Oh Fenstersims, Oh Fenstersims

Since I don't have a Christmas tree to stand around and sing O, Tannenbaum to this year I will just have to sing O, Christmas Fenstersims, O Christmas Fenstersims. That's the German word for ledge and that's what I'm going with. It doesn't have quite the same ring to it but we're doing non-traditional at my house.

Were it not for company that arrived on Saturday for a week long stay I don't think I would have bothered with decorating this year. It's not that I am being bah humbug about it but we are only in town for two and a half weeks before we head back to Kansas for the family celebrations. No packages will be finding their way under a tree here as online ordered gifts are already being shipped to my sister's doorstep in my hometown. So what to do for decorations?

My decision was made when a very helpful street vendor of beautiful Christmas trees was willing to dig through her bag of trimmed branches to provide me enough to decorate the ledge by my dining room table. This was a thrifty twenty dollar decision since my alternative was to hit the flower shops for garland and I won't even venture to guess what that would have run me here they city. Bless her heart she was more stringent in branch selection than I was. Is this full enough? she would ask or would you like some of the errant sprigs trimmed off? She gently laid them in a trash bag and off we went, glad not to be dragging a 5' tree down the street. 

At home I rummaged in yet another trash bag full of last years decorations and managed to cobble together a display that looks wonderful at night but will likely look like a hot mess during the day. It takes a certain knack to hide miles of lights in tree branches. Thank goodness we will be out most days this next week and it gets dark at 4:30pm.

Christmas themed pillows and a small table poinsettia rounded out the decorations. Now, everyone join me in a rousing chorus of O Christmas Ledge, O Christmas Ledge.

Airplane Mode

Flying has been a big part of our lives since we moved to NYC. Flying to different destinations to see family and friends, going on a couple of vacations, and attending weddings have taken us out of the city more than I had anticipated. By my estimation we have spent approximately one week out of the city for every month we have lived here. So figure at least twenty four flights over the last two years.  I pretty much knew the flying had taken a toll when I was looking out my window for The Arch of St. Louis while taking off from Kansas City this week. Oops.

 Our flights to Kansas for Thanksgiving were the first we've flown since the FAA approved the use of electronic devices during takeoff and landing  - as long as they are in airplane mode. No more grabbing for newspapers or magazines while waiting for the magical 10,000 feet "you can now use your devices" blessing. Fire those e-books up and read your way from gate to gate! And there is just something about those two segments of a flight that beg for musical accompaniment. Taking off to a soft piano/guitar serenade and landing with Frank Sinatra belting "New York, New York" seems fitting.

What I am not ready for and will never be ready for is approval of cell phone calls during flights. I was already ensconced in my window seat with my husband in his aisle seat when much to our dismay we acquired a middle seat partner. She put a carry-on in the overhead bin, maneuvered into her seat, stuffed additional bags around her feet, gyrated around until she could find her seat belts, all while carrying on a business conversation. Had she had approval to make calls during the flight I have no doubt in my mind that by the time we landed I would have known her clients names, who was/or wasn't performing their jobs, what their goals were, and a checklist of how they were going to get things done. Thanks but no thanks, FAA.

I figure people can sleep, sit quietly, read books, listen to music, use wi-fi to text or write e-mails, or converse (softly!) with their seat partners. I don't want to hear anyone making hair appointments, describe ailments to their doctors, get tax advice, try to recruit the next hot athlete, or gossip about their neighbors.

I figure if our electronic devices can have an airplane mode then so can people.

The Magic Toy Store

Walking down 91st Street I sometimes think I will see Meg Ryan reprising her role of shopgirl Kathleen Kelly in the movie "You've Got Mail".  She played the perky, smiling owner of a quaint independent book store located on a side street in NYC.  Customers at her shop received individualized care and it was a quiet place to pass a few hours purveying the shelves for that gem of a book that makes you crave a rainy afternoon. That's the feeling I get what I call The Magic Toy Store.

How could a person not be drawn to a storefront that is painted purple amongst all of its drab brownstone neighbors? The storefront lights twinkle and the window display cases are packed with games and dolls and push poppers, all in the brightest colors imaginable. Inside the shelves are stocked with trucks and sparkly tutus and easy bake ovens and dinosaurs and, well yes, everything a small tot's or tottie's heart might desire.

As grandma to The Wee One this store has provided for many entertaining visits to choose just the right item to add to his toy basket. His Jack in the Box and Easter chick and Halloween bath toy and whirly gig were all purchased after much musing and touching and testing. The clerk at the store is always quick to ask what age of child I am purchasing for and make recommendation based on past purchases. The icing on the cake is an almost mandatory gift wrap of the toy with tissue, ribbon, and if you want, a balloon. Even though The Wee One will no longer be upstairs I have a feeling my need for toy gifts will not abate. And I know where I will be going to get them.

The Magic Toy Store.

Catching Up. Always.

Remnants of a fun vacation

I am the Fits and Starts of all bloggers. I seem to be always catching up. There must be something to be said for the seeming inactivity of my life when I can blog once every thirty days and call it good. So here goes......

Vacation

Right after I did NOT leave my heart in Paris I proceeded to leave what seemed like most of my disposable income all over the rest of Europe. Giverny, London, Belgium, and Germany. Not that I purchased anything exciting. Most of our expenses were lodging and fuel and tours. The sand from the beaches of Normandy was free, the surreal walk down the staircase of Downton Abbey cost a few pounds, and the ride through the Chunnel was exorbitantly expensive because I didn't purchase the tickets at least twenty four hours in advance. (Lesson learned.) I did purchase Starbucks mugs in Germany and Amsterdam and I've found that starting my day with windmills inspires me in a Don Quixote kind of way.

                                Birthday

I am a Leo so this is my birthday month. Cake and ice cream don't hold quite the allure as they once did but I have to say this years cake, well, took the cake.

Cronuts (TM) are all the rage here in NYC. For the uninitiated this concoction, a baked good that combines a croissant and a donut, was developed by a bakery in Soho and is selling like, um, hotcakes. People are waiting in line for HOURS before the bakery opens just to get their shot at the maximum daily limit of two Cronuts (TM) each. Once the goods are gone for the day, usually no later than 10AM and sometimes by 8am, you are out of luck. Not being the morning person that I am it's safe to say I have never tasted a Cronut (TM). However, I did celebrate my birthday with a Dossaint, an equally tasty combination of a donut and croissant. Designed (or should I say constructed?) and named by the family of The Wee One that lives upstairs it served as my birthday cake. Never have I been so happy to turn 0.

                          Moving
Speaking of The Wee One. He and his toy basket that resides in my apartment are moving to Florida on Friday. Beaches as opposed to concrete playgrounds, boats as opposed to the buses he is thrilled to point out on every walk around the city, and car rides instead of stroller/subway/taxi rides are in his near future. It will be a happy place for him with cousins and another set of grandparents nearby. He won't have to share a bathroom with his parents anymore (which they are probably much more thrilled about than he is), he will have three spacious floors of a condominium to explore as opposed to two small rooms in an apartment, and he will get to go up and down stairs instead of elevators.

I am happy for him and his little family, I really am. But I know I am going to miss his visits in the evening after bath time and that fragrance of lavender baby lotion. Grandpa is going to miss lap time in front of the computer for endless loops of Wheels on the Bus. We are both going to miss those daily hugs and kisses.

But who knows? We have a year left on our NYC lease and then I may have to rename this blog Midwest to Midtown to Miami. We shall see.

Leaving Paris With My Heart

Posted from Paris

                                   

(Considering my last post was about toilets you have to figure this post will be better.)

My impressions of Paris are mixed. I want to love it. My heart says this is a beautiful city and I feel I am being courted to fall in love with it. My head wants to know what the attraction is and encourages me to move on.

The iconic landmarks are intact but graffiti is over everything else. The quaint bicycle riders are everywhere but so are the insanely prolific and crazy motorcycle riders. And I do mean CRAZY. They weave in and out of traffic in such close proximity to your vehicle that I am surprised we don't end up with some riders in our car with us. (And this topic makes me sad because I think of a certain Princess that should be holding her first grand son in her arms at this very moment were it not for crazy Parisian  motorcyclists.) The median age where we have been seems to be 20 to 30'ish, unless we are touring. Then it rises to 50 to 60'ish. Cigarette smoking is very prevalent and, maybe it's my imagination, people don't smile a lot. 

And then there's the heat, possibly the reason why there are few smiles. Air conditioning in buildings hundreds of years old? No. Thank goodness our hotel is not one of them. Now if someone, maybe those efficient Germans, can figure out how to air condition the outdoors it will make touring more of a delight. As it was I'm not sure how much about Louis the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth I remember while touring Versailles today. I tried to move through the palace as quickly as I could so no one could trace the puddles of sweat to me. How in the world did Marie Antoinette stand around in corsets and bloomers on these hot summer days? 

So while I think as a young rebellious person I would have yearned to indulge in a Parisian lifestyle.......oh heck, who am I kidding? I was NEVER a young rebellious person and had I been introduced to Paris in my early years I wouldn't have known what to do with her. 

Tomorrow I leave Paris with my heart intact.

    

There's Flush And Then There's FLUSH!

   

                                       

I am not even remotely tempted to post a picture of my water closet at home, but here? Yes. Not to be impolite but these Germans have the toilet process figured out.

Mr. Y is still getting used to driving a manual gear shift in our rental car. Almost all cars here have manual gears because how are you going to zip around the Autobahn in an automatic? Now I've discovered there are two gears on our toilet, or toilette. There is the "Seriously, why are you bothering to flush?" gear, and SERIOUSLY, you need to flush!" gear. No automatic, sensored hurricane behind you as with airport toilets. At first I thought this was just a nifty feature of our Air Force Base accommodations, military efficiency and all that, but that is not the case. This flushing feature has been at every public restroom I've been in and there have been several. (What about traveling dehydrates a person SO much that they have to drink liters and liters of water every day!?) Pushing the small circle generates a moderate amount of flushing water, pushing the big circle gives you flushing on steroids. It's a great system. 

The other bathroom perk is attendants in most of the public restrooms. You walk into the restroom, hand the attendant a small coin, and you are guaranteed to be "taking care of business" in an immaculate, sterile, and aromatically freshened stall. This is because as soon as you emerge she is right back in there spritzing and fussing and getting ready for the next guest. I can tell you that some of our restrooms at Grand Central could use some of their attention.

So, that's my ode to German technology and courtesy at it's finest. 

Flush on!

Thank Goodness

Posted from Spangdahlem Air Force Base, near Trier, Germany

Thank goodness we have a serviceman in the family. We get to wake up to "Reveille" every morning at our base accommodations and we listen to "Taps" each night. 

Thank goodness European countries require their school children to be proficient in two, and sometimes three, foreign languages. One of them is English. 

Thank goodness for fun family members to travel with. The fact that the BBIL was convinced that Damen (women) in German means Mensroom is a story for another time. 

Thank goodness for "Inga" our GPS. She is directing us around the Germany without too much "Recalculating". Today she told us of a real time 'stagnation' on the highway and provided a beautiful detour. She's a keeper.

Thank goodness for good ol' Pizza Hut Express when you get back to the base late and everything else is closed down.

Thank goodness German people have a good sense of humor. The buildings are so close to the streets and the streets so narrow that it's hard to tell the them from sidewalks. And I do believe we drove down a sidewalk to find a breakfast place to eat this morning. (Inga?) As we emerged we had several tables of locals smiling and shaking their heads. 

Thank goodness we have speed limits in the USA. Driving on the Autobahn with cars zipping by at over 100 MPH is a wee bit nerveracking.

Thank goodness cigarette vending machines are a thing of the past back home. They are quite commonplace here.

Thank goodness a fondness for flowers is universal. Here I feel like I've died and gone to "Flower Heaven". Window boxes are growing on me (no pun intended).

Thank goodness taking vacation pictures and sharing them quickly has taken the place of sitting in someone's darkened living room for a slide show on "How I Spent My Summer Vacation".

                               

                                       Looking out at vineyards on the Moselle River

Ready To Meet The Queen

I am prepared to meet The Queen. Granted, she may be busy cooing at her new great grandbaby by the time I get there but nevertheless, I'm ready to be presented. I don't have a ball gown or 6 inch stilettos, and my hair needs to be jazzed up BUT my manicure and pedicure are sparkly and fresh.

One of the nice things about living in the city is the plethora of nail salons. These aren't 5th Avenue salons but when I can perk up all twenty digits at a shop in the neighborhood for less than $25 I think I can at least go that distance to look presentable. 

I'm headed to the airport in less than an hour. My iPad has turned out to be a less than optimum way to post but I'll give it my best shot while out of the country. The last thing I need is a thousand dollar data bill waiting when I get home. 

In the meantime I will be figuring out how to curtsy with my best foot forward.

DEJA VU

The conversation was beginning to sound all too familiar.

Me: Are you taking your hair dryer?
K: Well, I thought I would

K: Should we be checking into calling plans for our phones?
Me: Definitely, but we will be using WiFi in most places.

K: You know pickpocketing is rampant over there?
Me: So I've heard, especially around The Louvre. But what are you going to do? Not go?

Seems like yesterday I was having similar trip planning conversations with my Alaskan friend, now it's my sister.

For whatever reason, and believe me I would like to go back and examine the process, Mr.Y. and I planned back to back trips this summer. The European trip we leave for on Saturday will include my younger sister, K, and my Best (and only) Brother In Law or BBIL. It was to have taken place last year as a celebration for a couple of our party turning 50. Those two will be 51 by the time the trip is over and a third one of our party has turned 50 in the meantime. Woo hoo for the Century Birthdays! (I am carefully avoiding the premature celebration of entering my next decade next year. No reason to muddy the waters with too much celebrating.)

Me: Did you print off all your hotel confirmations?
K: Yep, done.

K:  We are going to want to sleep on this flight because we arrive in Luxembourg at 10:00am and we won't want to go to bed and waste a day.
Me: Well, considering I will have had a ten hour time zone swing in the last week I figure it's a sure bet I won't have a problem with that. Then again........
K: I'm bringing something to help me sleep.
Me: Probably a good idea.

We each had a specific request when planning this trip:
Germany (Mr. Y: I want to take my Air Force son stationed there on a tour of the places I haunted when stationed there. )
France (Me: Can we hit Monet's Garden?)
Normandy, France (BBIL - If I could go to any one place I'd like it to be the Beaches of Normandy.)
England (K: I just want to see castles. Any chance we can go to Downton Abby?)

So, the planning is done, the hotel reservations are made, the car is reserved, and the clothes are starting to be pulled out of the closet in preparation for packing. Again.

K: What's the temperature over there?
Me: Hopefully anything cooler than here.

Yes, this all seems very familiar.

Alaska Wine

"Did you know that Alaska has a wine?" our tour guide in Denali National Park asked a couple of weeks ago.

I had opened the bus window just a crack to enjoy the cool, fresh mountain air and began wondering what type of wine Alaska would produce. A hint of blueberry and pine with notes of salmon? 

"Yes," he continued, "the Alaska wine starts around November and sounds something like this," and he proceeded using the voice of a tired cranky five year old.

"It's cold here. When can we go to Arizona?"

"I'm tired of the snow. Is Hawaii in our budget this winter?"

"When is it going to start warming up?"

Ah, yes, the Alaskan w-h-i-n-e.

I know the feeling. Only now that we are back in NYC my "wine" sounds more like this, 

"It's HOT here. Can we go back to Alaska?"

"Do I HAVE to walk to the grocery store? It's too hot."

"Is it fall yet?"

I think I'll just grab a good Pino Noir and sit this week out in front of the air conditioner.

                        

Packing

Packing at the end of a vacation is always a mixed bag. No pun intended. In a way you are happy to be returning home but in another way, especially if you have enjoyed a home exchange like this, you are sad to be giving up some amenities. Like an outdoor grill, flower pots outside the window, a BIG washer and dryer instead of a stackable unit, and a view from the dining room window that a mother moose and her twins scampered by while we were eating dinner the other night. These are things I will not have in NYC. But then again I am taking a few new things home with me.

I always, always pack too much when I am going away. I return home with clothes not worn and bath "essentials" not used. Really? I had to pack that specific bath gel and THAT many moisturizers? Not hardly. And I always say I am going to leave room for items I know I'll purchase while away and will want to stuff in unused corners. So as I pack today I am having to add room for the following items:

                          

*An Alaska Starbucks mug. I've used it every day since I purchased it in Wasilla (nope, could not see Russia from there) and it makes a great addition to my collection.

* Four pair of socks because, of course, I forgot to pack any when I left NYC. It wasn't as if we were going HIKING or anything. But in my defense, it was very warm when we left the city and who wants to think of cool weather items when it's hot?

*An Alaska ice cream scoop because we love our ice cream and did you know that Alaskans consume more ice cream per capita than any other state? Go figure. As explained to us by one of the ice cream store clerks at a nearby store touting a sign that says they have "The Best Ice Cream in the World", you can go outside in Alaska on most any given day and your "ice cream does not melt" ! Okay then.

*I purchased a used copy of James Michener's Alaska when I arrived and I lived, breathed, slept, and ate with this book the entire time I was here. I could not have read it anywhere else. I loved it.

*Socks for The Wee One. What little guy can resist socks with trains on them? He'll probably never wear them because by the time we have sock weather again he will have outgrown them. But that's not the point.

*My most pathetic purchase. Replacement scrubbers for my dishwand. If there is any store in NYC that carries these things I have not found it. Plus I have way too much fun looking for these in any store that has aisles as wide some streets I've been on. Which happened to be the case at the Target over in - you guessed it! - Wasilla.

Back to packing. Let me see. Maybe I need to wear two sweaters on the plane because I'm not sure I'm going to get these in.................

Advantages Of More Daylight Hours

                          

Last night we drove to Anchorage for dinner. It just so happened a buddy from Mr. Y's Air Force days lives just outside Anchorage and they wanted the opportunity to reminisce about the good ol' days. It was a lovely meal with memories of being in the service as 18 year old boys rehashed from their now adult perspectives. We said our goodbyes around 9pm and I decided I wanted to pack in one more stop. The Alaska Botanical Gardens. 

I looked up their website and discovered that during the summer they are open "During Daylight Hours".  Knowing that it was still light outside after midnight I decided to take them at their word and headed that direction. 

We arrived to an empty parking lot. No gardeners were about. Everything was still. It appeared a gate had been drawn across the entrance to the gardens themselves but upon closer inspection there was a large metal door to the right of the gate that was unlocked. Into the gardens we went. The website stated there was an admission charge and sure enough there was a self pay pedestal just inside the gate for those late daylight hours when no one is around to sell tickets. What a wonderful idea not to restrict visitors to a typical schedule of open hours when the location has the unique capability of sharing the garden for so many daylight hours outside of that. 

A botanical garden is a peaceful, quiet place to begin with but when you realize you are may be the only ones in the entire gardens it becomes the most relaxing place in the world. A leisurely stroll through the perennial garden showed me peonies just beginning to bloom and bleeding hearts still on their stems. We spent about thirty minutes wandering along what appeared to be newly paved paths enjoying an herb garden (What BIG nasturtiums you grow here!) and native Alaska plantings. We only encountered three other people in the gardens, tucked away in Perennial Garden II taking the opportunity to snap family pictures in a lovely setting with soft evening daylight.

Unfortunately monster mosquitos were also enjoying a garden visit and began feasting on our arms and face or we might have extended our stay. As it was we still had an hours drive to get home and eventually it was going to get dark. But what a nice way to spend our extended daylight hours.

Every garden seems to come with a different set of challenges.

                                                 

The Great One

                                  

When we knew we would be spending two weeks in Alaska we immediately made plans to travel to Denali National Park. For three days we would look in awe at the highest peak in North America and be in awe. Denali - or Mt. McKinley, as two senators in Ohio continue to insist is it's official name - rises 20,300 feet into the air so it would be hard to miss. The Great One. The mountain that rises above all others and has claimed the lives of many a climber. This would be a sight to remember. Or so we thought.

Early last Wednesday we stood at the rail depot in Wasilla (yes, THAT Wasilla) anticipating a train ride that would give us views of exotic wilderness wildlife and snow capped mountain peaks. Spending the extra bucks to ride in the glass roofed rail cars would give us a big advantage over those on the bottom levels who would see only the lower branches of trees and a glimpse of the ground squirrels so common in these regions. We would be seeing moose, and bears, and caribou from our level. Or so we thought.

Onto the train we went. Good seats. Smiling attendants. Refreshments and a dining car with lots of options at our disposal. Heavy cloud cover was overhead and there was a chance of rain in the forecast.......wait. What? Clouds? Rain? No view of mountains? No view of THE mountain on this train ride? Well, thank goodness we will be in the park for three days, and have an all day tour into the park scheduled so that tomorrow we will see The Great One. Or so we thought.

Thursday brought more clouds. A twelve hour bus ride into and back out of the park with our binoculars gave us views of Grizzly bears, moose, caribou and mountain goats but no clear view of the mountain. Our guide for the day is now telling us if we manage to see The Great One we will be very lucky. Only one to two percent of visitors to Denali manage a good view of the mountain as it is only out twenty percent of the time. Seems The Great One likes to create it's own weather at the top and good pictures are elusive. Disappointed not to be part of "the view" lottery winners we figure we have the bus ride back to Wasilla to catch a glimpse of the peak. Or so we thought.

Friday's trip home we craned our necks to look back and wait for the clouds to break. The bus even stopped at a viewing area so we could unload and stand from afar to see the mountain range with The Great One towering over the smaller peaks but it was just not to be. Even though the sun was shining where we stood the mountain peaks looked like they were enshrouded with enough clouds to produce snow. Sadly this was our last chance. We lost out. The Great One eluded us. The closest we were going to get was a picture of the mountain on a cloth bag as painted by nearby elementary school children for a fund raiser. Or so we thought.

Yesterday, the day before we knew we would be packing for the plane ride back to NYC, we decided to hike near our temporary Alaska home. We drove up to a place called Hatcher Pass and stepped out of the car to walk up a small bluff to see what we could see. On the horizon appeared a range of mountains. 

                                 

Oh my gosh! There it is! There is a view of The Great One we were missing. Which one is it? The one on the far left? Must be. It's the tallest. Or so we thought. 

A chance encounter on our hiking trail with a young lady who lives in Wasilla told us that we were not looking at The Great One. You are looking at The Alaskan Mountain Range she told us. You can't see The Great One from here but you MIGHT catch a glimpse of it if you go thirty miles to the west to a place called Willow she told us. You mean the same Willow we passed through on our way back from Denali Park the other day? Yes, that Willow. So off to Willow we went.

 

And there it was.

Count us among the lucky ones. From over one hundred miles away we could see the grand peak on a beautiful, clear sunny day.

 

 The Great One. 

Yellow Tags

 

                                      

                                    

There are only Alaskan's here in Alaska. 

I have come to that conclusion after looking at all the license plates in the parking lots, on the highways, and curbside for the past week. The bright yellow Alaska license plate is everywhere but there is nary a Florida, Nebraska, or Vermont tag to be found. Granted, Vermont tags are rarely seen anywhere anyway either because it's that small of a state or it's residents don't venture far from home. But that's beside the point. My point is that really, truly the only tags you see here in Alaska are Alaska tags.

I've spent many a highway road trip where passing the time meant seeing who could identify, call out, and take credit for a state's license plate we had not yet come across. Hey! There's a Florida tag! Do we have that one yet? No? Tally one for me then. 

Of course, that was back when a state only had ONE tag. You could spot that peach on a Georgia tag from two miles back, or the brightly colored New Mexico tag, or the green Colorado tag that had, of course, mountains on it. Then states started issuing multiple tags. What the heck? Now we have to tally the five different California tags out there? The Hawaiian tag with the rainbow on it was a real find and oddly enough Alaska tags were very hard to come by. Now I know why.

Everyone who lives in Alaska stays in Alaska. Their tags are all here. I kid you not. I talked to a group of tourists at a glacier the other day who said they were from Houston. They SOUNDED like they were from Houston, they even looked like they were from Houston - tall, friendly, big smiles. But when I went to the parking lot was there a Texas license plate on any of the vehicles? There was not. Only Alaska tags.

Okay, so now I know the rental car companies are making a killing. Who in their right mind DRIVES to Alaska? Apparently not even people from Washington or Oregon because I have yet to find one of their tags around these parts either. So they are flying in or cruising in and their first stop is to rent a car with an Alaskan tag. Or possibly visitors are lucky enough to have gracious hosts who loan you cars with Alaska plates on them like we are. 

And maybe that's what I like about all those yellow plates. While we're in Alaska we're not from North Dakota, Mississippi, or Kansas, or New York.

While we are in Alaska we are Alaskan. My yellow tag says so. 

Peaceful Place

   

                                       

 (Inhale deeply. Hold. Slowly release.)

Look at all this freshly mowed green grass.

(Again. Inhale. Hold. Release.)

These geraniums are the prettiest color of red? pink? coral? I can't quite place it.

(Close your eyes. Focus on the quiet here.)

A perfect chair placed for the perfect view out of the second story window.

(Feel your pulse start to slow.)

Windows frame Nature throughout the entire house, including the shower.

(Pause, eyes still closed. Listen to the birds, the water cascading from the back of the still pond.)

This is what a place of Zen feels like.

(Open your eyes, drink in the hues of the all the flowers planted with thought and care around the perimeter of the yard. Go to the container under the stairs and pinch off a basil leaf. Bring it to your nose and enjoy the aroma.)

This is C's home. A place of peace. We are so lucky to call it home these two weeks in Alaska.

(Lay back in the deck chair. Close your eyes. Fall asleep.)

                                     

    

Walking On Ice

                                 

I am not a big fan of walking on ice.  I rank "Don't Have To Venture Out In Icy Weather" near the top of my Top Five Reasons I Love Retirement. It's right up there with "Don't Have To Set Alarms" and "Did I Mention I Don't Have To Set Alarms?".  So what would possess me to pay someone to LET me walk on ice?

Yesterday Mr Y. and I took a scenic drive to Matanuska Glacier. This glacier is twenty six miles long and four miles wide. We saw it from a distance coming up the highway and it is beautiful. For 10,000 years it has been moving through an existing valley. Very slowly. And that's how I chose to walk on it. Very slowly.

Much of the glacier area we walked over is covered with dirt and rock but there were areas where the ice was exposed and crossing it was the only way to get closer to the core area.  Trickles of water running down to larger melting streams were frequent and steel panels were laid over some of them for easier crossing. Others routes we were left to to figure out the best way to cross on our own. The fact that there were children navigating the ice and one young man wearing flip flops to higher elevations than I reached did not boost my confidence level one bit.

I enjoy being out in nature. I really do. But there are some parts of nature that I can watch documentaries on and be quite content. Swimming with sharks for instance or walking rope bridges from one edge of a canyon to another come to mind. While the glacier was very interesting and I ended up doing just fine I would have been just as happy to take pictures from an overlook and called it good. Ice is not my thing.

                                        

 

      

From Midtown to The Last Frontier

It is a looooooong way from Midtown to The Last Frontier. Despite shortening our layover in Seattle to accommodate an airline's snafu, we spent twelve travel hours from the time we shut our apartment door in NYC to opening the garage door at my friend C's home in Alaska. (Without our luggage, of course, because when you accommodate an airline they are obligated to lose your luggage. But it was recovered, delivered and we're moving on.)

Let me just say travel hours are like regular hours only it takes at least three regular hours to recover from one travel hour. I'm not sure why we thought traveling all night after being up all day was going to be a good idea. Adding a four hour difference in our time zones (seems Alaska has their OWN time zone) meant we were crawling into bed when we should have been getting up. Later that same day we were yawning and preparing for bed again shortly after dinner. And by shortly after dinner I mean 5:30pm. Weirdly enough that meant we were ready for breakfast at 1:30 in the morning. The good news is it is already light outside because it NEVER GETS DARK here and that means we don't have to fumble around for the lights so we can see to pour milk on those Cheerios.

A resident here told us you can garden at midnight because there is still THAT MUCH LIGHT. I immediately thought of Emily Dickinson who gardened only at night wearing all white. I think she would have been thrilled with this accommodation. Unfortunately I didn't think of packing my all white gardening outfit. But it IS strange, even after waking up in the single digit morning hours to bright city lights for the last year, to look out the window and see a natural dawn-light glow outside at 2AM.

We've been here for almost forty eight hours now and our time zone/lack of darkness fog is starting to lift. I figure if we wear ourselves out enough during the daytime light that the nighttime light isn't going to keep us awake. We've already discovered people grow ridiculously large vegetables here because of the long summer days and they don't have to do it on cramped balconies or rooftop gardens like in the city. We've explored a glacier that is twenty seven miles long, and I had trouble finding a bag of crushed ice in the city. We're driving a car which only make stops where we decide to stop instead of on a bus making stops every two blocks to pick up or let off passengers.

It's a long way from Midtown to The Last Frontier but definitely worth the trip. Just let me get a couple more hours of sleep.

11pm. It didn't get much darker than this before midnight.

                             

                                                                        

       

                                                                       

Who Needs Fireworks?

Homemade ice cream. Yummmmmm. I will date myself when I say no longer is it a hand crank away but now an electrical outlet away. The memories of my dad out on the back porch steps cranking the paddle of our old blue bucketed ice maker makes me think of hot Kansas summers. We would travel to a farm to pick up real cream for Mom's recipe and that vanilla ice cream would taste divine.

Last week I ordered an ice cream maker. I had managed to burn up the motors on two before leaving Kansas last year and didn't think I would need one in NY. Wrong. Despite the fact I figured I might have to sleep with the thing on my side of the bed since I have little to no storage room I decided it would be worth it. This time of year, coming up on the Fourth of July, a person MUST have homemade ice cream.

What I didn't anticipate was how difficult it would be to find rock salt. I looked in three different grocery stores and some specialty stores. No luck. Even looking for it under the disguise of Ice Cream Salt brought me no luck. Not a problem, I thought. Why does it HAVE to be rock salt, I thought. Why can't it be table salt, or kosher salt, or sea salt of any of the other exotic salts they sell now days? The first batch using kitchen salt and refrigerator ice cubes turned out too liquid-y. (Hey! I swear I read somewhere on the internet that this would be okay.) The second batch using kosher salt and bagged ice turned out VERY liquid-y and not even mixed up very well. Was I really going to have to order rock salt over the web?

Turns out we just needed to head to the hardware store. The basement of the hardware store to be exact. They had stored it away for bad weather - all twenty five pounds of it. Seems in New York the only thing they use rock salt for is to melt ice off sidewalks. NOT melt ice in ice makers. So bless Mr. Y's heart, he lugged the rock salt and two bags of crushed ice home so we could see if we now had the winning combination.

Turns out we did.  Who needs fireworks for the Fourth of July when you can have homemade ice cream?

Too Much Information?

                                          

Here's the deal. My high school friend, C., and her husband will be living in our apartment for two weeks starting Sunday. I want them to enjoy their stay. We are each typing up pages of information to leave at each others home to encourage hitting the ground running and making the most out of our exchange. My tips include "If you're going to take a taxi make SURE it is a YELLOW CAB". ( I won't even go into my sister's story of taking a "limo" from the airport with a driver who dubbed himself Mr. New York and how much THAT cost.) And "Buy fresh fruit from the bodega on the corner".

But when it comes to the apartment how much information is too much information? At this point I am doing everything I can to NOT put post-it-notes all over my kitchen. My thinking is it will save her from having to rummage through every drawer and cabinet to find a glass, a spoon, the coffee filters, or the tea towels. Is it better to let someone explore by themselves instead of giving them a head start with some type of culinary road map? Do they really need to open all the drawers? Peek in all the cabinets? Look under the sink? Ohhhhh, and what about the TV remote? Do I need a three page document to explain what happens if the cable box doesn't come on at the same time as the TV, or how to work the DVR, or how to find the replay button? What if she needs a hammer, or a light bulb blows out, or can't figure out how to turn on the shower?

Now that I've typed all of those questions I realize I live in a 725 sq foot apartment and in all likelihood it will take her a maximum of ten minutes to go through my ENTIRE apartment and orient herself. Much less time than it would take me to make up a bazzilion post-it-notes. She'll see the extra pillows are in the front closet with the umbrellas, the coffee filters are in the drawer under the coffee maker, and the spices are in plain sight by the stove. If she gets too hot she will know how to turn the dial on the air conditioning unit to deliver cooler air without me leaving detailed instructions. Even the washer/dryer is self explanatory. 

Speaking of too much information, in this day and age of being able to Google, Bing, and Yahoo everything (EVERY. THING.) I guess if she can't figure out the coffee maker, the toaster oven, or even those pesky remotes there is always the Internet. Oh yeah, the computer. Did I remember to tell her how to turn it on and access our WiFi?  

Maybe a post-it-note...............

Coordinating An Exchange

                                     

Me: Are you leaving your hair dryer?

C: Yes.

C: Do you want me to pick up any special shampoo?

Me: Not necessary

Me: Do I have your correct address?

C: That's it!

C: Do I need to bring a swimsuit?

Me: Thinking no.

For the past few days one of my best friends from high school and I have been exchanging e-mails in anticipation of a bigger exchange - our homes. She and her husband live in Alaska. We, of course, are in The City. This weekend we will each fly in opposite directions across the entire continent to spend two weeks sleeping in each others beds, visiting each others neighborhoods, and exploring completely different lifestyles.

Me: Do you have a pair of binoculars that you are leaving? We are leaving ours here.

C: Yes 

Though I believe the wildlife they will observe will be VERY different from the wildlife we will observe, not having to pack binoculars lightens the load. They will be packing hot weather clothing, we will grab the turtlenecks at the back of the closet. They will head for lights in Times Square, we will hope for a glimpse of Northern Lights. I want to hear birds chirping, she will hear saxophone music in Central Park. 

C: Do people dress up for the theater?

Me: Not really, it's tourist season you know. Anything goes.

This is going to be interesting.........and the coordination continues.

Being Bussed the NYC Way

Before I moved to NYC I had ridden on public transportation busses by myself, uh, never. No, that's not true. I took one in New Orleans. I remember it well because everyone looked at me as I boarded and recognized I clearly was not a daily bus commuter. Unsteadily walking down the aisle I quickly found a window seat so I would have a good view of the street signs and started consulting a paper map. I must have looked uncomfortable with my bussing skills because two little Southern ladies (i.e. gracious to the core) took pity on me and gave me recommendations on where I should disembark to tour one of their lovely cemeteries. Now I can bus with the best.

Typically people getting on and off the busses don't pay attention to one another other than to secure a seat, then many promptly bury their nose in the electronic device of their choice. Usually there are earbuds involved so there is no need to look at OR listen to fellow riders. Unlike the subway, no one plays instruments, sings, quotes poetry, or preaches in the aisle during the commute so people NOT on an electronic device are then free to look out the window, sleep (which I find amazing because I know I would end up in New Jersey if I did that), or daydream.

The surprise for me when taking ANY mode of transportation in NYC is how long it takes to arrive at my destination, but that's especially true about bus travel. When you are only progressing two blocks between each stop there are many times when hoofing it will get you there faster. And, bless their hearts, I'm amazed at the number of people with walkers, wheelchairs, and canes who are able to navigate the city with the assistance of the lifts on the busses. 

Being bussed around the city certainly beats the headache of dealing with car traffic, exorbitant parking rates, and hard to find parking spots plus I can daydream with the best of them.

One Elevator Ride Away

Becoming a grandparent is just that. Grand. Being a grandparent in the same building as your grandson is ah-mazing. When we know he is on his way down the elevator for a visit we peek out the door to see him toddle off the elevator and start down the long hallway. His steps are becoming more certain and sometimes he shows he can multitask by throwing in some claps. But always there are smiles and arms extended and he zeros in for a hug before coming in the door.

All that leisure time I didn't have to spend playing, laughing, and making goofy faces with my own child gets lavished on a grand baby times 10. No, more like 100. Everything they say is true, you spend time with them, spoil them, wear them (and yourself) out and then send them home with parents who are young enough to endure the grind of late nights, mood swings, and cutting teeth. 

During my husband's and my time in NYC we have been delighted to be hands-on grandparents to The Wee One. (And no, even though parents are choosing the most outrageous names these days - I'm talking to you Kanye West (North) and Jay-Z (Blue Ivy) and even you Gwyneth (Apple) - that is NOT his actual name.) We even have a designated pick-up day from day care. Every Thursday. On Thursdays we get to see his face light up when he realizes we are there to liberate him from the regime of gym, playtime, arts, and snacks for an evening of silliness, eating frozen grapes with Grandma, and sitting on Grandpa's lap in front of the computer for some Wheels On The Bus and Elmo Slide action.

Living so close to The Wee One we have had ring side seats to the Firsts:  giggles, rolling over, sitting up, crawling, and steps.  We know he loves music, swimming, plunging his hands into glasses of ice, bath time, and being chased. And lights. He LOVES lights, Overhead lights, Digital light updates on the subway, Traffic lights, especially the WALK light. We have already told him he will be thrilled with his first trip to Las Vegas, or Times Square.  

The one aspect of grandparenting I failed to anticipate is the physical challenge of keeping up with the Wee One. Thank goodness we arrived when he was only three months old. That way his slowly increasing weight gains were barely noticeable until one day I realized I was carrying, lifting, pushing, and holding a 27 pound human barbell. Getting down on the floor to play games and chasing after an active toddler are good ways to limber up stiff muscles and work in a little cardio. And if I want to work in some more exercise I can always take the stairs up 4 floors. In the meantime, I know The Wee One is only.......

One elevator ride away.

One Year Down, One Year To Go

Moving In Day

Last year, on the third Friday in June, my husband and I moved into our NYC apartment. All 725 square feet of it. We wondered if we would be able to adjust to not having a car, not mowing a lawn, not having lots of rooms to wander around in. As it turns out Yes We Can.

People ask me frequently what I miss most about not living in the Midwest and owning a large home. What I miss about living in the Midwest are my friends, organizations and clubs I participated in, and quiet mornings listening to the birds sing. What I don't miss is the house and all of the stuff that goes with it. That's not to say we won't own a home again some day but I have a whole different perspective on just how much space it takes to live comfortably.

We had decided before moving here that we would commit to two years and then move on. We don't know what our next move will be but for now we are settled in. I'm looking forward to the next 365 days of exploring the five boroughs of NYC and spending time with my son and his lovely family who live four floors up.

Our living room/TV room/guest room/library/dining room (table not shown)

Goodbye, Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
                                 - Robert Frost

Today was the last day of Spring. And what a spectacular one it has been. I wish it could stay.

I can't remember ever experiencing such a physical reaction to the profusion of daffodils, tulips, pansies, redbuds, and cherry blossoms. This was the Spring that I walked around the city feeling like she was a beautiful young women that woke up one morning and decided to adorn herself with every sparkly piece of jewelry she owned but had stashed away for the winter. She sparkled as if laden with diamonds, rubies, pearls, emeralds, and sapphires. She took by breath away every day with the discovery of new pockets of color at doorsteps, and curbsides, and parks.


I paused.

I sighed.

I admired.

I smiled.

But it wasn't just the city. I traveled to Las Vegas in April and Kansas in May and Spring had blossomed gloriously there also. Cactus in the dessert, tulips in the city, and this year the honeysuckle that I planted on my mom's arbor three years ago decided to go crazy.

On Memorial Day I visited the gravesides of family members and simply could not believe the display of peonies blooming at the cemetery this year. It was awash in peonies of every color and variety. Just as it should be, but so many times recently they had already bloomed and were gone. 

 I know Summer is arriving tomorrow and soon I will close up the apartment and turn the air conditioner on. The flowers outside will struggle with the heat and beg for moisture. But right now I have my windows open and a cool breeze is gently coming in.

Thank you, Spring. It has been magnificent.

Still in the Know at 8-0

Dear Mom,
We celebrated with a family gathering on Memorial Day but today is the actual Big Birthday. Today you have had to "settle" for FaceTime, phone calls, and Facebook greetings from far away. What a difference 80 years makes!

I was thinking that when you were growing up the types of communication we have today would have seemed purely fantastical. From the world of the Jetsons. Then again, you wouldn't even know who George Jetson's family was because he came along YEARS later, after the invention of the television. You and your slightly older sister would have erupted into fits of giggles if you had been told you could someday "visit" each other from a thousand miles apart just by sitting in front of a plastic tablet (no, not a Big Chief) and touching a screen of glass. You might have been mortified to know you could someday keep tabs on old friends, family, or even strangers by depressing buttons on a mouse (a lot of explaining would have been required on that one).  Then more laughter, since you were already keeping tabs on the neighbors, family, and strangers by depressing a toggle on your telephone party line.  And the texting! What would you have made of learning about texting back then? Maybe you and your sister would have looked at each other and started air typing before collapsing with laughter and gasping for breath. I know what those silly-fests look like. You STILL do it when you get together.

Fortunately we all still enjoy the old form of communication. Face to face. Gathering everyone together (except one very regretful granddaughter) for a meal of fried chicken and the fixings to celebrate the entrance into your 8th decade was filled with smiles, hugs, and catching up in ways that, no matter how much bandwidth you have, does not translate over the phone, or tablets, or computers. You were able to embrace your two great grand babies instead of sending kisses over the airwaves. You could touch their sweet little cheeks and hold their precious hands. You could enjoy standing around in casual conversations, teasing each other, and just generally enjoying each others physical company.

We are all so glad you indulge us by keeping up with the latest technology and endure online drop-ins. You keep answering that phone, sending those texts, responding to those e-mails and we will make every effort to show up for a hug.
Love,
Your Oldest

PS I understand your oldest son drove up from his home two hours away to take you to lunch. What a reprieve from all those electronic birthday greetings!