On the Road... Again

 

West of Nashville this morning

“There is no mile as long the final 

one that leads back home.”
― Katherine Marsh

Mike and I are on the final leg of this holiday trip.  We left Nashville this morning and headed west on I-40 avoiding, at least through tonight, bad weather.  Luckily for us, the blizzard hit the interstate from New Mexico through western Oklahoma two days ago while we were running around Nashville in sweaters.  Tonight, we're slipping around on ice and snow in Clinton, OK.

Not long after I took the first photo in this blog, we stopped in Dickson, Tennessee, to fill up the car.

"Oh, look," i said to Mike.  "The Shell station has a Dunkin Donuts."  Mike got out to get gas, and I got out to get a donut.

Donuts!

I have to add here that I love donuts, but I try to stay away from them because I love them.  I used to eat them all of the time, but as I've grown older, the donuts stay with me a lot longer (A moment on the lips = a lifetime on the hips.).  I hate exercise a lot more than I love donuts, if you get my drift.

However, I will have a small cake donut very occasionally.  Today was a good occasion for a donut.

It was not quite 7 am, but there were a bunch of people in line when I walked into the shop. Two women were directly in front of me, and three girls were in front of them.  At the head of the line was a family of eight adults.  Eight. Adults. Eight. Indecisive. Adults.

The DD line (Dud is front left.)

When I got in line, the family was in the process of ordering.

"What do you want?" the dad dud asked the mom.  She ordered something, and the clerk rang it into the register.  The dud turned his attention to girl #1 and asked what she wanted.  She looked at the menu board.

"I don't know," she said and continued to peruse the board.  Mom changed her mind and told the clerk she wanted to change her order.  Number 1 ordered something. The dud then asked one kid after another what he or she wanted.  Each one had to look at the board and take his/her time to decide.  Mom and one of the boys kept changing their orders.  The poor clerk was totally confused.  Dud turned around to see how many people were behind him.  He laughed. "We have a following."  I glared.

The Dud trying to get clerk's attention while we're in line.

After 10 minutes, Mike walked in to see what was taking so long.  "The Duggar Family Wannabees is still ordering," I told him.

I realize that you will find this hard to believe, but I am not patient with idiots, and sometimes Mike is even less so.  He started making comments after five minutes.  "Come on," he said.  "There are other people in line."  A few of the kids turned around, as did the dud.  They continued to take their time and change their orders. Someone finally came out to help the original clerk.  When she finally gave the dud his total, he questioned it, and they had to go through the whole order again.  "What now?" my husband asked.  After another few minutes, they got the bill straight, and the dud finally took his wallet out and started trying to put together his $40+ order.  One of the sons pitched in.

The three girls finally got to the counter and ordered.  They were done pretty quickly, and as they walked away, the family's hot biscuits or whatever came out.  While the ladies in front of us ordered, the dud checked the bag.  Apparently something was wrong, and he tried to get the clerk's attention.  She ignored him and waited on the two women.  One of them ordered quickly, but the second one had to look at the menu board to decide what she wanted.

The three daughters waiting for their bagels or whatever.

"For crying out loud," I said to Mike. We had been in line a good 20 minutes at this point, and the woman was just then deciding what she wanted.  After the clerk rang her up and handed her the donuts, the woman opened her purse to look for money.  I sighed and looked to my left where the family was poured over chairs and tables.  Dud was inching close to the front of the line.

"Don't let him cut in front of us," I said to Mike while giving dud the evil eye.  He heard me and stopped.

The woman in front of us finally left, and we ordered—one glazed and one chocolate cake—and paid within 30 seconds.

"Thank you for your patience," the poor clerk said as she handed me the donuts.  She rang up our order and gave us 10% off for waiting so long.


"This is my last donut of the year" I said to Mike as we got in the car. "It better be worth that wait."

It was.

We Are The Cardinals

“While they talked they remembered the 

years of their youth, and each thought of 

the other as he had been at another time.”
― John Williams

I left Youngstown, Ohio, some 40 years ago, watching the city disappear in my rear-view mirror as I barreled down 680 and I-76 toward Columbus, a new job, a new life.  Most of the people I knew—friends from school, from work, from the neighborhood—disappeared in that rear-view mirror, too, although I would occasionally see some of them when I was in town visiting my family.  If you think about it, I was no different than anyone else. Most of us, even those who lived in the same city, moved on with our new jobs, new lives, new families, new friends.

St. Nick's Crew (Linda & Cindy in front; Nan, Moi, Tim, & Denise)

In the 90s, the internet rolled into our lives, and I reconnected via AOL with a few people from Youngstown.  When we had the occasion to be online at the same time, we could "instant message" via AOL's old chat application. It wasn't, however, until Facebook torpedoed into our lives that we were able to find more and more friends.  Suddenly, very suddenly, we were involved with each other again.

Barb and I with Denise looking on (and Cathie in back)

It is an amazing phenomenon, this thing called Facebook.  It propelled us toward each other and, in many cases, forged bonds that were stronger than the ones we had years and years ago.  Face it.  When you go to a 2400+-student high school and are in a class of 410 students, you will, most likely, have a close group of friends and a larger group of acquaintances.  And, you will feel lost and feel as though you are the only one who feels that way, but you will hide your fear and insecurity under a blanket of bravado or quiet or smiles so no one else really sees it.

St. Dom's (Jan, Michelle, Maureen, Patti, Cathie, John, & Loretta)

Enter Facebook so many years later.  I've read a couple of articles debunking Facebook friendships as superficial, weak, fake, and more. I prefer, though, to agree with those who tout the benefits of Facebook friendships that allow us to reconnect, to interact, to improve relationships that were, at one point, not as strong simply because of the timing or the factors involved.  I know that in my own case, I have reconnected with so many elementary and high school friends, and we have supported each other through happiness and difficulties and agonies. We've held each others' proverbial hands tightly with prayers and wishes and words. We've laughed. We've cried. We've just been there no matter if five or ten or one hundred or two thousand miles separate us.

The St. Mathias (Marisa) & Sts. Cyril & Methodius gals (Laura & Loretta)

And, so it was when Mike and I decided to drive to Ohio so we could see family before heading to Richmond to see Jason that I asked if anyone would like to get together for a few hours while we were in Youngstown. People agreed, and one of my friends, Jan, called a restaurant to reserve space for us.

Michelle and moi

About 20 of us showed up...some with spouses, some without.... and we had a wonderful three hours. We talked and hugged and talked and laughed and talked and talked and talked and laughed. When we sat for lunch or to take a photo, it was like wrangling cats to get us to stop the chatting, get together, and look at the same camera at the same time (the most impossible task).

Patti, Jan, and I.... No, we have not grown up!

A few times, I just stood, watched, and remembered the four years we shared at Cardinal Mooney High School. I thought of how we were then and how—though we are older and have gone so far over so many years—we really are the same.

I could go on, but I'd get maudlin, and no one likes a maudlin smart ass. So, I'll end this with a note to my dear friends: I thank you so much for the wonderful time Sunday. Thank you for the friendship, the support, the laughs, the love. 

We are the Cardinals. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.

The Road Thing, Part IV

 

I-40 in Arizona

“Sometimes I wonder whether the world is being 

run by smart people who are putting us 

on or by imbeciles who really mean it.”
― Laurence J. Peter

 The trip from Las Vegas to London, if one takes the southern route, is approximately 2005 miles.  A good portion of the journey takes you through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma on I-40, a freeway.  In Oklahoma City, you switch to I-44, a turnpike that bisects Oklahoma diagonally from southwest to northeast before crossing into Missouri and becoming a freeway again. Around St. Louis, you hit I-70, (another freeway) and follow it east to Central Ohio and London.

I like the roads in Oklahoma.  Unlike the roads in Texas, they are smooth and provide an easy ride.  I didn't even mind the turnpike because I'm using the road, so I can pay a little to maintain it.  There was, however, one little hitch.  Allow me to explain.

After Riles and I stopped in Elk City for his pit stop and my coffee (with two expressos), we headed east on I-40 for another few hours.  Just west of downtown OKC, I took the on-ramp to I-44, the Oklahoma Turnpike.  As we took the final turn onto the road, I saw a big sign that announced the rates for driving on the turnpike; two-axle cars cost $1.10.  Two seconds later, I saw another sign that read, "EXACT CHANGE ONLY."

I-70 in Indiana

In all honesty, I had given all my change—about 50 cents—to expresso lady at McDonald's two hours earlier.  "HOLY CRAP." I had nothing else to say. I had visions of the OK police snatching Riley and me out of the hotel in the middle of the night for not paying $1.10 as we went through the toll plaza (Neither of us looks good in stripes, by the way.). I also had visions of being stuck at the toll plaza gate with cars piling up behind me because I couldn't pay $1.10 in exact change.  "Holy, holy crap."

No, I ask you this: If you run the Oklahoma Road Department, would you not think it wise to announce that one must have exact change to travel the turnpike BEFORE ONE GETS STUCK ON SAID TURNPIKE?  Maybe Oklahomans know that they have to pay turnpike tolls in exact change, but I bet most travelers do not (until the first time they venture through without exact change in hand).

We did not come across the toll plaza immediately, so I fished around in my purse to see if I could find any coins that dropped to the bottom of the purse.  No such luck.  I found a dollar bill, though. Maybe, I thought, I could ask the person I was holding up behind me for change.  Maybe.  We continued on, and I started to think that maybe I was out of the woods because I had not seen a toll plaza sign.

Albuquerque

Right.  Not long after that thought hit me, I saw the, "TOLL PLAZA—2 MILES" sign.  I approached the plaza and saw that the car in front of me had stopped at a machine a few yards away from the toll machine.  A bill changer!!  I pulled up, put the $1 bill I'd found in the machine, and got 20 nickels back.  Yippee!  I pulled up and threw my two quarters and 12 nickels in the toll basket.  The gate lifted, and we were through.

A few miles down the road, I noticed a sign on one of the exits as I passed, and it announced that exiting cars would have to pay another toll.  Of course, it also advised that it was "EXACT CHANGE ONLY."  I had no idea how much *that* toll would be, and except for bills, I had the remaining 40 cents in nickels somewhere in the bottom of my purse.  The thoughts started to swirl again.

I got to my exit eventually and saw that I owed 35 cents to exit the turnpike.  It took me a few seconds, but I located the coins and threw them into the machine much to the delight of the guy behind me who had to wait for me to find them.

Starbucks in Albuquerque

This was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a horrible experience.  My only concern was that I didn't have exact change and had no idea what to do.  The one change machine saved me, so that was good.  That said, however, it irritated me to no end that there was no alert to the exact change rule until I was already on the turnpike.  Maybe have the sign at the border or a few miles before the intersection.

It put me in mind of our move to Las Vegas in 2009 when Mike and I drove the Honking Big Pensky Truck west along I-70.  Just after we passed the Green River exit in Utah, we saw a sign that said, "No Gas of Services Next 100 Miles."  We had about 1/2 tank of gas at that point, and that truck was NOT getting good gas mileage.  I don't want to get into that story here, but suffice to say that the Utah Road Department could have put that signage BEFORE THE LAST EXIT WHERE GAS WAS AVAILABLE.


At any rate, I checked in, got Riley settles,  and bought a salad at a place near the hotel. As I paid, I asked the guy at the register to give me a few dollars in coins, PLEASE.  He said, "You're taking the turnpike, I bet."  I nodded.  He added, "If you're not from here, it can be hard if you don't have exact change.  You can pay online, but most people don't know that and don't know how to do it.  It's a pain." 

You bet, Skippy.

The Road Thing, Part III

Riles in the hotel in OKC

“A strong woman is a woman determined to do 

something others are determined not be done”
― Marge Piercy

My alarm went off at 4:30 am on Monday, and I hit "Snooze."  At 4:40, I hit "Snooze" a second time.  At 4:50, I turned off that particular alarm and the one I had set for 5:00 am. I finally woke up after 6:15 (CST).

When I called Mike, he again asked me how far I was going to drive that day, and I told him that I was going to make it to London.  "It's a long way," he reiterated, and I counter-reiterated with, "I know, but I'm not stopping anywhere tonight." As I mentioned, our original plans called for a stop somewhere in Indiana, but I hadn't wanted to stop there in the first place.  Being in control of my driving destiny, I intended to go straight through.

Somehow I loaded the car with what I had taken out and got Riley safely ensconced.  I handed in the key at the desk and heard sausage patties calling me over.  I did not cave because, quite like the bacon of Sunday's buffet, Monday's sausage looked to be all mystery and no meat.  When I filled up the tank, I also got coffee—or the liquid brown crap the gas station was selling as such—because there was no Starbucks in the vicinity of my route.  Since Tulsa was about 110 miles away, I figured I'd find one eventually, which I did.


The interesting thing about coffee and me is that I hated the stuff until about 20 years ago, but today I crave it even thought I find the taste a little odd (unless we're talking cappuccino, but that's another story).  At any rate, I was thoroughly enjoying the Starbucks Christmas Blend as I headed northeast on I-44.  Traffic was moderate, and I noticed that everyone was slowing down because there was a little black car stopped on the side of the road.  Highway Patrol.  According to my speedometer, I was going about 78 mph, but I still slowed down to 70 by the time I passed him.

Riley slept on one pillow but kept his head on the one in this photo.

Starbucks in my right hand and steering wheel in my left, I watched him in my rear-view mirror as I passed.  Nothing.  I sighed in relief and looked in the mirror again. Pink and blue lights pulsated as the patrolman raced toward me.

"HOLY CRAP."  I admit, once again, that I said something slightly stronger than that, but I pulled over, turned off the engine, and waited.  A tall guy in one of those stupid Mountie hats approached the passenger side.  I put the window down and greeted him.

"Good morning, Ma'am," he said.  "How are you today?"   

I was fine until you pulled me over, I thought, but I assured him that I was fine and tried to keep Riley from jumping out of the window.  "He's friendly," I told the officer.  "He'll lick you to death. RILEY! Stop that! Get in the back!"  The officer laughed.  Good sign.

"I clocked you going 81 in a 75, Ma'am," he said.  You pulled me over for six miles?  My speedometer had me at 78, I thought, but said nothing.  I had California license plates on my car.  "Where are you heading?"  I explained that we had an emergency in Ohio and that Michael was there and that the dog and I were alone and heading there and that we would then head to Virginia to see our son for Christmas.  "I see," he said.  "May I see your license and insurance, please?"

Somewhere in Oklahoma before my conversation with the officer

I handed him my license and looked for the car rental agreement that I had placed in the passenger-side door pocket on Friday.  It was not there.  "This is a rental," I told him. "We never drive across country with our own cars."  Why the hell I added that, I do not know.  I threw my purse in the backseat with Riles and started to go through my backpack.  Nothing.  I opened the glove compartment. Nothing.  "I can't find the rental agreement," I told him.

"You don't have a rental agreement?" he asked me.

"I do, but I don't know where I put it. We had an emergency in Ohio and my husband had to fly there Tuesday and Riley and I are heading there alone."  He didn't say anything, so I asked, "May I get out and come and look over there, please? I know I should not get out of the car, but I can't see anything from here."  He nodded and added, "Watch for traffic when you get out, Ma'am."

I was, at this point, a bit hysterical. I could not imagine what I had done with the rental agreement. I jumped out of the car and ran to the passenger side while pulling my hair.  Riley, seeing me approaching the passenger side, jumped in the front seat again.  "GET IN THE BACK," I yelled at him and pushed him back there.  He stood on the console and watched me pull the food bag out of the front and search it.  Nothing.  I opened the glove compartment, and in there I found the car company's insurance form and registration.  I handed it to him.  "How's this?" I asked.

"Come back to my cruiser for a few minutes, will you?"  He told me to close the window so the dog didn't jump out and walked back to his car.  I put the window up and handed Riles a few nuggets of dog food before I walked back.  I probably walked back to the cruiser in much of a normal manner, but in my mind, I see myself pulling my hair and waving my arms in the air.  I know I didn't do that, but I was pretty hysterical and that's the mental picture I have of myself.  I got in his cruiser as he was running my license.

"Do you still live in Las Vegas?" he asked me.  I assured him I did and repeated for the third or fourth time that we had had an emergency in Ohio, that Mike went there Tuesday, and that Riley and I were driving there alone and that we would all go to Virginia at the end of the week.  "You rented this car?" he asked me again.

I told him that I had because we do not drive across country with our own cars. "Mine's a Mini Cooper," I added.  "I would never get anything in there if I had to bring stuff with me."

"It would probably be uncomfortable," he laughed.  "I bet your dog would be okay, though."  He pointed out of the window to Riley who was staring at us from the back seat of the SUV.  I waved at him.

Riley re-enacting watching me while I was in the cruiser

The officer took the mic out of its holder and called someone.  He gave the car make, license plate, and registration number and asked the gal on the other end to check for warrants. Even though I knew there was nothing, I was scared to death. While we waited, I repeated the emergency story and told him exactly what had happened. He agreed that it was terrible and, to his credit, never mentioned that it was not a reason to speed six miles (I swear it was only three.) over the limit.

A voice crackled over the speaker in the car.  "Negative," she advised him.  Vindicated, I breathed a sigh of relief and waited to see how much those six miles would cost me.  Visions of all this stuff went through my mind in the few seconds after the gal spoke and the officer printed something off of his computer: Online driving school.  Points. Online driving school.  Increased insurance. Online driving school (You can tell that idea drove me crazy.).  The officer handed me my license, the car paperwork, and a the white printout.

"Ma'am, I'm going to just give you a warning," he smiled at me.  "You be careful driving. Watch your speed.  Have a good holiday."  I wanted to hug him, but I just thanked him, wished him a good Christmas,  and got out of the car.  I started to walk away, but I stopped, walked back, and opened the door again.  He looked up.

Somewhere in Missouri

"You know," I said to him, "I just want to thank you for your service....not because you gave me just a warning. I would thank  you regardless."  He stared.  "I am so sorry that a few bad apples, which we can find in any profession, give cops a bad name. I'm even more sorry that some people cannot appreciate all of the good you do.  Thank you, again, and Merry Christmas."  He replied, but I have no memory of what he said.

My memory of my walk back to the car is of a much more dignified approach, although I'm sure I walked quickly.  Riley greeted me with a few kisses as I got settled in the driver's seat, turned the car on, and took off.  The officer followed us for about 10 miles (I stayed under 75.) and then pulled over under an underpass to await his next victim driver.

St. Louis.... only five hours to go

As for me, I drove the remaining 850+ miles at or below the speed limit and arrived in London at 11:40 pm.  It had taken 15+ hours, but I did it.

"I can't believe you drove all that way by yourself," Mike said to me, "but I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too," I assured him being sure not to mention that I was a woman and could do anything I put my mind to doing. I didn't want to rub it in.  "Me, too."

Tomorrow: OK turnpikes and hotel breakfast food

On the Road, Part Deux

Snow from my hotel window

 “A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.”
― Carl Reiner

I was already awake when my alarm went off Sunday morning, but I refused to get out of bed.  Even though I had closed the drapes Saturday evening, I knew what horror awaited me outside.  Unfortunately, a certain little dog had needs that I could not meet by staying in the room, so I got up, walked to the window, and opened the drapes.

"HOLY CRAP!"  In all honesty, I said something a bit stronger than that, but I'm not sure this blog is the place to write such things.  Suffice to say that I was not happy in the least.  "Why don't you learn to use a commode?" I asked the poor dog who was, by that time, standing by the door with all four of his legs crossed.  He assured me that he was in worse shape than I since I had put on, in addition to my jeans and t-shirt, two pairs of socks, two scarves, shoes, a hat, a coat, and mittens.  I don't even have shoes, he said. Chastened, I took him out.

Day #2 as we leave

I didn't plan to eat breakfast at the hotel because their usual fare is pretty horrible, but there was a little bacon calling my name, so I grabbed a biscuit and threw a few sliced into it before I got in the car to head to a gas station, the local Starbucks and I-40 east.  I threw the car in gear, backed out, and took a bite of said bacon biscuit.  I'd really like to go off track here for just a second to talk about hotel breakfasts, but I'll save the food for another day.  Let me just say that if I'm going to waste a day's worth of calories on bacon, it better taste like bacon.  I threw that grey biscuit in the trash on my way into Starbucks.

There were about three inches of snow on the ground, but the Albuquerque Street Department was salting and cleaning the streets, so I had an easy time leaving the city.  The sun came out while I was still within city limits, and I thought I was home free.  I watched the sun sparkle off of the white stuff and saw something I'd never seen before.  Because the sun was so hot and the snow so cold, a fog lifted quickly when the two met. The white, pearly air floating over the highway was mesmerizing, and I told Riles to watch.  He was more interested in his breakfast, so he missed it.

A little east of Albuquerque

The sky was a beautiful blue, and even though we were stuck in the car, we could tell the air was crisp and clean and clear.  I thanked God for getting rid of the snow and making the driving easier.

Oh, me of too much faith.

We weren't 20 miles east of Albuquerque when the little flakes started again.  Flakes fell, and clouds covered the sun. At times, the storm was so strong I could barely see the cars in front of me.  I said a few choice words and prayed that the snow would end.  It did not.  It got worse.

(Let me interject one other thought:  As I was driving along with semis and cars and pick-ups all passing me, I thought, I am never going to make OKC today.  I felt like I was driving about 45 mph.  Imagine my surprise when I looked at the speedometer and saw that, while trying to keep up with everyone leaving me in the dust, I was going 85 mph.  Yikes.)

To get from Albuquerque to Oklahoma City on I-40, one must drive about 550 miles through New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma.  For 430 of those miles, through Santa Rosa, Amarillo, and Elk City, we drove through snow and ice and snow and ice.  I gripped the steering wheel with both arms, fingers tight around the black leather wheel.  I tried to listen to a book on tape but couldn't concentrate.  As we neared Elk City, OK, I noticed that my eyes were starting to drag.  The little dude told me he needed to make a pit stop, so we hit the first McD's we saw since there was no Starbucks in sight.

Somewhere in either NM

"Can you make an espresso?" I asked the gal at the counter.

"You know an expresso is very tiny, don't you?" she asked me back.  I tried not to roll my eyes.

"I need the caffeine boost," I told her. "Make me a double and throw it in a cup of coffee."  She stared at me for a minute and then advised the gal working the McCafe stuff to make a double expresso and put it in a cup of coffee.  After some discussion about how to do that, they figured it out and gave it to me.  I was on my way again and happy to see that the snow had stopped.  I again thanked God but begged him not to throw another snowball at me a few miles down the road.

To stay alert, I talked to Mike and to a few friends. I gave up on Bill Bryson (my book on tape) and turned on the radio.  Lucky me! OKC had a radio station that played only Christmas songs.  Riley and I sang Christmas songs for the last 50 or so miles.  I imitated Riles during one song, and he got insulted and curled back up on his bed and hid. I still had fun singing.

 There are a few things that amazed me about the Oklahoma Turnpike, but I'll save that for tomorrow since I had more adventures with it on Monday than on Sunday.... Suffice to say we somehow made it to the hotel, checked the weather forecast for our Monday route, and called Mike.

Somewhere in Texas (or NM.... I forget)

"Where are you going to stop tomorrow?" he asked me.

"London."  There was no way in heaven I was going to stop in another hotel and chance bad weather again.

"It's a long drive."  He couldn't see it, but I rolled my eyes.

Now, let me explain.  As I mentioned, we had planned to do this exact drive this week, and in those plans, he had decided we should stop in either Terre Haute or Indianapolis the third night so we wouldn't have to drive to far in one day.

"I'll see how I feel," I told him and went to bed.

Tomorrow: Oklahoma turnpikes and patrolmen make Monday too long

On the Road

The dude and I hit the road

 "Time is the longest distance between two places.”
― Tennessee Williams

A couple of months ago, our son told me that when he was young, he couldn't wait to be an adult.

"I'm not so sure I should have been so anxious," he added.  He was, at the time, trying to make a difficult decision (losing his dog), and it wasn't very much fun. "It was a lot easier when you had to make decisions for me."  Duh.

I understand what he meant, though.  I'm sure we all, at some point or another, have felt the same thing.  Over the last week, we've had to do a few things that, truth be told, we would rather have not had to do.  We had a bit of an emergency in Ohio last week—nothing health-wise or affecting our family here—and Mike had to fly out immediately on Tuesday.  That would not have been a huge deal except that the holidays are barreling down on us, and we had plans to drive to Ohio and Virginia to see our brothers and our son later this *current* week.

"Did you pack my food?"

Yes, you read that correctly. We were planning to drive because we wanted to hit a few places and, more importantly (to me), we wanted to bring Riley.  Mike said that I should forget about driving and just take a plane later in the week.  I didn't think so.  I checked the weather reports, and since I-40 from Kingman to Oklahoma City seemed to be clear of bad weather, I felt I'd be fine.

After Mike left, I put on my big girl hat and spent the week changing all of the car rental and hotel reservations and taking care of more adult crap at home.  I packed the rental car Friday, got up early Saturday and taught my class at UNLV (with a four-legged special guest in attendance), and took off for Albuquerque immediately after class.

The visiting professor

Albuquerque is an eight-hour drive from Las Vegas, and since I left the university around 12:30, I figured I'd be there before 10 pm.  The weather was beautiful in Arizona, and the drive was relatively uneventful.  The thing that irritated me the most was the fact that I found gas to be so much cheaper once I crossed the state line.  Gas in Las Vegas hovers around $2.49 in our neighborhood, although I've seen it elsewhere in the valley in the $2.30s. In Kingman, AZ, I paid $1.99.

(Side note: I could go off on a diatribe about gas prices here, but I'll wait until I hit Oklahoma.)

Riles enjoys the AZ scenery with his elbows on the console.

By the time I hit Flagstaff (about 3-4 hours into the trip), I could tell the weather was getting colder.  There was snow along the side of the road, but it was still sunny.  We stopped in Winslow because I needed to fill up the tank again, and Riley needed to, well, let's just say this: We were standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, such a fine sight to see, when my dog, my Lord... Well, you can guess what he did on the signpost.

For most of the trip, Riles was a perfect little dude.  He played with a stuffed rhino my friend, Diane, gave him, and he either slept in the back or relaxed with his elbows on the center console (photo above) as he watched Arizona fly by.  I have to agree that the views are stunning, but I started getting pretty tired after we left Winslow.  In addition, it was getting dark and cold.  If I turned on the heater, my eyes got really droopy, so I decided to stay cold and stay awake.

I-40 in New Mexico at night

 For the most part, the trip was uneventful until I got about 60 minutes east of Gallup, NM. I noticed a few white dots floating in front of the windshield.  I didn't panic because there were just a few flakes, there was no accumulation, and the weather.com forecast had said no snow.

Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.  By the time I was 10 miles west of Albuquerque (about 120 miles east of Gallup), snow swirled all around us. It was a snow storm, and there was accumulation. 

Let me be clear about this.  I hate snow. We moved to Las Vegas because I hate snow.  Worse, I hate driving in snow.  Worse than that, I hate driving in snow when it's dark. And, worse than all of those, I hate driving in snow when it's dark and I'm someplace with which I'm not quite familiar... like Albuquerque.  It took me over 30 minutes to drive 10 miles because traffic had slowed so much.  

By the time we got to the hotel and checked in, we were cold, tired, and a bit disgusted to know that the snow was going to continue all night.

"You're going to get one-to-three-inches," Mike told me when I called to tell him we made it.

Part of me wanted to crawl in that hotel bed, pull the covers over my head, and call in sick for the drive on Sunday.  Instead, I set my alarm for 7:00 am, crawled in that hotel bed, pulled the covers over my head, and said a bunch of swear words.

That is what adults do, isn't it?

Tomorrow: Farther on down the road....

Little Things Mean A Lot

My silver top is a Chico's top from three years ago.

“It has long been an axiom of mine that the 

little things are infinitely the most important.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle

 In the last week or so, I've gone into Chico's four times. I haven't gone into the same store (There are eight in Las Vegas, and most of them are close to where I live.), nor have I bought anything. Mostly, I like to go in to see what's new, what's on sale, and what I can't live without (which, in the four or five times I'm talking about, has been nothing). Still, since I am a Chico's Passport holder, I tend to stop in when I can.  (The Passport, if you are unaware, is Chico's reward for customers who have spent a certain amount of money in hopes that the privileges that come with the card will encourage them to spend more.)


I don't want to go on and on about why I shop at Chico's.  Suffice to say that  I like being able to buy a pair of jeans where the waist hits in me in the waist an not the hips.  (Speaking of which, while I was working at Office #2 today, I noticed someone who obviously does not shop at Chico's sitting at a table near me [Below]. Good grief, girl! Pull up your jeans!) I also like the way Chico's sizes their clothing.  If you don't know, you can find the size chart here.  Basically, I wear a size .5 or a 1 in their stores.  Tell me. Where else can *I* go and buy a size 0.5 or 1?  You have to admit that .5 and 1 sound better than 6, 8, 10, or 12, no?  It's a mind game, and I play it. But I digress...

Someone who does not wear Chico's jeans

So, in the past week, I've walked into four different Chico's stores just to see the new and sale duds. Each time I went in, everything I was wearing—except for my shoes—was Chico's. Everything. Sweater.  Shirt. Jeggings. Trust me. The sweaters and jeggings were unique to Chico's, and even though I have a lot of their clothes that are several years old, what I had on both of those days were from 2014 and 2015.

In each of the store, clerks greeted me as soon as I walked in.  "Welcome to Chico's," they all said. "Today, all regularly priced clothing is an additional 30% off, and markdowns are an additional 50% off. "  Jackpot, I thought. I like 55% off of sale prices.  The clerks in two of the stores told me to let them know if I needed more help.  The other two continued to talk to me.


"Have you shopped with Chico's before?" each asked me as I walked by them, and both times I stopped in my tracks.  I rolled my eyes, turned around slowly, and, pretending I was on "The Price is Right," swung my arm out (Ta da!!) to indicate what I was wearing.  Arm out, I stood there looking at them and said, "Ummm. I think so."  In both cases, they stared at me, clueless.  (Let me point out, by the way, that neither of the women was new to her respective store. I've seen them before.)

I took my Chico's red sweater and black jeans to Italy.

Now, I understand that in the grand scheme of things, the fact that those two women didn't recognize the fact that I was wearing the store's line was no big deal.  If I owned the store, I'd be pretty upset because employees should know the product.  Lately, I've noticed things like this happen in too many stores. Let me share just a few instances other than the ones I noted above.

• For the third year in a row, Starbucks has sold their coffee and tea tumbler starting on Black Friday. If you pay $40 for the tumbler, you get free coffee or tea every day in January.  When we went in to buy the tumbler this year, the gal at the register told us they were not doing it this year. "Yes, you most certainly are," I told her. "Not this year," she insisted.  I called over the manager, and she brought with her tumblers for Mike and me. 

• One of the mascots of the magazine is a bumblebee, and I wanted to see about getting a bumblebee charm. I looked on the Brighton website and saw that one of the Brighton stores in Las Vegas had the bee I wanted. I walked into that particular store recently and asked about it. "Brighton doesn't have a bee charm," the employee told me.  "You have two, actually," I replied. I went to the charm bar and pointed out one.  "I want the other one, though."  Embarrassed, she turned red. "I'm sorry," she apologized.  "I don't think we have the other one, though. I've never seen it."  Long story short, I now own the "other one that they didn't have." 

My son wears Mickey Mouse, and I wear Chico's leopard print.

• The Smith's Grocery by us recently remodeled and finished while I was in Italy. When I returned, I could not find anything.  I was looking for burrata cheese a few weeks ago, and I could not find it because they'd enlarged the cheese and deli departments and put everything in different areas.  "Can you tell me where the burrata is now?" I asked one of the clerks. "What is burrata?" she asked me. I explained that burrata is fresh mozzarella filled with mozzarella and cream.  "We don't carry that," she said. "I've bought it here before," I told her. She shrugged.  I walked away and searched every refrigerated compartment they had until I found where they'd put it.  I grabbed a carton and took it over to the girl.  "You *do* carry it," I told her as I showed her the container. "Oh," she said and shrugged again.

Again, none of these things was life-shattering, but the fact that these employees did not even really try to find what I wanted until I either insisted or did it myself drove me crazy. I owned a store for nine years, and Julia (my dear employee for six of those years) and I knew our inventory and our product.  We went out of our way for our customers.

The four stores I mentioned above are not small, locally owned stores, and perhaps that's the problem. Since employees have no investment in the stores themselves, perhaps they care only to go in and do their four-, six-, or eight-hour shifts. Losing a sale doesn't affect their pay.  They don't think, however, that losing sales could affect their company's bottom line which, in turn, could cause them to lose their jobs.

Oh, well...