Night and Day

So, there I was – at the Philadelphia airport with a first class ticket on a flight to Minneapolis, Minnesota.  The next morning.

You didn’t expect me to spend the night at the airport did you? 

Brother to the rescue.

Now, don’t get to thinking that he’s a prince among men and all that stuff.  In fact, through my whole travel ordeal, he was sending me texts and calling me saying such supportive things like – “You’ve been to London, you should be able to handle this.”  “You’re a world traveler!”  “Are you hangry?  I bet you’re hangry!”  “I’m trying to be supportive…like a jock strap!”  “Still hangry?” 

Granted, he did play a crucial part in translating for my parents who don’t do very well in the communication department in times of crisis. 

I think my brother realized that I was at the end of the rope when I was trying to make sense of the SEPTA train timetable and was crying again realized I had justmissed a train and would have to wait another god knows how long for the next one.  So, he said the magic word:  “I’ll come pick you up and we’ll go get dinner.”  Dinner being the magic word, of course.

My tears dissipated, everything became right in the world again, and I remembered that heroes do walk among us. 

And that’s the story of how I flew to Philadelphia to have dinner with my brother. 

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When we were kids my mom used to tell people that my brother and I were as different as night and day. 

He was artistic. I was not. 

I was a reader.  He was not.

He was athletic.  I was not.

I was a good student.  He was not.

He was intellectually gifted.  I was not. 

I was a morning person.  He most definitely was not. 

Things haven’t really changed in 30 odd years.    

We’re still pretty different. 

I believe strongly in punctuality.  My brother lives life according to his own clock which seems to be in a time zone that no one has quite discovered except for him. 

My brother’s house is decorated with a discerning eye towards detail.  The fact that the screws in my light switch plates aren’t aligned the same way makes him bonkers. 

I can’t smell an ashtray on fire right next to me (yes, it really happened).  My brother can walk into a room and get sick from the smell of cigarette smoke.   

My brother whips up amazing meals for family and friends.  I offer family and friends the bounty of my take-out menu drawer. 

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As we ate dinner that night and he told me a story about work, I realized that, in some respects, we’re not so different after all. 

My brother is an HVAC guy…he installs heaters and boilers and big stuff like that and he’s very serious and very meticulous about it.  Sometimes, I get the sense that his tendency towards perfectionism might drive his coworkers crazy.  I wondered aloud if he was being a bit tough on them.  He got very agitated and said things had to be done a certain way – his way – so that it was done right.  I thought he was on a very high horse, indeed.

And then I chuckled because really, when it comes to work, I’m the same way.  My brother flips out about ductwork.  I flip out about improper records arrangement, crooked labels, and people not spell-checking their work.  Sometimes, I ride a pretty high horse myself.     

Yeah, we’re still as different as night and day. 

But every night has some light and every day has its darkness. 

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(This morning person is eternally grateful that her not-a-morning-person brother got up at 4:30 to take her to the airport the next morning!)

First Class

It got dicey, folks.  I could’ve ended up in Chicago.  Or Detroit. 

But you remember where I was stranded, right?  Philadelphia. 

You know – where I’m from in a close enough kinda way.  Close enough to where my parents and brother still live in towns with names that nobody really knows so we just say we’re from Philadelphia.

Yep.  I was "stranded" all right.

So, I actually had somewhere to spend the night if I needed to.  Didn’t stop the tears though.  I’ve been told that I can be a little over the top sometimes. 

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Did I mention that I was going to Minnesota for a wedding reception on a riverboat?

The wedding was on Saturday at 1:30 PM Central Standard Time.  As of 8:08 PM Eastern Standard Time on Friday night, there were no departing flights to Minneapolis that would get me there on time.

Until my mom got involved. 

By the time my mom got off the phone with whomever she was talking to I was booked on an early morning flight from Philadelphia to DC to Minneapolis.  I was scheduled to land in Minneapolis at 12:05 PM Central Standard Time.  Plenty of time to make it to the wedding on time.   

Oh, and I was in first class. 

That’s what happens when my mom gets involved.

Travel Baggage

Two Fridays ago, I set off on an epic travel adventure.  I mean, it wasn’t around the world in 80 days epic.  Or even sail the ocean blue in 1492 epic. 

I was just trying to get to Minnesota. 

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When I was in 5^th grade, on the way home from school one day, the school bus driver forgot to stop at my stop.  I was terrified.  And I did what I always do when I’m scared.  I panicked.  And I started to cry.  Those tears were embarrassing because 1) I was a big 5^th Grader and 2) I was sobbing in front of my elementary school crush Greg Tarlo whom I was 97% sure was going to be my future husband one day. 

But as the bus rumbled past my stop, thoughts of my future marital bliss weren’t on my mind.  I was more concerned about where I was going to end up.  Even more concerning than that though was how I was going to communicate with my mom to tell her where I was once I ended up where I ended up.

This all happened before the age of the cell phone.  Before the car phone, even.  It was a time when people saved their quarters to pay Ma Bell for the privilege of using one of her phones.  Which worked great.  Unless you couldn’t hear on them.  Like me. 

The fear of being stuck somewhere without any way to communicate with my mother ship runs deep.  And usually results in lots of tears. 

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Two Fridays ago, at 3 in the afternoon, I set off on a trip that would end in Minneapolis at 8:00 Central Standard Time. 

By 3:45 PM, I ran into my first travel obstacle, a delayed flight from Baltimore to Philadelphia.  But I wasn’t worried…my flight from Philadelphia to Minneapolis was delayed too.  Travel Karma was on my side.

By 6:43 PM, Travel Karma had bitten me in the ass. 

By 7:05 PM, I was in full-scale-the-bus-driver-didn’t-stop-at-my-stop-and-what-if-I-never-see-my-family-again panic mode.

And then I started to cry.

I had no idea where I was going to end up. 

Two Fridays ago, it wasn’t Minnesota. 

Taking a Bite Out of the Big Apple

Looking up at the Chrysler Building

A couple of years ago, a friend from work came back laden with gifts after a visit to New York City.  I received a mug emblazoned with the bold proclamation “I [heart] NY” to add to my already sizeable – and much loved – mug collection.  But whenever I used that particular mug, I didn’t feel legit.  Certainly not as legit as I felt when I sipped from my #1 Sister mug.  ‘Cause, while it’s a well-established fact that I am indeed a #1 Sister, I never exactly [hearted] NY.   

I’m not exactly a fan of “the city”.  And by “the city,” I don’t mean a specific city; I mean cities that are really big and noisy and filled with really tall buildings.  I prefer my cities to be slightly smaller.  Or suburban.    

Last week, I spent three and a half days in New York City.  This was really my first time spending a significant amount of time in the heart of the Big Apple.  To be honest, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.  It’s just so big and noisy and crowded and there are all those really tall buildings.  I was filled with anxious trepidation.  And an overwhelming fear of getting swept away and lost.  Luckily, I was going with two friends, one of whom really, really [hearts] New York City.  And who knows how to cross the street like a true city girl. 

On my trip, I learned that New York City is many things.

It is extremes and in betweens.

It is hustle and bustle and moments of serene solitude. 

It is skyscrapers and shrines.

It is food carts and ice cream trucks and the Russian Tea Room.

It is bright lights and dark alleys. 

It is Upper and Lower.  East Side and West Side.  Downtown.  Midtown.  Uptown.

It is the city that never sleeps.  Except for that guy on the church steps. 

It is past, and present, and future.  All in one city block. 

It is the citiest of cities.

And I survived it.  With a little help from my friends. 

I [heart] NY might still be too strong of a sentiment for me; however, I can honestly now say that I [fondly appreciate] NY.

I wonder if that’ll fit on a mug.    

The Wedding Weekend That Wasn’t…

…at least, it wasn’t for me.   It was for the bride and groom.  And, at the end of the day, that’s all that matters, right? 

This weekend, my cousin* – the groom in this particular wedding – got married in Chicago.  And that meant – WEDDING ROAD TRIP!  Most of his large, extended clan lives in Delaware and Maryland so there were lots of wedding road trippers headed to the Windy City late last week to celebrate the big day. 

Who doesn’t love weddings?  Okay, honestly, it’s the wedding reception part that everyone really loves.  I mean where else is it perfectly acceptable for white ladies my mother’s of a certain age to cut loose on the dance floor to The Black Eyed Peas “I Gotta Feeling”?  Where else can herky-jerky movements punctuated with finger snaps be considered good, no, great dance moves?  Where else can a 33 year old lady order a Shirley Temple without the bartender looking at her askance?  Oh come on, you know you just flashed back to the last time you had a Shirley Temple!

Anyway, I was excited when I scored an invite to the wedding.  The groom happens to be the son of one of my mom’s favorite nephews (well, they’re all her favorite.  Even the practicing Wiccan.  Hey, every family needs their practicing Wiccan) and we have a soft spot in our hearts for him because - one – he lives in the Greatest Place on Earth and two – a long, long time ago when my parents and I visited his family in Georgia, he went with us when we went to a bunch of historical places and, um, his mom took us to the Cabbage Patch Museum.  Which was, as you can imagine, AWESOME - even for a 14 year old with a Shirley Temple drinking problem. 

Once we knew we were going to the wedding, my mom and I bought plane tickets, booked our hotel room, and signed up for a Chicago Gangsters Tour and a Chicago Food Tour.  We were going to make a real weekend – give or take a few days – of it.  I began dreaming of eating deep dish pizza, a treat I haven’t had since I stopped earning Book It coupons  (it’s tough growing up in a thin crust family, lemme tell you!)   I brushed up on my Al Capone facts.  I took lots of Vitamin Extroversion to overcome bouts of inevitable shyness.  I prepped conversation cards to help get through awkward elevator silences (A sampling – How was your trip to Hawaii?  How did you do in your recent race?  How ‘bout those Phils?  What do you think of the financial crisis in Greece?  Obama or Romney? )

I was all set. 

But then my mom called.  She had a medical emergency and she wasn’t able to go to the wedding.  So, that left me with a choice.  But really, in situations like that, there’s not much of a choice.  At least, not to me.  Instead of spending the weekend in Chicago, I spent the weekend at my parents’ house in Pennsylvania where I needed to be.  I made sure my mom was okay, tried (unsuccessfully, sorry) to edit the dramatic telling of her medical emergency down to 18 seconds, and attempted to get her to not dwell on where we weren’t. 

At the end of the weekend, the bride and groom were married.  The wedding, from what I’ve read on Facebook, was beautiful.   Congratulations to the bride and groom!

And my mom is okay. 

That’s really all that matters.  Not that, for me, it was the wedding weekend that wasn’t.  There will be other weddings, and wedding receptions, and chances to herky-jerky finger snap on the dance floor and order Shirley Temples all night long.     

I guess it could’ve been worse.  I could’ve been planning a funeral.**

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 *Technically, the groom is my first cousin, once removed.  But who keeps track of that stuff?

**At least, according to my mom.  No doctor actually said that she could've died.  I think she was just trying to make me and my brother feel guilty for teasing her.  She just doesn’t understand – that’s how we cope.  ;-) 

Sweet Dreams or Not

When I was in Seattle this past April, I woke up one morning with a worrisome thought.  As we sat on our hotel beds watching the early morning Seattle news, I looked over at my mother and asked, “Mom, will anyone ever love me?”

My mother’s heard this song a million times.  “Of course,” she replied, her voice filled with the maternal assurance that she’s developed over 35 years of mothering.

“Will anyone ever love me even though I snore?”

Same song, different verse. 

My mom looked down at the ear plugs on the nightstand that separated our beds and said, “Sure.”

Yep, that was reassuring. 

I snore.  And not like the snoring when you think, aww, that’s kinda cute.  Nope.  My snoring has been described as sounding a lot like a foghorn.  It’s enough to scare small children and sweet old ladies and, if I ever fell asleep in a cemetery, my snoring might even wake the dead.  I’ve actually never heard myself snore – is that even possible?  I don’t know, I take my hearing aid out when I sleep so if I’m noisy, I don’t hear myself.  See, there are some perks to being hearing impaired.  That said, I have heard my brother snore…and if I sound anything like him, well, I’m in trouble.  I was staying at his house one night, sleeping on the couch in his living room.  When I woke up the next morning, I heard this awful motor sound that seemed to be shaking the house. I thought his heater was about to explode or something.  I used my superhero investigative powers to figure out where the sound was coming from…turns out, it was coming from the second floor where my brother was sound asleep, snoring away.   

It’s something that I worry about.  I mean, I don’t lie awake at night worrying about it – because I’m too busy snoring – but I do worry a little.  Like, what if I finally meet Mr. Right Cowboy and he comes home after a long day on the range and makes us dinner and then wants to grab some shut-eye.  But he can’t get any sleep because I’m, you know, snoring.  When do couples start talking about these kinds of things?  On the first date?  Date 10?  Date 25?  Maybe I’m stressing about it too much. 

Why am I stressing about it?  Well, because I’m going to BlogHer this week and I’m sharing a hotel room with another blogger.  We work together but don’t know each other super well, I mean we can ride the elevator together without that weird awkward elevator silence but if I had to put her in one of my Google+ circles, it would either be in Work People, Acquaintances, Friends of Friends, Bloggers…gosh, I need to re-evaluate my circles.  Anyway, we’re sharing a room and I’m a little nervous that a) she won’t get any sleep for the four nights we’re in San Diego because I snore; b) I won’t get any sleep for the four nights we’re in San Diego because I’ll try to stay awake all four nights just so I don’t disturb her; c) I’ll meet Mr. Right Sailor (since I don’t think cowboys are hanging out in San Diego) and…yeah, well, it’s a long-shot so I won’t even worry about c.

Oh well.  Maybe I should just stop worrying altogether.  I mean there are worse things than snoring, right?  Like…morning breath. 

Oh geez.  Don’t even get me started worrying about my morning breath.

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Stay tuned to read about my adventures at BlogHer 2011.  And to find out if my snoring keeps 3,000 conference attendees awake!

O, Say it Ain’t So!

Yesterday marked the end of The Oprah Winfrey Show after 25 years.  Turns out, I ended up missing it which was kind of a bummer.  I know, I know, I should have a DVR.  It’s okay because I saw that the final episode is going to be replayed, I’ve seen a bunch of clips, and I just watched a Farewell to Oprah tribute on my local news so I’m good.  But, wow, it’s over. 

Was there life before Oprah?  Yeah, yeah, Phil Donahue.  I seem to remember Merv Griffin and afternoon Wheel of Fortune too.  And after school specials.  Whatever happened to after school specials?  But it was so long ago…I mean, Oprah occupied the four o’clock slot on Channel 6 (the home of the very best news station in the world, Action News!) since I was seven years old! 

I was a latch-key kid so my afternoon routine went a little something like this – got home from school, called my mom at work, watched the last half-hour of General Hospital, and then watched The Oprah Winfrey Show.  I’ve always been a fan of Oprah but sometimes I found her a little annoying.  Actually, I didn’t watch the show too much from the late 90s to the mid 2000s.  So, I missed the Book Club and the Angel Network and the Car Give Away.  I started watching again a few years ago, mainly because I have a crush on Dr. Oz.

I had a secret dream to be on Oprah.  When you’ve got a facial abnormality and feel like a misfit, where do you want to go to share your story?  Oprah, of course!  You’d share your story and everyone would see it and hear it and then they would stop staring or teasing because it was on Oprah and if it was on Oprah, people just seemed to understand and accept.  And yeah, maybe I hoped I’d get a book deal out of it.  Then I grew up. 

I never got to be on Oprah and I never got to be in her studio audience.  But a few years ago, my friend Lidia and I went on a trip to visit friends in Chicago.  Lidia, like me, has TCS.  She was the first person I ever met who looked just like me.  For many years, she was the only person I knew of who looked like me.  When you know there’s one other person out in the world who’s like you, who understands, it feels a little less lonely some days.  I’m pretty sure she had Oprah dreams too (well, actually she got to be on The Tyra Banks Show and Tyra was going to be the next Oprah!)

There were two things I wanted to see when I was in Chicago – Oprah’s studio and the American Girl store.  Look, I’ve had an American Girl doll since I was nine years old – I was hitting up that place.  I don’t care that I was approaching 30.  After perusing that Mecca of Girlness and buying Samantha some new dresses - she’s worn the same dress since I was nine, it was time for a change of clothes; our hosts drove us to the other side of the city and we got to see Oprah’s studio!!

Lidia and I jumped out of the van and had our pictures taken by the sign – pictures that I would’ve posted but I can’t find L  Then Lidia, who is much more outgoing than me, talked to an older gentleman standing by the garage and she asked if he knew Oprah.  When he told us that he saw her everyday and helped her out of the car, or something like that, we were like, WOW!!  We met someone who KNOWS Oprah!  That’s like two degrees of separation between me and Oprah!

Oprah had a huge impact on our culture over the past 25 years.  People have learned so much  by watching her show and, I think, maybe the world is a little kinder because of her influence.

There was life before Oprah and there will be life after Oprah.

Just make sure that life is “your best life.”    

Say Cheese!

Sometimes vacation plans change.  They change because of bad weather or flight delays or lost luggage.  Or because of an omelette.  What eggs-actly am I talking about?  (I know, I know…roll your eyes but know that I was hysterically giggling when I wrote the previous line!)  See, an omelette changed the course of the Oregon road trip that my mom and I took earlier this month.  Our original plan was to leave Cannon Beach and drive to Portland so I could go to Powell’s Books.  But before we left the coast, we stopped at the Lazy Susan Cafe for breakfast.  We both ordered omelettes – my mom got a cheese and mushroom omelette and I got just cheese.  Those omelettes were to die for.  When I read the menu, I noted that they were made with Tillamook cheese.  I knew from one of my trusty travel brochures that Tillamook was just down the road and it was home to a cheese factory…okay, honestly, I was really interested in the ice cream operations!  Anyway, those omelettes were enough to change our plans so Portland and books were out and Tillamook and dairy products were in!

Check out some of the pictures of the Tillamook Cheese Factory!  But keep this Tillamook travel tip in mind - check out the cheese bar before you eat the ice cream!  Your tummy will thank you!

Cute cafe on Cannon Beach's main street.
Cozy with a friendly staff...and delicious omelettes!

Tillamook Cheese Factory



Ladies at work on the cheese line



Please slice it thin!





The ice cream makin' room





The best $7.50 lunch I've had in a long time!
(Mine's the one without the whipped cream...ick!)



Is That a Crab in Your Pocket or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

What happens when seven people living in a house...oh, wait, wrong reality show.  What happens when seven people, most of them tired and hungry, start a quest along the Seattle waterfront to find a restaurant open for dinner at 3 PM?   Three restaurants, two more people, no buses, and about two hours later, they end up right back where they started.  Ahh, the first crazy unofficial, non-Discovery sponsored night of CatchCon 2011...what memories!

For all of you who are scratching your heads and wondering what the heck CatchCon 2011 is...let me take you back several years ago to my bedroom late at night (this is totally PG so get your minds out of the gutter!)  I was a recent grad school grad wide awake worrying about...well, probably something stupid or inconsequential.  I was surfing the channels in the wee hours of the morning when, hark!  What did I discover?  Deadliest Catch (DC), a show about Alaskan crab fishermen...it was like the deadliest job or something.  It was interesting and, okay here's a confession (and I could really lose some of my DC cred right now but you'll still like me, right??) I thought Blake was hot.  There I said it.  To make a long story short and to employ one of my favorite puns, I got hooked.  By the end of the show, I already had a favorite boat and a favorite crew (Blake was pretty but the Northwestern is prettier!)  Eventually, I became a member of my first online fan forum and joined a loyal band of Northwestern supporters.  DC became a Tuesday night staple for me (don’t bother calling me, I won’t answer), I started learning about the world of the Alaskan crab fishery,  my mom and I began to go to fan events, and uninformed people began to look at me like I was one crab short of a full pot.

So, that’s some background on the show, but what is this CatchCon business?  In 2009, I heard that there was going to be a convention for the fans of the show in Seattle, Washington.  I so totally had to be there, but, um, this was before Adventurous Denise and the idea of flying to a city all the way on the other side of the country where I didn't know anybody...well, that was just impossible.  But, as always is the case with me, I had a great crew of friends, both in real life and in cyber world who encouraged me to go for it.  So I did.  And that's how I found myself in Seattle two years ago, meeting fellow fans, making new friends, and oh yeah, getting up close and personal with some of the crews and boats featured on the show.

Last year for CatchCon 2010, I took my mom along because, well, she's better at the whole groupie thing than I am!  Once again, we had a blast so, obviously, when we heard about CatchCon 2011, we knew we were going...with or without tickets (by the way, the whole ticket procurement process is an event in and of itself!  I won't put you through reading about that...but, once again, I gotta thank my pals for coming through for me for two years straight!). Each year CatchCon gets a little bigger but for the most part, there's a core group of Northwestern fans that I hang out with and while we talk to Wizettes and Banditas, we know that our boat is the best.  You can call us fans or groupies but don’t use the “s” word or we’ll throw you overboard without a survival suit!    



My CatchCon "Bling"



The Northwestern going
through the locks.

Here's a typical CatchCon agenda:  Friday morning - wait for the boats to arrive (it's only the Northwestern and the Wizard...sorry CM and TB fans!).  Friday afternoon and night, you chill with fellow fans and catch up with your friends.  Saturday morning, you get in line super early so you can get into the event as soon as possible (and so you can wait under cover!). Once you're in, you get your trusty lanyard (I've got three now!!) and then you’re off - you can go on the boats, get autographs from captains and deckhands, play (and lose) games, peruse the Discovery store, eat lunch, listen to the captains and deckhands on discussion panels, and have your picture taken more than you can count.  It’s a full day of fun!  A post-CatchCon tradition for many of the Northwestern fans is to see the boat off and then high-tail it over to Ballard to watch her go through the locks (if you’ve never seen this…find the locks nearest to you and check it out, it’s awesome!)  After that, we usually have dinner at the Lockspot (featured on After the Catch).

It’s a busy weekend and while meeting the crews and getting to go on the boats is awesome, for me, it’s all about getting to see the friends I’ve made over the past few years.  We live all over the country and come from very different backgrounds but a show about Alaskan crab fishermen brought us together and that’s pretty cool.  To my Deadliest Catch friends – this year was a blast and I can’t wait to see you again at CatchCon 2012!!   

Our annual "Waiting in Line" photo...
but where are Carole and Rich?!

(The next few posts will be about my vacation and CatchCon!  I didn’t blog much while I was away because I was too busy having fun!) 

Road Trippin'

I used to be a bit of a collector.  I collected bags, key chains, postcards, magnets, mugs, eggs, alligators, Donald Duck stuff, Marie Osmond dolls, collectible tins, glass carafes, anything Kennedy related...and there was a brief foray into camping lanterns.  Hellooooo, credit card debt.  I also collected something that didn't cost me anything - travel brochures.  You know, the free pamphlets that are in the racks in hotel lobbies or visitor centers that advertise all the different places you can visit in a town, city, or census dedicated population center.  I go wild at those racks and can easily leave with a couple dozen of them!  Plus, they're free!  I love looking at them to see all the places that I can go!  If I wanna visit a glass blowing studio in Tacoma, I can.  If I want to go to the largest Christmas shop on the East Coast, I can and I have the handy brochure to tell me how to get there!

There used to be a time in my life, actually not so very long ago, that I was terrified of driving on highways.  It wasn't really the driving on the highway part that freaked me out, it was the merging part that always got me so scared.  I don't know where the fear came from...I actually drove on highways a couple times when I was a teenager but then I just didn't.  After a while the not doing it turned into a great big, irrational fear that kept me firmly buckled in the passenger seat.  At first, it was just a minor inconvenience, I went a lot of places "the long way" or I just asked my mom or someone else to take me.  It only got to be embarrassing when I began to hear that the younger kids of my cousins were cruising the nation's motorways.

Back in the days when I was content to just be a passenger, I had a conversation with my old pal B. about driving.  I told her that if I could drive on highways, I felt like I'd be free, I could just take off and explore, I could take road trips to wherever I wanted, I could go see all those places that I just read about in those many brochures that I collected.  B. looked at me and said, "But would you?"  I guess I really didn't know, but a girl can dream, right?

I didn't begin driving on highways until I was 25 years old - it was actually a caveat of my moving to Maryland for grad school.  In typical Denise-fashion, there was a lot of hand flailing and panicking when my mom and I made that first trip.  The turning point really came during my first solo drive from Maryland to Pennsylvania.  On that drive I realized it was fun!  I could go fast, there were no red lights, I was in total, complete control, and I was free!  No more taking the long way...unless I wanted to.  And road trips were a real possibility.

So, B., would I take road trips?  You better believe it.  I don't know how long a trip has to be to be defined as a "road trip" but I define it as a car ride longer than the 11 miles it takes me to get to work.  Some are short - a day driving on the California freeways from Yorba Linda to San Diego to Alta Loma; taking a practice run to the Kansas City airport...only to keep going until I reached St. Joseph, Missouri (the home of the Pony Express and where Jesse James was killed); or heading for a Florida beach after two full days of baseball.  Some are longer and more life-changing...like my week-long adventure in the Pacific Northwest two years ago or crossing the border into Canada last year.  Short or long, they are all sweet adventures that I cherish because there was a time, highways or no highways, that I never thought I'd go anywhere.

Today, another road trip begins.  My mom and I are headed from Seattle to the coast of Oregon.  She's the passenger and I'm the driver.  We're ready to hit the open road.  And, of course, I have a dozen or so travel brochures packed in my bag!

See ya on the road!