Part II: My Unpreparedness for Cheeky Still Waters

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Let the journey begin...

Let the journey begin…

1. An alarm alerted the TSA agents when I stood in the body scanner at airport security. It told them I had, perhaps, a concealed weapon or narcotics in my pocket. I was ordered to step aside as security guards with guns flanked my position in all directions. A TSA lady, who could be anyone’s mom and probably puts sweet messages on Post-it notes under her kids’ pillows, told me to carefully remove the contents of my pocket. I pulled out Kleenex. She said, “Okay, you have tissue. What else?” (she’s thinks I’m stalling, hoping to not reveal the hand grenade I have hidden.) I explained I had chapstick in my pocket and that was it. “Remove the chapstick,” she said with much authority.  I pulled it out slowly and she instructed me to open it up.  Taking the cap off, I twisted the chapstick upward. As soon as the TSA lady saw the lip balm stick made of camphor and beeswax pop up, she jumped back.  She may have watched too many James Bond movies or Get Smart TV shows in her life as she believed my chapstick would certainly shoot bullets or spray some kind of poison gas. When no danger seemed evident, I got the go-ahead to continue on my journey. (I’m actually grateful for the TSA and their scrutiny, making travel more safe for us all.) read more

Secret to Happiness: Get Rid of Your Bucket List

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Ireland's luminous green

Hello Ireland

If you have a bucket list, chuck it.

Perhaps you haven’t made your bucket list yet. But you have dreams of some day, some place, some time. Write those dreams down and throw the list out your window. If you have screens, this could be difficult, in which case your alternative is throw it in the rubbish bin. I don’t use the term ‘trash can’ after being chastised by an elderly English lady seated outside a wee deli in Edinburgh, Scotland.  I inquired of the deli’s server the whereabouts of the nearest trash can as the deli had served my soup in a paper cup. The English lady sat regally at one of the deli’s two outdoor tables. Hearing of my inquiry, she said to me, “For your future reference, we call it rubbish bin over here.” She smiled at me with kind eyes, giving me the sense she told me for my own good. Helping me avoid the faux pas of uttering the crass term ‘trash can’ ever again. I said to her, “Ah yes, I’m not in America. Over here you also don’t say ‘restroom’ but ‘toilets.'”

“Yes, we say it like it is,” she said. “And you Americans say ‘parking lot’ and we say ‘car park.’ It doesn’t make sense.” We both chuckled at our respective country’s different terminology. However, I do think ‘car park’ sounds backward. I also think the way the Brits drive is backward. They drive on the left side and riding in their cars is a complete harrowing experience. When you see cars on the opposite side of the road coming toward you, the scary feeling of an impending collision comes over you. read more

People have not changed their ways and continue to tell me where to go.

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Some things that have changed its way over the years (keep in mind, I don’t like change).

Bowling alleys.

Years ago, if you bowled, you threw a black ball that weighed as much as your refrigerator. It rolled down an alley that stretched for a mile or more. Today, bowling alleys provide choices of balls in bright colors like pink and purple. They can weigh as much as a tube of mascara so if you feel like it, you can fling it like a Frisbee. I think it’s okay to fling your ball as long as you shout, “Everyone run for cover!” beforehand. Kids, and maybe adults too, have the option of putting up guard rails that serve as bumpers along the lane. This makes “gutter ball” an unnecessary term. Personally, I don’t think the rails are a good idea for kids. Their pink or green ball has no chance of going to the gutter. Instead, it bounces back and forth between the railing and knocks the pins down. No gutter balls ever. If you never experience failure in life, like throwing a gutter ball, you never learn to improve. That’s my take. Back to the changes at the bowling alley. Massive movie screens, like 200-inch wide, entertain bowlers. On one screen, Rihanna prances around mouthing who-knows-what (you can’t hear her) while on another screen a basketball game ensues. You can fling your pink ball down the alley, while following the basketball game and prancing along with Rihanna in the process of hoping for a strike with the help of your guard rails. read more

How to be even more beautiful than you are (and your dog too!)

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Note the royal posture of Duchess Kate. Camilla, on the other hand, might look into the Royal Posture brace support.

Note the regal carriage of Duchess Kate’s posture. Camilla, on the other hand, might look into purchasing the Royal Posture support brace.

1. Royal Posture support brace

Do you slouch? I hope not! But if you do, I just learned this past week how to correct this.  There is the “Royal Posture” support brace that you fasten around your torso and it forces you, by the stiff discomfort of it all, to walk upright like a Royal.  I like the idea of walking like a Royal but I’d much prefer having the big bucks like a Royal. You may opt to not spend the $19.99 for the Royal Posture brace, but then you risk walking like a Commoner. Do you want that? read more

“BLAHHHHHHHH, BLAHHHHHHH, BLAHHHHHH.”

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Surprises can be around any corner, such as this mural on the side of a building in Prescott.

Surprises can be around any corner, such as this mural on the side of a building in downtown Prescott.

This calm scene is the view from our table before I had to run for my life.

This calm scene is the view from our table a few moments before I had to run for my life.

The alarm sounded last Monday as I enjoyed lunch in a Prescott cafe with Jerry and my sister Jodee. I had just bit into a luscious, crumbly cherry scone when the blasting, earsplitting, teeth-jolting noise interrupted the moment of cherry deliciousness.

“BLAHHHHHHHH, BLAHHHHHHH, BLAHHHHHH.”

I put my hands over my ears, as did many of the other customers in the cafe. The fire alarm kept blaring, “BLAHHHH, BLAHHHHHHHHHHHHH” and blasted so loudly the dishes on the tables shook. I didn’t smell smoke. I didn’t see flames licking the walls. I decided we had a false alarm and someone would turn it off and all would be well again, albeit with less hearing ability.  Instead, the alarm continued as customers in nearby tables calmly pushed back their chairs, stood and joined a mass exodus heading out the front door. What?! We need to leave the building? My sense of survival suddenly kicked into gear. If this is for real, I’m not sticking around while the burning roof collapses on our heads. Look out everyone, I’m getting out of here! Jerry slowly followed behind with his coffee mug in hand, strolling as casual as anyone not worried about the searing pain of being singed to a crisp. Jodee exited casually as well, thankfully with both my purse and hers in hand. (Thank you Jodee. I’m grateful for your quick-thinking.) All the customers and restaurant staff stood in the parking lot, grateful to  be alive. Soon, we we’re notified the danger had passed and we were ushered back inside. As we took our seats back at our table, a fire truck pulled into the parking lot. If this had been a real fire, the firemen would have arrived in time to see a smoking pile of ashes that was once a cafe. read more