Blessings of a Long Commute #8: Vacation Appreciation

Devil's Bridge in Sedona

When you spend as much time on the road as I do, being home is a luxury. But being home also means waking up in the morning and making that drive … again! The only cure is to escape the gravitational pull of the office altogether. Thank heavens for the holidays, Delta Airlines, and Sedona, Arizona.

We flew out New Years Eve, the airport unexpectedly empty, the weather unseasonably warm. We landed in Phoenix and took a shuttle to the new – and amazing – rental car facility. Three stories down we found our Budget vehicle, a Kia Sorento, a free upgrade from the Malibu I’d expected and was accustomed to driving. With plenty of room for me, three kids and a week’s worth of luggage, we took off to meet my sister and her family for the drive to Sedona.

Chapel of the Holy Cross

We stayed at a Wyndham property surrounded by the incredible red rocks for which the area is known. We hiked, shopped, and hit the major tourist attractions, all within a few miles of our home base.

We spared a day for the Grand Canyon and found more than the canyon to attract our attention. Pueblo homes, a tower designed in the 1920s by architect Mary Coulter, and the overlook at Oak Creek Canyon kept our cameras snapping.

  

The Wildlife Zoo on the far side of Phoenix occupied an entire day as well. Petting the stingrays ranked top on my list of favorites. A little white one kept circling back to me for a pat on its nose! We fed the giraffes, played with some feisty deer, and touched more slimy critters in the aquarium.

Evening in the Grand Canyon

It turned out to be a bad week to be away from the office. There was an unexpected change in leadership back on the home front, and I had to be involved. But, since I was just too far away to race back to the office (darn!), I made my phone calls from the outdoor hot tub while the kids swam, texted in between exhibits at the zoo, and even closed down a Starbucks while filing a press release. Really, who knew a coffee shop would shut its doors at 10pm?

Feeding the Giraffes

The hours spent in the car with the kids made for great family bonding time. Even the music on the radio – the same songs played over and over – helped create a lasting memory of time on the road together, and our unforgettable week in Sedona.

There’s nothing like a long commute to make a family vacation feel a little more like paradise and a little less like a new release from National Lampoon!

Sidetracked to Paris

My three-hour daily commute sometimes feels pointless. I try to make the best of it and some days it’s only the paycheck that makes it worthwhile. But that changed earlier this month when I finally took the hours invested on the road listening to French language CDs, and spent them in France!

The crazy idea started as a guilt-trip from my then studying-abroad daughter that went something like this, “Come on, Mom, you know you’ve always wanted to go to France. My Prof said we should spend extra time abroad, and you know you want to join me for a few days. When else would you do it?"

“Tara, you know I don’t have the time or the money for that stuff right now. I’m still getting back on track…” I gave the standard spiel I use whenever I want to wiggle out of expensive requests from my kids. “We’ll have lots of opportunities later.”

“Yeah. I really see you going after your dreams, Mom. You’re always going to talk about it and you’re never going to do it.”

Ouch.  She’d gone right for my pride.

I booked a flight.

We planned to meet in Brussels, where my daughter had finished her formal studies the day before. I was equipped with Google maps and a manual transmission. The combination gave us the opportunity to visit parts of Brussels the usual tourist wouldn’t get to see. My final impression: nice city, bad road signs. My basic knowledge of French and some very kind gas station attendants saved us.

Paris was much easier to navigate. Better signage, a map, and the Seine guided us into the Fifth Arrondissement. Our hostel (note that this is different from a hotel – something that booking.com does not differentiate) was only a few blocks from Notre Dame, the first stop on our two-day tour of Paris. Later, we ate at a sidewalk café across from the cathedral, where a saucy waiter managed to connive a kiss on the cheek from me.

The highlight of the day was the 9:40pm cruise along the Seine. La Vie En Rose played softly over the speakers as we came upon the Tour d’Eiffel, making the night so completely, amazingly French. It was a pinch-yourself-to-make-sure-you’re-not-dreaming moment. A double scoop of gelato and the purchase of an authentic Parisian scarf in the Latin Quarter completed our night.

We started Day 2 with a true continental breakfast. My favorite was brie cheese and strawberry jam slathered on a croissant.  Then off to the Louvre. We made sure to see Mona, Venus, and Ramses, but had to cut it short for a stroll along the Champs Elysées. We were headed for the Arc de Triomphe, but got sidetracked for a late lunch.

We then decided to take the train to Versaille to see the palace there. We kept our visit short, bought some souvenirs, and zipped back to Paris. We found ourselves in the shopping district with no time to shop! We cut through the Jardin du Luxembourg on the way back to our room, making the usual stops for dinner and gelato on the way through.

As authors, we’re taught to bring all five senses into our stories. That night as we were trying to sleep, this lesson came to mind. Our sandals were covered with the white dust from the gardens of Paris. The dirt carries a distinct odor – not stinky, but very pungent. There was no sleeping until we washed our shoes and got rid of the smell!

The next day brought one of the funniest memories of our trip. I’d chosen our hotel because it offered parking, something that is at a premium in Paris. It added 26 Euros per night to our bill, but I was happy to pay – until we experienced the parking garage. It spiraled four stories straight underground, with parking for maybe six cars on each level. The elevator was broken, so the manager let us know we’d have to walk out the same way we’d come in – a narrow passage the width and height of one car, completely dark, with only a remote control with which to escape into daylight through an automatic door. The situation would never be condoned in America. The lawyers wouldn’t have it. That’s what made it so deliciously dangerous. The light from my cell phone shining against the rock wall guided us out on arrival day, and in on our final morning. Top it off with a jolting drive to the top in the stick shift, scared out of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to keep the car from rolling back into the pit while we waited for the door to lurch open, and you have the most exciting moment of my very dull life in perhaps ten or more years. Ah, Paris!

The best part of France for us was our time in the Val du Loire. Safe on the rural roads, we loved our trip into Vouvray and our stay at the Chateau de Jallanges. We visited Ambois and the castle there, then ate a very late supper at an authentic French tavern in Rochecorbon. There was no English on the menu, so we chose randomly just for fun. We were served raw salmon and raw beef, presented beautifully on garnished platters. The salmon was very good, but the beef was our favorite. And of course the meal came with a basket of French fries. Tres magnifique!

We hated to leave the countryside, and had we stayed another night, would have needed an extradition order to get us back to the States. Maybe it was the restored Chateau reminding us of another era, or the adorable donkey (we think this is the donkey that inspired the character in Shrek), or the two geese that accompanied us on our walk, or the son of the owners (the Successor, his father called him) that chased the geese away, or the incredible roses climbing the garden trellises… all made it nearly impossible to leave.

But we loaded our luggage, bid our new friends farewell and traveled on to Blois. We toured the very eclectic castle, then continued on our way back to Brussels for our return flight the next day.

The Sheraton sign gleamed over the Brussels airport. Our favorite sight of the day. We felt like we were nearly on American soil as we ate burgers for supper, cuddled into our snuggly Sheraton beds and called it a night.

The moment we cherished most was boarding the flight from Amsterdam to Detroit. Like Dorothy in Oz, we two American women gallivanting across Europe came to realize there is no place like home!

The more I experience in life, the more I have to write about! I think there’s a new series in this somewhere….

Blessings of a Long Commute - #9 Time to Sing

There’s not much time left in my week to do anything but the basics, but occasionally I manage to carve out time to sing and fiddle with two country rock bands. I take the lead on some of my favorite tunes, but mostly I pitch in on high harmony. And there’s no better way to keep my voice in shape than with a three-hour vocal workout on the road. I’ll sing to anything – the rock stations, a good country song, the oldies, and the inspirational channels. Singing is a great way to rev up for a big day at the office, and decompress on the way home. In truth, I’d sing without the commute. But singing in the car makes the miles fly. And why not spend the time preparing for the next gig with the Country Roses or Diamonds and Gold? And after a long, cold winter, we’re looking forward to a summer filled with music and fun!

Left to Right: Vern Annelin, Nicole Young, Ann Bradshaw, and Renee Chandler, the four members of the Country Roses. Photo by Jamie Chandler.

Blessings of a Long Commute - #10 Brushing up on My French

It's hard to rank the many blessings of being stuck behind a steering wheel 3 hours a day, Monday through Friday, but I'll start with the least important of the benefits and work up to the most amazing benefit of all.

Brushing up on my French has been something I've wanted to do since high school. A Border's in downtown Chicago on a Mommy-Daughters shopping trip provided the Berlitz volume and CDs that finally let me do just that. I can now count with some accuracy to 100. Given an unlimited response time and the ability to rewind over and over, I can also translate basic phrases like "I'd like a coffee with cream, please." Even more complex sentences such as "Could I please have a room with a shower" fall within my French language abilities. I found that I needed the book to understand everything in each section, so I would sit in the car before putting it in gear and review the spelling and meanings so I had a chance of making progress on the drive.

And that, mon ami, is number ten of the top ten benefits of a long commute. Bon soir for now!

Caught in the Act

It’s such a pleasure when our kids catch us doing something right. My sixteen-year-old daughter recently cleaned one of the vacation rentals I own as a birthday gift to me. When I checked the property over, it met my high standards.

I asked her how she knew what needed to be done.

“Come on, Mom. I’ve seen you do it a million times!”

The same daughter aced the writing portions of the ACT and SAT. I wanted to shake my head in disbelief at her accomplishment. But why should her success be a surprise? As she was growing up, we would discuss grammar as if it were the weather, plot structure like we were planning the evening meal. She caught my excitement for words and brought it to her own higher level.

Our kids aren’t the only ones that catch our vibes as we chug along toward our personal writing goals. Friends, neighbors, the dishwasher repairman… We inspire them with our fearless exploits as we take a shot at getting published.  Who knows, they might even turn off the television and turn on the computer instead. Suddenly we realize we are transforming the lives of complete strangers simply because as writers, we’re doing what’s right. Writing. May we all be caught in the act.

The Bottom Line of Living and Writing

Below is the complete, tweaked version of my blog originally posted at the link above. 

The Bottom Line Of Living And Writing

With three published books under my belt, I feel as if I should be able to ease into some ‘established author’ comfort zone. But the truth is, writing is like any line of work – you have to produce in order to get paid. For the small percentage of authors who can make a comfortable living from their books, it’s a no-brainer where to focus their time. But for the rest of us, writing to be published can sometimes be a luxury afforded only by those who have a reliable alternate source of support, whether an understanding, hard-working spouse or a full-time job.

I found this out the hard way. I’d written Love Me If You Must, Kill Me If You Can, and Kiss Me If You Dare when newly single, living off an advance, settlement money, and whatever miscellaneous income I could muster from my bed & breakfast and vacation rental home business. I was certain my mystery series would wow the multitudes and royalties would come pouring in, supporting my children’s food, shelter, and clothing habit.

But last fall, I found myself without the income I desired and grasping at anything that might produce an advance. I drove my agent crazy with half-baked ideas, uncooked proposals, and raw one-liners. 

The Big D --Desperation -- rarely acts as a catapult. More often, it starves our minds, sending us down rabbit trails that don’t pay off. I knew I had to do something different if I were going to continue writing.

So I did that drastic, last-resort thing. I got a job.

The relief was immediate. A barrage of desperate ideas slowed to a trickle of well-defined thoughts. I now leave my agent in peace while I write a novel in a new romantic mystery series. I get a sound night’s sleep knowing that I’ll have electricity to recharge my laptop and enough new ideas to charge up my story.

I don’t write this as a bucket of cold water in the face of hopeful authors, but rather as a reality check for creative minds that sometimes veer toward optimism like a racecar with a blown tire. Slow down. Recalibrate. 

Maybe for now your story takes a sideline to the bottom line. Embrace it. Put the emotional drama on the page where it belongs while you tend to the matters of daily living. Your reward will be the book contract that’s waiting just ahead.

2009, Unresolved

The second hand is counting down the final hours of 2008. Holding to tradition, I ponder the past year and wonder what happened to the precious blocks of time that had been intended for writing, publicity, and career advancement. With a smile of satisfaction, I recall snuggle time on the couch with my ten-year-old daughter... reruns of Home Improvement with my twelve-year-old son... ‘girl movie’ nights with my sixteen-year-old… and an occasional special visit from my moved-out and moving-on eighteen-year-old son. Wasted moments? Not at all. Those stolen gems mark my history with love and laughter. They provide that feeling of ‘family’ I crave. They are what give the career goals and the hours invested depth and meaning.

If I were to look beyond the drop of a glimmering ball in Times Square, I might see a future of buckling-down and good intentions… a year filled with book contracts, promotion, and clever plot ideas.

But this year, instead of looking past midnight on any given day, I’ll be taking each day as it comes. I’ll be grateful for two new sentences added to a manuscript. I’ll pat myself on the back for arranging a book signing. I’ll give a cheer for every publicity postcard I mail before postage rates go up.

And when it comes to parenting, I’ll count my success in smiles and snuggles. If a kid gets inspired to do the laundry or dishes without being asked, I’ll know I’m doing all right.

Maybe my plans fall short of ambitious. Probably don’t even qualify to be considered New Year’s Resolutions. That’s okay. With a day-by-day approach put into strict practice, 2009 is sure to be an all-time favorite.

Wings to Fly

Reading is a luxury when you work full-time, raise four kids, and write on the side. So when an associate passed me The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby to read just for fun, I didn’t hold much hope of cracking the cover. But once opened, I was hooked on the final journey of this stroke victim, whose active mind lie trapped in an inert body. The blink of his left eye the only method of communication, Bauby details the frustration, despair, and loneliness of his “locked-in” condition that instead of defeating him only heightened his appreciation for life.

As a writer, I found myself almost envious of the many adventures he lived in his own mind. His universe had no limits. He created and destroyed his own reality with the simple turn of a thought. He could have obsessed over the unfairness of his illness, the injustice of life and God. Yet, more often than not, he looked with fond humor at the past and present.

That got me thinking. How many of us have able bodies and sound minds and yet exercise no control over our attitudes and mind-sets? We’ve become victims of our own emotions. Our lives are a continual reaction to stimuli rather than the result of in-depth planning and measured action.

And where Bauby pondered and massaged each sentence before blinking the letters to his interpreter, so many are guilty of blurting out thoughtless strings of words, with regret only moments behind. Looking back, there have been times in my life when I wish my left eye had been my only method of communication. Scads of hurtful words would have remained unspoken, the effort to utter them greater than the desire to wound.

In a sense, many of us are walking, talking sufferers of our own “locked-in” syndrome. How can the butterfly break free of the diving bell? It really comes down to personal choice, mental exercise, and restraint. With plenty of books, programs, and support groups available to make the job easier, there’s no reason not to get started right away.

I’ll admit I’ve got a long way to go to get rid of my diving bell. But like Bauby, I quit looking back with regret at my many mistakes. Instead, my only regrets are missed opportunities. And when those second chances come along, I’ll be wearing my wings.  

Where Love Should Reign

My latest release Kill Me If You Can deals with several serious topics. Spousal abuse was the toughest to write. Growing up, I had a vague knowledge that a relative was living in a physically abusive marriage. I remember my mom wishing she could provide safe harbor for this relative. But Mom's fear that the woman's husband would hurt our family prevented her from ever making the offer. Incredibly, the woman and her husband were both devout Christians who attended regular marriage counseling sessions with their minister. At last, the woman left her husband after twenty-five years of marriage despite her intense religious convictions. I cried as I wrote Kill Me If You Can character Candice LeJeune's story, based loosely on my childhood recollections of this woman's experience as a Christian in an abusive relationship. 

In researching the topic, I discovered that Christians can actually be more susceptible to abuse than non-Christians because of our strong, though sometimes misguided, understanding of submission in marriage. Where other women (or men) might easily identify abuse and remove themselves from the situation, women and men of faith may excuse the behavior, blaming themselves for not being a better spouse and choosing to stay in the dysfunctional relationship based on religious convictions -- even when their lives are in danger. 

But abuse isn't just physical. There are forms of emotional, mental, and spiritual abuse as well. Words can eat away at self-esteem, fear can lay hold of the mind, the Bible can be made a weapon. 

Every situation is different and there is no one-size-fits-all solution for those in an abusive relationship. Only the person held in its captivity can make the decision to seek healing. 

Maybe you know someone in an abusive relationship. Maybe it's you. Do some research. Get the facts. Ask for help. Consider an action plan. Take one step right now toward life. Maybe it's as simple as making a phone call of support. Maybe it means seeking shelter. 

No change is easy. In fact, it is guaranteed to be painful. But once you walk through the curtain of pain and out the other side, there is nothing more wonderful than knowing you chose life.

What I passed on

When my kids were little, I tried to capture them on paper, insecure pencil lines on white parchment. I wrote poems about them, lines of prose inspired by the beauty and innocence of new life. As they grew older, I read stories to them, sometimes editing in my own version of the tale so my voice wouldn’t wear out by the third book. One day they learned how to pour their own bowls of cereal and grab an apple from the fridge when they were hungry. They were semi-self-sufficient. And I realized I could write more, perhaps a short story, or even – gasp! – a novel. Many bowls of cereal and apples from the fridge later, my children are authors themselves. Having watched their mother endure the ups and downs of being an author, they have still chosen to express themselves with the written word. There is no greater pleasure than knowing I handed to my children the love of writing. I could have quit. I could have passed. Instead, I passed it on.

Pictured left to right: Author's mother Sandy McCollough, son Tyler, Author Nicole Young, daughter Tara, friend Kaylee, and in front, daughter Ilana