I was talking with a young friend in her twenties a few years ago, and the subject of Apollo 11 came up. "Dustin (her recent husband) says that never happened. He says that it was all fake." I was raised near the birthplace of Neil Armstrong, and I did not take this opinion lying down. "Of course it happened," I replied. "I watched it on television with my grandparents. And you said that Dustin thinks it is fake. What do YOU think?" "Well, I don't know much about it, but I agree with Dustin." I was flabbergasted. When did women stop thinking for themselves? A few weeks later another young friend, also in her twenties, was talking about politics. I had never heard Laurie mention politics before. When I asked her about it, she replied that her boyfriend listened to "that channel where everyone is always yelling at everyone else. I agree with them, too." Huh? This was Laurie who could tell you every character and plot twist of The Hills, but had never given politics a second thought until her boyfriend entered the picture. I wouldn't have been so shocked at Laurie's sudden interest in all things political, if she had studied the issues and decided for herself that she supported one platform over the other. The fact that young women were blindly following their men without forming their own opinions astounded me.
I grew up in the 70's, and say what you will about that era, I read and heard a lot about the Equal Rights Amendment. Women were entering the work force in record numbers and demanding equal pay for equal work. This made complete sense to me. Why should a man make more than a woman who has the same responsibilities? This was the Gloria Steinem era. I was a precocious reader and Glamour magazine had excellent articles on why the ERA and Roe vs. Wade were vitally important to women. Sadly, the ERA lost fire, and the 80's and 90's ushered in the hyper sexualization of young women a la Madonna and Britney Spears.
Despite the swiveling hips and provocative clothing, I believed that women were intelligent beings, capable of thinking and making decisions for themselves. After the conversations with my young friends, and observations made (mostly through social media), I became aware that many, many women were indeed believing what their partners believed. To me this also translated to voting as their partners voted. Don't get me wrong, I am certain that some of these women have studied the issues and have deep beliefs of their own accord. It's the others that concern me. Yes, it is 2018, but if the past few years have taught us nothing else, we have learned that there are very controlling men who walk among us. They are our boyfriends, our husbands, and our brothers. Many women are ruled by domineering men. That is a fact. This is what I want to say to those women: There is one place where your man cannot control what you do and that is inside the voting booth. He can tell you how to vote all day long, but when you are inside that booth, sister, you are free! You are free to vote for what you truly believe! You can vote for female candidates and candidates who support women and children. You can vote for candidates who will work to ensure that the rights of our LGBTQ brothers and sisters are protected. It's time for women to galvanize and protect our rights and the rights of our children. Exercise YOUR right to vote, and make your voice heard with every click of the lever. You can CHANGE THE COURSE OF HISTORY with your vote.
Sunday, October 28, 2018
Sunday, November 13, 2016
My Thoughts
Last night I suffered a panic attack. I had indigestion all day, but as one with an anxiety disorder tends to do, I worried about it, focused on it, and soon decided that it may be my heart. I was hurting in the center of my chest, where I had never experienced pain before. I drove myself to the ER, and was promptly seen by a nice and competent nurse. By the time the doctor came into the room, I was shaking all over. He asked if this was normal for me. I told him that I have suffered from panic disorder for well over twenty years, but that the shaking only happened when I was experiencing extreme anxiety. He asked why I was stressed. I replied that I was taking 15 credit hours of classes, working full-time as a nanny, and part-time as a nanny/housekeeper, that I basically had a lot on my plate. Then I blurted out, "And the ELECTION. I'm very upset about the results of the election. I don't think I will ever truly relax again. EVER."
I had done it. I had announced that I was one of the "whiny losers" who needed to "give Trump a chance", and stop complaining. On Facebook, I was told by a friend (en mass) that the only reason Hillary's supporters were so upset was because "now you have to get up off your butts and get a job like the rest of us!" Excuse me, but I am working two jobs, and attending school full-time. I am working much harder than many of the supporters of the president-elect. But because I am self-employed, I do receive health insurance via the Affordable Care Act. I thank God for it because otherwise I could not afford it. I work very, very hard and report all of my earnings, for which I pay income taxes, just like everyone else. If my health insurance is taken from me, I WILL have to "get a job", a traditional job that has health insurance as a benefit. I am a nanny to a special needs child, and I have worked very hard to establish a relationship of trust with him. It would be a terrible loss for this child, should I have to leave my employ. So, yes, I'm whining.
What Trump's supporters cannot seem to grasp is that those of us on the other side are a compassionate lot. We have seen injustices, and spoken against them for decades. The past few years have given us such hope. We were thrilled when the Affordable Care Act passed, and meant that the horrible phrase, "preexisting condition" would no longer be a part of our vernacular. The ruling on same-sex marriage was a balm to Americans who had been largely disenfranchised since the founding of our country. Despite all of our idiosyncrasies and other problems, both large and small, hope was on the horizon.
On Tuesday evening, that hope was shattered. It was taken from us as swiftly and surely as a thief in the night. All of the work that had been accomplished, and the positive strides that had been taken appeared to have vanished in the matter of a few hours. We were stunned. We were heartsick. Many of us became physically ill. What happened to our America? How could a man who threatened to build walls and who represented divisiveness the likes of which our nation has never seen be elected to the highest office in the land? What in the almighty hell was up with the fact that he received 81% of the evangelical vote? My grandmother was a church lady, through and through, and surely she is shaking her head in heaven. To think that someone who used the language that he used and talked about women the way that he did received 81% of the evangelical vote defies all logic. "Well, Mike Pence is an evangelical". Mike Pence WASN'T RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT.
Michael Moore has said for months that this was coming. He has traveled this country and seen the anger of Americans. Americans who didn't care who went to Washington, as long as it was someone outside the establishment. I suspect that a vast majority of the Trump voters were also voting against President Obama. Racism exists in this country, ugly racism. There are millions of Americans who have never accepted President Obama because he is black. His family has been bullied, scrutinized, and had horrible things written about them. So, American decided to elect a polarizing individual with no previous political experience. His wife, who has posed for nude photographs in the past, will be our new First Lady. Not so long ago, Republicans complained that Michelle Obama's sleeveless dresses showed too much of her arms. Hypocrites, every one of them.
So, now we rise. We mourn for awhile, and then we rise from the ashes, and fight like hell. We have to protect the right for every American to be able to afford health insurance. We need to fight for women's rights, especially when it comes to our bodies. We especially need to remember our LGBTQ brothers and sisters. We must never let them feel frightened or alone. We cannot let one man destroy one hundred years of progress.
We will fight the good fight, but fight we will.
I had done it. I had announced that I was one of the "whiny losers" who needed to "give Trump a chance", and stop complaining. On Facebook, I was told by a friend (en mass) that the only reason Hillary's supporters were so upset was because "now you have to get up off your butts and get a job like the rest of us!" Excuse me, but I am working two jobs, and attending school full-time. I am working much harder than many of the supporters of the president-elect. But because I am self-employed, I do receive health insurance via the Affordable Care Act. I thank God for it because otherwise I could not afford it. I work very, very hard and report all of my earnings, for which I pay income taxes, just like everyone else. If my health insurance is taken from me, I WILL have to "get a job", a traditional job that has health insurance as a benefit. I am a nanny to a special needs child, and I have worked very hard to establish a relationship of trust with him. It would be a terrible loss for this child, should I have to leave my employ. So, yes, I'm whining.
What Trump's supporters cannot seem to grasp is that those of us on the other side are a compassionate lot. We have seen injustices, and spoken against them for decades. The past few years have given us such hope. We were thrilled when the Affordable Care Act passed, and meant that the horrible phrase, "preexisting condition" would no longer be a part of our vernacular. The ruling on same-sex marriage was a balm to Americans who had been largely disenfranchised since the founding of our country. Despite all of our idiosyncrasies and other problems, both large and small, hope was on the horizon.
On Tuesday evening, that hope was shattered. It was taken from us as swiftly and surely as a thief in the night. All of the work that had been accomplished, and the positive strides that had been taken appeared to have vanished in the matter of a few hours. We were stunned. We were heartsick. Many of us became physically ill. What happened to our America? How could a man who threatened to build walls and who represented divisiveness the likes of which our nation has never seen be elected to the highest office in the land? What in the almighty hell was up with the fact that he received 81% of the evangelical vote? My grandmother was a church lady, through and through, and surely she is shaking her head in heaven. To think that someone who used the language that he used and talked about women the way that he did received 81% of the evangelical vote defies all logic. "Well, Mike Pence is an evangelical". Mike Pence WASN'T RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT.
Michael Moore has said for months that this was coming. He has traveled this country and seen the anger of Americans. Americans who didn't care who went to Washington, as long as it was someone outside the establishment. I suspect that a vast majority of the Trump voters were also voting against President Obama. Racism exists in this country, ugly racism. There are millions of Americans who have never accepted President Obama because he is black. His family has been bullied, scrutinized, and had horrible things written about them. So, American decided to elect a polarizing individual with no previous political experience. His wife, who has posed for nude photographs in the past, will be our new First Lady. Not so long ago, Republicans complained that Michelle Obama's sleeveless dresses showed too much of her arms. Hypocrites, every one of them.
So, now we rise. We mourn for awhile, and then we rise from the ashes, and fight like hell. We have to protect the right for every American to be able to afford health insurance. We need to fight for women's rights, especially when it comes to our bodies. We especially need to remember our LGBTQ brothers and sisters. We must never let them feel frightened or alone. We cannot let one man destroy one hundred years of progress.
We will fight the good fight, but fight we will.
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
Adventures Abroad
"Okaaaaaaaaaaaay". That was my son, Ethan's reaction to my spraying Lysol on the seats we were about to be seated in for our wait at the airport terminal. We had been planning the trip to Europe for months, rather I had been doing most of the planning. I had Lysol to spray on everything before it touched our bodies, copious amounts of hand sanitizer, and wipes guaranteed to obliterate 99.9 percent of surface germs. I had been taking Ester-C for weeks. We were NOT going to get sick on this trip of a lifetime.
There is a bit of a backstory to the trip. Ethan had gone to Europe his Senior year. I originally signed up to go, but the mounting costs of Senior year forced me to cancel. Ethan was disappointed, and told me I deserved to go because of all I had done for him as a single mother. I responded that we would go sometime in the future, when he had graduated from college, and had a good job. When I learned that the same beloved teacher was planning another trip, I asked him if he wanted to go, and he immediately agreed. The fact that he went so willingly is a testament to his great admiration and respect for his former teacher, as he is far from a "people person".
Back to the airport terminal. I sprayed the seats there, and then the seats and everything surrounding us on the plane. We had a layover in Philadelphia, and I tried to keep up with spraying everything there. (We were moved from terminal to terminal because our planes kept needing repair. As someone who is not crazy about flying, and was about to take her first trip across the pond, these announcements were so much fun. NOT.) The plane we finally boarded was smaller than I expected, and not very comfortable. As a matter of fact, I'll call a spade a spade, and state for the record that it was a miserable flight. Not because of turbulence or anything like that, it was just impossible to get comfortable. Ethan and I both took medicine to make us sleep, but it didn't work. We both may have dozed a bit, but that was the extent of it.
We landed in Ireland at dawn. It was beautiful to see the sun rise over the Emerald Isle on Easter morning. Getting through customs wasn't difficult, and we soon met our tour guide for the next ten days. His name was Cornelius, called Con. He was thin, with wild hair and eyebrows, and very properly dressed. It was love at first sight for all of us. He was efficient, and had an answer to every question we posed to him. The accent! We could have listened to him all day. Actually, we DID listen to him all day! We needed to move our bags to the bus, and he asked for the assistance of "burly boys", but he himself carried bags that looked like they weighed as much as he did. For the remainder of the trip, every time he needed help, he called upon the "burly boys". As a wordsmith, I adored his command of the English language. The Paris leg of our trip had been cancelled, and he informed us that our stay in London would be extended. Because of this, we could could expect our relationship with London to be "chaotic and promiscuous". It was all I could do not to rush to the front of the bus, throw myself at his feet, and offer to be his wench for life. Anything to hear him speak with his refined Irish brogue!
We traveled the Irish countryside, and visited an ancient monastery. I kept marveling at the fact that I was walking on Irish soil. My Grandmother's maiden name was Redmond, and her family came from Northern Ireland. I was hoping that my relatives who has passed on knew that I was in their "home country". We ate lunch at a small restaurant/pub. I can't remember what Ethan had, but I think he ate it. On the other hand, I had ordered some sort of sandwich that came with herbs on top, and a whole lot of goat cheese. I thought I liked goat cheese, but I was mistaken. Or maybe I like small quantities of goat cheese, and not what amounted to a goat cheese and mystery herb sandwich. We both had strong cappuccinos, in an effort to stay awake. That evening we arrived in Dublin, and checked into a charming hotel. I loved the centuries old furniture, and the candlelight, which seemed to be everywhere. Unlike America, Ireland did not seem so concerned with lawsuits, and insurance regulations. Walkways were jagged, and not only were candles lighted throughout the hotel lobby, entrance, and bar, many of them were tiny tea light candles that looked as if they were going to burn right down into the tablecloth they rested upon. The rebel Irish don't care, if they want to burn candles, they will burn candles. God, I love my people.
That evening we had an authentic dinner of traditional Irish stew. This greatly concerned me, and I was vocal about it as we waited to be seated. I pictured big hunks of cheap meat, with lots of fat, and huge hunks of carrots. I was pleasantly surprised. The meal kind of reminded me of the beef gravy on mashed potatoes that we used to have in school. It was very good, and I ate every bit of it. (I may have been extra hungry from abandoning the goat cheese sandwich) Ethan decided to get a Guinness, and scarred a bartender for life in the process. He came back to the table with it, and a girl came running behind him, shouting that "it needs to be topped off! You can't drink it without it being topped off!" Poor Ethan, my beer snob of a son, he forgot to have it "topped off", and the entirety of the pub now knew it. After going back to the hotel, we went to bed post haste, as the jet lag had kicked in, and we were exhausted.
The next morning, while in the shower, I began to feel flutters in my stomach, and not good flutters. Far from good flutters. We went down to breakfast, and I couldn't eat. It came down to whether or not I was getting on the bus to explore Dublin, or hunker down in the hotel, and hope I felt better. I decided to stay behind. I went back to bed, and put a trash can beside me, which I soon needed. I was so relieved that I was in the hotel room, and not on the bus. I tried to drink water, but it was warm, so in between heaving, I would go to the lobby and get Sprite and ice water. Once I got Coke because an Irish woman told me it would calm my stomach. In truth, nothing was calming my stomach. I sent Ethan a text, and told him that I was sick, and so glad that I didn't ride the bus. I soon got a return text from him that said HE was sick, and they were trying to figure out how to get him back to the hotel. What! An hour later, he appeared in the room, pale as a ghost. His sickness had come on all of a sudden, outside of a cathedral the group had toured. The poor child (man, whatever) had thrown up in his backpack, and God only knows what else. He was in bad shape. Con, (being the best tour director EVER, not to mention problem solver) negotiated a fair rate with a taxi driver, and gave Ethan 60 euros for the ride back to the hotel. When Ethan came into the room, he had on Con's jacket (he was cold, as was I; I'm sure we both were feverish), which was stuffed with wipes, tissues, and all sorts of paraphernalia that his fellow travelers had thrown at him in an effort to help him clean himself up. Con had literally given Ethan the COAT OFF HIS BACK. Ethan bemoaned a black garbage bag that was in the bowels of the bus...it contained his coat and hat and camera lenses, all of which had met up with, well, you know. For the remainder of the day, we tried to help each other the best we could. I love Ethan more than anything on this earth, but I remember lying on the bed thinking, "Why, God? Why did you make him sick, too? I don't feel like taking care of myself, let alone him!" Somehow I rallied, and made several more trips downstairs. It did not go unnoticed, as Ethan mentioned several times that I was doing more than he was to get us well. That's just what moms do...we can muster strength when there is seemingly none to be had. I had no doubt we were dehydrated and could have used intravenous fluids, but I had no idea how to accomplish it. I mentioned an ambulance to Ethan, and we both agreed we weren't THAT sick. I attempted to call the tour company, but they were closed that day, for whatever reason. We had no choice but to lean on each other, and GET THROUGH IT. In Ireland. I was beginning to question the luck of the Irish. At one point, Ethan asked me if I saw the irony in the fact that I was the germophobe who sprayed Lysol everywhere, and now we were both throwing up sick. I mumbled, "YES, Ethan. The irony attacks me every time I heave into the trash can!" Neither of us ate anything the rest of the day, and tried our best to drink as much as we could. I was most concerned about the next day's three hour ferry ride to Wales. I didn't see how in the world we were going to manage it.
The next morning we got ourselves up and dressed, and managed to eat a tiny bit of breakfast. We were a bit late getting to the bus because poor Ethan was cleaning his camera lenses that had met an unfortunate fate the day before. When we got to the bus, Ethan asked Con for a garbage bag. Con rummaged for one, and gave it to Ethan. Ethan thanked him and commented that "I am going to carry this everywhere today. I am never, ever going anywhere again without a barf bag. I mean it. Bus ride? Barf bag. Ferry ride? Barf bag. Job interview? BARF BAG." Con told him that the garbage bag would not be sufficient to hold much barf, and he needed reinforcement in the bottom of it. Con winked at me and said, "I know what we can use. Just pretend you don't see what the bus driver and I do in our free time." He then produced several brown paper liquor bags, and layered them on the bottom of the garbage bag. Ta da! Ethan had the biggest, most resilient barf bag in all of Ireland!
The ferry ride was blessedly smooth, and Ethan and I (along with almost the entire group) slept through much of it. Although I was in bed the entire previous day, I hadn't gotten much rest, but on the ferry ride, I slept a good, slobbery sleep!
We arrived in Wales, and took a bus ride through the Snowdonia mountains. We actually drove through a bit of snow, which thrilled us to no end. The beauty of Wales is breathtaking. Remember the movie, "Babe"? That is exactly what the countryside of Wales looks like. Our hotel was in a simply lovely village, full of stone cottages, and cobblestone streets. I would live there in a heartbeat! That afternoon we toured the ruins of a castle that was built before Columbus set sail to the Americas. Since I have been home, I have told the boys that I nanny that I saw a REAL castle, but they cannot grasp the magnitude of it. I was happy to finally buy a few souvenirs as one of my greatest disappointments in Ireland was that I missed the "shopping" day.
The following day we were off on a bus ride to London, by way of Stratford, birthplace of William Shakespeare! It was a thrill to tour his home. When we were in the kitchen, the tour guide told us that it was the original stone floor, and that surely Shakespeare and his wife, Anne Hathaway, had walked on it. A few of us shuffled around to make sure that we covered every bit of surface. We wanted to be certain we truly touched the hallowed ground! We spend the afternoon in Stratford, which was predictably filled with tourists. Ethan and I sat outside a Subway, and listened to some delightful English children. Their manners were impeccable! It appeared that they were with their grandparents. "Thank you for bringing us here", "It has been a delightful day", "Thank you for the food and drink", in that ACCENT. I wanted to eat them up! I had my first taste of English children on the ferry ride. A family was seated near us with two young girls, maybe six and eight years of age. The girls READ A BOOK the entire time, and were so polite and respectful when they spoke to their parents. I complimented the parents and told them that I was impressed that the girls were reading, and not playing games on a tablet. They told me that the tablets were at home, that limiting time on them is very simple. Don't bring them on journeys, bring books. Limit time on gadgets from the get go, and it's much easier to enforce down the line. How many ways can you imagine that I loved this philosophy?
That afternoon we were off to London, where we would spend the final five days of our adventure. We were all looking forward to spending several nights in the same hotel, and having a bit of a respite from constantly packing up and moving on. Our hotel was on the edge of the city, and it happened to be very new. The germophobe in me was overjoyed at this; I also surmised that bedbugs would be unlikely in such a new abode.
London, London, LONDON! Although the crowds intimidated me at times, I enjoyed all that London had to offer. The residents dressed much better than in the States. I did not see pajamas worn in public, or boobs hanging from here to Hiroshima the entire time I was in Europe. The women wore black...a LOT of black. A whole lot of head to toe black. I've gotten away from that in recent years, and I think it's time to revisit the look. Tres chic! The men wore beautifully cut suits, not loosy goosey suits with testicle room, but sexy, fitted, urban chic suits that made me swoon. The children walking the streets on a Thursday afternoon were dressed like our children would be dressed on Sunday morning...the girls in pastel spring dresses, the boys in tiny chinos and an oxford shirt, topped off with a fetching sweater. I was smitten with the "London Look".
We saw many memorable sights in London, but one of my very favorites was visiting Abbey Road. Ethan is a great Beatles fan, and did not get to see it on his prior trip. I was determined that we were not leaving London without a pilgrimage to pay homage to his favorite band of all time! I felt like we were on hallowed ground. I remember thinking that I wanted all of the people to disappear, so that I could be there by myself for awhile. Con told us the backstory of the album cover. The Beatles had been recording all night long, and it was early Sunday morning. They needed a photo for the cover of the album, so they went outside, and shot it without giving it much thought. They needed a title, they were on Abbey Road, and history was born. We had some free time, and Ethan and I also went to see Royal Albert Hall, which is referenced in E's favorite Beatles song, "A Day in the Life". I cannot possibly convey how monumental it was to experience the Beatles sites with my son. There are very few perfect moments in life, but I experienced several in the space of a few days.
We visited all of the expected tourist sites. I enjoyed Westminster Abbey because of the sheer beauty of it, but there are a LOT of dead people in there. Hundreds of them. I really only cared about a few...Sir Isaac Newton, Charles Darwin, Charles Dickens, David Livingstone, Robert Browning, Alfred Tennyson, Thomas Hardy (his heart isn't even buried with his body, dear Lord in heaven), Rudyard Kipling, and Sir Laurence Olivier. I missed Charles Darwin, and made Ethan walk all the way back to the front to see him. I felt an overwhelming urge to pay my respects to him, no matter how far we had to backtrack. Unknown to Ethan, I also attempted to retrace what I imagined were Kate Middleton's steps when she walked down the aisle to marry Prince William. Just for fun. We women never quite abandon the Princess phenomenon.
We toured the BBC, which was thoroughly interesting and informative. They asked for a volunteer to forecast the weather against the "green screen", and somehow I ended up in front of the camera. Although not usually the shy sort, I really didn't want to be Al Roker that morning. Or any morning, for that matter. There was a lot of rain in the forecast, so I just kept pointing to the different areas and screaming, "Rain! Rain! Rain everywhere! Lots and lots of RAIN!" My performance was dismal, but memorable. What can I say? I tend to leave impressions in my wake! At one point in the tour, we were led into a small studio with a shabby green couch, and an even shabbier coffee table. It was the set for a live show that aired every Friday evening. The name of the show escapes me, but our tour happened to be on Friday, and our guide asked us if we knew of Donald Trump. Of course we said yes, and he told us that he was going to be on the show that evening! There was a large wall of windows a la the Today show, where folks could see inside the studio. All I could think was, "Son of a bitch! There goes my souvenir budget! I'm going to have to find a print shop, get a sign printed with "Dump Trump" on it, and spend an evening in London protesting exactly what I ran away from for ten days!" I mean, for fifteen seconds, I was LIVID. Then the host reminded us that it was April Fool's Day, and didn't we fool people on that day in America? I was so relieved, I cannot tell you. I told the guide that because he did that, he had to take my phone number, and be certain to give it to Adam Levine, should he happen to visit. (And he will, or has. EVERYONE who is ANYONE passes through there, at one time or another.)
After we finished at the BBC, and had eaten lunch (I had an Eggs Benedict Pizza, don't knock it until you try it!), I told Ethan we needed to explore a few shops. I was looking for THAT ONE THING that screamed "London!" that I could splurge on. Before shopping in earnest, I spied a chocolate shop. I had heard tales of the wonders of British chocolate, but had yet to indulge. I needed something sweet to top off the pizza, and this was the perfect time to try the chocolate. I bought a chocolate bar and two small squares. Ethan didn't want his square just then, but I bit into mine, and might I just state here and now that the HEAVENS OPENED. I had nothing short of an orgasmic experience (Not for Ethan's knowledge, please God) right there in the middle of a crowded London sidewalk. I could not stop moaning and extolling the PLEASURE of the chocolate! Ethan mumbled, "I've been wondering when this would happen". I asked him what that meant, and he said he knew I was going to have a fit when I tasted the chocolate. He then had to take me BY THE HAND, and lead me out of the way of the poor people trying to walk down the sidewalk, who weren't sure if they were witnessing a religious conversion or a woman for whom a white coat was coming post haste. I'm serious when I tell you this: There is nothing on this earth like British chocolate. The first I tasted was from Hotel Chocolat. Ethan said, "I bet you paid five pounds for that candy bar", and I replied that it was "worth EVERY PENNY or pence or whatever!"
My luck continued when I looked in the window of the shop next door, and spied the PERFECT HANDBAG. It was actually a cross between a clutch and a bag, and it had abstract red and pink lips beaded on it. I knew instantly that it was THAT ONE THING that I had been seeking, but being the silly woman that I am, I went inside the shop and looked for about thirty minutes before finally making the purchase. When I was at the register, the cashier told me that they had sold out of them, and just gotten new ones in, and another clerk hurried to get one to put behind the counter for herself. It's just THAT CUTE and perfect for moi!
On Saturday, we went to Stonehenge. It was a site to behold. The day was gorgeous, and the beauty of the countryside took my breath away. Stonehenge may look like a pile of rocks, but there is a peaceful aura there. Ethan and I got separated, and I wanted to get a photo of us together, but I had a personal emergency, and had to get back to the main center. Since he morphed into Ansel Adams on the trip, I am trusting that he can superimpose a photo of us together in front of the rocks. After all, we were both there.
We experienced and did so many things on our trip. It is hard to recall and document each and every one of them. We went to Salisbury and toured the Salisbury Cathedral (not near as many dead people as the Abbey), we walked across a bridge over the Thames river, toured the Tower of London and saw the Crown Jewels (excessive excess), stood outside of Buckingham Palace, and saw the guard, and wondered at the beauty of Big Ben. Memories were made.
Leaving London was an experience in itself. If anyone has any doubt that Heathrow Airport does not have strict security measures in place, allow me to dispel those misconceptions. My bag was a bit overweight, and the official REALLY wanted to charge me for it. I replied that my son's bag was way underweight, and if need be, I could shuffle some of my things into his bag, but wouldn't that be a pain? And besides, I spent A LOT of money in this country. (A lot of money TO ME, but still) I soon realized that the Brits don't necessarily appreciate a sassy American WOMAN OF A CERTAIN AGE. My suitcase was allowed to go through, but I was asked about my profession. When I told him I was a nanny, I was asked the ages of the children. I was ready to walk away when he asked me for the NAMES of the children. Geez. But, I get it. I really do. Thousands of travelers go through there every day, and they have to treat every one like a potential threat. Security was another issue. I was unaware that there was a LIMIT to the number of 3 ounce liquids that you could take in your carry-on. I was whisked right through security in Philadelphia. I was even granted some sort of priority status, and didn't have to remove my shoes or have the wand whipped over me. Let me tell you, it was different in Heathrow. They searched my bag, and told me I had way too many liquids in it, and some had to be destroyed. They took out my hand sanitizer and arthritis cream and threw it away. I had kept little bottles of shampoo from the hotels (to do a good deed, and donate to a women's shelter), and they were summarily dumped in the trash. I was on the edge of tears, and finally spoke up, and told them I had not had this problem in the United States. The official produced two plastic bags, and said that I could have three ounce liquids in each one, but they had to seal, and the rest had to be thrown away. Well, if there's anything we women know how to do, it is to prioritize. Perfume and makeup had to be salvaged as they are way too expensive to throw away. I think they ended up throwing away more hand sanitizer, mouthwash, my travel-size shampoo and conditioner, and if I'm not mistaken, my toothpaste. They were NOT PLAYING. Later, on the plane ride home, my seatmate revealed that she had also been through the security wringer, but she did not keep her composure. She had a complete meltdown, but they still threw several of her liquids away. It was the damndest thing. Again, I get it. Security is of paramount importance. It's just a weird experience to be treated so brusquely when you are unaccustomed to it.
The plane ride home was a straight shot to Raleigh. Having no layovers was nice, but the flight was so long. Being the kookaburra that I am, I made sure to get up and take a walk every hour because I was NOT going to fall victim to deep vein thrombosis. There was a young family in front of us, and at one point the little boy (about two years of age) turned around and gave my seatmate an orange. He then gave one to me. We tried to give them back to him, as we thought he was playing a game with us. His mother told us to keep them. They feed you very well on overseas flights, and we did not eat them. Later a flight attendant told us that we had better eat them because if customs found them when the plane landed, we would be fined $500.00. In retrospect, I'm thinking the mother knew this, and was eager to get rid of the oranges. Despite not being hungry, we ate hurriedly ate them. Not long before the plane was to land, I was digging in my purse for something, and what the hell did I come across? AN APPLE. It had been included in our breakfast, and I saved it for later. I could be fined $500.00 for bringing it into the US. Oh. My. God. I ran to the restroom, wrapped it in paper towels, and threw it in the trash. Holy cow. I could have been fined for having that damn apple. Apples have been getting women in trouble since the beginning of time! Geez.
So, what are my final thoughts on my trip of a lifetime? Here are a few:
The Ireland countryside is beautiful, but Dublin was dank and disappointing, at least what we saw of it. Everything appears to be from a bygone era. We Americans are quick to redecorate, repaint, and refurnish. The Irish? Not so much. This has its charms, but it appeared that Dublin could use one big power washing.
Wales will take your breath away. I think everyone on the tour fell in love with Wales. I want to live there when I grow up.
London is lovely and lively, stylish, and a bit edgy. If I were to run away, I would run away to London, never to be seen again. Wales and England appear to be much cleaner than Ireland.
It's weird how they don't tip as much in Europe. I left a waitress a five pound tip on a twenty-five pound lunch, and she all but hugged me in gratitude. Suggested tipping is 12.5 percent, if you feel the service was adequate. Tipping in pubs is completely discouraged. Again, so weird.
There really is something about the British accent. Our tour guide, Con, had the most delicious accent I have ever had the pleasure of hearing.
Lastly, the CHOCOLATE. It is the bomb.com, truly the BEST you will ever experience. And it is an EXPERIENCE. Trust me. I have to have it in my life again. I. WILL. FIND. A. WAY.
Not even an ocean can come between a woman and her chocolate.
There is a bit of a backstory to the trip. Ethan had gone to Europe his Senior year. I originally signed up to go, but the mounting costs of Senior year forced me to cancel. Ethan was disappointed, and told me I deserved to go because of all I had done for him as a single mother. I responded that we would go sometime in the future, when he had graduated from college, and had a good job. When I learned that the same beloved teacher was planning another trip, I asked him if he wanted to go, and he immediately agreed. The fact that he went so willingly is a testament to his great admiration and respect for his former teacher, as he is far from a "people person".
Back to the airport terminal. I sprayed the seats there, and then the seats and everything surrounding us on the plane. We had a layover in Philadelphia, and I tried to keep up with spraying everything there. (We were moved from terminal to terminal because our planes kept needing repair. As someone who is not crazy about flying, and was about to take her first trip across the pond, these announcements were so much fun. NOT.) The plane we finally boarded was smaller than I expected, and not very comfortable. As a matter of fact, I'll call a spade a spade, and state for the record that it was a miserable flight. Not because of turbulence or anything like that, it was just impossible to get comfortable. Ethan and I both took medicine to make us sleep, but it didn't work. We both may have dozed a bit, but that was the extent of it.
We landed in Ireland at dawn. It was beautiful to see the sun rise over the Emerald Isle on Easter morning. Getting through customs wasn't difficult, and we soon met our tour guide for the next ten days. His name was Cornelius, called Con. He was thin, with wild hair and eyebrows, and very properly dressed. It was love at first sight for all of us. He was efficient, and had an answer to every question we posed to him. The accent! We could have listened to him all day. Actually, we DID listen to him all day! We needed to move our bags to the bus, and he asked for the assistance of "burly boys", but he himself carried bags that looked like they weighed as much as he did. For the remainder of the trip, every time he needed help, he called upon the "burly boys". As a wordsmith, I adored his command of the English language. The Paris leg of our trip had been cancelled, and he informed us that our stay in London would be extended. Because of this, we could could expect our relationship with London to be "chaotic and promiscuous". It was all I could do not to rush to the front of the bus, throw myself at his feet, and offer to be his wench for life. Anything to hear him speak with his refined Irish brogue!
We traveled the Irish countryside, and visited an ancient monastery. I kept marveling at the fact that I was walking on Irish soil. My Grandmother's maiden name was Redmond, and her family came from Northern Ireland. I was hoping that my relatives who has passed on knew that I was in their "home country". We ate lunch at a small restaurant/pub. I can't remember what Ethan had, but I think he ate it. On the other hand, I had ordered some sort of sandwich that came with herbs on top, and a whole lot of goat cheese. I thought I liked goat cheese, but I was mistaken. Or maybe I like small quantities of goat cheese, and not what amounted to a goat cheese and mystery herb sandwich. We both had strong cappuccinos, in an effort to stay awake. That evening we arrived in Dublin, and checked into a charming hotel. I loved the centuries old furniture, and the candlelight, which seemed to be everywhere. Unlike America, Ireland did not seem so concerned with lawsuits, and insurance regulations. Walkways were jagged, and not only were candles lighted throughout the hotel lobby, entrance, and bar, many of them were tiny tea light candles that looked as if they were going to burn right down into the tablecloth they rested upon. The rebel Irish don't care, if they want to burn candles, they will burn candles. God, I love my people.
That evening we had an authentic dinner of traditional Irish stew. This greatly concerned me, and I was vocal about it as we waited to be seated. I pictured big hunks of cheap meat, with lots of fat, and huge hunks of carrots. I was pleasantly surprised. The meal kind of reminded me of the beef gravy on mashed potatoes that we used to have in school. It was very good, and I ate every bit of it. (I may have been extra hungry from abandoning the goat cheese sandwich) Ethan decided to get a Guinness, and scarred a bartender for life in the process. He came back to the table with it, and a girl came running behind him, shouting that "it needs to be topped off! You can't drink it without it being topped off!" Poor Ethan, my beer snob of a son, he forgot to have it "topped off", and the entirety of the pub now knew it. After going back to the hotel, we went to bed post haste, as the jet lag had kicked in, and we were exhausted.
The next morning, while in the shower, I began to feel flutters in my stomach, and not good flutters. Far from good flutters. We went down to breakfast, and I couldn't eat. It came down to whether or not I was getting on the bus to explore Dublin, or hunker down in the hotel, and hope I felt better. I decided to stay behind. I went back to bed, and put a trash can beside me, which I soon needed. I was so relieved that I was in the hotel room, and not on the bus. I tried to drink water, but it was warm, so in between heaving, I would go to the lobby and get Sprite and ice water. Once I got Coke because an Irish woman told me it would calm my stomach. In truth, nothing was calming my stomach. I sent Ethan a text, and told him that I was sick, and so glad that I didn't ride the bus. I soon got a return text from him that said HE was sick, and they were trying to figure out how to get him back to the hotel. What! An hour later, he appeared in the room, pale as a ghost. His sickness had come on all of a sudden, outside of a cathedral the group had toured. The poor child (man, whatever) had thrown up in his backpack, and God only knows what else. He was in bad shape. Con, (being the best tour director EVER, not to mention problem solver) negotiated a fair rate with a taxi driver, and gave Ethan 60 euros for the ride back to the hotel. When Ethan came into the room, he had on Con's jacket (he was cold, as was I; I'm sure we both were feverish), which was stuffed with wipes, tissues, and all sorts of paraphernalia that his fellow travelers had thrown at him in an effort to help him clean himself up. Con had literally given Ethan the COAT OFF HIS BACK. Ethan bemoaned a black garbage bag that was in the bowels of the bus...it contained his coat and hat and camera lenses, all of which had met up with, well, you know. For the remainder of the day, we tried to help each other the best we could. I love Ethan more than anything on this earth, but I remember lying on the bed thinking, "Why, God? Why did you make him sick, too? I don't feel like taking care of myself, let alone him!" Somehow I rallied, and made several more trips downstairs. It did not go unnoticed, as Ethan mentioned several times that I was doing more than he was to get us well. That's just what moms do...we can muster strength when there is seemingly none to be had. I had no doubt we were dehydrated and could have used intravenous fluids, but I had no idea how to accomplish it. I mentioned an ambulance to Ethan, and we both agreed we weren't THAT sick. I attempted to call the tour company, but they were closed that day, for whatever reason. We had no choice but to lean on each other, and GET THROUGH IT. In Ireland. I was beginning to question the luck of the Irish. At one point, Ethan asked me if I saw the irony in the fact that I was the germophobe who sprayed Lysol everywhere, and now we were both throwing up sick. I mumbled, "YES, Ethan. The irony attacks me every time I heave into the trash can!" Neither of us ate anything the rest of the day, and tried our best to drink as much as we could. I was most concerned about the next day's three hour ferry ride to Wales. I didn't see how in the world we were going to manage it.
The next morning we got ourselves up and dressed, and managed to eat a tiny bit of breakfast. We were a bit late getting to the bus because poor Ethan was cleaning his camera lenses that had met an unfortunate fate the day before. When we got to the bus, Ethan asked Con for a garbage bag. Con rummaged for one, and gave it to Ethan. Ethan thanked him and commented that "I am going to carry this everywhere today. I am never, ever going anywhere again without a barf bag. I mean it. Bus ride? Barf bag. Ferry ride? Barf bag. Job interview? BARF BAG." Con told him that the garbage bag would not be sufficient to hold much barf, and he needed reinforcement in the bottom of it. Con winked at me and said, "I know what we can use. Just pretend you don't see what the bus driver and I do in our free time." He then produced several brown paper liquor bags, and layered them on the bottom of the garbage bag. Ta da! Ethan had the biggest, most resilient barf bag in all of Ireland!
The ferry ride was blessedly smooth, and Ethan and I (along with almost the entire group) slept through much of it. Although I was in bed the entire previous day, I hadn't gotten much rest, but on the ferry ride, I slept a good, slobbery sleep!
We arrived in Wales, and took a bus ride through the Snowdonia mountains. We actually drove through a bit of snow, which thrilled us to no end. The beauty of Wales is breathtaking. Remember the movie, "Babe"? That is exactly what the countryside of Wales looks like. Our hotel was in a simply lovely village, full of stone cottages, and cobblestone streets. I would live there in a heartbeat! That afternoon we toured the ruins of a castle that was built before Columbus set sail to the Americas. Since I have been home, I have told the boys that I nanny that I saw a REAL castle, but they cannot grasp the magnitude of it. I was happy to finally buy a few souvenirs as one of my greatest disappointments in Ireland was that I missed the "shopping" day.
The following day we were off on a bus ride to London, by way of Stratford, birthplace of William Shakespeare! It was a thrill to tour his home. When we were in the kitchen, the tour guide told us that it was the original stone floor, and that surely Shakespeare and his wife, Anne Hathaway, had walked on it. A few of us shuffled around to make sure that we covered every bit of surface. We wanted to be certain we truly touched the hallowed ground! We spend the afternoon in Stratford, which was predictably filled with tourists. Ethan and I sat outside a Subway, and listened to some delightful English children. Their manners were impeccable! It appeared that they were with their grandparents. "Thank you for bringing us here", "It has been a delightful day", "Thank you for the food and drink", in that ACCENT. I wanted to eat them up! I had my first taste of English children on the ferry ride. A family was seated near us with two young girls, maybe six and eight years of age. The girls READ A BOOK the entire time, and were so polite and respectful when they spoke to their parents. I complimented the parents and told them that I was impressed that the girls were reading, and not playing games on a tablet. They told me that the tablets were at home, that limiting time on them is very simple. Don't bring them on journeys, bring books. Limit time on gadgets from the get go, and it's much easier to enforce down the line. How many ways can you imagine that I loved this philosophy?
That afternoon we were off to London, where we would spend the final five days of our adventure. We were all looking forward to spending several nights in the same hotel, and having a bit of a respite from constantly packing up and moving on. Our hotel was on the edge of the city, and it happened to be very new. The germophobe in me was overjoyed at this; I also surmised that bedbugs would be unlikely in such a new abode.
London, London, LONDON! Although the crowds intimidated me at times, I enjoyed all that London had to offer. The residents dressed much better than in the States. I did not see pajamas worn in public, or boobs hanging from here to Hiroshima the entire time I was in Europe. The women wore black...a LOT of black. A whole lot of head to toe black. I've gotten away from that in recent years, and I think it's time to revisit the look. Tres chic! The men wore beautifully cut suits, not loosy goosey suits with testicle room, but sexy, fitted, urban chic suits that made me swoon. The children walking the streets on a Thursday afternoon were dressed like our children would be dressed on Sunday morning...the girls in pastel spring dresses, the boys in tiny chinos and an oxford shirt, topped off with a fetching sweater. I was smitten with the "London Look".
We saw many memorable sights in London, but one of my very favorites was visiting Abbey Road. Ethan is a great Beatles fan, and did not get to see it on his prior trip. I was determined that we were not leaving London without a pilgrimage to pay homage to his favorite band of all time! I felt like we were on hallowed ground. I remember thinking that I wanted all of the people to disappear, so that I could be there by myself for awhile. Con told us the backstory of the album cover. The Beatles had been recording all night long, and it was early Sunday morning. They needed a photo for the cover of the album, so they went outside, and shot it without giving it much thought. They needed a title, they were on Abbey Road, and history was born. We had some free time, and Ethan and I also went to see Royal Albert Hall, which is referenced in E's favorite Beatles song, "A Day in the Life". I cannot possibly convey how monumental it was to experience the Beatles sites with my son. There are very few perfect moments in life, but I experienced several in the space of a few days.
We visited all of the expected tourist sites. I enjoyed Westminster Abbey because of the sheer beauty of it, but there are a LOT of dead people in there. Hundreds of them. I really only cared about a few...Sir Isaac Newton, Charles Darwin, Charles Dickens, David Livingstone, Robert Browning, Alfred Tennyson, Thomas Hardy (his heart isn't even buried with his body, dear Lord in heaven), Rudyard Kipling, and Sir Laurence Olivier. I missed Charles Darwin, and made Ethan walk all the way back to the front to see him. I felt an overwhelming urge to pay my respects to him, no matter how far we had to backtrack. Unknown to Ethan, I also attempted to retrace what I imagined were Kate Middleton's steps when she walked down the aisle to marry Prince William. Just for fun. We women never quite abandon the Princess phenomenon.
We toured the BBC, which was thoroughly interesting and informative. They asked for a volunteer to forecast the weather against the "green screen", and somehow I ended up in front of the camera. Although not usually the shy sort, I really didn't want to be Al Roker that morning. Or any morning, for that matter. There was a lot of rain in the forecast, so I just kept pointing to the different areas and screaming, "Rain! Rain! Rain everywhere! Lots and lots of RAIN!" My performance was dismal, but memorable. What can I say? I tend to leave impressions in my wake! At one point in the tour, we were led into a small studio with a shabby green couch, and an even shabbier coffee table. It was the set for a live show that aired every Friday evening. The name of the show escapes me, but our tour happened to be on Friday, and our guide asked us if we knew of Donald Trump. Of course we said yes, and he told us that he was going to be on the show that evening! There was a large wall of windows a la the Today show, where folks could see inside the studio. All I could think was, "Son of a bitch! There goes my souvenir budget! I'm going to have to find a print shop, get a sign printed with "Dump Trump" on it, and spend an evening in London protesting exactly what I ran away from for ten days!" I mean, for fifteen seconds, I was LIVID. Then the host reminded us that it was April Fool's Day, and didn't we fool people on that day in America? I was so relieved, I cannot tell you. I told the guide that because he did that, he had to take my phone number, and be certain to give it to Adam Levine, should he happen to visit. (And he will, or has. EVERYONE who is ANYONE passes through there, at one time or another.)
After we finished at the BBC, and had eaten lunch (I had an Eggs Benedict Pizza, don't knock it until you try it!), I told Ethan we needed to explore a few shops. I was looking for THAT ONE THING that screamed "London!" that I could splurge on. Before shopping in earnest, I spied a chocolate shop. I had heard tales of the wonders of British chocolate, but had yet to indulge. I needed something sweet to top off the pizza, and this was the perfect time to try the chocolate. I bought a chocolate bar and two small squares. Ethan didn't want his square just then, but I bit into mine, and might I just state here and now that the HEAVENS OPENED. I had nothing short of an orgasmic experience (Not for Ethan's knowledge, please God) right there in the middle of a crowded London sidewalk. I could not stop moaning and extolling the PLEASURE of the chocolate! Ethan mumbled, "I've been wondering when this would happen". I asked him what that meant, and he said he knew I was going to have a fit when I tasted the chocolate. He then had to take me BY THE HAND, and lead me out of the way of the poor people trying to walk down the sidewalk, who weren't sure if they were witnessing a religious conversion or a woman for whom a white coat was coming post haste. I'm serious when I tell you this: There is nothing on this earth like British chocolate. The first I tasted was from Hotel Chocolat. Ethan said, "I bet you paid five pounds for that candy bar", and I replied that it was "worth EVERY PENNY or pence or whatever!"
My luck continued when I looked in the window of the shop next door, and spied the PERFECT HANDBAG. It was actually a cross between a clutch and a bag, and it had abstract red and pink lips beaded on it. I knew instantly that it was THAT ONE THING that I had been seeking, but being the silly woman that I am, I went inside the shop and looked for about thirty minutes before finally making the purchase. When I was at the register, the cashier told me that they had sold out of them, and just gotten new ones in, and another clerk hurried to get one to put behind the counter for herself. It's just THAT CUTE and perfect for moi!
On Saturday, we went to Stonehenge. It was a site to behold. The day was gorgeous, and the beauty of the countryside took my breath away. Stonehenge may look like a pile of rocks, but there is a peaceful aura there. Ethan and I got separated, and I wanted to get a photo of us together, but I had a personal emergency, and had to get back to the main center. Since he morphed into Ansel Adams on the trip, I am trusting that he can superimpose a photo of us together in front of the rocks. After all, we were both there.
We experienced and did so many things on our trip. It is hard to recall and document each and every one of them. We went to Salisbury and toured the Salisbury Cathedral (not near as many dead people as the Abbey), we walked across a bridge over the Thames river, toured the Tower of London and saw the Crown Jewels (excessive excess), stood outside of Buckingham Palace, and saw the guard, and wondered at the beauty of Big Ben. Memories were made.
Leaving London was an experience in itself. If anyone has any doubt that Heathrow Airport does not have strict security measures in place, allow me to dispel those misconceptions. My bag was a bit overweight, and the official REALLY wanted to charge me for it. I replied that my son's bag was way underweight, and if need be, I could shuffle some of my things into his bag, but wouldn't that be a pain? And besides, I spent A LOT of money in this country. (A lot of money TO ME, but still) I soon realized that the Brits don't necessarily appreciate a sassy American WOMAN OF A CERTAIN AGE. My suitcase was allowed to go through, but I was asked about my profession. When I told him I was a nanny, I was asked the ages of the children. I was ready to walk away when he asked me for the NAMES of the children. Geez. But, I get it. I really do. Thousands of travelers go through there every day, and they have to treat every one like a potential threat. Security was another issue. I was unaware that there was a LIMIT to the number of 3 ounce liquids that you could take in your carry-on. I was whisked right through security in Philadelphia. I was even granted some sort of priority status, and didn't have to remove my shoes or have the wand whipped over me. Let me tell you, it was different in Heathrow. They searched my bag, and told me I had way too many liquids in it, and some had to be destroyed. They took out my hand sanitizer and arthritis cream and threw it away. I had kept little bottles of shampoo from the hotels (to do a good deed, and donate to a women's shelter), and they were summarily dumped in the trash. I was on the edge of tears, and finally spoke up, and told them I had not had this problem in the United States. The official produced two plastic bags, and said that I could have three ounce liquids in each one, but they had to seal, and the rest had to be thrown away. Well, if there's anything we women know how to do, it is to prioritize. Perfume and makeup had to be salvaged as they are way too expensive to throw away. I think they ended up throwing away more hand sanitizer, mouthwash, my travel-size shampoo and conditioner, and if I'm not mistaken, my toothpaste. They were NOT PLAYING. Later, on the plane ride home, my seatmate revealed that she had also been through the security wringer, but she did not keep her composure. She had a complete meltdown, but they still threw several of her liquids away. It was the damndest thing. Again, I get it. Security is of paramount importance. It's just a weird experience to be treated so brusquely when you are unaccustomed to it.
The plane ride home was a straight shot to Raleigh. Having no layovers was nice, but the flight was so long. Being the kookaburra that I am, I made sure to get up and take a walk every hour because I was NOT going to fall victim to deep vein thrombosis. There was a young family in front of us, and at one point the little boy (about two years of age) turned around and gave my seatmate an orange. He then gave one to me. We tried to give them back to him, as we thought he was playing a game with us. His mother told us to keep them. They feed you very well on overseas flights, and we did not eat them. Later a flight attendant told us that we had better eat them because if customs found them when the plane landed, we would be fined $500.00. In retrospect, I'm thinking the mother knew this, and was eager to get rid of the oranges. Despite not being hungry, we ate hurriedly ate them. Not long before the plane was to land, I was digging in my purse for something, and what the hell did I come across? AN APPLE. It had been included in our breakfast, and I saved it for later. I could be fined $500.00 for bringing it into the US. Oh. My. God. I ran to the restroom, wrapped it in paper towels, and threw it in the trash. Holy cow. I could have been fined for having that damn apple. Apples have been getting women in trouble since the beginning of time! Geez.
So, what are my final thoughts on my trip of a lifetime? Here are a few:
The Ireland countryside is beautiful, but Dublin was dank and disappointing, at least what we saw of it. Everything appears to be from a bygone era. We Americans are quick to redecorate, repaint, and refurnish. The Irish? Not so much. This has its charms, but it appeared that Dublin could use one big power washing.
Wales will take your breath away. I think everyone on the tour fell in love with Wales. I want to live there when I grow up.
London is lovely and lively, stylish, and a bit edgy. If I were to run away, I would run away to London, never to be seen again. Wales and England appear to be much cleaner than Ireland.
It's weird how they don't tip as much in Europe. I left a waitress a five pound tip on a twenty-five pound lunch, and she all but hugged me in gratitude. Suggested tipping is 12.5 percent, if you feel the service was adequate. Tipping in pubs is completely discouraged. Again, so weird.
There really is something about the British accent. Our tour guide, Con, had the most delicious accent I have ever had the pleasure of hearing.
Lastly, the CHOCOLATE. It is the bomb.com, truly the BEST you will ever experience. And it is an EXPERIENCE. Trust me. I have to have it in my life again. I. WILL. FIND. A. WAY.
Not even an ocean can come between a woman and her chocolate.
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
REFLECTIONS ON TEST 3
1. My Back Dating Time Management Calendar helped me to prepare and study for Test #3. Having a calendar and referring to it kept me on track as I neared the end of this course. Not only did the calendar assist me in studying Chapters 5 and 11, it also helped me to review material for the final exam. I believe that having the deadlines in front of me (via the physical calendar) was extremely beneficial.
2. I actually did properly plan on my calendar. It was feasible and a great asset to my studies. The only thing that I failed to follow through on was developing a study group with fellow class members. I have kept the calendar for future reference and hope to incorporate a study group at some point next semester. I think there is strength in numbers and studying with others would be helpful to us all.
3. Back dating my time absolutely helped me to prepare for the test. It confused me at first, but once I grasped the concept, I realized that it could be a real life changer for me. The greatest advantage of the calendar is that it kept me on task. Every day I checked to see what needed to be completed that day and I felt well prepared to take the test. I plan to use it throughout my college career. In fact, I plan to utilize it in other areas of my life as well.
2. I actually did properly plan on my calendar. It was feasible and a great asset to my studies. The only thing that I failed to follow through on was developing a study group with fellow class members. I have kept the calendar for future reference and hope to incorporate a study group at some point next semester. I think there is strength in numbers and studying with others would be helpful to us all.
3. Back dating my time absolutely helped me to prepare for the test. It confused me at first, but once I grasped the concept, I realized that it could be a real life changer for me. The greatest advantage of the calendar is that it kept me on task. Every day I checked to see what needed to be completed that day and I felt well prepared to take the test. I plan to use it throughout my college career. In fact, I plan to utilize it in other areas of my life as well.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
MY JOURNEY
My educational journey has been wonderful this semester. The eight weeks have gone fast and I have learned much about myself and my style of learning. I have always been a reader and thought that the most effective way for me to learn and retain information was by reading the course work. While I still believe this to be true, I have greatly enjoyed and gleaned a lot of useful information from videos that we watched in ACA115. From the short videos of a few minutes to the lectures of Randy Pausch, I learned much about time management, managing stress, and other useful information. I have applied much of the practical knowledge to my everyday life and will continue to use the time management tools as I prepare for next semester. I'm don't think that I would change anything about this semester. There were a couple of times that I was beginning to regret taking two summer classes, but now that they are nearing completion, I am glad that I did. It wasn't much of an imposition to my schedule, and having them completed and behind me will be more than worth any minor inconvenience that I experienced. I am looking forward to next semester and new adventures in learning!
Friday, July 17, 2015
MY DEGREE DECISION
I have made the decision to pursue a degree in Early Childhood Education. I have always loved the company of young children and began babysitting very early in life. When my son was born, I loved reading to him and exploring the world through his eyes. Over a year ago, I lost my job and decided to go back to my first love, which is children. I completed a profile on Care.com and currently work full time as a nanny to four children. Working as a nanny while taking classes toward my Early Childhood Education degree is a natural fit for me. It makes my classes more interesting as I can immediately use my new found knowledge. I enjoy everything about Bladen Community College and look forward to next semester!
Thursday, July 9, 2015
UNHEALTHY CHOICES
There are many areas in life where people tend to make unhealthy choices. The most concerning unhealthy choices are those made in youth. This is because unhealthy choices made in youth sometimes tend to become lifelong habits.
If you begin smoking at a young age, and smoke for several years, it is going to be very difficult to stop. The same goes for any unhealthy choice. This is why it is imperative to instill good values and stress the importance of healthy lifestyles to our children. We also have to practice what we preach. If we constantly tell our children to eat their vegetables and we stand on the sidelines eating a bag of potato chips, we are defeating our purpose. The old saying "Actions speak louder than words" is absolutely true. If we don't want our children to smoke, we should not smoke. If we want them to eat healthy, we should eat healthy. If we don't want them to drink, we should not drink.
One abuse that I have witnessed in recent years is the excessive consumption of energy drinks. I see many young parents consuming these drinks and even purchasing them for their children. My advice to these folks would be to eat a healthy diet and drink lots of water, and try to wean themselves off of the excessive consumption of caffeine. Good health is something we should all be working towards as it is not handed to us and should not be taken for granted.
If you begin smoking at a young age, and smoke for several years, it is going to be very difficult to stop. The same goes for any unhealthy choice. This is why it is imperative to instill good values and stress the importance of healthy lifestyles to our children. We also have to practice what we preach. If we constantly tell our children to eat their vegetables and we stand on the sidelines eating a bag of potato chips, we are defeating our purpose. The old saying "Actions speak louder than words" is absolutely true. If we don't want our children to smoke, we should not smoke. If we want them to eat healthy, we should eat healthy. If we don't want them to drink, we should not drink.
One abuse that I have witnessed in recent years is the excessive consumption of energy drinks. I see many young parents consuming these drinks and even purchasing them for their children. My advice to these folks would be to eat a healthy diet and drink lots of water, and try to wean themselves off of the excessive consumption of caffeine. Good health is something we should all be working towards as it is not handed to us and should not be taken for granted.
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