I Need to Get Out More

Cursed jet lag.

So, I was watching Colbert today, well, yesterday, and he was doing some bit about the Chase Sapphire card, and mentions a commercial called "The Dress" which you've probably seen, in which the husband's tossing out suggestions, trying to convince the wife to take a trip on their points. "No", she shakes her head, but with a smile, objecting to his every idea.

Turns out, she's used the points to buy The Dress. The dress she's wearing. She does a quick runway spin in the silky, drapey dress for her husband, with a sexy little glint in her eye.

(Click the image to enlarge it. Use your [Back] button to return here.)

Check out Mr. EyesUpHerePlease in the last frame. I still think she used their points for a boob job.

21°21′59.82″N, 157°47′49.06″W

My little corner of paradise is relegated to my memory banks, now. Soon enough it'll be back to the everyday mundane, but just one more vacation post, if you don't mind. I'm not much of a photographer, and my digital camera is usually just set to automatic, but here are some of my favorite photos from the trip.

Rainbow eucalyptus at the Hono zoo. I wish my photo did this tree justice. I think God must have invented Crayola crayons just so He could make these trees.

I love hibiscus. They remind me of Kwaj, and I really miss being able to have them outdoors, in the ground, year-round. Hibiscus is the antidote to winter. Hibiscus => sundress => tan lines on my feet => ahhh. You can't have any of those things in New England in the winter. I haven't mentioned recently how much I hate winter but I'm sure that'll be a post in about 6 months. I'm sure I'll write about about using my brand-new snowblower, which was delivered just after the last snowstorm of last winter, so the warranty should just about have run out the first time I start it up. If the flood didn't already do it in, that is.

Agents 96 and 98 weren't interested in climbing Diamondhead -- they were much more interested in being unsupervised at the hotel. So one afternoon I abandoned them with their comic books (There's this whole new marketing ploy for comic books: bind them together and sell them to parents as "graphic novels". I don't care how thick it is, it's still comic book, and I'm not going to pay you to read one) and their gameboys while I hiked up to the crater's edge by myself. I loved this little cactus I found trailside. I looks like it could be a landscape scene with trees and plants and gravel and boulders, but in reality it was about 6 inches across. When I got back from my hike the hotel was still standing and no police were on site, so it was a winning afternoon for all of us.

Another one from the zoo. You can see how it got its name, Bird of Paradise.

Interesting leaves always evoke Kwaj for me. I loved gathering leaves to texture my pottery. I think after the school year begins in September I'll start up with pottery again.Winters notwithstanding, Boston has its share of interesting textures, too, so I'll be fine; but one thing that's better on Kwaj: free pottery studio time!

This tree reminded me of the angry apple trees in the Wizard of Oz. The branches look ready to throw an apple at the next person who walks by. And I swear I see scowly eyebrows in the bark!

I think my favorite spot, my favorite moment,  on vacation was Pali Lookout. Too cheap to pay for, and not really interested in taking, a  bus tour, one morning we nabbed a bus company's guided tour itinerary, and picked a few of its most interesting-sounding sites to explore on our own. As we arrived at each one, we saw the bus companies carting their passengers to and from, but we were doing it for free and on our own schedule, making it all the sweeter. At Pali Lookout we were greeted by a flock of hungry chickens who enjoyed part of my sandwich, but by few other humans. We had the place almost to ourselves. A hot a humid day, a cooling mist fell as we left the parking lot for the short walk (too short to even qualify as an easy hike), but the clouds parted in time for breathtaking views. I couldn't pick a single favorite picture.

One of the boys, and I shan't say which one, bellyached that I was wasting time taking pictures of a bunch of branches, apparently unaware that this is a living Hau tree.

And besides, it's not wasting time, it's "being on vacation", thankyouverymuch.

This is not going to be my last post about prices in Hawaii, I can pretty much promise that ...

... this just happens to be the last purchase I made in the state: 2 20-oz cokes and a lemonade at the airport:

Kualoa Ranch, North Shore, Oahu

Photos you won't see anywhere else on the worldwide web ...

Agent 98 riding Chico ...

Agent 96 riding Romeo ...

You'd better sit down now ... Are you ready for this?

Me, riding Cowboy. I'm still sore.

  And we're all home, safe, sound and just a little bit tired!

Adventure Day on Maui

Airfare to Maui: $385.20
Admission to the Maui Ocean Center: $60.11
 
When we first arrived in Hono and were unpacking at the hotel, David laughed and brought my attention to his backpack. He had unwittingly but successfully brought his Swiss Army knife through Logan security in his carry-on. Initially surprised, on reflection I assumed that maybe the rules had changed, as they had with sewing scissors, and maybe now it’s okay to carry a Swiss Army knife on a plane. Still, I thought to myself, “We should check that on the way home”.

For our daytrip to Maui, since we had no baggage to check, we planned to arrive about 45 minutes before departure. We drove to the airport, parked in central parking, and started looking for our airline. We finally learned it was as far from where we were while still able to be in the airport. The clock was ticking, and we were about 30 minutes prior to departure now (and we had not checked in online the night before because the Hilton Hawaiian Village charges like, $24 a day for internet.) We finally hailed a cab and jumped in, but the driver seemed not to understand where we want to go. So I got the dispatcher to explain to him, and the cabbie got all bent out of shape that he was only getting a $5 fare from me. He didn’t want to take me, and frankly, I had heard enough bellyaching this week: “ENOUGH! Just take us to the airline, please.” Yes, I may have yelled at the guy, but at least I was polite about it. We finally get to the airline and check in at the counter with a few minutes to spare.

We can walk casually, at last, through security. Shoes and belts off, laptops in their own bins, pockets empty, we walk through the metal detector, and are waiting for our bags to come through, when I hear it. “I need a bag check please … strap” Oh, crap. There it is: David’s knife is still in the pocket on the strap of his backpack (a Swiss Army backpack, by the way, with a special pocket just for the knife). “Ma’am, this can’t go through. You can check it or discard it. What would you like to do?”

Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap.

Now, if this had been my Swiss Army knife, I probably would have abandoned it and hoped that the TSA guy ended the day with a nice new-to-him knife. But this was Tom’s knife, which holds so much more value than any old knife ever could. So, feet still bare, I run back to the counter while the flight begins to board and find Charmaine, the facilitator, who takes pity on me, grabs the bag, literally writes my name and destination on her hand so she can hand check the bag while I run back to the gate. I’m still not sure if she even charged me the $10 checked bag fee.

I get back to the gate and go through security again. The TSA folks smiled at me and were very nice but (and I really think this is a good thing and I’m totally not complaining) were just as careful in their search the second time I went though. Not that I'd ever try to pull a fast one on TSA ...

We arrive at Maui (still wondering where the airport abbreviation OGG comes from), and go to baggage claim. Suitcase. Suitcase. Duffle. Carton. Suitcase. And on it goes, but no almost-empty backpack, save for a Swiss Army knife in the strap pocket.

No one’s in the baggage office, so we make our way to the airline ticket counter where, a few phone calls later, we learn it will arrive on the next flight, in about 90 minutes. Nothing to do except sit at a nearby Starbucks (Is this the only Starbuck’s in the US that doesn’t have free wifi? Grrrrrr.), sip our beverages v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y and wait for the next flight. I used the time to figure out how to get to the aquarium most cheaply, and it turns out Maui has a pretty good public bus system. We could take a cab for about $45 each way, or we could take the bus for $2 each. Ca-ching. Only problem is, the shuttle bus arrives about 10 minutes after the flight lands. If David’s backpack is the last thing off the plane, we simply won’t make the connection, and we’ll have to wait another hour for the next shuttle. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Hallelujah, it’s here, it’s down, down the chute, and at last within reach. I grabbed the backpack and on cue, we all run to the shuttle stop. Within seconds, the bus is there, and we’re on our way to the aquarium. We make our connecting bus, and the bus stop is, thankfully, right in front of the aquarium. We’re there at last, and have a wonderful walk through this marvelous little place, see the jellies, walk through the tunnel, and catch a fleeting glimpse of Geoffrey’s favorite, the tiger shark.

Visit over, we meander back to the bus stop in time for the next bus, and grab a ramen lunch at the Queen Ka’ahumanu mall before making our 4:30 connection to the airport bus, with plenty of time to check the bag and make our 6:18 flight.

So we’re on the shuttle, and the drive announces each stop. She announced the airport stop, and so I prepared to depart. Geoffrey even stood up, ready to leave. But I waited for the bus to stop before I stood up … hmm, I wondered to myself, what’s up with that sign, “Airport Exit Left Lane”? I turned to the passenger behind me. “Did I just miss the airport stop?” Yup.

So I fly to the front of the bus, and ask the driver. No one got up to debark, so she didn’t stop. And we didn’t get up to debark because she didn’t stop. Oh, well, can we just get off here? (We were at a red light.) Nope, only at stops. One thing I had already noticed about the Maui bus is that stops are not every couple of blocks, like on the T, they are miles, literally miles, apart. Stuff in Maui is, itself, miles apart. Little groups of houses and businesses comprising separate little villages and towns, and probably a stop for each.

I was not angry at the bus driver, because I totally get the rule that you can’t just drop somebody any old place they request. But it’s miles to the next stop, and another 40 minutes before we loop back to the airport. So yeah, I’m mad at myself for missing the airport. I look at the bus schedule, look at the scenery (it’s beautiful on Maui), look back at the bus schedule. At the next stop, after about a 20 minute bus ride, I tell the kids to grab their stuff because going to debark and find a cab. The man sitting next to us, a very nice man carrying his pet cockatiel, advised me to stay on the bus, that there simply aren’t any taxis upcountry.

Deep cleansing breath. Okay … we stay on the bus. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I look at the schedule again and see that we will arrive at the airport at 5:45, and look at our boarding passes (during the long wait this morning, I had the good sense to check in for this afternoon’s flight) to see that boarding will commence at 5:50. Deep cleansing breath.

The bus driver has announced each stop as she arrived at it. At the Hali’imale stop, she had the grace and good sense to add “Next stop: Airport” (unspoken comma stupid). So we pulled that string requesting a stop, and then sat, breathing cleansing breaths, for the remaining 20 minutes. I like to think she picked up the pace on my behalf, because each stop heretofore has been exactly on schedule, but we arrived at the airport at 5:37, a full 8 minutes early. We ran to the ticket counter, checked the bag and ran to security. Shoes and belts off, laptops in their own bins, pockets empty, this time we make it through uneventfully. I had absolutely no expectation that the bag would make it onto the plane this time, though, and had already decided to come back tomorrow and pick up the bag after it arrived on the next flight, whenever that might be.

In line to board the plane, the luggage truck arrives to load everyone else’s luggage – all those fellow travelers that don’t have weapons in their checked bags and arrived the requisite two hours ahead of departure. I see the distinctive suitcases belonging to the family that checked in before us, a family of 10 from Salt Lake City. I am all but certain that their day was less chaotic than ours.

With the sun dipping behind the mountains, clouds circling the island, I saw the most beautiful sight. It took my breath away. I saw some beautiful blue, tinged with red, and some silvery-grey. Not the sunset, it was that sucker of a backpack being loaded into the plane! It made the flight with us, we would pick it up in Hono, and after a quick drive back to the hotel this crazy daytrip to Maui would be over.

Adventure day on Maui: priceless.

Family Vacations are Like ...

Family vacations are like labor. There you are, too many people crammed into a too small room, and you're still only partway through it. “Oh, my God, what have we done? Get me out of here now!” you scream, out of control and unable to stop the horror.

Eventually it ends, and you have a pretty little baby or a funny refrigerator magnet (and maybe one or two unflattering photos), but somehow you don’t remember the awful parts.

Then, some amount of time later – six months, a year, whatever --  you have this great idea: Let’s do it again. The last time worked out so well, and I think we can handle it.


Then, there you all are, crammed once again into that too-small room, and the realization slowly dawns: “Oh, my God, what have I done? Get me out of here now!” you scream, wondering if it will ever end ...

You Say Nine-Hour-Flight ... I Say SkyMall

Even with a bag of books and magazines, all the movies offered on demand by the airline (I watched When in Rome, Date Night and another movie that was so forgettable I’ve already forgotten it) and Bejeweled in seatback during our nine-freaking-hour flight from Detroit to Hono, I still made time to peek at the SkyMall catalog. That’s my favorite part of flying.

Who knew my living room needed a litter box disguised as a planter, which, if I turn like they have it in the picture, the cat can’t get into. So no, I won’t have that awful litter box smell in my living room; but I will have an ugly fake plant in an ugly fake planter in the corner. And cat poop under the couch, no doubt.

And speaking of pet excretory systems, I can buy any one of a variety of Astroturf rectangles to train my soon-to-be-new-dog to crap and pee in grass. Never mind this strip of grass would be right there in the middle of my living room floor. How can I choose one among the slew, from the low-end $49 plus shipping grass patch to the $279 premium “Sleep Late on Saturdays” model which includes a built in sprinkler system? Isn’t the problem this item is trying to address is that a dog come with its own built in sprinkler system? Now THAT’S what I call flying high! Or do you just have to be high to want to teach your dog to crap in grass on your living room floor?

And you tell me what you think of this Hammacher-Schlemmer chair: does it spell c-o-m-f-o-r-t to you, or does it say “I’m an a-hole who wants to sit in a 5½ -foot-tall folding seat, and screw the people sitting behind me”? It channels my inner Edith Ann. Nothing says comfort to me like my legs dangling over the edge of a gigantic folding canvas chair cutting off circulation behind my knees.

I'm certain nothing stops snoring quite like the Breathe Fit Snoring Aid. I snore just fine for free, thank you very much. And sure, I’ll have a quiet night with a nose ring stuck in my nostrils. I’ll be too busy yanking that sucker out and stumbling around the darkened, strange hotel room trying to find the rubbish bin (swearing loudly and waking the neighbors) to snore.

You’ve probably seen the as-seen-on-tv Snuggie, the blanket with sleeves. In SkyMall, I can actually purchase a knockoff Snuggie-built-for-two: the Siamese Slanket. (Direct your cards and letters to SkyMall, please. They named it, not me.) It's perfect for sitting bolt upright on the couch with your loved one, watching tv. Now, I don’t know how you do your cuddling, but when our couch got too small for Tom and me to cuddle side-by-side (who knew couches could shrink?) we devised the next best thing: opposite ends of the couch, legs entwined, toes tucked under each other’s torso for warmth. Now, find me a cuddling companion and a Siamese Slanket with arms at opposite ends and maybe you’ve got a sale.


Opinions expressed in this piece are strictly my own. If you own any of the above-mentioned items, I hope we can still be friends.

View out our window the first morning

  then

 and then ...

 

Good start, I’d say.

Niagara Falls: The New York Side

The new (to me) rules at the border crossing made it unfeasible to go back-and-forth between Canada and the US when we were visiting Niagara Falls recently, staying on the Canadian side. We all agreed we'd stop briefly on the US side on the way home.


We crossed the border with my questionable booty in the trunk, and found, a mere feet away, the entrance to the Niagara Falls State Park in New York. It couldn't have been easier. Flaggers were directing people into parking facilities, which were everywhere. I had passed a small space on the street, but wasn't sure about its legality. So before pulling into my selected lot, I asked the park ranger nearby about parking. It's $10 in all these lots, and yes, parking is available on the street, but only between those poles, she explained, gesturing.

What about that space, there, between the poles? Is it okay to park there? (It was about 6 car lengths in back of me.) Sure, she said, if you can get into it.

I may be weak in the math department, and I may have forgotten every word of Japanese I ever learned, and I may not be the most efficient housekeeper ever to walk on this earth, but by golly, can I ever parallel park.

So I threw that baby into reverse, waived an oncoming car around me, and backed into that spot, turned the wheel, straightened out the tires, shut the ignition and was done. You don't see parallel parking like that in a minivan very often.

The guy supervising the lot across from the space on the street had the best view of my action. He may have lost my business, but I think he appreciated the perfection he had just witnessed, and gave me a thumbs up and a whistle when he saw the job I did.

We had two hours at Niagara Falls, and saved ourselves one cool Hamilton. Tom would have been so pleased.

Mom-to-English Translator

I always feel particularly maternal when I share a memory with one of my kids. I can remember having this exact conversation with my mom at this exact same place on the highway when I was Agent 98's age. Driving home from New York last week, 98 saw the sign on the Mass Pike -  Trucks: Test Brakes. He asked me why trucks needed to test their brakes. With a hopefully inaudible roll of the eyes I explained that trucks need to test their brakes so the driver doesn't lose control when braking on an upcoming steep stretch of road.

Mom, what's that runaway truck turnout for? See, when a truck loses its brakes, and the driver knows because he tested his brakes, he can divert off the highway, and stop safely, and no one gets hurt. Clever civil engineering, huh?

Mom, why do the signs always say toll booth ahead? Mom, what's a fortnight? Hey, Mom, I figured out that if you put Momo's collar on her backwards, she won't bite you when you're putting it on her have you ever tried that because Momo gets pretty excited when I'm trying to put her collar on and she scratches a lot but she likes to be scratched behind her ears have you ever scratched her behind her ear Mom cause she really likes it. The next time you have a tube don't throw it out because I need it to make a mortar with some tape and that leg from a broken chair, just like they did on Mythbusters. Okay, mom?

I don't recall being a chatterbox as a kid, but I reckon I must have been. My mother explained mortality to me, at about this age: God grants you a certain number of words, Linda, and once you use up your words, you die. I think that's Mom for "Oh, for the love of God and all that's holy, please, I'm begging you, please, shut up already, for Pete's sake!"

The trick is that we don't know how many words God has granted us: did he give us a lot or only a few? No matter; either way we certainly shouldn't squander them. Especially when Mom's driving.

Ninety-eight, why don't you take a nap for a little while?  

Ninety-eight, maybe you should pull out one of your books and read for a bit.   

David, can you let 98 listen to your iPod for a while, please? Please? Pretty please? I'll give you cash.

By the end of that car ride with the kids I was humbly apologizing to my mother for every "Mom, it's raining. Should I close the windows?" I ever sent her way. At least she didn't let me hear her eyes roll.   

And I was silently praying that 98 got into the word line twice.

Who Needs Canine Teeth Anyway? We're A Cat Family ...

Agent 98 saw his orthodontist today. We have been waiting for his eye teeth to come in, making room for them before we can really progress with the braces. He won't get the bottom braces on until those two top teeth are dealt with. One's coming in slowly, and will likely need a little "nudge", by which I mean an oral surgeon will open a hole in his gum, attach some kind of bracket to the tooth, and attach a wire to that bracket, so that the orthodontist can begin slowly yanking it down into its proper position. Eww. And that's the good news.

The second tooth, the one on 98's left, not so much. That tooth is growing nearly sideways; in fact, since the neighboring teeth have proceeded to grow in since he got those top braces on, the wayward eye tooth has less guidance, and is moving even more out of alignment, making it look virtually impossible to bring down correctly.

We haven't ruled this out altogether, but the orthodontist isn't really holding out a whole lot of hope that the tooth can be rerouted. We'll know better after consulting with the oral surgeon later this week, but it looks like the decision to be made will be: does 98 get a bridge or does he get an implant?

How do I make that kind of decision for my 12-year-old?

Memories: All Shapes and Sizes

Don't get me wrong, I like the occasional souvenir refrigerator magnet, t-shirt and model, as witnessed by the treasures we returned with from our recent trip to Niagara Falls. But I like my memorabilia a little bit on the funky side, too.

When we first checked into our hotel, there was a very small construction project taking up a couple of parking spaces in the lot, and the area was demarcated with some traffic cones labeled "City of Niagara Falls, Ontario". Ooh, boy, I wanted one of those construction cones. For a souvenir. But it was performing a safety function, even if barely, and I couldn't just steal it. Alas, I had to let the dream of my perfect Niagara Falls souvenir slip away in the wind, like the mist over the Falls.

I needed something --  I don't remember what -- from the car later in the vacation, and there they were: the construction workers, burying the whatever they were burying in that parking lot in the morning sun. I got what I needed from the car, and was returning to my room, coveting the cone once again, but silent about it, when it spilled from my mouth, uncontrollable, "Hi, fellas -- I really want a funky souvenir from this trip, and that construction cone just fits the bill. Do you think it would be okay if I took it?" They looked at me, looked at each other, shook their heads as if to make sure they heard correctly. Whaa? You want our construction cone? THAT construction cone? We chatted for a couple of minutes (I think they were glad for the break from the labor on that very hot day), determined that I did, indeed, want one of their construction cones. They were happy to accommodate, but advised me to wait until the foreman wasn't looking to take it away. With the foreman out of sight, one acted as lookout while the other brought it over to my car while I popped the trunk and threw it in. (Fade out Mission: Impossible music.)

At the car later I showed the cone to the boys and the friends who had joined us on the trip, and told them the story. The boys didn't believe me, and I think they still think I stole it; and my friend Debra suggested I turn it so the label of ownership at least wasn't showing.

Martin wondered what would happen if it was discovered during the border crossing. So, of course, I obsessed about the border crossing for the rest of the trip. But not so much that I would have discarded my booty before being hauled off to jail. I briefly wondered how the boys would get home if I was arrested, and I tried to act innocent when the border guard was interrogating me at the crossing. I must have played my hand well enough, because there it is out there in the driveway, keeping the car away from the basketball court: one wicked awesome safety cone from Niagara Falls.

Home Again. A Few More Photos to Share

We're all glad to be home. I can only speak for myself: I had a wonderful time, but I'm really not a very good traveller. I missed my own bed, and the cats, and the Globe in the morning, and 12-packs of Pepsi priced four for $10 instead of $1.99 per can.

A very pretty rainbow over the falls, from the US side.

Nope, on second thought, this addition doesn't improve on nature's majesty

Ah, here we go. That does the trick!

This was our last day on vacation. We stopped briefly on the US side before we hit the road for home.

During the long ride home, we took a break at Old Erie Canal State Park. What a lovely, serene setting.

Just a few photos ...

Just a few photos to share from our trip to Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada ...

 Here is the only photo so far this vacation of me. So don't say I didn't share any.

 

These black-eyed susies just struck my fancy. I liked the color against the grey rocks.

David, jus' doin' what comes natural.

Near the end of a long, hot day.

Geoffrey, Zach, Madeline, David

Niagara Falls from the Maid of the Mist VII.

Falls: US side from the Canadian side.

Letchworth State Park, New York

If you thought to yourself, when you saw this photo, "Hmm, that looks like a photo of a gender-indeterminate corn snake named Larrietta eating a previously frozen mouse that was thawed in the microwave", well, you'd have been exactly right.

 

David & Geoffrey on the Maid of the Mist

Like Mother Like Sons?

I cannot count the number of times Tom and I went grocery shopping together. Both of us had sweet ... tooths? ... teeth? I don't know what the plural of sweet tooth is, but we both had them. Most times that we went shopping together, one of us (he was usually driving of course, so this would be me that I'm talking about) would sneak out a package of cookies during that 3-minute ride home, open it and scarf a couple down.

When we got home, I'd point out the open package, indignant, and demand to know if at least we got it at a markdown, seeing how it was open, and some were missing. Tom would humor me and laugh, but not without the eyeroll that spoke so eloquently if wordlessly.

I bought some cookies for our upcoming drive to Niagara Falls when I was shopping yesterday. I hid them so they'd last until next week's drive. This morning, there they were, sitting on the counter, open, cookies missing. Busted. And I know I paid full price for them!