The Test

She turned 16 last week. She took an AP Euro test yesterday and now The Child is off completing her next rite of passage at the DMV. She just drove off with Steve, a DMV behind-the-wheel test administrator.

She took the wheel for the first time six months ago in a little shopping mall in Palm Springs. It was terrifying. The next time behind the wheel was much worse. Then gradually she became more competent.

You do your best, you know. You teach them about 4-way stops, changing lanes, not crossing double double lines, and all the crap you can think of, but at the end of it all, you have to let go and hope that they do well.

This 20 minutes feels like forever. I think about irony of The Child taking a driving test in the vehicle that used to hold her car seat. I think back to taking my drivers test in Las Vegas back in 1981, dang that was a long time ago. I start playing with my phone, nervously; useless.

Oh wait, there they are!

They park and Steve fills out his paperwork. I just stand by. That’s what one does as the parent of sixteen year-old girl, one stands-by and watches, waits and writes painful checks. After a few minutes, they emerge from the car and The Child flashes the thumbs up. She passed.

Ironically, now that she is a licensed driver, she can’t drive until we have her insured. I get to drive us home.

As I drive home she is plugging away at her chemistry homework, moving from one task directly into the next with no waste of time. I think about the next big rite and what it will be like when moves to college and totally breaks my bank account and my heart.

The Perfect Gift for Mother’s Day

One of my favorite tweeps in the entire universe is Canadian farm girl Leanne Shirtliffe, aka The Ironic Mom.  She is a funny and brilliant writer of comedy and on 9 May, Skyhorse Press and the Fedex guy will deliver her third child,

Don’t Lick the Minivan: And Other Things I Never Thought I’d Say to My Kids

It’s available on Amazon and in classy book-joints everywhere.

Those who have an inkling of how amazing this book will be are obliged to spread the word about its awesomeneninitude (yeah, that’s a word).

Hence, while in the Bahamas a few weeks ago, as I came across a family of millionaire Calgarians, from Briar Hill.  As they were from Leanne’s hometown, I thought I would discuss her new book.   Here’s how it went down:  [WARNING: MY IRISH/CANADIAN ACCENT CAME OUT DURING THE INTERVIEW.  DON'T LAUGH]

Clearly, the word needs to be spread a bit more. Remember, one Canadian laugh is worth about 0.98 American laughs, but hey, it’s close enough.

If you love your mother, buy the book.  Give it to Mom, grandma and anyone else who has birth-related stretch marks.

 

Creature of Habit

We landed in Newark Airport this morning at about 5:24am, my daughter, my wife and me. It had been 2 months since I last made this specific red-eye flight. That January trip was two months following my previous red-eye through Newark. This trip is also two months prior to my next landing in Newark on my way to Ireland.

We are on our way to Orlando Florida, for the second time in 3 years. That visit, we spent 36 hours in New York and then flew to Orlando via JFK. This time, we were going to take a direct flight from LAX to Orlando, but the red-eye route was cancelled and when given the choice between flying to from LAX to Orlando through Dulles or flying Orange County airport through Newark, I actually chose the latter route, which was longer, but more familiar and convenient.

After deplaning this morning, we proceeded to the Dunkin’ Donuts in the airport for coffee and breakfast, like I always do. As I ate my usual egg-white bagel, drank my large coffee, and I checked to see what time sunrise was.

The Child at the Dunkin’ Donuts in EWR

We headed down to gate C 97, which is where you can get the best view of Manhattan and we took pictures of The City with the sun rising behind it. I think The Child took at least 50 pictures on her phone, my phone and my camera. After that, I called my sister in London, like I usually do. It was 6am Eastern time and the 5 hour time difference makes her one of the few people I can call when I land on the East Coast first thing in the morning, After that, I popped into the newsstand and pick up a copy of the Financial Times to get me through to my next flight.

My wife commented that I am a creature of habit, especially when I travel. That fact is certainly true. I have found that if I don’t maintain a certain discipline when I travel, I am apt to create chaos for myself. It was about 8 years ago that I broke protocol when eating dinner in Connecticut. I didn’t realize that I had left my backpack in the restaurant until I arrived at my hotel in Rhode Island. Luckily my hotel room that night was pre-paid and I didn’t need my credit cards. I did have to borrow gas money from one of my colleagues so I could drive the rental car back to Connecticut to pickup my laptop, credit cards, and ID. Then I had to turn around and drive to Boston to catch my flight.

I am also consistent in what I wear when I travel. If I am getting off a red eye and into a meeting I have a set non-wrinkle wardrobe for that scenario. For flights longer than 2 hours, it’s always jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, something light that can be worn comfortably should the flight be warm or cold. For trips of two weeks or so in duration, I have an orange long sleeve shirt that will be starched and folded at the dry cleaner and sit at the bottom of my suitcase in its plastic bag, not to be removed until the day of the journey home. I’m not sure why I do this, maybe it’s just the visual clothing candy reward for the end of the trip or the associated joy that comes from pulling that particular shirt out and to know that I am heading home.

When I flew home from Newark airport in January, I was wearing my newly acquired NY Half Marathon long-sleeve shirt and the same pair of jeans I was wearing today. I would be wearing the same pair of K-Swiss tennis shoes as well, but I tossed them yesterday and pulled out a new pair of the same brand shoes last night. The fact is, I have been wearing the same brand of tennis shoe for 33 years. If I really wanted to be honest, I would disclose that I have a few boxes of new K-Swiss tennis shoes in the garage so that when one pair wears out, I don’t have to wait to order another pair. I know what I like and I stick with it.

I’ve heard it said that all travel is risk-mitigation; you don’t check a bag if you can carry on. You never trust the airline to get you to an important meeting on time. Assume your driver doesn’t know where you want him to take you. Always have a back up plan.

Day 13 – Preparing for Take Off

So again this week, priorities stopped me from writing. But work is over for this trip.

I am going to a birthday party at a colleagues home in a bit. For now I am sitting on the balcony of my hotel room looking out over Lake Geneva. The sun has started to set. This is one of those “live for” moments. There is a chill in the air and I can hear the water splashing on the shore.

I am 90% packed. I have a 7am train to catch after my morning run tomorrow. From there a three hour train ride, a 12 hour flight and then home.

I am ready to be home.

Day 9 – Goodbye London

Day 9 started as all the days have during the last week, with an alarm startling me from incomplete night’s sleep. I was glad to see that I had borrowed time from earlier in the morning to pack. I got up, looked about and there wasn’t much necessary to do but get dressed and get out.

I wore my New York Yankees sweatshirt on this travel day. There was an incident in England when I was 12 years old. Since then I don’t travel displaying anything that could identify me as an American.  For some reason, I didn’t care today.

It was a typical UK hotel breakfast, mostly unremarkable breads, scrambled eggs, sausages, fruit and cereals. I’ve never had a memorable breakfast in a UK hotel. I ate and got the hell out of there. The refreshing thing about being in Ireland all week was that the hotel staff were all Irish,  the cleaning ladies, the desk staff, the bar staff, pretty much everyone. In England, I find that the front desk staff are often have distinct English accents, but the wait staff in the restaurant and the cleaning people are often Romanian or Polish. I’ve seen it so many times that it bothers me.  Not so much that there are a divisions based on skill, but more so that I never see a Romanian or the Poles behind the desk.

As I was making my way out of the hotel, I saw postcards in the store. I picked up one for my sister who lives in London, but is currently vacationing in Spain. I was disappointed to hear that her travels overlapped with mine. Worse still was the fact that she would be travelling again when I come back in May. I filled in the cards and then gave them to the front desk as I checked out.

I had signed up for the later flight in hopes of having some family time while in London on Saturday. That just didn’t happen. One of the family criticism I have heard about my mother is that she would show up out of no where, land, create a fuss and then leave.   I didn’t want to subject myself to that same criticism, so I just kept to myself this trip. I could have planned  this day a lot differently.  I could have tried for an the 6am  flight.  I could have tried to visit family and friends.  I could have rushed through the aiport and been Mr. Go Go Go, like I have all week.   Instead, I took the intensity down some.

I arrived at Heathrow Terminal 5 about 11:30, hoping to catch an earlier flight to Geneva.  The new Terminal 5 in Heathrow airport is the center of all British Airways flights.  I notice that the English have a great deal of national pride in British Airways.   To me, the word American in American Airlines just modifies  the word airline, but there isn’t that same emotional identity that the Brit’s feel.  In my life, I have usually traveled from  Terminal 1.  I’m a Terminal 1 kind of guy.  I know people who are Terminal 5 people all the way.  More power to them. It’s like being in Chicago when you’re from New York.  I get it, but it’s not what I’m used to.  Terminal 1 means I’m going home.  Terminal 5 means more time on the road.

The lady at check in was quite the chatty Kathy.  She saw my sweatshirt and proceeded to tell me that she has family in San Francisco and wished that she had gone to a Giants game last time she was there. I told her that the Giants play in my second favorite park in the world, and there is nothing like seeing a game in that AT&T Park as the sun goes down in the city.   There were no queues, so we had a fun little conversation.    As it turned out, the earlier flight to Geneva that I would have taken was cancelled, so I considered myself  lucky to have a seat on the later flight.   Some poor sod always has it worse somewhere in the airport.

People and Planes Waiting Patiently

I cleared security with 3 hours to kill.   I did what I always do, I walked.  I walked upstairs and downstairs through the terminal and the stores.  I looked at clothes that caught my eye and I looked in the bars.  As I walk through airports I look for people I know.   I don’t really expect to find anyone, but I find that the act of looking causes me to be more aware and every once in a while, I will see someone who will remind me of someone who I haven’t thought of in a while.

The time fills up usually quite quickly.  I stopped for a bit, wrote some, read emails and the Financial Times and waited for the world back home to wake up.   Every once in a while, I checked in at the status board that would tell me when to go to my gate.   I have a lot to prepare for work this week, but I really didn’t have the stress level to drive me to work. I just wanted to relax and enjoy these hours in the airport.

At one point a flight to Amersterdam was announced. I recalled that there is a half marathon there on Sunday that I really wanted to take part in.  Unfortunately, there was no easy way to run that race and get to Switzerland in time for my morning meetings.

Waiting to be called

The flight status board is an interesting center of activity, especially when a flight is late.  Small crowds start to gather and you can see people questioning.   I’ve been there; waiting for hours for the appointed time when the gate is supposed to be announced.  Then the time marches past the appointed hour.  It slowly dawns that there is a problem and eventually, the status turns to delayed.  Not a big problem on a day like today where I have plenty of slack time.  It sucks on a day where I need to be somewhere at an appointed hour.

But today, at 2:25 pm, the board called me to take the shuttle to gate B42.  Praise to the board.

As I made my way to the boarding gate, I heard a little English girl with her family. She made up a song that melodically went something like

When are we going on the airplane?
When are we going on the airplane?
We are still in the airport!
We are still in the airport!

This flight had me seated around about a dozen children from age 6 months to 8 years.  The children reminded me of The Child back home.  It reminded me of her visits to Italy and Amsterdam, Paris and the UK.  She had her PSAT testing today.

The flight was uneventful, although as we were disembarking, one of the children behind me yelled out, “OW!  Daddy!  She bit me!”  I smiled.  The father of an only child doesn’t hear that one very often.

Arrived

I cleared customs, my luggage was off-loaded quickly, I rushed down to the train station and caught a train for Nyon.  I walked down the hill to my hotel where I was greeted by the desk.  They didn’t even need my credit card information to check in as I had been here many times before.  That was  nice touch.   As is the custom at the Hotel Real, the desk clerk called the elevator and held the door for me.

Other than a Flake bar at the airport, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  After a phone home, I went out to forage in this little city on the French side of Switzerland. I was surprised at how warm it was.  By 10pm it was still +16C and I was walking around comfortably in a v-neck.   I settled into a little italian restaurant and had an amazing dish of pasta with salmon.   A very reasonable portion was served as is the way here.

Can’t wait to see what Sunday brings.  Four more days and I can go home.

Day 8 – Travel to London

Travel day 8 started with at 4:30am wakeup call from home followed almost immediately by a hotel wakeup call and the alarm on my cell phone.  I showered and suited up for visits with important customers in London.  Only problem was, I was in Ireland.

I was in the lobby and checked out by 5:30am.   Although the kitchen wasn’t open, the lobby staff at The Old Ground Hotel opened the dining room for us.  It was already set up for breakfast with cereals and fruit.   The gentleman at the front desk served us all coffee and tea.

I was relieved when the hired bus arrived a few minutes before 6 to take us to the airport.   One person in my party BBM’ed me that she was taking a later bus as she was flying back to the States.  As we were pulling out of the Old Ground I realized that I had, inadvertently cancelled her pickup the day before and had been planning for her to travel with us.  I guess I should have told her.   The driver agreed to circle back for her after he dropped us off.

During dinner the previous evening, I mentioned that there were three things I always try to avoid when travelling to Europe.  Most Important was Aer Lingus.  Next was flying through Heathrow Airport and the third was the plague.   Today I would be travelling to Heathrow on Aer Lingus.

The flight to London was unremarkable.   I was a bit nervous about going through custom on business rather than pleasure.  Normally, when I stop in London, it’s to see my family there and it’s usually just for a day or two.   As such, there are MANY Heathrow stamps on my passport.  I was worried that if I declared I was there on business, my previous entries would be questioned.  Luckily, entering through Ireland, we did not have to clear customs.  I should have remembered that.

Five of us met up with the Northern European marketing manager and jumped the Paddington Express into London.  After a very civilized train ride and we arrived in Paddington Station about 45 minutes ahead of schedule.  My party identified a Starbucks on the second level and a coffee stop was made.

Paddington Station

From there we hopped in two sets of cabs to the customer account.  The local marketing manager realized at the last-minute that she didn’t have cash, so I sent with them 20 Great British Pounds that I picked up in Newark.  The two Americans in the cab kept saying, “They take credit cards”, not wanting to argue, I said with as little patronization as I could muster, “just in case”.   When we arrived at the customer site, they gave me my change and my receipt.

Buckingham Palace. Scenes from the back of a Cab – Part 1

Our cab ride was a tourist’s wet dream. We travelled from Paddington Station past Hyde Park, made a left at Buckingham Palace and passed a parade of mounted guards. All in a days work. I remembered that there was a half marathon through the parks that I wanted to run earlier in the year. If only this trip had happened a few weeks earlier.

Scenes from the back of a Cab – Part 2

We met with the first customer for about 90 minutes.   Our meeting room had a view of London’s Eye and Big Ben.  I excused myself for taking a tourist moment.

After the first meeting we cabbed our way back to Paddington and then expressed ourselves back to Terminal 1 (second visit of the day).  The local marketing manager has been storing our bags in the boot of her car.  She had room for one of us in her car and the rest of us followed her in a cab to our Holiday Inn on the M4 motorway.  After checking to hotel #3 of this journey, we piled into the car for our second customer visit of the day.

Not a bad office view. Big Ben and the Eye

For this trip, I was planning on staying at a Marriott near our second customer visit near Kensington Palace.  From there I was planning on a nice relaxing breakfast at the Orangerie.  Unfortunately, our second appointment cancelled in the last days and was replaced by another account near the airport.  This necessitates changing to a Holiday Inn near the airport. When I was a child, my Aunt Ena used to live around the Heathrow airport.  I remember seeing the hotels right next to the motorway and I thought that those hotels would to be horrible to stay in with all the air and motor traffic coming and going.  It was, to say the least, inconvenient.

As we walked into the hospital the rain started to pour.  There was a man with one leg in the courtyard smoking weed. The smell was unmistakable.  I of course, thought he was a cancer patient.

Maybe this goes back to my teen-age years but there is something sad about seeing patients in a hospital on a Friday afternoon.   It means that in all likelihood, they are staying the weekend.  Weekends suck in a hospital as I recall.

After our visit to the second customer we went back to Heathrow Terminal 1 (third visit of the day) to drop my boss off so he could catch the Express back into London.  Three of us were then dropped back at the hotel and the marketing manager started her three-hour drive home in the rain on a Friday afternoon.  The work week was officially over.

The three of us who were left met at 5pm and hopped a bus to Terminal 1 (fourth visit of the day) in order to take the tube into Leicester Square.  It was a long train ride to say the least.  We hadn’t eaten much all day and that made the train ride seem so very much longer.

As we exited the tube, the rain started falling.  My colleagues dashed into a souvenir store and I stood outisde trying to reach home. The energy of the square was amazing.  I was most surprised by how young everyone looked.  As the rain got heavier, huge drops landed on my umbrella and the words of an old Simon and Garfunkel’s Kathy’s Song came into my head:

I hear the drizzle of the rain
like a memory it falls. 
Soft and warm, continuing.
Tapping on my roof and walls.
From the shelter of my mind
through the window of my eyes
I gazed beyond the rain drenched streets to England where my heart lies.

This song, these words take me back to 1982 and my 1965 mustang parked in front of my high school. My cell phone rang and brought  me back to the present as the guitar solo continued to play in my mind.

My colleague exited the shops with very cheap umbrellas just in time for the rain to stop.  I walked behind them talking to California while simultaneous trying to engage in a conversation in London about what to have for dinner.  Eventually, Laura was charged with finding us a place to eat for dinner. She scored us a great Italian place.

The Appetizer

After dinner we walked to Trafalgar, through Soho and then caught a train to Marble Arch with the intention of walking to Buckingham Palace.  About 11:30, we abandoned the late-night walk when we came across a tube station that would take us back to Terminal 1 without changing trains.  This worked for us so we took it.   We arrived back in Terminal 1 (fifth time) after midnight.  The place was pretty much deserted.  A quick cab ride back to the hotel and the three of us parted ways for the day.

I went back to my room and repacked my bag for my 3pm flight.  By the time I turned the lights out, it was about 2am.  I put in a wake up call at the front desk and set my alarm.  Next thing I knew it was 10am.  But that’s a story for another day.

Days 4 Through 7 – Jetlag, Fog and work

I really did want to write every day during this trip. Unfortunately, once the work weeks started, time and sleep became dear.

Monday was easy. Up at 6, dressed and walk across the street through the fog for weekday mass by 7:45am. The first wave of us left for the office at a the civilized hour of 8:20am and meeting number 1 went from 10am to 2pm with a brief break for lunch at the canteen. Another car picked us up at 3:30pm and we were back at the hotel for 4pm. It was in my opinion a proper way to cope with the jet lag . We had a wonderful dinner with the people from meeting number 2. Then bed.

Sunrise through the fog on Monday

Each day became a little more busy and the morning pickups gradually moved to 7am and the evening drop offs moved out to 5:30.   Wednesday, I added second meetings from 2pm to 5pm. I never got to church after Monday and despite best intentions, I never got to bed before 11.

There were a lot of scenes from the back of a car this week. Luckily the trip from Ennis to work isn’t too long and it is very scenic.

On the road from Tullah to Ennis

Monday night I took a bit of time to stroll over to Paddy Quinn’s Public House.  I came in here my first trip to visit in 2010 and it immediately became my favorite place in Ennis.  It’s a little pub off a side street that one might not give another look at.  I walked in on Monday and was greeted by the owner who recognized me from quick stop over in April. I was disappointed to see that Joe wasn’t there.   Joe is the Norm of this particular establishment.  He’s in his mid-sixtys, very Irish and hilarious.

Downtown Ennis at 8pm

Tuesday night, Joe was there.  We had the pub pretty much to ourselves and were laughing all the while.  A young American couple wandered in after a bit.  It was their last night Ireland and technically, their honeymoon was over.  They were so incredibly young.   They had met at the University of Buffalo when she was a freshman and he was a senior.  Luckily, he went back to get an advanced degree the next year.  After knowing each other for 5 years, they tied the knot.  They delayed their honeymoon for about 3 months, because many of their friends were getting married at the same time.   I remember those times, when we had to adjust our wedding date because another couple also booked the date. These two were so sweet and so very young.   We stood at the bar and chatted for about a half hour until I HAD to go at 9pm.

A multi-national contingent

Wednesday, I brought a party of eight with me.  We had just had dinner and decided to have dessert at the pub.  We sampled the Red Breast Whiskey and the beverages on tap. This party went a little bit late.   We had representatives from the US, Germany, Norway, Ireland and Italy at this party.  The conversation was fun and the laughs flowed like the rain we’ve seen every day.  Speaking of rain, does anyone know why when it rains in Ireland, the internet goes down.

Today was a 7am ride to the factory, two meetings and then I escaped early at 4:30 to get back to the Old Ground in order to pack.   Then I went downstairs for a contract discussion over tea and scones.   That’s what one does at the Old Ground, one sits in the comfy chairs in front of the fireplace and works.   From there, we went out for a work dinner which for me included the most wonderful Irish stew and Guinness

The Sitting Areas in the Old Ground Hotel

From there, I sent an email reminding my group of 7 that we have a bus arriving at 6am to take us to the airport for our 7:30am flight.   That was my last official work-related activity of the day.

Now I am back in Patty Quinn’s, where the owner calls me by name and wouldn’t take my money for my Smithwick’s.    This place rocks.  I need a little time alone and this place offers me a that quiet time.   People drain me.

Tomorrow a small sub-group fly to London for a few customer visits.  I had picked a really nice Marriott near Kensington palace.  Unfortunately, life changed my plans  and now we are staying at a Holiday Inn near the airport.  That sucks.

Leaving here now, I might get at least 5 hours of sleep.

Yankees have not won a game since I left the country.  Just sayin’

Prompt for 11-Dec: Anticipation

Reblogged from Bound to Cover Just a Little More Ground:

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Today's prompt is courtesy of Carolyn Rubenstein.

Prompt 11 is here! DAY 11: Anticipation. What is the one thing that you are most looking forward to in 2012?

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.  ~Henry David Thoreau.

The biggest thing I am looking forward to in 2012 is the weekend of the…

Read more… 491 more words

It's almost here. Some thoughts from last December on a long awaited event.

The Stow Away Child

I am sitting in our rented lodge in the woods.  The Child watch a movie on her MacBook.  Last time the three of us were in this neck of the woods together, was 1996.  The Child was but a few cells long and stowed away secretly inside her mother.

Now she’s 15 and so wonderful.  The years go by so quickly people.

‘Til Defect,Consequence or Age Assert a Claim

“Slaves to our body and mind are we.
Foolishly, thinking we have our own charge,
we are but on loan
’til defect, consequence, or age assert  their claim”

Claims of defect: Her mind did not belong in the wheelchair that Parkinson’s had put her in.  She was still sharp as a whip. 

Claims of consequence: The beautiful and sweet wife who died from abusing diet pills.   The beautiful girl who died because she didn’t put her seatbelt on.  Those are who know that there will be blood in the toilet yet refuse to see a doctor.

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We are all at various places in our lives financially, but our only true assets, our bodies and minds are not ours forever.  In some cases, the short or long-term choices that we’ve made about how to treat our assets can come back to haunt us.  In some cases it’s our genes that take us out.  But one way or another if the first two don’t get you, age will.