July 1: Cardinal Cap Hat

When JT was a little boy, he called his baseball cap his “ball cap hat.” The phrase stuck with me and though I rarely say it out loud, when I see him in a baseball cap, I think of it.  He remains a fan of hats and wears any number of them throughout the year.  For me, baseball caps spell fun and I’ve a new ball cap hat myself, one I acquired with Summer adventures in mind. 

My first trip of the Summer is tomorrow; I’m headed West to see family and friends.  I’ll wear my new ball cap hat and think of my Dad when I do.  That’s happy!

Traveller’s Lament

I have written before about my increasing horror of the simple freedoms we feel inspired to give up in the name of elusive safety.  From metal detectors in shopping malls and schools to taking our shoes off at airport security, I am annoyed at these things that we seem to assume we must do.  I do understand the importance of safety and security.  But I worry at the steady way in which we give up liberty for the promise of a safety which seems elusive and, in a society so unwilling to regulate guns, probably imaginary.

Last week, T, JT, and I set off to Kansas City from Newark airport.  We got in the security line like willing sheep, surrounded by signs reminding us to take off our shoes, remove computers from our bags, and generally do as we were told.  Or else.

When we snaked our way through the line to the security conveyor belt, an actual person instructed us to empty our pockets, put everything (including computers) in our bags, and leave our shoes on  He spoke to us in the annoyed tone of man long accustomed to dealing with stupid people, an understandable attitude but a bit rough to take at 6:15 in the morning, especially when the place was filled with contradictory instructions.

JT, now a large 16 year old who needs to shave every day, toes the line in these situations, aware that teenaged boys look threatening to the world.  Sensing that I was about to speak my mind about the conflicting TSA messages, he shot me a warning look.  I stayed silent.  But honestly, I am a woman whose daily job involves moving 130 disorganized, loud, self-immersed middle schoolers.  I know better than to post instructions and then give conflicting orders.

Post and follow one set of instructions.  Require us to empty our pockets and walk through a metal detector; scan our carry-on bags.  Do it with an air of friendly efficiency.  

But we should still know that the promise of safety in this world is a guarantee that cannot be made.  I prefer liberty  because I fear our preoccupation with order and safety offers a false promise of security that leaves democracy deeply vulnerable.  So I endure airport security with no confidence that it actually makes us safe; such safety doesn’t exist.  And is sure as hell isn’t a function of shuffling people with shoes off, belts removed, or disordered instructions about why all of this matters.

Real Life Conversations with Border Guards: Canada edition

The backstory:  T and I talk our fair share of smack but when it all shakes down, we’re the well-behaved, law-abiding type.  Given the trouble my mother had at the gates of Mother Russia, we planned to behave ourselves when it came time to enter Canada last week.  Passports in hand, we approached the border patrol gate at Niagara Falls. 

Canadian Border Patrol:  Do you have any personal protection with you?

S & T:  No, ma’am.

It took all of my self control to avoid blurting out, “I may have a tampon or two in my bag.”  Something told me she wasn’t talking about that kind of personal protection and so I kept my big mouth shut.

There’s a first for everything.

Getting in to Mother Russia

Other than having our passports stamped as we entered Denmark from the Copenhagen airport and again as we departed the continent, we didn’t need to have our passports checked at any other ports on our trip.  But St. Petersberg, Russia, was different.

In fact, if passengers weren’t on tours booked by the cruise ship, we couldn’t enter Russia without seeking a visa several months in advance.  Large cruise ships packed with tourists dock a few miles from the center city along an expansive harbor.  Anywhere else in the world, the harbor might feature development for the wealthy.  Across the bay, there did seem to be expensive apartment buildings as well as new development.  

But the St. Petersberg harbor where cruise ships dock is lined with row after row of poorly maintained Soviet-style apartment housing in an unwelcoming shade of concrete grey, standing 20 and 30 stories with an appearance that warned they might collapse at any moment.  They looked unsafe on the outside, though they weren’t marked by graffiti and didn’t have the feel of extreme poverty so much as neglect.  There weren’t people milling about outside and the neighborhood seemed safe enough.  The view of the harbor were spectacular.

The Russian immigration and customs officials were just as one would expect: stern and not amused by us, asking questions in a careful English and not happy with our rapidly-spoken answers.  From the locked gates and exacting manner, you’d have thought that security was a great concern.  But while we waited for our document check, a young man opened the door to the the custom agent’s cage at our gate, stepped inside and gave her flowers and a kiss.  There was a broad smile for him before she turned our attention back to us with a stern face.

Returning to the ship was equally as confounding, with long lines and exacting review of our passports and the one-day visas they granted us before we were stamped back through the gates.

I had the feeling that having lived through centuries of oppressive rules and bureaucracy, the Russians delighted in showing the rest of the world what useless rules felt like.  Fair enough, Russia, but it doesn’t really help your cause.  And it costs you money to staff this operation, which doesn’t add a whit to your safety or your national treasury.

Your country, your rules and all that, but I found it mystifying and not a little weird.  

The Sassafras Approved Code of International Travel

Note:  When I am back home, I will have more pictures and reflections on my visits to Russia, Finland and Sweden.  Until then, I offer these thoughts. 

The cruise ship on which we are sailing has more than 3500 passengers, many from the United States but loads from different countries in Europe or Asia.  Though I wouldn’t say we are smashed together (the ship is enormous and the staterooms are really nicely laid out), there are times when we must be together —— waiting to get on and off the ship for tours on land, the tours we took in port cities, the elevators on board the ship, dining, sharing the common spaces.  Despite my cheerful optimism that people can be expected to be good, kind, and polite toward one another, the fact is that the herd isn’t particularly well-behaved.  Let the record reflect the fact that blame attaches to all cultures.  

To ease difficulties and in pursuit of international accord, I propose a code of rules for travel abroad.  They apply to any person not in his or her home country.  We can ask the UN to arbitrate disputes (this would be something really useful for them to do) and issue judgments.  Everyone would be required to agree to the rules before passing through customs in a foreign land.  We could print little cards with the rules in a variety of languages and all of us could carry them in our passports in case we need a reminder of how to behave.

1.  Form a line; wait in it.

Instead of jamming together for exits and elevators, how about we neatly form a line (first come, first served) and wait in it?  No pushing, no shoving, no chattering in your native tongue in an aggressive fashion.  Just get in line, shut your mouth,  and wait your turn.

It goes without saying that those who attempt to cut in line will be summarily dispatched.  Bet I shall say it anyway: those who attempt to cut in line will be summarily dispatched.

2.  Keep moving.

When you have successfully passed through an entrance or exit, do not stop and stand in front of the doorway.  Keep moving so that the line may continue its progress.

3.  Stay to the right.

In crowds (where crowd equals more than 1 person), stay to the right.  I realize this may cause confusion for those of us who drive to the left, but these are international rules and I am the creator…..stay to the right and keep moving.

4.  Government authorities, no matter how bureaucratically ridiculous, must be obeyed.

In Russia, where we had to pass through customs to exit and enter the ship, some of the ship’s passengers (mostly American, by the way) got very testy, thus slowing an already absurdly slow process.  Combined with our failure to simply wait in a fucking line, the Americans infuriated the Russians (hint: bad idea) and made life difficult for the rest of the passengers.  Sure, the Russian rules were ridiculous and unprofitable, but these are the people who lived through Stalin, the siege of Leningrad and run Siberian prison camps to this day.  For Pete’s sake, get in line, shut your mouth and follow their rules.  

Having done so successfully, you may then complain bitterly.

5.  Bathe daily; use deodorant.

I realize that the rest of the word finds the American preoccupation with washing to be strange.  Say what you will, world, but the honest truth is that the rest of y’all stink.  Badly.   You smell like the nasty corners of New York City and it is frankly unpleasant.   We can smell you everywhere and we judge harshly.

International rules demand that in locations with running water, you must wash with soap on a daily basis.  Wash your whole body.  Then apply deodorant.  This is not optional.

6.  Behave yourself on elevators.

Don’t shove.  Stay to the right and let passengers exit before you cram on board.  When you exit the elevator, keep moving and don’t block the way for others who wish to exit or enter.  Should the elevator be full, be gracious and understand that everyone on board is inconvenienced.  Those of you in the front of the elevator should aid the people in the back of the lift who wish to exit by stepping off yourself to let them out.  Those of you in the back of the elevator should announce your need to  exit when your stop arrives; don’t just push your way out.  And remember that this is one of those times when adherence to Rule #5 can really make a difference.

That’s it.  It’s a simple code of 6 easy-to-follow rules that will make life better for travelers everywhere.  Virtually every time that I was in a crowd of people, I found myself understanding just why it is that world wars occurred.  My simple code may not bring about world peace but surely it won’t damage the cause.

Real Life Conversations with Mom: International Politics edition

The backstory:  My extended family is headed to Europe to celebrate my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary and I was talking currency conversion with my mom.

Me:  I won’t get currency for all the places we visit, but I think that I will get some Euros for Germany and Estonia.

Mom:  They’ll be useful in Russia.

Me:  No, they won’t.

Mom:  Yes, they will.  I am pretty sure you can use Euros in Russia.

Me:  Well you sure as hell can’t use them in Ukraine.

Silence.  It would seem my mom isn’t fully informed about Vladimir Putin and his crap.  Internet, expect an international incident involving the Sassafras Family in the coming weeks.

Long Overdue Ketchup Innovation

For any number of reasons (today I will merely cite the 25% of the state who goes without healthcare, thanks to willful policies of the state legislature….it's the highest portion in the nation), I am not a fan of Texas.  On a normal day, I'd be happy as a pig in shit if we told Rick Perry to bag up his boots and carry his state to someone else's union.

Still, I did pause when I saw this ketchup packet during our recent layover in the Lonestar State.  It represents some handy ketchup innovation:  you can dip or squeeze.

I'm not saying it's enough to keep Texas in the union, but it does represent a point or two in the bonus column.

Real Life Observations of JT: We're Not in New Jersey Anymore edition

The backstory:  We were at DFW airport, taking the airport train from one terminal to another.  The ride took us around miles and miles of parking lots filled with cars glittering in the hot Texas sun.  JT watched for a while and then turned to me with an observation offered in a tone that was one part awe, two parts condemnation.

JT: Man, there are A LOT of pickup trucks in those parking lots, Mama.

Beware, middle America: the east coast judges you.

Modern Air Travel

Largely due to the fact that I am my father's daughter, I arrived at the airport at 6 am for my 9 am flight last week.  As it turned out, that was a damned good idea.  Newark Airport was awash with the crazy and the lines were epically long.

In typical New Jersey fashion, many people sought to receive special treatment and while that sort of line avoidance was largely unsuccessful (the airport staff were not to be trifled with), it was vastly entertaining to watch so many of my fellow citizens claim to be special.

The 90 minutes in various security lines also provided ample opportunity to ponder the things people wear to the airport.  I'm not a girl who expects to make the style sheet in the local paper, so I'm in no position to judge.  But judge I shall. 

1.  Sure, it's warm outside.  And yes, it will stay warm.  But that doesn't mean you should wear a strapless halter dress.  You look foolish and I can't have been the only person whole-heartedly wishing for that tote bag to exercise the call of gravity and give us all a 7 am show.

2.  The floor-length maxi dress is cute, I guess.  But based on the number of times the sweeping hemline got caught in the wheels of your rather sizable carry-on bag, I think we should conclude that it's not ideal for travel.

3.  While I applaud those who left the belt behind (one less thing to remove at the endless security checkpoint), may I note for the record that you should still ensure that your behind is covered?  No bootie crack, please.

4.  Hey you in the incredibly-short shorts……When your legs stick to the vinyl seats in the waiting lounge it will feel like a giant bandaid is stripping skin from the back of your thighs.  I almost wish that I could see the expression on your face when this happens.

5. And now I turn my attention to shoes.  We'll all be forced to take our shoes off at the x-ray machine (and that's just ridiculous, but I digress) and easily removed shoes are handy.  But the platform flip flops?  Neither handy nor useful.  Spiked mule heels with bandaids?  Those can't be comfy.  Unwillingness to re-tie your shoes? You will be sorry when you get to the moving sidewalk.

Six hours later we arrived in lovely, sunny Seattle and I was suddenly awash in a city of people in cargo pants and sensible shoes. I think that New Jersey and Washington are still on the same planet, but I can't be sure.

The Perils of Modern Air Travel

After 8 days in the land of Cousins & Grandparents, JT and I reluctantly returned to the real world yesterday. Our return to the land of Traffic & Humidity required two flights: one from Fresno, California to Denver, Colorado and a second from Denver to Newark, New Jersey.

All things considered, this is a pretty decent flight plan combination. And I much prefer a stop in Denver to a stop in Dallas. A flight across the country is bound to take some time, but, hey, that's the reality of traveling 2000 miles. On the other hand, being all Sunny-Eyed Optimist isn't any fun and I live in New Jersey now, so I have a Constitutional right to complain. And complaining about air travel, well, that's just downright American.

I shall offer my complaints in the form of a list. Let's call it Troubling Elements of the Trip Home. In no particular order, I offer my air travel grievances.

1. People who cannot wait in a queue. Why would anyone cut a line in order to be the first to confine themselves in a tiny little cabin? Who knows, but if you're getting on a plane, please be assured that someone will jump the line. This is particularly dangerous with a crowd of people heading to Jersey, but some jackass will always take the risk.

2. If you can't hop-to and move it with your Enormous-Wheeled-Carry-On, then I feel we should be able to cast you from the plane.

3. Eight days in the dessert that is my hometown left my entire person moisture-free. The trip home, in the company of eight hours of dry, pressurized air, further stripped my nasal membranes of whatever moisture remained. Who doesn't love a bloody nose in a confined space?

4. Explaining to the ipod listening-JT that Mama downloaded the grown-up version of Liz Phair's song "Supernova" and no, he can't sing that word out loud (to be fair, this error should be charged squarely to me, but still).

5. The sullen Slavic woman sitting next to me, inexplicably ordering endless cups of hot tea. In August. WTF?

6. Clothing fail. My skirt crept up my legs and past my waistband until it was choking me to death as the plane circled Newark.

7. Turbulence. Lots of it. I like a little rocking and rolling as much as the next girl, but I prefer it the old-fashioned way (get your mind out of the gutter...I mean a roller coaster). All that bumping and jostling in a plane is tiresome. Also: there is absolutely no call for screaming when the plane abruptly seems to drop. I know that people were startled. But let's be clear: Screaming DOES NOT HELP.

It's nice to be home again.

Cookie

Before we boarded the plane for the trip home to New Jersey, JT and I each selected a giant cookie. We planned to dole out the treat bit by bit; a bite as we crossed the Rockies; a chunk as we saw the Mississippi River in the distance below.

It was a BIG cookie. And when JT first began to eat his giant cookie, he looked at it in front of him and sang, "cookie, cookie, cookie, in its yummy, cookieity cookieness." I wouldn't say that it made the plane ride shorter, but it certainly made it a little more fun.

Land of Dull Buildings

Though there is plenty of beautiful architecture in Washington D.C., it's also true that sometimes the buildings miss the architectural mark and call out with a Soviet-styled elegance. Add to that the fact that some of the buildings are also engaged in some pretty dull-sounding business, and you have the makings for some smart-mouthed commentary.

Whatever goes on in the Frances Perkins Department of Labor building just can't be much fun. From the looks of it, this building has never cut loose on a Friday night. And the Bureau of Labor Statistics? A nice-looking building but .....yawn.

Anyone for the Association of Counties? What kind of Saturday night fun do the counties scare up? Not surprisingly, the National Association of Realtors, has a brand-spanking new building.........I trust they've got a fixed-rate mortgage.



And here is the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building, with JT standing in front. This building looks like the perfect place to press record and monitor the phone conversations spy of your fellow Americans. Anyone care for a heaping serving of denial of habeus corpus? Some waterboarding? This building can make that happen.

Thanks to my colleague sw, who got the ball rolling on this particular game.

Road Warriors

Taking a break from watching Harry Potter the boys discovered that nothing moves Friday afternoon traffic on I-95 like a little Lenny Kravitz.

I Highly Recommend That You Acquire a Cousin Donna

On Tuesday, after a 4 hour delay and then an extra long flight from Sacramento to Dallas (6 hours......including the stop in Albuquerque to re-fuel), we arrived in Dallas to find that our connection to Jersey was canceled. It was 9 pm and after hours of bad weather, Dallas was done flying for the day. Thousands of people were stuck in the airport. Hotel rooms and rental cars were gone. The airport was handing out cots to stranded travelers (the picture is some of those cots). It was chaotic when we got off the plane, with very little information about what was happening. We hit the bathrooms and I scored JT some food (his first meal since he'd inhaled a plate of French toast nearly 12 hours earlier).

Then, while JT ate his Happy Meal out of a paper bag, we got in a long line to see what our options were. I called my family to give them the details. Then I used my cell to call American Airlines. And as I was on hold with the airline, my phone rang. It was my mother's cousin Donna, who lives in Dallas, calling to offer a hot shower and a bed for the night. "Stay where you are," she instructed, "I'll come to the airport and find you."

I hadn't seen Donna since I was a little girl but we exchanged details ("I'm the tired woman in the red dress with the tanned little boy," I said) and find us she did. Then she waited with us in the endless line (providing much needed good humor and patience). Via phone, American had re-booked JT and I to leave Dallas for Newark on Thursday morning. The Wednesday flights were full and we could try to fly stand-by, but I had to see an actual agent to make that happen. The long-line was the only path to an agent.

As the line slowly moved forward, we chatted and waited. The American counter was closing at 1 am and I just made it to the counter at 12:55. The tired agent booked us for stand-by on a Wednesday morning flight (and that flight did bring us home) and then we took the 15-minute drive to Donna's house. There Donna and her husband Cliff had a cozy spare bed. After some much-needed rest and yummy blueberries and toast for breakfast, Cliff gave us a ride to the airport on Wednesday morning. "Let us know what happens," he said as we left the car, "you are welcome for another night." Now that's what I call hospitality.

It seems particularly fitting that after a vacation that mainly involved visiting his grandparents and playing with his cousins, it was grandma's cousin who came to our rescue. So I write in praise of cousins everywhere, and especially cousin Donna and her husband Cliff, who rescued us and kept us sane for one more day of travel. After Cliff dropped us off on Wednesday morning, JT said to me, "well, that was a life-saver." I couldn't agree more.

Reflections on Airport Security and the Perils of Modern Travel

It is an established fact that there is an inverse relationship between airport security and size of the city. The smaller the city, the more important the airport security flunkies imagine themselves. Here in Sacramento, California, a whole bunch of us stood gape-mouthed while the TSA "officials" practically strip-searched this quiet and accommodating elderly woman. And Bob at the metal detector took one look at my Jersey license and subjected me to the 3rd degree, beginning and ending with "why do you live in New Jersey?" and tempting me to say, "because in New Jersey we eat power-hungry punks like you for lunch."

We're at the gate now..........and may I also note that henceforth I shall demand to sit in the airport "No Tuna Sandwich" section. Who thinks that it is okay to eat tuna in public? FYI: It's not okay.

At Least We Have Some Toys

JT and I arrived at the Sacramento airport this morning at 7 am. Our flight was scheduled for 8:20 am........plenty of time. I knew there was trouble the moment we got in the very long line. Most of the flights were delayed and the airline was advising us to call and re-book as we waited in line to check our luggage. That level of efficiency was a tad disturbing but I know how to follow instructions and so I got out my phone. We're leaving California 5 hours late and will catch a later flight from Dallas to Newark. So instead of getting home to NJ at 9 pm tonight, we'll be home at midnight.

We got the Sassa-grandparents to return to the airport and take us out for pancakes. Now I am enjoying the free wi-fi while JT's army dudes stage a war on the table at the airport Starbucks. All in all, not so bad.

Love the Free Wifi

So JT and I had several hours to idle away the Seattle airport yesterday. And much to my dismay, I discovered that there was no free wifi at the airport. Great views of the city, tasty clam chowder, but no free wifi. What's that about, Microsoft Corporation?

The Left Coast Beckons

Early this morning JT and I will wing our way west to California for time at the pool with the cousins and general relaxation. He's excited. I'm exhausted and needing the break from single mama-hood that my family represents. Word on the street is that the Sassafras sister now has a wireless house (to go along with the solar power, I guess). No doubt I'll have some sassy comments about the marvel of air travel in 21st century America.

As my friend S would say, stay tuned........

Mama and Boy Adventure

Today, JT and I had a whole afternoon to see the sights. We set off for the Smithsonian Mall to see the Air and Space Museum and the new Native American museum. We saw lots of big scary rockets and an Imax movie about Mars. At the Native American museum we saw Indian dancers and a terrific movie about Indian life. JT was wide-eyed for much of our tour, very excited to see everything.

The last time I visited the Air and Space museum was over 15 years ago and I would never have imagined then that I would be back to share it with a little boy of my own. As we walked back down the mall, returning to our hotel as the sun set, we saw the lights over the Capital building and talked about the Washington Monument and why this city is a special place for Americans.

In my previous life, I looked forward to sharing this all with both Lisa and JT. But today I just felt sorry for her because she has chosen to miss out on sharing the world with JT. I wonder if she has any idea what she has lost.