Category Archives: Travel

10.26.22
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Trial by Road Trip (Part Two)

At the end of Part One of this story, I found myself on the doorstep of my friends in Nyack, NY (about 2,800 miles from home), masked and confused.  My feverish husband was sleeping in the car, newly infected with COVID.  I figured I was not far behind.

However! If ever there was a right place in the middle of a 51-day road trip to get COVID, it was there.  Our friends have a spacious and lovely house overlooking the Hudson River, and, most importantly for us, a large finished basement with two bedrooms that are used exclusively for guests.  Equally important, they are great friends.  If ever there was a Nobel Prize for Friendship, they should get it. We all masked up and they invited me in, and we ate lunch on opposite ends of the ground floor with all the windows opened.  I took a COVID test myself (negative) and then I called my brother to say hi, thank him for his hospitality and tell him we’d just exposed his entire family to COVID. 

Our Nyack friends told me to put my ailing hubby in one of the downstairs bedrooms to rest (he tellingly went without a fight), and then we’d figure out what to do.  After I finally spit out my whole sad story, they offered us their basement and said we could stay as long as needed.   With that, a quick stop for tuna fish sandwiches turned into a 9-night stay. My husband and I isolated in separate bedrooms downstairs, and I delivered food and supplies to his door. Suffice to say, he was not a happy patient and just wanted to be left alone.  Incredibly, I never got COVID myself. 

Unfortunately, the most disappointing casualty of COVID was our long weekend in Ithaca with our son.  But, again, our Nyack Nobel friends came to the rescue and invited him and his girlfriend to drive down for a barbeque on their outdoor deck.  My husband was feeling well enough to sit outside, distanced with a mask, and have some time with our son.  As I said when we (finally!) left our friends’ house, their kindness was appreciated more than they’ll ever know.

View of the Hudson River from our friends’ house in Nyack, NY

Once my husband’s COVID was resolved, our two next planned Destinations were in Tennessee – Knoxville and then Nashville – to visit more friends.  We toyed with skipping Tennessee and heading straight for the west coast, but ultimately decided to drive to Tennessee via the Interstates, to make up time spent convalescing.  Our visit to Knoxville in particular had been long-planned and we hated to miss it.  

Just when things were looking up, somewhere along the way, in Virginia, we narrowly avoided a crash.  A car in front of us was pulling a boat trailer that began wildly fish tailing and landed in the center grassy median.  And that night, my husband’s neck, which we thought had resolved itself with the long COVID respite, began hurting again.  So we were again a hot mess upon arrival in Knoxville.  After the first outing with our friends, my husband was in pain and skipped the rest of the activities our hosts planned.  By Monday, after repeated pleas from me to go to Urgent Care, my husband finally listened…to our host….and agreed to go.  Not surprisingly, the doctor said he was driving too much and was given muscle relaxants and told to rest.

After a brief rest, our next stop was a short drive to Nashville, where we had a great visit with my roommate from college and her husband. After that, we decided to skip the last two planned stops – Reno, NV and Mendocino, CA – which would require heading north and then west, and instead head straight for home.  We both agreed that with the persistent sore neck (and other calamities that seemed to dog us) it didn’t make sense to prolong the trip any longer; and besides, we could always do a later trip to Reno and Mendocino when we were recovered.   We determined to throw out our planned itinerary, and use the extra time to drive less per day, and spend more time at each stop.  By this point in the trip, I was DONE, and ready to be home. With that new strategy in mind, our next stop was Memphis, a relatively short drive where we intended to find good barbeque, explore the city, and see the Duck Walk at the Peabody Hotel (look it up, it’s great fun!)

However, no sooner had we arrived in Memphis than my husband announced his neck felt better and began agitating to reinstate our stops in Reno and Mendocino.  Given I was already blissfully envisioning sleeping in my own bed, I was not happy with this proposal.  But I relented when he gave me those eyes and expressed sadness at “all he’d missed on our trip” due to his various ailments.  I finally threw up my hands and told him he was now in charge of setting our course home. The now-daily process of calculating and recalculating routes and contingencies based on the issue de jour had completely exhausted me.

We did have a wonderful visit in Memphis.  In hindsight, I believe the Peabody Hotel Duck Walk may have been one of the highlights of our trip.  But the next day we took off for Springfield, MO, to start our longer, northern route back to the west coast.  We contacted our friends in Reno (who we had told previously we were NOT coming) to tell them that now we WERE coming. I half-jokingly apologized that my husband was still not right in the head. We stayed on the Interstates to make up time and avoid all the intersections (where I had to look for oncoming traffic since I was the only one with a working neck) and got back on track with our original schedule.

We did have a lovely 3-night visit with our friends in Reno, and then drove to Mendocino for a 2-night stay and to pick up some artwork my husband had ordered.  On the way home we stopped in Monterey, and had dinner with my brother-in-law in Santa Cruz.  And FINALLY we got home, right on schedule.  

I could not have been happier to be home; uncharacteristically, I had no sadness about the trip’s end or longing to get back on the road.  I was just DONE.  As my husband and I debriefed, there were some lessons to be learned. For starters, the trip was too long and we tried to do too much. We were gone for 51 days and drove 8,240 miles.  More importantly, we’re now almost 10 years older than when I first retired, and we should be smarter about how we travel.  As my husband’s neck problems demonstrated, our bodies can no longer take the long hours in the car.

I also didn’t have the benefit of guidebooks to give me research on things to see and do along the way. As a result, we didn’t see much or have many breaks in between Destinations.  Usually I learn more, which is something I love about traveling.  Normally, we browse museums, towns, hiking trails, places that give us some understanding of the areas we visit.  The Roadside America app was fun, but unless you’re willing to make detours (which adds more time to the driving), many of the roadside attractions were rather dumb (big metal spurs in someone’s front yard, a giant yard UFO with Yoda, the world’s largest outdoor BBQ).  Finally, this trip showed us how disruptive a mid-trip illness can be.  For the foreseeable future, COVID is still with us, so we need to continue to take precautions and be prepared for the worst. 

Traveling post-lockdown also feels different. We became accustomed to staying home, to controlling our environment, so putting ourselves back into unfamiliar situations can feel anxiety producing.  The world in which we are now traveling also feels changed.  There are different rules depending on what part of the country you’re in, and many establishments still haven’t recovered from the pandemic.  This adds another layer of worry to travel that was previously a more carefree experience. 

In retrospect, I wished we’d stuck with my original plan and flew to Atlanta and rented a car.  We also might have cut down on the visits given the time allotted.   In the future, we should:  (1) avoid driving every day,  (2) try to stay at least two nights per location in between driving days (3) drive no more than 150 – 200 miles per day, and (4) have things along the route to stop and see.  In other words, the drive itself should be enjoyable, not just a means to get somewhere.  This may mean taking a flight to the part of the country we are interested in exploring and then renting a car from there.

Of course, it’s hard to plan for or completely avoid the mid-trip illness (in our case, COVID) or other catastrophe (like car crashes) that can completely disrupt plans.  For that, I am grateful for the timing, and for the hospitality, generosity, and patience of our friends along the way.   This trip often felt like a test and, all complaining aside, we made it home safe…and still married.  I’ll take that as a win!

10.20.22
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Trial by Road Trip

Since retiring from full-time employment in 2013, I’ve enjoyed many road trips with my husband.  We’ve particularly loved exploring old highways, including Route 66, plus other U.S. Routes such as  6, 20, 50, 80,  and the entire Old Lincoln Highway (from San Francisco to New York City).

Like most, we were sidelined for a few years due to the pandemic, and were anxious to get back on the road.  My husband’s college reunion in Annapolis, MD, over Labor Day weekend 2022, presented us a golden opportunity.  In the past,  I’ve found a specific route (like U.S. 50) that will take us where we want to go (or at least a large chunk of the journey) and then look for guidebook(s) that assist with logistics plus interesting history and adventures along the way.  Why reinvent the wheel if someone else has done the legwork?

This road trip developed differently.  We decided to visit people back East along the way to Annapolis and back.  The route became more “Destination driven” and morphed into a bigger trip as the list of visits grew.  Part of it was the pent-up desire after COVID to actually visit with others in person again.   

I initially envisioned flying in and out of Atlanta (our first eastward stop), renting a car, and then driving a big loop connecting the stops.  But my husband insisted we drive the entire way in our own car, starting and ending at our home in the Los Angeles area.  That immediately added about 20 extra days to the journey (we try to avoid driving more than 200 miles a day).

The other new approach we tried on this trip, to avoid the Interstates, was to enter our next “destination” into Google, with settings on “Avoid Highways” and go wherever it took us. Since I wouldn’t have the benefit of guidebooks to find interesting places to see along all the roads we’d be on, I downloaded an app called Roadside America, which allows you to input your route and find sights along the way. 

So how did it go?  Initially fairly well. We avoided the Interstates, drove through beautiful back country, incredible to this California girl as we entered the Deep South, and Roadside America gave us some amusing things to see along the way.  But the trouble started as we arrived at our first major Destination in the Atlanta area.  After 10 straight days of driving,  my husband’s neck and back were hurting him, to the point where he couldn’t turn his head.  Which is a problem since he’s our driver, which put me in charge of looking for traffic at intersections.

After a delightful (other than the sore neck) five-night stay in Atlanta with family, we stopped for a two-night visit with friends in South Carolina, and then proceeded to Annapolis for another four nights.  Hubby’s neck was still bothering him, although not enough to keep him from rowing with his former crew teammates in an impressive display of muscle memory.  He vowed to go to Urgent Care if his neck was still bothering him that Monday, but decided he was good to go for a 2-night visit with my brother and his family in the Philadelphia area.

We left Philadelphia for New York, and that’s when the proverbial wheels came off the bus (or SUV in our case).  Our plans were to stop for lunch at some friends’ in Nyack, NY, and then head to Poughkeepsie, NY, for the night to see our grandniece who recently began her freshman year at Vassar.  After that, we would drive to Ithaca, NY, for a weekend with our son.

But, as we pulled into the Costco gasoline line outside Nyack, my husband suddenly announced he felt terrible and asked me to administer a COVID test.  I pulled one of the (12) test kits I brought with me from my bag and he swabbed his nose in the gas line.   After I dropped the solution into the test, the line indicating a POSITIVE result appeared almost instantly (I joked later that it was flashing neon as alarms sounded).  Certain I was also doomed, given my close contact for the previous 3-1/2 weeks, I nevertheless donned a face mask on the off chance that might save me.

Fifteen minutes later, we showed up at our friends’ house for lunch.  My brain was reeling trying to reconfigure all our plans, in light of this giant monkey wrench that just fell into the cogs of our itinerary.  Our Nyack friends later said they were surprised to find me alone at the door wearing a facemask and looking fairly disoriented.  I explained my husband had COVID, was resting in the car, and I wasn’t sure what to do.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of Trial by Road Trip.

09.26.16
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Road Trip 2016: Our Canadian Waiters

An unexpectedly entertaining part of our travel experience has been the waiters we’ve met along the way. Now, this is a group for whom I already have a soft spot in my heart, since I put myself through college and law school by waiting tables. I still believe I learned most of my critical life skills working in restaurants. I acquired multi-tasking, teamwork, and process management skills, while learning to read and interact with people, plus some basic crisis management and finance. There was the time I worked the early evening shift (by myself) when the entire cast of “Oklahoma!” from the Community Theatre next door arrived for dinner.   Then there was the time the Bloody Mary slipped off my tray and onto the beautiful white jacket of my elderly female customer. You just don’t learn how to handle this stuff in business school.

I find that waiters and waitresses typically have a good side story. They are often waiting tables while pursuing some other career or their education. They usually have interesting hobbies and diversions, and are generally engaging personalities. A waiter is like a good tale waiting to unfold.

The Canadian waitpersons we met on our recent road trip were a particularly interesting bunch. Whether they were a microcosm of Canadians in general or we hit the jackpot I don’t know, but we thoroughly enjoyed our interactions with each of them.

First was Kyle at the Grant Hall Dining Room, in a lovely restored hotel in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. We met him earlier in the day on the way to the elevator, when we asked him where the World’s Largest Moose statue (I happened to read about in my guide book) was located in town. He gave us a lively and detailed run-down on the location and history of the Moose, Moose Jaw and the historic hotel. Later, as he waited on us in the restaurant, we learned that his day job was as a Personal Life Coach. He was also contemplating a move to British Columbia so he could better pursue his semi-professional love of outdoor sports such as rock climbing, mountain biking, snowboarding and kayaking. His enthusiasm for life was contagious.

In Calgary, we stopped at the Galaxie Diner, a hole-in-the-wall place noted for having the best breakfast in town. Our waitress was Brie (“like the cheese”), an energetic young woman with spikey purple and black hair. As she calmly and methodically waited on the packed diner single-handedly, she engaged us in a running conversation, in clipped question and answer format. We looked forward to hearing the next installment each time she appeared at our table. We learned that she also freelances as a photojournalist, blogger and event planner. She recently passed sommelier exams, not because she wants to be one, but because she enjoys learning about wine and someone told her women are under-represented in the field (“that bothered me”).

That night, also in Calgary, we dined at Vero Bistro Moderne, which I noticed was rated the #1 restaurant in Calgary by Trip Advisor. We called ahead to be sure we could get in and were told to come “right now.” The place was packed, but Michael (who was also our waiter) greeted us warmly and seated us quickly. Michael, we soon learned, was also co-owner with his wife Jenny, the chef.  That night, for whatever reason (mistaken identity perhaps?) we were treated like VIPs. Michael spent a shocking amount of time at our table telling us how the restaurant came about, how he and Jenny close the restaurant for 3-4 weeks each fall and travel to Italy to sample food, while singing the praises of his wife’s cooking skills (she can pick out tastes and smells of individual ingredients from complex flavor combinations) and sharing some of the specialties of the restaurant. He even brought us food and drink samples and Jenny came out from the kitchen to greet us. When he came to our table to say good-bye, we thanked him for his gracious hospitality, and he told us how much he enjoyed talking to Americans.

Our chateaubriand dinner for two at the Post Hotel in Lake Louise, expertly served by Savin

Our chateaubriand dinner for two at the Post Hotel in Lake Louise, expertly served by Savin

Finally, we spent three nights in the Lake Louise/Banff area. Savin was our waiter at the Post Hotel restaurant, and we called him our Renaissance Man. Besides us, he had a wedding party and a table with three food critics, and he never missed a beat. He was pure sunshine and optimism, with a sparkling personality, and he managed to attentively and expertly wait on us all while carrying on a lively conversation over the course of the evening. We learned that there was nothing Savin couldn’t do. Among other things, he is an expert camper, skier, and hunter, fly fisherman, musician, cook, and food and wine connoisseur.

The next night, we dined at the Fairmont in Lake Louise, and met Adam. He was an excellent waiter, a bit more reserved, and his back-story came out a little slower. But by the end of dinner, we learned that he was a trained astro-physicist and engineer working in the oil and gas industry, and, at age 32, decided to leave that field.  He is currently “taking a break” and will next be transitioning to a new career in sales in the alternative energy industry. He came from a family of engineers, medical doctors and scientists. Holy cow!

Our breakfast waiter each morning at the Post was a burly young man named Darcy, who formerly played on the Canadian national soccer team. He was all sass and swagger, and we enjoyed trading jokes and barbs and anecdotes with him. The day we left, he told us he would miss us, even more than “that table” (he said, pointing at the people next to us).

We’re going to miss Darcy, too, and all the other delightful Canadian waitpersons we met.  They’re a good crew, eh?

09.18.16
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Island Living, Canadian Style

Per typical for us, planning for our latest road trip began with a couple of destinations in mind, then grew organically as we thought of more things to do and then strung it all together. When all was said and done, we were gone 50 days, traveled over 8,500 miles, visited 14 states and 4 provinces (Canada).

The primary impetus for the trip was to visit our friends Sted and Robin, who invited us to spend a couple of weeks with them on their island on Georgian Bay, in Ontario, Canada. Yes, they have their own island and compound where they’ve spent every summer for the past thirty years.

Sted and Robin also have a home in Annapolis, MD, which they generously opened to us while our son attended the Naval Academy, and which basically became our second home for four years. Sted and my husband rowed crew together as midshipmen at the Academy, but we became close friends with them during our son’s stint in Annapolis.

During the many hours we spent with Sted, he spoke tenderly about Georgian Bay. His grandparents and parents owned lake cottages there, and he recalled how summers in Canada were his fondest memories from childhood. Many friends and relatives from Cincinnati, OH (his hometown) also summered there. Shortly after turning 40, he talked Robin into buying their own place on Georgian Bay, and they have spent every summer there since. Their four kids and 7 grandchildren grew up going to the island. It was always clear to me that Georgian Bay is key to Sted’s heart, and only by visiting would we truly know him.

Our ride is here!

Our ride is here!

With that in mind, and dearly missing Sted and Robin since our son graduated, we accepted their invitation to visit the island this summer (not an easy proposition since we live in Southern California).   In late July we left home for our trek across country on the Lincoln Highway (see my previous post The Lincoln Highway for that part of the trip). On August 11, we pulled into the marina at Pointe au Baril, ONT, parked our car, and waited for Sted and Robin to pick us up. Ten minutes later, they appeared in their 20-ft motor boat, loaded our suitcases and took us to the island.

The island

The island

After hearing so many of Sted’s island stories, I had a mental picture of the place, but didn’t know exactly what to expect. I had imagined a bay, with the various cottages in a rather straight line along the water. Instead, we discovered a vast body of water (Lake Huron) with inlets and islands dotting the bay, requiring navigation through a maze of twists and turns. Their island compound was about what I expected, but more comfortable, although not at all ostentatious. There was a dock for the boats, then a short walk up to the main cabin (where we stayed). They have two small guest houses (for their two daughters with kids) and their own small cottage on the opposite side.

The view from the main cottage

The view from the main cottage

We spent 12 blissful days on the bay, and got a real taste for island living. Every morning, my husband would go down and take a dip off the dock (it was a little too chilly for me, but I never tired of telling him to go jump in the lake). We woke at our leisure, made our own breakfast and lunch, and then had dinner together. There was no TV, and unless we had something planned, we spent our days reading, writing, talking, or napping. One day, we took Sted’s large boat out to Western Island harbor, jumped in the water, and grilled hamburgers and hot dogs onboard for lunch. Another morning, my husband joined Sted’s mens’ kayaking group for a morning paddle. As I waited on the dock to take pictures, I was astonished to see an armada of old guys in kayaks sweep around the bend. Later in the week, I reprised most of kayak route with my husband and Sted. The up-close views of the landscape and wildlife were breathtaking from the quiet of a kayak.

Another beauty of life on the bay is that, as an alternative to the solitude of the island, one can enjoy an active social life. During our time with Robin and Sted, we accompanied them to two cocktail parties, one dinner and a morning Bible study on other islands. We simply dressed up (a little), got in the boat, and motored over to the other island, where we were typically met at the dock by our hosts, who greeted us and helped tie up our boat. On our last Friday evening, Robin and Sted hosted a dinner party, and we spent a fair amount of time helping them prepare. We learned that menus are often driven more by what ingredients are available in the cottage, or at the small store at the marina. The only alternative is to take the boat to the marina, pick up the car and drive 45 minutes to the grocery store in the nearest town.

As comfortable as our island stay was, we were appreciative of the hardiness and resourcefulness of the Bay community.   Each island must be largely self-sufficient. They each have their own septic and power systems, and many don’t have electricity. Any large equipment for repairs or building must be brought in by barge. To go anywhere off the island requires a boat trip – day or night, good or bad weather – and most residents, from older kids to adults, are skilled in boating. Robin talked of her first few summers on the island, unfamiliar with water life, when she was basically left to fend for herself (when Sted had to return to work for several weeks) with four small kids and a boat. She learned ingenuity, but she also learned the mutual dependence of the community. We witnessed firsthand how the residents support each other, be it borrowing items, coordinating rides, or sharing information. On the morning that the guys went kayaking, Robin volunteered to make the coffee for their post-kayaking breakfast at a cottage with no electricity. We woke up early to start two large percolators, filled several large carafes with coffee, and waited with them on the dock for the hostess to pick them up in her boat.

Sunset on the bay

Sunset on the bay

Our time on Georgian Bay was a gift on so many levels. It was beautiful and relaxing. It was a joy to spend time with Sted and Robin. It was fun to meet their friends and enjoy a taste of the Bay social life. Most of all, it was a profoundly special experience to be invited into, and enjoy, the cherished place of a dear friend’s heart.

08.13.16
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The Lincoln Highway

For our latest Road Trip Adventure, we drove most of the old Lincoln Highway. This should be particularly impressive given that, prior to this trip, I’d never even heard of the Lincoln Highway.

We needed to get from Southern California to Ontario, Canada (where we were traveling to visit friends). When I was in the preliminary phases of planning our route, we happened to see a segment on TV about the old Lincoln Highway, which tracked generally with the route I was considering. We ordered some guide books, and the Lincoln Highway road trip was on!

The general direction of the Lincoln Highway

The general direction of the Lincoln Highway

As we soon learned, the Lincoln Highway was one of the first U.S. transcontinental highways for automobiles, conceived in 1912 by auto executives and enthusiasts (who decided that naming it after the martyred president would increase its chances of success), dedicated in 1913, and ran coast to coast from Times Square in New York City to Lincoln Park in San Francisco. Over the years, the roads were improved and numerous realignments were made. Gradually, it was replaced by the numbered highway system, and today Interstate 80 serves as the primary highway from New York to San Francisco.

As with Route 66, it takes some detective work to identify and follow the original Lincoln Highway route. Using guidebooks, I planned the general course, with hotel and lunch stops and a few interesting attractions (like museums and parks) along the way. My husband is the chief navigator, so he usually takes my itinerary, researches the precise route and then downloads the route onto our Garmin GPS.

One of the problems with this trip is that neither one of us did as much advance work as usual. My husband bought three Lincoln Highway guidebooks, which I put aside until I had time for trip planning. I later picked up two of them (apparently misplacing and forgetting the third, which had most of the turn-by-turn directions) and knocked out the itinerary (including our return trip) in three marathon sessions. My main concern was to give my husband ample time to work on his prep work, but he ultimately opted to do the navigation on the road as we went.

We left home on a Thursday and drove two days to Ely, NV where we picked up the Lincoln Highway (we had previously driven Highway 50 west from Ely, which was essentially the Lincoln Highway route). We drove east eight days on the Lincoln Highway, to Valparaiso, Indiana, never staying more than one night at each stop, and averaging about 200-250 miles per day.   Initially, my husband navigated along the numbered highways (50, 40 and 30) that roughly correspond to the original Lincoln Highway, but he became more purist once he actually began reading the guidebooks and discovered old brick, gravel and dirt stretches off the paved highway. The more stickler he became, the longer our drives as we looped and turned on the old highway segments. Near the end of our Lincoln Highway adventure, we stopped at the National Lincoln Highway headquarters in Franklin Grove, IL. There we signed the official log, and saw the turn-by-turn book I left at home AND the interactive map on the Lincoln Highway Association website, both of which would’ve been extremely helpful had we used them.

As a result of our sub-par preparation, my poor husband was pulling 12-17 hour days, between the driving and the navigational research each night. He claimed to be enjoying himself, but the bags under his eyes grew dark and his patience grew thin. To keep himself awake driving, he listened to 60s music at 100 decibels, requiring ear plugs for me. Once, I excitedly, but unwisely, exclaimed, “This is it!” regarding a particular historic stretch of Lincoln Highway. Between the music and the Garmin and his hearing loss, my husband heard, “This isn’t it!” and missed a turn. Which was, of course, my fault.

The Lincoln Highway in Iowa is well marked with these signs

The Lincoln Highway in Iowa is well marked with these signs

In spite of it all, we amazingly enjoyed our grueling Lincoln Highway journey, although it felt more like an accomplishment than a vacation. It took us through parts of the country we otherwise might never have seen. We happened upon a wonderful restored steam train station and museum, and ate in a cellblock at a restaurant (former jail) in Ely, NV. We visited the Mormon Tabernacle and Temple Square in Salt Lake City, the Wyoming Territorial Prison in Laramie, WY, (and learned all about the real Butch Cassidy), the Archway in Kearney, NE, and the fabulous Durham Museum (former Union train station) in Omaha, NE. We detoured slightly to visit the Herbert Hoover Presidential Library in West Branch, IA (after all, when would we ever be near West Branch, IA again?). We saw miles and miles of corn and soybeans. We found stretches of original brick road from the 1920s. We drove on “seedling” miles, original mile-long stretches that the proponents of the Lincoln Highway paved to convince the public to invest funds to pave more road. We visited museums and learned more interesting U.S. westward expansion history.

At Valparaiso, IN, we diverted from Lincoln Highway and cut up through Michigan. Now that we’ve tasted the Lincoln Highway experience, and have the tools to do a better job planning (and know, among other things, to do shorter legs) we look forward to finishing the Indiana to New York segment someday and earning our Lincoln Highway certificate. Yes, you too can order and receive a certificate from the National Lincoln Highway Association if swear that you actually finished the whole thing!

07.25.16
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Travels with Flat Monica

I have been neglecting my blog lately, but only because I’ve been traveling and having way too much fun. I particularly enjoyed a recent trip to the Big Apple with my new close friend Flat Monica.

Originally, the trip was conceived as an epic birthday gala for my friend Real Monica. We have a tradition in our book club of celebrating milestone birthdays with a special expedition. In the past, we’ve typically stayed closer to home in Southern California, but Real Monica decided, for her milestone birthday festivity this year, she wanted us all to visit Tracy, a book club member who moved to New York a few years ago.

We went about planning our trip, finding dates that worked for everyone, exploring various activities and shows, and coordinating travel schedules. Ultimately, three of us (in addition to Real Monica) committed to the trip.

A few weeks after we purchased our airline tickets, Real Monica announced she couldn’t go (it’s a long story). The rest of us conferred and decided (what the heck!) we would go anyway. Our imaginative and creative friend Kathy hatched the idea of taking Flat Monica (a takeoff from the old “Flat Stanley” craze I only slightly remember) and showed up with two laminated photos of Real Monica (now Flat Monica) for us to haul around New York City.

Flat Monica proved to be an ideal travel companion. She fit in our purses and backpacks, did not require travel costs, space, food or her own bed, went along with all of our plans, never complained or got lost, and, no matter what happened, kept the same smile on her face.

We had a ball planning, staging and executing Flat Monica photo shoots all over town and posting them on our group page. To kick things off, we filmed a video tribute of Flat Monica behind a pie with a lighted candle, while we sang happy birthday, ending dramatically as one of us (off-stage left) blew out the candle on cue. We photographed Flat Monica kayaking on the Hudson, enjoying two plays, listening to commentary on an architectural boat cruise, sampling rice pudding at a trendy eatery, and strolling through Central Park. In fact, at Strawberry Fields, in Central Park, we ran into two young men from Australia, one of whom was carrying a life-size Flat Mom (a photo of his mother) and we introduced and photographed Flat Monica with Flat Mom.

Some of the many Adventures of Flat Monica

Some of the many Adventures of Flat Monica

At one of the (Way Off-Broadway) plays, an odd affair involving puppetry and video, we took Flat Monica backstage post-play and photographed her with the star, a Flat Monica-sized puppet (he waived the “no touching” rule and put his arm around her). We took Monica to a 7-Eleven store on 7/11 and plied her with a free Slurpee, and then took her on a mine tour in New Jersey. And when we dropped our friend Sara off at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel (where she was staying the following weekend while she visited her son) we photographed Flat Monica in the lobby with the ornate London-built clock and under the 800-thread-count sheets in Sara’s room.

Real Monica seemed to enjoy traveling vicariously through Flat Monica. And Flat Monica made a delightful portable companion, providing us with hours of amusement. All in all, I highly recommend taking Flat Friends along on travels, especially when Real Friends can’t go. Since I was the last to leave New York, I flew home with Flat Monica (in my carry-on, although I let her look out the window a few times, much to the amusement of the 8-year-old girl sitting next to me). As I now write, Flat Monica is smiling at me from the coffee table, and, since we had so much fun together, I’m seriously considering taking her along on more trips.

05.25.16
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Texas!

We just finished a three-week road trip, two weeks of it in Texas. Our excuse this time was to visit our son in Corpus Christi for Mother’s Day weekend. And since we’re retired, our thought process went, why not make it a road trip and do a little exploring?

Our rather random itinerary

Our rather random itinerary

We were pedal to the metal to get to Corpus Christ in time, but then took our time meandering home. Even so, it’s a big state, and we only scratched the surface. But, after a full two weeks in the great state of Texas, here’s some of my take-aways:

Everything is big! The state is big, the roads are long, and the steaks are huge. It was important to plan stops carefully as it’s a long way between towns and there’s extended stretches with no cell coverage to check hours and options. One day we visited Fort McKavett State Historic Park, which was 17 miles west of Menard. When we arrived in Menard at 11:30 am, it seemed too early to eat, so we continued to the Fort. When we returned at 2:10 pm, our lunch spot had closed (at 2:00 pm), so we continued to the next town. We reached Ballinger at 3:05 pm and found everything there shut at 3 pm.  It all worked out, though, as that night our appetites matched our massive rib eyes at Joe Allen’s Steakhouse in Abilene.

The weather can change on a dime. Being accustomed to Southern California, where we never think to check the weather before going out, I was surprised at how often, and quickly, the weather can change in Texas. We had a beautiful Saturday in San Antonio, and decided to drive to Austin on Sunday. About halfway there, we suddenly hit torrential rain. We had the windshield wipers working on high gear, and still couldn’t see ten feet in front of us. We continued our snail’s pace and got there safely. Fortunately, we were going to the LBJ Presidential Library, a perfect rainy-day activity. By the time we finished, it was bright and sunny again.

Texas wildflowers

Texas wildflowers

The wildflowers are spectacular. As we drove through the hill country of western Texas, the countryside was strewn with vivid displays of wildflowers in every shape and color. I especially loved one type of wildflower that had a red center and bright yellow petals. I’m not sure what it is, but it made me very happy.

Texans are friendly. People were very sociable, proud of their towns, and eager to talk to newcomers. My husband has a habit of blurting random things (like “looks like you got your hands full!”) to complete strangers (a habit our son found mortifying as a teenager) and he fit in perfectly. They’d smile and blurt right back, or even blurt first. When we ate at Joe Allen’s Steakhouse, the Texan with the boots and hat at the next table looked over at my steak and asked (loudly) what I was eating and if I wanted to share. I smiled sweetly and said, “Get your own!” which caused the whole group to howl with laughter.

One day we stopped in Beeville, where my husband did his advanced flight training in the late 60’s. The former Navy base is now an eerie ghost town, with the structures and runways still there, but abandoned. As we were leaving, we came across the general manager. When my husband explained our situation, he smiled warmly and offered to give us a personal tour of the old base. The GM, who turned out to be the same age as my husband and grew up in Beeville, was a wonderful host as he drove us around for almost an hour, filling us in on the fascinating post-Navy history of the facility.

Texas made my hair curl. I could gauge the humidity by my hair. The whole time I was in Texas, my hair was abnormally curly. I gave up trying to style it. I’d wash it, brush it out of my face and then let it go wild. Some days, I closely resembled a French poodle. I noticed that the further from the gulf coast we drove, the straighter my hair. If I ever lived in Texas, I’d need to learn and incorporate some humidity-busting tricks into my beauty routine.

They talk funny in Texas. This is one accent I really enjoy. For some reason, stories are funnier with a Texas drawl. And they seem to really enjoy spinning their yarns. In our conversations, there was rarely a quick answer to anything. Instead, there was usually a “great story” that bolstered any normal response, and I didn’t always understand the connection…but the tales were always entertaining. And the word “y’all” is sheer genius.

Thank you, Texas, for a wonderful trip. And y’all take care of my boy, you hear?!

03.03.16
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Only in Vegas, Baby

My husband and I just returned from a whirlwind two-night trip to Las Vegas. In my corporate days, I traveled there frequently,  but this had to be my most Vegas-y experience ever.

I know they say what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, but, since I’m basically an open book I’ll reveal what happened. I got a “free” Vegas trip. The “free” trip required attendance at a Mandatory Presentation. We dined at two fabulous restaurants, scored front-row seats at Cirque du Soleil and tickets to Celine Dion at Caesars Palace.  We bought a time-share for a day.  And we were barely two days in Vegas.

And now the full story.   My good friend Lakita called a couple months ago to offer me a “free” Las Vegas vacation that she couldn’t use. I had just been thinking about a Vegas trip, so I saw this as an omen. When I called “Ryan” (as directed by Lakita) to schedule my “free” trip, he demanded a refundable $200 credit card deposit and said we’d be required to attend a 90-minute sales presentation to receive our free gifts and our $200 back. I  almost hung up on Ryan at least four times, but he kept adding more freebies, including meals and shows. When I finally agreed to the deal and then broke the news to my husband (who hates sales pitches), a pained look came over his face, and he unconvincingly said he thought it would all be fine and we wouldn’t get swindled. Our agreed strategy was to say no to whatever they tried to sell us, and hope they didn’t separate and lock us in windowless rooms or clean out our bank account.

There's no place like Vegas!

There’s no place like Vegas!

Fast forward to Monday, when we arrived in Las Vegas. Our “free” hotel was adequate but certainly not posh and miles from the Strip. We walked to the discount ticket booth and picked up two half-price tickets to Mystere.  Prior to the show, we enjoyed a magical sunset dinner at Bouchon, a Thomas Keller restaurant (chef of French Laundry in Napa Valley) on a rooftop patio at the Venetian by a fountain. At the show, we were upgraded to middle orchestra seats.  Acrobats were flying overhead, and we could almost touch the performers. What a wonderful, fun night. Boy, was our trip off to an excellent start!

On Tuesday morning, we arrived promptly for our Mandatory Presentation in Just Say No mode and quickly discovered the sale items were time-shares. My husband won the fun group credit card bingo game and received ANOTHER dinner gift card. Then Jeff, the head sales guy, showed slides of all the fantastic properties we would own and spoke movingly of how our lives would be enriched by the program. Then we moved to a table with our assigned sales guy, Norm, who started the conversation by telling us about his late wife who died from cancer and the son he had to raise singly, and how he recently moved to Vegas to care for his aged mother. After which he hit us with time-share numbers and dollars and figures. Jeff came back and earnestly answered our questions. I could now hear the Sirens’ Song – time-share ownership WOULD be perfect AND a good deal with all the money we’d save on hotels – but I knew I had to stay strong and disciplined. Then they left my husband and me alone to talk it over.

My husband, one of the most skeptical people I know, looked at me very sincerely, and said that he thought a time-share would be great for us. That it would give us exciting new travel opportunities and a structure through which we could make great time-share memories together. I found this somewhat preposterous but I have never loved my husband more than I did at that moment. So the two of us, three graduate degrees between us, impulsively agreed to buy a time-share. After we signed all the papers (finishing at about the three hours mark) they took our picture, had us spin a roulette wheel and gave us another $100 VISA gift certificate prize, while everybody cheered.

How did this happen? We never had the slightest interest in buying a time-share; we always research the heck out of everything we buy, and we never make spur-of-the-moment major financial decisions. It can only be that we drank the Vegas Kool-Aid. A party atmosphere with balloons and music from our youth (designed to evoke warm feelings of family vacations?) combined with the lure of a great deal and a total play on emotions. I’m pretty sure Jeff made up most of his stories about how time-shares saved marriages and families and I’m doubtful that Norm even has a mother in Las Vegas.

When I later pulled out the freebies we received for attending the Mandatory Presentation, I discovered that the “free” $200 dinner was instead a couple of restaurant.com cards that are redeemable only at limited cheapo places, and the “free” show tickets were random two-for-one coupons for completely unappealing shows. So we headed back to the discount ticket booth and found low-priced tickets to a Celine concert (hoping to get upgraded again) and used most of our $200 refund to cover the cost.

Before the show, we used the rest of our $200 refund and our $100 VISA gift certificate on Delmonico’s, another great restaurant in the Venetian, and I was rolling on a gift card high. Another great evening!

Celine Dion, from our nosebleed seats in the Coliseum at Caesar's Palace. It was still fantastic!

Celine Dion, from our nosebleed seats in the Coliseum at Caesar’s Palace. It was still fantastic!

However, while waiting for Celine to come on, I Googled time-shares and the company we now co-owned, and I wasn’t happy with some of what I found. I paused to enjoy a beautiful, passionate and poignant show (its was Celine’s first week back after her husband passed away). Later, I continued my due diligence back at the hotel, and found we had only five days to cancel under the contract. Based on some potential red flags we uncovered, our lack of adequate research, and our newfound Buyer’s Remorse, we decided to pull out, and I drafted a written cancellation notice to deliver the next day.

After a fairly sleepless night, we showed up at the time-share sales office, and they seemed to know exactly why we were there. We were quickly ushered into an office with Jeff, who irritably and rather half-heartedly tried to talk us out of cancelling. He soon realized our minds were set and he was not nearly as nice as he’d been the previous day. He even asked us to return the $100 VISA GIFT card. Really?!

After a thankfully brief 10 minutes with Jeff, we were time-share divested and on our way home. We celebrated with a grand slam breakfast at Denny’s (since we were out of cash). But you know what? We had a blast in Vegas. The only real deal we got was a $15-dollar-a-night mediocre hotel, but it was all so, you know, Vegas. We sampled world-class food and wine, we saw two unforgettable shows, I used my legal training, we came home with a pocketful of discount cards. I learned a lot about time-shares, and we even owned one for a day.

11.17.15
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A Love Letter to Paris

Our first trip after I retired two years ago, was to Paris, a city I’d wanted to visit my entire life, and where, I informed my husband at about the 15 year mark, we would celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary. And so, we celebrated my retirement and our silver wedding anniversary with a 2-1/2 week, magical, unforgettable, Parisian holiday.  Following the abject evil that has visited Paris this week,  I am reposting this blog I wrote soon after our trip as a tribute to this beautiful city and my tender memories of our French hosts.  “Liberté, Equalité, Fraternité”

After spending over 2 weeks in Paris recently, I’ve been repeatedly asked what I enjoyed most about the trip.  Rather than show the 30-minute slide show (with music!) that I’ve been subjecting my friends to, I’ll do a quick run-down. Note that my opinions are completely based on this, my one and only, trip to Paris, but here goes:

A typical view on our night-time walk back to our apartment

A typical view on our night-time walks back to our apartment

The nights – The city is at its absolute magical and romantic best at night.  With the lights illuminating the buildings, monuments and the Seine, Paris by night is spectacularly beautiful.  My husband and I would find a restaurant each night, where we would enjoy a magnificent. 3-hour dinner with a bottle of wine (we never had a bad meal) and then walk back to our apartment hand-in-hand, completely mesmerized with the city and each other.  It was as if we were under Paris’s spell.

Me and my "vela" across from Notre DameBike riding – We went on two bike tours in Paris.  One was a day tour with Bike About Tours and the other a night tour with Fat Tire Bike Tours.  Both cater to English-speaking tourists and provide young spunky guides to steer their charges through the perils of Paris boulevards and provide some commentary along the way.  We were at first skeptical of the wisdom of taking on Paris by bike, but the tours came highly recommended so we decided to chance it…and loved it!    We found biking an easier and faster way to cover more ground than walking. For our day tour, we rode all over the city with a lovely young Swedish guide named Angelica.  She gave us historical commentary as well as her personal perspective as a young student immigrant to Paris.   For our night tour, we had a young burly German-American guide named Nick who was in Paris working on a master’s degree in information technology.  His main goal was to keep us all alive.  I have never been more terrified (and more euphoric) than on our ride down Boulevard St Germaine at night in heavy traffic.  Nick’s often-repeated survival strategy was for us to all stay together in a block and when faced with oncoming traffic use “The Power of the Palm” (i.e., holding the hand in a bold gesture toward the oncoming vehicle.)  My gratitude at outliving that stretch turned to wonderment when we crossed the Seine and biked into the courtyard of the Louvre.  I was overcome with emotion at the beauty of the scene.  I remember thinking to myself “I can’t friggin’ believe that I am actually here at the Louvre… at night…on a bike!”  It was beyond cool.

Seine River cruise – I signed us up for the evening of the first full day we were in Paris, thinking it would be a nice introduction to the city.  But we couldn’t find the boat launch and it was one frustrating experience walking around the docks dressed up trying to find the right spot and not able to ask for directions (see my previous post about my issues with French).  Later in the week, after I read the instructions more carefully and realized we actually walked right by the launch twice, we did the cruise on what proved to be a much better, clearer night.   We saw a dramatic sunset onboard during dinner, and then the lights of the city. The waiter was kind enough to move us to a window seat.  And by this time, having spent a little time walking around the city, it was enjoyable to see familiar sights from the water.

Musee D’Orsay – This was by far my favorite museum.  It is housed in a former train station, which itself is stunning.  The D’Orsay holds mainly French art dating from 1848 to 1915, including paintings, sculptures, furniture, and photography. It houses the largest collection of impressionist and post-impressionist masterpieces in the world, by painters including Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, Cezanne, Gauguin and Van Gogh.  It was also where the seemingly meek museum security guard suddenly shouted “Madame!” at me from across the lobby when I took an unauthorized photo (I couldn’t help myself).  My second favorite museum was the Musee de l’Orangerie, which contains the famous water lilies paintings by Monet.  This was a quick 20-minute stop but one of the most unforgettable.

Luxembourg Gardens – I’ve been to several famous parks and gardens in the U.S., including New York’s Central Park, but I have never seen anything like Luxembourg Gardens.  The flowers!  The lake!  The fountains!  We strolled through during the middle of a weekday afternoon and it was bustling with Parisians soaking up sun, children on the playground, tennis matches and bocce ball games in progress.  It was an explosion of color and beauty and activity.  I later read that the French equivalent CIA has it headquarters under the park, which only added to its appeal.

Waiting at the "Midnight in Paris" stairs for the Magic Cab to pick me up!

Waiting at the “Midnight in Paris” stairs for the Magic Cab to pick me up!

Walking  – We loved exploring the neighborhoods of Paris.  One day on a whim we did a “Midnight in Paris” treasure hunt.  We re-watched the Woody Allen movie before we left home and decided to find the scene locations.  We found a self-tour someone had posted on-line and set off on our quest. We found two of Hemingway’s apartments, Gertrude Stein’s salon, homes of Cole Porter and Ezra Pound, and the famous “stairs,” where the character played by Owen Wilson stops and rests after getting lost in Paris one evening.  Around the corner comes a vintage 1920s cab, which picks him up and transports him back in time, where he meets Hemingway, Porter, Stein and others.  The actual stairs used in the movie are at the Church of St Etienne du Mont near the Pantheon. We also did a self-tour of the Montmartre area, and found an eclectic mix of sites including Picasso’s studio, Renoir’s apartment, Van Gogh’s house, the café from the French film Amelie and the last remaining vineyard in Paris.

The Jupiter Fountain Water Show

The Jupiter Fountain Water Show

The Gardens of Versailles – I didn’t care much for the Chateau (palace) of the Louis’ (XIV – XVI).  It was definitely worth seeing — beautiful in an ostentatious, over-the-top sort of way.  But the crowds were horrific and I was happy to be spilled out the back door to what I found most spectacular and memorable about the visit – the gardens.  It was a stunningly gorgeous day and we were fortunate to visit on a day when the water fountains were flowing.  The last thing we saw before leaving was a 15-minute water display at the “Jupiter Fountain” made up of at least 40 individual fountains.  It was not high-tech, with lights or lasers or gadgetry,  but rather a lovely and graceful water display on a beautiful day with period music playing in the background.  At the conclusion, I noticed a young worker who carried what proved to be an enormous ancient metal sprinkler key (not unlike a gigantic version of ours before we installed automatic timers) open a cap in the pavement, turn a valve with the key, and off went the water!  Just as they’ve been doing since the 1790s no doubt.

Normandy and Giverny – We took two side-trips, one to Normandy to tour the D-day Beaches and Mont St Michel, and the other to Giverny to see Monet’s house and garden.  Both were highlights of the trip and warrant posts of their own to describe.

My first night-time viewof the Eiffel Tower, doing its sparkle show!

My first night-time view of the Eiffel Tower, doing its sparkle show!

Eiffel Tower – Even though I’d seen a zillion pictures my entire life, the Eiffel Tower in person is still hands down the most spectacular sight in Paris.  I’d already been to Epcot Center and Paris Las Vegas Hotel and Casinso (with its scale model of the Tower) so I thought I’d already pretty much seen it.  But the sight of the real thing in person at night takes your breath away. The night of our ill-fated dinner cruise (when we couldn’t find the launch spot) we instead went to dinner at a restaurant nearby.  As we rounded a corner, I caught my first sight of the Eiffel Tower all lit up.  Not only that…every hour on the hour for five minutes there is a sparkly light display on the Tower……and that was my first view.   I immediately burst into tears at the sight.   I realized that, even though we missed our dinner cruise and I was initially terribly disappointed, in this city there are countless other splendors just waiting around the corner.

11.12.15
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A Veterans Day Remembrance

Today is Veterans Day.  Ten years ago today, my father, a USNA graduate and U.S. Navy veteran, passed away.  I’m again sharing this post I wrote two years ago after we visited Normandy, as I remember my Dad and “The Greatest Generation.”

Normandy: Paying Our Respects

I wish every American could visit the D-Day Beaches in Normandy and pay tribute to the servicemen who risked or sacrificed their lives there.  We were privileged to do so on our recent trip to France and it was one of the most unforgettable parts of our journey.

Prior to leaving Paris for Normandy, my husband and I watched “Saving Private Ryan” on DVD.  I previously eschewed this movie; afraid I would be unable to stomach the gristly D-Day battle scenes.  However, in preparation for our D-Day tour, I felt it important to watch to gain a small measure of appreciation for what the troops braved.

We took a 2-hour train from Paris on Friday evening and spent the weekend at the Hotel Churchill (reputed to have been Eisenhower’s favorite hotel during the war) in Bayeux, which was the closest village to the D-Day beaches that was left untouched during the conflict.  On Saturday, we toured the American D-Day beaches.

Our guide was Dominique, a French woman whose family resided in the area for generations.  She was extremely knowledgeable, spoke excellent English due to a stint in Santa Barbara, CA, and gave us a local perspective on historical events.  She peppered her commentary with personal stories of relatives who participated in the French Resistance and their involvement with the occupation and liberation, which was fascinating.

What I learned, from a historical perspective, was that the D-Day beaches were code-named Sword, Juno, Gold, Omaha, and Utah, for purposes of the Allied invasion on June 6, 1944. The Americans were responsible for Omaha and Utah and these were the beaches we visited.   Young soldiers (many of them 18 – 20 years old with no previous combat experience) carrying 70 libs of battle gear apiece were transported in flat bottom boats in rough waters to the shore (many becoming seasick) and dropped into the cold water, several drowning under the weight of their gear even before reaching shore.

The first units, taking advantage of surprise, made their way quickly to farmland at Gold, Juno and Sword Beaches.  Americans at Omaha were not that lucky.  There, in the center of the battlefront, soldiers walked into a wall of German gunfire.  Earlier bombing raids had been largely ineffective in taking out the heavy German armaments.  Attempting to scale a bluff well covered by German defenders, more than 2,000 GIs were killed or wounded.   After penetrating corpse-laden beaches, the soldiers ran into a maze of hedgerows in which the Germans had stationed machine gunners, invisible to the Allies until they were virtually on top of them. But by nightfall, they had secured the bluff and later proceeded to join troops enroute to liberating France.

No one is certain of the exact numbers, but there were probably around 4,500 American and Allied casualties the first day, horrific yet considerably less than the 75,000 some planners had feared. That more troops were not killed is testimony to the planning, training and weaponry of the Allies.

My husband wading into the waters at Omaha Beach

My husband wading into the waters at Omaha Beach

Watching “Saving Private Ryan” beforehand helped to personalized the story of Omaha Beach.  The movie conveys the terror, anxiety, sadness and horror felt by the young men who participated in D-Day.  During our tour, even though the weather was blustery and cold (but warmer than the actual D-Day), my husband (himself a military veteran) wore shorts and sandals, and he walked down the beach and into the water so he could feel what the troops felt and, looking back at the shore, see what they saw.  We observed the immense width of the beaches (which were not as low tide as on the actual D-Day) GIs were required to traverse in the face of withering enemy fire, remnants of the heavily fortified German bunkers and weaponry, the craters still visible from Allied bombing, the lethal hedgerows; all combined to leave us overcome with a profound sense of sadness for the loss of so many and a deep gratitude for their courage. We were heartened to witness the gratitude still felt and exhibited by the French in Normandy toward Americans.

The American Cemetery in Normandy

The American Cemetery in Normandy

The next stop after Omaha Beach was the American Cemetery, overlooking Omaha, where 9,300 U.S. service men and women are buried, representing only a third of the total U.S. casualties in Normandy (the remaining two-thirds were returned home at their families’ request).   Half of those killed in Normandy had no previous combat experience.  This I found the most emotional part of the visit.   Rows and rows of marble crosses and Stars of David stretched as far as the eye could see.  As I walked through these sacred grounds, with tears streaming down my face, I read the names and ages and hometowns of those resting there.  Age 19, age 20, age 18—– it was heartbreaking and I considered my anguish if one of these were my own 20-year-old son.   I said quiet prayers of gratitude for them and prayers of comfort for their families.

The British Cemetery in Bayeux

The British Cemetery in Bayeux

The next day, after we returned to Bayeux, we visited the British Cemetery, where 4,650 are buried (including some Germans).  It was a lovely cemetery with rows of stone markers decorated with colorful flowers.   I again felt overcome with emotion, particularly as I read the personal messages on the gravestones.  One in particular caught my eye and tugged at my heartstrings:

TREASURED MEMORIES OF A DEAR SON

HE WAS SO YOUNG TO GIVE SO MUCH

"He was so young to give so much"

“He was so young to give so much”

We should always remember the sacrifices made by these young men and remember that they were just that – young men.  Each had a story and a future and a family and hopes and dreams.  No matter how terrified, they said “yes” to the call, and the result was the preservation of life and freedom for others.  I am grateful that I was able to travel to this awful, beautiful, and blessed place to personally say thank you to these valiant heroes of the “Greatest Generation”.