Well...let's see. Since my Dad is in Canada fishing, he sent his most trusted colleague out to look at the house to give it a once-over before we made an offer. He thought the roof needed work, spotted mold in the basement (as did The Banker), and said that the house was shifting a bit (as does any house--but perhaps a bit more than normal for a home only 20 years old). He said he thought the house was overpriced and would need some work.
Then, The Banker pulled some comparison sales in the neighborhood as well and determined the selling price was too high. So we offered $40,000 below the asking price, no contingencies. The Banker said the owner seemed insulted at our offer (he designed the house and did much of the work himself...which explained why some of the crown moldings weren't flush, etc.).
So we're just letting our offer hang there, awkwardly twisting in the muggy air. So we'll have to see. The owner WAS asking too much. And because of how the house was situated on the property, it couldn't really be expanded, should we need more space. So the questions still linger. Isn't the house a little TOO close to the property line? Is it too small? Is there a better house out there? Or are we being too conservative in our offer? Will we regret playing hardball? The doubts have begun to creep in...
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Friday, June 23, 2006
It happened!
It was accidental, a total lark. But we knew almost instantly. As soon as we were alone, The Banker turned to me and said, "We're going to do this, aren't we?" He didn't need my enthusiastic "Yes!" for an answer. I think my face said it all.
This country home sits on the side of a four-acre lot and boasts three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, a great kitchen, huge living room, and small basement. The bedrooms are large and the bathrooms amazing. The house has more curb appeal than any we've seen in our months of looking. It sits back from the road, encircled by a white fence, with a frontyard full of trees. The back of the house has a small cedar deck and a pool (vinyl but inground. The jury is out on this selling point because pools can be dangerous for littles ones and dogs). The small pool is lined with bushes and plants and has a small terrace. The backyard spreads out from there, firmly fenced--but with so much green space!--leading to a small metal barn with four stalls, a corral, and then two acres of pasture land. It's so beautiful. The pasture is cut short, currently a chipping green for the owner. Needless to say, The Banker loves this ammenity!
So we're going to make an offer. The owner today insinuated there'd been several calls about the property. The Banker insists the owner is asking too much. We'll see how he responds to our number and go from there. My stomach is in knots because this thing could get yanked from beneath us. (Yes, I know, then it wasn't meant to be. But still. When has that ever made the difference?!)
And then there are the other questions. It's a long drive downtown...what about my commute? It's only 15 minutes from my parents' home, but isn't it like a different world? What will this mean to our longterm plans?
But I can't answer those questions. Instead, I keep coming back to how it felt out there last night, looking out onto the rolling green under towering clouds. I felt peace.
This country home sits on the side of a four-acre lot and boasts three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, a great kitchen, huge living room, and small basement. The bedrooms are large and the bathrooms amazing. The house has more curb appeal than any we've seen in our months of looking. It sits back from the road, encircled by a white fence, with a frontyard full of trees. The back of the house has a small cedar deck and a pool (vinyl but inground. The jury is out on this selling point because pools can be dangerous for littles ones and dogs). The small pool is lined with bushes and plants and has a small terrace. The backyard spreads out from there, firmly fenced--but with so much green space!--leading to a small metal barn with four stalls, a corral, and then two acres of pasture land. It's so beautiful. The pasture is cut short, currently a chipping green for the owner. Needless to say, The Banker loves this ammenity!
So we're going to make an offer. The owner today insinuated there'd been several calls about the property. The Banker insists the owner is asking too much. We'll see how he responds to our number and go from there. My stomach is in knots because this thing could get yanked from beneath us. (Yes, I know, then it wasn't meant to be. But still. When has that ever made the difference?!)
And then there are the other questions. It's a long drive downtown...what about my commute? It's only 15 minutes from my parents' home, but isn't it like a different world? What will this mean to our longterm plans?
But I can't answer those questions. Instead, I keep coming back to how it felt out there last night, looking out onto the rolling green under towering clouds. I felt peace.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Remedy for a foul mood
Friday night I found my remedy for an exhausting two straight weeks of work and family demands: sushi and sake with best friends. Friday evening, still reeling from Thursday's dinner disaster, The Banker and I met our closest friends for sushi to celebrate my best friend's birthday and The Banker's. The conversation and laughter flowed as quickly as the alcohol and delicious rolls. It was just the pick up my spirit needed. It really is an amazing thing when someone knows you so thoroughly inside and out that nothing goes unsaid--even if you've said nothing at all.
Saturday night brought another of The Banker's work functions, and Sunday has been spent at various Father's Day celebrations. So while I'm not exactly ready for the beginning of another work week, I'm a little less frayed around the edges. And this week only holds a handful of obligations, which means that I can get caught up on some freelance work and maybe some reading as well. Maybe. =-)
Saturday night brought another of The Banker's work functions, and Sunday has been spent at various Father's Day celebrations. So while I'm not exactly ready for the beginning of another work week, I'm a little less frayed around the edges. And this week only holds a handful of obligations, which means that I can get caught up on some freelance work and maybe some reading as well. Maybe. =-)
Friday, June 16, 2006
Random musings
There are days when I'm overcome with the desire to quit. To pick up, pack lightly, and leave. To discard the obligations, responsibilities, and orders that sometimes hang very heavy on my frame. There are times I want so much to leave it all behind, to feel refreshed by new adventure and brought alive by freedom.
Last night was one of those nights. We had dinner with The Banker's family and the CFO of our city's Arch Dioceses at one of the nicest restaurants in town. It was one of those meals where people talk, tossing about huge sums, big names, and banal banter. The Banker's brother and his wife, most specifically the sister-in-law, lorded over the conversation, pulling the CFO and his wife into their web of six degrees of separation. Always adept at social climbing, last night the two were in their element. Whenever The Banker or I tried to pipe in on any subject, the sister-in-law intervened, talking louder, re-focusing the conversation, and regaining her court.
Not that I cared much to talk to these people. We had little in common. They didn't travel, didn't know anyone we knew, and really only wanted to focus on their grandchildren. Little ones was a topic the sister-in-law was keen on; she could brag about her son and share the woes of all his allergies and other maladies.
One of the few times I got a word in edgewise was terribly painful. It went as such:
CFO--"Have you read Marley and Me? It made me cry!"
Me--"I've been meaning to read it. Do you have any dogs?"
CFO--"No, I really don't have a taste for animals."
What the hell?? The wonderful food was hard to swallow, the expensive wine tasted sour. And I caught myself thinking, "Why am I doing this? Why am I here? And why do I spend so much of my precious time at miserable events such as these when all they serve to do is crush my resolve, my soul, a little bit more?"
It's times like these when I wonder what part of my genetic code, my upbringing, has ingrained the "sit there and just smile until this hell has passed" mentality. This sense of responsibility and proper decorum so chafe at the other part of me, the tiniest bit of gypsy spirit, which while kept tightly under wraps most of the time, occasionally swells up and cries out in pain. It's then the fake smiles and bullshit conversations hurt the most. It's then that I find myself so disappointed for playing into all of this, for lacking the strength to say "No," to scream "Shut the fuck up!" to shout "Who the fuck cares?!"
She nags at me, spreading discontent, questioning what happened to that other path, the one filled with a different sort of life. She prods me to pick up that passport, discard the responsibilities I pretend to enjoy, and do something, anything, different. I do want to break out of this rut, but all those other enticing options don't entail adulthood, compromise, martyrdom. And as the age 30 hovers on the horizon, and I slug it out at work and watch The Banker trying so hard to carve out his place in the business world, I think I should probably silence this little voice. Because being a gypsy is not compatible with adulthood. And this is now my life.
Last night was one of those nights. We had dinner with The Banker's family and the CFO of our city's Arch Dioceses at one of the nicest restaurants in town. It was one of those meals where people talk, tossing about huge sums, big names, and banal banter. The Banker's brother and his wife, most specifically the sister-in-law, lorded over the conversation, pulling the CFO and his wife into their web of six degrees of separation. Always adept at social climbing, last night the two were in their element. Whenever The Banker or I tried to pipe in on any subject, the sister-in-law intervened, talking louder, re-focusing the conversation, and regaining her court.
Not that I cared much to talk to these people. We had little in common. They didn't travel, didn't know anyone we knew, and really only wanted to focus on their grandchildren. Little ones was a topic the sister-in-law was keen on; she could brag about her son and share the woes of all his allergies and other maladies.
One of the few times I got a word in edgewise was terribly painful. It went as such:
CFO--"Have you read Marley and Me? It made me cry!"
Me--"I've been meaning to read it. Do you have any dogs?"
CFO--"No, I really don't have a taste for animals."
What the hell?? The wonderful food was hard to swallow, the expensive wine tasted sour. And I caught myself thinking, "Why am I doing this? Why am I here? And why do I spend so much of my precious time at miserable events such as these when all they serve to do is crush my resolve, my soul, a little bit more?"
It's times like these when I wonder what part of my genetic code, my upbringing, has ingrained the "sit there and just smile until this hell has passed" mentality. This sense of responsibility and proper decorum so chafe at the other part of me, the tiniest bit of gypsy spirit, which while kept tightly under wraps most of the time, occasionally swells up and cries out in pain. It's then the fake smiles and bullshit conversations hurt the most. It's then that I find myself so disappointed for playing into all of this, for lacking the strength to say "No," to scream "Shut the fuck up!" to shout "Who the fuck cares?!"
She nags at me, spreading discontent, questioning what happened to that other path, the one filled with a different sort of life. She prods me to pick up that passport, discard the responsibilities I pretend to enjoy, and do something, anything, different. I do want to break out of this rut, but all those other enticing options don't entail adulthood, compromise, martyrdom. And as the age 30 hovers on the horizon, and I slug it out at work and watch The Banker trying so hard to carve out his place in the business world, I think I should probably silence this little voice. Because being a gypsy is not compatible with adulthood. And this is now my life.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
A WTF Wedding Weekend
So this weekend was totally bizarre. The Banker and I get into Arlington Heights on Friday in time to pick up his tuxedo, find the hotel, take a ten-minute nap, and get ready for the rehearsal. And that's where things really got messed up.
It seems the groom-to-be was in rare form on Thursday night, so intoxicated he could barely stand. And in the process of this "fun," had his wallet, full of credit cards and $1,000 cash, stolen by A STRIPPER. So he cancels all the credit cards, unbeknownst to the bride-to-be, who's at the spa with her bridesmaids. Imagine her surprise when she exits the peace and calm of a day at the spa to find that all her credit cards are denied. So she's late for the rehearsal, and tensions are understandably a little high.
The rehearsal drags on until finally we get clearance to head to the rehearsal dinner. There the bride-to-be admits to me that there is so much yet to be done--including place cards, parting gifts, various decorations, etc. So I say, "Well, since the boys are going out tonight, I'm totally at your disposal."
"WHAT?!?!"
Yep, the poor gal had no idea that the men had another night of debauchery planned, even though the groom-to-be had already had SEVEN bachelor parties, including one to VEGAS and COSTA RICA. She storms over to her beloved and they have a low and heated conversation...thanks to yours truly. The guy is entirely huffy and rude to his future wife. And I'm thinking if he were mine, I'd kill him.
So since the boys are heading out, I follow the bride-to-be back to the hotel and help hold her things while she tries to check in. With no credit cards. That bridal suite and the two shuttles needed to transport the wedding guests from the hotel to the church to the rececption and back to the hotel? Yeah, that needs to be held with a credit card. Apparently my credit card, because there are no others available.
Finally the night ends as the clock is closing in on one a.m., after having helped various bridesmaids complete all the final tasks for Saturday's wedding. The men? They were out drinking.
But for all the craziness on Friday, the wedding actually went off without a hitch. I couldn't wait to get the hell out of town on Sunday, though. The Banker and I regretted to the couple's offer of brunch in their condo, and at 6 a.m., mouth still feeling full of cotton from too much vodka, we began the drive home.
And it feels damn good to be home. And with a husband who doesn't have a gambling addiction, problems with strippers and credit cards, and a total crap attitude.
It seems the groom-to-be was in rare form on Thursday night, so intoxicated he could barely stand. And in the process of this "fun," had his wallet, full of credit cards and $1,000 cash, stolen by A STRIPPER. So he cancels all the credit cards, unbeknownst to the bride-to-be, who's at the spa with her bridesmaids. Imagine her surprise when she exits the peace and calm of a day at the spa to find that all her credit cards are denied. So she's late for the rehearsal, and tensions are understandably a little high.
The rehearsal drags on until finally we get clearance to head to the rehearsal dinner. There the bride-to-be admits to me that there is so much yet to be done--including place cards, parting gifts, various decorations, etc. So I say, "Well, since the boys are going out tonight, I'm totally at your disposal."
"WHAT?!?!"
Yep, the poor gal had no idea that the men had another night of debauchery planned, even though the groom-to-be had already had SEVEN bachelor parties, including one to VEGAS and COSTA RICA. She storms over to her beloved and they have a low and heated conversation...thanks to yours truly. The guy is entirely huffy and rude to his future wife. And I'm thinking if he were mine, I'd kill him.
So since the boys are heading out, I follow the bride-to-be back to the hotel and help hold her things while she tries to check in. With no credit cards. That bridal suite and the two shuttles needed to transport the wedding guests from the hotel to the church to the rececption and back to the hotel? Yeah, that needs to be held with a credit card. Apparently my credit card, because there are no others available.
Finally the night ends as the clock is closing in on one a.m., after having helped various bridesmaids complete all the final tasks for Saturday's wedding. The men? They were out drinking.
But for all the craziness on Friday, the wedding actually went off without a hitch. I couldn't wait to get the hell out of town on Sunday, though. The Banker and I regretted to the couple's offer of brunch in their condo, and at 6 a.m., mouth still feeling full of cotton from too much vodka, we began the drive home.
And it feels damn good to be home. And with a husband who doesn't have a gambling addiction, problems with strippers and credit cards, and a total crap attitude.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
A weekend in the Windy City
In an odd twist, before we left the city The Banker was asked to be in the wedding of a colleague from the, well, bank. It struck me as particularly strange because the people I chose to stand by me at the altar were my sisters and my best friend, whom I'd known for almost a decade. The Banker had known this guy for a year and change. But heh, who am I to judge?
So we're driving up to Chicago this Friday, or the outskirts, to be exact. We'd originally planned on driving to save money; it didn't make sense to fly and then rent a car. But that was before gas became the equivalent of liquid gold.
And while I'm always up for a good meal and dancing, I have to admit that I'd rather spend the weekend in town. Between the four freelance stories I'm juggling, the need to get a Father's Day gift and a birthday gift, a general need for some downtime, coupled with the dread of the long drive and weekend of strangers, I'm kinda in a sour mood about the pending nuptials.
So I need to pull my head out of my ass a bit. I need to find something to re-energize myself with. I need the energy of a child who's just been given a shot of expresso and a new puppy. Now how can I get that bottled up?
So we're driving up to Chicago this Friday, or the outskirts, to be exact. We'd originally planned on driving to save money; it didn't make sense to fly and then rent a car. But that was before gas became the equivalent of liquid gold.
And while I'm always up for a good meal and dancing, I have to admit that I'd rather spend the weekend in town. Between the four freelance stories I'm juggling, the need to get a Father's Day gift and a birthday gift, a general need for some downtime, coupled with the dread of the long drive and weekend of strangers, I'm kinda in a sour mood about the pending nuptials.
So I need to pull my head out of my ass a bit. I need to find something to re-energize myself with. I need the energy of a child who's just been given a shot of expresso and a new puppy. Now how can I get that bottled up?
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Finally, the lies and secrets are finished
It's been a long six months of sneaking, lying, and secret pay-offs, and finally, it's finished. The Banker returned home from a long day of golfing and opened the fridge in search of a cold beer and he found it: his (very) early birthday gift.
He'd wanted this brand of watch since we married, but the price Tag was such that it wasn't a rational purchase. But last January I called the family's jeweler and asked if I could put something on layaway. I'd just received a little chunk of change in the form of a freelance payment that could begin to whittle down the price tag.
The Banker is ever-vigilant about our bank accounts, so I knew I had to fund this surprise entirely on the side. So for the last five months I've been secretly whittling. Selling old CDs and DVDs. Racing home to get the mail and fish out any freelance checks that might be waiting there. Taking every crap writing job that came my way. Squirreling away ever odd $20 that would otherwise pay for lunches and odds and ends.
And I've felt bad about being so deceitful. Our thorough screwing by Uncle Sam came after I'd put the watch on layaway, so despite the fact we needed my extra funds, I had to forge ahead. But it was all worth it. The Banker is thrilled beyond words and proudly wearing his new bit of bling. And now those extra checks can begin to go toward our upcoming trip. And I can quit being so sneaky.
Maybe.
He'd wanted this brand of watch since we married, but the price Tag was such that it wasn't a rational purchase. But last January I called the family's jeweler and asked if I could put something on layaway. I'd just received a little chunk of change in the form of a freelance payment that could begin to whittle down the price tag.
The Banker is ever-vigilant about our bank accounts, so I knew I had to fund this surprise entirely on the side. So for the last five months I've been secretly whittling. Selling old CDs and DVDs. Racing home to get the mail and fish out any freelance checks that might be waiting there. Taking every crap writing job that came my way. Squirreling away ever odd $20 that would otherwise pay for lunches and odds and ends.
And I've felt bad about being so deceitful. Our thorough screwing by Uncle Sam came after I'd put the watch on layaway, so despite the fact we needed my extra funds, I had to forge ahead. But it was all worth it. The Banker is thrilled beyond words and proudly wearing his new bit of bling. And now those extra checks can begin to go toward our upcoming trip. And I can quit being so sneaky.
Maybe.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Day Off
I took today off so I could sleep in a bit, work on some freelance, and get a pedicure and my hair "did" with the sisters for tonight's gala event. (And maybe head to the chiropractors. Curse you, lowerback!)
Yup, tonight is one of my favorite charity events: Jazzoo. A creative blacktie, everyone decends upon the local zoo to mill about the hundreds of tents filled with offerings from the city's best restaurants. Three stages beckon with a variety of bands and the night will, hopefully, be clear, late, and a great amount of fun. The girls and I are having feathers put in our up-dos, since birds of a feather...
Yup, tonight is one of my favorite charity events: Jazzoo. A creative blacktie, everyone decends upon the local zoo to mill about the hundreds of tents filled with offerings from the city's best restaurants. Three stages beckon with a variety of bands and the night will, hopefully, be clear, late, and a great amount of fun. The girls and I are having feathers put in our up-dos, since birds of a feather...
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Four years in the making
So much to tell and so little time. I spent the better part of the holiday weekend visiting my Dad's parents. (My Grammy is in her mid-80's and my Pop-Pop is 90.) While visiting, my sister and I uncovered a photo album. It wasn't full of my dad's childhood photos. Rather, it was images from my Pop-Pop's stint during World War II. He was so handsome, so very young. And that buxom brunette on his arm? Not my Grammy. A very excited Checklosovakian girl who greeted the oncoming American troops.
My Pop-Pop has this whole history, whole existance, beyond our understanding. His life is so rich, so ready for the telling, but it's quieted by his humble nature, by the fact that his experience is so commonplace for the time. Happy Memorial Day. So much history is lost in quiet men.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And bringing everything up to date: I'm drowning in freelance work for the former mag I worked for. (Gotta try to counter balance those $1,000 plane tickets to Peru.) This week is short and pack-full.
And tomorrow is The Banker and my fourth anniversary. Technically speaking, he's been in my life for over a decade. He stalked me when I wasn't interested. He cleaned bathrooms with me when we were friends, just so he could spend time with me during my work hours.
Now, he lets me watch my crap T.V. shows when I ask. And he's let me add chaos after chaos to our lives in the form of furry beings. And at the moment, when I struggle to make sense of this baby thing, he quietly listens. He knows my gypsy spirit. Perhaps, almost as well as the sound of his own breathing. He tries to understand. And almost 15 years later, he's still there. Through the good, the bad, the ugly, and the damn funny.
He's my babe. The only one who I think could handle what I am. What I'm becoming. What I will be. (Not to mention my family...) =-)
I love you, babe. Thank you for all these years. May God bless us with countless many more...
My Pop-Pop has this whole history, whole existance, beyond our understanding. His life is so rich, so ready for the telling, but it's quieted by his humble nature, by the fact that his experience is so commonplace for the time. Happy Memorial Day. So much history is lost in quiet men.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And bringing everything up to date: I'm drowning in freelance work for the former mag I worked for. (Gotta try to counter balance those $1,000 plane tickets to Peru.) This week is short and pack-full.
And tomorrow is The Banker and my fourth anniversary. Technically speaking, he's been in my life for over a decade. He stalked me when I wasn't interested. He cleaned bathrooms with me when we were friends, just so he could spend time with me during my work hours.
Now, he lets me watch my crap T.V. shows when I ask. And he's let me add chaos after chaos to our lives in the form of furry beings. And at the moment, when I struggle to make sense of this baby thing, he quietly listens. He knows my gypsy spirit. Perhaps, almost as well as the sound of his own breathing. He tries to understand. And almost 15 years later, he's still there. Through the good, the bad, the ugly, and the damn funny.
He's my babe. The only one who I think could handle what I am. What I'm becoming. What I will be. (Not to mention my family...) =-)
I love you, babe. Thank you for all these years. May God bless us with countless many more...
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
But then what?
So the Farewell to Independence Tour is booked, but it's left me wondering what will happen after the trip. This weekend raised a lot of questions and left me decidely uncomfortable.
We spent most of Saturday at our best friends' country home--and The Banker and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. We brought the dogs out and let them swim in the pond, rode the tractor, chatted, ate ourselves silly, and played with their adorable son. This little boy is the happiest, most loving little one I've ever encountered. While I know he's not an angel all the time, he does have an amazing disposition and is an utter joy. He was in a great mood all day, and I was left with the impression that, yes, I could see myself doing this one day.
But then Sunday night rolled around, and The Banker and I babysat his nephew for a few hours. A few long hours. The longest, most uncomfortable few hours I'd spent in a long time. And here my blissful thoughts of childbearing came to a screeching halt.
I hate to admit this. It's proof that I'm really not a very good person. You see, as much as I adore my best friends' child, I don't have any feelings for a babe who is, technically, family. Yes the kid is cute, but he doesn't pull at my heartstrings. In fact, on Sunday night, he turned my stomach again and again. No, it wasn't the diapers--that doesn't faze me. But the poor thing was fighting a cold so there were constant rivulets of snot rolling down his face. And he refused to eat, smashing what little morsels he would take into his eyes and hair. The rest? He tossed on the floor. He even took his bottle and slammed it nipple-down to watch the formula squirt out. And when I firmly said "No!" to this behavior, he screamed. And screamed. And screamed. And it was then I understood why some parents walk away. Why some parents drink.
And it struck me that maybe I don't have what it takes to be a mom. If snot and messy eating heighten my gag reflex, if screaming and obstinate little ones make me question my sanity, then maybe I'm not the best person to have kids. How can I feel it's so right one day and so terrible the next? And why do I feel so thoroughly crappy for feeling this way?
We spent most of Saturday at our best friends' country home--and The Banker and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. We brought the dogs out and let them swim in the pond, rode the tractor, chatted, ate ourselves silly, and played with their adorable son. This little boy is the happiest, most loving little one I've ever encountered. While I know he's not an angel all the time, he does have an amazing disposition and is an utter joy. He was in a great mood all day, and I was left with the impression that, yes, I could see myself doing this one day.
But then Sunday night rolled around, and The Banker and I babysat his nephew for a few hours. A few long hours. The longest, most uncomfortable few hours I'd spent in a long time. And here my blissful thoughts of childbearing came to a screeching halt.
I hate to admit this. It's proof that I'm really not a very good person. You see, as much as I adore my best friends' child, I don't have any feelings for a babe who is, technically, family. Yes the kid is cute, but he doesn't pull at my heartstrings. In fact, on Sunday night, he turned my stomach again and again. No, it wasn't the diapers--that doesn't faze me. But the poor thing was fighting a cold so there were constant rivulets of snot rolling down his face. And he refused to eat, smashing what little morsels he would take into his eyes and hair. The rest? He tossed on the floor. He even took his bottle and slammed it nipple-down to watch the formula squirt out. And when I firmly said "No!" to this behavior, he screamed. And screamed. And screamed. And it was then I understood why some parents walk away. Why some parents drink.
And it struck me that maybe I don't have what it takes to be a mom. If snot and messy eating heighten my gag reflex, if screaming and obstinate little ones make me question my sanity, then maybe I'm not the best person to have kids. How can I feel it's so right one day and so terrible the next? And why do I feel so thoroughly crappy for feeling this way?
Monday, May 22, 2006
A hike to remember
First off, thanks to all who passed on such nice comments about my supposed ASBPE win. I've yet to hear anything else about it, but I'm hoping I'll get more details soon.
And to end the week on another good note, The Banker and I finally booked our trip to Peru! It's a fifteen day tour through GAP Adventures. We'll be taking off on September 9, returning September 24. Here's the itinerary:
Day 1 Arrive Lima
Day 2-3 Amazon Jungle
Take a morning flight into the Amazon lowlands and the town of Puerto Maldonado. Travel by motorized canoe to our lodge in the Tambopata Rainforest Area, which holds the world record for the most bird sightings in one area. Explore the jungle with expert local guides.
Day 4 Cuzco
Cuzco is considered the mecca of Peru, and rightly so. With a friendly, colonial atmosphere, Cuzco offers much to the visitor: nearby Inca ruins, cobblestone streets, museums, markets and churches. Optional activities include rafting, horseback riding and mountain biking.
Day 5 Ollantaytambo
Travel with our local guide through the Sacred Valley and visit the Pisac ruins. In the afternoon continue the picturesque town and Inca ruins of Ollantaytambo before preparing for the hike ahead.
Day 6-9 Inca Trail to Machu Picchu
A morning trip to km 82 begins a once in a lifetime journey on the ancient trail of the Incas. Local porters and guides ensure that the trip is worry-free. Fascinating ruins and spectacular mountain scenery fill every day of the hike. On the final day, climb the steps to Intipunku, the 'Sun Gate', to watch the sunrise over Machu Picchu. Return to Cuzco by train in the afternoon.
Day 10 Cuzco
Relax, shop and explore the sights and sounds of Cuzco on this free day. Stroll around the cobblestone streets of this beautiful colonial town or visit museums and churches built on Inca ruins.
Day 11-12 Puno / Lake Titicaca
Enjoy spectacular views of the countryside on a full day of travel from Cuzco to Puno and Lake Titicaca. The next morning head out by boat across Lake Titicaca for a visit to the floating reed islands of Uros. We stop at various islands to enjoy the lake’s scenic splendour and to meet the friendly people of these communities.
Day 13 La Paz
La Paz, the highest capital city in the world, is often a surprise highlight for travellers. A visitor’s initial impression of the bustle of more than a million Bolivians won’t be forgotten.
Day 14 La Paz / Tiahuanaco
The mysterious Tiahuanaco people constructed this great ceremonial centre on the southern shore of Lake Titicaca over 1000 years ago. Spend most of the day visiting these fantastic ruins and try to unravel the ancient mystery yourself.
Day 15 Depart La Paz
So I've got the Yellow Fever and Hep A immunizations coursing through my bloodstream. I've got prescriptions for Malaria tablets, anti-altitude sickness pills, and sleeping aids. And I've started running a mile several times a night to get into shape.
And I'm ready to leave. Like right now!
And to end the week on another good note, The Banker and I finally booked our trip to Peru! It's a fifteen day tour through GAP Adventures. We'll be taking off on September 9, returning September 24. Here's the itinerary:
Day 1 Arrive Lima
Day 2-3 Amazon Jungle
Take a morning flight into the Amazon lowlands and the town of Puerto Maldonado. Travel by motorized canoe to our lodge in the Tambopata Rainforest Area, which holds the world record for the most bird sightings in one area. Explore the jungle with expert local guides.
Day 4 Cuzco
Cuzco is considered the mecca of Peru, and rightly so. With a friendly, colonial atmosphere, Cuzco offers much to the visitor: nearby Inca ruins, cobblestone streets, museums, markets and churches. Optional activities include rafting, horseback riding and mountain biking.
Day 5 Ollantaytambo
Travel with our local guide through the Sacred Valley and visit the Pisac ruins. In the afternoon continue the picturesque town and Inca ruins of Ollantaytambo before preparing for the hike ahead.
Day 6-9 Inca Trail to Machu Picchu
A morning trip to km 82 begins a once in a lifetime journey on the ancient trail of the Incas. Local porters and guides ensure that the trip is worry-free. Fascinating ruins and spectacular mountain scenery fill every day of the hike. On the final day, climb the steps to Intipunku, the 'Sun Gate', to watch the sunrise over Machu Picchu. Return to Cuzco by train in the afternoon.
Day 10 Cuzco
Relax, shop and explore the sights and sounds of Cuzco on this free day. Stroll around the cobblestone streets of this beautiful colonial town or visit museums and churches built on Inca ruins.
Day 11-12 Puno / Lake Titicaca
Enjoy spectacular views of the countryside on a full day of travel from Cuzco to Puno and Lake Titicaca. The next morning head out by boat across Lake Titicaca for a visit to the floating reed islands of Uros. We stop at various islands to enjoy the lake’s scenic splendour and to meet the friendly people of these communities.
Day 13 La Paz
La Paz, the highest capital city in the world, is often a surprise highlight for travellers. A visitor’s initial impression of the bustle of more than a million Bolivians won’t be forgotten.
Day 14 La Paz / Tiahuanaco
The mysterious Tiahuanaco people constructed this great ceremonial centre on the southern shore of Lake Titicaca over 1000 years ago. Spend most of the day visiting these fantastic ruins and try to unravel the ancient mystery yourself.
Day 15 Depart La Paz
So I've got the Yellow Fever and Hep A immunizations coursing through my bloodstream. I've got prescriptions for Malaria tablets, anti-altitude sickness pills, and sleeping aids. And I've started running a mile several times a night to get into shape.
And I'm ready to leave. Like right now!
Monday, May 15, 2006
A little bit of "wheeee!"
As if in affirmation of my last post--about learning to be okay with where I am and what I've accomplished--today I got a surprise e-mail. A designer for the former mag I worked for (and fabulously talented friend) e-mailed to tell me that a nine-part series I'd written on personnel solutions had won a regional award from the ASBPE (American Society of Business Publication Editors).
While it's not a huge deal, it does make me kinda happy. It's the first such award I've won. Yeah, I didn't end up in New York working for some impressive magazine. And yeah, I've yet to publish anything really profound. But it's something. A reminder that maybe I'm not totally in the wrong line of work after all. And the fact that it's far from my best work? That's just confusing and a wee bit irritating. But you know? I'll take it!
While it's not a huge deal, it does make me kinda happy. It's the first such award I've won. Yeah, I didn't end up in New York working for some impressive magazine. And yeah, I've yet to publish anything really profound. But it's something. A reminder that maybe I'm not totally in the wrong line of work after all. And the fact that it's far from my best work? That's just confusing and a wee bit irritating. But you know? I'll take it!
A whirlwind weekend
One wedding. One birthday party. Two Mother's Day celebrations.
There was too little weekend for my weekend.
The high point: An old high-school classmate got married, and while the only reason I was invited to the nuptials was because my parents still socialize with the bride's parents, it was fun nonetheless. The bride was beautiful, the couple adorable, and the union very happy. And I saw classmates I'd not seen since graduation. Accordingly, we all played the usual game of catch up--who'd moved out of state, current occupations, and who was married, divorced, engaged, and had changed their sexual orientation. It was interesting, amusing, and eye-opening.
A few of those girls who weren't married stressed over their single status. "If I'm not married by..." was one of the common vows. But the singles never give thought to the fears of those who are married. "Do I seem old and boring now?" "Do they think I married too soon. Am I missing something?" And in the common way females have, we silently took stock of who'd kept themselves up, who'd let themselves go. A few of my classmates had moved to Chicago, stirring a bit of envy in me.
Even though almost a decade has passed, somethings never change. We're still measuring ourselves up against one another, wondering about the paths we chose, and trying to gauge our success by each other's action...or inaction.
All in all, though, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, even going out into the wee hours of the morning with some old friends who'd traveled in for the wedding. But I'm hoping the next time I gather with these people, I'll remember to trust where I am. To be proud of where I've come...even if that's home again.
There was too little weekend for my weekend.
The high point: An old high-school classmate got married, and while the only reason I was invited to the nuptials was because my parents still socialize with the bride's parents, it was fun nonetheless. The bride was beautiful, the couple adorable, and the union very happy. And I saw classmates I'd not seen since graduation. Accordingly, we all played the usual game of catch up--who'd moved out of state, current occupations, and who was married, divorced, engaged, and had changed their sexual orientation. It was interesting, amusing, and eye-opening.
A few of those girls who weren't married stressed over their single status. "If I'm not married by..." was one of the common vows. But the singles never give thought to the fears of those who are married. "Do I seem old and boring now?" "Do they think I married too soon. Am I missing something?" And in the common way females have, we silently took stock of who'd kept themselves up, who'd let themselves go. A few of my classmates had moved to Chicago, stirring a bit of envy in me.
Even though almost a decade has passed, somethings never change. We're still measuring ourselves up against one another, wondering about the paths we chose, and trying to gauge our success by each other's action...or inaction.
All in all, though, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, even going out into the wee hours of the morning with some old friends who'd traveled in for the wedding. But I'm hoping the next time I gather with these people, I'll remember to trust where I am. To be proud of where I've come...even if that's home again.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Saudade
I experienced this feeling this weekend. What is it exactly? According to Wikipedia:
Saudade is "a Portuguese word for a feeling of longing for something you are fond of, which is gone, but might return in a distant future. It often carries a fatalist tone and a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might really never return."
I was missing one magic, perfect summer.
I think everyone must surely have that one summer that feels so alive, so vibrant, filled to overflowing. Everything appears so effortless and perfect, but all the while, a knowledge lingers, a realization that it won't last. Can't last.
A group of us were between our sophomore and junior years at our respective colleges. Aside from lame summer jobs, we had no responsibilities. We were so free--so full of energy--and we took that opportunity to go camping, gather for late night drinks, endless talking, and the occasional tensions as we coupled off. A sense of limitless possibilities permeated those warm months. We were on the cusp of adulthood, all about to go our own ways, but that one summer we were a united front.
And I miss that feeling. That freedom, that untouched potential, that thrill as we stood on the brink of becoming who we'd become, but secure in the friendships that encircled us.
We've since scattered to the winds: Alaska, California, God-Knows-Where. Only a few of us remain in close touch. And even then, that irreverence and simplicity is gone. We've seen broken hearts, death, divorce, and separate paths all take their toll.
But for one summer, we had it all. It was messy, irresponsible, filled with longing, laughter, and some of the best friendships I've known. I catch just the tiniest hint of that summer at dusk--the electricity of the day changing to night, the world around turned soft and hazy. And like that summer, it’s all too brief.
Saudade is "a Portuguese word for a feeling of longing for something you are fond of, which is gone, but might return in a distant future. It often carries a fatalist tone and a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might really never return."
I was missing one magic, perfect summer.
I think everyone must surely have that one summer that feels so alive, so vibrant, filled to overflowing. Everything appears so effortless and perfect, but all the while, a knowledge lingers, a realization that it won't last. Can't last.
A group of us were between our sophomore and junior years at our respective colleges. Aside from lame summer jobs, we had no responsibilities. We were so free--so full of energy--and we took that opportunity to go camping, gather for late night drinks, endless talking, and the occasional tensions as we coupled off. A sense of limitless possibilities permeated those warm months. We were on the cusp of adulthood, all about to go our own ways, but that one summer we were a united front.
And I miss that feeling. That freedom, that untouched potential, that thrill as we stood on the brink of becoming who we'd become, but secure in the friendships that encircled us.
We've since scattered to the winds: Alaska, California, God-Knows-Where. Only a few of us remain in close touch. And even then, that irreverence and simplicity is gone. We've seen broken hearts, death, divorce, and separate paths all take their toll.
But for one summer, we had it all. It was messy, irresponsible, filled with longing, laughter, and some of the best friendships I've known. I catch just the tiniest hint of that summer at dusk--the electricity of the day changing to night, the world around turned soft and hazy. And like that summer, it’s all too brief.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
No rest for the wicked
Or so my mother always claims. I've also heard it as "No rest for the weary," but wicked apparently is a better fit in my family.
Regardless, yesterday this seemed to be my personal motto. My first day back at work after Monday's sick day, I'm tired, achy, and loopy from the various drugs coursing through my body--all of which can make a long day in cubicleland that much worse. The day creeps by in a most painful fashion, and finally giving in, I slip out early to take a short nap at home.
The Banker calls only an hour after I've slipped under the covers. It seems he needs me at the cell-phone shop so I can sign a sheet of paper agreeing to let his cell-phone number be transferred to his new bank phone (all shiny, expensive, and PDA-equipped). A 20-minute drive later we're greeted by the most unhelpful employee. She can't possibly do what we're asking of her (even though the other bank employees have had no problem), nor can The Banker complete this transaction without someone from the bank there to witness it. WTF? One hour, one pissed-off bank employee, and one exhausted me later, I sign the sheet and slump home.
I immediately check on the girls in the backyard, walking carefully through the grass to avoid any "surprises." And instead I spot the tiniest, fluffiest fledgling, open and closing his beak but not moving otherwise. Shit. The old oak has been trimmed back to over 70-feet high. There are no other trees in reach and this little guy won't survive the aggressive crows and curious pugs. I carefully scoop him into the shoebox The Banker has found and off we go again, racing to the nearest emergency vet clinic that will take the little guy for the night and then hand him over to a backyard wildlife group that can re-release him once he's strong enough. The first emergency clinic is a no-go. The clinic that can take him? Thirty minutes away.
Thankfully by the time we reach the second clinic the little fledgling has proven himself quite the fighter. He's hoping madly about the box (yeah! hopefully nothing broken!) and is chirping like crazy. His antics make us both laugh despite ourselves. He manages to renew our energy and also proves there's no rest for the wicked, but that's okay, too.
Regardless, yesterday this seemed to be my personal motto. My first day back at work after Monday's sick day, I'm tired, achy, and loopy from the various drugs coursing through my body--all of which can make a long day in cubicleland that much worse. The day creeps by in a most painful fashion, and finally giving in, I slip out early to take a short nap at home.
The Banker calls only an hour after I've slipped under the covers. It seems he needs me at the cell-phone shop so I can sign a sheet of paper agreeing to let his cell-phone number be transferred to his new bank phone (all shiny, expensive, and PDA-equipped). A 20-minute drive later we're greeted by the most unhelpful employee. She can't possibly do what we're asking of her (even though the other bank employees have had no problem), nor can The Banker complete this transaction without someone from the bank there to witness it. WTF? One hour, one pissed-off bank employee, and one exhausted me later, I sign the sheet and slump home.
I immediately check on the girls in the backyard, walking carefully through the grass to avoid any "surprises." And instead I spot the tiniest, fluffiest fledgling, open and closing his beak but not moving otherwise. Shit. The old oak has been trimmed back to over 70-feet high. There are no other trees in reach and this little guy won't survive the aggressive crows and curious pugs. I carefully scoop him into the shoebox The Banker has found and off we go again, racing to the nearest emergency vet clinic that will take the little guy for the night and then hand him over to a backyard wildlife group that can re-release him once he's strong enough. The first emergency clinic is a no-go. The clinic that can take him? Thirty minutes away.
Thankfully by the time we reach the second clinic the little fledgling has proven himself quite the fighter. He's hoping madly about the box (yeah! hopefully nothing broken!) and is chirping like crazy. His antics make us both laugh despite ourselves. He manages to renew our energy and also proves there's no rest for the wicked, but that's okay, too.
Brainless, pointless quiz
I found this little quiz while breezing through some blogs, and I couldn't help myself. It seems so random but is an eye opener!
Are you spoiled?
You are if you can BOLD 40 of the following:
Do you own:
your own cell phone
a television in your bedroom
an iPod
a photo printer
your own phone line
TiVo or a generic digital video recorder
high-speed internet access (i.e., not dialup)
a surround sound system in bedroom
DVD player in bedroom
at least a hundred DVDs
a childfree bathroom (but we have no children, so that might not count...)
your own in-house office (I have to share it with The Banker, two dogs, and a cat. Does this count?)
a pool
a guest house
a game room
a queen-size bed
a stocked bar
a working dishwasher
an icemaker
a working washer and dryer
more than 20 pairs of shoes
at least ten things from a designer store (I’m not sure about this one…but to be on the safe side…)
expensive sunglasses
Egyptian cotton sheets or towels
a multi-speed bike
a gym membership
large exercise equipment at home
your own set of golf clubs (The Banker assembled an old group of clubs thrown away by his brothers and sisters. Surely this doesn’t count?!)
a pool table
a tennis court
local access to a lake, large pond, or the sea
your own pair of skis (Haha! Only boots!)
enough camping gear for a weekend trip in an isolated area
a boat
a jet ski
a neighborhood committee membership
a beach house or a vacation house/cabin
wealthy family members
two or more family cars
a walk-in closet or pantry (closet)
a yard
a hammock
a personal trainer
good credit (Why would this count?!?)
expensive jewelry (Okay, what's the threshold here? There are no skating rings on my fingers...)
a designer bag that required being on a waiting list to get
at least $100 cash in your possession right now
more than two credit cards bearing your name
a stock portfolio
a passport
a horse (How I wish!)
a trust fund
private medical insurance
a college degree, and no outstanding student loans
Do you:
shop for non-needed items for yourself (like clothes, jewelry, electronics)at least once a week
do your regular grocery shopping at high-end or specialty stores
pay someone else to clean your house, do dishes, or launder your clothes (oh, how I wish...)
go on weekend mini-vacations (Only one, and just recently!)
send dinners back with every flaw
wear perfume or cologne (Again, why does this count? What next, deoderant?!?)
regularly get your hair styled or nails done in a salon (NOT styled--cut. Different thing altogether.)
have a job but don't need the money OR stay at home with little financial sacrifice
pay someone else to cook your meals
pay someone else to watch your children or walk your dogs
regularly pay someone else to drive you
expect a gift after you fight with your partner
Are you:
an only child
married/partnered to a wealthy person
baffled/surprised when you don't get your way
Have you:
been on a cruise
traveled out of the country
met a celebrity
been to the Caribbean
been to Europe
been to Hong Kong
been to Hawaii
been to New York
eaten at the space needle in Seattle
been to the Mall of America
been on the Eiffel tower in Paris
been on the Statue of Liberty in New York (rode around it in a boat!!)
moved more than three times because you wanted to
dined with local political figures
been to both the Atlantic coast and the Pacific coast
Did you:
go to another country for your honeymoon
hire a professional photographer for your wedding or party
take riding or swimming lessons as a child
attend private school
have a Sweet 16 birthday party thrown for you (Umm…limo ride to restaurant
with friends must surely count)
Well, I must admit, I always knew I’ve been very fortunate (read: spoiled). But it seems according to this I fared relatively well.
Are you spoiled?
You are if you can BOLD 40 of the following:
Do you own:
your own cell phone
a television in your bedroom
an iPod
a photo printer
your own phone line
TiVo or a generic digital video recorder
high-speed internet access (i.e., not dialup)
a surround sound system in bedroom
DVD player in bedroom
at least a hundred DVDs
a childfree bathroom (but we have no children, so that might not count...)
your own in-house office (I have to share it with The Banker, two dogs, and a cat. Does this count?)
a pool
a guest house
a game room
a queen-size bed
a stocked bar
a working dishwasher
an icemaker
a working washer and dryer
more than 20 pairs of shoes
at least ten things from a designer store (I’m not sure about this one…but to be on the safe side…)
expensive sunglasses
Egyptian cotton sheets or towels
a multi-speed bike
a gym membership
large exercise equipment at home
your own set of golf clubs (The Banker assembled an old group of clubs thrown away by his brothers and sisters. Surely this doesn’t count?!)
a pool table
a tennis court
local access to a lake, large pond, or the sea
your own pair of skis (Haha! Only boots!)
enough camping gear for a weekend trip in an isolated area
a boat
a jet ski
a neighborhood committee membership
a beach house or a vacation house/cabin
wealthy family members
two or more family cars
a walk-in closet or pantry (closet)
a yard
a hammock
a personal trainer
good credit (Why would this count?!?)
expensive jewelry (Okay, what's the threshold here? There are no skating rings on my fingers...)
a designer bag that required being on a waiting list to get
at least $100 cash in your possession right now
more than two credit cards bearing your name
a stock portfolio
a passport
a horse (How I wish!)
a trust fund
private medical insurance
a college degree, and no outstanding student loans
Do you:
shop for non-needed items for yourself (like clothes, jewelry, electronics)at least once a week
do your regular grocery shopping at high-end or specialty stores
pay someone else to clean your house, do dishes, or launder your clothes (oh, how I wish...)
go on weekend mini-vacations (Only one, and just recently!)
send dinners back with every flaw
wear perfume or cologne (Again, why does this count? What next, deoderant?!?)
regularly get your hair styled or nails done in a salon (NOT styled--cut. Different thing altogether.)
have a job but don't need the money OR stay at home with little financial sacrifice
pay someone else to cook your meals
pay someone else to watch your children or walk your dogs
regularly pay someone else to drive you
expect a gift after you fight with your partner
Are you:
an only child
married/partnered to a wealthy person
baffled/surprised when you don't get your way
Have you:
been on a cruise
traveled out of the country
met a celebrity
been to the Caribbean
been to Europe
been to Hong Kong
been to Hawaii
been to New York
eaten at the space needle in Seattle
been to the Mall of America
been on the Eiffel tower in Paris
been on the Statue of Liberty in New York (rode around it in a boat!!)
moved more than three times because you wanted to
dined with local political figures
been to both the Atlantic coast and the Pacific coast
Did you:
go to another country for your honeymoon
hire a professional photographer for your wedding or party
take riding or swimming lessons as a child
attend private school
have a Sweet 16 birthday party thrown for you (Umm…limo ride to restaurant
with friends must surely count)
Well, I must admit, I always knew I’ve been very fortunate (read: spoiled). But it seems according to this I fared relatively well.
Monday, May 01, 2006
The houseguest from hell
What kind of houseguest is sick for a full week but climbs into a plane to deliver his presence anyway? What kind of houseguest lets you clean, cook, and nurse his sorry ass, all the while extending those germs to you?
The kind of houseguest that WILL NOT be invited back.
Here I sit, white spots covering my throat, a fever only recently broken, and Sister #1's birthday dinner tonight.
Sorry, kiddo. But I hope your birthday is truly wonderful, even without my company this evening. I hope you rock 24 liked you rocked 23. Love you!
The kind of houseguest that WILL NOT be invited back.
Here I sit, white spots covering my throat, a fever only recently broken, and Sister #1's birthday dinner tonight.
Sorry, kiddo. But I hope your birthday is truly wonderful, even without my company this evening. I hope you rock 24 liked you rocked 23. Love you!
Sunday, April 30, 2006
And there went the weekend
This weekend we had one of The Banker's friends in from Chicago. They were to play golf and piss away the weekend talking about the crap that men talk about. Namely: golf, football, baseball, finances, and business. (Or at least so I'd like to delude myself, thank you.)
A heavy deluge of rain left me in a mild panic. If they couldn't spend an entire day golfing, I would have to entertain them. That meant after my hours of cleaning and cooking, I'd then have to be hospitable for grueling hours on end while every ounce of my being screamed, "Good Lord, help me!"
Thankfully, Someone was kind to me and the storms passed long enough for the boys to tinker about the sodden greens trying to hit their balls with tiny, tiny clubs...Leaving me free to run some errands and to attend my book club on Sunday.
I can't begin to tell you what a bright spot this was in my weekend. It was so wonderful catching up with these talented women, sharing stories, and then freely exchanging our views on a piece of literature. If I could, I'd have the book club meet more often…But then I'd have to find more time to read.
In any case, to all those amazing women with whom I gathered, thank you. Your company, humor, and intellect are adored more than you could ever know.
A heavy deluge of rain left me in a mild panic. If they couldn't spend an entire day golfing, I would have to entertain them. That meant after my hours of cleaning and cooking, I'd then have to be hospitable for grueling hours on end while every ounce of my being screamed, "Good Lord, help me!"
Thankfully, Someone was kind to me and the storms passed long enough for the boys to tinker about the sodden greens trying to hit their balls with tiny, tiny clubs...Leaving me free to run some errands and to attend my book club on Sunday.
I can't begin to tell you what a bright spot this was in my weekend. It was so wonderful catching up with these talented women, sharing stories, and then freely exchanging our views on a piece of literature. If I could, I'd have the book club meet more often…But then I'd have to find more time to read.
In any case, to all those amazing women with whom I gathered, thank you. Your company, humor, and intellect are adored more than you could ever know.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Expensive medicine
The Banker came into the really big company I work for yesterday so we could meet with a doctor who visits the campus on Mondays. The purpose of the visit was to discuss the immunizations and medications we would need on our Peru trip roughly scheduled for this September. This doctor has traveled extensively and often orders immunizations--at cost--and writes out the proper prescriptions for travelers.
The damage? We'll both require Hepatitis A and Yellow Fever vaccinations, Malaria tablets, and Anti-Altitude Sickness pills (plus some Ambien, something the doctor recommended for sweaty, sleepless nights in the rainforest). Yellow Fever is on backorder, but the Hep A, which is a set of two shots, comes in at $60 a shot. And the Malaria pills that need to be taken for two weeks before and four weeks after the trip? Five bucks a pill. So without knowing how much the Yellow Fever will cost or the anti-altitude sickness pills, we're over $500.
Can you say "Ouch"?
The damage? We'll both require Hepatitis A and Yellow Fever vaccinations, Malaria tablets, and Anti-Altitude Sickness pills (plus some Ambien, something the doctor recommended for sweaty, sleepless nights in the rainforest). Yellow Fever is on backorder, but the Hep A, which is a set of two shots, comes in at $60 a shot. And the Malaria pills that need to be taken for two weeks before and four weeks after the trip? Five bucks a pill. So without knowing how much the Yellow Fever will cost or the anti-altitude sickness pills, we're over $500.
Can you say "Ouch"?
Monday, April 24, 2006
A cold reception on our weekend away
So our weekend away was, by most accounts, relaxing, fun, and refreshing. We escaped Saturday afternoon to a little historic town not far from our home, checked into a bed and breakfast, went antiquing, picnicked at a local winery, and visited an underground Irish pub--all before gorging ourselves on a gourmet dinner.
Have you ever eaten so much you're in pain? The Banker and I'd had a great meal of warm bread, cheese, summer sausage, and fruit at the little winery around 3 o'clock. Our dinner reservations weren't until 8, but after a bottle of wine and a full picnic basket, we weren't remotely hungry enough for the four-course meal that followed.
But we ate it all anyway, including the soup made up almost entirely of heavy cream. Sensibly, we passed on dessert, but only because we didn't want to vomit on the linen-clad tables. Add to that severe pain a good hour (and a few pints) at this amazing pub that's 60-feet underground, and it was 11:30 before we struggled back to the B&B, overly, painfully full. It was humid, but as we waddled we watched a storm slowly roll in, complete with a beautiful display of lightening.
Our Victorian-styled room was equally humid. The owner clearly wasn't ready to put the AC on yet, and a sole ceiling fan labored to cool our little room. But our food coma taking its toll, The Banker and I were asleep in no time.
But my dear husband's pain continued into the wee hours of the night--I awoke to his distinctive moaning and kicking a little past 3 in the morning. Laughing to myself, I rolled over and was just about to slip off to sleep again when my body suddenly felt as if it had been drenched in ice-cold water. My chest felt heavy and every hair on my body stood on end. I was instantly awake--and terrified beyond words. I was so frightened I refused to open my eyes. The feeling lasted for a minute, maybe two, and was just as quickly gone. I woke up The Banker but was unable to really explain what had happened. What had happened? Essentially, nothing extraordinary had occurred. But I was freaked out--so much so that while teasing would have been his immediate, good-natured response, The Banker held me until I quit shaking.
Needless to say, sleep eluded me for the better part of the night. And that cold sensation? It revisited me some hours later, but again I refused to open my eyes, and this time didn't wake up The Banker.
So is there some medical malady that hits you--twice--with the sense of freezing temperatures, only to subside minutes later? Is there some explanation I can place on this disturbing experience? Please, please, please, someone, let me know. Because it was awful. And I need someone to put my mind at ease.
At least someone other than the owner, who informed me the next morning that the B&B--built in 1848--was said to be frequented by a friendly spirit?!?
Have you ever eaten so much you're in pain? The Banker and I'd had a great meal of warm bread, cheese, summer sausage, and fruit at the little winery around 3 o'clock. Our dinner reservations weren't until 8, but after a bottle of wine and a full picnic basket, we weren't remotely hungry enough for the four-course meal that followed.
But we ate it all anyway, including the soup made up almost entirely of heavy cream. Sensibly, we passed on dessert, but only because we didn't want to vomit on the linen-clad tables. Add to that severe pain a good hour (and a few pints) at this amazing pub that's 60-feet underground, and it was 11:30 before we struggled back to the B&B, overly, painfully full. It was humid, but as we waddled we watched a storm slowly roll in, complete with a beautiful display of lightening.
Our Victorian-styled room was equally humid. The owner clearly wasn't ready to put the AC on yet, and a sole ceiling fan labored to cool our little room. But our food coma taking its toll, The Banker and I were asleep in no time.
But my dear husband's pain continued into the wee hours of the night--I awoke to his distinctive moaning and kicking a little past 3 in the morning. Laughing to myself, I rolled over and was just about to slip off to sleep again when my body suddenly felt as if it had been drenched in ice-cold water. My chest felt heavy and every hair on my body stood on end. I was instantly awake--and terrified beyond words. I was so frightened I refused to open my eyes. The feeling lasted for a minute, maybe two, and was just as quickly gone. I woke up The Banker but was unable to really explain what had happened. What had happened? Essentially, nothing extraordinary had occurred. But I was freaked out--so much so that while teasing would have been his immediate, good-natured response, The Banker held me until I quit shaking.
Needless to say, sleep eluded me for the better part of the night. And that cold sensation? It revisited me some hours later, but again I refused to open my eyes, and this time didn't wake up The Banker.
So is there some medical malady that hits you--twice--with the sense of freezing temperatures, only to subside minutes later? Is there some explanation I can place on this disturbing experience? Please, please, please, someone, let me know. Because it was awful. And I need someone to put my mind at ease.
At least someone other than the owner, who informed me the next morning that the B&B--built in 1848--was said to be frequented by a friendly spirit?!?
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