Cooking Failures

Tag: travel

  • Overstimulated Mom vs. the Relaxing Salt Caves

    Screenshot

    Recently, we took a vacation to Asheville. We did the rage room and splatter paint and white-water rafting. On the last day, my son needed a vacation from our vacation, so I was looking for something fun and different for my brother and I to do.

    My brother is more of a “let’s relax” type of guy, so I was looking for something relaxing.

    I was just sitting around the AirBnB Googling things to do in Asheville, and I came across the salt caves. What exactly is a salt cave? I have heard of those pink salt lamps, of course, but can salt really heal you? My interest was piqued so I read on.

    I had a lot of questions after reading the website.

    Thirty tons of pure pink salt! That’s a lot!! Where do they get that from?!?! Do they actually weigh it? 

    The website says sitting in the salt cave lowers stress, boosts mood and improves sleep! Along with helping with respiratory problems. The stress and the sleep part got me.

    And blankets? They provide blankets? I love blankets. They are almost my favorite thing. Salt caves had me at the word blankets.

    It says they provide earplugs, blankets and tissues. What are the earplugs for? Is it really loud in there? Loud salt? What are the tissues for? Is it going to make me cry? I mean, everything makes me cry, so that’s very likely. But I’m still confused about what the tissues are for. Maybe to help with respiratory issues? Will my nose all of a sudden start running?

    Community salt rooms? It says open seating is available. Is that like a first come first serve type of thing? Do you get the best seats if you get there early? And where exactly are the best seats? Is there a map of the room somewhere so I can scope out the best seats before I get there and shove everyone else out of the way to get to them?

    Do you sit in a salt room with a bunch of strangers in a recliner for 45 minutes? Is that awkward? Are you best friends when you leave after having had some bonding salt experience, or do you just ignore other people the whole time? 

    They say you have a choice of a recliner or a Thai mat on the floor with supportive bolsters and pillows for propping. What is a Thai mat? What’s a supportive bolster? I should probably Google this before I go in there, I thought. But of course I didn’t. The recliners seemed like the more comfortable choice anyway.

    No phones allowed due to the corrosive effects of salt. Corrosive effects of salt? In 45 minutes? That must be some powerful salt! Do I need to wear protective gear or something?

    What am I going to do with no phone for 45 minutes?  What if someone needs me? What if my cat throws up? I did get a phone call from Pet Paradise (the place I boarded my cat for this trip) in the middle of the rage room the day before to inform me that my cat had thrown up. Surely someone will need me in those 45 minutes.  Surely there will be some emergency!  But I know inside there won’t be. I am not nearly as important as I pretend to be.

    I’m always reading a book on my phone, reading the news, doing the Wordle, checking emails doing 50 things at once like most women do. It sounds like torture to me to sit in a room without my phone. People like to put their phones down for a moment to relax, to be still, to think. But not me.  I don’t want to do any of those things!

    And no smart watches? Also, due to the salt corrosive effects. Once again, I’m a little nervous about this super powerful salt that corrodes phones and smart watches in 45 minutes.

    But seriously, how am I going to know how much time has gone by? I’ll be all relaxing thinking it’s been 45 minutes and it probably has only been four. Then I’ll be all worried that there’s something suspicious going on and I’ll be locked inside that salt room forever! And then my mind will start panicking, and I’ll be thinking instead of pumping in the salt-infused air they’re pumping in some kind of poison! And then I’ll decide that I should probably stop reading all those thriller novels and try some romance ones or something.

    I am just such a bad judge of time. And I rely on my smart watch.  I’ll be all worried that it must be 5 p.m., and my kid is back at the AirBnB wanting dinner. I can feel myself getting claustrophobic and worried just thinking about it…

    Maybe there’s a clock on the wall? I wish I knew this beforehand because then I would’ve dug my old Swatch watch out of my jewelry box to wear for the salt caves. Swatch watches were the best. Maybe I’ll start wearing one again instead of this stupid smart watch that reminds me constantly during the day that I have not exercised enough, and every morning tells me what poor sleep I got the night before.  My old Swatch from the 80s would never do that.

    Time is funny like that. Sometimes it will feel like an hour has gone by, but it’s only been five minutes. And sometimes the reverse is true. Sometimes life just slips away without you noticing it. 

    Another thing it said on the website is to bring clean socks. Do people bring dirty socks? Do they really need the word clean? I guess if it’s in there maybe someone has done it. Well, darn, I guess I will have to do laundry quickly because I was really planning on bringing some dirty socks to the salt cave.

    But also, why do you even need socks?

    It says you can read books, but here’s the thing. I didn’t bring any actual books. I read my books on my phone. And there’s no phones! Do I have time to run out before and buy myself an actual book or do I just have to sit there alone with my thoughts? I know, sitting there alone with my thoughts will probably be good for me, but I might leave with more anxiety than I had going in after figuring out what’s really going on inside my head.

    So we decided to do it. I figured it could at least make a good blog post if it doesn’t heal all of my ailments. We decided it would be something different and kind of interesting. And secretly I had hopes of it healing me and I had even bigger hopes of being a totally different person after 45 minutes in a salt cave.

    It was actually a pretty magical experience. You only went down one flight of stairs, but you felt like you were going deep down into the center of the Earth. And I understand the socks thing now because the ground is covered with salt and it felt really good walking on all the little salt crystals. It felt like a little foot massage.

    The room itself felt like something from inside a fairytale. The walls were covered 2/3rds of the way up with pretty pink salt crystals. It’s like the ice cave from Frozen… except pink. It’d be kind of cool if the woman who leads the thing would dress up like Elsa. Maybe I will suggest that.

    There were also two water fountains all covered in crystals making the most relaxing water fountain noises. The ceiling had wooden beams across. In the spaces in between the beams was a net holding hundreds of pink salt crystals. I would like to tell you my first thought was, “What a pretty pink sparkly ceiling,” but my first thought actually was, “What if the net breaks and all those crystals fall on my face! Will there be some magical healing going on like all my wrinkles will magically disappear? Or will I just have a black eye? Hopefully the nets won’t break!” I’m sure they’re pretty sturdy nets. 

    I elbow my way past everyone to get to the best seat in the cave. (There’s not really a best seat… it’s not like you are looking at anything but the walls and the ceiling and you can see that from any seat)…  I try to relax. I try to clear my mind, but my mind is always full of a million thoughts. Also, these recliners are not as comfortable as you would think. I felt like there was a bar sticking into my back.

    So, I look over at those Thai mats on the floor wondering if I was allowed to change my mind and go lay on one of those. Are you allowed to move or is it like a, “you chose it so you are stuck with it kind of thing?”

    Also, I very confused by these Thai mats. I knew I should have Googled them!! I kept trying to figure out which side was for my head and which side was for my feet. It appeared to me you could actually lay either way.  I couldn’t figure out a top and a bottom.

    And they were way too short to fit a human on them. Were they for a little kids? I think it would probably be OK to experiment since it looked like everyone else in the room was in a total state of relaxation. There was a woman with her mouth literally hanging open. Maybe that is what the ear plugs are for! Drowning out the snores coming from other people.

    I was worried there might be a video camera or something and people who work here will be watching me laughing trying to figure out why I’m laying upside down on a Thai mat. Darn it! I knew I should’ve Googled it. Google has always been my best friend.

    So, I very quietly and carefully scoot on over to the Thai mats, crawling part of the way, like that will help people from noticing I am moving… since I might not be allowed to move. I think I figured out that maybe the pillows are where my head goes…. Maybe the bolster thing is supposed to go under my knees? I’m just playing it off like I know what I’m doing. I want to get up and try it the other way around, but I don’t want to bring too much attention to myself, so I just convince myself that this is a correct way to lie on a Thai mat in a salt cave and that no one is secretly laughing at me if I am doing it wrong.

    Isn’t it funny where your mind goes when you have a few minutes to relax? It definitely didn’t go where I wanted it to go. It definitely didn’t relax. It goes to things like, “Is the dishwasher broken?” “Do I need to order more hand soap?” And, “I wonder where my passport is.” I have no upcoming international trips, but still…

    I kept trying to kick thoughts out of my brain, but they just kept coming back in. Maybe relaxing isn’t for me. Maybe I was never meant to relax. Maybe I am just bad at relaxing. 

    But I did like the feel of this all salt under my feet. I did like the sound of the waterfall, and I did like the idea that being in one place can heal you. The idea that something outside of yourself can heal you. Isn’t that what we are all looking for? Something simple that will heal us?

    But before I knew it, the 45 minutes was up. I can’t say I ever got to a point of total relaxation, but I was almost there. I even found myself wanting just a few more minutes.

    After we left, my brother and I were both looking at each other and asking if there other felt any different? I think we were both waiting to hear what the other one would say. Maybe neither one of us really wanted to admit that we didn’t feel any different.

    Because don’t we all just want a quick fix? An hour in a salt cave to heal all our hurts? But we all know there is no quick fix. You have to work at healing, and it takes time. 

    While I was a little disappointed this salt cave didn’t heal all my hurts, I know there’s beauty in the process of healing. And maybe the salt cave isn’t the miracle cure I had hoped.

    But maybe I’ll try acupuncture or something just in case there really is a quick fix and I just haven’t found it yet.

  • When your ex gets engaged, go buy Champagne

    You see it in the movies. The pretty young girl is going about her business, and then she finds out that (insert big dramatic foreboding music) her EX is ENGAGED. (Put some MORE dramatic music here for effect) The world stops, the world goes dark, the world spins, sometimes the girl even faints. 

    Everything changes. Her attitude, her demeanor, the way her apartment looks. It’s so dramatic in these books and these movies. She lies on her bed and cries for three days. Or something like that.

    I mean, why are women and girls so dramatic about this stuff? My brother and I are currently watching Sex and the City. I think we have run out of shows to watch.  Of course, I watched it when it first came out, but that was before my brother was even born.

    I remember watching it over 25 years ago and just feeling so heartbroken for Carrie. But watching it now I’m like, “what are you doing, Carrie? Just dump Big! He’s terrible for you. He’s just playing with your emotions! You are too good for him!” And also, if you watch the show, there are plenty of rich eligible bachelors in New York City. 

    But seriously, Carrie, why are you SO dramatic about every little thing? You’re crying because he didn’t want to go to dinner with your friends? After he said he would! Who cares? 

    You’re crying because you want to move to Paris to be with him and he says, “don’t move for me?” I get it, 20 years ago, I probably would’ve cried too. 

    I think I had a boyfriend at the time who was very similar to Big. I felt like I was being strung along and that he couldn’t commit and all that heartbreaking stuff. (That’s not really that heartbreaking) But at the time I could totally relate to Carrie. I was living her life. Relationship-wise I mean. Not in the “cute shoes and cute clothes and going out to brunch with your girlfriends everyday” type of life.

    So, when it happens to you, you sort of wonder if you’re supposed to do the same thing. But you don’t really think about it happening to you. Or at least I didn’t.   

    But then it did. On an average Wednesday morning when I’m walking out of Bible study feeling all Zen and peaceful, I get a text from a friend saying she saw something on Facebook.

    I try to be dramatic. I really do! Sometimes I like being dramatic. I think it’s part of being a Pisces. But I excel at it. Sometimes. 

    I try to be that young girl in the Hallmark movies who just crumples into a pile on the street and bawls her eyes out. Strangers walking by asking if they should call 911 or if she needs any help. 

    I try to be that girl who later will comment that she couldn’t remember what happened at that moment because it was all a big blur.

    Should I take the day off? Should I walk along the beach and contemplate how life did not work out how I planned? 

    Should I go to the beach and hurl handfuls of sand into the ocean with tears streaming down my face? That sounds kind of fun actually. Minus the tears. But it also sounds a little cold and messy. There’s lots of options for healing heartache at the beach when you live so close to it. I think there’s probably crying at the beach in some of those movies also.

    Should I be jealous? Should I be angry? Should I punch a wall? Should I cry all day? Should I take a nap? Actually, a nap sounds good on any day. 

    I think I’d be pretty good at throwing myself on the bed and pounding my pillows with my fists. I bet I could even fake cry. All I would have to do is think about that commercial from last night at the Super Bowl, where the little girl lost her dog in the storm, and I can probably really cry. I used a whole box of tissues for that commercial. I should make myself a little note to order more on Amazon. 

    So, I walked around all day not really sure how I felt. I told my friends who, of course asked, “Are you OK?”

    Am I OK? Am I not OK? Am I supposed to be OK? Am I not supposed to be OK?

    Is there anyone else in the world who has a hard time knowing what they feel or am I the only one?

    And how often do we feel what the world tells us to feel even if we don’t really feel that?

    Like when I bought my house, everyone was all like, “Congratulations! You must be so happy!”

    I mean I was, but mostly I was confused and terrified. Did I just buy a house? Did they let me buy a house? Do they know me? Am I responsible enough to own a house? Am I in charge of everything that goes wrong with the house now? I don’t know how to own a house honestly. But also, of course, I was happy. 

    So, it was 8 o’clock on that night that I found out my ex was engaged. I walked around all day trying to figure out how I feel, acting out some of the emotions like I was in one of those movies and my life was completely over because the man of my dreams was going to marry someone else. I always thought I would make a pretty good actress, but I’m painfully shy so that never worked out for me. Maybe I’ll give it a go in my 60s.

    It was cold and it was rainy, but all of a sudden, I knew what to do. I knew the perfect thing to do when your ex gets engaged. I told my brother I was going out and I’d be right back. (Now you have to understand that I would never go out to the store at 8 o’clock at night. I hate going to the store. If I needed toilet paper, I would just cut up T-shirts and use that rather than go out to the store. I hate the store! Read my blog titled The Worst Place on Earth if you haven’t yet so you have a better idea of what I’m talking about)

    But my ex was engaged, so I went to the store to buy a bottle of champagne. When your ex gets engaged, buy some champagne! 

    I was texting my friends (who know me well and were not that surprised at this type of reaction).

    One friend told me to get the most expensive bottle and use the best glasses I have! Yes, I thought! I sent her a picture of me from the grocery store holding a bottle of champagne and she said, “good for you, but that is NOT the good stuff.”

    First of all, it’s Food Lion. Second of all, I don’t know what the good stuff is! I don’t really buy champagne unless it’s for Thanksgiving or Christmas when we make mimosas. And then I just buy the cheapest stuff I can find because, well, we drink a lot of mimosas on the holidays.

    I brought that bottle of champagne home. I got the best glasses I have, which are really not fancy glasses but at least they have stems. I’ve started using stemless wine glasses because really, what is with the stem? How is a big wine glass supposed to stand up on that tiny stem? It’s just asking for a disaster! The proportions are all off! I wonder if whoever invented the wine glass did that on purpose so people would break so many and have to buy so many more?

    My brother and I sat at that kitchen table that rainy night and drank that bottle of champagne out of our glasses with stems. We didn’t even watch TV like we usually do. We just sat and talked. Reminiscing about old times and talking about the future and our life in general. We laughed and laughed.

    I wasn’t “celebrating” that my ex was getting engaged. I wasn’t NOT celebrating my ex getting engaged. I was just celebrating. It’s not even really about him. Except finding out he is engaged gave me the thought to go buy a bottle of champagne. (So, I should probably thank him) 

    What is my other option? Be one of those girls from the movies? It is what it is and it doesn’t change my beautiful sweet little life. Not one bit. It took me eight hours to figure out the answer was to buy champagne. I always knew it deep inside but was so influenced by the movies and the books and those poor heartbroken girls. I wish I could tell them all to go by themselves a bottle of champagne and get over it. But they’re young, and I’m 50. And I like champagne. And I’m smarter than they are.

    So, I think that might be my new solution for anything. Go buy a bottle of champagne and celebrate something. Because there’s always something to celebrate. Unless something breaks in my house. There will be no celebrating then. There will be no champagne then. There will be lots of crying and being dramatic.

    So that’s what I did on that cold rainy day when I found out my ex was engaged. I went and bought a bottle of champagne. And I enjoyed every sip of it.

  • What the heck is a packing cube?

    Have you ever heard of packing cubes? Are they really a thing? How come I haven’t even heard of them? They’re not even cubes. They’re just bags. 

    I was going on vacation and of course, because I don’t want to pay for a carry-on, I am only allowed a personal item. With very specific measurements. I was worried about fitting all my stuff in my bag and a friend mentioned packing cubes. 

    My friend told me packing cubes would save so much space. I looked into them, but I don’t understand. To me it looks like I’m just putting clothes in a bag to put in another bag. Adding an extra bag to a suitcase? And an extra step? Why would I pack all my clothes into small bags to put in my big bag instead of just putting all of them directly in my big bag. I asked all these questions, and my friend tried to explain that the packing cubes compress the clothes inside them so they actually take up less space. I still had a million questions since I don’t have a scientific brain, so he ended up just sending me a video about packing cubes. 

    This video was over 12 minutes long! Who can talk for 12 minutes about packing cubes? After the first two minutes, I felt like I was doing everything wrong, and I didn’t know the first thing about packing. I don’t travel often, but I am 50 years old, and I have traveled plenty in my life and survived just fine without these packing cubes or whatever they are called. I even backpacked around Europe for four months with one backpack on my back. And I sure didn’t have any packing cubes back then. I’d never even heard of them. But to be fair, I’d never really even heard of them two weeks ago.

    This guy in the video had national parks packing cubes. A different national park on each packing cube. (It’s pretty cute actually.  I mean who doesn’t love national parks?) Is that how you learn your national parks? What does it matter what’s on your packing cubes? Don’t they just go in your suitcase? Something pleasant for the inside of your suitcase to look at? Now I also need to worry about pretty packing cubes? Educational ones? That teach you something while you pack? Now I need my packing cubes to be prettier than everyone else’s packing cubes? Will my packing cubes be prettier than my sisters? Will they be educational enough to keep the inside of my suitcase entertained and busy? This is getting a little ridiculous and stressful. 

    Hey, if one can learn the names of national parks from packing cubes, maybe I can learn a language? Do they have packing cubes that can teach you French while you pack? Oh, maybe packing cubes that can teach you different types of wine! A different type of wine on each packing cube with a little description. And a pretty picture of the wine. Hey, I think I’m onto something. Educational packing cubes. Do you think there’s a big market for that out there?

    So to alleviate some of my stress, I decided to pack three days before my trip.  My bag was so full, I had to sit on it to close it. And even that was a struggle. And then I patted myself on the back for my successful packing job and promptly realized I forgot a few things. (More than a few things) I would have to unpack and repack. Good thing I started three days before my trip.

    After complaining about this to my friend he decided to loan me his packing cubes so I could try repacking with packing cubes. I was willing to give it a try since my regular packing job did not go so well. His packing cubes are just plain. Black and gray. The gray ones actually have netting material on the top. Breathing holes? Is that so the clothes can breathe? The inside of my suitcase is going to be bored. My friend really needs to step up his packing cube game if he’s going to be a walking advertisement for packing cubes. The dude with a national parks packing cubes sure showed him up. 

    My friend did have a super fancy packing cube. It had a hard bottom, and a folding board slips out of it. You know what I’m talking about, right? The kind they use at the Gap or the Limited to fold the shirts so perfectly? I used to work at Express, and I honestly loved folding all the T-shirts like that because they look so pretty. But I was getting paid for it. Nobody has time for that in real life. My friend was very excited about this and said if I use this one, I should definitely use this folding board to fold my clothes before I put them in because they fit perfectly that way. I told him to keep that one because I’m definitely not using a folding board to fold my clothes to put them in a packing cube to put that packing cube in my suitcase. Another ridiculous extra step. 

    He gave me five packing cubes. One can be for underwear and socks, the next one can be for T-shirts and so on he explained. 

    “Can my underwear and socks not touch the T-shirts? This is segregation! What if my T-shirts want to go in the same packing cube as my underwear? What if they are best friends?” I asked dramatically.

    “So put them in the same packing cube,” my friend said. Huh! I won that argument. Which wasn’t even really an argument I realized.

    I unpack my whole bag and spread everything out and look at the packing cubes. “OK, do your magic,” I say to the packing cubes. Nothing happened. Wouldn’t it be great if they invented packing gifts that would just actually pack for you? Like in cartoons where the clothes would hop up and fold themselves and jump right in the packing cube? That is definitely something I would use. If any inventors are reading my blog, they should really get on this. Are there even inventors anymore? Has everything already been invented?  Is that even still a profession? It’s probably called something else.

    I picked out three packing cubes.  I’m going to put all my clothes in three of these packing cubes and then put these packing cubes in my bag? Isn’t that just adding three extra bags to my already stuffed suitcase and the same amount of clothing I had before? It just doesn’t make sense. But a lot of things don’t make sense and still work.  Like toilets. And airplanes. And life.

    I had never used packing cubes, but as I started packing, it seemed like I could always fit one more thing in the packing cube. It’s like my mom and her fridge. She always says there’s room in the fridge for one more thing. Even though her fridge is so stuffed you think there can’t possibly be room for one more thing, my mom makes it fit. I feel like it was like that with these packing cubes. 

    Because you don’t want any extra space, right? Aren’t they supposed to compress your clothes? How are they going to do that if there’s all this extra space there? Doesn’t it need to be packed really tight in order for them to do their job? If not, isn’t it just taking up more space with all that space in the packing cube? 

    So I stuffed three packing cubes, and I had to sit on all three of them to get them to zip. Then I put those three packing cubes into my bigger bag which I also had to sit on to get it to zip.  I’m a sweaty mess when I finish wrestling with three packing cubes and my bag, but it’s done and it’s all in there. But the question is, when I unpack it in Florida will I be able to get it all back in there? That’s a worry for another day.

    I sure hope that I don’t have to open it to get something out of it at the airport because that’ll be really embarrassing to have a whole airport watch as I’m sitting on my bag, sweating and fighting with it just to get it to zip.

    Also, it weighs a ton!!! Probably more than me but somehow, I managed to swing it onto my back. My next worry, of course is will the little airline man tell me my carry on is just too big? Hopefully we’ll get a laid-back airline person who won’t look at it too hard and pull out a measuring tape. Luckily though, I put on a big smile and just walked right onto the plane.

    My next worry, of course, is will it fit under the seat in front of me? (as you can tell with me, there is always something to worry about) It’s hard to picture exactly how big the area is under the seat in front of you is, so I just cross my fingers and hope for the best. When we get to the seats, they are so much closer together than I remember them being! I can barely fit in between them, so how is my bag going to so I can get it under the seat?!?!  I literally stand on top of it with both feet and jump to push it down until I smush it down in between the seats and under the little area, but it fits! Of course, I smile sweetly at people who are watching me jump on my bag just so they know that I’m friendly. Success! I breathe a huge sigh of relief.  Now I can enjoy my flight. Which would be more enjoyable if only I had a little bit more leg room.

    I get to the little house we rented in Florida and I unpack my things and hang them up nicely in the closet. They are very wrinkled from being stuffed in the packing cube like that but it’s a good thing that I wear wrinkled clothing. I don’t even own an iron.  My ex took it with him 4 years ago and I have not needed it once since. It’s just my style. Wrinkled.

    Do you want to guess what percentage of the clothes that I brought I actually wore? Less than 50%! I didn’t wear half the clothes I brought. And also, I did laundry twice because my poor kid only has two pairs of pants. Why did I pack so much? Did I think there would be an impromptu fashion show during vacation, and I would need these three extra dresses that I packed to show up my sisters who didn’t overpack? Why do we do that? Why do we always think that we will need so much more than we actually do? 

    We stayed in the rental house for three days and then everyone else left and I was spending the last night with my dad. I was worried the whole trip about how everything would fit back in the bag. As I said, I always need something to worry about. I kept telling myself it all got in there so it all can get back in there again somehow, right? Wrong.

    I tried to repack before moving out of the house, but it didn’t work. One full packing cube would not fit in the bag! I did my sitting on it trick and everything, but it still did not work. I carried a bag of clothes to my dad’s house. I was thinking that the packing cubes were getting back at me for talking crap about them at the beginning. I had a day to figure out how to make it up to the packing cubes so they will like me and work for me again. I spent the rest of the day praising the packing cubes. I was telling them how smart they were and how well they worked. 

    By some miracle, after three tries and a lot of sweat and tears I managed to put everything back in that bag. It was honestly a miracle. I don’t know how it fit. I have all the same worries flying back home. Except my new worry was that my bag was surely going to explode because there was so much stuff in it. I imagine the zippers just giving way and the bag flying open and all my clothes flying all over the airport. I imagine some poor old man waiting for his plane, reading his book when suddenly a pair of my underwear lands on his head. Oh wait, that won’t happen because everything is packed tightly in packing cubes. Thank you, packing cubes. For saving that poor stranger at the airport from having my underwear land on his head. Does anyone else worry excessively or is it only me?

    I will tell you, everything looks so nice and neat while using packing cubes. And despite my messy life, I do like things neat and organized. 

    I was just exhausted when I got home from my trip after all the stress with the packing and the packing cubes. Did the packing cubes help? I don’t know. Did the packing cubes make things worse? I don’t know. I think the solution here is really just to pack less. Or just go ahead and pay for a carry-on! I think I have learned my lesson.

    I have a wedding to go to in Wisconsin in September, so I’ll let you know how packing for that goes. I have a feeling it will be exactly the same. Do we ever really learn? I know I usually don’t.  I’ll keep you updated though. I’ll hold onto these packing cubes just in case. Packing miracles can happen.

  • Death at a Winery

    Screenshot

    We all have that one friend who talks to everyone, right? The type of person who will just talk to a stranger for 20 minutes about their stubbed toe. I have a friend like that. I can’t take him anywhere without him having conversations with strangers, adding half an hour to our trip. The other day he talked to the woman who worked at Port City Java for 10 minutes about some experience he had buying donuts at the Donut Inn. And there was even a line behind us!

    And don’t even get me started about going out to dinner with him. He spends half of it talking to the server. He has all his normal lines. I can predict what he’s going to say right before he says it. The sweet little server comes over and asks if we have any questions. He laughs and he says, “I have plenty of questions. Pull up a chair. Or did you just mean about the menu?” Then he laughs at how hilarious he is. I swear I think there are servers who see us sit down and then they pay a different server 50 bucks to take the table for them.

    I’m kidding, it’s funny and sort of entertaining. I’m just not that kind of person. If I see someone I know in the grocery store, I will duck my head and turn the other way and hope he/she doesn’t see me. Even if I really like them! I don’t even know why I do it. I guess I just don’t particularly like talking to people.

    Now, if my friend saw someone he knew in the grocery store, he would literally start running, tripping over his own feet, pushing his cart as fast as he can just to talk to some PTA mom or other acquaintance.

    We recently took a little trip to the mountains. We got away for a few days. We walked around little towns and looked in all the quaint shops. Of course, my friend had to talk to every shop owner for 10 minutes about this antique or that antique or some casserole dish that his grandmother had.

    During this trip, we went to some wineries. I love wineries. I do my tasting quickly, I pick my wine, and I go find a peaceful place to sit and drink and enjoy the company of the people I’m with. Obviously, my chatty friend does wineries differently.

    It just so happened that the owner of the winery was the one who was doing our tasting. As you can imagine, my friend had a field day chatting with the owner. He’s really a very friendly and charming guy and people enjoy talking to him. People who enjoy talking to strangers that is. I’m not one of those people. But I just smile and drink the wine. By this point, she knows all about his record collection and his boat that he can’t drive.

    Finally, the tasting is over and I pry him away from the poor owner, who probably has a job to do like running a winery, and we go outside and enjoy our wine.

    We know the winery closes at five so at about 4:55 we finish our wine and collect our glasses to go return them. I can’t wait to get some dinner. I’m starving by now. I send my friend to return the glasses and I go and use the restroom.

    When I come out of the restroom, of course he is talking to the owner and when he sees me, his face lights up and he says ,”the owner just asked if we would like a private tour and see where the wine is made.”

    Ummm….. no.

    His face is beaming with excitement. But my mind goes somewhere else. Why would the owner do that? It is closing time. Doesn’t she want to just kick everybody out so she can clean up and enjoy her evening? Is my friend really that charming and chatty that she wants to spend more time listening to him?

    I got a little suspicious at that point. I do read too many thrillers and watch too much Law & Order, but I was very skeptical about this overly friendly winery owner who wants to take time out of her day, after the winery has closed, to give us a little private tour.

    But of course I don’t say any of that so I just put a big smile on my face and say “ Oh! Wow! That would be amazing! That is so nice of you.”

    She leads us through these heavy wooden doors to this huge dark room full of wine vats. She starts telling us about the room and how it was built by hand and with refurbished wood or something like that. I’m not listening. I’m pretending to listen but looking for the nearest exits. At this point, my friend is talking about how great he is at recycling because he rinses out every single container and lets it dry before he puts it in the recycling. Umm… does the recycling really care if it is dry or not?

    She’s telling us how the temperature stays cool even on hot days. She talks about how her husband ‘s family built it. And of course, my friend is fascinated. He’s asking so many questions and talking about his similar experiences. Although he’s never owned a winery or built a room with big wine vats in it that can stay cool even in hot temperatures, I’m sure he can relate somehow.

    I, on the other hand, am getting more and more suspicious the farther we go into the deep, dark, very large room. This owner could kill us and throw our bodies in one of these wine vats, and we would never be found! Never be found!

    Don’t be silly I tell myself. There’s no way she can get us in those vats I think to myself. She’s not He-Man. She can’t just pick us up and toss us up and over.

    She eventually leads us to a dark winding staircase. There is an awkward looking man at the top who steps aside to let us pass. I wonder if he’s her partner and they’re secretly going to kill us together.

    My friend sees him, and a big old smile fills his face (oblivious that these might be our last few moments on earth) and ask him how his day was. He says, “quitting time, huh?” And then gives him a pat on the back or a high five or something like they have known each other since childhood.

    Now I’m getting even more nervous because I have realized that this is how she’s going to get us in the vats. From here, it will be easy. She will just kick us over the railing, and we’ll fall headfirst into one of those vats down below. They are so perfectly placed below. I can’t imagine they are for anything else. Well, maybe wine.

    I sure hope it’s one that’s filled with wine that we get thrown into. I think it would hurt if it was empty and at least if it was a full one, I can drink all the wine I want before I die there thanks to my friend being overly welcoming and trusting everybody. I give him a look, trying to let him know to stay as far away from the railing as possible, but he just smiles at me and actually leans over the railing taking it all in like it’s the most majestic view in the world.

    The owner then says, as a very special treat, (which she NEVER does she says), she will show us the lab. This is where the chemist works she explains. She takes us into a small room that looks like a high school science lab with beakers, droppers, and microscopes. I’m already scanning the room looking for something I can use as a weapon.

    There is a little room off the to the side. She is very excited about that and says, “Oh, come over here. Come in this room.” I put my shoulder and my head in that room, and she says, “No no, come all the way in this room! It’s soundproofed.”

    What??? Soundproofed! I’m so scared I nearly pee my pants! Oh gosh, this is it. This is how we’re going down. In a soundproof wine tasting room in the middle of nowhere!

    I look at my friend who has the biggest smile on his face and is just chatting away happily about music and some band he used to travel with and some soundproof recording rooms he’s been in.

    He has no clue that we are about to be murdered by the winery owner. No clue!!! It’s up to me to save our lives! Us women literally have to do everything.

    She explains that they need a soundproof room to taste the wine so they can taste it better. Why does it need to be quiet to taste wine? You don’t taste wine with your ears! It’s definitely an excuse to lock us in a soundproof room. I shoot my friend a terrified, “what the heck are we going to do,” face and he gives me an odd look and ignores it.

    I think back and try to remember all the self-defense moves I learned back in 1999 when I took a woman’s self-defense class before going into the Peace Corps. Elbow on the collarbone was all that I could remember. I start preparing to do the elbow on the collarbone move, if needed. My friend looks at me quickly, and I do an elbow up and point to my collarbone move hoping he will understand that we must do the elbow on the collarbone move together if necessary. One on each collar bone. He looks at me a little confused but then continues chatting away happily to the winery owner.

    I’m getting claustrophobic in this small, soundproofed room and I just know I have to do something fast to save our lives. When the winery owner glances at me, I quickly make the, “I’m watching you” sign that Robert De Niro makes in Meet the Parents. You know the two fingers pointing to my eyes and then out to her.

    I think that scares her. She knows I’m on to her now, so she lets us out of the soundproof room. Huge sigh of relief, but we were still not out of the woods. I wouldn’t even know my way out of here. And those doors looked heavy, and I bet she locked them behind us. I pressed my body against the wall across from the railing as we made our way back to the staircase. Yes, it looks weird, but I was not getting near that railing.

    She tried to let me go first down the stairs but, uh uh! No way! She wanted me to go down first so she can easily kick me down the stairs? I don’t think so, Mrs. Winery Lady. I once again do that, “I’m watching you,” sign and insist she goes first.

    Then, as a special treat, she says as she’s leading us down the stairs, she will show us where they bottle the wine. She once again says she never shows anyone that. Then why? Oh, why? Is she showing us? We are not that cool. We are not that nice. We don’t even know that much about wine. Is it because my friend is so chatty that she finds it endearing? Or is it because my friend is so chatty that she plans to kill him to put the rest of the world out of their misery? And she must kill me too because I’m a witness?

    I’m very aware of my surroundings. I’m watching everything. I’m not even listening as my friend chats about some article he wrote for some magazine about some brewery and how their canning station looked a lot like this bottling one. Blah blah blah, he’s sounding like the teacher from Snoopy to me with no realization we are in imminent danger!

    I must get us out of here and fast. The longer we stay, the more opportunities we have to be murdered, and the more relaxed we feel, the more we will let down out guard. Well, not me. Because I’m onto her.

    I can say I need to use the restroom!  But then she might lead me to a private dark restroom and lock me in while she murders chatty Cathy first.

    Then, I had a brilliant idea.

    “Oh no! I think I left my phone in the restroom in the tasting room.” I exclaimed, with a worried look on my face. “I’m expecting some important work emails. How do I get out of here?”

    The winery owner looks disappointed.

    I start walking quickly in the direction I thought we came from. After a quick scan of the room, I realize I was heading the wrong way. I spy the big heavy doors on the other side, and I walk as fast as I can to them. She must’ve had some secret button in her pocket to unlock them when she realized her plan was foiled because they push right open when I get to them. I look back to make sure my friend was following me because I really wanted to save his life also, but, if it came down to it, I would have to make a tough decision.

    Luckily my friend and the owner were coming out of the door. I went into the restroom knowing I wouldn’t find anything.

    I come out to more chatting, but I quickly cut my friend off and thank the owner politely.

    I drag my friend outside as fast as I can.

    “What in the world was wrong with you in there???” My friend looks at me with a concerned expression.

    “We almost died!” I exclaimed.

    “What?!?!”

    “That winery owner was going to kill us! She was going to murder us! I saved our lives.”

    “Ok….. thank you?”

    Hmmm… I question my behavior just a little at that point when we are out in the sunshine and fresh air. I guess maybe it’s possible she wasn’t going to kill us and was just being polite BUT better safe than sorry and it’s always best to be prepared. The world can be a dangerous place.

    “Geez, I can’t take her ANYWHERE,” my friend whispers to himself as he walks to the car and I can hear the eye roll in his voice.

  • The Wine Lady

    Screenshot

    I love wine. I’ve always loved wine. I mean, everyone loves wine I know, but probably not as much as I do. We moved to North Carolina in 2013 and the thing I knew I would miss the most were the wineries in Virginia.

    Before we moved here, I said we have to look and see if there are any wineries in Wilmington or we cannot move. We Googled and there was one! Right in the middle of Wilmington, North Carolina! How lucky! Ok, we can move there. We decided to go there as soon as we moved here and it ended up being a wine shop in the middle of a strip mall. That isn’t a winery. Boo!

    I know for those local people there’s Duplin Winery but that muscadine wine has a very distinct taste and it’s just not for me. Blah! No offense to anyone who likes that stuff. As you will find out by the time you get to the end of this post, I am not quite the wine connoisseur that you would expect, so that muscadine wine could be good and I don’t even know it.

    Virginia has the most beautiful wineries ever. I definitely recommend going. People go for the wine of course, but it’s more than that. People go for the experience. People go for the atmosphere. The tasting rooms are like great big cozy living rooms where you can just hang out with your friends. There are board games and pretty views and sometimes even a roaring fire if it’s chilly outside. There’s usually large outdoor areas with tables and chairs where you can hang out and enjoy the view. Back in the day your kids could run wild and climb trees. They could bring soccer balls and accidentally hit people in the face or spill wine and occasionally break glasses and no one minded. They would apologize and laugh at it all. We were all one big winery family. Even the strangers. These days, most vineyards that allow kids allow only “well-behaved kids.” What exactly is a “well-behaved kid?” Is there such a thing? I can only speak from experience with my kids so I say no, but maybe they do exist.

    I love the the feeling that thoughts of wineries give me. I call it my winery feeling. A day spent in the sunshine with family and friends. The crisp air, the kids running around and playing, the sound of laughter. Oh and eating cheese. After wine, cheese would be my second favorite food. If you consider wine food. I do. It makes a good dinner sometimes when my cooking is a big failure, which, if you’ve been reading this blog, you know that it often is. “Oh well, it’s fine, I will just have wine for dinner,” I say with a shrug. (of course I don’t feed my kids wine for dinner when it’s a failure. They just starve. Kidding! Doritos work just fine for dinner in those instances.)

    Some wineries also have pizza places attached to them and even breweries. Even cabins! Everything you need! You could practically live there! I have such fond memories of days spent with families and friends, and just a feeling of acceptance and camaraderie and slowing down. And the beauty can literally take your breath away. How can you not feel calm and at peace while looking at something so beautiful?

    I’ve always wanted to open my own winery. I wanted to create that space for people to feel how wineries have always made me feel. I wanted everyone to feel that winery feeling that I get.

    I wanted to be that winery owner who is behind the bar doing tastings and just chatting with all the customers about how she bought the winery and built it from the ground up. The one sharing her wisdom and her love and knowledge of the wines. I picture myself strolling through the rows of my vineyard every evening after I close the winery. I would talk to the grapes and I would encourage them. “ I see you, girl! You’re looking nice and plump tonight! You’ve got this!” Haven’t you heard that plants grow better when you speak to them? I’m sure that grapes do, too.

    In my imaginary vineyard, I would stomp all the grapes with my bare feet I Love Lucy style. Can you imagine how good that would feel?!? Of course I would wear a flowy white dress, and I would hold it up to my knees while I stomped around a big bin full of grapes. My head would be thrown back in laughter and I’d be listening to music from Dar Williams. I mean I HAVE to be better at owning a winery than I am at feeding my family, right?

    But here’s the thing. After all the wineries that I have gone to, after all the hours spent listening to wine experts explain how each wine is aged in oak or stainless steel and all the hints of blackberries, and fermentation, after all the wine I have drank, I STILL know nothing about wine. Except I like it. And it all kind of tastes the same. I know! Big GASP from all the real wine people reading this.

    I know I would have to be knowledgeable while I pour the wine and tell my guests about it. I know I need to say things like this has been aged in oak for six months and you can taste hints of strawberries and pomegranate in it. Or maybe I’ll just make stuff up when I pour wine and see if anybody notices.

    I will say things like

    “This wine has been aged in some kind of barrel for some amount of time and there might be hints of dog hair in there. Cheers!”

    Or maybe, “This one has hints of cat dander. We have stray cats on the vineyard that come to visit. My mom brought them with her in her purse and just left them.”

    Or something like, “This wine was aged in my bathtub because I ran out of those barrel thingies. There might be some toilet germs from when I flush the toilet and probably some bathroom cleaner from when I cleaned the bathtub to make the wine. And I had some leftover strawberries and blueberries from dinner last week so I threw them in there. I also had some leftover lettuce so I figured that would taste good. Why not give it a try? Why not? Has anyone ever put vegetables in wine? They put them in smoothies now. What’s so special about fruit? We are all about inclusion at this vineyard.”

    You never know, people might like it. Maybe they won’t come for the wine. Maybe they will come for the experience, the atmosphere, and my charming personality. Oh! Maybe they can bring their own wine? Maybe it will be the first BYOW winery. Bring your own wine winery. I might be onto something.

    Or maybe I should give up on the winery-owning dream. And my cooking dream too. That’s fine. I have plenty of other dreams. I have to be good at something, right? I’ll keep trying.