Travel Studies: Plan a Trip

"Travel is intensified living---maximum thrills per minute,
and one of the last great sources of adventure.
Travel is freedom. It's recess, and we need it."
Rick Steves

How would you like to get three trips for the price of one? I do it all the time. The first trip is in my imagination as I pore over maps, research cities, locate hotels and plan scenic drives. The second is the trip we actually go on, with all it's wonders, bumps, and wake-up calls. The third is the trip we remember (which is often more fun than the trip we took!)

A freebie is a trip you plan and remember but don't actually take. I've had several of those, too.

Travel is one of our top priorities. Dee and I met on a semester abroad, so we started out traveling together. Over our forty years we've traveled rich and we've traveled poor; we've stayed at the George V in Paris, and a motel in Reno where we had to insert a quarter to get hot water (and both places are memorable.) Expensive can be dowdy, and cheap can be charming: the Daylite Donuts in Idaho Falls are as tasty as the Chocolate Soup at Max Brenner's in New York City—just different.

Here's how we plan a trip.

The TravelinOma Bookshelf

Yellow pad at the ready, we decide how many days we have available, and how much money we can spend. We divide the money into the days and set priorities—Cool hotel? Drive til we drop? Are we taking any kids? (Traveling with Kids is an upcoming class.) What kind of trip do we want?

1. Got to Get Out of Here: $300 divided by 6 = Ghost towns near Reno.
   
2. Have a Little Money: $1000 divided by 5 = drive somewhere far and stay on the outskirts of town, or drive to somewhere close and stay ritzy.
3. Special Event Long Weekend: $2000 divided by 4 = fly far away, stay in an out-of-the-way romantic inn.
   
4. We've Saved For This: $5000 divided by 5 = fly farway, stay posh, shop at Bloomingdale's.
5. We've Researched This: $5000 divided by 10 = fly faraway, stay charming. (We'll plan Europe on a Budget next week.)
   

TravelinOma Desk

With a map handy for distances, list some places you'd like to go. Or go online to TripAdvisor and get inspiration. Do you want a leisurely destination vacation? Or an on-the-go journey?

When choosing a hotel I try to imagine how we'll feel after each day. Will we want a hotel in the center of the action, or will we want to be secluded in a lodge by the lake? Will we arrive early enough to explore, or will that be on the next morning's docket? Which hotels offer free parking? Is valet in-and-out parking available in a downtown location? Do they offer breakfast, or is a restaurant within walking distance? Should we stay in one hotel for several nights and make day trips, or do we want to tour a different village every afternoon and try new hotels?

Hotels matter to me. I want air-conditioning and elevators that work, so I research hotels online, and read comments by recent guests. I look up bookstores and restaurants, shopping streets and tourist attractions, and find a hotel that is close to what we like to do. Because I've been stung, I never book online. They take your money immediately, for the whole stay, and sometimes you can't get a refund if your plans change.

Call the hotel directly (google the name of the hotel and look for a local number, not the 1-800 reservation service) and ask for their best rate. Then say, "Do you have anything for less?" They always do! If that price is higher than what you saw online, tell them. They will lower it to the online price.

After I've secured my rate, I ask about the room amenities, telling them I want a corner room (they are bigger), a good view, etc. and I usually get what I want for the same price. They hold the reservation with a credit card, but I'm not obligated and I can cancel within 24 hours with no charge.

Last week we went to Sun Valley, Idaho for a writer's conference. I called some hotels and asked for their best rate. (Busy weekend=$189.) Then I asked if that room was available at a discount price for AARP (or AAA, or student rate, or business rate, or whatever category you fit into.) The discount rate was $172. I asked if this was for 2 queens or a king. No matter what their answer was, I said, "Could I have a cheaper rate for the other room?" Suddenly it was available for $161. I said I'd call back after I'd checked around. When I called back I said, "I was told this room was $161. Do you have a cheaper rate?" Three out of five times they lowered it!

So, we were guaranteed a standard room with two queens for $152. When we checked in I noticed they had vacancies. I asked if they could upgrade us to a bigger room. We stayed in a gorgeous suite for $152! It doesn't always work, but I've found it's worth it to ask.

As fun preparation, I haunt the library and bookstores and read everything I can about where we're going. Reading novels and watching movies set in the location gets me in the mood, and I absorb enough history to arouse my interest. For example, Hemingway lived in Sun Valley, so we listened to The Immovable Feast while we drove, and then visited his grave in Ketchum, ate at the inn where he lived, and saw the deer he shot.

I leave time for serendipity, but I like to have a rough itinerary. We have often changed plans in the middle of a trip because of weather, or unexpected diversions, but having a general idea of where we're going and what we want to see eliminates stress. It helps to have a list of things to do if it rains, and the phone numbers of another hotel or two nearby, just in case.

After the planning part of the trip, the real travel begins. With the research propped behind us we are free to be flexible. We always anticipate the unexpected and savor the contrasts. Travel is addicting. Dee and I began our life together traveling, and I hope we never stop. In fact, our favorite activity while we're on a trip is to start planning our next one!


Homework: Do any or all of these assignments or be inspired.

~List ten places you'd like to go someday. Write a paragraph about your ideal type of trip. Prompt: "I don't like to ___when I'm on vacation. I go away so I can____."

~Blog about a trip that was a disaster. Ideas: "Our honeymoon should have been perfect, but" or "I woke up in Disneyland with chickenpox."

~Fantasize about arriving at your dream destination. Prompt: "I looked out the window of the taxi and saw the . . ."

~Write about someone famous you saw while on vacation. How did they look? What did you do? What do you wish you'd done?

~How has travel changed you? Prompt: "After I went to___, I felt differently about___."


*If you do any part of this assignment on your blog, link it back to TravelinOma. And please leave a comment here with a link to your blog as part of our class discussion. I'll be keeping track, and spot checking your work, giving points for participation. You can grade your own work, based on your individual progress. (A for Accomplishment, B for Basic Effort, C for Class Comments, D for thinking this post is Dumb, and F for Failure to Communicate.)

Here's the button for your blog.
I hope I did it right this time.

Several people have asked how to create a link to their homework assignment. I'm not too savvy. When I leave a comment on somebody's blog for the first time, there's a pop-up asking for my name (I say TravelinOma) my email, and my URL (travelinoma.blogspot.com) I check the remember me box and from then on my comments automatically link back to my blog without me doing anything.

The only other way I know is to type in your address and we can cut and paste it into our address bar at the top.

I was able to find everyone that commented about doing assignments today. I'm totally overwhelmed by the participation!! You are awesome, and I'm scared to death that I won't live up to my own hype. I've had comments or emails from 137 people, and I've visited every blog that was open to me so I could meet you all. (Which is why it is now 3:20 am and I'm just finishing up.)

I'm so impressed with your creativity and feel humbled that you're even reading my stuff. You have motivated me to improve. I encourage everyone to check out the comments and visit the links. Some of your writing had me in tears, and others of you had me laughing out loud. It's been a fun day!

The Book Shelf: Soulmates

Mary Badham

I met Scout in the orthodontist's office when I was fifteen. She introduced me to her brother Jem, her neighbor Dill, and her father. Atticus. Maycomb was my first southern visit, but even though it was "a tired old town" I was instantly comfortable there; the people were authentic. If you haven't met them yet, you really should.


There is no mistaking a real book. Although I had devoured books since I was 6, this was one of my first real ones. It crawled into my conscience, and burrowed into my soul; it opened my mind to gaps in humanity I knew nothing of before. It described childhood through adult eyes, and parenthood through children's eyes. I am better because I've read it—not once, but over and over again.

Seeing it on my shelf is like running into an old friend on the street. I can jump in and browse any page, even though I have no intention of reading it that day, and be reminded that, like an old friend, this book has influenced who I am.

Each of my kids studied To Kill a Mockingbird in junior high. There was a ragged, dog-earred copy floating around our house (with red underlines and notes jotted during classroom discussions) that had been feasted on by several 9th graders. I took it with me on a trip to Maine and uncovered symbolism and character elements that were new to me, even after years of reflecting on the book.

Jem had just ditched his pants under the Radley's gate, when the washer in the hotel laundromat beeped for me to add the soap. Holding the book in one hand, I managed to measure the detergent and lift the lid with the other while I kept on reading. Suddenly this prized paperback was swirling around in the bubbly water. I grabbed it, and tried to salvage it with the hairdryer, but it was crispy and wrinkled the next morning, beyond repair. I replaced it immediately with a pristine copy that begged for a red pencil.

Turning to the last two pages, I underlined Scout's childhood memories, described with such tenderness: "It was daytime and the neighborhood was busy" . . . "It was summertime, and two children scampered down the sidewalk" . . . "Fall, and his children trotted to and fro" . . . "Winter, and his children shivered . . . silhouetted against a blazing house" . . . "Winter, and a man . . . walked into the street, dropped his glasses, and shot a dog." I could savor the whole book again in just a few sentences.

My childhood is a tender place to visit, too. I run barefoot down the burning, softened asphalt to catch the ice-cream truck; sit on the screened-in porch late at night, with the perfume of lilacs hovering in the air; smell the furnace on that first chilly morning; taste Grampa's sour green apples, sprinkled with salt; sprawl on a blanket in the backyard, and listen to my dad sing You Are My Sunshine while Aunt Marie strums her ukelele. It all seems as imaginary as Boo Radley's soap dolls in the tree. But it's inside me, as are Heck Tate and Aunt Maudie. I experienced it all.

Books help me recall chapters in my life. Characters' lives are entwined with mine. Being inside an author's mind is an intimate thing. It's like knowing their soul.

Homework: Pick one or the other, or be inspired.

~Read something on your book shelf for sheer pleasure.

~Blog about a book you've read over and over. Prompt: "I can rifle the pages of ____and easily find my favorite part about____."

"As the book finishes, I go as slow as I can.
I don't want to leave this book's world."
—Jill Robinson

Family Matters: Love Being Green

♫ It's not easy being green. ♫

I'm a little like Kermit. I sometimes wish I was different—you know: tall, lithe, sensuous. I'd like an angelic voice, high cheekbones, narrow feet, long fingers. It's depressing to list all the things I'm not, and boring to list all the things I am. Have you ever felt this way?

Recently, I listened to a lovely woman run herself down. Pretty soon I was believing her about herself, and she didn't seem so lovely anymore. I could actually see what she meant! She was monotonous and uninteresting, and her smile seemed fake. There was nothing positive or compelling about her. Everything, from her flawless skin to her big brown eyes, seemed dull. She wore her insecurities like big diamond earrings—you couldn't miss them. She appeared to be proud of them, as if they labeled her as humble or modest.

It's not conceited for a person to like herself! Kermit's song has lots wisdom to it. Here are the lyrics (by Joe Rapposo) with the word green changed to me.

It's Not Easy Being Me

It's not that easy bein' me;
Having to spend each day the color of the leaves,
When I think it could be nicer being red, or yellow or gold—
or something much more colorful like that.

It's not easy bein' me.
It seems I blend in with so many other ordinary things.
And people tend to pass me over 'cause I'm not standing out like flashy sparkles
in the water—or stars in the sky.

But I'm the color of Spring.
And I can be cool and friendly-like.
And I can be big like an ocean, or important like a mountain, or tall like a tree.

When I am all there is to be
It could make me wonder why; but why wonder why? Wonder:
I am me, and it'll do fine, I'm beautiful!
And I think it's what I want to be.

Oh, Kermie! Is he cute or what? No wonder Miss Piggy loved him. Come to think of it, she became famous because she flaunted herself. It inspires me to embrace my inner green.

In my church, the first concept we teach little children is I am a child of God. Two-year-old babies can sing those words. Teenage girls recite a theme every Sunday that begins "We are daughters of a Heavenly Father who loves us." Although we believe it of everyone else, somehow we forget that it's a truth that applies to us as well.

Our example is louder than our words. No matter how often a little girl is told, "Your red hair is so pretty," she unconsciously copies her mom when she looks in the mirror, and says, "I hate my hair." It's not surprising that a pre-teen obsesses about her weight, when she's heard her mother say "I am so fat" to her reflection every day. The real lesson being taught is that we're supposed to dislike ourselves. Wrong!

In family matters, WE matter. How can we project unconditional love to those around us if we don't deem ourselves lovable? Our unique traits should be worn like emerald earrings: with dignity. To honor our divine heritage we need to recognize the nobility in being—well, green.

Homework: Do these assignments privately.

~List at least 25 of your unique abilities and qualities. Words that might apply: caring, aware, generous, hospitable, tactful, open, able to teach, good cook, listener, optimist, creative, etc.

~List at least 10 things you love about your body. Ideas: pretty eyes, good vision, strong nails, round behind, balance, bouncy boobs, freckles . . .
(Hey, I've got to tell you this story. In 4th grade my son wrote his autobiography. When describing one sister he said she had lots of freckles. Then he described another sister: "She doesn't have any freckles, but she has lots of moles." In doing this assignment, don't mention your moles.)

~Give yourself a compliment whenever you pass a mirror. Suggestions: "You look happy!" "Your lips look luscious." "That zit doesn't even show."


P.S. I am love, love, loving visiting your blogs and reading your assignments. I'm marking down comments and participation and spot checking the posted written work and I'm so impressed. You are blowing me away with your enthusiasm and I'm totally motivated because you are. It's like a bunch of wild bloggers are roaming the streets with sharpened pencils ready to attack if I don't write a decent post! You've totally revved me up and I'm hoping I come across better than I am. Thanks for contributing to the total excitement of my week. I've had 186 readers join in, and that thrills me to pieces. Thanks for being part of my experiment!

School of Thought: Be Real

Not Me.

It's freeing to let it all hang out. An advantage of turning sixty is that I've almost accepted myself. I'm not so embarrassed to be me.

When I was a little girl I was little. My friends wore sizes 8 or 10 and I was still in a 6X. The 6X dresses had puffy sleeves and sashes that tied in the back, and I remember Karen and Jill making fun of my baby dress. I also wore red and white checkered reading glasses in 2nd grade. I stood out. It was humiliating, and already I felt the sting of self-consciousness. When we were 11, the friends got training bras. I still looked like a 5-year-old boy, but Mom realized how miserable I was and got me one, too. I stuffed it with kleenex and looked lumpy and lopsided. I was doomed to geekdom.

Junior High was miserable. I was too shy to tell my teachers my nickname and so I was called by my very old-fashioned real name. There wasn't anything cool about me. In 9th grade I took up swearing, hoping it would earn me some respect among the popular crowd. Nobody noticed except my brother, who told my dad, who was not impressed.

It took me decades to get beyond the Jr. High mentality. I thought I had to be accepted by everybody else to be acceptable. The huge secret I discovered was that once I had accepted myself, I became acceptable.

Whether I'm called Ma'am, or Miss, Mom or Oma, I know who I am. My age and rank don't matter. I can develop at my own pace; I don't need kleenex, or fame or fortune to pad the reality. I can decide what words represent the real me and I don't need to parrot others to be "in." It's been freeing to let myself go, and find out where I'm going.

I wish I could find some red and white checkered reading glasses; I wouldn't mind standing out now. I still envy girls who wear a size 8 or 10. I'm not a 6X anymore but, of course, you can see that for yourself. I'm letting it all hang out!

How do you find the real you? I'm like an overstuffed, jumbled up scrapbook drawer, crammed with images, photos, memories and scribbled messages. Until I dump it all out somewhere, I can't see what's in there. As I sift through, random bits and pieces fit together and the dust settles in my blog.

We have all collected wisdom throughout our lives and we can gain access to it through the act of writing. Cicero said, "Nobody can give you wiser advice than yourself."

Homework: Do any or all, or be inspired. (If your real life is too real right now, be your own private tutor and do an assignment in your head.)

~Search through the drawer in your heart. Are there memories that shaped your self image? Write about a time when your feelings were hurt. Why do you think you still remember the incident? How does that help you understand yourself better?

~Describe yourself from a friend's point of view. Does she know the real you? Do you want her to?

~As a trusted mentor, write a letter advising yourself what to do about a current situation in your life. Prompt: "Dear Friend, I know you're worried about ____. Knowing you like I do, I'm sure you feel____, but I trust your instincts. You seem so____."

"At 20, we worry about what others think of us;

at 40, we don't care what they think of us;
at 60, we discover they haven't been thinking of us at all."
—Bob Hope

*If you do any part of this assignment on your blog, link it back to TravelinOma. And please leave a comment here with a link to your blog as part of our class discussion. I'll be keeping track, and spot checking your work, giving points for participation. You can grade your own work, based on your individual progress. (A for Accomplishment, B for Basic Effort, C for Class Comments, D for thinking this post is Dumb, and F for Failure to Communicate.)

School of Thought Seminar: Breakdown!

Art by W. S. Hutton

There was a big jolt, and then it got bumpy. I sensed it coming, but I was going too fast and it seemed impossible to slow down. As the air escaped from my tires, I veered out of control. Everything went flat. I was having a breakdown.

It all started in June, 1981. We were excited, expecting our 7th baby, but we didn't know where we'd put her. Our house was overflowing with kids and shoes and outgrown coats: we decided to remodel the basement. The contractor said it would take two months. Perfect. The kids could all live in the family room while the bedrooms were reconfigured into two big dorms.

Too much togetherness.

Four months later Marta was born. The painter was the one who took the call announcing her birth. Workmen had taken up permanent residence in our home—it was a nightmare. One thing had led to another and construction was taking place all over the house. What were we thinking?

One day, when the baby was less than a week old, I put her in an infant seat on the dining-room table, out of danger. Her sneezing siblings were smearing chocolate on the drapes, while I talked to the pediatrician on the phone. A lamp tipped over just as the doorbell rang. "We're here to see the baby" called my friend, herding her three kids around ladders and through stacks of lumber.

In the garage a saw whined. The carpenter had just removed some wooden slats that held the cathedral windows in place when suddenly a gust of wind blew the plate glass in. It shattered all over the room.

Our house back then.

Marta and the other kids were luckily protected from the tiny shards, but I was hit—not by glass, but by the enormity of my situation. These kids were out of control. I had way too many of them, and they were all living in the family room out of boxes, and there were strange men using my bathroom, watching me and my house fall apart.

A week later I was feeding the baby when the phone rang. Walking backwards to answer it, (so I wouldn't expose my bare boob to Ron, the carpenter in the hall) I clipped the end table. My knee went out from under me, and I fell down, throwing Marta in the air. She landed on the hard kitchen tile, and I landed in a twisted heap. Ron dashed in to rescue both of us. Again, the baby was fine, but I wasn't. After a few hours in the emergency room, I came home with a leg brace, crutches, and torn ligaments in my knee.

Fast forward another two weeks. Neighbors helped with my preschoolers; Marta spent her life on my bed, surrounded by diapers, because I couldn't carry her and walk on my crutches at the same time. Saturday morning Dee had a leg-ache and took a couple of aspirin. Within minutes he was turning blue, unable to breathe. When the paramedics arrived, they gave him a shot of epinephrine, and rushed him to the hospital. In the ambulance he went into respiratory arrest, and heard them yell "We're losing him! We're losing him."

When I got to the hospital, and asked how he was, the frazzled doctor said, "He damn near died!" So, now I was a single mom of seven under eleven, on crutches, trekking to visit my critically ill husband in the ICU every day for two weeks. He recovered, but the stress was taking a toll on me.

Back to normal.

Six months passed, the workmen were gone, the kids were installed in their cool new rooms, my crutches were stashed in the garage, and Dee was back in the pink. However, I was heading into the blues. Life was getting darker and darker, although nobody else seemed to notice.

I was all sunshine outside my house, but my own little world was dismal. I had periodic dizzy spells, double vision and random aches and pains; I was certain I had a fatal disease. I blew up at the slightest thing, and had tantrums right along with my kids. I used to call Dee and have him come home in the middle of the day, because of my frantic state of mind. I imagined all sorts of terrible things happening to me or my kids—I was full of fear, doubt and worry.

The hardest part was that I couldn't let anyone in my humiliating secret. I was breaking down, but I had to keep up my image.

On a Merry-Go-Round

The doctor couldn't find anything wrong with me and suggested anxiety or depression. I would not accept that as my diagnosis. I wasn't the depressed type—it sounded so depressing.

One day I was moping on the couch while my kids stared at the TV. I had been praying about my bleak situation when the thought came to call Shawna—a neighbor I did not know well. When she answered, I started sobbing uncontrollably, and told her how helpless and hopeless I felt. She sounded caring and calm as she assured me, "We'll get through this together. It will be all right." She said she knew what I was going through, because she'd felt this way herself. When I finally settled down, she said, "Now, Dear, first tell me: who is this?"

Shawna steered me towards a doctor who shared tools to help me with my breakdown. Depression is a chemical imbalance, and anti-depressants balance the brain's chemicals so it can function normally. He explained that for me to go without them would be as foolish as a diabetic going without insulin.

Stress, hormones, illness or trauma can trigger a bout of depression. Sometimes it goes away completely on it's own, other times it goes away but recurs. In my case, it is chronic, so I'll take anti-depressants the rest of my life. A friend referred to them as "happy pills," but that's not right. The medication doesn't make you happy—it makes you normal. Then you can make yourself happy.

Out on a limb

Life is full of crashes and surprise breakdowns. I can be philosophical about them when they're happening to somebody else.

Mrs. Organic wrote a post on her three weeks of solitary confinement:
"I was placed in a corner room on the top floor with the rooms next to me left vacant since radio waves are no respecter of walls (I always wondered about the poor soul in the room beneath me). A line was taped off around the door that I was not allowed to pass, a box of disposable blue booties and a chair sat waiting for any visitors, nurses, or doctors. No one was allowed to be in my presence for more than a total of 20 minutes per day. It was rather lonely." (Click on her name for the rest.)

Diane is one of my heroes. Her story begins with, "One misstep changed my life." Click on her name for her courageous tale (start with the bottom post and work up.) Diane is the example of how to deal with an unexpected breakdown.

"Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear,

for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you . . ."
—Doctrine & Covenants 68:6

Homework: Do any or all or be inspired.

~If you've had the blues for more than two weeks, talk to someone about it. Don't suffer in silence. If you've been in a funk for more than a couple of months, go to a doctor.

~Write about a person who saved the day for you.

~Do you have a friend who needs your brand of sparkle? Think and pray about who you should call. Then make her laugh.


*Get out your blue books. Final exams are next week!


*If you do any part of this assignment on your blog, please link it back to TravelinOma and provide proper attribution. Leave a comment here (with a link to your homework if you want to share it) and/or a link to your blog (so we can get to know you.) School Days has open enrollment so join anytime. No make-up work required! If you're new, click here for an orientation.

Family Matters Seminar: Baby Shower

What: A Baby Shower of Advice
When: Right Now
Who: Everybody
Where: In the Comments Section
Why: Because we're all full of wisdom!


Aren't you dying to give some advice??

Sit over here and have some lemonade while we visit.

Heidi made the cheesecake,
with hot fudge and raspberries!

Think about what you'll say...it's my turn first.

1. Remember that YOU are the expert on your own baby.
2. You will learn together how to nurse. He's new at it, too.
3. Don't worry when he cries.
4. Don't worry when he sleeps.
5. He won't starve to death if he only gets a drop or two before falling asleep again.
6. Everything will eventually fall into place, but give yourself six weeks.
7. Decide that you're on an adventure in a different time zone. Sleep whenever he's asleep. He'll figure it out, and you'll return to normal in a few weeks.
8. If you feel like crying, just let yourself go. You'll feel relieved and relaxed (after your headache and puffy eyes go away.)
9. He brought his personality with him--it's eternal. You're not going to ruin him by your inexperience or little mistakes. He came to teach you the real facts of life!
10. In today's world the greatest blessing a little child can have is parents who love each other.

Now, share your insight!

What have you learned or observed about new babies and new moms?

Melissa:
"Invest in a great crock-pot and recipes. It saves a lot of stress at dinner-time when babies are cranky to have dinner already done!"

Cath:

" Recognize the post partum blues and forgive yourself the mommy moments. When you're sleep-deprived and your body is surging with hormones, it can be a confusing time, but you will get back to normal--in about eighteen years."

Christie:

"Trust your mommy instincts. Don't feel dumb when you rush to the doctor and find out it's nothing. Better to be reassured than worried."

Tiffany:

"Everybody warned me that adjusting to marriage is hard, but it wasn't. So, having a baby will be easy too, I figure. We don't wait very long to get pregnant. I am wrong about this adjustment. We bring Christian home from the hospital and I love him and fear him all at once. I take a drive with Ryan a few days later when my sister offers to babysit. 'I don't want you to think I'm a bad person,' I say, 'but WHAT HAVE WE DONE?' We figure it out together, day by day."

Kay:

"My best advice is to relax -- it's not rocket science and you don't have to be perfect."

Jenibelle:

"Pick your battles, starting when they are really little."

Gabi:

"Parenthood (like pregnancy) will change YOUR life more than your husband's life. Don't expect parenting to be a 50/50 deal."

Sheri:

"Don't compare yourself to other mothers. Don't compare your baby to other babies."

(In case some of you are wondering when you gave this great advice, they were comments on a post I wrote August 18, 2008. I remember everything.)

Crissy has a class presentation on labor. (This is edited. Click on her name for more.)
"Not every birth is the same. You'll likely only hear about the awful ones, because they make better stories. My best advice in that arena is to avoid those stories like the plague, or swine flu. If someone tries to tell you a new one ask them not to, and if they don't listen walk away. Their experience will not be yours.

"Take a birthing class . . . There are a few different classes offered these days, you can pick from Lamaze, the Bradley method or HypnoBirthing. Personally, having tried it, I highly recommend HypnoBirthing. "Be educated, but don't overdo it. You don't need to read every single pregnancy or parenting book or magazine. Find a few that share your hopes and ideas for how you want things to be, and stick with that.

"Make sure your OB or midwife is on board with what you want for the birth. If something your care provider says doesn't sit right with you, don't be afraid to find someone new who will be more accommodating.

"Be happy. Through sickness and overwhelming tiredness, aching joints and growing belly, you are carrying a life inside of you. A precious spirit, a gift from God. If you want it and will it to be good, pregnancy (and birth) can and will be good."


Misty wondered about becoming a mother. (Click on her name for the unedited version.)
"The first time Adam seriously brought up the idea of marriage, I'm sad to say I went a little berserk. I had been at college in Colorado for a semester, and my first summer home, he brings up that m-word. The horrible, stifling, old fashioned m-word. I was livid. I wanted to finish my education. I wanted to finish my softball eligibility. I wanted a career. And I definitely didn't want to be stuck "at home" doting over a husband and who knows how many children; completely forgetting my dreams, my ambitions, and ultimately myself. And I told him so. How could he be so selfish to ask me to give all of that up?

"That was the biggest fight we ever had in our two years of dating. He left, frustrated and a little bewildered, no doubt. I went to bed in a huff, rehashing the conversation and reassuring myself that I was right, and he was dead, dead, wrong. I even thought back to when I first started dating Adam and a guy I had been interested in told me 'if you keep dating that guy, you're going to end up married and pregnant with a bunch of kids and no life of your own.'

"I tossed and turned that night, unable to sleep. And something miraculous happened. I started thinking with my heart instead of my intellect and worldly desires. There were a few very special experiences I had over the next few hours, and by lunch time, I knew that I didn't want anything else but to marry Adam.

"I have never regretted my decision . . . In the last 7 years, I have come to treasure the expectations placed upon me as a woman, a wife, and a mother. I relish the interactions I get to have with my children, and the role I play in teaching and nurturing them. I can truly say I 'find nobility in motherhood . . .'"

Hey, you guys are wise!

Homework:

~Leave some advice for a new mom.

(P.S. Sorry this is late. I guess I forgot to click publish!)

*If you do any part of this assignment on your blog, please link it back to TravelinOma and provide proper attribution. Leave a comment here (with a link to your homework if you want to share it) and/or a link to your blog (so we can get to know you.) School Days has open enrollment so join anytime. No make-up work required! If you're new, click here for an orientation.

Book Shelf Seminar: Class Presentations

Dee in a bookstore in Paris

"When I get a little money I buy books;
and if any is left, I buy food and clothes."
—Erasmus

In heaven I want to work in a bookstore. I won't have to worry about making or losing money, or what will be worthy of the bestseller list. As thousands of books arrive in boxes (unpacked and stacked by angel employees) I'll peruse them all, and supervise their placement on the shelves. I'll be surrounded by people's words and thoughts, and other people who love to read and write. And I'll never run out of time.

My bookstore will have oodles of nooks and crannies, furnished with squishy furniture and lots of pillows, and foot stools for short people. The temperature will be 57 degrees, cool enough for a sweater, and perfect for fires in dozens of different fireplaces blazing in every corner. The scent of mulled cider will warm the rooms, and there will be numerous oak end-tables to hold your mug, and stack of books.

Picture it: ladders with wheels glide around the perimeters, giving access to the highest shelves, and low benches make it comfortable to examine the paper-backs closest to the floor. Dictionary stands display immense art books, and library tables have slanted tops so there's no glare or strain if you want to look at a weighty anthology.

Oh, did I mention the divine donuts? Homemade applesauce donuts. And the best frosted sugar cookies—all free (calorie free, fat-free, guilt-free.) The fudge brownies will bring out the devil in everybody.

Salzburg window display

And there will be a map room with giant tables to spread them out on. Plus, a sound-proof children's room with a loft and kid-size furniture, and endless healthy snacks (while we're munching the good stuff) and quiet, educational (but fascinating) toys.

Art by Judith Dufour Love

An angel will read mesmerizing stories to them so all the adults can browse for hours on end. And nothing will ever get dusty or faded, and the bathrooms will be handy and clean with sweet-smelling soap, and trustworthy attendants to help little kids. And the whole store will have lighting that doesn't buzz, or flicker, and makes me look . . . heavenly.

Bookstore in Krakow, Poland

Our class presentations today are about bookstores. Read the excerpt and then click on the name for more.

Tales of a Hummingbird described a bookstore this way:

that smell. that beautiful, musty, ancient and all-knowing smell of dusty books on shelves. they've been there for ages, all their collective wisdom and inspiration patiently waiting for me. the aging colors of their mix-matched book sleeves, fading a little more as the sun dutifully arcs its way across the shop window day after day, make up the most brilliant display as you stroll through the aisles. wooden shelves, hand crafted a long time ago when they really made things out of real wood and sweat. the wood is a little rough, you can see the grooves and the rings-those shelves alone tell you a story about life.

that perfect bookstore is just like a library, but much cuter and with a really spunky librarian who loves chatting to you about her favorite books. forget that no talking rule, and yes please bring a cup of tea! its homey and comfortable, a few chairs inviting you to get lost in the pages if you dare, if you can make time in your schedule. you should do it. just sit down in the cozy chair over by the window and lose an hour of your day. there's nothing better."

Vienna window display

Sue worked in a bookstore and she wrote this funny story:

"Another day a lady comes in and asks for 'all over sex books.' (This is in no way a weird request. It you've worked in a bookstore, you know.) I proceed to begin showing her our section on sex. (I'll bet most of you did not grow up in a place with your own section on sex. Well not my own, but you know what I mean.)

"I point out to her books like The Joys of Sex and several others. Finally she looks at me with the weirdest expression, and asks, 'What did you think I was asking for?' 'All over sex books,' I say. Then she laughed like I had never heard a laugh before. It took her several moments to calm down enough to tell me, 'I was looking for Oliver Sachs books!'"

"Always read something that will make you look good

if you die in the middle of it."
—PJ O'Rourke

Homework: Do any or all or be inspired.

~Rearrange your books so that you'll remember what you have. Then eat a donut.

~Pack up a box of books you don't want anymore and take them to Deseret Industries or another charity. Share the wealth.

~Be an angel and read a story to somebody.

Leave a comment here (with a link to your homework if you want to share it) and/or a link to your blog (so we can get to know you.) School Days has open enrollment so join anytime. No make-up work required! If you're new, click here for an orientation.

Travel Studies Seminar: Class Presentations

"Most travel is best in the anticipation,
or the remembering;
the reality has more to do with lost luggage."
—Regina Nadelson

In our travels we've visited several faraway emergency rooms. We once had ants in our bed, and another time I had a miscarriage. Dee left his wallet in a food-court; our hip-hop taxi driver and his girlfriend (Foxy) joined our family (uninvited) for a visit to the San Francisco Zoo; we had food poisoning in Amsterdam and spent a cozy night huddled together over an unappealing and ancient toilet . . . these are the realities of travel. They make for good stories, but sometimes other people's stories are better.

Our first class presentation today is from Emilie at Mickelmonkeys about her disastrous honeymoon.

Art by Ronald Anderson

"Unfortunately, we were plagued with several hiccups right from the start. On the day before we flew out to my parents house, we sat down on the grass waiting for a bus and we were bitten by little bugs. Chiggers, mites, who knows? But we were both itchy and miserable and covered in red welts the day before we got married." Click here for the whole funny story.

On Deck

Don't suggest a Caribbean cruise to Alana! She wrote:

"My ideal vacation is simply any vacation not afloat at sea, imprisoned with slobivius americanus. I'm talking to you, Cruise Ship.

"Cruise ships are a virtual petri dish of communicable disease afloat at sea. At sea! Do you know what happens at sea? . . . Hurricanes, walls of water that swallow ships whole, sinking. Sinking! I said sinking! If I managed to return home it could be with hoof and mouth, meningitis, staphylococcus, and most certainly an exacerbated case of claustrophobia. Where do they store the buffet food? How is human waste treated, stored or expelled? Have you asked yourself these questions?

"Possibly, I could make good use of the gambling available while in international waters. Or the 24-hour-bar. And if you watch Primetime Crime, you know you can throw just about anybody overboard and get away with it. (Increase husband's policy—check.) This is as far as my exploding optimism can throw me.

"I don't like to suffer and/or die when I'm on vacation. I go away so I can come back."

Suffering was a big part of our early family vacations. Five days with four sick kids in one crowded California hotel room (two queens, a roll-a-way and a crib,) pouring rain, and a missed flight was pretty miserable. Another good story, but dismal as it happened. Other trips were better.

CMN, you had a comment:

"Here's my tip and it's worked like a charm every time . . .

"Have four basic Vacation Rules:
1 - Stay with the Parent/Adult
2 - Don't Spend a lot of Money
3 - No whining or complaining (Set a key phrase for a child to use instead -- "I need a break" is my favorite. Whenever a child uses the key phrase, be prepared to stop, listen, and outline for them a plan to remedy -- "okay, we're going to finish this activity which will take five minutes and then we're going to go sit under that tree and enjoy a rest." Also agree what the penalties will be for breaking this one...)
4 - Have fun!

"Discussing the rules several times before we leave helps each child get them in mind and plan to follow them. Then once we're traveling, all it takes is a simple reminder -- 'Rule #1!' -- and the kids react.

"Having easy and basic rules is priceless. Especially when the kids remind you of them too . . . 'Rule #2!'"

You guys have the best ideas. And I love your comments on my ideas.

Oma's suitcase

I admit it. I have an obsessive, compulsive disorder when it comes to packing. I wrote,

"I pack kits so I can unpack and pack quickly: Nightstand kit: little flashlight, tissues, lotion, chapstick. Secretary kit: Check register, calculator, pen, envelope for receipts. Recharge kit: camera and phone chargers, extra batteries, memory card. Toiletries, Make-up, the usual."

I got a comment from Wrath of Khandrea that cracked me up:

"i cannot even wrap my mind around this.

and yet . . .

i'm a teeny bit turned on by it all."

Thanks for putting up with my eccentricities! And thanks for all your contributions to our travel studies seminar.

"I haven't been everywhere,
but it's on my list."
—Susan Sonntag

Homework: Do any or all or be inspired.

~Turn on the Travel Channel and take a trip for free. (I'd suggest Rick Steves or Samantha Brown.)

~Visit Barnes and Noble. Browse the travel section, and take a few books to the cafe. Order a bagel and a hot chocolate, and daydream.

~Have you ever been sick on a trip? Write a paragraph about it. Prompt: "I thought I was going to die. I was in______"


*If you do any part of this assignment on your blog, please link it back to TravelinOma and provide proper attribution. Leave a comment here (with a link to your homework if you want to share it) and/or a link to your blog (so we can get to know you.) School Days has open enrollment so join anytime. No make-up work required! If you're new, click here for an orientation.

Write Away Seminar: Class Presentations

OK, kids.
When I call on you, just stand up and make your presentation.

One author said, "It's easy being a writer. You just cut open a vein and bleed all over the paper."
That's what it feels like sometimes; but we want to do it, anyway. We wouldn't be participating in this class if we didn't want to write. So why is it so hard to do? Audrey?

Audrey:
"Fear is my main excuse. I am afraid that something that seems really funny or meaningful in my head will sputter and collapse and end up displayed for all to see as the inadequate and incomplete thought that comes out when I write. I will have exposed myself and be left standing while everyone points their fingers and laughs. Or worse, they will walk away bored and confused."

Judy? Your hand is raised:
"You reminded me of a book title that I quote all too often . . . 'Why Am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am?' The answer is . . . 'Because you may not like me.'"

It's interesting that we all feel that way. When I've written something light and witty I can't wait to get some feedback. I'll call Dee and read it to him over the phone, I'm so pleased with myself. I don't even care if he thinks it's dumb.

On the other hand, when I've poured out my heart on my blog, I often regret it the next day, feeling self-conscious and embarrassed. But, ironically, that's the kind of blog I like to read. When I read something sincere, it lets me know a writer is genuine. That's when I'm touched.


Some of the homework assignments these past weeks have been so brave and honest. I've read them with tears in my eyes, touched by the way a writer has opened her heart. I'll entice you with a couple of paragraphs, and you can click on the name for the whole presentation.

Heather wrote:

"I spun in my chair and angled my head to get a look. I had to see what they were all laughing about--why they were all laughing at me. My legs numbed. My stomach iced. I was betrayed. I couldn't understand how an adult could set up a kid for such humiliation. My ears burned, but that paled in comparison to the fire at the corners of my eyes. I searched the room like a hunted animal looking for a place to hide. I was painfully aware of everyone's eyes on me. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run. The tears came, and to my relief, the bell. In that instant I bolted out the door and locked myself in the oatmeal colored bathroom stall. In four minutes I'd have to go back in there. I didn't know what to do.

"I typically did well in school because I worked hard to earn recognition in class. I'd always tried to please my teachers. I had no fear. I'd try anything once, and I wasn't afraid to get up in front of the class or participate. This day changed everything. This was the day where I learned that not all teachers have a student's best interest at heart. Not all teachers are considerate. Not all adults are trustworthy. She hurt me at my core, and that day shaped me for the rest of my schooling."

Mrs Organic wrote this about her experience with panic attacks:

"As soon as the sun went down and my children were tucked in bed, I would wait while my gut would tighten, and I'd wonder if that night would bring the dreaded anxiety. Often, my heart would race as if I'd just taken a leap off a cliff and discovered my chute wouldn't open, fairly hammering out of my chest. At the same time it would feel as if all the air had suddenly been sucked from the room leaving a vacuum in my lungs and a heavy pressure on my rib cage. I would tremble violently as fear overtook me. My brain utterly deserted me. I knew that what I was feeling was coming from my own mind but I felt completely powerless to stop it.

"I spent many nights sitting on the cool, hard tile of our master bath, my back pressed to the wall, facing the closed door with the light on, and my scriptures open in my lap. I sobbed uncontrollably; I was so very afraid. I don't think Mr. O understood it, but he was very patient and very kind."

Isn't this what being a writer is all about? Sharing experiences, and trying to make sense of life? I think it's a way of supporting each other. It's a gift. We have a responsibility to train ourselves and practice our craft, so we can use it in a positive way.

Another favorite quote says "I love being a writer. It's the paperwork I can't stand."

Yes? Diane?
"Over the years I’ve found that I put off doing things I want to do until mundane chores are done, sort of like keeping dessert until last. One thing I’ve found is that if I do the fun things first, the other stuff usually gets done anyway. At least the stuff that really needs to get done. Now I just need to remember all that, and I’ll get more writing, reading, and quilting done. Hope springs eternal!"

Thanks for your contributions to class today!

Homework: Do any or all or be inspired.

~Your best friend just called and said, through her tears, "I know you've had experience with_____. What did you do?" What would she be calling about? Answer her question in a note.

~Write about a time you made a presentation of some kind. Were you nervous? Excited? Prompt: "After I was introduced, I stood up and said_____"

~Remember someone who poured out their heart to you. How did you feel towards them after hearing their story? Were you sympathetic? Shocked? Disgusted? Understanding?

Write away!



*If you do any part of this assignment on your blog, please link it back to TravelinOma and provide proper attribution. Leave a comment here (with a link to your homework if you want to share it) and/or a link to your blog (so we can get to know you.) School Days has open enrollment so join anytime. No make-up work required! If you're new, click here for an orientation.