merging onto the freeway in his car. He was talking on his phone (it was in his left hand blocking his view of the freeway he was merging onto) and I could tell he was going to head right into my lane...where I would be in his way in my car. In his back seat were two dogs. One of the dogs, a German shepherd who I could only see the top of his head to his muzzle, was peering out the window on the rear driver's side. As the driver headed into my lane and, directly into my car with nary a turn signal activated to alert me, I wailed on my horn. He swerved back into the lane he was trying to leave without even giving me a courtesy "oops" and, in the process, his poor canine passenger went slamming into the window he was trying to enjoy the view from. The driver continued on his way, never even interrupting his conversation.
So, this is why I dread being on the road when it snows. Two days ago, when that driver nearly took me out of the human equation, it was a lovely sunny day. Imagine what he could have accomplished in the snow.
I drove to the local "Trax" station and commuted safely to work via public transportation. I'm not a complete idiot.
As I left work tonight, at first I was walking quickly to avoid getting wet by the continual snowfall. Then I looked up. One of my favorite things about snow is nighttime. Have you ever noticed at night how quiet it is when there is snow on the ground. The world is muffled. Even when I was young I loved to play in the snow at night. I remember coming back from the family trip to Hawaii one Christmas. We were stuck in the airport in Hawaii for several hours because there had been snow in Seattle and they had trouble allowing us to land in the airport. When we finally got back home, I had been up several hours already. But it was nighttime and there was snow everywhere. One of the heaviest snowfalls I can remember in my youth. My next door neighbors and I grabbed our sleds (which were rarely used in Washington) and spent the entire night sledding. Roads were empty of cars and full of snow. It was amazing.
So, tonight I walked out of my hotel and suddenly noticed the snow coming down around me. I could see it in the streetlights and neon of the hotels and office buildings illuminating the flakes as they fell. For one brief moment I was young again and felt that same wonder. I paused my steps and looked around. And smiled. It wasn't too cold as everyone who came into the hotel had been complaining about. It was perfect. Not quite enough snow on the ground yet to cause that complete peace of a heavy snowfall but, beautiful just the same. I walked the rest of the block to the Trax station much slower and enjoyed the white world around me.
Of course, now I have to commute back home from the Trax station. I hope those idiots are all safely tucked in their beds...
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Goodbye Rome
Each place we stop, with the exception of Venice, I have felt is my favorite place.
I loved Varenna, Menaggio, and Bellagio. Of course, these may still be my favorite because I spent the most time here. I feel a little nostalgic when I review the pictures I took there. I remember the feelings I had the first moment I stepped off the train. The sun was shining, the architecture was everything I imagined it would be, and the language was flowing freely. I had no fear. I could find my way easily.
Then there was the second day with my tour group and the weather was chaotic but we all bonded under our umbrellas and rain ponchos. I would love to go back to Varenna and wander the streets again. I would stay at the youth hostel in Menaggio again. I would go back to Bellagio and climb the hills and back alley ways and probably even walk farther than I did before to see what I could find.
Castelroto was really wonderful with it's German feel and first snow of the season but I don't know that I would go out of my way to visit there again. Venice was not my favorite place at all. If I were to come back to Italy by myself (which, the plan is to return), I would not go back to Venice. I've seen Venice, I don't need to see it again. BUT, if I returned to Italy with someone who had never seen Italy, we would have to go to Venice. Everyone should see Venice one time. This time I would venture further and not worry so much about getting lost. I would be more adventurous. I would try and find more of the waterfront and less of the canals.
I loved Verona, Florence, Siena. I adored Monterosso in Cinque Terre with it's gravely beaches, high cliffs, and gorgeous sunsets. And Orvieto was so beautiful with its rolling hills, olive groves, grape fields...all of the things I had thought Italy was. Even in the rain and wind, I loved Orvieto.
And now we are in Rome. It's so sad to think that there are only two nights left in Rome and then this little adventure is over. For four years I have planned, dreamed, and even obsessed about this place. It has gone above and beyond my expectations. Traveling with a tour group made this trip easy. The company, Rick Steves, did all of the work: they made all of the plans, bought all of the tickets, and booked all of the hotel rooms. All I had to do was fork out the money, buy a plane ticket, and make my way here. The next time, I will make my own plans, buy my own tickets, and plot my own adventure. And I'll probably save about $3000 doing it myself.
SO, in Rome. We bussed our way from Orvieto to here, stopping only at the usual "Auto-grill" along the way to buy lunch (I had another salad with tomatoes, calamata olives, and anchovies. I bought a couple extra foccachia bread slices for the road (because the budget is tight again), and we headed on our way. Dino and the bus took us to our hotel, Hotel Sonya, long enough to get our rooms and drop off our bags, then Dino said goodbye to us all at the Colosseum.
At the Colosseum we met up with Francesca, a woman born and raised in Italy by an American mother and Italian father. Because of her American mother, Francesca had no Italian accent. She was all American. Francesca led us all over the Colosseum calling upon our imagination to recall a time when Romans cheered for animal fights, Gladiators, and death. I probably could have spent more time there to make sure I saw all that I wanted to see but we had so much more to cover and only about 4 hours to do it. The Colosseum was literally "awesome" and she reminded us of a time when "awesome" was more than a word you used to describe really good pizza. She took us from the top of the Colosseum to the bottom describing what was missing from each floor, what would have been there had it not been "borrowed" by people who thought of it as the Roman "Home Depot" and taken it apart piece by piece to help build the other ancient buildings in Rome. There were still patches of marble flooring that had been left behind only because it was not perfect marble.
We learned that marble, when lit on fire, turned into lime and was used for mortar to lay bricks. The Romans had destroyed columns and statues without even realizing what it would eventually mean to history.
We also learned that Romans were able to create these wonderful monuments that last for centuries because there was ash added to the stone in the buildings.
The Colosseum was filthy from all of the exhaust from years of automobile and bus traffic whizzing by but cleaning it off was too expensive to undertake. They couldn't seal the stone to prevent further damage because it would cause the buildings to grow mold. Francesca told us that recently there was a famous shoe manufacturer that had invested money to restore the Colosseum but she, and others, were afraid a large neon shoe would end up on the top of it as a result.
From the Colosseum we walked down the street to more wonderful ancient ruins. I will have to look over my map and my Rick Steves book to figure out exactly what other monuments we saw but I took plenty of pictures that I can review later (better do it sooner before I forget which picture was taken where). I do know we visited the Pantheon (which is where my camera battery died) and even got the pleasure of hearing an impromptu choir sing for us.
We separated into little groups (whomever we wanted to spend extra time with) and found restaurants to step into for dinner. I ordered my usual anchovy and tomato sauce pizza and consumed it all by myself. Again. While in the restaurant, I headed to the bathroom (because in Italy you need to use a free "WC" whenever you can find them, otherwise you end up paying anywhere from ,50 to ,75 euro to use the restroom) and found our tour guide, Stephanie, and Francesca having dinner. I stopped to tell Francesca about how much we all enjoyed her tour of the monuments and we ended up chatting about my love of Rome, and Italy in general. I told her that I felt like there was so much more I wanted to see, that I hadn't seen enough, which is really how I have felt throughout most of this trip. She told me that I need to remember that feeling when I have gone back home. I have no doubt that I will.
After dinner, Stephanie led us through the alleyways to the Trevi fountain. Because of the continual crowds in front of the fountain no matter the time of day or night, Stephanie had us stop for a moment so she could explain the theory of throwing a coin into the fountain: first, the coin had to be thrown by the right hand over the left shoulder (even if you were left-handed). One coin meant you would return to Rome. Two coins meant you would fall in love. Three coins meant you would stay. She didn't say stay in Rome so you had to be careful of that one.
Throughout the trip, I have had one 1 euro coin in the outside pocket of my backpack. I wanted to keep it because it had a picture of the Michelangelo drawing of man (can't remember what it is called right now but it's a cool drawing) and I really liked it. I thought that it would be great to have a hole punched in it and worn for a necklace. The first thought I had of which coin to toss in the fountain was that coin. I dug into the outside mesh pocket and found the coin AND an American nickel. Those were my two coins.
The fountain was as crowded as Stephanie had predicted, and finding a spot that wasn't already occupied by 20 other tourists waiting to have their picture taken was a test of patience. Jump in, jump out.
Since my camera battery had died in the Pantheon, I asked Bruce and Renee to take my picture with their camera in front of the fountain, tossing the coins in. I can't wait to see how it turns out.
From the fountain, we hiked the 15 minutes back to our hotel. Tomorrow is the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican Museum. Afterwards, I'm hoping to be able to find my way back to the Trevi fountain and the many other fountains I saw along the way so I can get the pictures I didn't get taken when my camera battery died. I don't want to waste one minute of the 36 hours I have left in Italy.
I would compare Rome to my experience in Seattle. Cars rushing up and down the streets, city buses zipping by, people pushing and shoving for a place on the sidewalk, big buildings (although far more historical than the ones in Seattle), and the usual tourists. I love big cities. I love the sound of them and I have always loved the architecture. You can get in your car and travel an hour to a beautiful, quiet countryside, but come back to the excitement and wonder of the city. This is definitely something I would like to research further.
Until then, I am once again sharing a room with my strep-infected tour roomy, Pat. Since she is coughing is hacking up all sorts of ick, I have pressed the earplugs firmly into my ears and hope they manage to block out the sound. I'm a little concerned because I was able to hear the church bells from down the street even with the earplugs in. That does not bode well for my night....
I loved Varenna, Menaggio, and Bellagio. Of course, these may still be my favorite because I spent the most time here. I feel a little nostalgic when I review the pictures I took there. I remember the feelings I had the first moment I stepped off the train. The sun was shining, the architecture was everything I imagined it would be, and the language was flowing freely. I had no fear. I could find my way easily.
Then there was the second day with my tour group and the weather was chaotic but we all bonded under our umbrellas and rain ponchos. I would love to go back to Varenna and wander the streets again. I would stay at the youth hostel in Menaggio again. I would go back to Bellagio and climb the hills and back alley ways and probably even walk farther than I did before to see what I could find.
Castelroto was really wonderful with it's German feel and first snow of the season but I don't know that I would go out of my way to visit there again. Venice was not my favorite place at all. If I were to come back to Italy by myself (which, the plan is to return), I would not go back to Venice. I've seen Venice, I don't need to see it again. BUT, if I returned to Italy with someone who had never seen Italy, we would have to go to Venice. Everyone should see Venice one time. This time I would venture further and not worry so much about getting lost. I would be more adventurous. I would try and find more of the waterfront and less of the canals.
I loved Verona, Florence, Siena. I adored Monterosso in Cinque Terre with it's gravely beaches, high cliffs, and gorgeous sunsets. And Orvieto was so beautiful with its rolling hills, olive groves, grape fields...all of the things I had thought Italy was. Even in the rain and wind, I loved Orvieto.
And now we are in Rome. It's so sad to think that there are only two nights left in Rome and then this little adventure is over. For four years I have planned, dreamed, and even obsessed about this place. It has gone above and beyond my expectations. Traveling with a tour group made this trip easy. The company, Rick Steves, did all of the work: they made all of the plans, bought all of the tickets, and booked all of the hotel rooms. All I had to do was fork out the money, buy a plane ticket, and make my way here. The next time, I will make my own plans, buy my own tickets, and plot my own adventure. And I'll probably save about $3000 doing it myself.
SO, in Rome. We bussed our way from Orvieto to here, stopping only at the usual "Auto-grill" along the way to buy lunch (I had another salad with tomatoes, calamata olives, and anchovies. I bought a couple extra foccachia bread slices for the road (because the budget is tight again), and we headed on our way. Dino and the bus took us to our hotel, Hotel Sonya, long enough to get our rooms and drop off our bags, then Dino said goodbye to us all at the Colosseum.
At the Colosseum we met up with Francesca, a woman born and raised in Italy by an American mother and Italian father. Because of her American mother, Francesca had no Italian accent. She was all American. Francesca led us all over the Colosseum calling upon our imagination to recall a time when Romans cheered for animal fights, Gladiators, and death. I probably could have spent more time there to make sure I saw all that I wanted to see but we had so much more to cover and only about 4 hours to do it. The Colosseum was literally "awesome" and she reminded us of a time when "awesome" was more than a word you used to describe really good pizza. She took us from the top of the Colosseum to the bottom describing what was missing from each floor, what would have been there had it not been "borrowed" by people who thought of it as the Roman "Home Depot" and taken it apart piece by piece to help build the other ancient buildings in Rome. There were still patches of marble flooring that had been left behind only because it was not perfect marble.
We learned that marble, when lit on fire, turned into lime and was used for mortar to lay bricks. The Romans had destroyed columns and statues without even realizing what it would eventually mean to history.
We also learned that Romans were able to create these wonderful monuments that last for centuries because there was ash added to the stone in the buildings.
The Colosseum was filthy from all of the exhaust from years of automobile and bus traffic whizzing by but cleaning it off was too expensive to undertake. They couldn't seal the stone to prevent further damage because it would cause the buildings to grow mold. Francesca told us that recently there was a famous shoe manufacturer that had invested money to restore the Colosseum but she, and others, were afraid a large neon shoe would end up on the top of it as a result.
From the Colosseum we walked down the street to more wonderful ancient ruins. I will have to look over my map and my Rick Steves book to figure out exactly what other monuments we saw but I took plenty of pictures that I can review later (better do it sooner before I forget which picture was taken where). I do know we visited the Pantheon (which is where my camera battery died) and even got the pleasure of hearing an impromptu choir sing for us.
We separated into little groups (whomever we wanted to spend extra time with) and found restaurants to step into for dinner. I ordered my usual anchovy and tomato sauce pizza and consumed it all by myself. Again. While in the restaurant, I headed to the bathroom (because in Italy you need to use a free "WC" whenever you can find them, otherwise you end up paying anywhere from ,50 to ,75 euro to use the restroom) and found our tour guide, Stephanie, and Francesca having dinner. I stopped to tell Francesca about how much we all enjoyed her tour of the monuments and we ended up chatting about my love of Rome, and Italy in general. I told her that I felt like there was so much more I wanted to see, that I hadn't seen enough, which is really how I have felt throughout most of this trip. She told me that I need to remember that feeling when I have gone back home. I have no doubt that I will.
After dinner, Stephanie led us through the alleyways to the Trevi fountain. Because of the continual crowds in front of the fountain no matter the time of day or night, Stephanie had us stop for a moment so she could explain the theory of throwing a coin into the fountain: first, the coin had to be thrown by the right hand over the left shoulder (even if you were left-handed). One coin meant you would return to Rome. Two coins meant you would fall in love. Three coins meant you would stay. She didn't say stay in Rome so you had to be careful of that one.
Throughout the trip, I have had one 1 euro coin in the outside pocket of my backpack. I wanted to keep it because it had a picture of the Michelangelo drawing of man (can't remember what it is called right now but it's a cool drawing) and I really liked it. I thought that it would be great to have a hole punched in it and worn for a necklace. The first thought I had of which coin to toss in the fountain was that coin. I dug into the outside mesh pocket and found the coin AND an American nickel. Those were my two coins.
The fountain was as crowded as Stephanie had predicted, and finding a spot that wasn't already occupied by 20 other tourists waiting to have their picture taken was a test of patience. Jump in, jump out.
Since my camera battery had died in the Pantheon, I asked Bruce and Renee to take my picture with their camera in front of the fountain, tossing the coins in. I can't wait to see how it turns out.
From the fountain, we hiked the 15 minutes back to our hotel. Tomorrow is the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican Museum. Afterwards, I'm hoping to be able to find my way back to the Trevi fountain and the many other fountains I saw along the way so I can get the pictures I didn't get taken when my camera battery died. I don't want to waste one minute of the 36 hours I have left in Italy.
I would compare Rome to my experience in Seattle. Cars rushing up and down the streets, city buses zipping by, people pushing and shoving for a place on the sidewalk, big buildings (although far more historical than the ones in Seattle), and the usual tourists. I love big cities. I love the sound of them and I have always loved the architecture. You can get in your car and travel an hour to a beautiful, quiet countryside, but come back to the excitement and wonder of the city. This is definitely something I would like to research further.
Until then, I am once again sharing a room with my strep-infected tour roomy, Pat. Since she is coughing is hacking up all sorts of ick, I have pressed the earplugs firmly into my ears and hope they manage to block out the sound. I'm a little concerned because I was able to hear the church bells from down the street even with the earplugs in. That does not bode well for my night....
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Arrivederci Dino
With our last trip with our wonderful bus driver, Dino, looming ahead, I feel a need to tell you about him.
Stephanie raved about her dear friend and bus driver, Dino two days before we even got to meet him. On the day we were heading to the Dolomites, we were met at our bus by a charming Italian who spoke very little English. He didn't need to speak English. He was adorable. Now, before you start thinking there was anything to worry about, Dino is married with two children. We could tell instantly that Stephanie adored Dino. I don't know how much farther it went than familial adoration but after a few days, it also didn't matter.
We rode across the Italian countryside in a large Mercedes touring bus. Dino had personalized it with key chains and trinkets either left behind by former tourists or given to him by people who had also grown fond of him on these long bus trips. After 15 days of traveling with him, the 21 of us had all adopted this goofy little Italian. He was wonderful. Big dimply smile and a scratchy sicilian voice, we loved him.
You could count on Dino to try and explain himself in American conversations and if he couldn't, he would call for "teacher", his pet name for Stephanie.
Bruce, of the Bruce and Renee' team on our tour, was a big fan of Jack Daniels and Coke. For some reason, Dino started calling Bruce "Jack". When he found out Bruce's name was really Bruce, it confused him. He was told it was a nickname. From then on he would introduce Bruce as "Bruce, nickname Jack" (with a thick Italian accent). I don't know that he ever remembered my name but he was always great to poke me in the ribs, squeeze my arm, and laugh at my translation app translating English phrases into Italian. I learned that the Google translate app was one to delete off of my phone. I also learned that calling an Italian a "dork" is not a nice thing to say. No problem!
Tonight we said goodbye to Dino. We had our dinner together and then Stephanie presented Dino with a card we had all signed and a bottle of wine. She had bought him a wooden Pinocchio (who is big here) to remind him of us. Ironically, one of the tour members, Michelle had also bought him a Pinocchio but smaller. He'll have it to hang in his bus. Bruce had put together money for Dino to do something in with his family since we had taken him away from them. I never got asked to contribute. I hope I wasn't supposed to. Anyway, Dino got teary-eyed and made a broken-English speech about how much fun he'd had and how much he admired Stephanie. I'm sure when I actually say goodbye to him in the morning as he drops us off in Rome, I'll get teary-eyed also. Dino was a huge part of this trip. If we'd had some old fart with no personality as our bus driver, I'm sure the journey would have been completely different. Dino added flair to our trip. Who else would have passed out Lemoncello on the bus wearing a "David" apron completely anatomically correct (that was an unexpected surprise). We could always count on him to make us smile or laugh. He was my favorite Italian.
Stephanie raved about her dear friend and bus driver, Dino two days before we even got to meet him. On the day we were heading to the Dolomites, we were met at our bus by a charming Italian who spoke very little English. He didn't need to speak English. He was adorable. Now, before you start thinking there was anything to worry about, Dino is married with two children. We could tell instantly that Stephanie adored Dino. I don't know how much farther it went than familial adoration but after a few days, it also didn't matter.
We rode across the Italian countryside in a large Mercedes touring bus. Dino had personalized it with key chains and trinkets either left behind by former tourists or given to him by people who had also grown fond of him on these long bus trips. After 15 days of traveling with him, the 21 of us had all adopted this goofy little Italian. He was wonderful. Big dimply smile and a scratchy sicilian voice, we loved him.
You could count on Dino to try and explain himself in American conversations and if he couldn't, he would call for "teacher", his pet name for Stephanie.
Bruce, of the Bruce and Renee' team on our tour, was a big fan of Jack Daniels and Coke. For some reason, Dino started calling Bruce "Jack". When he found out Bruce's name was really Bruce, it confused him. He was told it was a nickname. From then on he would introduce Bruce as "Bruce, nickname Jack" (with a thick Italian accent). I don't know that he ever remembered my name but he was always great to poke me in the ribs, squeeze my arm, and laugh at my translation app translating English phrases into Italian. I learned that the Google translate app was one to delete off of my phone. I also learned that calling an Italian a "dork" is not a nice thing to say. No problem!
Tonight we said goodbye to Dino. We had our dinner together and then Stephanie presented Dino with a card we had all signed and a bottle of wine. She had bought him a wooden Pinocchio (who is big here) to remind him of us. Ironically, one of the tour members, Michelle had also bought him a Pinocchio but smaller. He'll have it to hang in his bus. Bruce had put together money for Dino to do something in with his family since we had taken him away from them. I never got asked to contribute. I hope I wasn't supposed to. Anyway, Dino got teary-eyed and made a broken-English speech about how much fun he'd had and how much he admired Stephanie. I'm sure when I actually say goodbye to him in the morning as he drops us off in Rome, I'll get teary-eyed also. Dino was a huge part of this trip. If we'd had some old fart with no personality as our bus driver, I'm sure the journey would have been completely different. Dino added flair to our trip. Who else would have passed out Lemoncello on the bus wearing a "David" apron completely anatomically correct (that was an unexpected surprise). We could always count on him to make us smile or laugh. He was my favorite Italian.
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