Throwing Glitter

Every visit with my mom continues to be an adventure.  Earlier this week I was planning to visit her, but then the wonderful activities director at the memory care facility sent me these beautiful pictures of Mom laughing and smiling while shopping at a “boutique” and I decided that I didn’t want to show up and sully her day.  She was beaming from ear-to-ear with her new costume jewelry.  Bling bling!  Seeing her looking so relaxed and free was an emotional moment for all of us.  It brought relief to my dad and the rest of us to see true joy in her expression.  We’ve known that she’s been settling in and participating in the activities, but these pictures showed true, unbridled happiness.

 

It's hard to imagine when looking at these pictures that, even after 8 months since we moved her to care, my visits with her still elicit such pain and anger.  I fear that may never change.  Visits have gotten better, all things considered, but they come with a sense of dread on my part not knowing which version of my mom will be waiting for me when I arrive.  Some days she’s neutral, some days she’s sad, and other days she’s downright pissed off at me.

 

Navigating all of this is such a steep learning curve, and one tactic that I’m honing is quickly changing the subject.  Improvisation is key.  I referred to it as “look, there’s an eagle,” but Chad told me that it’s more like I’m throwing glitter.  Given the love of bling I share with my mom and other women in the family, I decided that was a very fitting description.

 

So my sister and I arrived on Friday for a visit fully prepared to throw some glitter.  Driving over to the facility, we formulated a gameplan spit-balling some topics that we could bring up if needed.  We walked in and my mom said hello to Shannon and then quickly turned to me and said, “It’s your fault I’m here.  Management told me that you put me here and you’re the only one who can get me out.”  Needing some glitter, stat, we said, “Hey, Mom, you looked like you had so much fun shopping earlier this week.  Why don’t you show us your new stuff?”  With that, we headed off to her room.

 

And then we instantly needed more glitter because she couldn’t find her “16-carat diamond” ring.  She had hidden it away to keep it from getting stolen (nothing is being stolen) and couldn’t find her brilliant hiding spot.  We proceeded to check all the drawers and then kept changing the subject as fast as we could as her obsession to find the ring took hold.  Glitter, glitter, glitter.

 

As we went through her drawers, we pulled out this adorable sequined hedgehog that we had not seen before.  Asking her about it, she lit up exclaiming how cute it was and kind of hugging it to her chest.  Handing it to me, I could not have imagined that my next move would’ve been upsetting. Much to her horror, I ran my hand over the sequins to make it change colors. She exclaimed that it was going to ruin it if I did that, so I quickly began pushing the sequins back to their original positions as fast as I could.  Crisis averted!

Still not locating her ring and watching her descend into panic over it, we once again threw some sparkling confetti and said that dinner smelled really good and we should find out what the chef was preparing.  Immediately, we headed off to the dining room.  Thankfully, the chef was making what sounded like a delicious dinner with fresh cookies for dessert.  Cookies are my mom’s love language, so she was pretty excited about that.  Her humor still shows through at times and she said without an ounce of sarcasm in her voice, “Well, you know I don’t really like cookies.”  That gave us both a laugh.

 

With no more glitter left to give, we decided it would be best to end our visit on a high note.  Cookies saved the day.  And I’m very happy to report that the fabulous director texted me yesterday to confirm that they located the ring.

 

Restocking glitter for another day.

 

P.S.  In my last post, I concluded that I was hoping to go from Fixer to Fabulous by installing cable with a direct line to HGTV in her room.  I can say without equivocation that my brilliant solution to all of life’s problems with her has not been resolved by No Demo Reno.  It is helping the staff calm her down at times, but, when left to her own devices, she’s unable to work the remote.  I bought a “simple remote” specially designed for people with memory issues that only has a few buttons and Chad spent hours programming this so-called simple remote to communicate with her TV.  Apparently, the instructions are printed incorrectly and it took a few calls/emails with the company to solve the problem.  But MAJOR KUDOS to Chad for his determination and grit to make it happen.

 

On this day 30 years ago in a far away land...

August 3, 1989: Thirty years ago today, I embarked on one of the greatest adventures of my life and my passion for travel was born.

August 3, 1989 at DFW Airport.  The navy jacket was required by Rotary and the tradition

 is to cover it in pins and badges you've received from others throughout the year.

In the days of writing letters on onion skin paper, prior to the dawn of e-mail, cell phones, Skype, Whatsapp, Instagram, and Facebook, I boarded my first-ever international flight bound for Munich to begin a year-long high school exchange program.  Other than a brief step across the border into Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, where we bought Chiclets and silver earrings, I had never been out of the country before.

The entire plan was hatched 5 years earlier when I was flipping through the pages of my older sister’s high school yearbook and stumbled across pictures and articles about the exchange students attending her school that year.  What a concept!  I was completely transfixed by the idea that you could travel around the world to go to high school in another country.  Armed with this new information, I marched into the living room and told my dad that I wanted to be an exchange student.  I was 11.  My declaration fell flat; he simply looked up from whatever he watching on TV and told me to remind him in five years.

I’m certain my dad thought I would forget to remind him or perhaps didn't even give it a second thought.  After all, it was very likely that this was just a passing fancy for an 11-year-old.  Whatever the case, he was wrong.  I marked the days off of my mental calendar and waited patiently until about 4 ½ years had passed and raised the issue again.  My assumption was that I would need some lead time before the 5-year mark to set the wheels in motion.  Nonplussed by my reminder, my mom and dad were reluctantly receptive to the idea and we began investigating programs.  We settled on the Rotary Youth Exchange Program.  I got to list three countries of my choice on my application (Germany, Spain, and Italy), but, ultimately, Rotary would decide whether to accept me and where to send me.

To be honest, I don’t know what I thought my year abroad would be like.  Whatever I anticipated seeing and doing could certainly have only been a mere fraction of what I really experienced. 

My first experience, after arriving in Munich and getting settled in my first host family’s house in a small town in Bavaria, was being completely dislodged of the idea that I knew anything about the German language. Turns out a couple of semesters of German at a Texas high school do not even remotely prepare you for a visit to Deutschland (probably the only word I pronounced correctly at the time). It was all Greek to me.  Like a toddler learning to talk, I was starting at the very beginning. Enter Sesamstraße (Sesame Street). Krümelmonster and Bibo (Cookie Monster and Big Bird) were the first friends I made, my trusty dictionary was a constant companion, and I became quite adept at charades.

My trusty companion

The early days of going to school were tough. My head often hurt and I understood very little, but one night about three months into the year I dreamt in German. After that, I started to comprehend more and the words came to me more easily. Unlike school in Texas, I was with the same classmates all day long and the teachers used the Socratic method…foreshadowing of my later law school days. Most teachers gave me a lot of leeway and rarely called on me at the beginning. Then, one day, my math teacher called on me. My entire class protested in my defense saying that it wasn't fair and I didn't speak enough German, but the teacher persisted. I nervously stood up at my desk and began answering questions. Though I certainly bungled the words and didn’t answer with exact precision or perhaps even correctly at all, the teacher was pleased and I got a standing ovation from my class. 

Unfortunately, one of the negative aspects of my year was my first host family. I don’t think they really wanted to host a student, and we just didn’t connect. I had a lovely set of rooms, a quasi-apartment, in their beautiful home, but it was in a walkout basement as far removed from the family as possible. When I was at home, I was lonely. I stayed home very little. On Saturdays, I often took the train to Munich by myself and went exploring.

Thankfully, Rotary located a new family for me and I moved into their home in November. Moving in with them was a revelation. This big city girl officially moved to the country. My new family lived in a small village that had a population of around 800 and there were literally cows in the field behind the house. My new "German parents" and I immediately bonded and I felt right at home. I also gained a sister and the cutest little grandparents you've ever seen. Omi is the kind of grandma who pinches your cheeks, calls you child, tells you you're too pale, and insists you eat something. The original plan was that I was only going to live with them for a few months before going to another host family, but I ended up staying with them for the rest of the year. Truth be told, they haven't gotten rid of me to this day. I visit them every few years and they sat with my parents on the front row when Chad and I got married.

In November 1989, something else infinitely more important than my move to a new host family happened. The Berlin Wall came down. The signs were all around that the Iron Curtain was on the verge of collapse, but the downing of the Berlin Wall changed everything, and I had the honor of witnessing the change live and not just on TV from 3,000 miles away. In May 1990, I went with a group of exchange students to Berlin and chopped down part of the wall myself. 

I read somewhere that the average exchange student meets over 1,000 people during their time abroad. My estimate is that I met three times that many people. Every day I met someone new. Every day I learned something new. Every day I experienced something new. As a result, to this day, I continue to strive to meet new people, learn new things, and embark on new experiences. One year changed the trajectory of my entire life.

It's impossible for me to explore all of the experiences I had that year and honor the important friends I made that year in a single blog post. I just wanted to mark this important anniversary for the 11-year-old girl who dreamed of seeing the world.

My blazer weighed about 8 pounds by the end of the year

#4 of 20: Nightcrawlers

Adventure #4 is brought to you by Canadian Nightcrawlers.  What’s this all about (aboot), you ask?  Well, Chad challenged me to go fishing with him.  To someone outside of our home that may not seem like a big deal, but Chad knew it would not be an easy decision for me.  #1 Instant gratification is a must.  There can’t be any standing around waiting for a fish to bite.  You should drop the hook in the water and instantly be met with a school of fish competing for it.  #2 I like to believe that all of my meals grow on trees.  No harm should come to anything that I consume, therefore  I live in this blissful, naïve fantasy in which nothing is killed for my consumption.  And, finally, #3: Ewwww…worms and fish.

So, here’s how our adventure played out.  Thursday night we went to Cabela’s to purchase just the right hooks and bobbers and to scope out their live bait selection.  Sunday morning Chad eagerly headed out to Cabela’s to buy some fresh nightcrawlers.  When I asked him why he got so many, he kindly pointed out to me that they do not sell them by the individual worm.  What?  I had no reason to know that.

Chad loaded up the SUV with fishing poles, a tackle box, and a chair for me and we headed to a nearby lake to mark another adventure off the list.  My dutiful fishing caddy set up my chair and found just the right place for us to cast.  The weather was beautiful and I was ready.  Chad showed me how to put the worm on the hook and I quickly promoted him to caddy and bait manager.  No way was I doing that to that poor worm.

Chad cast the first worm and instantly got a bite.  I thought, “Wow!  I’ve been so mistaken.  They do eagerly jump on the hook.”  Even though the first one got away before he was reeled in, we were on the right track.  Chad cast it again and handed the pole to me.  Then nothing.  I waited.  Then nothing.  He cast it again.  Then nothing.  More waiting.  Impatience.

We decided to move to a different part of the lake and he cast a few more times for me before I finally landed a GIANT catfish.  See, I can at least grasp the theory of exaggeration for which this hobby is known.  I shrieked like a little girl as I reeled him in, named him George, and then let Chad toss him back in the water.

Knowing I was not long for this adventure, Chad suggested that we give it one more go.  Once again I caught a GIANT catfish.  This one was even more gigantic than the last.  One of the caveats for this adventure was that I had to touch the fish.  More shrieking ensued and then he went back into the water.  Truth be told, that poor fish was probably thrilled to get away from the crazy screaming lady on the shoreline.

As we packed up our gear, I was given the honor of freeing the rest of the worms.  And, as we headed back home, Chad asked me a question to which he already knew the answer, “Was the best part of your day releasing the worms?”  He knows me so well.

20 for 20

For our upcoming 20^th anniversary, Chad and I decided we want to experience 20 adventures together.  Some of them will be small – for example, eating a local restaurant that we have never tried – and some will be more monumental.  Big or small, we’re looking forward to them all.

That brings me to our 2^nd official adventure, which turned out to be about 10 adventures gloriously wrapped into one.  And shockingly did not result in either of us being harmed in the process as tempers flared and nerves were tested.  I don’t recall signing any releases, but there’s a very good chance our entire day was filmed for a revival of Candid Camera.  If not, it should have been.

It all started when we recently decided to spend a long weekend in LA.  Being winos, we learned about a dinner being held at a restaurant called Republique.  It was a wine pairings dinner with Lafitte Rothschild wines from around the world hosted by one of the Lafitte Rothschild representatives and the pairings were blessed by the winemaker himself.  In essence, it was too good to pass up.

We quickly swung into action booking flights and hotel and decidedly declared this would be our 2^nd adventure of the anniversary year.  Finally, departure day arrived.  We packed our bags and headed out to run a few errands on our way to the airport.

One of our stops was going to be to see my hairdresser for a quick bang trim.  Unfortunately, his car was broken into during the night and he was understandably sidelined filing reports and getting a loaner vehicle while his is repaired.  No big deal.  I hate it for him, but not having my bangs trimmed was definitely not an ender for me. 

Our next two stops were car-related and uneventful; except one of the stops proved that you never know who you’re going to meet.  We dropped into the tolltag store for a quick transaction and learned that our representative came over from Cuba at age 7 (she’s now 63) and her father was the chief engineer for Jacques Cousteau.  How cool is that?

Having completed our errands sooner than expected, we got to the airport early anticipating extra time to get some lunch and maybe send some emails before our flight departed.  WRONG!  Trouble was brewing the second we stepped through the sliding glass doors into Terminal D (remember this, because it will be important later).  There were people everywhere, but everything was at a standstill.  American Airlines’ computer system went down nationwide and clearly there are no emergency backup plans for dealing with an unexpected computer glitch.  Instead of being able to manually check people in and keep things moving, they grounded flights and passed out little bottles of water to try to keep the restless travelers at bay.

The interesting part was that the travelers began to find work arounds that AA had not even considered.  For some reason, if you have the AA app on your phone, it was working.  The catch was that you could get your boarding pass, but you couldn’t check a bag.  If you’ve ever travelled with me, you would know that I do not pack lightly.  Understatement of the year.  You never know when you’ll need that kitchen sink, right?  This is the bane of Chad’s existence when travelling with me and a frequent topic of conversation…especially yesterday.  If our bag(s) had been smaller, we could have passed through security with them using the boarding passes on our phones.  Unfortunately, our GIGANTIC suitcase would not make the cut and we had to wait until the systems came back online.

Voila!  The systems were up, Chad was hangry, and I was not in the best mood myself.  Chad rushed the line to get our steamer trunk checked and then it happened.  The AA rep asked for Chad’s identification AND HE DIDN’T HAVE IT.  When he was travelling earlier in the week, he inadvertently left it in a carry-on bag instead of putting it back in his wallet.  Panic set in.

In what I believe was an effort to avoid being caught up in a domestic dispute, the rep suggested that, since it was a domestic flight, the TSA might let him through security by showing other things with his name on it (e.g. credit cards).  Frankly, I don’t think he cared if it would really work and just wanted to get rid of us.  

  

Well, it turns out the AA rep was right.  For the low, low cost of your dignity, you can in fact get through security without a valid ID.  Chad was put through the paces and I believe that his security screening also qualified as his annual physical.  Thoroughly humiliated and stressed out, he found me waiting impatiently for him.

Then the race was on.  We ran around to gate D37 to board our flight.  Alas, D37 was boarding a flight to San Francisco.  My first thought was that all of the delays had shifted things around and our flight would board there after the SFO flight took off.  Wrong!  Taking a closer look at my boarding pass, it said gate C37.  Yes, we were in the wrong terminal. 

And the race was on again.  We ran to Skylink and caught it as the doors were sliding shut.  Convinced we were going to miss our flight, we waited impatiently as Skylink followed its route to the E terminal and eventually to C.  Chad was looking pretty sheepish the entire way and reluctant to make eye contact with me, because he was the one who told me the flight was in terminal D and I never questioned it or double-checked.  My trust was in him.  “Arriving at C Terminal.”  Aah, those sweet words…and then the race was on yet again.  We ran through the terminal to our gate and made it in time to board.  What a relief!  We’re finally on our way.

As we took a moment to catch our breaths, Chad said, “Now you know why you’re always in charge of logistics when we travel.  I travel for business and do absolutely fine by myself, but today you would think I’ve never travelled before.”  Remember these key words.  He also took a moment to call my parents to ask them to Fedex his driver license to him in LA so that he would not have such an intimate TSA encounter on the way home.

The flight was smooth and we arrived in LA almost on time, which was a miracle in and of itself.  We would have time to get to the hotel, take a short rest, and freshen up before dinner.   Or not.  After watching many suitcases roll by on the baggage claim carousel, it became painfully apparent that our suitcase did not make the flight.  Chad checked with a representative who confirmed that our bag was either on a flight to Minneapolis or would arrive LA on the next flight.  It was a mystery.

Not knowing where our bag was in these glorious United States, we decided to make efficient use of our time to fetch the rental car while we waited.  We got the car without incident, though there was another couple on the same rental car aisle who we thought might kill each other before selecting a mid-size sedan.  The woman was screaming at her husband in a foreign tongue I did not understand, but their body language did not need translation.  Perhaps they had experienced a similar travel day to ours.  Seeing their tempers flare higher and higher, we got out of there as fast as we could.  The very last thing we needed yesterday was to become witnesses to murder.

Good news!  Our suitcase was on the next flight.

Bad news! Traffic was an epic nightmare and we got to the hotel 15 minutes before our dinner was scheduled to begin.  As I traversed my way across LA to the hotel, Chad kept reassuring me that the restaurant was merely .5 miles from the hotel.  He knew that because he confirmed it when he booked the room.

We raced into the hotel, threw our bags down in our room, hastily changed our clothes and summoned an Uber.  Our Uber driver, who actually turned out to be a very funny, nice guy, had trouble finding our hotel and ended up on a one-way side street.  In lieu of waiting for him to wind his way through traffic around to the front of the hotel, we ran.  Once again, for what felt like the 10th time in less than 6 hours, I found myself running behind Chad to get transportation, but this time I was in heels.  Oy vey!

We threw ourselves into the back of the car and were on our way…at the snail’s pace of 2 mph in the snarled traffic, which Justin, our driver, declared was “above average.”  Justin sensed our tension and tried to ply us with riddles and candy.  Yes, he offered to share his Dr. Pepper flavored jellybeans with us on the 6-mile ride to dinner which was estimated to take 35 minutes.  Six miles?!  I thought Chad was going to melt into his seat.  I don’t know what restaurant is a ½ mile away from our hotel, but it’s certainly not the one where we were going.

After such an incredible journey, we arrived at our destination late but before the first course was served.  The dinner was phenomenal, the wine was phenomenal, and, most importantly, we were there to experience it.

Coming out of the restaurant feeling pretty good about how things turned out, we hopped in another Uber and began making our way back to the hotel in what was significantly less traffic.  As we sat at a stoplight chatting with our driver, we saw a war between two BMW drivers raging across the intersection.  People were out of their cars and one of the men was banging on the hood of the other guy’s car.  As the BMW moved to get out of the way, the guy ripped off the side mirror and leapt into his car to chase him.  Huh, that was strange.  While we were curious to see how that story ended, our frayed nerves and thoroughly exhausted selves couldn't wait another minute to get to the hotel.

We were thoroughly spent.  Whew, what a day!

With adventure #2 in the books, we look forward to see what today will bring.  And we’re ready for it…I think.  But we’ve both agreed that I’ll be in charge of the logistics.  Stay tuned.