November 7 and I've been in three states today.....

Remember yesterday's post where I was worrying about flying? Well, I had good reason to be worried because today I experienced terrifying turbulence in an airplane. I'm not talking a few bumps through the clouds. I'm talking so rough it was hard to read or hold my Kindle and it felt like a truck hit us midair. You know, if trucks flew. And went 600 miles an hour. My point is, I had to close my eyes, pray fervently, grip my jacket and take deep breaths, and I still could not quell my anxiety. When the plane landed I felt like my legs were jelly. Still taking deep breaths, I exited the plane but not before I heard the pilot say "Yeah, I'm new!" God help me.

And you know, yes, flying can be beautiful, like when you see the sun streaming over the clouds like this:

Or you see cool jet streams in the sky like this:

Or you see an awesome river reflecting the sun like this: 

But that turbulence will ruin it every time. It's like a bumpy car ride only when you reach for something to hold on to, you realize you are IN THE AIR and there's nothing between you and the ground, except AIR, and the whole reason you're feeling all these horrible, lurching, tipping, shaking, dropping moves is because of AIR. This is why I hate air travel. 

It was already dark by the time we got our rental car and headed to York, PA. Hey, did you know that York Peppermint Patties were first manufactured in York, PA in 1940? That's what it says on the placard in our bed and breakfast. And there are York Peppermint Patties lying in little dishes all over our rooms. Here's a little Wiki background for you: York Peppermint Patties were first manufactured by Henry Kessler of the York Cone Co. in York, PA. Many similar peppermint chocolate candies were in existence before the York Peppermint Pattie but what made these unique was that while others had a soft and gooey center, the York had a firm and crisp center. According to a former employee of the company, if the pattie didn't snap clean in half during test sampling, it was considered a second. And that's how you "Get the Sensation"!

Let's just talk about how weird this whole Airbnb thing is. Anyone can rent a room in their house to anyone else for whatever amount they want and they make all the rules. So, I found this place online and these people live in a regular neighborhood. We just drove up, found the house number, and knocked on the door. A nice lady answered, asked us to take off our shoes (and offered up house slippers which "are washed between each guest" - I declined). She showed us to our upstairs quarters. There's a main bedroom with a queen bed that looks like this:

Hi Jeff! 

Plus, there's an extra room for just spreading out or lounging in that looks like this: 

And it has these super cool built-in bunkbeds so if you were traveling with kids, it would be so fun! 

And we don't know these people AT ALL. They are perfect strangers and we're just sleeping in their house. We took showers in their house! We are going to eat breakfast in their house! How weird is that? Plus, I've seen enough episodes of "Criminal Minds" to know that this could be the perfect scenario to lure unsuspecting people to your house just to murder them and make them into mincemeat pies or something. I mean, except for the paper trail, it would be the perfect crime! At least there's a lock on the door so I guess I'll be able to sleep. The last Airbnb place we stayed in had its own separate entrance and was its own little apartment. This place is right inside this couple's home. What if WE are the murderers? These people are crazy to let complete strangers into their home. And yet, here I am. 

So, we asked for a suggestion for a dinner restaurant and they highly recommended a Mexican/Peruvian place nearby. I was already starving when the plane landed, and then it took an hour to get the rental car and another hour to get to York, so that by the time we arrived at the restaurant, I was beyond hangry. Not a typo. And can you believe THREE people cut in front of us in line to get their name on the list? I mean, I'm trying to be polite.....I'm a guest in Pennsylvania after all, but....HOW RUDE! So, the wait was 20-25 minutes. You can imagine how hungry I was by the time we got our table. It took forever for them to bring us chips and salsa. The chips were warm and freshly-cooked but the salsa was watery and disappointing. Not to worry, though, my margarita was divine! I was SO looking forward to trying a Peruvian dish but nearly every dish had tilapia (ew, disgusting fish), salmon (in PA? I don't think so - how fresh can that be?!) or shrimp (again, the coast is too far away - I only trust seafood when I'm actually close to the water). So, I went with Mexican. Mexican is easy, right? Hard to screw up. Wrong. I had the worst "vegetarian burrito" ever. It was a cold flour tortilla filled with beans and about half a bag of shredded lettuce. I think they forgot the cheese completely. I had a quarter-size dollop of sour cream on top with an olive slice for garnish. The "pico de gallo" it was to be served with was another mound of bagged lettuce with a few tomato dices in it. It had no flavor, except for that nasty "bagged lettuce" taste. I HATE bagged lettuce. Plus, they forgot the side of rice and beans. When I asked for it, I was given a flavorless sauce-sized plate of ick. Jeff had a decent Peruvian dish, but overall the dinner was horribly disappointing and I was mad because I was starving for hours and was really looking forward to a good dinner. Jeff tried to make up for it by taking me to Dairy Queen after but I was already full from the little I did eat of the nasty burrito, so I only ate a few bites of my treat. Bleh. 

Now it's 10:10 here and Jeff is snoring. Never mind it's 7:10 our time. I guess we'll get an early start tomorrow, which is good because it's pitch black here by 5 p.m. and we have a big agenda. 

P.S. I'm totally calling my doctor to have her call in a prescription for Xanax or something for the flight home. Seriously. I'm not kidding. I'm considering driving home. I hate airplanes. Please don't make me get on another one. 

November 6 and leavin' on a jet plane.........

Tomorrow (very early), Mountain Man and I leave on a week-long trip. I wish I could say it was to Hawaii or Europe or someplace exotic, but, no, it's to Pennsylvania. You see, Mountain Man, during the day, masquerades as a manager of facilities compliance for a biotech company. He will be attending a conference on calibration and maintenance management near Penn State. Doesn't that sound exotic and exciting? He attended this conference last year and really enjoyed it. They even interviewed him for their promotional video and he had a cameo in it. Last year, he realized he was very near many historic locations, and being a history and Civil War buff, he crafted a plan to work some sightseeing into this year's trip. AND, to make it more fun, me to come along!

Now, I'm not one to turn down a trip, but our agenda sounds like a long school field trip. We'll be visiting the states of Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Virginia. Possibly also Washington, DC, but that's up in the air. We fly into Baltimore, spend the first night in York, PA, the second night in Harpers Ferry, WV, then three nights in State College, PA. Then, we'll finish the week with two nights in Alexandria, VA where we'll visit my cousin. We'll see Gettysburg, Antietam battlefield, the campus of Penn State University, and the Del Ray neighborhood in Alexandria. Jeff will get his Civil War fix and I'll take tons of pictures. While he's at his conference for three days, I'll explore downtown State College, shop, drink coffee, upload pictures, and blog. That part sounds pretty amazing to me.

I'm already packed (a miracle) and so now I'm going through mental checklists to ensure I haven't forgotten anything. Of course, that includes worrying about the house, the kids, the pets, and pretty much everything else. I always leave a list of things for the kids not to forget while I'm gone: let the dog out, check the mail, lock the doors. I've now added "don't text and drive" because as the kids have grown older, there are new dangers. I used to stock the fridge, send detailed agendas to the neighbors, make tedious lists.....I can't help it, I'm a mom. I worry incessantly about all the awful things that might happen. Plane crashes, car crashes, sudden illness, pistol-whipping bandits......am I the only mom to catastrophize when I'm leaving town? (P.S. that's a word. I looked it up).

My anxiety is such that I talk myself out of things often. For years, I wouldn't fly on a plane. I was fine before I had kids and then suddenly I developed a terrifying fear of airplane travel. I'd been on dozens of plane trips before then, why all of a sudden did the thought of taking a vacation make my blood run cold? I could only attribute it to a primal fear and need to protect my young. Avoiding dangerous (or potentially dangerous) things ensured nothing bad could happen. Never mind I drove them all over the damn place in a car all day. And that my chances of being in a car crash far outweighed my chances of being in a plane crash. But no logic could assauge my fears. I simply would not do it.

In the past three years or so, I've been on numerous plane trips. I barely even give it a passing thought now. I can only attribute this change to excellent anti-anxiety drugs. And while I no longer worry (much) about flying, my heart still races during turbulence and I have a hard time sitting still on long flights. Tomorrow's flight will be about five hours (direct, no stops to break it up). I'll be stir-crazy, and I'll need distractions. I've uploaded dozens of books on my Kindle, purchased a few magazines on my tablet and loaded multiple games and distractions to keep me busy. I love traveling to other places, but the getting there makes me nuts. I have no idea how I'm ever going to handle international travel but I WILL do it. Someday.

In the meantime, I really need to read up on all these historical stops we're going to make. I'm embarrassed that I remember very little about them from my brief grade-school education. As I type this, Mountain Man is watching a documentary on the Civil War. I should probably pay better attention. I do know the casualties were staggering. It all seems very depressing to me. Visiting a battlefield where thousands died is not my first choice for a vacation spot. But I know my husband will enjoy it and I'm always up for an adventure with him.

I just hope the kids cook some real food, keep the house clean, stay out of trouble, and let the dog out while I'm gone. And empty the cat box. And lock the doors. And vacuum once or twice. It's exhausting leaving town. The "kids" are nearly adults now, so I've relaxed slightly. I know they can feed themselves, take care of minor inconveniences and sign permission slips for younger siblings. So, why is it that just before every trip, I have a sudden desire to hunker down at home and keep my family close? I love adventure. I love travel (and I'm loving it more and more as I get older). But I also love home. It's great to escape the every day now and then and do something completely different. I've thoroughly enjoyed my solitary explorations of the various cities in which my husband has had a business trip. I've walked for miles in San Francisco, done a city-wide geocache in Fort Worth, and spent entire days in San Diego on my own. These little slices of solitude have been rare treats in my 22 years of raising four kids. With no schedules to juggle, no dishes or laundry to do, no job weighing on my mind, I'm left with just getting to know myself. It's both scary and delightful. I'm getting outside my city, my comfort zone and myself just by boarding a jet plane. I can't wait to go and I can't wait to get home again.

By air or by ?....

Airplane travel is a way of life. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. I recently traveled from my home in Washington to Ohio for a family visit. You should know that I REALLY don't like to fly, but unlike a ten-year period where I successfully avoided flying by making all manner of excuses (there was only one: my anxiety), I now fly, but I don't do it happily.

Of course there's the obvious - the plane might crash. I have sick, vivid mind-wanderings about what it would feel like, and if I would know for several minutes before the crash, and what would I say to my seatmate or would I just be quiet, or would I pray fervently, or would I just pass out from fear? Would it hurt? Would I survive, and if so, how would I forget the grisly scene? Like I said, I have a sick mind. I can't help it.

I'm also not particularly fond of letting a stranger fly the plane. I mean, what if he had too many cocktails? Is he on medications, and if so, which ones? Is she sleep-deprived? Does he have a history of making bad decisions? How many near-misses has she had? Is he a cocky jerk who won't pay attention and do something stupid? How many bird strikes has she experienced? These are the things that haunt me.

Then, there is the plane itself. WHY are the aisles so narrow? It's virtually impossible to walk down the aisle pulling a suitcase behind you without banging into someone. Then, you have to sit SO close to strangers. The seats are not wide. I'm a big girl, but I pity the poor soul who is even more overweight than I am. Double pity on the strangers who have to sit beside them. There is simply no way NOT to be cozy on an airplane. God forbid your seatmate has offensive body odor or a nervous stomach.

Much of this can be avoided by sitting in a window seat because you are able to turn your attention away from the offensive seatmates. In this case, my seatmate was my husband and he was slightly less offensive than the average person. Actually, he was a saint because he willingly gave me the window seat every time and suffered through the stranger sitting next to him.

There is virtually no privacy on an airplane and everyone can hear your conversations. Believe me, they can. On one flight, a man talked so long and so loud, it was all I could do not to tell him politely to shut the hell up. Because, seriously? Not only was the girl next to him SO not interested in what he did for a living, but neither were the two hundred other passengers on board who couldn't help but suffer through him waxing poetic about his success.

It's nice that they still offer beverages on airplanes, but WHY do they serve them in little short cups with no lids? Why can't they just pass out water bottles to everyone? Inevitably, something spills, or you're done with your drink and want nothing more than to get rid of the little cup with melting ice in it, but you have to suffer with it until the flight attendant comes through with a trash bag. Which is never, or exactly three minutes before you land.

It's a good thing they hand out those snack bags, too. On this trip, we actually got peanuts, which made me wonder - did they contact all the passengers and ask about peanut allergies? Because there are not enough Epi-pens in the world to combat the consumption and subsequent recirculation of that peanut-charged air. What if you DID have a peanut allergy? Can you get a special seat? Maybe the jump seat in the back of the plane next to the toilets?

Speaking of toilets, what the hell? Do they really think that's a bathroom they've fashioned in the back of the plane? There is barely enough room to turn in a complete circle in there, plus, why are there no seat covers? I had to delicately arrange three tissues on the doll-sized seat. When I flushed, I'm pretty sure the powerful suction took some of my DNA with it. Then, the sink only works if you push it with one hand while attempting to wash the other. Which we all know doesn't work because washing hands is a two-hand job. And the sink pretty much just blew a gust of air with a few spittles of water in it. Why even bother? Just put a big bottle of Purell in there and save some time. I despise going to the bathroom during air travel and will only do it when I'm in physical pain from my stretched bladder. Being in the window seat ensures I will "hold it" even longer because I don't want to disturb my seatmates.

Also? Turbulence. That's Latin for "holy-shit-we're-all-gonna-die." When the pilot takes the time to say over the intercom that it's going to get "a little bumpy" that means you will drop 5,000 feet in 0.00006573 seconds and your drink will fly out of that stupid little short, plastic cup. People will scream. Your imagination will go wild and you'll start promising God you'll become a nun if you can just PLEASE, this one time, NOT die, because you're NOT READY and you still have so much good to do in the world.

Speaking of the intercom, the only thing you ever hear the pilot say is "Bzzzz....31,000 feet.....the seatbelt sign....bzzz....bumpy....sorry folks.....bzzzzzz...thank you for flying Southwest Airlines." It's especially helpful when he/she announces gate changes over the intercom, because you will only hear "gate changes...bzzz" and you're basically screwed because your gate is B49 and you're flying into A1 and those terminals are seven miles apart and you have a 23 minute layover.

But you WILL hear the flight attendant's speech about safety regulations. You WILL look over the placard in front of you and you will commit to memory the most important parts of the safety speech: 1. The oxygen is stored overhead in a compartment that will supposedly open in an emergency, but isn't an emergency the actual BEST time for something to glitch? Why store the AIR in an inaccessible container? They let you push open the DOOR of the plane, but you have no access to the life-saving oxygen unless the plane decides to let you. 2. Your seat cushion doubles as a flotation device. Which is GREAT when you've crashed into a vast body of water, probably teeming with sharks, and you've had the good sense and presence of mind to remember to remove your seat cushion and take it with you. You know, along with your children, and any other handy items you might want to keep with you while simultaneously swimming away from sharks with the one arm you have left after the crash and trying to NOT drown.

Another thing......why do flight attendants dress in tight little navy blue polyester dresses accessorized with pearls and heels? What the fuck is that? How is a smartly-dressed, petite woman who weighs 93 pounds soaking wet supposed to help save MY life? Those women (and men) should be wearing survival suits and a tool belt filled with essentials like pocketknives, granola bars, emergency beacons and water bottles. Plus, sensible shoes. If I'm going down with the plane and there is ANY chance of survival, I want a cast member of Survivor with me, not perfectly-coiffed Tammy from Dallas with her acrylic nails. Although, those could come in handy peeling tropical fruit should we be lucky enough to land on an island.

But the worst possible casualty (see what I did there?) of plane travel is the claustrophobic boredom of a long flight. Full disclosure: I have never traveled much more than 6 hours at a time on a plane which is why I am certain I will never make it to Europe or anywhere outside the United States unless they knock me out and keep me sedated until landing. I go absolutely stir-crazy when I have to sit for any length of time. I bring my entertainment, I attempt to nap, I read, but in the end, I make myself crazy waiting for those blessed words "We've begun our final descent into......" Those words are never so sweet. Unless they ARE our final descent, in which case I can only say "I told you so!"

Air travel. It's for the birds.