Friday, March 27, 2009
Meant To…Never Did
“I thought about taking you with me, but I knew you wouldn’t want to leave Tim with the kids.” And with that, she picked up her Samsonite traincase and was out the door, leaving me standing speechless in the middle of her kitchen.
For years Mother and I talked about taking a trip together. Both of us loved to travel, but we hadn’t gotten around to a “just us” trip. Now I had a husband and three children that I would have gladly thrown under the bus for a few days away with her.
Then she died—too young and with too much of life left to live. We meant to have a big adventure…but we never did.
On a cold December day, I learned that the future was terribly unreliable, and all I had for sure was the present. Things that found their way relegated to my “someday” list had better move up quickly or be forever doomed to the “Oh well” pile. Some pesky life lessons hurt a little more than others.
Eventually I decided to write a Life List, a collection of those things that I wanted to accomplish, a roadmap, a focus for fuzzy days. The list was short; only three items—enjoy the day, travel the globe, and write the stories. Left standing in my mother’s kitchen with my mouth hanging open was a seminal experience. That three course menu called a Life List was proof positive that I got it.
On Wednesday my daughter, Rachel, and I are leaving for London and Paris. We chose this particular trip, because she wanted lots of free time to wander and avoid as much history as humanly possible. Ignoring the obvious disdain for my most beloved subject, I bit my tongue, bought the plane tickets, and Googled “shopping—London.” This trip wasn’t about museums.
What exactly does one pack for such a trip? A few clothes, comfortable shoes, a corkscrew, a camera, and credit cards. A small photo album full of pictures of Bryan, Tyler, and Anna Lauren, my three pollywogs, and Tim’s Blackberry in case I want to call home. And the blue bauble necklace and bracelet made from an especially long string of beads found in Mother’s old jewelry box. She wouldn’t want to miss our big adventure.
Meant to…
Gay Wanderlust
June 17, 2008
Travels from a Broad
January 7, 2005
I confess that I would rather travel than dust. Or cook, or do laundry, mop floors, or any other housewifery. I came by it honestly. My mother was the same way. She was ready to go at a moment’s notice and sometimes forgot to ask the crucial question “Where?”
I was always there to see her off and sat patiently while she related all the exciting details upon her return. However, there was this one time. As she was walking out the door for some great adventure, she said to me, “I would have taken you with me, but I knew you wouldn’t want to leave Tim and the kids.” I was dumbstruck. Who was she kidding? I would have left them in a heartbeat. We never did get to take that trip.
Several years ago, looking around for something painless to give up for Lent, I decided to forgo all my exciting travels researching a coffee table edition of Gyms of the Southeast. Instead I decided to concentrate on more exotic venues. So in December, my travel buddy, Judy Penney, and I went with a group to the Christmas Markets in Austria and Germany. I entertained visions of completing all of my Christmas shopping and avoiding the crowds at the Mall of Georgia. Best laid plans.
I took Daddy to Huntsville to stay with my brother and sister-in-law and flew back to Atlanta with the group. After a four hour layover, we were finally on our way and I was ready for bed. Sleeping on the plane would have been a breeze if a certain group of women, who obviously didn’t get out much, understood airplane etiquette. Giggling and squealing is not appropriate behavior between the nano-second that the sun sets and rises again while the plane crosses the Atlantic.
Judy was full of travel tips, having been a world traveler for quite some time now. I hadn’t been out of the US since my grand excursion to Europe after high school graduation. Countries had changed hands several times since then. Anyway, she advised me to take bottled water and long underwear. Both came in handy. Our attic room was in hot-flash hell, so we used the bottled water to prop open the window. Reaching the window required a chair, tiptoes, and outstretched arms and fingers. Unfortunately, the pizza parlor in the alley under the window catered to college students, served beer, and closed at 2 am.
We wandered the markets and tried the gluhvien, a concoction of warm wine that tastes like it sounds. We ate in wonderful restaurants. One dated back to 800 and had served Charlemagne. Another was an old beer hall that featured an oompah band. One of the band members tried to show Judy his oompah, but she pretended that she didn’t understand him.
In Oberammergau, lunch was at a restaurant owned by a magician who used to work in Las Vegas. Judy finished her corn sandwich, the house specialty, and announced to the table of 12, “Oh, look. He’s getting out his goodies.” Every head turned but it was a false alarm. The magician was just starting his act.
I tried to go easy on the German food, because I could still picture Charles Meinert’s gouty thumb after a two week trip to Germany. I didn’t want to get on the plane with my thumb swollen and throbbing and have to sit next to the Giggle Sisters.
On the free day, we took the train to Italy to satisfy Judy’s craving for all things Roman. Judy confided that she would move to Italy if it weren’t so far from her family. I suspect that she has a secret “Under the Tuscan Sun” fund and will quietly slip out of the family’s Toyota dealership one afternoon and head straight for the airport.
We strolled around Bolzan with fellow travelers, Pat and Ray, and ate lunch at a local restaurant. The English menu was a huge help, but it was obvious that their word processor did not have spell check. Soop? An entrée with wild boar and french fried? I ordered spaghetti.
Everywhere we looked the scene was picture postcard beautiful. The mountains, the snow, the frost-covered trees, the churches, the architecture…we could have been extras in The Sound of Music.
Judy and I became great friends and look forward to a repeat performance. The other travelers were surprised to learn that we were mothers-in-law. Apparently, most had unpleasant memories of their own families and in-laws. I wasn’t worried for a minute. After all, my son-in-law tells me all the time that I am his favorite mother-in-law.
Auf wiedersein,
Gay von Trapp
January 7, 2005
I confess that I would rather travel than dust. Or cook, or do laundry, mop floors, or any other housewifery. I came by it honestly. My mother was the same way. She was ready to go at a moment’s notice and sometimes forgot to ask the crucial question “Where?”
I was always there to see her off and sat patiently while she related all the exciting details upon her return. However, there was this one time. As she was walking out the door for some great adventure, she said to me, “I would have taken you with me, but I knew you wouldn’t want to leave Tim and the kids.” I was dumbstruck. Who was she kidding? I would have left them in a heartbeat. We never did get to take that trip.
Several years ago, looking around for something painless to give up for Lent, I decided to forgo all my exciting travels researching a coffee table edition of Gyms of the Southeast. Instead I decided to concentrate on more exotic venues. So in December, my travel buddy, Judy Penney, and I went with a group to the Christmas Markets in Austria and Germany. I entertained visions of completing all of my Christmas shopping and avoiding the crowds at the Mall of Georgia. Best laid plans.
I took Daddy to Huntsville to stay with my brother and sister-in-law and flew back to Atlanta with the group. After a four hour layover, we were finally on our way and I was ready for bed. Sleeping on the plane would have been a breeze if a certain group of women, who obviously didn’t get out much, understood airplane etiquette. Giggling and squealing is not appropriate behavior between the nano-second that the sun sets and rises again while the plane crosses the Atlantic.
Judy was full of travel tips, having been a world traveler for quite some time now. I hadn’t been out of the US since my grand excursion to Europe after high school graduation. Countries had changed hands several times since then. Anyway, she advised me to take bottled water and long underwear. Both came in handy. Our attic room was in hot-flash hell, so we used the bottled water to prop open the window. Reaching the window required a chair, tiptoes, and outstretched arms and fingers. Unfortunately, the pizza parlor in the alley under the window catered to college students, served beer, and closed at 2 am.
We wandered the markets and tried the gluhvien, a concoction of warm wine that tastes like it sounds. We ate in wonderful restaurants. One dated back to 800 and had served Charlemagne. Another was an old beer hall that featured an oompah band. One of the band members tried to show Judy his oompah, but she pretended that she didn’t understand him.
In Oberammergau, lunch was at a restaurant owned by a magician who used to work in Las Vegas. Judy finished her corn sandwich, the house specialty, and announced to the table of 12, “Oh, look. He’s getting out his goodies.” Every head turned but it was a false alarm. The magician was just starting his act.
I tried to go easy on the German food, because I could still picture Charles Meinert’s gouty thumb after a two week trip to Germany. I didn’t want to get on the plane with my thumb swollen and throbbing and have to sit next to the Giggle Sisters.
On the free day, we took the train to Italy to satisfy Judy’s craving for all things Roman. Judy confided that she would move to Italy if it weren’t so far from her family. I suspect that she has a secret “Under the Tuscan Sun” fund and will quietly slip out of the family’s Toyota dealership one afternoon and head straight for the airport.
We strolled around Bolzan with fellow travelers, Pat and Ray, and ate lunch at a local restaurant. The English menu was a huge help, but it was obvious that their word processor did not have spell check. Soop? An entrée with wild boar and french fried? I ordered spaghetti.
Everywhere we looked the scene was picture postcard beautiful. The mountains, the snow, the frost-covered trees, the churches, the architecture…we could have been extras in The Sound of Music.
Judy and I became great friends and look forward to a repeat performance. The other travelers were surprised to learn that we were mothers-in-law. Apparently, most had unpleasant memories of their own families and in-laws. I wasn’t worried for a minute. After all, my son-in-law tells me all the time that I am his favorite mother-in-law.
Auf wiedersein,
Gay von Trapp
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