And this Monday:
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Beginnings of a New Life
Over the past month I have been busy packing my life and belongings into 30+ boxes (16 of books alone) and 8 suitcases in order to move from the only home I can remember (I lived in a rental apartment from the time I was born until I was ten months old, but I tend not to count that as home as I do not remember being there) to a new home in a new country on the other side of the world -- both north to south and east to west other side of the world.
LAX and I have a history and I prefer not to fly through what I now know to be "Airport Hell" if I can avoid it. Therefore, my new life began on Air New Zealand Flight #7 out of San Francisco. San Francisco is a perfect cross-over point from my old life to my new one. It has all the aspects of my US home nestled in the flora of my new Australian home -- mile after mile of franchises among the gum (eucalyptus) trees. But more on the relative beauty of San Fran later. Back to the flight.
After checking in (the upgrade to Premium Economy was worth it just to avoid the economy line packed with seemingly unchaperoned excited teenagers, to say nothing of the extra checked bag allowance), we wandered a bit through SFO, made a few calls still in the US and then headed through the evil departure doors to the TSA security checkpoint. After pulling the liquids and laptop out of the carefully packed carry-ons, taking off jackets and shoes, and stopping for a full body-scan, we entered the no-man's land of international departure lounges. My dearest and I had about an hour and a half to wait before the flight took off, about an hour until boarding, so we took turns exploring the concourse and the shops. I added 9 books to my list of must-reads and got a bottle of water for the flight. I made one last call to Mom and Dad and then, was called for boarding. Another good perk of premium economy was being among the first to board the plane, allowing us extra time to get settled in our seats; the pre-flight champagne was a added bonus. By the time we were settled, and before I had enough time to give into my panic and change my mind, the doors were closed and my new life was underway -- or at least under taxiway; we taxied at least to Mexico City. :)
Sometime later -- I purposely did not look at my watch through the flight -- we were served a less than appealing dinner of bland fish and a smattering of vegetables, followed by a pineapple upside down cake. Following dinner, I investigated the in-flight entertainment system and caught up on Series 15 of Top Gear, gave up on MegaMind and a couple other options, and finally settled down for a fitful sleep before being gradually woken for breakfast. We landed in Auckland about 2 hours after breakfast, and once again found ourselves in the no-man's land of international airports. A wander through the all All-Blacks souvenir shops, we headed through pre-flight security where my expert space usage bit me on the rear and I had to completely unpack one of the carry-ons. Half an hour with one of the nicest security agents cleared me and I was through to the departure gates where I learned a little known secret about New Zealand. It's gone cashless!!! The vending machines were set to take only credit or debit cards, not cash -- which put the kibosh on my thoughts of getting a bottle of water for the flight to Melbourne. We boarded that flight, stowed our carry-ons and settled in for a 4-hour flight, which was just enough time for me to watch Anne of Green Gables (one of my all-time favorite movies). It turns out I had more than enough time due to a half hour delay on the ground.
I am not sure whether it was the delay in arrival, the seemingly understaffed baggage inspection team, or what appeared to be Day One of a cultural "See the Continent in Seven Days" tour, but it took over an hour and a half after landing to make it through passport control. My patience was tested many times in the queue to queue to queue. I was so very glad my dearest choose to stick it out in the longest queue known to passport control with me, rather than swiping his passport at the self-service station and zipping through to baggage reclaim and customs.
He was also a darling and braved the afternoon heat to go get the super-hot car, leaving me in the relative cool breezes of the arrivals pick-up area, where I had my first look at my new homeland:
Is it just me, or do all airport arrival areas look the same?
Proof of the journey of a lifetime:
LAX and I have a history and I prefer not to fly through what I now know to be "Airport Hell" if I can avoid it. Therefore, my new life began on Air New Zealand Flight #7 out of San Francisco. San Francisco is a perfect cross-over point from my old life to my new one. It has all the aspects of my US home nestled in the flora of my new Australian home -- mile after mile of franchises among the gum (eucalyptus) trees. But more on the relative beauty of San Fran later. Back to the flight.
After checking in (the upgrade to Premium Economy was worth it just to avoid the economy line packed with seemingly unchaperoned excited teenagers, to say nothing of the extra checked bag allowance), we wandered a bit through SFO, made a few calls still in the US and then headed through the evil departure doors to the TSA security checkpoint. After pulling the liquids and laptop out of the carefully packed carry-ons, taking off jackets and shoes, and stopping for a full body-scan, we entered the no-man's land of international departure lounges. My dearest and I had about an hour and a half to wait before the flight took off, about an hour until boarding, so we took turns exploring the concourse and the shops. I added 9 books to my list of must-reads and got a bottle of water for the flight. I made one last call to Mom and Dad and then, was called for boarding. Another good perk of premium economy was being among the first to board the plane, allowing us extra time to get settled in our seats; the pre-flight champagne was a added bonus. By the time we were settled, and before I had enough time to give into my panic and change my mind, the doors were closed and my new life was underway -- or at least under taxiway; we taxied at least to Mexico City. :)
Sometime later -- I purposely did not look at my watch through the flight -- we were served a less than appealing dinner of bland fish and a smattering of vegetables, followed by a pineapple upside down cake. Following dinner, I investigated the in-flight entertainment system and caught up on Series 15 of Top Gear, gave up on MegaMind and a couple other options, and finally settled down for a fitful sleep before being gradually woken for breakfast. We landed in Auckland about 2 hours after breakfast, and once again found ourselves in the no-man's land of international airports. A wander through the all All-Blacks souvenir shops, we headed through pre-flight security where my expert space usage bit me on the rear and I had to completely unpack one of the carry-ons. Half an hour with one of the nicest security agents cleared me and I was through to the departure gates where I learned a little known secret about New Zealand. It's gone cashless!!! The vending machines were set to take only credit or debit cards, not cash -- which put the kibosh on my thoughts of getting a bottle of water for the flight to Melbourne. We boarded that flight, stowed our carry-ons and settled in for a 4-hour flight, which was just enough time for me to watch Anne of Green Gables (one of my all-time favorite movies). It turns out I had more than enough time due to a half hour delay on the ground.
I am not sure whether it was the delay in arrival, the seemingly understaffed baggage inspection team, or what appeared to be Day One of a cultural "See the Continent in Seven Days" tour, but it took over an hour and a half after landing to make it through passport control. My patience was tested many times in the queue to queue to queue. I was so very glad my dearest choose to stick it out in the longest queue known to passport control with me, rather than swiping his passport at the self-service station and zipping through to baggage reclaim and customs.
He was also a darling and braved the afternoon heat to go get the super-hot car, leaving me in the relative cool breezes of the arrivals pick-up area, where I had my first look at my new homeland:
Is it just me, or do all airport arrival areas look the same?
I can't decide if it looks like too much luggage for a lifetime or too little:
Proof of the journey of a lifetime:
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Turning Old Pages
I have just taped closed the last box of books to move. At last count, I have 976 books in my catalogue, though 93 of those are listed as donated and 9 are in the form of e-books. My brother was very interested in how carefully I boxed the books, checking them against my card catalogue and noting which box each book went it. I saved out 14 books to tide me over the estimated 70-120 days for delivery. I am not sure that is enough to get me through the possible 4 months, but with a (very nice) gift of a kindle and a new-to-me public library in my new hometown, I think I'll survive until my old friends arrive.
I am very excited for the move and giddy with anticipation of my new life and finally being a true grown-up. But at the same time, I cannot entirely give up my old life, and my books are too much a part of me to even consider leaving behind. I carefully went through each book, holding each in my hand, turning them over, flipping the pages, noting the nicks and dings on the spines and covers, pausing on the illustrations as I turned each page. I was reacquainting myself with each and every old friend, both for my own peace of mind and to let them know, my library is a living, breathing, sentient, growing body, that they are loved and cared for, and they would not be forgotten. I am really having the hardest time at boxing my books and entrusting them to someone else's care for up to 4 months.
I do not have room for 976 books in my new house, though to be truthful, I might as well -- no one would have guessed I had that many (and more) squirreled away in my 8 x 10 bedroom -- but I could not leave anymore than I did. My books are my treasure, and it must be closely guarded and gently handled.
I am very excited for the move and giddy with anticipation of my new life and finally being a true grown-up. But at the same time, I cannot entirely give up my old life, and my books are too much a part of me to even consider leaving behind. I carefully went through each book, holding each in my hand, turning them over, flipping the pages, noting the nicks and dings on the spines and covers, pausing on the illustrations as I turned each page. I was reacquainting myself with each and every old friend, both for my own peace of mind and to let them know, my library is a living, breathing, sentient, growing body, that they are loved and cared for, and they would not be forgotten. I am really having the hardest time at boxing my books and entrusting them to someone else's care for up to 4 months.
I do not have room for 976 books in my new house, though to be truthful, I might as well -- no one would have guessed I had that many (and more) squirreled away in my 8 x 10 bedroom -- but I could not leave anymore than I did. My books are my treasure, and it must be closely guarded and gently handled.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Real American Idols
Today would have been my great-aunt LaVerne's 87th birthday. It's very hard to think of the woman everyone thought would live forever in a past tense.
When I was growing up, I would see her once, maybe twice a summer, when we paid a visit to my great-grandmother's house. Aunt LaVerne was always there when we visited, and always palmed us $20 when we got hugs and kisses upon leaving. Years later, I asked Aunt LaVerne about the bribery. Her answer was that she was always forced to spend days at really old, really boring relatives' homes and she never wanted to be the kind of relative people dreaded visiting. I laughed at that thought. Aunt LaVerne was NOT that kind of relative.
When I was growing up, I would see her once, maybe twice a summer, when we paid a visit to my great-grandmother's house. Aunt LaVerne was always there when we visited, and always palmed us $20 when we got hugs and kisses upon leaving. Years later, I asked Aunt LaVerne about the bribery. Her answer was that she was always forced to spend days at really old, really boring relatives' homes and she never wanted to be the kind of relative people dreaded visiting. I laughed at that thought. Aunt LaVerne was NOT that kind of relative.
She was a great woman. Just the kind of role model independent thinking young girls need to have. She was a blast to be around, always with stories of living in Ireland and Puerto Rico with her first husband, or of more sedate bridge club adventures when she lived in Fort Smith with her second husband. She was just at home taking classes at Trinity College as she was teaching her house staff to make coffee for the general's wives as she was hosting bridge clubs and ladies' societies as she was serving breakfast to her boyfriend's farm help at haying time. Nothing was off-limits for Aunt LaVerne.
Sitting here, on the day I learned only two years ago was her birthday, I am overcome with lost opportunities -- most coming from not spending the time with her when I could, not asking her the questions I only discovered I should have too late. I know she would not have felt any of our visits were wasted, and I know she treasured the time her nieces and nephews, even when it cost her $20 each.
When I grow up, I want to be just like you Aunt LaVerne. Happy Birthday!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Finding the National Champion
Today begins the countdown to BCS National Championship. Six Bowl Games were contested today. ESPN has the contract to air most of the games this year, and so it came that in a house of so-so take-it-or-leave-it sports fans, the tv has been tuned to ESPN from the end of the Tournament of Roses Parade until right now, as I am half-listening to the second half of the Tostitos' Fiesta Bowl.
Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you I am no football fan. I will usually find anything to distract me from on-field action. The fact that the players are in tight white pants offers no incentive to watch the games. But I always catch a case of Bowl Fever. It may be the ESPN I Am the Champion ad campaign or possibly the fact that I serve as the my family's Bowl Pick-'Em Bet Commissioner and scorekeeper ($10 bet, person who picks the most bowl winners picks the charity to which the pot is donated). Whatever it is, for 3 weeks each winter I can talk football with the best of them.
More often than not, save my official Bowl Pick-'Em Bet Commissioner duties, my interest is not in the outcome of the game or the action on the field. No the sportsmanship stories capture my attention. From Urban Meyer coaching an historic last game against living-legend Joe Paterno to the overlooked and underestimated giant-killing TCU Horned Frogs; today was a day of sappy stories, tugging at a sensitive non-sports-fan girl like me.
From 11 a.m. through 9:30 p.m., I was fine, distracted enough by the human interest but still able to get work done during the on-field action. Then came the half-time coverage during the Fiesta Bowl. It was a piece on Tostitos' partnership with the USO and college football greats Connect to Home Bowl Experience for the troops in Iraq. That's it, I'm now a blubbering mess. Between interview clips with Bobby Bowden and Gene Stallings, and the troops participating in the game, it was more of a tear-jerker than any Lifetime movie could possibly be.
As it turned out, my search for the best sportsman of the night led me not to a player or coach, but to a corporate sponsor!
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