Category Archives: Travel

Planes, trains and automobiles

The point being

Three weeks ago, I wrote about the dreaded double-is, as in “the problem is is,” which so many people say, most likely because they misheard it somewhere, picked it up and absorbed it into their speech, thinking it sounded sophisticated. In my post that day, I explained why it is redundant and incorrect to use “is” twice in a row when not preceded by a clause.

I should have thought to bring up a related error while I was on the subject. It wasn’t until I was on the phone with a help desk employee that I remembered it.

Upon making a hotel reservation recently, I discovered that my Hilton Honors membership had lapsed. The nice lady on the line explained it this way: “The reason being is that you haven’t stayed in a Hilton since 2008.”

Well, I stayed at a Hilton just six weeks ago, but that’s beside the point. The issue is “being is…” One verb, used twice, once as a gerund, the other in the present tense. Right next to each other.

I don’t intend to be snooty or judgmental (maybe a little), but I think people believe they sound intelligent when they say “the reason being is…,” just as they do when they say “the reason is is…”

The help desk lady could have explained the membership lapse at least two ways and been grammatically correct. She could have said, “The reason is that guests who do not stay with us for one year lose their membership statuses.” Alternatively, she could have said, “Your membership has lapsed, the reason being that you have not stayed with us since 2008” (subordinate adverbial clause). One may use either “being” or “is,” one or the other, not both.  Or the lady could have left the verb “to be” out of it altogether and thrown in a simple “because.”

But never “the reason is because.” That’s a subject for a whole other day (not “a whole nother day”).

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Filed under All Things Wordish, Travel

Bucklebury bride

A few days ago, one of my favorite sources of online commentary, Fake AP Stylebook, posted this: “About 176,938 reporters are covering the Royal Wedding, or three for every person actually interested in the story.”

I certainly don’t propose to precipitate on the procession of the Prince and Princess. They deserve a jolly nuptial.

But for Pete’s sake, these past weeks, I couldn’t escape the coverage. I switched from one news channel to the next, seeking something else. One would hardly know there was anything else going on in the world. Perhaps this is the reason – our fellow planet dwellers have been looking for a fanciful distraction and the news outlets were only too happy to deliver.

The fact that American network anchors are in London to cover the festivities has me a bit puzzled. It’s as if the whole world were in an imperial trance.

I tried to come up with a unique angle from which to write about it, but it’s all been done. The weird and tacky commemorative souvenirs. The event as perceived by the male species. How British police have deployed a special team of security forces for the “mentally unhinged and the royal-obsessed.” The repeated use of the word “commoner” to describe the bride. Even how much fun the name of her home town is to say: Bucklebury.

I don’t recall that the 1981 affair received this much ink and air time. Then again, I didn’t have a television. I was attending university in Spain. We had no TV in our dorm rooms, but we had a whopper of a movie theatre in the basement, where we watched weekly episodes of Dallas dubbed into Spanish (¿Quién tiró J.R.?). And the Royal Wedding.

It was truly a thrill, being a young woman of 21 (even then I was older than the Princess), watching the procession on the big screen, without having to have gotten up at 4:00 a.m., with fellow students from countries around the world, including Texas.

It must have made quite an impression because just four years later, I walked down the aisle of an Anglican church, carrying calla lilies and English roses, wearing the second poofiest dress you’ve ever seen, pulling a really long train behind me. And I married a prince.

Now that proceedings are underway, I’m a bit more excited, but I must be off to work. I’ll be watching the reruns tonight at a small gathering of my college chums. Don’t expect a review to appear here tomorrow because everything that can be said will have by then.

Cheerio!

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Filed under Beauty and Fashion, Family and Friends, Movies, Television and Radio, News, Travel

Make a wish come true

Tomorrow, April 29, is World Wish Day, an occasion to highlight the good work of the Make-A-Wish Foundation in granting the wishes of children with life-threatening medical conditions.

The Foundation has lots of moving stories to tell about children and their families whom they’ve helped. I have one and I’d like to share it.

In 2006, Marcus was 15 when he was diagnosed with anaplastic astrocytoma, an aggressive brain cancer. The day he came home from the hospital after having received his diagnosis, his parents called his three younger brothers into the living room and, in honest yet age-appropriate terms, told them what would be happening in their family. The younger ones could already see the scar of a five-hour surgery and would soon learn about radiation and chemotherapy. This isn’t the time to tell the long version of the story, but Marcus courageously endured six weeks of radiation therapy (and the 180-mile daily drive to get it), followed by many months of chemo. He continued to go to school, play baritone in his high school marching band, enjoy video games and indulge his acute interest in World War II aircraft. Books, movies, documentaries, websites and model planes fed his passion for the subject, and stirred his ambition to join the Air Force.

Marcus was aware of the uncertain nature of his condition—including the fact that his extensive head surgery might hamper his chances of serving in the military—but he kept looking ahead. Make-a-Wish and a local Air Force base invited him to be a pilot for a day and fly in an F-16 flight simulator. They gave him his own flight suit and his wings.

He responded well to treatment, facing occasional worrisome reports from the doctor, and did a remarkable job of getting on with life, taking whatever medications and treatments were ordered as time went on. Still, an uncertain prognosis loomed.

When he was 17, he wanted to visit Pearl Harbor and tour the USS Arizona Memorial. The Make-a-Wish Foundation made it happen. In August of 2008, they arranged for Marcus, his parents and his three brothers, to fly to Honolulu for a badly needed vacation and tours of the historic sites.

While in Hawaii, Marcus began having headaches and nausea, which became so severe that he went to the emergency room. Brain scans were sent to his doctor in Utah. His doctor advised the family to stay in Hawaii for the duration of the trip and to have as much fun as they could, while managing Marcus’ pain and discomfort. When the family landed in Salt Lake City, Marcus went straight to Primary Children’s Hospital, where  it was discovered that his tumor had returned, was growing rapidly and was inoperable. Chemo might provide some relief and a remote chance of slowing the growth.

Marcus bravely said, bring it on, in whatever words he chose, but experienced the most violent reactions he had faced so far from the chemo. The next scans were discouraging, providing little hope. At the end of September, Marcus gave up treatment. He passed away on October 26th, and was buried with his Air Force pilot’s wings.

The point of this blog post is not to bemoan the evils of cancer or the unfairness of the impacts on its victims. The point is to share the news that Marcus and his family were able to live Marcus’ wishes of flying a fighter plane and visiting Pearl Harbor. The Foundation also knew how badly the family needed respite from two years of cancer hanging over their lives, and put them up at a lovely beach resort, where the kids could swim and enjoy each other, free from the grips of the “C” word.

Make-a-Wish can’t fulfill a wish for recovery. But it can make it possible for children all over the world who want to be police officers or pilots or whatever to achieve their dreams, even if they might never have the chance to be adults.

I’m grateful to Make-a-Wish and all who give to them for the gift they gave my nephew.

Please consider giving so others’ wishes might come true.

Happy World Wish Day.

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Filed under Family and Friends, Health, In Memoriam, Travel

Don’t go it alone

As I woke up again on the West Coast this morning, with nary an idea for what to say today, I received a comment from a reader and fellow WordPress blogger, Olga, who teaches English in Russia.

Olga said, “I’d be interested in your opinion as a Word Nymph on learning foreign languages by oneself,” and pointed me to her post on the same subject. I scrolled through a few more e-mail messages that came in overnight. There was a piece of spam, with the subject heading, “Want to learn a new language fast? This contained a link that would not open. But Olga and this spammer got me thinking.

In her post, Olga converses with her reader, Yulia, about the pros and cons of teaching oneself a second, or third or fourth, language. This dialogue is quite interesting, especially as it takes place in English between two non-native speakers, who both write English extremely well. But that’s not the point.

I once learned Spanish, but it took me four years attending a university—and time studying in Spain—to do it. Lack of practice over 30 years has placed me closer to the starting line that I’d like.

As Yulia points out, it’s possible to learn the fundamentals of grammar and sentence structure from a book, but pronunciation is more difficult to learn in isolation. We need to hear words pronounced, we need to practice our pronunciation in the presence of others. Tapes can be helpful, but digital media don’t converse. It is in conversing that we learn.

It’s not that teaching oneself can’t be done. I know that because my son taught himself Italian at age 10. Of course, he didn’t become fluent; his goal was to be able to read a menu and order his own meals while on vacation with us in Tuscany. He had received a pocket-sized workbook for Christmas, took it to school and studied it every afternoon in after school care, while sitting in a corner alone. At least that’s what his day care providers told me. Indeed, when we arrived in Italy the following July, he had amassed an impressive vocabulary of practical words and phrases. Even though he learned in a vacuum, his pronunciation was pretty good as well and he exercised his new skill with confidence.

Likewise, my father is in the process 0f teaching himself Spanish. When he began thinking about retirement, he decided this was something he ought to do. (I was voting for his learning the computer).

My father is making good progress, but he would do well to perfect his pronunciation through practice, something he is doing right now, in fact.

I believe strongly that learning—learning almost anything—best happens in community. Ideas can’t be exchanged in even a hundred years of solitude and, while it is possible to read a book, or listen to or mimic tapes, it is in the conversing that learning a language happens.

Based on my experience, I’d recommend taking a class, forming a study group, seeking out kindred spirits and doing it together. Support one another, exchange ideas, draw each other out of your shells.

And, take it from me, a little sangria never hurts.

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Filed under All Things Wordish, Family and Friends, Travel

Night terror

Do you know those tests the sleep specialists show on television to demonstrate what happens to drivers when they’re sleep deprived? Poor judgment, slower response time, even hallucinations come into play when a human does not get sufficient sleep.

This morning, I am tipping orange cones all over the place.

Yesterday I flew to California, worked until almost midnight and went to bed after being up for 23 hours. Then I woke up three hours later, still in the West but with my rhythms in the East.

For the last two hours I’ve tried everything that usually works for me—reading, getting up and walking around, even having an informercial playing softly in the background. The latter usually works like a charm. Not this time. But I can tell you everything you’ve ever wanted to know about the P90X fitness program and something about the anti-aging magic of melon extract that keeps Cindy Crawford’s and Valerie Bertinelli’s faces frozen in time.

Looking back over this, I’ve counted more than a dozen typos and, I hope, corrected all of them. I’ll check back again after this afternoon’s nap.

Aside from sleep aids—which aren’t an option when you’re an hour and a half away from the alarm going off–what works for you when you’re wide awake, yet more tired than you’ve ever been, at 3:00 a.m.?  Other than blog–I’ve tried that.

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Filed under Beauty and Fashion, Health, Marketing/Advertising/PR, Movies, Television and Radio, Travel

Grammar on the Acela Express

Yesterday I was on an Amtrak train rolling along the East Coast. Compulsive public eavesdropper that I am, I tuned into a loud conversation among three gentlemen in the row in front of me. One, a well-groomed young man in a good suit, was obviously auditioning for the approval of the other two, perhaps as a job applicant or an eager salesman. He said, “Yeah, I coulda went to Boston University.” Then he proceeded to begin several sentences with “Me and him…”

I’ll never know the outcome of the meeting, as the gentlemen disembarked before I did.

Boarding the train and taking the place of the three gentlemen were two ladies. Neither was a native English-speaker, but one was a bit more fluent and confident than the other. However, in contrast to Sir Brags-a-lot, both women spoke impeccable English. One looked up at the sign above the seat and asked her friend, “how is that word pronounced?” I was impressed that she cared enough to ask. Her friend responded, “aisle,” like “‘I’ll,’ as in ‘I’ll be back in a moment.”’ There was conversation about not pronouncing the “s,” as with “island.” The woman more in the know assured her friend, “English can be confusing.” Her friend said, “Yes, but it is such a beautiful language.”

I’ve never thought of English as being a beautiful language necessarily. I find the romance languages more pleasing to the ear, even if I don’t understand everything. Perhaps the rhythms and intonations of a foreign language are what make it beautiful to our ears.

I do believe English is one of the most difficult languages to learn as second language, with all of its exceptions and varied pronunciations. English also poses challenges for us native speakers, which may be why I still enjoy studying it. That said, perhaps I should have been less judgmental of the fellow who could have went to BU.

Oh, whom am I kidding?

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Southern hospital-ity

The universe has a way of teaching us valuable lessons, often despite our attempts to block our learning pathways.

The obstacles I put up often are erected by my own impatience, anxiety and desire for control. The lessons I learn, despite these obstacles, often come to light as a result of my foibles and faux pas. In other words, I go through life with a mission, a strategy, profound organization and planning and compulsion for making sure things go right. For example, when I am on a business trip, I am always triple checking that I have everything I need, that I am running on schedule and that all the pieces come together precisely according to plan. Then, occasionally, I do something really flaky that throws my planetary orbit completely awry.

Yesterday, I facilitated a medical meeting at a hospital in Mississippi. When it was over, I knew I had time, with a nice cushion built in, to drive 95 miles to the Memphis airport in time to catch my flight home. I packed the trunk of my rental car and reorganized my materials and belongings efficiently for the flight. I triple checked everything: meeting materials organized, boarding pass and ID accessible, car and house keys where I could access them when I got home, phone in hand in case of emergency.

In a nanosecond of flakiness, I closed the trunk of the rental car. With the keys inside.

Everything was in the trunk of the locked car, except my purse, the contents of which I had emptied into my computer bag, also locked in the trunk. Fortunately, I had my phone and my wallet.

Let me first say that all prior moments of anxiety on this trip were assuaged by the exceptional niceness of Mississippians. From Internet and printing problems at the hotel to the logistics during the meeting, everyone who crossed my path bent over backward, not only to help but to care for me in the process. At the risk of generalizing, there really is something to the notion of Southern hospitality. It’s like having a mother everywhere you go. People really care about you and will go to whatever lengths it takes to get you what you need. This was the first lesson: no matter how impatient you are with people, they can beat you down with kindness.

After a moment of panic, I called the car rental company to see what they could do. I naively thought they could flip a switch and unlock the car remotely. The Southern gentleman rental agent apologized that this was not the case and offered to send someone out, for a fee and perhaps not in time for me to make my flight. He suggested AAA might be a better option but assured me he was there if I needed him.

I called AAA. By this time, I was in a fair tizzy. I was connected to the Northern Mississippi agent, whose name, aptly, was Mr. Nice. I could tell he felt my pain. He would send someone immediately if I gave him the address. The address was locked in my car. He remained on the phone with me patiently while I walked back to the hospital reception desk. While he waited for me to give him the address, he gave me a callback phone number and a confirmation number. I grabbed a pen from my purse but had nothing to write on, except a tea bag. I jotted lots of information down on the paper wrapping of the tea bag and, when the receptionist finally became free, I asked her for the hospital address, gave it to Mr. Nice and hung up. She asked me why I needed it, if I was already in the hospital. I told her of my foible and that I had called AAA.

She said, “Honey, why didn’t you just call hospital security?” I admit, I had thought of that, but I didn’t want to detract critical hospital resources from the business of saving lives and thought I could handle this on my own. Another lady came over and joined in the chorus of “Now, you call and cancel your triple-A right this minute and let us help you.” I hesitated. She called security herself and set up the rescue. I still hesitated. She insisted. I cancelled AAA and hoped for the best. Time to catch my flight was running short.

She said, “Honey you best get out to your car so they can help you,” and said a security agent would be out, shielding her mouth and whispering, “just as soon as he tends to an urgent matter over in Behavioral Health.” Who knows how long that could take? Plus, I already had observed (from the fact that no one in Mississippi seemed to drive faster than 10 miles per hour below the speed limit) that “urgent” to this city girl and “urgent” to others have two different definitions.

The security agent arrived within 20 minutes, then took an additional five just to get out of his car. It was then I learned that breaking into a locked car is a manual process. My second lesson: The Chevrolet Impala is an extremely secure, tamper-resistant machine. The very warm and friendly man, who assured me he unlocks several cars a day, could not crack this nut. After trying every instrument in his arsenal—including something that looked like a blood pressure cuff—I decided to help. I pressed my face up against the window of the passenger door and navigated him to the well hidden and protected (for a reason) unlock switch: half an inch to the right, an inch down, back up, almost there, bingo! Actually, “Alleluia!” was what I shouted (even in Lent, when the word is taboo). I broke into tears and thanked him profusely. He apologized profusely to taking so long. The third lesson, much like the first lesson, so simple yet so compelling, being nice can change someone’s world.

A genuine Tupelo angel

I won’t bore you with the how the rest of the adventure played out; it’s better to end here.

When I said my bedtime prayers at three o’clock this morning, I gave thanks for Southern hospitality and the many souls—Courtyard Marriott desk clerks, AAA’s Mr. Nice, the two ladies at hospital reception (one of whom ran after me as I was leaving, to give me a hospital note pad) and the security guard, whose name I have already forgotten. May we all take a lesson that we can change the world just by being nice.

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Filed under Foibles and Faux Pas, Travel

Name that car

People have no doubt written about this before, but it has only recently gotten my attention enough to give it more thought.

Lately, I’ve spent a lot of time on highways, where there tend to be a lot of cars, and have realized something.

It used to be that cars had words for names. Many were named for real or mythical creatures. Falcon. Jaguar. Cougar. Beetle. Viper. Thunderbird. Firebird. My first car was a Mustang.

For a while, car names symbolized strong human types: Cavalier. Maverick. Ranger.

Cars were also named for exciting places, like Daytona and Malibu.

Then came a time when inserting a French article made a car seem more exotic: LeSabre. Le Car. LeBaron.

Dodge has been keen on naming cars for objects that represent speed (Dart), fearlessness (Intrepid) and forcefulness (Ram Charger).

I love my car, but wish it had a real name. I drive an Altima. Before that I drove a Sentra. Nissan also makes the Maxima. I’d prefer these be real words: Ultimate, Sentry and Maximum. I don’t know if the Japanese are the ones who first came up with made-up names; they were the ones who also invented Camry, Prius, Yaris and Integra, and introduced the alternatively spelled Infiniti. Honda has done quite well with the Civic and Accord, both nice names and real words with positive associations. Hyundai has the Tucson and Santa Fe, both nice places. Still, made-up names seem to be on the rise. Increasingly, humans are giving their offspring made-up names.

Maybe carmakers have something there. Surely there were countless focus groups that confirmed the appeal of certain made-up words, and it appears from my observations on the road, that these are the cars people are buying. Most luxury car models are beyond words, simply using combinations of letters and digits.

Not one for made-up names for cars or humans, I had to get past buying a car with a nonsense name. I passed up the Accord for the Altima, which I liked far better in the test drive. If I had test driven names alone, I’d have bought the Accord.

How about you? Did your first car have a real word for a name? To what extent did the name factor into the selection of your current car model?

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Filed under All Things Wordish, Marketing/Advertising/PR, Travel

In a nutshell

If you could fit your outlook on a bumper sticker, what would it say?

That might be an unfair question, but it’s fun to think about. A living epitaph of sorts, or simply your message to the world behind you.

I enjoy reading bumper stickers. It’s fun to speed up and see how drivers match their sayings.

We spent the weekend visiting our son in Boone, North Carolina, a funky college town about which I’ve told you before. Friday we took a stroll down King Street, had lunch at Our Daily Bread and checked out some of our favorite shops.

My husband’s favorite stop-in is Dancing Moon, a 1960s-style book store, filled with incense, new age music and reading on all things spiritual and counter-cultural. Dancing Moon smells (and, to some degree, feels) just like my childhood.

During our voyages to the Dancing Moon, my husband browses the shelves and chats with the proprietor, aptly a cross between George Carlin and Jerry Garcia. I retreat to my favorite corner in the back, where the bumper stickers are displayed. I pretend I have to select one that represents who I am.

I don’t affix stickers to my bumper. The peace sign magnet I had there at one time had attracted such ire—as well as comments that it was unpatriotic—that I removed it for a while.

I can’t say I was able to select just one bumper sticker on this trip, but here are a few that struck my fancy:

“All the freaky people make beauty in the world”
“Medically speaking, what harm does medical marijuana do to terminally ill patients?”
“Imagination is more important than knowledge”
“Consciousness: that annoying time between naps”
“When in doubt, shut up”
“The truly educated never graduate”
“Peace is patriotic”

What words appear on your life’s bumper sticker?

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Filed under All Things Wordish, Quotes, Travel

Card shark

What’s your shopping obsession?

After shoes and accessories, I’d have to say my greatest shopping pleasure is picking out greeting cards. I’ve spent upwards of $60 at a whack at places where they offer good cards. I buy hundreds every year.

What are good cards? I lean toward humor, so I go for the cards that have me laughing out loud right there at the rack. I’ve been a spectacle at the airport news stand, where they often carry my favorite line of cards, Avanti.

I think the reason so many people no longer send greeting cards is that they’re under the impression it takes a separate trip to the card store for each acknowledgement.

In fact, like the airport gift shops, the best cards can be found at places where we already are. I often buy cards at FedEx Kinko’s, where I browse the racks while waiting for a print job. If you like cards and live near where I do, Bertram’s Inkwell at White Flint Mall and Knowles Apothecary in Kensington will hook you up.

When I’m traveling and have a little time, I seek out the local card shops. I found Boulder, Colorado, to be a greeting card Mecca, and Gidget’s Gadgets in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, can’t be beat.

I wish I could be like my friend Sheree, who makes her own cards, or my friend Jeuli, who had her own line in stores some years ago, or my friend Carla, who wrote for Hallmark’s humor lines. I just don’t have that kind of talent.

I am good, though, at buying and sending. And I have a kind of a system for managing my habit.

I buy all year long because, after all, I enjoy the hunt. Most cards remind me of friends and family members, so I select cards with specific people in mind, rather than just stocking up. Even if you’ve just had a birthday or anniversary, chances are I’ve already bought your next year’s card, affixed a Post-it with your name on it, made a note on my calendar a week before your occasion that there’s a card for you in my pile and then put it in the pile.

I do stock up on things like graduation cards, so that I’m ready when those announcements starting rolling in, and I keep other cards on hand just in case.

Recently, my pile became so unruly that I extended the system. I now have a box with purchased, assigned cards sorted by occasion, sitting by my stock of notecards and personalized stationery. If you stepped into my office, you might mistake it for the Hallmark store.

When people see my various “systems,” they often tell me I have too much time on my hands. Perhaps that’s because I’m so organized.

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Filed under Beauty and Fashion, Family and Friends, Holidays, Travel