Category Archives: Travel

Planes, trains and automobiles

February 18, 2011 · 12:33 pm

A capital getaway

We just got in from a mini-getaway in our state capital of Annapolis, so close in distance from our home, yet so far away in atmosphere.

The occasion blended a rhythm and blues show, a friend’s birthday party and a gift certificate for a local bed and breakfast into a 16-hour vacation.

To sketch a picture of Annapolis for those who haven’t been there, it sits on the shore of the Chesapeake Bay and, in addition to being the state capital, it is home to the United States Naval Academy. Its narrow streets are lined with restaurants, crab houses, craft shops, taverns and trendy boutiques. It also hosts an impressive 500-seat music venue, the Ram’s Head Tavern, where we attended a superb performance by the Tom Principato Band.

Our base of operations for this 16-hour vacation was a local inn, sadly, the kind of place you want to stay for no longer than the time between putting your tired head on the pillow and going downstairs for breakfast. I don’t mean to be unkind, but camping might have been cleaner and more comfortable. There’s no lobby; you come in through the kitchen of the deli below, to the cash register, which serves as the front desk. If you come back after 11:30 p.m., which we did, you have to climb what is essentially their fire escape to the third floor.

The real treasure, however, was the deli, rather, delly, below the inn. It turns out that Chick & Ruth’s Delly is a well known, family-run Annapolis landmark that’s been in business 45 years. And, while it’s very much a local hangout, I now recall it was featured recently in The Washington Post magazine recently as a favorite for brunch.

“Here you go, sweetie pie,” was how my husband’s crab omelet was served. ‘Nuff said.

We bought fresh crab cakes to cook at home tonight, just to extend the delly experience. I just hope no one expects a side of “sweetie pie” with those.

Do take a minute to peruse their website. Who knows, you might be interested in one of their Colossal Challenges, involving a three-pound deli (er, delly) sandwich, a three-pound hamburger or a six-pound milkshake. Read about the family who started and still runs the place and how the kids got started serving behind the counter, standing on milk crates. And don’t miss the web page that highlights all the couples who got engaged at the Delly.

Best of all, go to Chick & Ruth’s at 8:30 a.m. on any weekday, 9:30 any weekend day, and join your fellow patrons in the Pledge of Allegiance.

God bless America, the great state of Maryland and Chick & Ruth’s Delly.

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February 9, 2011 · 9:16 am

Blind luck

Today’s topic is, as the young people might say, kinda random.

It might seem that it comes out of nowhere, but there have been a couple of occasions this week that stirred me to give thought—and thanks—to something I often take for granted.

First, it was while I was editing a brochure on eyeglasses that it struck me how utterly dependent I am on something so small, yet so brilliantly invented. Then a casual conversation with someone whose eyes are as bad as mine brought it home.

I started wearing glasses in sixth grade. There wasn’t a fashion accessory much cooler in 1971 than octagonal, wire-rimmed frames. Now I can’t find the alarm clock in the morning without my beloved specs.  

I always wondered what it would be like to lose them. How would I survive? One day I had the chance to find out and, although it was 10 years ago, the memory still conjures panic.

My husband, son and I were on vacation in Aruba. The first day, I slipped on some jagged rocks, tearing up my whole right side. I was so covered with bruises and open cuts and was so sore that I could barely walk.

The second day, we took an all-day boat excursion around the island. The Jolly Pirate turned out to be an overcrowded party boat offering all the rum punch you could drink and some guided snorkeling, neither of which appealed to me. I had tried snorkeling only once – on our honeymoon, an island vacation that, in addition to a bad snorkeling experience, brought me intestinal flu, bronchitis and severe sun poisoning.

In Aruba I decided to give snorkeling another try. The boat had made several stops during which I had stayed aboard. The last stop, at the deepest point in the cruise, was the site of the featured attraction—an old shipwreck. The guide gave me some special goggles that fit tightly over my glasses so I could see under water. I lasted about five minutes, decided I still hated snorkeling and swam back toward the boat. As I was climbing the ladder, I pulled off the goggles and away went my one and only pair of glasses, flung far into the deep blue sea.

Immediately, my husband and son and a few people who were around to witness my mistake swam around to search for the glasses, but found nothing.

I sat there, on the edge of the boat, blind, disoriented and by then a little seasick, facing eight more days in Aruba. I didn’t have a spare pair, or a written prescription. I didn’t even have prescription sunglasses; all I had were clip-on shades with nothing to clip them to.

Bruised, blind and crying, I could not imagine how I’d get by another minute, let alone a week. We’d have to go home.

Someone brought my plight to the attention of the guides, who had helped themselves amply to the all-you-can-drink cheap rum over the course of many hours in the hot sun. I dismissed the idea as futile. Just then, the jolliest and seemingly most rum-soaked pirate guide took a swan dive off the side of the boat. He stayed under water a good long time, without a snorkel, and came to the surface with my glasses.

I was without my sight for only about half an hour, but it was almost as if I could see my whole life pass before my eyes. Or, in this case, not.

The morals of this tale: Travel with a spare pair and a copy of your prescription, don’t prejudge a jolly pirate and give thanks for the things in your life that give you sight.

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January 11, 2011 · 9:59 am

Bottomless skit

As a native of Washington, D.C., I have always thought the nation’s capital could take some lessons from New York City. Fashion. Taxicab regulation. Pizza. Liverwurst on rye.

Unfortunately, it seems that, several years ago, Washington took a tradition from the Big Apple and planted it right here inside the Beltway. C’mon. I’d rather have the liverwurst.

Sunday afternoon, between 3:00 and 6:00 p.m., Washingtonians observed their fourth annual No Pants Metro Ride by boarding the subway and peeling off their pants. Organizers rallied riders via Facebook and other social media, instructing them to act as if nothing were wrong as they rode past all the popular tourist stops. Amusing, I suppose, as temperatures stayed mostly in the 20s. The stunt paid off for riders who took advantage of a local eatery’s offer of half-priced hamburgers for half-dressed patrons.

Those who know me know that I can’t even bear to sit next to someone wearing shorts on an airplane. The thought of spending Sunday afternoon in a crowded subway car awash in goosebumpy, pale, shivering, shrinking flesh made me glad to have been, well, anywhere else.

Now, D.C., can’t we find a more mature way to be like New York?

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January 10, 2011 · 9:43 am

Together forever

The milestones just keep coming. Over the weekend I received an e-mail under the subject line, “Happy 25th Anniversary.” It was from American Airlines. I wondered how the company knew my husband and I had recently celebrated our silver wedding anniversary.

I opened the message. It seems I have been an AAdvantage member for a quarter of a century, almost half of my life.  Looking back, this would be right. It was 1986 that I began travelling for business. I worked for a Texas company, so American was my first airline relationship. As a newsletter editor, I covered banking and technology conferences around the country, so I also signed up as a frequent flyer with the other carriers. So far, American has been the first to commemorate the relationship.

I looked within the body of the e-mail to see how I’d be thanked for 25 years as a loyal passenger. “Thank you for your business” was pretty much the extent of it.

That’s okay. It would be cliché to complain about what the airlines aren’t doing any more. Still, as with any anniversary, it’s hard to resist harkening back to the honeymoon. The airline ticket would arrive in my office a week or so before the trip, in a silver matte jacket provided by the company travel agent. I could go through security with my pumps on and there was no laptop computer to place in the bin. After lengthy and tiring meetings, I looked forward to a hot serving of lasagna, a cute little salad, a roll with butter and a slab of chocolate sponge cake on the flight home–in Coach.

Twenty-five years together. Couldn’t they at least have sent me a coupon for a pillow?

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December 22, 2010 · 9:42 am

A[n] honorary language convention

A few days ago, a reader asked me to address the subject of indefinite articles preceding words beginning with the letter “h.”

I reviewed my understanding of the rules pertaining to the subject and set it aside pending consultation of a few sources. At the same time, I suspected this might be one of those rules that vary by region and knew I’d have to take that into account as I addressed it.

The timing is apt, as we already have a rousing international debate going, following my comments yesterday about whether periods and commas go inside or outside quotation marks, another issue lacking global agreement.

I was tickled to hear from readers yesterday, who wrote in from such exotic places as Belo Horizonte, Brisbane, Canberra, Jakarta, Lima, Manila, Ontario, Oxford, Vancouver and Tucson on the matter of inside-versus-outside-the-quotes issue, even if they didn’t agree with me. Especially if they didn’t agree with me.

So let’s look at indefinite articles and see if we can keep this global dialogue going.

The question before us: Which indefinite article, “a” or “an,” precedes a word beginning with “h?”

The consensus I glean from U.S. and international sources is that “a” is used before words beginning with “h” unless the “h” is silent, in which case “an” is used.

Many have noticed, as have I, that “an” has come to precede words in which the “h” is pronounced; for example, historic, as “an historic event.”

I’d be inclined to give a little latitude where regional pronunciations vary with regard to the “h.” In the United States, we’d likely say, “an herb,” though Martha Stewart and select others opt for the European pronunciation and, therefore, would use a different indefinite article: “a herb.”

I’d welcome comments by my fellow wordies from around the globe. Better yet, wouldn’t it be fun to convene a global summit on language differences? Unlike the World Trade Organization or the World Health Organization or the International Standards Organization, which strive for international standardization, the goal of the GSLD could be  to understand and celebrate regional approaches to language.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not for linguistic anarchy. While there are more than one authoritative style guide, I prefer to choose one and stick to it. Moreover, where style guides agree, I advocate for consistent adherence, at least within U.S. borders. But if we Yankees prefer to keep our punctuation tucked neatly within our quotation marks, and use “an” preceding an “h,” and you English speakers abroad adhere to your own national standards, then I applaud you. I’d also like to sit across a table from you and continue the conversation, maybe sink our teeth in to the Oxford comma, because we obviously share a passion for words.

Does Geneva have room for one more international organization? Is there an honorific (or a honorific?) who’s willing to serve as chair?

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December 10, 2010 · 9:49 am

Button Button

This might seem a little trivial, but I thought I’d get your thoughts, especially from readers who might be Internet savvy. Which I thought I was, until a recent phenomenon.

To make a long story longer, about three years ago I bought a black Anne Klein pant suit. It’s rare when I can buy a suit off the rack that fits me, needs no alterations, looks nice and travels well. This one met all the criteria so I snapped it up.

The first time I wore it, I lost one of the jacket’s three buttons, so I took the spare and had it sewn on. Shortly after that, I lost another button. I was working in a large conference center and had covered a lot of ground that day. Miraculously, after extensive searching, I found it in the press room. I had it sewn back on. I’ve since lost all three buttons at least twice each and, with the exception of that first one, I have always found them. I even tried sewing them back on myself, in an effort to make them stay on permanently.

Last week, I lost a button in Florida and never found it.

I went online and tried to find a supply of replacement buttons, and was able to contact someone through the Anne Klein website. I provided an e-mail address that I use only for Internet business.

Over the last eight days, I logged in 14 e-mails back and forth with the Anne Klein company and its parent, Jones New York, narrowing down manufacturing dates, style numbers and something called an RN number, to determine availability of said buttons. Everyone was responsive, and I’ve just received a message that my new buttons are on their way. But the dialogue has provided an interesting glimpse into how this exceedingly narrow slice of the industry does business.

There are two mysteries at work here. One is why buttons keep falling off my suit. The other is this: Since I began my search, everywhere I go on the Internet, an Anne Klein ad pops up. On Facebook, on Comcast, several others and just now, on a blog about words and phrases. That one ignited my curiosity. I presume my initial Google search and visit to the Anne Klein site led to this, but I really don’t know how it all works.  All I know is, in my online travels, Anne Klein is omnipresent.

Will I forever be stalked by Anne Klein and, of so, how can I use this to my advantage? Perhaps all she now knows about me will help me find another great suit in my size, preferably one with a jacket that zips or snaps.

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November 27, 2010 · 10:25 am

Literary lunacy

I don’t read a lot of books. Maybe two a year, three at the most.

Don’t get me wrong. I love to read, but it takes me a long time to finish a book. For one thing, I read slowly and, when I am really enjoying a book, I go back and re-read sections, just to wallow in the setting or absorb the dialogue. I like to live in a book and, as with a good movie, I carry the story around with me a while before moving on to the next one.

Also, because I travel a good bit and don’t own a Kindle or a Nook, I find some books too bulky to carry on a plane.

This weekend, after three months, I finally finished The Help by Kathryn Stockett. It is her first novel, which is hard to believe, given the maturity of the story and the real-ness of the characters.

The story takes place in Jackson, Mississippi, in the early 1960s. It is about a community of maids and the women they serve. The chapters are written from the perspectives of different characters, so it took some skill to make the technique work as beautifully as it did.

I won’t say anything more because I want you to read the book, but I would like to share two sentences I especially liked and returned to several times. The character is describing an error she made in a newsletter, which resulted in widespread negative consequences but had reflected her true feelings, as if perhaps she had done it deliberately.

“…it was like something cracked open inside of me, not unlike a watermelon, cool and soothing and sweet. I always thought insanity would be a dark, bitter feeling, but it is drenching and delicious if you really roll around in it.”

I am going to miss those women, but they’ve left me with a whole new outlook on insanity – why fight it?

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November 23, 2010 · 9:11 am

Hi ho silver

This is a big week. In addition to Thanksgiving, my husband and I are celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary. That’s the silver one.

It’s been a great run so far, but frankly I don’t think I am old enough to be celebrating 25 years of marriage.

My husband and I celebrated last weekend in New York City. We stayed up late, walked for miles and hung out with our young peers. We saw a Broadway show, had great meals and hit some swanky night spots. Very different from  any prior mental image I’d had of such an occasion.

The first silver anniversary celebration I remember was that of my Aunt Mary Lee and Uncle Henry. And they were ancient; I think Aunt Mary Lee was 43. From what I remember, the party room was full of old people dancing to old people’s music. I wore about six inches of crinoline and wondered if I would ever live long enough  to be married 25 years.

Here. See for yourself.

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November 9, 2010 · 6:18 am

Desperate times

I just activated my emergency Snickers bar.

You might be saying to yourself, I thought she was forced to give up chocolate. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

I made it through Halloween without a single piece of chocolate, which took great will power; but I was committed to good health and respectful of my dietary restrictions. However, I did stash one Snickers bar, perhaps as a measure of security, where I could get to it in an emergency.

Recently, some minor yet frustrating annoyances have graced our doorstep, which have called for generous amounts of patience and flexibility. The first was October’s fender bender and the various inconveniences that ensued.

I fully appreciate that the flies in my ointment are mere gnats compared to what the world’s poor, sick and homeless face every day. All the more reason to face one’s irritations with proper perspective.

So, as my gnats began to reproduce and mutate, I consulted my handy new manual, How to Say It, to be sure I addressed each inconvenience—and the person behind it—appropriately. Chapter 13 on Complaints offered a wealth of tips and techniques for airing one’s grievances, firmly but politely. I drew upon the insights offered in Chapter 13 to respond to statements like, We’re sorry, Mrs. Welch, but the rug you ordered in August, that was to be delivered in September, might (but we cannot offer any guarantee) be delivered in mid-January, and We’re sorry, Mrs. Welch, but the home project that was to be done in October is delayed indefinitely. We hope to start before Christmas (but we cannot offer any guarantee).

Chapter 13 gave me the right words but it provided no guarantee. Or result. I was on the edge.

With the ointment now full of horse flies, the only weapon I had left was an illegal, fun-sized Snickers bar.

Now, following a Snickers breakfast and paying the piper for it, I will leave  to catch an early flight with an impossibly tight connection. I will be optimistic about not hearing your flight is delayed, your flight has been cancelled or you missed your connection. (Heaven knows, the airlines offer no guarantee.)

Either way, I know the newsstand sells grown-up sized Snickers bars. And extra strength Tums.

Optimism aside, is it an omen that an enormous fly is buzzing overhead as I write this?

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November 4, 2010 · 8:32 am

Dream on

Not too long ago, we had fun here talking about our first jobs. The idea came about when the Today show ran a series about its hosts’ first jobs. The post prompted readers to share memories of theirs.

This week, CBS’ The Early Show has been airing a series on dream jobs, in which the hosts and others from the CBS family help viewers score their dream jobs, if only for a day–working at the zoo, cooking alongside Bobby Flay, writing cards for Hallmark and so on.

This got me thinking. I don’t know about you, but my idea of a dream job takes on a different form with each passing year.

When I was four, I wanted to be a ballerina nun. That lasted until I was six, when I wanted to be a go-go dancer. Actually I was a go-go dancer, in a make-believe go-go club my friends and I set up in the garage, with the help of my mother, who made us all fringed hot pink go-go dresses. We had one 45 rpm record, The Beatles’ “Can’t Buy Me Love;” two if you count the flip side, which was “You Can’t Do That.”

It has turned out that I’ve had a real dream job or two in my life. Or at least good jobs with dream perks. For several years, I got to travel the world, sometimes via corporate jet, doing fascinating work. Still, working in public policy as I did, it was not unusual to work on a single issue for years on end with seemingly little hope of completion.

It was then I used to dream of being a supermarket cashier. In addition to a fondness for groceries, what appealed to me most was the ability to finish a day’s work completely and definitively, with nothing hanging over my head. When your shift ends, you turn in your cash drawer, clock out, go home and leave it behind. You come in the next day with a clean smock and a fresh outlook.

I no longer have that dream because I am fortunate to be engaged more recently in project work, which carries with it that same sense of satisfaction–of completing a project, wrapping it up neatly and beginning a new one.

My husband has what many consider a dream job, and yet he dreams of other options. He is an oceanographer and wants to be a cowboy.

I can’t say at this moment what I’d consider to be my dream job. Maybe a shoe model.

Your turn. What did you want to be when you grew up or, now that you’re grown, what would be your dream job, even if you could do it for only a day?

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