Recipe for Sane Family Travel

And that's the wonderful thing about family travel: it provides you with experiences that will remain locked forever in the scar tissue of your mind.

Dave Barry

How does a family of eight travel to an expensive city and find a place to stay everyone can afford,  have everyone get to do what they want to do -- and no one hates each other at the end of the trip? Question before us a few months ago as we planned travel to NYC for youngest son's graduation.

Ingredients:
Husband/wife
Three sons
Two most significant others
Two uncles
Guidebooks
Google Maps
AirBB
NYC Subway
Citymapper


Step One: Go to AirBB and find an old brownstone in not the most popular neighborhood in Brooklyn.

Step Two: Eat at the airport after the long flight so no one is hungry while progressing to final destination. Study car services before getting there so you don't get highjacked into paying some outrageous price to get to your place of stay - and a car that arrives at the appointed time.

Step Three: Don't try to organize anybody other than yourself -- for whatever. Supply information on the subway, phone Aps for directions, Broadway plays, sports events, parks, gardens, museums, bus tours, etc., and let it play out on its own.

Step Four: Keep your cell phones on to send or receive texts every now and then that say, "Hey, we're here and gonna do this. Anyone want to join us?" If you feel like it. Meet in good people watching places - Bryant Park, the fountain in front of the Plaza Hotel, the yellow and purple egg at Rockefeller Center.

 

And while you are waiting, take a quick stroll through the bottom end of Central Park.

Step Five: Make certain where you are staying has a huge table in the dining room so all can gather at the end of the day, toss down their collected brochures, ticket stubs, found treasures, and share their tales of the day.

Tales which might have included

The Guggenheim

Food!

Baseball!

The theatre

Or more eggs.

Bike riding through Central Park

This old broad made it 7.3 miles around the park. This is me at the end.

Some of us, uh...

Brothers loose in the city.

Step Six:  Have a son who is a chef so he can come over and cook for you one night.

with the assistance of his sister-in-law - the only one who can keep up with him in the kitchen anymore.

while his dad and oldest brother do plate prep and cleanup.

And the rest of us fart around waiting for the food.

Which was well worth the wait.

Step Seven: Converse and enjoy.

There you have it. Recipe for successful family trip without scar tissue. 

Take that Dave Berry.

What's on Your 2014 Summer Reading List?

Reading is the sole means by which we slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another’s skin, another’s voice, another’s soul.  

Joyce Carol Oates

Time once again to post my summer reading list. After years of doing this, I've only made it through the entire list once -- by year's end. I'm easily distracted for some of the very simple reasons I now list.

A new book that has just come out from a favorite author

More than a few trips to the library

Choosing from the stack that arrives at Book Club 

Grabbing one of the other twenty-five books on my To Be Read shelf

A trip to the book store or a late night perusal on Amazon

A backlog of New Yorker's requiring attention

The multitude of short story books that crowd my night table - Best of 2013, 2012, 2011 or poetry books or a Dorothy Parker reader or...

Often what is next on my list just isn't what I'm looking for at that moment. What can I say? I'm flighty and subject to a moment's whim. 

I need to revisit but I think there is a blog group that reads only from their To Be Read shelf in January or February. Probably would be a good idea for me to catch up on those that show up on my summer list year after year. Lakeside Musing? Was that you?

Alas, this summer's list.

The Interestings  Meg Wolitzer
Longbourn  Jo Baker
The Lowland  Jhumpa Lahiri
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao  Junot Diaz
Taft Ann Patchett
Written in My Own Heart's Blood  Diana Gabaldon
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle  Barbara Kingsolver
Of Human Bondage  Somerset Maughm
Sous Chef Michael Gibney
The Snow Queen Michael Cunningham
Duty: Memoirs of a Secretary of War Robert Gates
Outliers Malcolm Gladwell
The Mouse-Proof Kitchen Saira Shah
Honeymoon in Paris  JoJo Moyes

I also highly recommend these books by some of my fellow Austin WriterGrrls

Hip Girls Guide to the Kitchen  Kate Payne  A hit-the-ground running approach to stocking up and cooking delicious, nutritious, and affordable meals.

Twisted  Marjorie Brody Sarah Hausman must hide a secret--even from herself. If she acknowledges the truth, it will destroy everyone she loves.

Out of the Frying Pan Robin Allen  Health inspector Poppy Markham suspects murder when a popular chef buys an organic farm.

Skirts at War  Jennifer Newcomb Marine  - Overcoming dual-family conflict with proven strategies for creating peace at home.

Slow Family Living Bernadette Noll  75 simple ways to slow down, connect, and create more joy

Take My Husband Please  Kimberly Jayne  (Due out in August) A soon-to-be divorced real estate rookie's hot new love affair gets derailed when a series of blind dates turns her ex into the man she always dreamed he could be.

I'm always on the lookout for well-written smut in my summer reading so let me know if you have a good one. Meanwhile, I'm off to my hammock.

What's on your Summer Reading List?

The Places We Will Go

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. 

Thornton Wilder

Last Friday my husband and I went to lunch at Betony -- a James Beard nominee restaurant in New York City. Right there on West 57th, just down the street from Carnegie Hall and a couple blocks from Central Park. For a girl from southern Minnesota and a boy from Pontiac, Michigan, I'm not certain we ever envisioned such an opportunity. But one must do what one must do.

After being seated at an incredible table with views of the entire restaurant with its ornate brick walls and towering bar shelves, intricate ceiling and wooden staircases, we perused our menus with delight. Appetizer choices of Hen's Egg Tagliatelle and Ham Hock, Rocotta Gnudi, or Pig's Head Terrine with Salsa Verde. A main course of Roasted Beef Tenderloin with potatoes and baby leeks or Sauteed Skate Wing or Poached Lobster with asparagus and almond. Desserts of Dark Chocolate with Earl Grey ice cream and Olive Oil cream or Amaranth with maple and banana.

We enlisted the waiter's help for our menu choices and then ordered some wine. Sat there sipping and taking it all in.

Two runners appeared with a carrot buttermilk soup. Sweet and tangy. Delicious. With that settling on our palates, I saw a couple flashes of white approaching the table and looked up to see the Executive Chef - Bryce Shuman - setting an appetizer before me. And someone behind him setting another in front of my husband. I shook the chef's hand with delight, but excused myself to rise with tears in my eyes to embrace the young cook standing behind him - our son, Ian.

Ian had no idea his parents were in the house. He was more than a little rattled when Chef Bryce yelled at him to get upstairs to help deliver plates. He grabbed the dishes wondering why he was carrying and not the runners he passed en route.

Too much fun.

After a quick acknowledgment of their being in the middle of service, they returned to the kitchen. If that incredible moment and the food were not savory enough, more surprise arrived when the Chef returned after the meal to tell us our boy was doing well in his work. We thanked him for the opportunity he'd given Ian. Incredible parent moment.

Check out my entree.

We weren't in New York City strictly for the fabulous food. We were there, with all our kids and a couple of uncles, to celebrate Ian's graduation from the International Culinary Center, formerly the French Culinary Institute. Yes, the last of three kids to graduate and begin their very own lives. Off our payroll!

Ian technically finished his classes in January and began his job as line cook at Betony in February.  Graduation was held at Carnegie Hall now. All the classes from the past year including culinary, pastry and sommelier participated and Bobby Flay gave the keynote speech.

Ian took a selfie from the stage.

 

And we took a few photos.

Pomp and Circumstance

Two of Ian's favorite chef instructors

Chef Jeff

Chef Henri

 

Proud Family

Mom and Dad

Earlier in this post I mentioned that girl from southern Minnesota and a boy from Pontiac. I can't speak for the boy, but I recall that little girl dreaming of boundless adventure. That an entire world existed beyond the boundaries of Mower County. That someday I wanted to see it, taste it, experience it, even though I wasn't certain how to make that happen. Or certain I had the guts.

A gratitude-filled ride it has been. Grateful that I found a partner that was eager to explore and supply most of the guts. That we were blessed with the opportunity to have these kids of ours and create a home base.  That they, each and every one of them, have taken us on adventures and road trips and exposed us to things beyond whatever I imagined way back when.

Ian's turn this round. We are most proud of you. Be Good. Do Well. Come home once in a while.

 

Let the ride continue.

How Many For Dinner?

To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly. 

Henri Bergson

Now that all the kids are off and independent, I'm trying to adjust to cooking for two. Difficult, as often at home and at the lake, the numbers at the table had a tendency to grow at any moment. I became adept at Stone Soup. Start at 4. Grow to 9, 12, even 18.

Things have changed. The realization that all our kids are indeed off on their own and financially independent is beginning to sink in. Through the years, seemed this time might never arrive, but now that it's here, it's taking some time to adjust and become aware of what might be ahead.

Easter Sunday I normally have crowds. This year - just my husband and me. No visiting college students or extended family. No friends from town. My sons that live in town, their significant others, and my husband and I will soon gather in New York City for youngest son's graduation. I figured with all that family togetherness ahead of us, the kids should spend Easter with their other parents.

I wasn't going to cook, but then decided that I must. Just because everyone was off in other directions didn't mean my husband and I shouldn't honor the holiday. Hell, we even made it to church!

But, as you can see, my measurements are off.  I had a meal prepared for many more than two.

That roast lamb was a tad more cooked than it appears in this photo. You had your golden beets and goat cheese, your heirloom tomato Caprese salad, roasted fingerling potatoes and your broccolini.  Strawberry shortcake for dessert and a nice bottle of wine.

The dinner was so good that we, in fact, had it again on Monday night. And Tuesday night. And although there is enough left for tonight as well, I think we're gonna eat something else. Good as it was.

The point of this story? Seemed like we were in that mode of almost getting to Empty Nest for so long. Kids going off to college, but not all of them gone at the same time. One kid coming back as one more left. Although they didn't require much from us, still, we were not completely deparented.

Now, with the youngest employed and financially independent like the others and no one living in the upstairs, it is not only safe to use the toilet up there, it's a little quiet as well.

Adjustments. Seems life is filled with them. Always an adventure.

Are Morning People Truly Better?

Night Owls Rock!

 Julie Sucha Anderson

I couldn't find an apt quote for this post so I made one up.

When I get up in the morning, it takes me a while to get going. I don't care to have a conversation with anyone. I need time to gather my brain. It took me a long time to get to sleep and, therefore, a long time to wake up.

I understand this about myself. My inner time clock works this way. No matter how I try to change it, even with 50 plus years of getting up at the crack of dawn, my sleep pattern cannot be changed. At night, I'm awake. In the morning, I struggle. 

If I have a defined place to be by a certain time, like teaching or an appointment (or for umpteen years raising babies and kids) I function fine once out of bed. I can do it. But on mornings when I can wake up at will, I tend to loll around, in bed. First I daydream with my eyes closed for a while. Then I might get a cup of coffee and grab my computer, my journal, the book I'm reading, and my phone. I retreat back to my bed where I sit upright and can see out my slider to the backyard.

I study the birds talking to each other as they flit around the trees. The squirrels chasing one another. Leaves blowing about the yard if there is a breeze. Today I can see the herbs sitting on my picnic table that need to stretch their roots in the newly tilled soil of my garden. I imagine them magically planting themselves.

I'm writing this post four hours after I awoke. I've had two cups of coffee, a breakfast of uncured Canadian bacon scrambled in two eggs with a dab of cheddar cheese. Salt and pepper. I've ordered the invitations for my youngest son's graduation, played four games of Solitaire on my phone, caught up with three of my Scrabble games, set up a time for later in the week to visit with an injured friend. Haven't touched my book and it's almost noon.

I have to say that although I have big plans for the day -- YMCA, garden center visits, planting, watching the last DVD of last season's Nurse Jackie, and probably a few other things in there -- I'm not unhappy that I'm still sitting here. In fact, I could probably last until about 3pm before finally moving my ass.

(As you can see, my last post on finding a rhythm has had no definitive effect on my day to day. I'm still doing free expression rhythming.)

I've read five or six newspapers online and a great article about the writings of my friend, Sorayya Kahn, whose new book City of Spies will be published in December.  I've also read an article in the Huffington Post by Sarah Klein that has me huffing.

As a non-early riser, the article lured me as it was entitled  "7 Things Morning People do Differently."  I hoped to be enlightened. To gather something that might give me new information in a positive forum. Alas, apparently early risers (Larks) are plain better people than the likes of me (Owls.)  And photos display Larks with sunny light surrounded with love.

I'm rather offended. Tongue in cheek.

Instead of going after the nonsense of that article, I'm going to have some fun with it. For I'm an Owl and since this attribute comes to me genetically, there is nothing I can do about it anyway. I have to continue to try to function in the perfect world of larks.

Here we go.

Does having to hit the snooze button a few times make me a not nice, unproductive person? Maybe for the first half hour of the morning, but seriously all I have to do is set my alarm to accommodate those 30 extra minutes and I get up on time. Genetically engineered misfortune overcome.

Is there a fog about me when I awake? You bet. Who wants to be clear-headed first thing in the morning anyway,  bombarded with the days events before you even have a chance to pee or brush your teeth?  The only kind of perking I want to hear in the morning is my coffee pot. Perky people scare me.

Are larks more conscientious?  Different words for conscientious: diligent, industrious, punctilious, painstaking, sedulous, assiduous, dedicated, careful, meticulous, thorough, attentive, hard-working, studious, rigorous, particular; religious, strict.

I don't even want to be some of those things - sedulous? punctilious? rigorous? strict? Sounds like the equivalent of a stick.

Larks get better grades. Okay, you got me there.

Larks are more productive. BS. Plain old BS. We just produce at a different time of the day.

Larks are less likely to be depressed. Really? All I have to do is drag my ass out of bed early and I won't ever suffer depression? Really?

I couldn't suppress my laughter (or disdain) at the last line of this article.

"In a small 2013 study, larks were less likely than night owls to possess "Dark Triad" personality characteristics like narcissism, Machiavellianism (meaning a person may be manipulative) and psychopathy, potentially because the darkness of night allows evening-type people to get away with dark deeds."

I'm thinking that was indeed a small study.

Dark deeds. Hmmmm. Sitting in my Lazy Boy at night, watching The Daily Show and The Colbert Report while knitting or reading the New Yorker or folding clothes or writing letters to friends, I'm really narcissistic, Machiavellian and psychopathic. Please don't tell my husband, the Lark, sleeping in the next room. Please?

My rant for this day ends. I'm off to do all those things I planned to do today, just getting a later start than a Lark.

I must ask you, though -- Who would you rather have fun with when your focus isn't being nice, productive, consciensious or perky? A Lark or an Owl? Who would you rather party with? A Lark who has to retire early so he can wake up with a sunny disposition? Or someone who can stay awake and contribute to the fun? Like me.

Finding Rhythm

rhythm  [rith-uhm]  
 noun
movement or procedure with uniform or patterned recurrence of a beat, accent, or the like.

rhythm
noun
1 the rhythm of the music: beat, cadence, tempo, time, pulse, throb, swing.
2 poetic features such as rhythm: meter, measure, stress, accent, cadence.
3 the rhythm of daily life: pattern, flow, tempo

Other than being a difficult word to spell, I find rhythm difficult to incorporate into my life. I relish when I'm in step with myself, but struggle when I'm out. Often I don't know just when to step in, if my lagging foot will catch up. Or drag. Or go way out in front.

Often, I only seem to circle. Safer there. Accomplishing what needs to be done in that little orb.

My husband has a rhythm. Monday through Friday, from the moment he awakes he has his movements down. From what time he makes his coffee, enters the bathroom, turns on the iron, the shower, puts his shoes on and greases his lips from the Carmex jar on his bed stand followed by picking up his gym bag, yogurt, and brief case.

I know not to get up while he is on his route. Days when I teach, I lie in bed until I hear the door to the garage close before I get up to begin my day. I would only get in his way, ruin his routine. His pattern. His rhythm. 

When he comes home from work, he gets the mail out of the mailbox, then tosses his dirty gym clothes into the basket in the laundry room, sets his brief case on the desk chair and his gym bag on the desk. He grabs a handful of almonds to hold him until dinner is ready. He then goes into the bedroom to change into his shorts or sweats (depending on the weather) and takes a seat on the couch, remote control for the TV in hand.

On the days I teach, the rhythm is handed to me. Nothing is required but to follow along, I do fine with that. But when left to my own devises, I struggle. I am not so defined. I have no patterns.

Perhaps it is my days as a mother - always prepared to turn in any direction. No chance to find a schedule of any permanency. Prepared to drop whatever I may have going to tend to the needs of others.

These days I don't have the constant jerk of something taking me out of sync and into another direction -- except for that man I live with. My job doesn't have a permanent work schedule - working different days of the week for different teachers. Different students so no routine there. If I do seem to find a pattern, things like Christmas, company, or a new project take me out of the norm. I find it difficult to get back in order. To make it all fit.

My home life has the rote activities such as cleaning and laundry, Grocery shopping and dinner making. Cleaning and laundry. Grocery shopping and dinner making.

But my days are not very well planned. I can't find a schedule. I'm faced with too many options. I gather my lists and don't know where to begin. Should I work on the taxes? Should I call the eye doctor? Should I wash my kitchen floor? Should I finish that blanket I was making? Should I get those files refiled? Should I go dig up my garden? What time should I go to the YMCA? Should I get a new blog post written? Should I finish getting my pictures on the wall?  Should I just sit and read a book? Should I get my novel out and seek the rhythm of that venture I so love?

Should I call my friends over for Happy Hour? Or should I play another game of Solitaire?

Too many choices. Too many requiring a rhythm that doesn't connect to the next. I don't know how to section out the day for some of those things on my list. How to get back in the more intense rhythm required for those that require immersion - like the taxes or the writing.

How do you get into a rhythm? How do you choose which rhythm? What will you allow to interrupt your rhythm?