An unexpected detour

So we were supposed to leave D's parents' place last Friday to visit my family in the Texas panhandle. Unfortunately, our travel plans were thwarted again (are we beginning to notice a pattern here?). What follows is an account of an odyssey that still boggles my mind. Normally, I wouldn't provide such a ridiculous blow-by-blow, but for the sake of illustrating how absurd the whole experience was, here's the tale. Feel free to skip down to the photo if you'd rather not hear about the journey.

Weather was the primary culprit this time -- not on our day of departure in question but in the days preceding it. Because of ice and fog, lots of planes were grounded, and the one that was intended to take us to Chicago for our connections to Dallas and then the panhandle never made it to our city. About an hour before we planned to head to the airport, American Airlines' automated system called us with the news that our 1 p.m. flight was a no-go.

Given D's success with the bus on his way down, we decided to cancel the tickets for the Chicago flight and hop the charter coach again to get back to O'Hare -- a four-hour ride, but one that would get us there in time to take a later flight to Dallas, with some hustling through security. We also got ourselves rebooked on Saturday's first flight out to the panhandle (the last plane for Friday evening that we were originally going to take would be long gone). Sounds good, right? At least, better than the new itinerary we were given by AA's automated system, which would get us to my parents' place late the next night.

Well, about two hours into our bus ride, the driver announced that our arrival at O'Hare would be delayed by 45 minutes. Normally, the bus line splits its passengers at a halfway point, transferring everyone going to Midway (Chicago's other major airport) to another coach. But because of the unusually high volume of passengers from all the canceled flights, the company was short on buses and ours would have to be rerouted to Midway and O'Hare -- which meant that we wouldn't be able to make our new flight to Dallas.

A quick call to AA revealed that there were no seats available on future Dallas flights until Saturday evening, which would mean getting to the panhandle another day late. But then, at the last minute, two slots opened up on an early morning flight, so we grabbed them and then found ourselves a hotel near the airport. Once we finally reached O'Hare, we got ourselves a good dinner, set our cell phone alarms, and promptly conked out.

One hour later: D's cell phone rings. Yep, our new new Dallas flight was canceled.

At this point, we realized that our chances of getting out of Chicago in time to spend any part of our vacation with my family were looking bad -- the AA agent D got connected to spent nearly an hour and a half searching for flights that would get us to the panhandle by Saturday, but the best he could come up with was a flight leaving Sunday for Indianapolis, connecting to a flight to Dallas, and finally getting us to my parents' place that evening. A quick peek at the weather forecast revealed an ice storm on its way to the Midwest for Sunday as well. Time to consider a new form of transportation? We thought so.

The pickings were slim, but we did find a car rental company with vehicles left (at a premium price, of course). So at 1:30 a.m., we made our reservation and finally had a guaranteed way to Texas. Because of the cost, it meant deciding to make the 1,050-mile drive all in one day, but it was a good thing we jumped on the option when we did. By 7 a.m., there was nothing available to rent within a five-mile radius of O'Hare.

Saturday was long, but we made good time, despite a tornado warning as we passed through St. Louis and torrential rains further south in Missouri. Here's a view of the Gateway Arch as we crossed the state line out of Illinois:


We reached my parents' place around midnight after 16 hours in a little red Prius we named Pepe. I don't think we really believed that we had made it until after the first full day of our stay -- what does it say about the state of the airline industry when you can drive a thousand miles in less time than you can fly the same distance?

The clincher: the flight we were booked on out of Indianapolis to Dallas ended up being delayed 11 hours, which would have forced us to miss our Sunday flight to the panhandle. I think we can say for certain now that the road trip was justified -- I just hope we won't be driving back to Seattle after this weekend!!! I'm fresh out of extended-travel stamina.

Chipping in

I have discovered a new skill I never knew I possessed.

Some backstory: As I wrote earlier, there was some serious precipitation heading our way when I checked the weather the night before the final I was supposed to give. So I wasn't sure when I would be leaving for D's parents' house. The skies were clear, though, on Friday morning, and the roads looked decent -- just some slush on the local streets and even bare concrete on the highway through town. So as soon as I got back from turning in my grades on campus that afternoon, I chucked everything I needed into my little suitcase and decided to head out in the last hour of daylight.

And then I discovered that my car was entombed in ice.

Yep, that wintry mix did fall Thursday evening, and it left at least half an inch of frozen stuff from hood to trunk on my poor little Honda. When I opened the door to the driver's seat, shards the size of dinner plates cracked off and clattered to the ground.

I decided in that instant that there was no way I was going to spend another night in my apartment, even if it meant having to take a sledgehammer to the mess in front of me, so I pulled out my scraper and started whacking away. While the defrosters were warming up the front and rear windshields, I took some good swings at the ice on the side windows. Anyone walking by would have seen a crazed-looking woman apparently hell-bent on beating her car to death -- that's how hard I had to hit the ice to make any progress. But once I got going, I was quite effective, if I say so myself. Total excavation time: 45 minutes.

The sun was completely gone by the time I got done, and I hate driving in the dark (not fun with an astigmatism). But because of the reflective snow along the sides of the interstate, it was actually much easier to see the road. The fringe benefits of winter weather! Who knew ...

I got to D's parents' house with no trouble. It was a good thing I left when I did too -- the next day, the snowstorm we were expecting arrived and the weather's been dicey ever since. We came prepared with warm clothing, so we were able to provide extra manpower for chipping ice off the front walk before the holiday party D's parents hosted last night (if you thought half an inch on one car was difficult, try more than two inches of hard-packed glaze over hundreds of square feet of cement). Quite the workout!

Today promises to be warmer (a good ten degrees above freezing, if you can believe it), so the winter wonderland we've been living in will melt quickly in the next few hours. Fortunately, D braved the sub-zero temperatures a few days ago to get some shots of the iced-over backyard and its wildlife with his dad's telephoto lens. Here are the results -- pretty magical, especially if you've never seen what an ice storm can do:








It is nearly time for lunch, and D is about to assemble a gingerbread cathedral, so I'm off to help. Pictures of that to come soon! Until then, safe travels and a lovely holiday to everyone.

Be careful what you wish for

About a week ago, D was commenting about how he missed snow and wanted some to make it feel more like Christmas was on its way (Seattle proper doesn't get much of the white stuff, if any, in the winter). Well, this morning, he kind of got his wish.

Actually, last weekend, he had a little taste of it -- just enough to give the trees a pretty dusting:


Fast-forward, though, to Wednesday night. A rather large weather system was predicted to dump about 10 inches of snow on the city by Thursday morning. Sweet, D thought, except for the fact that he was supposed to fly out Thursday afternoon. Hmmm.

So we hatched a plan. He'd get a ride to the airport in time for the first flight out to Chicago and try to go stand-by. His friend, who also had a flight scheduled for the afternoon, agreed to drive him. "You should just stick around and try to get out early," D told him. But his friend wasn't keen on the idea and went back home to sleep some more after dropping D off. D says the stars were still out, the sky perfectly clear, without a hint of any approaching weather.

A few hours later, his friend woke up to 6 inches of snow on the ground with more coming down without any sign of stopping. And the highways were closed.

Pan over on your imaginary map to the Midwest. At the moment, we're getting that fun phenomenon known as "wintry mix" -- sleet, snow, freezing rain -- which will glaze most of the area over the next 12 hours and make driving a big no-no. Flying too. D's connecting flight was already canceled hours before it was supposed to take off this evening. Fortunately, he managed to get a bus ticket to his final destination before the slippery stuff started accumulating, so he's safely at his parents' house now. Imagine, though, if he hadn't hopped that early flight ...

So the weather system that blanketed Washington and brought the first snowfall in 30 years to Las Vegas is scheduled to roll through the Midwest on Saturday. I'm now stuck deciding whether to brave iced-over roads tomorrow afternoon, once I turn in my grades, or to wait till Saturday to venture out in snow showers. Neither sounds good. Sunday has potential (still snowy, though less so), and Monday looks best (clear). But Monday's a loooooooooooooong way from this weekend.

I suppose more reading is in order ...

A fish out of water

Let's see. Graded all papers? Check. Finished writing final exam? Double check. Acquired test booklets for students? Check, check, check. What's left?

Absolutely nothing until Thursday, the day of the exam. I'm out of things to do -- for the next four days.

Okay, it's not really that bad. I have Christmas cards to write, packages to mail, friends to catch up with, books to devour, and, oh, a little thing called a thesis prospectus to consider working on, but even with all of this, my eyes are constantly roaming toward the clock. I can't wait to see D again. CANNOT WAIT. And the feeling is mutual -- it's been such a long semester of spreading visits out as much as we can that even as we've been talking on the phone in the last few days, we've been running out of things to say beyond, "Can next Saturday get here any sooner???"

Teaching was a really nice responsibility for the last three and a half months, and now that I'm no longer forced to keep my mind completely focused on the job, I have a four-year-old's attention span. Nothing is compelling enough to keep me occupied. I can't even pack yet because the majority of the things I plan to take with me have to be used. Well, I suppose I can put the last few Christmas gifts I've acquired with the stash in my closet so they'll be ready to go. The little cloisonné fish in the photo above is one of the items I brought back after Thanksgiving and will go to D's parents. We got one for ourselves as well -- each Christmas, we buy one new ornament for our tree to mark the year. The fish caught our eye because each row of scales is a separate piece, allowing it to flex as if it were actually swimming. Lots of fun.

All right, that's with the rest of the presents now. What next? D, stop laughing (I know you are). It's the Type A in me coming out again just like it did at the beginning of the summer. "Just enjoy the vacation," D kept telling me, "and stop trying to find things to do."

He's right. Even the books I've been reading have been books that I'm considering for my thesis bibliography. Time to find something completely unrelated. Yes.

Wine and tattoos

Yes, it's nearing the end of the semester at last, and we're all going a little stir-crazy here at Little U. on the Prairie. No, I didn't invest in a new form of self-expression while inebriated. But there is an explanation for the title above -- hey, where are you going? Hang on and hang in there! Man, I can tell some of you are as impatient as I am.

So, shortly before Thanksgiving, D told me that he'd dreamed that I'd gotten a tattoo. A strange dream, for sure, as I'm too chicken as it is to get my ears pierced, much less endure the pain of a tattoo needle. But we all have random dreams now and then, and I assumed this was just one of them for D.

Well, it turns out that D liked what he saw. When I asked him what I'd chosen for a tattoo, he couldn't quite explain it. "It's those things on the front of a violin," he said. "You had one on each side above each hip."

Ahhhh -- I was pretty sure I knew what he was talking about but I didn't know the specific name for what he was picturing either. So I consulted one of my sisters, who plays the violin. "They're called f-holes," she said. For illustrative purposes, she and her boyfriend took pictures of the ones on her instrument. The results were quite pretty (see above).

Now I'm thoroughly curious about what planted this idea in D's head, even if it was subliminal. Dreams are supposed to be a kind of playback for things your brain stores up over the course of the day -- at least, that's one theory I've heard a few times.

I'm also curious about why I have crazily intense dreams whenever I've had red wine. They started a few years ago and have been pretty consistent (I can tell since I rarely drink reds). I don't always remember what I dream about, but the dreams tend to leave me feeling less than rested because my brain feels so exhausted in the morning. And no, it's not a hangover -- I drink barely enough to make a mouse tipsy.

Yesterday, I hosted a wine and cheese night at my place for a few of the girls in my program, and since they favor reds, I picked one up -- a Montecillo Crianza Rioja that looked decent but still reasonably priced for grad students on a budget. It turned out to be delicious, going nicely with smoked Gouda and baked Brie (I made another of the latter since the one at Thanksgiving was such a success). The best pairing, though, was with the blue cheese I'd chosen, especially when the cheese was eaten with dried dates.

So what did I dream about? I'm not sure. During Thanksgiving break, however, I also had a little taste of red wine with dinner, and I woke up that night to D asking me what was wrong. Apparently, he'd witnessed me pulling back my arm and then giving the mattress a solid wallop with my fist!

If I did anything violent last night, I have no proof. But I did notice that a large number of things that I'd left at the foot of the bed (socks, a magazine, and an envelope with papers I need to read) were scattered on the floor this morning. Considering that I'm known among my former college roommates as the girl who could stack library books on her mattress without disturbing them in my sleep, this suggests something out of the ordinary.

Chouette!

I woke up to a little surprise today. French Fancy, a blogger in Brittany, kindly nominated me for a blog award (see her post here). I've never received one of these before -- what an unexpected and welcome nod of encouragement.

The really fun part is that now I get to put up some nominations (that's the way these things seem to work, according to what the conditions are for said award). I'm also asked to post the rules for accepting the award, which are as follows:

• Copy and paste these rules/instructions in your post.


• When you post about receiving this award, include who gave you the award and link back to his/her blog.


• Post five winners and link back to them as well.


• Post five of your addictions.


• Add the award image.


• Let your winners know you gave them this award by leaving comments on their blogs.

So, without further ado, here are my nominees.

• The Itty Bitty Kitty Committee, by Laurie Cinotto ~ One of my sisters introduced me to this darling site that covers the lives of foster kittens in Tacoma. I cannot wait to get back to Seattle for good -- D and I are hoping to adopt one (or two or three ...).


• Purring Prophecy, by Medieval Woman ~ While doing research on commuter relationships last summer, I came across this site by sheer chance. The author is, in her own words, "a medievalist beginning her first tenure-track position, working on her book, and commuting to see her long distance husband." She's also got a wicked sense of humor and manages to hang on to it through the travails of teaching.


• Cake Wrecks, by Jen ~ The name of this compendium says it all. A friend of mine who knew that I was doing research on footbinding for a Chinese history course last spring directed me to this blog for a look at a very relevant photo someone had sent in. Can you guess what the cake in the picture was made to resemble? I do have to say it was an excellent representation of the real thing, but whether or not it was in good taste -- sorry, I couldn't resist.


• Caramel Cook, by Brian Sharp ~ I found this blog when I was searching for a recipe for scones last winter. The food photography is wonderful, and the commentary is great for culinary inspiration.


• Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog, by -- well, that's a little more complicated. This site was originally by the esteemed author of The Canterbury Tales, but it seems he's been ousted from his role as head scribe. There's a new order handling things at the moment, but no matter what, it's a hilarious read, especially if you like deliberate anachronisms with your Middle English.

All right. On to the addictions ...

• Soup. Of almost any kind. It is really, really cold at Little U. on the Prairie in the winter (which sometimes lasts six months), and making a huge pot of soul-warming goodness always makes it more bearable. I got started on a soup-making kick last year thanks to a cookbook called Soup: A Way of Life by Barbara Kafka, which I picked up before moving from Texas. I also grew up savoring my mother's incredible homemade stocks, which kind of sealed my fate before I was old enough to boil water.


• Mountains. If you followed this blog especially during the past summer, you know this already. I discovered my natural habitat -- didn't know I had one -- in the Pacific Northwest, where the pines and the peaks they decorate make me happy. I haven't yet figured out why. Maybe it's the solitude, or maybe it's the smell of the air. In any case, I've told D that we're not moving once I get back because I don't think I could bear to leave.


• Books. This one probably goes without saying. D says I eat books, which is pretty accurate. I wouldn't feel right without some kind of personal reading in my life -- titles of my own interest, not those assigned for class (though sometimes those lead me to other books, which is totally fine). I'm currently collecting copies of my favorite children's books so that someday, I'll have a library all ready for our kids.


• Stationery. Beautiful pens, beautiful paper, the kinds of things that give you pleasure when you write. Even as a little girl, I was obsessed with writing (both penmanship and the creative act), and the sensuous trails of colored inks gliding from beneath the perfect nib onto the creamy surface of a fresh page of a journal were like catnip to me. Now, I do most of my writing electronically (I compose better that way), but when I'm grading and commenting on student papers, I always choose a pen that feels good to write with.


• D's hugs. This is the worst addiction because I can't get a fix on a regular basis! Now, I don't mean this in the "I can't help saying this because I'm in love with him" sense. I've had hugs from various friends, male and female, in my life, and even before D and I knew we were attracted to each other, his hugs far outranked any I'd ever experienced. Not like those airy, squeamish, not-really-touching-you hugs. His platonic hugs were warm and enveloping, gentle but firm. They were meant. His hugs now (not so platonic, obviously) are the same. Only now I get to ask for them and I don't have to let go.

I think that does it for today. Thank you again, French Fancy, for the award. This was fun.