Pre-travel notes, part 3

A poll

I do not have time to figure out how to set up a poll on the blog, so I will just ask: who here (except for Dorotha Harried, who, by her own admission, is aiming for a “cruel” label, read about it here, and JFW who, in comments to Ms. Harried, indicated that "cruel is awesome" and there’s no such thing as “too cruel”), okay, let me start again: who here would find it terrifically funny to hide my passport just to see how long before I convulse into a state of complete desperation and crippling apoplexy?

No one?See! I told you no one would find it funny. You are mud! You know who you are!

Pre-travel notes, part 2

Where is the "leisure" part?

Are there people who, on the day prior to a trip, leisurely sit in front of their closet and contemplate which little number to pack for that special special evening during the forthcoming vacation? Or is everyone scrunching sun-dresses into change purses and praying to God that the calamities calling for their immediate and undivided attention will at some point stop and they can start rummaging for important things like a passport? (Did I even check to see if the expiration date was July 2004 or July 2005? It’s one or the other, I’m absolutely certain of it).

Ooops

I just got an email from my contact in Italy (we are renting a farmhouse from him) informing me that we are traveling to his place during a major holiday and so we can expect everything to be closed that day, including places to eat within a 1000 mile radius it seems. Cloyingly he asks – would I like him to place some of life’s essentials in our refrigerator for our arrival? And maybe ask a friend in town to possibly fit us in that night for a pizza or something?

Did I really forget that we will be making our way to Umbria on August 14th, the worst travel day of the year in Italy? Yes, I really forgot. [To my travel companions: ha ha ha, I regard the joke that we will be spending a week in ‘Slumbria’ as extremely funny. Ha ha ha. It happens to be an undiscovered paradise with great towns and villages within shooting distance. You’ll eat your words yet, all of you. I think.]

Thank you, Signore Bruno. Now if you could also assure me that you really do exist and you do have a farmhouse, that it is legitimate, that you didn’t just take the money and run to Corsica, and that the photos on the Net are those of your place and not some random neighbor’s – then I would feel so much more confident.

I am a trusting sort. Mostly, people making travel deals with me in far away places have not let me down. Mostly.

Feed the company, starve the infant

When I posted a photo of a demonstration last Saturday in support of breastfeeding, I noted that farmers were wondering where the issue was. At the time I thought that the protesters were referring to the old problem of promoting the use of formula in economically depressed nations. (In her blog post here, Ann suggested work place accommodation issues that would also justify the protest.) But no, I was wrong. Today’s reading of the Washington Post indicates that at least on the east coast, women are marching in front of Starbucks due to a recent incident whereby a woman nursing her infant was asked to cover herself while inside the café (read about it here). Not surprisingly, therefore, the protest I photographed was taking place right in front of our own Starbucks on the Square.

Starbucks does not have a national policy concerning nursing and so local coffee shops are free to establish guidelines concerning breast-exposure of nursing women. [It should be noted that some states do have laws that bar an establishment from prohibiting or restricting breastfeeding, but most do not and even where such laws exist, private businesses are often exempt from the mandate.]

I have to say that I am very glad that I did not know, back in the days when I nursed my own infants, that I could actually be asked to stop or leave the premises. It never struck me that this is something that anyone would want to restrict. In my experience, women are uniformly discreet in their nursing practices and one would really have to stare hard to get beyond the infant’s head and see even a fragment of the offending (!) piece of flesh. How strange (and sad) that the practice of nursing would be viewed as offensive and in violation of laws against indecent exposure!

Pre-travel notes, part 1

Timeliness

When taking off on my most recent international trip, I nearly missed the Van Galder bus to Chicago’s O’Hare. The chain of disastrous events that would have ensued as a result of this tardiness was of such great magnitude, that right then and there I promised myself I would never again commit the Folly of Treating the Day of Departure as a Normal Day. I would treat it as a day during which my one and only obligation will be to grab my belongings and speed over to the Union bus stop.

Therefore, packing, blogging, going to my office (forget past sins where I would pause there thinking that, after all, it’s so close to the Union and the bus doesn’t depart until 11:30 am… no no! wrong train of thought! No detours this time!) – all these would have to be done in advance.

Packing

Since I am leaving on Tuesday, logic has it that I should open my (new and spiffy) suitcase today and start packing.

But I don’t especially like packing. I regard it as a frustrating experience, one which spotlights my most shameful insecurities and weaknesses. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am not one to pack lots and lots of clothes for all weather options and social situations. In fact, I have been tempted sometimes to just take my summer sun dress (which should be called the beach-to-bar dress, because it is lovely and suitable for both) since I can literally roll it up into a ball and stuff it in my change purse and be done with the whole clothes issue.

Clothes are easy, especially in the summer time (traveling to Poland in December is another matter: if it’s warm, wooly and snuggly, I take it! I can never have enough of the warm and snuggly in those months). But it’s the THINGS that I must take now that drive me insane.

For instance, in the suitcase I must find room for:

books to read recreationally;
books about the historical significance of where I am heading;
books guiding me to the optimal eating establishments;
dictionary type-books;
papers proving my confirmed reservations (this is especially important when traveling to Italy. When hotel proprietors want to close down for le vacanze, they will do so and your only friend then is the piece of paper documenting their prior commitment to providing you with shelter – Italians are respectful of paper, preferably with an official stamp at the bottom, but any paper will do);
cameras (yes, this year it’s cameraS because there’s the big SLR and the little digital);
umbrellas (I’ll surely lose one along the way);
cosmetics (time to look presentable; after all, I’m leaving the borders of the most casual town in the world where people actually go for walks in torn t-shirts and gym shorts -- I’ve seen them!);
the computer (yes, certainly, of course);
sunglasses, extra reading glasses (an accoutrement of the ELDERLY, I am told);
maps (there’s car travel ahead);
laundry detergent (have to wash that beach-to-bar dress each night);
earphones (I have learned that my ears are not the same size as economy class French ears. The earphones on Air France should fit snugly in the ear canal, but for me, they do not. They pop out. Now, on the occasions that I have been upgraded by nice nice super nice Air France crew to business, or when a funding source that is not my own pocket is footing the business class ride, I have found Air France ear phones perfectly comfortable. I have concluded that my ears are thus closer in size and shape to wealthy French ears. This time, however, I am back there with the populace and so I must pack my own earphones);
a tote bag (does anyone besides me remember the agony of carrying portables each day in a torn Gap bag during my Japan travels in spring?)…

Alright, I’ve made my point. There is a lot of STUFF in that suitcase and it frustrates me no end that I may have only one spare dress rolled up in my change purse, yet still look like the classic traveler who has over-packed and is now lugging a heap of unnecessary clothing items all over the country.

Anticipation

I have to note also that I am not in agreement with the saying that “anticipation is even better than the trip itself.” Anticipation may be great after one has just returned from a vacation (my strongest urge to think about planning the next one comes on the return flight of the one in progress), but on the days just before travel, anticipation is tantamount to frantic and bizarre behavior where I run around doing a million odd things without my usual mental clarity or attention to detail.

When Anxiety Mounts…

I can retreat to blogging. I have tomorrow, after all. And if push comes to shove, I can crank in some last minute things into the morning of the departure.

Return of the sweet green monster

Time to replace the suitcase. My trusty dusty broke its handle in Asia and I need a new one. It has to be: light, not too expensive, NOT BLACK! If I see another 26 inch upright roll off the belt, to be snatched by a person who is not the TRUE OWNER , I’ll go mad (okay, okay, MADDER).

Today I found one! It’s green. A steely, almost light-toned green. And on sale. And XXLight. Wow! I’m in love with it, it is like getting a new backback at the beginning of the school year.

But but but, wait a minute. Nostalgia! I once had a green suitcase. I've gone through many 26 inch uprights in my life and I remember a green one some two suitcases ago. Wasn’t it the one that was once ridiculed at the airport (“sweetie, not that one, that one’s GREEN!”), lost and forgotten in some strike of European baggage handlers (now that Poland has a market economy, will baggage handlers strike there as well? During my visits? NO!)? Wasn’t it the one that refused to give up even though it was called the “skinny belonging to ninny?” (Oh, did I not admit that in grad school I was affectionately given the nickname of “ninny”? No, it was NOT a reflection of the smartness thing (see post yesterday). At least, I think not. I mean, would you really call a person with intellectual deficiencies a “ninny?” Of course not! You’d reserve the nickname for those who were thought to be truly BRILLIANT! (Chalk it up as additional evidence..) [btw, the “ninny” stuck. However, if you are a student, you are NOT ALLOWED TO CALL ME THAT EVER! Others? At your own risk.]

Suitcase purchased. Tomorrow, thoughts about packing begin.

Wait, did we really have those lazy hazy crazy days this year?

It is the last summer market for me (I will not be in Madison during the next three Saturdays) and so I foraged forever (this is in my “I’m wearing the L’Etoile hat now” capacity) just to get my fill (ten times around the Square, six hours total). Some of the farmers wont be back by the time I return to my buying in September. Kind of sad.

The question asked at each stand was the same: was there even a summer this year?

Ultimately, the market is, of course, all about food. Though I don’t know why I post pictures of potatoes and apricots and crab apples. It befuddles me too. I think, for me, the lure is in the color of it all. So many tones, so many fantastic tones!

Some people have blog rolls, here I go with my market food roll. Last week it was the bees and honey, this week it’s birds and milk. Milk?? Sure enough, today there was a demonstration in favor of breastmilk. As one farmer asked me – who here is against breastmilk??

The very first local apricots. Of course they're from our state! Why not? Just because we had all rain and little sun this year? 

what the heck is so special about a potato? At dawn, in gold, purple and red... 

before the sweetly disposed apples come the crabby one 

getting in the mood for Italy 

Capitol Square: our own little St. Mark's-- and they're 'cleaner' than pigeons 

dried flowers are on display; already?? 

is it time to buy these for winter use? 

Was there a single person on the Square not in agreement with this protest march? 

My political commitments are being challenged today

At the closing luncheon for the Law School's Summer Program (a course of study for foreign attorneys), I spoke to one lawyer who was anxious to return to his home base in Venezuela. Under normal circumstances, he would have liked to stay in the States for a bit, but he tells me he wants to be back in time for next week’s referendum in order to put in his vote to oust the corrupt leadership in his country. I asked what the chances of a success are and he told me 60 – 40.

Would I fly back hurriedly, almost as if attending to a sick family member, simply to cast my vote where the odds where already strongly in favor of a win? Honestly, would I?

Maybe. If I were engaged enough, if the referendum or election significantly changed the political framework, if I wished desperately that damage from the past could be arrested, or even reversed...

Wait a minute. I think that now. I guess no matter where I am in the first week in November, it will be close to a polling booth.

hey, I am NOT one of the students... I just snuck in on one of the group shots. 

the women banded and bonded (wait, I see myself there!) 

a last good-bye to an amazing group 

I dabble in twaddle?

Dang it all, as if this week didn’t offer enough fretting and worrying to last me a lifetime, here’s a fragment of a message I just got from a prof I know:

Unless they're put in front of me, I do not read blogs as I tend to view them as self-indulgent twaddle.

Self-indulgent. Okay, I guess I just am. Throw me down the tunnel to hell’s doors, I indulge the self in my desire for a creative outlet, for a stab at good, honest writing, for friendship, for community, for all of that – I am guilty!!

But do I really twaddle?

Some are born smart, some achieve smartness and some have smartness thrust upon them

The thing about bloggers is that they have such wonderful “take me back to the old days” impulses. Here I am, posting about ancient dusty trunks and days when mail was gold (see earlier post), and fellow bloggers (here and here) are speculating about what can-should-could-might be used as measures of presidential candidates’ smartness.

Why is this a throw back to the old years? Why I remember this discussion! In my first year in law school, and my extended years putzin’ around graduate school, EVERYONE talked about who is and who is not smart. [Now there’s MY marker of smartness: anyone else ready to boast that they ‘wasted’ 6 years on graduate school, to walk away with an MA and an ABD – which, to my knowledge, is an unrecognized by the accreditation chiefs (who does decide these matters anyway?), useless credential – meaning something I can line my bookshelf with, if indeed I had a bookshelf since I may not be smart enough to READ books given my lackluster grad school credential-procurement record*. But I can post all this and remain unfazed because I KNOW I am brilliant. Basis for this? My parents told me! I don’t place much weight on a lot of their claims, but on this one assertion, I’m going to go out on a limb and stick with you, Mom and Dad!]

And let me throw out some more tailored-to-my-own needs markers of slam-dunk geniusness: I got into every law school I ever applied to (all of one)! And, hold on now, I’m on a roll --I was ranked in the 101 percentile for my TOEFL (the test for non-native speakers of English) scores! I swear! I have the paper to prove it! No, I do not understand what that means either unless perhaps, having passed 100 you are to retreat to the beginning, so it’s like back to square zero and one point into the game. But I got into all kinds of cool grad schools with it so it can’t be that dismal. Okay, I must qualify: I did NOT get into one grad school (it shall remain unmentioned – I hate the place! At least twelve students were preferred over ME! It pains me even now to recognize my inferiority) and at least one school on this short list of a mere five was NOT ranked high on the scale of intellectual coolness (has anyone ever even heard of Carleton University in Canada? I thought it might be fun to live up in Ottawa for a while. I had such interesting criteria of selection, ‘elite’ being conspicuously absent I guess.)

I’m digressing. Back to smartness. I love this! I feel young again! Carter was soooo smart, and Kerry – let’s tally up his smartness assets: hmm, there’s ‘Skull and Bones’ (Skull and Bones? My God, the man should be running for president!), BUT IS HE SMART??

Anyway, I wanted to join the discussion and be part of the blogger gang, so here I am with my very own post on whether or not Kerry is smart. My conclusion: YES HE IS! Basis? I don’t know, he just seems smart.

* Immediately after posting this I received the following email:

Client#: 266Email ID: nlcamic@wisc(dot)edu
Dear Sir/Maddam;From our records we understand that you are qualified in your profession andwe are going to offer you a 1 time offer. Our Univsersity can offer you a Pre-Qualified degree.To obtain your degree with valid transcripts follow this link:http://1highereducation.com Sincerly;Pearlie IngramAdministration Office

I am not about degrees, guys! I'm like Kerry! I have a proven record already!