For the record, I love road trips. I love adventuring to new places, seeing new scenery, exploring and feeling the freedom that comes with leaving the mundane behind for a couple of days.
This fall, however, I issued an edict that never before would I have considered: NO MORE ROAD TRIPS. Not forever, mind you, this is merely a temporary moratorium. But after seeing the better part of four states, thousands of miles, two sets of in-laws and my own family, I'm done. It wasn't so much those things that inspired the unprecedented proclamation, it was all of the above PLUS doing it in a compact-car stuffed to its gills with everything required for traveling with children (and the things Himself inherited from his father), PLUS a toddler and a 4- to 7-week-old infant. It was spending 18 days of a 22-day span on the road or at someone else's house, where even under the best of circumstances I don't sleep well, and when it involves a nursing newborn - well, sleep was the one thing I didn't get too much of.
Then there were the adventures. The trip to my parents' house with both girls by myself where the entire car was full of cases of apples (loose - the car was too full of kids and kid stuff to do anything other than dump the the boxes of apples in and let them roam around during the ride). There was the point at which our car refused to start at a rest stop in Oregon (the 3-year-old car that with just over 50k miles should NOT be refusing to start). It added an extra 90 minutes to our travels - ended up being a bad batter. Of course, it meant we missed a horrific dust storm in the wilds of Eastern Washington - so it ended up being one of those "hmmm..." moments. There was the funeral - the whole reason for the longest of the road trips. There was the sleeping in the same room as both kids for 8 of the longest nights of my lie, where they took turns waking each other (and us) up. There was the stopping every couple of hours to feed Pebbles and exercise Woodstock's legs. And there was an abundance of mediocre, calorie-laden food during the long days on the road.
Still, it took until the end of the 16.5-hour drive back from our last road trip before I cracked. Somewhere in the wilds of Idaho, I exclaimed, "We're not going ANYWHERE for a very long time. If anyone wants to see us, we have a guest bedroom (with a bed!) and an extra bathroom - they can come see US!"
Fortunately, Himself agreed. The very next day I issued an e-mail to all relatives explaining that we were not leaving the county for Thanksgiving this year. If anyone wanted to see us, they could come to us.
Anytime I think about having to spend more than 30 minutes in the car, I break out in hives. Every time we got in the car for a week after returning, Woodstock would ask which grandparent we were going to see. How quickly the cry of "My bum is tired!" fade from her memory. (Although, to be completely honest, Woodstock wins the "Toddler Traveler of a Lifetime" award - she was a FANTASTIC road-tripper. Not one tantrum in the car. Not one utterance of "are we there yet?" The only peep that let us know she was as tired of the whole deal as we were was the tired bum comment. Pebbles, on the other hand, loathes her car seat if she is awake. Fortunately 4- to 7-week-olds sleep a lot).
I cannot explain how blissfully happy I am to have banned all road trips in the immediate future. There is something to be said after all about order, familiarity and routine.
There's also something to be said about a good night's sleep, but we're not there quite yet.
Showing posts with label Adventures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adventures. Show all posts
Friday, October 23, 2009
Monday, July 06, 2009
The pregnant lady, the toddler and the tent (and one obliging Himself)
The first indication that a camping road trip with a toddler and a pregnant woman was a bad idea should have been when I ran over a screw in the 1.5 blocks between work and the bank on Thursday afternoon, necessitating a new tire (replacing the one, I might add, that we just replaced six months ago *grumble*).
Undaunted, I forged on with a spirit befitting a pioneer (or an asylum resident, it remains to be fully determined). No matter, we'd delay our start a bit in hopes the tire could be fixed. When it couldn't, I not-so-cheerfully loaded everything into the smaller car - the one that would mean a backseat ride with virtually no leg room (long car trips with a toddler are best fared with one adult in the back seat).
Flat tire, late start ... no matter, we were well on our way to the Great American Road Trip, clean air, cooler temperatures and some memory-making.
However, there are a few things that seem to always have to happen to make life into one adventure after another when it involves me:
We definitely made memories, but I'm thinking we'll shelve planning any more vacations in the near future. I can't imagine repeating this scenario until I can actually bend over, breathe, sleep in my own space and hire a maid to clean up after we dirty every conceivable thing we own.
I need a vacation.
Undaunted, I forged on with a spirit befitting a pioneer (or an asylum resident, it remains to be fully determined). No matter, we'd delay our start a bit in hopes the tire could be fixed. When it couldn't, I not-so-cheerfully loaded everything into the smaller car - the one that would mean a backseat ride with virtually no leg room (long car trips with a toddler are best fared with one adult in the back seat).
Flat tire, late start ... no matter, we were well on our way to the Great American Road Trip, clean air, cooler temperatures and some memory-making.
However, there are a few things that seem to always have to happen to make life into one adventure after another when it involves me:
- The late start meant it was raining by the time we reached Yellowstone. Raining buckets. I'm tough, I can rough it, but something about dealing with wet camping gear, a toddler and pregnancy (and a grumpy Himself) didn't appeal. We decided to keep driving until a) the rain quit or b) another alternative presented itself. The alternative presented itself around 7 p.m. Friday night (after the obligatory stop at Old Faithful, where Woodstock delighted onlookers by trying to put her hat on Himself, then giggling hysterically as Old Faithful erupted - she loved it!). At that point we were in Gardiner, Montana. We found a quaint little group of cabins with this sign:
Enough to make you want to stop, right? It took some convincing, but they really were cute, charming (and antiquated) little cabins - and cheap (not as cheap as tent camping, but one cannot be picky if one doesn't wish to sleep on soggy ground). We stayed in this one:
- Sleeping with a toddler. I'm not sure how the co-sleeper people do it, but I am convinced they are probably so exhausted no one realizes how little sleep they are getting, because little people were not meant to sleep with big people. Night one we let Woodstock fall asleep in our bed before relocating her to (gasp!) her makeshift bed of quilts on the floor because we only had one bed. And the only way to confine her to one spot while falling asleep was to put her in between us. Night 2 we all shared a tent - where she again enjoyed prime sleeping space between us to minimize nocturnal acrobatics. I've never gotten so little sleep on vacation before. Woodstock kicking me one way, kiddo #2 kicking me from the inside.
- Tent camping. Did I really just do this at 32 weeks pregnant? Yes. And it wouldn't have been so bad if a) my small backpack tent would have actually been long enough for Himself to stretch out in (oops). b)It had not involved a wiggly toddler who slept beautifully even as she ensured her parents would not. c)I didn't have a hip that causes great pain when sleeping on hard surfaces - normally I sleep on my back or stomach while camping. Kind of an issue when one's tummy is out to here leaving no other choice.
- Holiday camping. Camping across from a group of teenagers, to be specific. Himself and I had just commented on how much we liked our campsite when viola! enter a group of 30+ teens and one or two people that might have passed as possible adult chaperones. It wasn't so bad until about 9 p.m., when we were still trying to get Woodstock down for the night and they had Bon Jovi blaring full volume, along with 30+ teenage voices singing along. Add in normal teenage shrieking and it made for a very curious Woodstock and a very grumpy mama bear. She got them back them back the next morning though when she woke up at 5:45 a.m. and declared, "All done sleeping mama. Go 'side (outside)" Turns out, toddlers aren't the most quiet morning people known to man.
- Driving. So the trip to Yellowstone on a good day with no stops takes about 5 hours. Throw in a toddler and a pregnant lady who has to pee every 90 miles and it can take ... oh, much, much longer than that. We spent A LOT of time in the car. Hundreds of miles in 3 days. We saw the West, North and South entrances of Yellowstone. We drove 190 miles within Yellowstone itself. Add in a 45 mph speed limit, numerous stops for photos, meandering down walkways and random animal sightings (buffalo herds crossing the road - or walking down the middle of it, bears on the side of the road, etc.) and it took up a good portion of the weekend, especially if you add in the fact that it the drive to/from is about 600 miles round-trip to begin with. Woodstock has proven herself as a road warrior - only the last day did cries of "Ouchie bum!" emanate from the back seat.
- Hard labor. Camping as a kid seemed easy. Camping as a single adult was only slightly more difficult. Camping with a kid while pregnant? Yeah, not so much. Keeping up with the toddler who was fascinated by the woods and didn't understand why she couldn't wander as she pleased was exhausting. Doing it on 4 hours of sleep in a two-night span is even more so. Doing it while dodging herds of enormous mosquitoes adds a particular element of fun. Adding in the tent set-up, cooking, clean up, tent tear-down, potty runs, and unpacking and re-packing the car makes one want to schedule a spa day on a beach far, far away. Coming home and realizing it will take 5 batches of laundry to get the campfire smell out of every piece of cloth that made the trek makes one just want to sit down and cry - especially given the sore hip, the 20 mosquito bites (turns out mosquitoes can and do bite through compression stockings!) and the sore muscles from sitting and/or hiking.
We definitely made memories, but I'm thinking we'll shelve planning any more vacations in the near future. I can't imagine repeating this scenario until I can actually bend over, breathe, sleep in my own space and hire a maid to clean up after we dirty every conceivable thing we own.
I need a vacation.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
As it Turns Out, Fairs Have ... Animals.
Okay, lest someone call me ridiculously uninformed, I did know that fairs had animals, I just didn't realize one could actually view them.
Growing up, the county fair, held the second week of August, was a big deal. A HUGE deal, actually, as it included the town's only parade longer than 2 minutes. It tended to run a whole hour, which was an eternity in a small town like ours. But more than just the parade, the entire fair was a big deal.
Over all of my years of fair-going, however, I don't remember a livestock portion - until the the "proper" fair grounds opened, long after the magic had worn off and I had left home. Even then, I am quite sure I never actually visited any of the animals.
Until yesterday.
Himself was working (again), so Woodstock and I ventured out to the state fair. Right off, I knew it was going to be good - I got shaded street parking 1.5 blocks away, negating the need to pay $5 to park in a dirt lot in the full sun. I wasn't exactly sure what we were going to see or do at the fair, after all, my total budget for the event was the $6.50 entrance ticket.
Soon after arriving, however, I discovered ... the animals. Lots and lots of animals. Whole warehouse-style barns full of animals. Woodstock shrieked in delight. Every square inch of her body vibrated in ecstasy as she realized that the animals were all at her eye level.
She loved the sheep the most - naked (sheared) little critters who shoved their shiny black noses through the metal gates to sniff her out. She giggled - even after being covered in sheep snot when one sneezed on her as we passed by (I didn't think that was quite so funny).
I eventually gave in and held Woodstock so she could actually pet some of the sheep noses being thrust in her direction. She squealed and giggled and bounced up and down. I tried to keep her from leaping into (or sucking on) the sheep's pen and snap a photo of her petting the sheep, resulting in the rather poor attempt at "illustration of a moment" above.
We also visited the cows, goats and the pigs. The goats brought just as much elation as the sheep (and more worry from me, as I had visions of goats gnawing on Woodstock's t-shirt if we got too close). Woodstock was only mildly interested in the cows until she got eye-level with a month-old calf. Suddenly, cows were something small, furry and active - her definition of an exciting animal.
Hours later, having exhausted my $6.50 worth of little girl giggles, we headed for home, exhausted.
As it turns out, fairs with animals make for pleasant outings with little ones. We just might be back next year.
Growing up, the county fair, held the second week of August, was a big deal. A HUGE deal, actually, as it included the town's only parade longer than 2 minutes. It tended to run a whole hour, which was an eternity in a small town like ours. But more than just the parade, the entire fair was a big deal.
Over all of my years of fair-going, however, I don't remember a livestock portion - until the the "proper" fair grounds opened, long after the magic had worn off and I had left home. Even then, I am quite sure I never actually visited any of the animals.
Until yesterday.
Himself was working (again), so Woodstock and I ventured out to the state fair. Right off, I knew it was going to be good - I got shaded street parking 1.5 blocks away, negating the need to pay $5 to park in a dirt lot in the full sun. I wasn't exactly sure what we were going to see or do at the fair, after all, my total budget for the event was the $6.50 entrance ticket.
Soon after arriving, however, I discovered ... the animals. Lots and lots of animals. Whole warehouse-style barns full of animals. Woodstock shrieked in delight. Every square inch of her body vibrated in ecstasy as she realized that the animals were all at her eye level.
She loved the sheep the most - naked (sheared) little critters who shoved their shiny black noses through the metal gates to sniff her out. She giggled - even after being covered in sheep snot when one sneezed on her as we passed by (I didn't think that was quite so funny).
I eventually gave in and held Woodstock so she could actually pet some of the sheep noses being thrust in her direction. She squealed and giggled and bounced up and down. I tried to keep her from leaping into (or sucking on) the sheep's pen and snap a photo of her petting the sheep, resulting in the rather poor attempt at "illustration of a moment" above.
We also visited the cows, goats and the pigs. The goats brought just as much elation as the sheep (and more worry from me, as I had visions of goats gnawing on Woodstock's t-shirt if we got too close). Woodstock was only mildly interested in the cows until she got eye-level with a month-old calf. Suddenly, cows were something small, furry and active - her definition of an exciting animal.
Hours later, having exhausted my $6.50 worth of little girl giggles, we headed for home, exhausted.
As it turns out, fairs with animals make for pleasant outings with little ones. We just might be back next year.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Little Miss Sunshine
Parents are inherently biased towards their own kids, but with that caveat, I do believe Baby Girl is quite possibly the happiest little girl on the planet.
She has spent her life in a state of calm contentedness - fascinated with the world around her - each new site, sound or event an adventure to be soaked up, each new face to be greeted with a flash of a toothless smile. I don't doubt that all mothers have a special bond with their children, but ours feels different somehow - like a couple of old souls, best friends, separated by a generation.
She rarely cries, and giggles at the slightest things - when we mimic her, when we play games, when we tickle her, when we make ridiculously goofy faces. Her laugh is a deep belly laugh.
Yesterday, rather than tackling much of the work that needed doing inside, I took Baby Girl and we ran a few errands and visited a museum downtown. She rode in her Snugli against me and delighted customers at both Costco and the grocery store - watching (er, staring) various people intently, turning her head from side to side to soak in all the people, the sights and sounds. When spoken to, she flashed a huge grin.
At the museum, she was quiet as a mouse, turning her head this way and that when we went into a new exhibit, absorbing the new visual stimuli. Mid-way through, it was time for her mid-afternoon snack. Since we had to go to formula during the day two weeks ago, due to chronic weight issues, I found a bench in a quiet corner of the museum, made a bottle (silently giving thanks that Baby Girl happily drinks room temperature anything) and people-watched while she fed herself (such little skinny arms and tiny hands holding such a huge, heavy bottle makes me laugh every time).
A woman from the museum came over and started to chat with me. She said, "I've been watching. I've never seen an infant look so interested in the exhibits. She is certainly well-behaved." I told her how Baby Girl has long been portable not just in size, but in temperament - happy to be along for the ride, experiencing new things and seemingly absorbing everything along the way. Times will change, when that independent streak hits and she can mobilize on her own, but for now, I'm enjoying the quiet moments (and convenience) of her absolute contentment.
After her bottle, we finished the exhibits I wanted to see, and left about an hour later. We had been gone a total of five hours. She played happily on her activity mat for another hour while I put groceries away and started roasting a chicken. She flashed a huge grin to Himself when he arrived home and delighted both of us with a laughing spell that lasted a full five minutes.
I don't know what I did to warrant such a happy little soul, but the sunshine and peace she brings into our home and our lives is remarkable. I only hope that someday she realizes the magnitude of her contribution to our home in the few short months she's graced us with her presence.
She has spent her life in a state of calm contentedness - fascinated with the world around her - each new site, sound or event an adventure to be soaked up, each new face to be greeted with a flash of a toothless smile. I don't doubt that all mothers have a special bond with their children, but ours feels different somehow - like a couple of old souls, best friends, separated by a generation.
She rarely cries, and giggles at the slightest things - when we mimic her, when we play games, when we tickle her, when we make ridiculously goofy faces. Her laugh is a deep belly laugh.
Yesterday, rather than tackling much of the work that needed doing inside, I took Baby Girl and we ran a few errands and visited a museum downtown. She rode in her Snugli against me and delighted customers at both Costco and the grocery store - watching (er, staring) various people intently, turning her head from side to side to soak in all the people, the sights and sounds. When spoken to, she flashed a huge grin.
At the museum, she was quiet as a mouse, turning her head this way and that when we went into a new exhibit, absorbing the new visual stimuli. Mid-way through, it was time for her mid-afternoon snack. Since we had to go to formula during the day two weeks ago, due to chronic weight issues, I found a bench in a quiet corner of the museum, made a bottle (silently giving thanks that Baby Girl happily drinks room temperature anything) and people-watched while she fed herself (such little skinny arms and tiny hands holding such a huge, heavy bottle makes me laugh every time).
A woman from the museum came over and started to chat with me. She said, "I've been watching. I've never seen an infant look so interested in the exhibits. She is certainly well-behaved." I told her how Baby Girl has long been portable not just in size, but in temperament - happy to be along for the ride, experiencing new things and seemingly absorbing everything along the way. Times will change, when that independent streak hits and she can mobilize on her own, but for now, I'm enjoying the quiet moments (and convenience) of her absolute contentment.
After her bottle, we finished the exhibits I wanted to see, and left about an hour later. We had been gone a total of five hours. She played happily on her activity mat for another hour while I put groceries away and started roasting a chicken. She flashed a huge grin to Himself when he arrived home and delighted both of us with a laughing spell that lasted a full five minutes.
I don't know what I did to warrant such a happy little soul, but the sunshine and peace she brings into our home and our lives is remarkable. I only hope that someday she realizes the magnitude of her contribution to our home in the few short months she's graced us with her presence.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
So if you are in Virginia, you MUST read this
I am coming to Virginia.
Beloved homeland (okay, not really, but possibly - and it's not the frontier).
I am coming TOMORROW as in 25 hours from now I will be landing.
I am FREAKING OUT. FREAKING OUT. FREAKING OUT.
I booked my ticket 30 minutes ago. I opened my big fat mouth, made a recommendation to a client, and *poof* just like that I'm leaving on a jetplane.
AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH.
On one hand, I'm excited - it's Virginia, there isn't as much snow there. I get to see at least one friend.
On about 12 other hands, I'm panicked, terrified, and anxious.
Do I leave Baby Girl here? Do I take her with me? If I do, whatever am I going to do with her for the time I'm working at a convention? But I'm not coming home until the end of the weekend. Four days is a long time to be gone. I'm panicked at the thought of leaving her and panicked at the though of bringing her. I don't know how to fly with a baby. Good grief, the amount of stuff she required for a DRIVE four states away was enough to confine us to a small travel suitcase, because she and her entourage of stuff took up the entire car.
I don't have life insurance. I've never not had life insurance. Why this even bothers me, I have no idea.
I don't have ANY clean clothes. As in I'm wearing the last pair of clean dress pants I have right now.
I HATE FLYING. As in deathly afraid of flying. I usually have MONTHS or at least WEEKS to panic. I have - um - 16 hours.
Someone tell me that this is a good thing.
And those of you in VA - I might have time for a quick hello. And! I could return Oliver & Kristin's handy-dandy rubbermaid container they lent us the morning we left for The Frontier (if I'm not so panicked that I forget to pack it).
AAARRGGGGHHH.
Wait, I already said that.
Beloved homeland (okay, not really, but possibly - and it's not the frontier).
I am coming TOMORROW as in 25 hours from now I will be landing.
I am FREAKING OUT. FREAKING OUT. FREAKING OUT.
I booked my ticket 30 minutes ago. I opened my big fat mouth, made a recommendation to a client, and *poof* just like that I'm leaving on a jetplane.
AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH.
On one hand, I'm excited - it's Virginia, there isn't as much snow there. I get to see at least one friend.
On about 12 other hands, I'm panicked, terrified, and anxious.
Do I leave Baby Girl here? Do I take her with me? If I do, whatever am I going to do with her for the time I'm working at a convention? But I'm not coming home until the end of the weekend. Four days is a long time to be gone. I'm panicked at the thought of leaving her and panicked at the though of bringing her. I don't know how to fly with a baby. Good grief, the amount of stuff she required for a DRIVE four states away was enough to confine us to a small travel suitcase, because she and her entourage of stuff took up the entire car.
I don't have life insurance. I've never not had life insurance. Why this even bothers me, I have no idea.
I don't have ANY clean clothes. As in I'm wearing the last pair of clean dress pants I have right now.
I HATE FLYING. As in deathly afraid of flying. I usually have MONTHS or at least WEEKS to panic. I have - um - 16 hours.
Someone tell me that this is a good thing.
And those of you in VA - I might have time for a quick hello. And! I could return Oliver & Kristin's handy-dandy rubbermaid container they lent us the morning we left for The Frontier (if I'm not so panicked that I forget to pack it).
AAARRGGGGHHH.
Wait, I already said that.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Your Vegas is Showing
I love the new Vegas commercials - so much more than the awful ones with the devilishly creepy man in the red suit in the previous Vegas series.
I don't particularly love Vegas itself - the glitz, glamour and insanity are really not something that I've ever warmed to. One too many business trips there. One too many flights in and out when I flew in to visit The Parents from the East Coast.
But, no matter ... my Vegas is going to be showing next weekend, and while it's not quite Hawaii like Heidi, it is warmer than The Frontier and comes sans snow.
I'm delighted to spend two days in warm(ish) weather, even if it means networking (ugh) at a client convention (ugh) for dental professionals (double ugh). But it will be my first night(s) away from Baby Girl since her arrival. I'm not sure how to feel about that.
Himself isn't sure how to feel about it either ... but we pay the sitter all week anyway, so if he's employed (pray he is) by then, he just has to drop her off/pick her up and attempt to dress her in something that fits and matches (the former being much more challenging at the moment than the latter).
I don't particularly love Vegas itself - the glitz, glamour and insanity are really not something that I've ever warmed to. One too many business trips there. One too many flights in and out when I flew in to visit The Parents from the East Coast.
But, no matter ... my Vegas is going to be showing next weekend, and while it's not quite Hawaii like Heidi, it is warmer than The Frontier and comes sans snow.
I'm delighted to spend two days in warm(ish) weather, even if it means networking (ugh) at a client convention (ugh) for dental professionals (double ugh). But it will be my first night(s) away from Baby Girl since her arrival. I'm not sure how to feel about that.
Himself isn't sure how to feel about it either ... but we pay the sitter all week anyway, so if he's employed (pray he is) by then, he just has to drop her off/pick her up and attempt to dress her in something that fits and matches (the former being much more challenging at the moment than the latter).
Friday, October 05, 2007
Progress
This week, while staying at my parents' house, I've availed myself of the warm, sunny, dry weather of the Southern Frontier and my sister's stroller. Baby G loves to be outside in the stroller, and being outside keeps me from going insane quickly.
My first day out, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my parents' neighborhood is now stroller-friendly. Growing up, my parents lived on an unpaved, dead-end road on the western outskirts of town. Somehow, in the 23 years since my parents moved into their home, their neighborhood has become the heart of downtown (and has boasted a paved street for 15 years). Where there was once one way out of the neighborhood, there are now three. Where there are homes there used to be fields of allergy-inducing alfalfa. There is a grocery store, gas station, McDonalds, Wendys, lumber store, post office, city office, two banks, a Dairy Queen and a smattering of odd shops in a couple of strip malls within four blocks of my parents' house.
Each day, as we have set out on our daily adventure, I have been hit with memories. Not since I got my driver's license some 13 years ago have I had reason to walk through the neighborhood of my childhood. Baby G and I wandered the new subdivision next door - I pictured the old pecan trees that used to grow among a field populated by various animals and antique farm machinery. In its place now resides paved streets, sidewalks (heretofore not seen in the neighborhood), utility connections and a handful of homes. We continued over to the next street. As a child, the street led to four things - an orchard; the home of Mrs. Carol, an elderly woman whom my siblings and I used to visit, always leaving with some trinket or treat; the home of an elderly couple who observed no holidays as Jehovah's Witnesses, to whom we would deliver "Have a Nice Day" treats on major holidays; and the power transformer on the hill at the end of the road.
Only Mrs. Carol's house and the transformer still remain. As I pushed the stroller through the subdivision that now resides where the orchard once grew, I was hit with even more memories - the summer adventures and picnics that meant hiking around and playing on the volcanic hill that now provides a backdrop for the subdivision; horseback riding through the orchard on a friend's horse; riding my bike up and down the one paved street in the neighborhood. There were few cars then and even fewer houses. There were horses and fields and elderly couples. Now the neighborhood bustles with traffic, children play in the yards and only one decrepit farm outbuilding still remains.
Progress made it possible for Baby G and I to explore and adventure. Progress has made it possible to run one's errands in mere minutes. Progress has raised the value of my parents' home.
As I walked, I found myself telling Baby G (sleeping peacefully in the stroller) of all the changes that had taken place - my one-sided conversation liberally sprinkled with, "I remember when ..."
Progress made me feel old.
My first day out, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my parents' neighborhood is now stroller-friendly. Growing up, my parents lived on an unpaved, dead-end road on the western outskirts of town. Somehow, in the 23 years since my parents moved into their home, their neighborhood has become the heart of downtown (and has boasted a paved street for 15 years). Where there was once one way out of the neighborhood, there are now three. Where there are homes there used to be fields of allergy-inducing alfalfa. There is a grocery store, gas station, McDonalds, Wendys, lumber store, post office, city office, two banks, a Dairy Queen and a smattering of odd shops in a couple of strip malls within four blocks of my parents' house.
Each day, as we have set out on our daily adventure, I have been hit with memories. Not since I got my driver's license some 13 years ago have I had reason to walk through the neighborhood of my childhood. Baby G and I wandered the new subdivision next door - I pictured the old pecan trees that used to grow among a field populated by various animals and antique farm machinery. In its place now resides paved streets, sidewalks (heretofore not seen in the neighborhood), utility connections and a handful of homes. We continued over to the next street. As a child, the street led to four things - an orchard; the home of Mrs. Carol, an elderly woman whom my siblings and I used to visit, always leaving with some trinket or treat; the home of an elderly couple who observed no holidays as Jehovah's Witnesses, to whom we would deliver "Have a Nice Day" treats on major holidays; and the power transformer on the hill at the end of the road.
Only Mrs. Carol's house and the transformer still remain. As I pushed the stroller through the subdivision that now resides where the orchard once grew, I was hit with even more memories - the summer adventures and picnics that meant hiking around and playing on the volcanic hill that now provides a backdrop for the subdivision; horseback riding through the orchard on a friend's horse; riding my bike up and down the one paved street in the neighborhood. There were few cars then and even fewer houses. There were horses and fields and elderly couples. Now the neighborhood bustles with traffic, children play in the yards and only one decrepit farm outbuilding still remains.
Progress made it possible for Baby G and I to explore and adventure. Progress has made it possible to run one's errands in mere minutes. Progress has raised the value of my parents' home.
As I walked, I found myself telling Baby G (sleeping peacefully in the stroller) of all the changes that had taken place - my one-sided conversation liberally sprinkled with, "I remember when ..."
Progress made me feel old.
Monday, June 25, 2007
The First Adventure
I'm over-my-head busy today, but I couldn't not write this down while it was at the top of mind.
This weekend was a series of new adventures for me, including my first-ever all-night stay at The Hobbit Hole. The Hobbit Hole sort of resembles an inhabited locale now, rather than a dumping ground for used cardboard. The bathroom is completely unpacked. The kitchen is completely unpacked (if still disorganized). The bedroom is making progress. If you close your eyes in the other locations, it's not so bad. Really. Just really, really boring (I still can't find my CD player and have no cable or Internet, so it is also really, really quiet, which about drove me insane).
But the BIG "First Adventure" came this morning. The Hoopty needs new tires, so I dropped it off at the tire place three blocks from The Hobbit Hole on my way to work, and caught the bus. Yes, this morning was Sara's first experience with Salt Lake public transit.
I'm no public transit flunkie - I commuted via Metro and bus when I worked in downtown DC, and often used the Metro and/or bus to get around even after starting a job in the suburbs. I've seen more of underground Manhattan and Boston than I have aboveground, due to the amount I've ridden the Subway and the T. And, with Salt Lake's "once you get it, you can find anything" addressing system, I figured it shouldn't be that difficult (or expensive) to get around via the UTA.
Problem #1: The handy-dandy trip planner (which pales compared to WMATA's trip planner for Metro) told me that the fastest, easiest way to get to work from the tire store (exactly 41 blocks) had me disembark at my final location at an intersection that I am convinced does not exist. No lie. The street I am on dead-ends into a golf course, an interstate and a mountain. UTA told me I needed to get off somewhere where those three things converge. So ... I took the long way - involving a seven-block walk in the wrong direction.
Problem #2: I live 7 miles from the office, putting the tire store at just under 7 miles - a 15-minute drive. The "long" version of the bus trek, including the 7-block walk (I walked this to avoid having to transfer busses twice - I need the exercise and the morning was lovely, anyhow), took ONE HOUR to arrive at my destination (no wonder, the route took me 25 blocks out of the way), since apparently UTA is like all bus systems and runs chronically 5-10 minutes behind.
Problem #3: I have a reverse commute. I am going outbound, while everyone else is inbound. This means that the only people riding the bus are Salt Lake's version of sketchy (no Utah "sketchy" can come close to the sketchy people with whom I've shared close quarters on Metro, Subway and the T, but still...am I the only one that has figured out commuting backward is better than the alternative?) and the busses only run every 20-30 minutes. You miss one, you're doomed. I was a nervous wreck the entire commute, wondering who I would call if I ended up stranded somewhere between home and work, in a location that wasn't really on the way to either.
But ... I made it. It's cheap, the bus was air-conditioned and both of my drivers spoke English as a first language, which means I could actually understand them when they announced the intersections. This is one area in which UTA has a leg up on any other transit system I've ever ridden. I tried not to feel conspicuous as me, the nearly-seven-months-pregnant-woman-in-a-skirt (clearly, I wasn't thinking when I got dressed this morning), was hanging out on a couple of major street corners in the Salt Lake Valley. It was a little surreal - I felt like, possibly, I was the only person in the valley using public transit today - something that has never happened to me during rush hour in any other city.
The best part of the adventure? The swinging metal suspension bridge I had to cross to get over a creek between the bus stop and my office. For 30 seconds, I really did feel like I wasn't too far off in describing my new home to a friend as "The Outpost of the American West."
Now ... if I can just figure out how to get home tonight...
This weekend was a series of new adventures for me, including my first-ever all-night stay at The Hobbit Hole. The Hobbit Hole sort of resembles an inhabited locale now, rather than a dumping ground for used cardboard. The bathroom is completely unpacked. The kitchen is completely unpacked (if still disorganized). The bedroom is making progress. If you close your eyes in the other locations, it's not so bad. Really. Just really, really boring (I still can't find my CD player and have no cable or Internet, so it is also really, really quiet, which about drove me insane).
But the BIG "First Adventure" came this morning. The Hoopty needs new tires, so I dropped it off at the tire place three blocks from The Hobbit Hole on my way to work, and caught the bus. Yes, this morning was Sara's first experience with Salt Lake public transit.
I'm no public transit flunkie - I commuted via Metro and bus when I worked in downtown DC, and often used the Metro and/or bus to get around even after starting a job in the suburbs. I've seen more of underground Manhattan and Boston than I have aboveground, due to the amount I've ridden the Subway and the T. And, with Salt Lake's "once you get it, you can find anything" addressing system, I figured it shouldn't be that difficult (or expensive) to get around via the UTA.
Problem #1: The handy-dandy trip planner (which pales compared to WMATA's trip planner for Metro) told me that the fastest, easiest way to get to work from the tire store (exactly 41 blocks) had me disembark at my final location at an intersection that I am convinced does not exist. No lie. The street I am on dead-ends into a golf course, an interstate and a mountain. UTA told me I needed to get off somewhere where those three things converge. So ... I took the long way - involving a seven-block walk in the wrong direction.
Problem #2: I live 7 miles from the office, putting the tire store at just under 7 miles - a 15-minute drive. The "long" version of the bus trek, including the 7-block walk (I walked this to avoid having to transfer busses twice - I need the exercise and the morning was lovely, anyhow), took ONE HOUR to arrive at my destination (no wonder, the route took me 25 blocks out of the way), since apparently UTA is like all bus systems and runs chronically 5-10 minutes behind.
Problem #3: I have a reverse commute. I am going outbound, while everyone else is inbound. This means that the only people riding the bus are Salt Lake's version of sketchy (no Utah "sketchy" can come close to the sketchy people with whom I've shared close quarters on Metro, Subway and the T, but still...am I the only one that has figured out commuting backward is better than the alternative?) and the busses only run every 20-30 minutes. You miss one, you're doomed. I was a nervous wreck the entire commute, wondering who I would call if I ended up stranded somewhere between home and work, in a location that wasn't really on the way to either.
But ... I made it. It's cheap, the bus was air-conditioned and both of my drivers spoke English as a first language, which means I could actually understand them when they announced the intersections. This is one area in which UTA has a leg up on any other transit system I've ever ridden. I tried not to feel conspicuous as me, the nearly-seven-months-pregnant-woman-in-a-skirt (clearly, I wasn't thinking when I got dressed this morning), was hanging out on a couple of major street corners in the Salt Lake Valley. It was a little surreal - I felt like, possibly, I was the only person in the valley using public transit today - something that has never happened to me during rush hour in any other city.
The best part of the adventure? The swinging metal suspension bridge I had to cross to get over a creek between the bus stop and my office. For 30 seconds, I really did feel like I wasn't too far off in describing my new home to a friend as "The Outpost of the American West."
Now ... if I can just figure out how to get home tonight...
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