Traveling With Cat in Car: not recommended at any time

Feline, kitty, purr-box, mouser, tabby, tiger, tomcat…. Call it what you like but a cat by any other name is still a bad travel companion! Oh, yes I know there may be some of you out there whose cats are perfectly docile when in an enclosed space hurtling down the highway at seventy miles per hour. I unfortunately am still waiting for the pleasure of that experience and there’s a story to tell. But let me start at the beginning.

This summer I spent two months at a marine station on the Puget Sound taking the very last class of my graduate school experience. While there, my cabin mate and I adopted a gaunt-looking stray. He was a large black and white hunter with a loud and pleading call (the meowing did, incidentally, nearly cease once we started feeding him!). We named him Pleoh.

Pleoh wasted no time in making himself right at home

He immediately began to bring us almost daily gifts. I presumed that it was in thanks for the rescue, but I had to sit him down and tell him that there were other, more effective, ways to reach me. Unfortunately I don’t speak Cat-ese… Barring the rodent gifts, Pleoh turned out to be a more-than-wonderful feline companion and we both became quite fond of him.

Toward the end of the summer we began to discuss the fate of Pleoh since we both had rather territorial cats at home and didn’t feel we could add another kitty to the litter. I put up an add for a free and adorable cat and waited. And waited. No one wanted our poor little guy! My cabin mate was flying to Michigan and so it fell to me to transport the cat six hours to Walla Walla, via Lester. I was not excited and my previous experience traveling with cats did nothing to pique my enthusiasm. As a test, I introduced Pleoh to my car and drove a few feet through camp. He went berserk! Yowling and clawing, he attempted to force his gangly body through the small opening in my back window.

I did a Google search on making travel with cats more bearable to find some (hopefully) lifesaving tips. Advice was to accustom the cat beforehand to its leash, harness, and travel carrier. I had only a few days to work with, but I got a harness and put it on him in the cabin. He walked in a funny stilted manner for awhile but finally got used to it. Then I attached the leash and let him drag it around. “What’s that blasted thing following me everywhere I go?!” his face seemed to say, but he dealt with it. I looked at pet taxis, but his size cost $25 and jobless me could only think of the meals I could eat with that money. I ended up purchasing an $11 fold-up cat carrier. It was like a cat tent and really cute! Pleased with myself, I introduced it to Pleoh who, to my surprise, sat contentedly in it for more than a few seconds. It was enough to lift my spirits considerably. Perhaps this trip would not be so bad after all! Trips to the vet with my beloved Ami were always noisy, panting affairs that left us both shaken, and the cross-country trip I had once taken with my friend’s cat, make that my friend’s sedated cat, was anything but peaceful, quiet, or free of cage-soiling. Nevertheless, I foolishly told myself that this time it would be different.

The great day arrived. My cabin mate kissed Pleoh goodbye and I stuffed him into his tent with his harness on. He immediately sensed that this wasn’t a test run. We started to drive and the yowling began. And the panting. And the clawing. “He’s going to tear that tent to shreds,” I warned myself, but miraculously it held up. With each pull of his claws, it yielded to the pressure. Kudos tent for being resilient! But Pleoh didn’t care; rolling, yowling, tossing, and crying, he made himself a miserable mess of panic. Always one for good eye contact, Pleoh pleaded with me with wide terrified eyes to stop the torture. After a few close calls on the road, I apologized for ignoring him, but maintained that I must focus on driving lest we both die. “You,” I reminded him, “are actually NOT going to die in there.”

But I wondered if I might. How much of this could I take? Six hours much? Heading toward Seattle, we hit traffic almost immediately, and I found the distraught cat beside me to be quite a distraction. A few times he wrenched the stiff supports out of place, turning his tent into a sack. There wasn’t much I could do to help him. Then I looked up and saw that the sunscreen in front of my sunroof on my stupid car was coming off! One end of it was gyrating freely in the breeze, a heartbeat away from flying off and hitting the truck behind me! So there I am, holding the sun thing on with my right hand, driving with my left, trying to ignore the flailing cat beside me, and attempting to pull off the road in thick traffic! That was the first stop. I took the stupid sun thing off- what is it for, anyway?

Back on the road, Pleoh got more and more frantic. A couple of times he even catapulted himself and his tent over directly into my lap. That’s when I noticed that he had peed in his tent. I guess terror negates bladder control in cats. Great. 5 1/2 more hours with a urine-soaked cat. I was just glad I had protected my car seat with an old blanket. (BTW a tent in ones lap does not bode well for steering control)

Just as I was wondering aloud how much worse it could get, Pleoh popped out of his tent! Apparently the tent’s weak point was it’s zipper. He literally broke it! In the stunned moment in which he sat in disbelief to comprehend his freedom, I was luckily able to grab his harness. This also does not assist steering ability in anyway. Make that the sixth time I almost broadsided someone. Another stop, a stowed tent (it was urine-soaked anyway), and Pleoh was firmly leashed to the passenger side door (uh… on the inside, mind you), keeping him in the other seat, I hoped.

On the road again. Traffic is really bad. Pleoh is still terrified but mostly quiet. He looks wild-eyed out the window and then tries to claw his way up the back of the seat or over onto me- ouch! But not else bad could happen now, right? I just need to keep my eyes on the road and trying to ignore the acrobatics unfolding on my right? Not exactly. With one strange twisting flipping crunching maneuver, Pleoh (aka Houdini) slips right out of his harness, collar, and leash!!! Aaaaah! Maneuvering in Seattle traffic and holding a yowling, scratching, clawing, biting, urine-soaked monster by the scruff on the neck, I wanted to cry. Moreover, I couldn’t seem to get over to a place I could stop. Road rage took over, “MOVE IT, PEOPLE! Can’t you see I need to get over??!”

But then, like a soft fog descending into a valley at dusk, Pleoh crawled into my lap, hid his face in the crack by the seat, and lulled himself into a sleep (or trance or coma, but who cares!). I held my breath. Barring the occasional wiggle, he stayed calm. And that was my strategy for the rest of the trip. Every time I started the car up again, he panicked briefly, but as long as I could keep him down in my lap, he seemed to be able to shut out the horrors. It took him hours, though, to relax long enough to drink any water or stop hyperventilating.

Traveling with cats. Just don’t do it. I won’t do it again unless I have a cat in a pet taxi with heavy sedation and a catheter. I can’t describe to you how many times I almost died on that highway and I probably scared countless other drivers to death. Just so you know, Pleoh has made himself quite at home here, waiting for my cabin mate to pick him up in a few weeks. He also hates my Ami and tries to attack her, but that’s another story…

Friday Harbor on a Thursday

Today I visited Friday Harbor with my Rosario Beach Marine Laboratory Phycology class. We left from the ferry port in Anacortes, WA. Leaving our cars in the paid parking by the docks, we all walked on the ferry. It was nice to have the school footing the bill for walk-on passengers ($11 round trip).

Ferry Parking

The ferry left a bit late and arrived at Friday Harbor in just over an hour. I spent the entire ride playing Dutch Blitz with my fellow classmates. I didn’t win.

Dutch Blitz winnner

Friday Harbor is the port town on San Juan Island, the second largest and most populated of the group of San Juan islands. It’s a popular tourist destination and a great place to go for an afternoon of restaurants, souvenir shopping, ice cream, and some supreme boat-viewing. It’s also, if you know where to look, a great place to discover hard-to-find algae.

Our group boarded a research vessel from Friday Harbor Laboratories (a world renowned marine biology research station of the University of Washington) waiting for us at the marina and we took off. The boat was fairly large and I sat on a upper deck with a great view of the islands we passed. It was also fun to poke around inside the boat. I liked the beds that they crammed into one tiny room and the stools that swung out from beneath the table.

Your bunk at sea

We passed another island called Canoe Island where the Canoe Island French Camp is located. Apparently there’s an immersion French experience there where nothing but French is spoken. There’s also a really cool clock. It made me miss France.

Our purpose for being on the research vessel was to do a dredge for algae that we maybe hadn’t seen before. A dredge is basically a bucket with a rope bottom at the end of a cable that we drag behind the boat as we pass Canoe Island. It scrapes everything off the rocks and out of the mud about fifty feet under the sea. After this has been going on for 10 minutes or so, we bring it back up and dump it out into a metal table on the boat to see what we’ve found.

Spoils of the dredge

Sorting through the mud, decorator crabs, and giant red urchins, we find algae that we haven’t seen in the intertidal zone or in other places and put it in some saltwater so we can bring it back to our classroom and press it for our collections. We love algae. We’re a bunch of algae nerds. You’d be amazed to see the exquisite algae we pulled out of that mud.

When we left the boat after the dredge, a few of us poked around on one of the docks. Stretching ourselves out on our stomachs and looking over the side into the water beneath (that really hurts after awhile), we found some types of algae that are usually difficult to find because they can’t live in the intertidal zone. These algae, however, are always submerged because they rise and fall in the water with the dock. I guess I just told you where to find the “hard-to-find” algae.

The next item on the agenda was a walk around town. Some of my classmates went to Friday’s Crabhouse for some burgers and fries.

One of my classmates takes a GIANT bite from a Friday's Crabhouse burger

I, on the other hand, went for some ice cream at the place I traditionally always get it when I go to this town. It’s the place right by the ferry. You walk through in the line that perpetually fills the small shop, picking your flavors as you go. $4.00 later I was holding a cup with a scoop of black cherry and a scoop of huckleberry. They were delicious, but not as delicious as I’d hoped. That was probably due to the fact that I didn’t have chocolate ice cream. I’m testing a theory that I’m allergic to chocolate and the testing period is not over yet… Still, I would recommend that you try some ice cream from this place. It is delicious. Another option would be a shop on 1st street which advertises homemade ice cream containing zero hormones. If you’re going to eat ice cream at all, that would probably be the better choice.

One of my classmates posited this question to me: “Does Friday Harbor have its own kind of character or does it lose its life when the last ferry leaves and all the tourists have disappeared?” I’d like to stay a night and find out.

Hike up Sauk Mountain, Northwestern Washington

Twenty-seven switchbacks, a 1040 ft. elevation gain, and 2.1 miles and… I was on top of Sauk Mountain taking in one of the most breathtaking 360 degree view I have ever been privileged enough to see!

Hold on a minute. Back right up. Before we get to the good stuff, we have to talk about the getting-there part, which was excruciating! It was hot, for one thing. The never-ending switchbacks had me facing the sun first on the right side of my face… then on the left side of my face… then on the right… then on the left, right, left, right, left… I could feel my skin scorching (sorry, mom, I forgot my sunscreen). The only thing that kept me going was the counting the switchbacks to twenty-seven… that and the line of people backed up behind me as far as the eye could see! The “green meadow” I was told we would be hiking up is-firstly-more like a green vertical wall and-secondly-almost as tall as me in some places, which makes it scratchy and liable to hit you in the head. It’s actually full of wildflowers, though, in all colors imaginable, which makes the scratchy, hitting part completely manageable. Unfortunately I didn’t take as much time as I’d have liked to actually look at the flowers- partly because if I stopped I’d, well, I’d probably never get going again and secondly because every time I glanced toward the downward side of the mountain a wave of dizziness would come over me and I would nearly lose my footing, toppling into the abyss of “green meadow”. I just kept going. There are some, er, shortcuts up the mountain (the operative word being up- straight up). I tried a couple of these and, yes, it did put me ahead of that aforementioned never-ending line of hikers, but it also wore me out considerably. I didn’t try many of those. Besides, shortcuts cause erosion.

Ok, so the good news is that once you get through with those grueling twenty-seven switchbacks, the worst is behind you! In my case, I was then on the eastern side of the mountain and able to find a little protection from the sun, for which my face thanked me. There are also likely to be some wonderful patches of snow! These are great for both cooling off and ambushing unsuspecting hikers, preferably in that order. If you pay attention, you may see a few marmots out sunning themselves. Looking to your right, you will see Sauk Lake 1000 feet down below. It is a 1.5 mile hike from here (a trail veers off to the right, apparently). Now the hike is easy except for one very short steep part which takes you back around the other side and up to the summit where you can see a few remains of the fire tower that used to perch there. Workers used to live in the tower until about 1981. I’ll admit that I kind of wish for a job like that! The view here is breathtaking. Stand on the highest point and turn in a circle. Facing north you can see Mt. Baker and Shuksan, and facing south you may behold Glacier Peak, Pugh, Whitehorse and White Chuck mountains. If the day is clear enough, you may spot Mt. Rainier and the Puget Sound with the Olympic Mountains in the distance. There was some fog lingering when I was there, but the view only looked more mystical because of it.

Downsides to this majestic view? The bugs. There were a lot of flies and mosquitoes. Just keep moving, though, and they might not be so bad. It might be fun to hike this in the cool of the day or try it in the fall. It’s a great place to bring your dog or out-of-town friends you’d like to impress.

Where is Sauk Mountain? From I-5 north of Mt. Vernon, WA, at exit 230 go 40 miles east on Hwy 20 (North Cascades Highway). 10 miles after Concrete and just before Rockport State Park, turn left onto Forest Road 1030 (also known as the Sauk Mountain Rd.). Follow this gravel road 8 (dusty, bumpy) miles to the trailhead parking lot. Once you reach the trailhead, you’ve already done a lot of the climbing thanks to your vehicle. There is a cute, A-frame style outhouse stocked with toilet paper. There’s no trash service, though, so plan to take your trash back down the mountain with you.

Where in the world am I?

Maybe someday I’ll get organized enough to write in this blog consistently. Man, this is really bad. I never even finished writing about Christmas vacation! I think I started some blogs but never finished them….

Anyway, that’s all old news now. So let’s talk about something timely. I’m living on the Puget Sound for the summer. Right on it. Yes, I am about the luckiest person in the world and I’m going to try to appreciate it as much as possible before the summer is over, which will unfortunately be in about 3 weeks….

Beautiful, isn't it? This is what I get to look at every day!

I live in a little cabin with one other student. We have a black and white cat. His name is Pleoh. I’m taking the last class of my life (at least I hope!): Phycology, the study of algae. I’m making beautiful algae presses for my collection, savory rosemary bread, and lasting memories. This beach is perhaps my favorite place on earth. I love the smell of the sea, the cool morning air, and the sound of the waves. Oh, may it never end.

This weekend I have reluctantly vacated my cabin dwelling to return home for a friend’s wedding. At 39 years of age, it is an exciting occasion for him. I’ve watched him in his valiant struggle to find the woman of his dreams and I could not be happier for him to have finally found someone as wonderful as she. I get to see my cat. And my roommates. My cat acts like she doesn’t care that I’m here, but I can see it in her face- she LOOOOOVES me! It’s so hot here. By the sea it’s a hot day if it gets above 80 degrees. So I’m hunkered down in my room with the drapes pulled attempting to keep from sweating…

I rented a car from Enterprise to drive down here. Wait, did I say car? I meant truck. I rented a truck. It’s all they had! The talked me into getting the insurance. I don’t know if it was worth it, but I was sure that as soon as I didn’t, I total the vehicle in a tragic accident and go deeply into debt paying for it. Not a pleasant thought. I got a very late start last night (another part of the Enterprise story) and got very sleepy about halfway here. I finally stopped at a rest stop and spent the night on the bench seat of my handy dandy truck. Despite my mother’s worst fears, I felt very safe. And I slept well.

This weekend I also have a job interview. Fingers are crossed. I really need the money.

I am planning to visit a ghost town -my last adventure passion- on the way back to the coast on Tuesday. That should be exciting so I will have to tell you about it. I want to find a buried treasure, but it’s probably only wishful thinking.

Sisterly Love- the joys and frustrations of sibling togetherness

At our best

It happens every time now. My sister and I get together and there is just not enough space to accommodate our respective kingdoms of power. We both get used to doing things our way, to having our subjects jump to do our bidding, and, most importantly, to have our own sacred space in which to conduct state business. I undoubtedly expected some conflict this Christmas, but I did not expect it to happen as soon as it did- the second we stepped through the door of my parents’ house. I was dirty from traveling 16 hours and, per habit, wanted to take a shower before going to bed. She was dead tired and equally grumpy that I would dare to shower before going to bed in the room that we must share. I wanted to turn on a fan for some ambient noise to camouflage my creeping-to-bed footsteps. She was freezing cold.

I think we both cried ourselves to sleep with the frustration of it all. Evidently, my dear sister did not sleep well because the next morning she was still furious with me, and as it’s not the sort of treatment I’m accustomed to upon waking, I ended up in tears again. This time I was only glad that my guy was there for comfort. He’s really good at drying my tears. Thus began our vacation.

My sibling and I could no doubt work out our differences if we: a) had more sympathy for the other’s point of view, b) could talk about it without the situation escalating, or c) had similar ideas about manners and modes of behavior. Since neither a nor b nor c seemed to be true this Christmas, our fights went virtually unresolved for days. I admit to tiptoeing around her the majority of the time, fearing her wrath and the horrible sense of personal failure that accompanied it. I’m sure she has her own story as well.

There were basically two sister bonding instances during those weeks. The first was the day before leaving for Missouri. We spent at least an hour conferencing on the best way to get rid of a strange sore on my leg. She spent the better part of an hour poking around on my hairy skin with a sterilized needle. I’ll spare you all the gory details of blood and such, but I’m pretty sure it counted as sisterly love. Things were good between us for at least 24 subsequent hours.

The second bonding instance occurred in Missouri. It was a late-night conversation after we had both had naps too late in the day to be sleepy at the right time. Snug in the rather small bed that we had to share, we covered all sorts of topics- from childhood trauma to life as we know it. I learned things about her that I’m pretty sure I had never known before. Both of us happy the next day, I imagine that the honeymoon could have lasted at least 48 hours if I hadn’t committed the unpardonable sin against my sister by almost falling asleep in church…..

To Misery or Missouri?

Sardines are lucky. I was jealous of sardines. Sardines were packed in liquid so that, unlike me, they could slip around a bit. Five people. In one car. For 14 hours. Our annual trip to Missouri is never what I would call a pleasant experience, lengthy car rides not being my favorite mode of travel, but this one took the cake. Add one more person to our party and BAM! I was sitting in the middle in the back, with one foot on either side of that inevitable hump between the seats (As an aside, does anyone actually know why that hump is there? Is there a valid purpose for it, or is it put there just to make the middle-seat rider especially uncomfortable and serve as a constant reminder that they are, in fact, sitting in a middle seat?) We not only had ourselves packed into the front and back seats but, because the trunk was crammed with suitcases and bags and packages and who-knows-what, we had computer bags and backpacks and pillows and food bags packed around our heads and feet. If we had a wreck, only the driver would have moved. The rest of us would have melded into the luggage and metal and whatever tree we hit to become a sort of instant spectacle: travelers in amber.

My dad’s feet were cold. The entire trip. Constant calls from him to “turn up the heat!” left the rest of us feeling as if we were stuffed into a pressure cooker. I’m giving that man some wool socks.

My grandma, aunt and uncle, great aunt and uncle, and at least four cousins live in Missouri, making it a traditional gathering place for Christmas celebrations. Before my grandpa died, he and Grandma lived in a huge old house that had been standing in its spot for more than a hundred years. It had seen World War II soldiers bunking under its eaves as well as it had seen babies bouncing down its curving staircase. For years I had strange and fantastical dreams about that house, with its mysterious attic rooms and shaky narrow walk areas by the second-story windows. I actually put my foot through the upstairs floor once, and it lent an aura of danger to the entire experience. After that it was understood that some areas just weren’t safe to walk on. I would dream that behind the shady doors were more and more flights of stairs that led up and up in never-ending levels to curving passageways and hidden treasures.

Post-Grandpa, Grandma sold their antique business and moved from the big old house into a tiny apartment. Now when we visit Missouri we stay with my dad’s brother and his family in the house they built out in the middle of nowhere by a small lake. It just isn’t the same. Still, it’s great to spend time with family, especially if the other cousins show up. And then there’s always Grandma’s pumpkin pie, to which no other pie can compare.

This year, however, I knew that the cousins who lived in non-Missouri places would not be there. Even worse, Grandma was in a nursing home and would not be making any pumpkin pie. It would have been helpful to have pumpkin pie to look forward to during 14 hours in a middle seat. To make up for the pie, and to appropriately dull my senses, I took a nausea pill supplied by my sister (who should really look into drug dealing as a career) and promptly zonked out for pretty much the entire trip. Much to my annoyance, we took frequent bathroom breaks and food stops. I just wanted to sleep undisturbed for 14 hours. The drug kept me asleep enough to avoid becoming as completely tired of the drive as my travel companions, who were battling the rain that slowed us down considerably. Toward the very end of the trip, I woke up and began to watch Pride and Prejudice. “Why have I never seen this incredible movie before?!” I thought. And then, finally, we were there.

Not a City Girl

I drove my lovely man friend to the airport yesterday. Today I am barely alive. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t had to get up at 6am. No, actually even that wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t gone to bed at an unmentionable time the night before. But what do you expect when you go on a carriage ride and a train ride and open presents and look at pictures and make hot chocolate from truffles and talk about everything- all in one night?! Opening presents was great fun and very lucrative for several members of my family, including me with a brand new (and badly needed) laptop from my dear dad!!! So exciting! Other big-news items were a GPS for my dad (cleverly wrapped so he had no idea it was in there) and a sewing machine for my mom.

So as it turned out, I got about 3 hours of sleep and then drove 3 hours to the Dallas airport. He nodded off while I fought sleep and a growing panic as I saw the gas gauge drop at least twice the normal rate. Would have been nice to know that the gas gauge has some serious malfunctions. Would have been nice to be able to practice unlocking the gas cap under conditions not hampered by time or finger-freezing temperatures and winds. We can’t always have our way. Thankfully (and shockingly), we found the airport without complications. There was a sad goodbye. Nine days is just too long to go without seeing someone you enjoy that much, not to mention the fact that he had been my source of sanity at home.

I was exhausted, but nevertheless I set off in search of friends in the area, friends I hadn’t seen in years. I confidently pulled out my Google Map of the route from the airport to the first friend’s house. …It was for the wrong airport. Bummer! Now I would have to wheedle my way through Dallas trying to reach Ft. Worth so I could reconnect with my map and it’s beautiful directions. It took hours. Ok, so it was only 2 hours, but still it took TWO HOURS for me to get from Dallas to Ft. Worth to a region I THOUGHT was close to my friend’s house. When I finally wearily stopped at a Taco Bell to ask for directions and a burrito, I only got a laugh. Apparently I was so far away from the street I was inquiring about that it was funny. Giving up for the time being, I crawled into the back seat of the car and fell asleep. Two or three hours later…

I woke up to the sound of boisterous Taco Bell patrons. Do burritos really give people that much energy?! Calling my friend to confirm her presence at home, I started off again on my search. Wow, I had been far away! After another hour (and many stops and turn-arounds and puzzled faces and frustrated words), I finally found my destination. Chatter, gossip, catching up- it was wonderful! I had been a full four years since I had seen the girl who’d been one of my closest friends through high school and the first part of college and it was magnificent to see her again! Guess what she had done since I’d seen her last: a) gotten married, b) moved three times, c) had a baby, or d) all of the above?! ALL OF THE ABOVE! Thankfully, her moves had finally brought her back to Texas where I could see her again. I felt so honored to meet her beautiful baby and friendly husband. And so much better now that I had reconnected to a friend that I never want to lose.

I next had dinner with a friend I had gone to school with, oh, maybe six years ago, but had never really gotten to know. We had some wonderful vegan food before running around the frigid innards of Ft. Worth, bumping into female Santa Claus and reading random children’s books. It was a relief to have someone else drive me around. Getting lost is only fun for awhile. I tried to fool him, but I think he could tell that my energy was running low at that point (ok, I really didn’t try to pretend at all- oops!). After he dropped me off I went back and had another chat with the first friend (an hour before just wasn’t enough in which to fit two people’s last four years!).

At the last minute, I decided to drive down to Keene, another hour out of my way, to spend just a few minutes with a couple of friends whom I hadn’t seen since last Christmas. It was pretty late by the time I left Ft. Worth, but I knew that if I didn’t go I wouldn’t see them again until next Christmas and would probably regret missing my chance. I mean, sometimes people die. It’s morose but true and I don’t want to be haunted by the things I didn’t do when they were alive. Not that I thought they were going to die. Not that I thought about that at all, if we’re being honest. Truthfully, I think I just wanted to make the most out of my trip. I figured I might as well push to my limit. So I took off.

Miraculously, I got to Keene without getting lost (not counting the trouble I had getting out of Ft. Worth…)
Unfortunately, the directions I’d been given were missing at least three steps, so finding them once I was IN Keene was not so simple. Envy of my dad with his new GPS was growing. I spent only an hour with them, but it was a wonderful hour! Those people make me laugh so much. And they’re always on my side- how perfect! I was completely stressed over my family’s annoyance that I hadn’t come home early, but their hilarity relieved the tension for me. He is actually my sister’s ex-boyfriend and someone that I basically grew up with- have known him since I was fifteen. He’s been married now for three years and his wife is marvelous. I enjoy her more every time I see her. Their silliness (and a high-jumping dog) was the perfect ending to my hectic but wonderful day.

Oh, but it wasn’t over yet! I still had a three and a half hour drive home, which I started at 11PM. For a few hours, I was doing just fine- thinking about life, listening to Christmas music, talking out loud to myself. About an hour and a half before I got home, I started to get sleepy. I then embarked on a repertoire of stay-awake techniques that would surely impress the most creative trucker: talking on the phone, turning up the music, blasting the heat, blasting the air, pinching myself, slapping myself, country music, Spanish music, road rage, eating, drinking (juice, that is), screaming, singing, changing lanes, trying accents, car dancing…..

I finally made it home. It was so exciting for me to note that although I had driven from Jefferson to Dallas, to Ft. Worth, to Keene, to Jefferson, and gotten lost numerous times, making a total of 10 driving hours for the day, I had only spent about $35 on gas! I felt kind of like an adventurer who had conquered great things and made it home with virtually no losses. Not unlike the time I was lost hiking in the wilderness for hours in the total darkness without a flashlight…. heh… but that’s another story.

Bringing Home the (Ex)Boyfriend

The home visit. It tends to be kind of a big deal, even when you’re firmly entrenched in a solid relationship and ready to make big life decisions. When the visitee and you have a sort of ambiguous relationship status, it’s hard to know whether it’s a bigger deal (like some sort of deciding factor) or not that big of a deal at all (just like bringing a friend over). It was only the second time I had ever had a man accompany me to my parents’ home, the first time being about 7 years ago with my first college boyfriend. That one had mixed results and I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect this time.

I’d been worried that he and I would feel awkward putting ourselves into a family visit situation when even we weren’t sure what was going on between us and that it would be really stressful for us both, but I needn’t have had such thoughts. We didn’t feel awkward at all. In fact, we felt better than ever and had an amazing time together just being ourselves. He got to see all the atrocious pictures of me wearing pink shirts and purple corduroys with Velcro shoes and orange laces. We found a terrified armadillo by the creek in the woods. He met my maternal grandparents and took the time to talk with them. I was sad that he couldn’t stay longer.

Group Picture

The only negative really was the consternation of some people who didn’t realize it would LOOK like we were any old regular dating couple and felt that they had been lied to when I’d said “I’m not sure how I feel”. Truthfully, the dynamics between my manly man and I had been so constantly evolving that it was difficult for me to remember what and at what points I had or had not given family and friends an accurate picture of the situation. I guess that even if I was wavering inside, it would have been beneficial to give people an accurate view of what to expect. Those follies aside, it was all a smashing success.

After Church

With some guys, you might worry that they’ll be bored in a small town or find your family frustrating and strange, but he’s not one of those guys. I was completely relaxed, knowing that he would be able to enjoy himself even if conditions weren’t ideal (i.e. it had started to rain, we were running late, other people were spazzing out, and he forgot to bring a belt). I think that because of his relaxed and laid-back attitude, I actually felt more peaceful myself during the days that he was there.

Break for Freedom

It was the big day and flying to Texas was the main item on the agenda. We meant to leave at 8am, but somehow it was 8:45 before we actually slid down the snow-packed street leading to the highway. FREEDOM! I was thrilled to be leaving the confines of my routine and headed out for one glorious vacation. Those thoughts were quickly replaced, however, by thoughts of time and how we might not have enough of it to get to the airport. Judging by the road we left town on, weather conditions were not going to support hurry. Much to my relief, the highway was mostly clear and continued to be so until no traces of winter white could be seen.

After about an hour, we suddenly realized that, because of the nature of our tickets, we could have just as easily flown out of Spokane instead of Seattle, saving us 2.5 hours of driving both ways. Argh! How stupid. We almost changed plans and headed to Spokane after all, but decided to stick with the original plan. Relegating myself to the long drive, I drifted off to sleep.

Waking momentarily, I glanced up and saw nothing but swirling white all around our car! That and a driver concentrating very intensely on the road. “It’s a blizzard!” he exclaimed, rather excitedly. More than anything else, this would be the kind of news to wake me up properly, but I must have been truly exhausted because after a mumbled “Oh wow” I promptly went back to sleeping. I obviously trusted him completely. Blizzard or no blizzard, sleep took priority.

Blizzard conditions lasted through my nap and I awoke again to a white world of uncleared snow, cars in the ditch, creeping trucks, and lowered speed limits. I was a little worried about getting there again, but it looked like we were still making good time, with my travel companion driving as fast as he safely could (and maybe a tad faster, the daredevil). It felt as if the car was constantly in a slide, though, so I opted to look at the sky instead of the road just to avoid panic. I called my mom to ask her to pray for our safety and timely arrival. I also tried calling my sister as I knew that she and her boyfriend would be traveling a little ahead of us to the airport and may be able to give us an idea of what lay ahead, but was unable to reach them.

About the time we reached the pass, three snowplows appeared ahead, going veeeerrrry slooooooow. Uh-oh. We were creeping along at 20mph and the clock was ticking. A line of vehicles piled up behind us. I guess we should have been grateful for the semi-clear wake they left, but we just impatiently wanted to pass them up and get on our way. Thankfully, we were eventually able to pass one, then two, then all three snowplows. Of course, then the road was worse with big ruts that kept throwing the car around. I’m lucky though that I was with a born-and-raised north Idaho boy. He did an excellent job manhandling that snow and we picked up the pace again. I finally got a hold of my sister and she told us that after the pass the snow would soon turn to rain and then, once we got to Seattle, it would be clear. “Yeah right!” I thought, “There’s no way this can completely clear up!” Soon, however, the snow became rain and, as we neared Seattle, we could see blue sky ahead.

We were nearing the city and had enough time, so I began to relax. My ex-boyfriend (I don’t really want to keep referring to him that way but I’m doing it for the sake of anonymity). Anyway, he has always told me that he thinks you can learn a lot about a person and how you interact with them by traveling together. For all the years we’ve known each other, we haven’t actually done that much traveling together, aside from the occasional local trip and a few excursions to Canada. Because of this, he was really curious to see how things would go this Christmas. I actually was quite sure that I wouldn’t learn a lot that was new. I was wrong. Apparently, I spaz out when traveling and he stays perfectly calm. When we took a highway he wasn’t quite sure was right for getting to the airport, I began to freak out a bit and wonder why we hadn’t found out for sure how to get there ahead of time. When he stopped for directions (yes, some men do ask), I sat in the car, nervous about how long he was taking. “Yep, it’s the right way!” he said upon returning and I felt better…. Until I started to think about parking and how we might have to park and take a shuttle and how much time would that take?!? Mr. Calm might have had similar thoughts, but he didn’t voice his panic and somehow it made me feel that he didn’t realize the graveness of this situation. The entire world could cave in!

We arrived at the airport in plenty of time, but (per my direction) promptly headed into the wrong parking area ($26/day), asked about cheaper parking, and windingly made our way back out to search for such. After a failed attempt to smoothly choose one of the first options we saw, he decided to get out and walk around to ask. What?! Walk?! There was no time for that! But I patiently sat (fuming) while he parking a million miles from the front door and got out.

Our plane left at 3:45PM and I knew that we had to check our luggage at least 45 minutes before that. Angry that we were cutting it so close, I sternly told God that I wanted to be at the airport by 2:45. It was a little after 2:30. I wasn’t sure about demanding things like that from God, but in my defense I was really worried. He returned back to the car having decided on a place to park for $9 a day, so after moving to some back lot, we lugged our suitcases down to the front. “How often does the shuttle leave?” I quizzed my trusty companion.

“Whenever we’re ready” he replied, and I began to feel better. He, meanwhile, was chuckling at my anxiety. He must have thought it greatly entertaining to see me all atwitter with worry. As we pulled into the airport (at 2:40), he looked at me with amusement, “Feel better now?” He said he knew all along that we were going to get there on time and hadn’t been worried at all. What?! Why am I the one freaking out?!

After checking luggage, making it through security (my belt didn’t set off the buzzer- yay!- but taking off my tall boots and putting them in the little bucket was kind of a pain), and finding our gate, I began to relax. Why was I even worried? Obviously, I stressed for nothing, but I guess I just wanted this trip to go smoothly. He and I laughed about my uptightness as opposed to his calm and happily chatted about how wonderful it was that we were headed to Texas together. That is, until we hit our next snag… My ticket was technically a companion ticket, which meant that I was standby status…. And the flight was FULL! Apparently, at least ten people had decided last minute to also fly from Seattle to Albuquerque to Dallas. Not only that, but there were about 5 other people also waiting for standby spots. It was not looking good! I began to despair once again. Pessimist that I was that day, I said “See, I knew something was going to go wrong with this trip!”

My traveling guru, true to nature, was thinking about food at a time like this. It was probably good that he stuffed that extra large (and really delicious) burrito down me because I did feel better after eating it. It is just like him to pay attention our basic needs while I’m worrying about other things like “AM I GOING TO MAKE IT ON THE FLIGHT?!” We sat and made a plan. If I didn’t get on the plane, he wouldn’t either (his ticket was not standby), and we would wait for tomorrow and both get on another flight. Because we then wouldn’t be in Dallas that night when my parents came to pick us up, we would rent a car and drive to Jefferson the next afternoon. The plan was good, but I still preferred the original.

As the time to fly came closer (and the flight was delayed) we hung around the desk hoping for one tiny little “me” spot. Everyone had boarded. I had called my mom by this time and told her the latest bad news “Please pray that I make it on!”

And then. The blessed words: “Linda Troyer!” (They had written my name down wrong) I looked at my friend in amazement “Really?! Did they really just call my name?”

“Yep, you’re on!”

I fairly danced down the tunnel and into the plane, “I can’t believe it! I actually got on!”

“I knew you would. I wasn’t worried.” What?

I called my mom and excitedly told her. “Oh, really?!” she was happy, “ Good! We just prayed for you, like 2 minutes ago.”

“Mama! That’s just the time they called my name!” Sometimes I wonder at my lack of ability to trust in God. Maybe I can learn a little bit from my friend’s calm willingness to just take what comes and “go with it” when things don’t go exactly according to plan. I could also learn from the number of times God has answered my prayers, even the “demanding” ones.

Two flights later we were in Dallas being greeted by my parents, sister and sister’s boyfriend. They were all a little agitated already from getting lost finding that airport we flew into and the apparently intolerable sound of the windshield wiper scraping the entire time. A suggestion of things to come? I didn’t care. My friend and I were happier than ever and ready to enjoy a wonderful weekend in Texas.

After arriving in Texas, enjoying a delicious 1:00am breakfast...

Love for Travel, or Travel for Love?

I’m excited about my entire Christmas holiday.  At first, I was a bit aprehensive.  My ex-boyfriend is coming to my parents’ house with me for five days and I was worried that people wouldn’t understand what was going on and that it would be awkward for me, him, or those unknowing somebodies.  Now I’m just sad he’s not staying longer.  I haven’t brought a friend home for years.  It’s exciting!  Anyway, I’m toying with the idea of giving you some background information here.  I usually never include material regarding my love life in this blog, but sometimes I wonder if that’s a mistake.  It is, after all, the most noteworthy aspect of my life in some respects.

I shared some of my thoughts on heartbreak recently with my friend Midori, and she put it her dating advice blog. I think love and travel will always go together in a way. Whether it’s the brief encounter with an exotic stranger or the poignant correspondence with a love you pine for at home, even those who travel to escape love cannot really do so.

For those of you who read my Poland blog, what you didn’t know was that I left out a long and dramatic love affair- so long, in fact, that it far outlasted the span of my year in Poland. I think it has lasted for longer than either of us had originally imagined. While I was there in the land of cold sea breezes and cauliflower soup, I resumed conversations with the boyfriend I had left behind when I graduated from college and fled North America. The lengthy late-night/early-morning international phone calls rekindled a romance (had it ever really died?) and by February I knew that I was really in love. I dreamed of the day when we’d be face to face and I could tell him how I felt. Two months before I was set to return home and after one of the most romantic gestures I had ever received, we were once again a couple and I knew that he was in love too. Happily. …Or so I thought.. until two weeks later when I got that “we need to talk” phone call and it was suddenly and agonizingly over. He was simply driven by inexperience and fear at that point, but I couldn’t understand and it made the last few weeks in Poland extremely difficult. Having a broken heart and in the comfort and familiarity of home is nothing to having it ripped out in a foreign and largely unfamiliar land. A part of me wanted to stay, though, as I wasn’t returning home to the happily-ever-after that I had envisioned, but instead to a cold and uncertain reality. It’s impossible to describe the many ways in which this situation affected my year abroad. Or the ways in which it has shaped my life since then. Love has such an impact on every aspect our lives, not the least of which are our decisions to travel. I have friends whose travel is actually directly propelled by the need to escape love (or the loss of it, rather).

Through all of the drama of getting together and breaking up, dating other people, and living on different continents, this college boyfriend and I have a friendship that has triumphed and come out stronger than ever before. About a year ago we broke up for the last time and I finally decided that it was time for me to go on with my life, to stop opening myself to the pain that our relationship kept inevitably causing me. After three years, he just couldn’t seem to figure out what he really wanted and I thought it cruel to allow myself to wait any longer. It was no big surprise, however, that he remained one of my closest friends. We have a friendship that defies all the norms, all the expectations. That is probably why when he told me this fall that he not only was still in love with me, but was ready to offer me his heart without fear, I had to carefully consider him once again.

This Christmas is partly an attempt to redo a bit of the past, to do some of the things we wish we’d done then. And it’s partly a chance to reconsider the decisions I thought I’d set in concrete. They say that you learn so much about a person when you travel with them. if you knew just how strong a bond he and I share, you’d understand my hesitance to throw it all away- especially when he’s doing everything right, every single little thing…