October expedition: The North Pole

As you likely deduced if you saw yesterday's photo, our family made the highly anticipated trek to the North Pole last week. What a jolly time it was! So much to see and do, including a ride or two with Bubby down the Peppermint Candy Cane Slide I waxed once upon a time.

This slideshow was a casualty of my site makeover but you can find it in my Brag Book: NORTH POLE — 2011.

After the delightful outing, I've decided October is definitely the best time to visit the North Pole. Not only is the early autumn weather perfect for an afternoon halfway up Pikes Peak, the aspens on the hillsides all around are just beginning to change, lines for the rides are non-existent, and Santa has plenty of time for long visits plus strolls throughout the park during his breaks—which meant we ran into the Big Guy on several occasions, and each time he remembered Bubby by name.

I'm so thankful for the holiday-themed expedition with my very most favorite people. 'Twas a memorably festive occasion, indeed.

Today's question:

What percentage of your holiday shopping have you completed...or considered?

Photo replay: My girls and my boys

Baby Mac, Megan, Bubby, Andrea, Brianna

October 4, 2011

Today's question:

What amusement parks or similar attractions did you enjoy visiting as a child?

Doing time at the North Pole

Brianna (back) coming down the Candy Cane Slide with her cousin Tiffany in 1987.I live in the mountains. So high up in the mountains, in fact, that I'm within a 30-minute drive of the North Pole. THE North Pole. Where Santa Clause lives.

Having lived in this area the majority of my life, work at the North Pole—Home of Santa's Workshop was a viable employment option when I was a teen. I worked at the North Pole the summer I turned 16 years old and could drive myself through its enchanting gates.

Jobs for teens at the North Pole were aplenty. Teens worked as shop attendants, ride operators, food servers, magician assistants, and Santa's assistants...more commonly known as elves, with the most sugarplum of assignments being Santa's dedicated elf, the one who hangs with Santa in his house and takes the photos of all the good little girls and boys who come to visit him.

I never got to be Santa's personal elf. In fact, I never got to be an elf at all. I wasn't perky, pretty, and personable enough in the job interview, apparently, to have the honor of being named one of Santa's sweeties. Nope, I was named a "front ride operator." Meaning I helped with the rides at the front of the amusement park.

For the duration of the summer, I covered business at the bouncy house, or took tickets and strapped kids in on the miniature car ride or the Shetland ponies walking in an endless circle. The north ride I was assigned to most often of all, though, was Santa's Candy Cane Slide.

As gatekeeper of Santa's Candy Cane Slide, my duties included not only taking tickets and handing out gunny sacks for sliding down in, I had the honorable task of waxing the spiral slide from top to bottom every single morning before the park opened. With a bar of wax, I'd crawl backward down the slide, waxing on (never off) all the whole way. Then I'd grab a gunny sack, start at the top, and shimmy my way down, shining and slicking from side to side with my gunny-sacked tush. Then I'd climb the stairs again, plop down at the top of the slide and take the first slicked-up ride of the day.

Each morning, I reported to duty in my navy blue slacks and red North Pole T-shirt. I arrived uniformed and ready to roll. No need to join the hundreds of girls in the elves' dressing room, giggling and gaining friends (and fodder for future comparisons to Santaland Diaries) as together they donned varied but equally festive jumpers, skirts, pinafores, peasant blouses, vests, jolly tights, elfin shoes and hats.

As I waxed and tore tickets and rescued kiddies freaked out midway down the peppermint spiral, the elves greeted guests with smiles and squeaky voices and frolicked festively about the grounds of the North Pole.

On breaks, I'd enter the cafeteria alone, eat alone, leave alone, while pairs and trios and more of the happy little elves nibbled their nosh together, complaining about their hard work of playing happy all day long.

The elves went home smelling like the candle shops or candy shops or whatever jolly joint they'd been assigned. I went home smelling like sweat from sitting outside the spiral slide in the sun all day long. Or like ponies.

I once was bitter. Today, though, I am bitter no more.

Bubby, Baby Mac and Megan are visiting next week, and today I added to the schedule of Fun To Be Had while they are here a visit to the North Pole. Bubby is the perfect age for hanging with the real Santa in his real off-season digs. For marveling at the reindeer roaming the place. For riding the Ferris Wheel, the Christmas Tree ride, for sliding down the Candy Cane Slide. And for giggling about all the elves happily helping out here, there, and everywhere throughout the North Pole.

When we visit, I will tell Bubby all about Gramma working there. About waxing the slide to make it as slick as can be, then getting to be the very first one to go down it each and every day, savoring the slickness no one else would know. He'll think that's pretty darn cool, I'm sure.

Bubby would not think it's cool, I'm sure, if I told him I were once an elf at the North Pole. For if I once were an elf, why would I no longer be an elf? Slide operators grow up, move on, become Grammas who no longer live at the North Pole. But elves? Once an elf, always an elf. Or that's how it should be. What disgrace would I possibly have brought upon myself to be kicked out of the elf kingdom and made to live in a regular house as regular folk instead of with Santa?

Sharing news I once was an elf surely would get my oh-so-bright Bubby wondering how that could be. Gramma's not an elf now, so how could she ever have been? Is it all just made up? Is the whole Santa story simply a sham? Like I said, Bubby's at the perfect age for marveling at the magic, for visions of sugarplums and candy canes and dancing reindeer and all things great about the story of Santa, the North Pole. I would hate to be the one to ruin that for him.

So if having once been an elf might ruin the magic for Bubby, I'm all for proudly owning up to having been a north ride operator instead. A ticket taker, a slide slicker. There's no shame in that...and may even hold an "ooh" or an "aah" at the nifty job Gramma once had.

So, yeah, I wasn't an elf. Today I've decided that's okay. Today I've come face to face yet again with proof that things—regardless of the disgruntlement they may cause at the time—really do happen for a reason.

Preserving the magic for Bubby is reason enough for me.

Today's question:

What summer jobs did you have as a teen?

Grandma and the haboob

The recent earthquakes and the hurricane news reminded me that I forgot to share with you all my haboob story.

As many of you likely know, a haboob is an Arabic word for a violent dust storm or sandstorm. Arizona has seen a few of them this summer, with a particularly violent one shaking things up on July 5. (HuffPo documented it well HERE.)

Another took place last week as I was trying to escape the <cuss> heat of the desert fly home. I'd gotten to the airport just fine but as I settled into my seat to await boarding, Megan called to ask if I was okay and how long of a delay I was facing. I had no idea what she was talking about; my flight wasn't delayed, all was fine and on schedule.

Five minutes later that all changed as every flight out of the airport was halted and delayed. The haboob had hit Sky Harbor.

From Megan's vantage point at home, this is what she saw on the news:

From my vantage point inside the airport, this is what I saw out the window: 

Megan texted a few times to make sure I was away from windows and safe. Bubby was concerned after hearing on the news that "the haboob swallowed the airport" and needed direct confirmation that Gramma was okay.

I confirmed that I was indeed fine, albeit feeling a bit claustrophobic with all windows showing nothing but a dust cloud:

Within less than an hour, things cleared around the airport and flights began taking off. About that same time, Megan sent this picture of the house across the street from her as the storm arrived in her neighborhood: 

At least she got a mini rainbow.

All I got was a delayed flight as the plane I was to board had been diverted to Vegas to avoid the haboob. Once it arrived and we boarded, there was another delay because of mechanical problems. We de-boarded, took way too long to board another, then finally, nearly six hours later than scheduled, we took to the now-friendly skies, headed for the mountains.

Having little to do with the haboob and much to do with the incompetence of certain airline staff, it ended up taking me longer to get from Megan's door in the desert to my door in the mountains by plane than if I had driven the entire distance by car.

Which is exactly what I plan to do the next time I visit the desert.

Seriously.

Today's fill in the blank:

My most frustrating travel story was the time _______________.

Imagine that

Life in the desert—where Bubby and Baby Mac live—is a wee bit different from life in the mountains—where I live and where Bubby and Baby Mac's mommy grew up. For one thing, it's often too hot in the desert in the summer time for kiddos to play outside. Seriously too hot. As in Extreme Heat Warnings from the National Weather Service hot.

That certainly doesn't mean, though, that there's no fun to be had.

When temps get too hot and high in the desert, folks simply take the fun indoors. They forego sizzling playgrounds and descend upon indoor play areas instead. Air-conditioned play areas.

One of Bubby's favorite indoor play centers is called Imagination Avenue. We visited last week, and he certainly exercised his imagination while there.

He imagined himself as a policeman, a fireman, a doctor, a grocery shopper.  

He also baked cookies and cupcakes, worked puzzles, played school. And he built houses and boxes and a tunnel for taking a break from the workout.

With so much to do and the myriad imaginative options to explore, the fact we couldn't play outside no longer mattered one single bit. Not to Bubby, not to Megan, not to me.

Not even to Baby Mac.

Imagine that!

Today's question:

What is your favorite indoor activity on hot summer days?

Choices

I was going to write something profound, something memorable for today's post. But soon after waking, I found I had to make a choice: food for thought or food for Jim?

Food for Jim won out.

Why?

Because this is the sad state of my refrigerator today, and I leave tomorrow—without Jim—for the desert to visit Bubby and Mac (and Megan and Preston):

I didn't grocery shop before BlogHer, and Jim survived on what was in a similarly empty fridge. Although I'm pretty sure that's mostly because he ordered take-out every single night I was in San Diego.

But I can't do that to him again.

So unless he's to survive on sun tea, three tomatoes, three lemons, Snak-Pak pudding, condiments, and carrots—well, not really the carrots, as those are the dogs' treats—while I'm away, I need to go go grocery shopping. Today.

Sometimes we gotta make the tough choices in life. This is the one I must make today. And believe me, it's tough because I loathe, loathe, loathe grocery shopping. More than anything. Ever.

And let me make it known here and now that after making this tough choice and visiting the oh-so-loathesome grocery store to buy food to fill the fridge for Jim instead of posting profound punditry for my friends, I will kill Jim if he chooses to order out for every meal again while I'm away. Really. No joke. No codswallop.

Cross your fingers Jim makes the right choice.

Although...if he doesn't...the wrath he faces will surely make for a profound and memorable post for you all to read upon my return.

So go ahead. You make a choice: Which scenario will you be crossing your fingers for?

I'll keep you posted on the resultant state of the refrigerator. And Jim.

Today's question:

What is the state of your refrigerator today?

BlogHer '11, Boomers, and a bang-up ending

Ready for take-off from DIA for BlogHer '11.I’m back from BlogHer '11, and what an awesome experience it was, in so many ways. My traveling companion was great, San Diego was so much more than I remembered from a trip to Sea World years ago with the Jim and the girls, the conference was brimming with information I’ve yet to wrap my head completely around and utilize, and the people—from hotel staff to pedicab drivers to fellow conference mates to the conference leaders—were ab-so-lute-ly amazing.

This was my first BlogHer conference and I believe I accomplished my goal: To learn and to connect. I did both, in abundance.

The learning part is mostly what I’ve yet to wrap my head around. So, so, SO much information. So much good information that should make a difference for my readers, for my blog, and for—maybe down the road if I do things right—my bank account. Yes indeed, the learning was good.

The connecting was even better. For one, I met the ever-so-humorous Penny of So Humor Me. She’s a hoot in real life, just as she is online. And she’s a pretty darn good seat-saver, too. I’ve known Penny online for a while, as we visit one another’s blogs and she was a featured Grilled Grandma not too long ago. Meeting her in person was one of the many delights of the BlogHer experience.

Of the other fellow bloggers I met, I had seen many online here and there, follow a few on Twitter, and, like Penny, featured as a Grilled Grandma (that being the ever-amazing juggler named Laura). One in particular, the one who most generously offered up reams of information in a too-brief encounter during breakfast, just so happens to be a relative neighbor, living just a few hours away from me. In fact, her Twitter handle is @ColoradoMom. So close yet so far, really, and someone I’d never have met if not for BlogHer.

That amazing and giving blogger was a mommy blogger—truly incredible and inspirational, as so many of the mommy bloggers are. But a big goal of mine in attending BlogHer was to find those bloggers near my age, part of my “tribe.” To connect with and support those of my generation, in hopes our numbers online will increase. One of the true surprises of BlogHer was just how many of us were in attendance.

Swag, swag, and more swag. And this was just mine!Although clearly not the majority, Boomers were a huge presence at BlogHer. Instrumental in the whole experience, actually. And thanks to a session created specifically for the blogging Boomers, I’ve now found my tribe, connnected with them, and will be sharing lots about them in the coming days, once I get around to linking blogs to the list of participants so I can share them with you.

One of my favorite blogging photographers, Pat of Mille Fiori Favoriti, unable to attend BlogHer herself, asked this of me: "Please do all of us grandmas a favor and represent us among all the mommies and young singles that seem to dominate blogs and blog advertisers!  Let them know that being 50 doesn't mean we are dead...lol...and we are still consumers and have lots worth saying!" I feel confident saying I did just that.

Better yet, after BlogHer '11, I simply feel confident. Period. With my blogging. That I surmounted the hurdle of shyness I feared would hold me back. That I know where this blog is headed and the difference it can make and be.

Bottom line: I feel more confident about me. That, I think, is what BlogHer really should be all about. That, I know, is what BlogHer was all about for me.

Immediately after the final keynote, my co-BlogHer buddy, Heather, and I ran (literally...and I am not a runner, folks) to the water's edge, hopped on a ferry, and spent our few final hours in California visiting the enchanting Coronado Island. As the evening neared its end, without notice and completely unrelated to the conference, this is what happened:

A bang-up ending to an exhilerating—and yes, exhausting—experience. One I hope to share with all you other Boomer/non-Boomer, grandma/non-grandma bloggers next year, when BlogHer heads to New York City in August of 2012.

Feel free to start your planning now. I certainly am!

Note: If parts of this post make no sense,if there are spelling or grammatical errors I've overlooked, please forgive me. I got home just a few hours ago, it's past midnight Sunday, I'm tired, and I am oh-so ready to crawl into my bed. Thank you. And good night.

Today's question:

How much arm-twisting would it take to get you to BlogHer '12 in New York City?

Of bloggers and babies

Today begins the final countdown and prep work as I plan to take off for the two summer events I've most looked forward to. Well, beyond the early summer birth of Baby Mac, that is.

The first is BlogHer. In San Diego. With my friend and fellow blogger Heather from Jackadillo Princess. And three thousand other bloggers.

Heather and I leave Thursday morning and return Sunday night, and to say I'm excited about attending my first blog conference is truly an understatement. I'm also, though, quite anxious about the whole thing.

As I've noted before, I was once a shy young lass, and events such as this tend to cause me to revert to my lassie days and ways. Especially after learning that one of the features of the BlogHer conference is the "Serenity Suite," a "safe place" where attendees can escape the overwhelming crowds and relax. And vent to one of the caring bloggers taking turns hosting the suite, if you're in meltdown mode, overcome by the exhilaration of real-life interaction with one another. And the snarkiness that can accompany the real-life interaction of 3,000 (mostly female) bloggers vying for the attentions of one another as well as big-time potential blog sponsors and advertisers.

The idea that a Serenity Suite is necessary scares me a bit. But I'm hoping to have no need for it except to possibly put my feet up after walking the Expo Hall or partying down at one of the bajillions of parties planned for the duration.

I'm also hoping any negativity will be outweighed by the positive force that can be when a massive and dynamic group of women join together to support one another in something which we are all passionate—blogging.

Mostly, though, I'm hoping to come away with awesome ideas for taking Grandma's Briefs to the next level, ideas to bring back and share with you, ideas for you. Which is along with all the parties and the swag I'll nab the main reason this introvert is willing to pretend to be an extrovert for a few days anyway. Wish me luck.

While BlogHer is a definitely a high point of my summer, the event taking place just a few days after my return from it is the true blue highlight of the sweltering season for me: a trip to the desert (and its sweltering heat) to once again see Bubby and Baby Mac!

For six whole days I get to drop the "long-distance" qualifier from my name and be a real-and-in-person (and in charge) grandma to my grandsons while Megan and Preston head off to a resort to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary. I'm packing my Grandma Bag, lining up activities, and making sure my camera battery is fully charged.

When it comes to the visit with my babies, though, if I'm wore out after crafts and cuddles, marathon storytimes, bathtimes for both, and chasing Bubby round and round while playing policeman to his fireman, I'll have no need for a substitute Serenity Suite. No, I'll just plop down in the rocking chair, situate one grandson in my arms and another by my side, and we'll rock away to our heart's content—a serenity so sweet on its own.

Today's question:

What are you planning and/or preparing for this week?

My reward for eating so much

I did something awesome and I just have to tell you about it. Many of you may have done it before ... possibly many times before ... but this is my first time. And I'm feeling pretty awesome about it.

With a post title such as it is, what, pray tell, might it be?

Well, get this: I got a free airline ticket. Round trip. Because I eat so much.

Okay, not really because I eat so much, but because I buy so much to eat.

At the grocery store.

And I use my Southwest Airlines Rapid Rewards credit card to pay for all that food I eat (with the help of Jim, the dogs, the cats, of course). Then I pay off the credit card when I get home from the grocery store.

And I gotta say, when Southwest named its loyalty program "Rapid Rewards" they weren't kidding. My points added up fast, primarily from grocery shopping but I must admit that I've done the same with other purchases, too. Actually, most purchases. At least all purchases I would normally pay for with my debit card. Yeah, it takes a little time having to go online to pay off a card right after making purchases, but how lazy might I seem if I complained about that?

So, in relatively lickety split time, I earned enough points for a free round-trip flight. Woo-hoo! (Well, again in all honesty, it wasn't completely free; I had to pay $5 for one of the fees that isn't covered by the rewards program.)

And where do you think I'll be going with my free flight?

Do you really need to ask? Really?

Okay, since you asked, I'll tell you: I'm using my free flight to visit Bubby and Mac. Again. Just a couple months after being there in June. Yep, I'll be flying Southwest in August to see these sweeties, the lights of my life:

Oh, I can't wait!

Why, you might also ask, am I still using Southwest even though I wrote a Dear John letter to them months ago when Allegiant came to town?

Well, since you asked, I'll tell you: I'm still using Southwest because the flight schedule for Allegiant is ridiculous, with only ridiculously early flights on ridiculously few days per week.

And because Southwest doesn't charge for bags. Grandmas need lots of luggage for lugging gifts to the grandkids, and Southwest doesn't ding grandmas for such things. Allegiant does.

Most importantly of all, though, is that Southwest rewards me. For eating so much. Or buying so much. Or both.

So yeah, I"m tooting my own horn for figuring out how to make the most of an opportunity many wiser and more worldly folks have likely long known existed.

And for having yet another opportunity to visit my grandsons.

This one for free.

In less than a month.

Woo-hoo!

Disclosure: This post may read like an ad for Southwest. It's not. I was not paid (nor even approached) to write this. Although I'm thinking more and more that those Southwest folks really oughta make me a Brand Ambassador, possibly pay me. Oh wait ... they did pay me ... with a free flight ... but that wasn't for gushing over them, it was for eating. Well ... you get the idea. They didn't pay me for this post. Even though I wish they had.

Today's question:

What is your favorite loyalty/rewards program, such as those for grocery stores, clothing stores, Starbucks, airlines, etc?

I've gone and done it

I've always known it would happen, but I've gone and done it, long before my time. I've gotten old. And here's how I know that for a fact.

Well, first a little back story.

When my girls were young, I swore I'd never get a minivan. I didn't care how much simpler it would make life with three daughters, there would be no dubbing me a soccer mom or minivan mom or any of those other stereotypes. Especially since my kids didn't play soccer anyway (at least not when they were little; Andie did play in high school and college and was a rockin' goalkeeper who sported her bruises and bangs with pride).

Anyway, the minivan-mom life was not for me. I was determined to steer clear of that, and I did. The closest I came was purchasing a Ford Explorer, which was kind of the same, only cooler. Like me. Or like I thought I was. (The fact I'm still driving that Ford Explorer makes me very uncool, I know. But it's very paid for, and that's what matters most at this point.)

Fast forward to the empty nest phase. My dad, a younger sister, and another younger sister (neither named Daryl) all own RVs. Recreational vehicles. A monster recreational vehicle at one point, in my dad's case. The kind that are obscenely decked out, obscenely long, and require obscene amounts of gas to get anywhere. And that require cameras at the rear and monitors at the dashboard so you can see what's going on in the event one's actually crazy enough to try backing that thing up. A monster motorhome so huge my stepmom, the navigator to Dad's driver, had to use binoculars to watch for exits ahead so they'd have time to change lanes without disastrous effects when traveling the interstate.

The RV owners in the family have great stories to tell of their road trips and camping excursions with their motor homes. Yeah, they look nice, travel well, and are a nice place to visit, but I certainly wouldn't want to own one. I prefer flying. Get on the plane, get off, get a hotel. That's my kind of traveling.

Until now. I'm a little tired of wasting the hours that lead up to the getting on and off of a plane, hours that could be spent getting somewhere. In an RV. A mini RV, to be exact. I'm not interested at all in owning or driving or sleeping in one of the monster RVs owned by many a grandma and grandpa. No, like the minivan aversion, I'm too cool for that.

But I recently admitted to Jim my desire to possibly one day own a smaller version, one that's 25 feet long or less. A Class C motor home, is apparently what they're called, according to a little searching I did online yesterday. A Class C mini RV that might look something like this with a cooler paint job, of course, as this one looks rather '80s to me (I did find more awesome ones online, but the photos were not copyright-free):

Yep, I could handle that. I could drive that, sleep in that, bring the dogs along when we go out of town in that. And I could imagine the thrills Bubby and Baby Mac (when he's grown a bit more) would get out of playing in that when Gramma and PawDad visit.

Of course, by the time we can afford such a thing, Bubby and Mac will be older, wiser, and more likely to think such a thing is very not cool, and very much for old fogies. Which, as I noted at the outset of this post, is apparently what I've become, long before my time. That's the only explanation I have for fantasizing about owning such a stereotypically old and uncool automobile...and hotel...all rolled up into one. With air-conditioning and a well-appointed sound system. And a DVD player, a refrigerator, and a bed. And most important of all: a bathroom.

Which sounds to me like a pretty cool way to travel.

Yep, I'm old.

Photo: flickr/The Motorhome & US RV Show

Today's question:

What's the most UNcool vehicle you've ever owned?