The Northward Contrail

Away we'll go

I mentioned the budget the other day, and the great plans for it. But how will I travel and keep to my budget? That's the wonderful thing about worksheets and bonus miles and award points.

There's two adventures I have planned: the usual May adventure in Seattle, and my annual visit to Alaska with a stop-over in Seattle on the way back in July. Those trips don't come cheap. I have specific routings for those trips and specific places at which I want to stay. I know what I like, and that's what I want.

Fortunately, I've made these trips so often that I've accumulated a ton of mileage with a certain airline I came to love a little too late, one that's now going through a merger. I don't yet know if my loyalty will survive the merger (at the very least, some things have happened that do not make me feel very optimistic), and if my budget means in a few years I'll be free and clear to purchase outright whatever ticket I want to anywhere anyway, why hoard the miles? That's how I ended up with a round-trip ticket to Anchorage, with a stop-over in Seattle on the return, for all of $10. As for the hotel? Not enough points for a bonus stay, but with an advance purchase, I saved a lot of money. July is the busy season for this hotel, so anything I can save is welcome. I did use the hotel points to get a free stay the night before I leave; since it's an early-morning flight out, that will save a lot of hassle. It all boils down to the trip that would be the most expensive - yet, given my love of Alaska, is the one that's most meaningful - is already bought and paid for, and that's nice.

The Seattle adventure isn't yet booked, pending the arrival of some promised mileage into my account, but it'll be coming soon; if all goes well, I'll bring the entire trip in under budget. Even if it doesn't quite work out as planned, I'll still have saved some money while enjoying the standard I've come to expect, and I'll be happy. The May adventure in Seattle is always a hoot, and is the perfect way for me to let my hair down after the stress of a school year.

There will be a few other adventures in the coming year - there are frequent weekend out-and-about events with hubby, and we also have three or four trips we'll be taking together, but he will be taking the lead on those. The two adventures for which I have the responsibility, however, are either all done or within grasp. I like that.

Fly the plan

The new year is here, and I've looked forward to it. We had a nice long weekend, and New Year's Day brought the traditional lunch: collard greens, black-eyed peas, corn, pinto beans, stewed tomatoes and cornbread. Tradition has it you always make sure to eat a lot of collard greens on New Year's Day in hopes of bringing wealth in the new year, and I made sure to eat as much as I could. It was all good. And we spent time breaking in the new television we bought as a joint Christmas gift (since I'm the first to admit I'm difficult to buy for, I gave hubby my blessing to put what he'd spend on me into something for us both. And he chose wisely, selecting a television that should keep us happy for a long time).

Now the new year is officially going. I'm officially on my new budget plan. It may sound odd to say this, but given what it should let me do once I'm finished, I'm excited about it. The first elements of it clicked into place last week, and things are right where I want them. Everything I need to do has been budgeted, and everything is accounted for. Sure, there will be travel in the coming year, but it'll be on award tickets. I've accumulated a lot of mileage the last three years. Why sit on it? If I bought the ticket to Anchorage outright, it would be at least $1100. Or I could redeem mileage and get it for $10. No contest. I don't have the points for all my hotel stays, but I'm putting the cost of those stays into my budget, and they'll thus be paid for.

There'll be some things I'll do without in the coming months; on the other hand, there's a lot of stuff I have that I've never really given time to appreciating. There's a ton of books I've bought but haven't given myself time to enjoy, for example. The next year or two will be about savoring what I have. I plan, for instance, to designate a dozen books in my collection I want to have read by this time next year, and designate a dozen kits in the stash to have built by this time next year. And I plan to have fun with it all, choosing books I'll be excited to read and kits I've really wanted to build but put off for silly reasons. It's going to be great.

The hard part is done. I've figured out my destination and created the plan. Now I just have to fly the plan. (Best of all, the math is done. I never got along with math, so having that done is a hill climbed in itself.) I can do this, and I shall.

Summing up

I figured 2011 would be a year for regrouping and rebuilding, and it turned out to be exactly that. For that, I am grateful. Some things that happened in the second half of the year were overdue and, though not always pleasant, were exactly what I needed. Out of it I gained new perspective, a change of focus, and reordered priorities. On the professional end of things, I rearranged my responsibilities and undertook a deep career assessment that could possibly lead to something extremely wonderful, and (with the exception of one element that I hope gets fixed soon) I'm happier and more comfortable with my job than I've been in a long time. Financially, I shed an old, bothersome debt and put together a five-year budget that, if I'm able to make it stick, will mean new opportunities - including the fulfillment of a couple of deeply meaningful, long-held wishes. It'll take some work, but I love a challenge.

There's been adventure, too - I've been fortunate to see Alaska again, spend more time in Seattle, and have a hundred smaller adventures in among those. Any year when your travels span from Fairbanks to Fort Lauderdale is not a bad one. I've spent time in wonderful places and enjoyed the company of some fine people. I have been blessed, and I am grateful.

This trip around the sun has been a good one. I'm ready to do it again. I hope your 2012 is as good to you as 2011 was to me.

Travels with hubby

So I've mentioned we spent the week before Christmas down in Florida, doing some visiting. I hadn't been that far south in four years, and hadn't been to Florida itself in close to three. It was overdue, I think.

We left a couple Fridays ago, spending the night in Daytona Beach on the way down, then going the rest of the way the next morning. When we hit the Florida line, it didn't take long for me to remember how I-95 through Florida has mostly this sun-bleached, worn look. Many stretches of it look exactly the same as it did when I moved there almost a dozen years ago, but those stretches are becoming fewer and fewer. Development has taken root in once-forsaken places, and you're seeing civilization in places that were once deserted. It was interesting hearing hubby, whose family moved to Florida in the early '70s, compare how it is today to how it was in the '70s and '80s. It ain't the same, not at all.

By the time we were in Broward County, my memories of the place had come flooding back. There was a little nostalgia as I saw familiar places, but there were also definite reminders of why I left and didn't look back. So much I saw, I didn't miss. I didn't miss the traffic, the crowdedness, the development, you name it.

We got to where hubby's mother lives, and from then on, we were taken care of. We didn't want for anything the length of our stay, and that was nice. She made sure we had plenty to eat, and we spent a lot of time visiting. I'd brought a lot of work with me to get done, and a couple books to read, expecting the time to be sort of slow. As it happened, I had to pull myself away at a couple points so I could get my work done. It was indeed a pleasant visit. The weather was very nice the whole stay, only getting bothersome the night before we left, when it got humid. The rest of the time, it was lovely blue skies and mid-70s.

Not all our time was spent there. A couple days, we went out and explored. Hubby went looking for the places he grew up and showed me other places he remembered. We drove around the local airports, watching airplanes and seeing what had changed. We visited the hobby shops, finding one had changed drastically since our last visit and the other as remembered. And we made the all-important pilgrimage here. And it was good. Very good. If there's one material thing I mourn every time we have to leave South Florida, it's that we have to leave that place behind. That's how good it is.

Thursday of last week, we loaded up and started the journey home. We reached Daytona Beach early afternoon, had some lunch, and then spent a couple hours cruising around town seeing what's changed. In some ways, this stop on the way home was the most fun. Hubby was in the midst of the most time off work he'd had in a while, and he was in very good spirits, happily exploring a town he knew well and telling me tales from his days there. He was happy and I was happy, and I was reminded how much I love having him. It was one of the most blissful things I've enjoyed in a while. We retired to our hotel room and spent the evening watching television and finishing off the baked goods his mother sent home with us. (Tough job, but someone's gotta do it.)

Next morning we woke up and completed the journey home. I'd had a great time, much better than anticipated, but it sure felt good to get home. The mighty tiger and the mountain lion were happy to see us. Though my folks had come over to look in on them at about our trip's midpoint, both feline critters were starved for affection. Before we even got near the door, we could hear their meows...uh, I mean, "roars" even in the garage. We couldn't unload the truck all at once because we had to come inside and let them love on us for a little bit. They spent the rest of the evening being very clingy. It's nice to be wanted.

After the week's travels it felt great to spend a night at home, in all the familiar comforts you leave behind, to go to sleep in your own bed and all that. Next morning was Christmas Eve, and hubby spent the whole day baking. I spent most of the day making sure the young and very inquisitive mountain lion stayed out of his way. Everything got done, and it was good.

Christmas day came. After exchanging cards and gifts, we got ready to drive over to see my family, and got there about lunchtime. After so many days of sweets, I wanted to sob when I was finally able to eat something salty and savory, as some things were in the spread my mother laid on. We did the gift-giving thing (and my nieces really cleaned up, for my parents really love to spoil their grandchildren), then spent some time over at my brother's. Then it was back home.

One more day with hubby at home. Monday was quiet, very nicely so. He'd enjoyed his time off and shed a lot of stress. I was happy to see him so laid-back, and it was a little sad to have to let him go back to work. But it's part of life.

The next day came, and he went back to work. I woke up, had a normal breakfast, did my normal morning routine, and then went off to do the errands that had gone undone for too long. No more sweets, no more unusual routines, none of that again for another year. In some ways, I'm glad to let it go, and there was a little bit of satisfaction in getting back to a normal routine and getting some things done that needed to be done. But I do have to say the last two weeks brought more unexpected enjoyment than I've had in a while, and I'm thankful.

There's a beautiful vale in Alaska

During last December's adventure I picked up a copy of Evangeline Atwood's We Shall Be Remembered, which tells the story of the Matanuska Colony. One of the appendices has a poem I've come to love. Here's Don Irwin's ode to the laughing river in the beautiful vale, surrounded by a few rocks I collected from its banks back in August.

(Incidentally, this is also an excellent time to remind you of this marvelous documentary and its companion DVD set. I have both, and highly recommend them.)

Change of venue

You'll recall this time last year I was about to leave for Alaska. Years of prompting, that I really needed to see the place in winter if I wanted to see if it was more than puppy love, finally led to me buying the ticket and taking the ride. Of course, I loved it. What I didn't love was the journey itself, nor the brevity of the stay. Two days in Alaska bookended by a complete day of travel on each end (oh, and along with a string of delays on the way out) is no way to see the place. It doesn't leave much room for enjoyment, yet somehow I managed to pack an awful lot of fun into that whirlwind tour, and in spite of all the hassles I still look back on it with fondness.

This year's December adventure isn't as poetic. While Alaska is a place in which I'd love to live, Florida is a place I actually have lived, and although I look at it as more like "I survived it" I still have some good memories of the year I lived there. It's the first time I've been there in five years, and there's some morbid curiosity about how much will be different this time. After all, Fort Lauderdale is a place where, if you stand still for longer than 20 minutes, they'll staple a building permit to you and start building the scaffolding.

Last year's adventure was, for me, about as pure an escape as you can imagine. I'd had an incredibly stressful end to the semester, and the opportunity to put 4000 miles between me and my troubles was about as pure a blessing as you can imagine. This year, there isn't as much stress, and I'm taking some work with me, hoping to use the downtime and the change of venue as inspiration. If all goes well, my Christmas gift to myself will be completed syllabi, rewritten lecture notes and assignments, and a completed annual report. That way, I'll be able to enjoy the rest of my too-brief winter break, and then my classes will be a matter of just flying the plan I've filed. That will be very nice indeed. (As I'm fond of saying, I like to front-load my stress; that way, it's over with first, allowing me to enjoy what's to come.)

One of these years I'll take another winter adventure to Alaska. The difference will be that I'll plan it better, do it on my own terms, and not try to cram it into a tiny window between Winter commencement and Christmas Eve. (There will also be a stop-over in Seattle on the way back - which all future adventures northward will have, if I can help it - but that's another story.)

This year, though, it's something a little less poetic, but I'm certain the change of venue will do me some good, and the completed work I hope to bring back with me should do an awful lot to make me happy, as well.

Out and about

Off this morning to go see my folks about an errand or two. When I told my mother I'd be coming over, almost immediately she asked if I'd have lunch with them. I have to confess that secretly I hoped she would ask. I wouldn't miss that for anything.

See you tomorrow.

The quiet

I'm being reminded why this time of year is a favorite, and that's the fact that nightfall begins earlier. By 6:30 this time of year it's pitch dark outside. I hate driving in it (anybody who lives in the woods will tell you why, for reduced visibility means you sometimes don't see Bambi until it's too late) but I love the evenings.

Last evening was a perfect example: sitting on the couch, computer in my lap, one cat snuggled up next to me and the other sleeping away on his blanket on the other couch. It was quiet in the house, with only the refrigerator's low hum and the ticking of the clock. Earlier in the day, my grades had been turned in and I'd cleaned up my office; I'd exercised, taken care of a few tasks. I'd had a not-bad cup of coffee. I had several new books to read, all of them on subjects that fascinate me. There are still tasks to get done in the coming weeks, sure, but they could wait; besides, I know how I'll handle them when the time comes. Last night was a night for enjoying the calm, the coffee, and the books.

I've talked before about how I savor travel, about the pictures I keep in my head of Alaska and of Seattle; about how when I'm in those places, I tell myself to enjoy the moment so those memories will sustain me through the turbulence and tedium of the school year. Sure, I love those moments, and I can't wait to return to make more memories. But I'd say moments like those last night are no less important. The work provides the means for the travel, but the work also provides the means for the books, and for the house out in the quiet woods, and for so many little things I too often take for granted. It's important to remember just how precious those things are, too.

The creep

It's early evening in Fairbanks.  My traveling companion has retired to his room for the night, but I'm in the mood for some coffee and dessert.  So I wander down to the hotel's restaurant and lounge, the same place we'd had dinner a couple hours before.

When we had dinner, the place was pretty empty.  But as the evening has gone on, it's filled up.  Lots of tourists, including what appears to be a bunch of cruise passengers on bus tours or tourists who took the railroad up.  There's no vacant tables, so I plop down in an easy chair.  Eventually a server spots me and takes my coffee order.  They're seriously understaffed, so it takes a while.  I'm not getting much traction sitting in this corner, so when some seats open up at the nearby bar, I grab a seat there. 

I'm sitting there nursing my coffee and pondering a dessert menu, and I've just asked for a side of Bailey's for my coffee.  That's when this young guy wearing military fatigues with the insignia of an Airman First Class comes sauntering in.  Now, there are probably three vacant seats at the bar, but, sure enough, he takes the one right next to me.  This kid's about 22 or 23.  He's got a recruiting brochure with him.  And it quickly becomes obvious why he's there.  He tries to strike up a conversation with me, tries to tell me that's his brother jumping out the back of the C-17 on the cover of that brochure. 

And he starts harassing the overworked wait staff, too.  He's pulled the "hey, buy a drink for a soldier?" guilt trip on me, and now he's bothering the overworked wait staff.  They're not in the mood for these shenanigans, and one politely but firmly tells him they can refuse to serve him.  This prompts him to start going on about how he's being discriminated against and why do they not want to serve military personnel, and so on.  He asks another bartender what the strongest stuff they have is, and when he finds out it's Grey Goose, orders two of them.  He tries to get me to drink one of them and ridicules me for just having Bailey's with my coffee, but I tell him I don't drink the hard stuff because I always want to be in control of myself.  Young horndog airman gets this look on his face that says, "Wow, if I get her drunk, she'll be wild!"  It's obvious his thinking is not being done between his ears, but farther below.

It gets worse from there.  I mention something about aviation, and he starts going on about how he flies F-15s and F-22s and all that, impressing me with all the stuff he supposedly does when he flies them.  I listen to his fanciful tale, and I'm not sure if the look on my face sufficiently communicates to him that I know his fanciful claims do not match the insignia on his shoulder.  In among his tall tales, he's further harassing the wait staff, badgering one server for directions to Chena Hot Springs (having heard a story of someone who came down with a serious medical condition after a visit there, the temptation is very strong not only to give Junior Birdman oddly detailed directions to Chena Hot Springs, but provide specific recommendations for his visit).

Young Mr. Airman has been going a mile a minute, and eventually he asks what I do for a living.  I forget how it happens, but I mention the doctorate.  He takes this in the context of me being a doctor, and starts clutching his chest dramatically.  "Oh, I have a pain right here!" he says, holding his hand over his heart.  That's when the balance shifts in the conversation, for I've finally had enough.  "Well, I'm not that kind of doctor," I tell him, and I show him the ring on my left hand.  "And I already have a patient."  It's funny, if not pathetic, to watch him sputter. 

Once that happens, the shootdown doesn't take very long.  I've finished my coffee and given up on ever seeing dessert, and by this point being badgered by this creep has made me lose my appetite anyway.  I hand my Visa card to the bartender and tell him I'm ready to cash out.  There's no way in hell I'm paying for Junior Birdman's shots of vodka.  The bartender looks at me as if to say, "Yeah, I know, and I don't blame you."  Meanwhile, Young Airman is puzzled about why I'm leaving so soon and is trying his most desperate moves on me, providing me all the more reason to get out.

I sign the check and stand up to leave, and try to give the most dignified send-off I can to someone who doesn't deserve the dignity I'm extending him.  He wants to shake hands, so I give him that much.  As I'm about to walk away, he says, "Remember!  I protect you!"  I stifle the urge to respond, "Kid, you're an insult to every decent person who's ever worn the uniform," and instead head out the door without saying anything else.

I walk back to my room, looking back over my shoulder once or twice along the way.  When I get back there, I not only lock the door and activate the door chain, but I jam a chair between the floor and the doorknob.  I still can't believe the events of the previous 45 minutes, and even though he didn't get anywhere with me, part of me still wants to take a Silkwood shower.  I spend the rest of the evening with one ear open, expecting at any second to hear a drunken, obnoxious airman pounding on the door.  That night, I go to sleep with the lights still on. 

The next morning, I'm up early for the shuttle to the train station.  My friend joins me in the lobby.  I tell him, "Well, you won't believe what happened last night."  My friend listens to me with a combination of amusement and bemusement, and I could tell he wishes he'd been there -- mostly to protect me, but I think part of him wanted to watch as I sent the amorous young hot dog down in flames.

(Note: My apologies to the actual Junior Birdmen for the use of their term to describe this creep.  No disrespect was intended or is implied.)

Halfway

Today is, for all intents and purposes, the halfway point of the semester; we have the next two days off.  For me, it's not a moment too soon, for some things are starting to grind and grate, and I could sure use the extended weekend. I have some ideas of things I'd like to do, but if they get done or not, I don't know.  If the next few days were like yesterday -- overcast, rainy, a little cool, reminding me a lot of that Saturday in Fairbanks a couple months back -- I'd have no problem with it.  No matter what it does, I'm still ready for it, and ready to get my head back together for the last half of the term.

:: With this post the little blog here reaches four digits in post count.  I started this as a cheap, easy way to display my collection of oddities, and I chose a blog because I can't code HTML to save my life.  Somewhere along the way it went from a personal museum to an online journal of obsessions, amusements, gripes, confessions, adventures, diversions, and tomfoolery.  Despite my best efforts to get it back to its original mission, it continues to be all these things, and I'm not sure if that's a thing to lament or celebrate.

I'm not sure what's ahead for me, or the blog.  I've started to wonder if making myself post each day is diluting the quality, such as it is, of what goes up; that gets countered with "you're a writer, and the best way to stay in practice is to write."  So I'm not sure what's ahead.  There's so much I have yet to write about, and it will get written about, somehow, as soon as I find the time to do it "rite."

But, just as with the semester, this is a moment to stop, realize how far you've come, and catch your breath before you push forward.