Bienvenue à Montréal!

A trip out of the country would not be complete without some form of goof up.  Usually, it is someone else, but this time it was me!  I mis-took my husband's passport!

We arrived at the airport, ready to board.  Up since 4:45 a.m., and a little groggy, I reached into my purse to get my passport, and voila!   I have my husband's passport.  The kids looks at me with panic.  (My kids are adults, 24 and 26.)  I am not thinking clearly, so I tell them to go board.  I tell them I will catch up with them later.  Then, I stand at the counter, with the most patient, kind #Delta Airlines employee ever, @CaseyKeating.  He gets on the phone and tries his best to get my flights changed and still get me to Montreal the same day.  After 20 minutes, I have new flights, with only and additional $4.50!  Thank you Casey @TLH @Delta.

I have three and half hours to find my passport and return to the airport.  I drive home all flummoxed about by situation.  When I arrive, I begin looking in all the "safe" places that I put things.  I cannot understand this situation.  I am a creature of very organized disorganization.  My passport and my husband's are always in the same location.  The secret places to lock things up and protect from hurricanes are predefined.  This is highly unusual.  I go through every book on the bookshelf, every closet and every drawer.  Nothing.  I call my husband.  He assures me that he handed me both passports (they are usually locked somewhere else during storms.)  Racking my brain, I return to the kitchen counter for a sip of coffee. 

Standing in the kitchen getting ready to resign myself to the financial and fun loss, I stare at the small brown and black leather backpack that Morgan and I bought in Paris.  I had only checked the back zipper pocket.  Yes, indeed, this creature of habit put both passports in the bag, one in each pocket.  At the airport, I had failed to check my bag thoroughly.   And waisted, I mean wasted,  four hours in the process.

Good news is that the next plane was on time and after getting to spend four hours at #LaGuardia, I was on my way to Montreal.  The preparation for the trip included researching fellow #Tripadvisor folks and other top things to do sites.  Also, I had spent some time researching the bus from the airport that goes directly downtown.  For $10 Canadian dollars, you can ride the bus all the way downtown.  Cabs and limos are $40-$50 dollars, but they will carry three or four people.  If you only have two, then bus it.  My kids had already taken the bus and assured me that it was easy and safe.  Get off on Guy street my daughter advised.  She also told me guy is pronounced ghee in Canada.  Helpful to know.

They had already been to dinner when I arrived.  My son went off to visit a friend, so daughter and I walked the six blocks to the  @Provigo grocery store for nutrition for the evening.  By this time, it was close to ten p.m. and I was glad to get some warm soup.  Our Airbnb apartment is nicely situated and we had a stove.  Some chicken broth, vegetables and warm soup was on the way.  It was good to have something healthy after a day of traveling.  The warmth was even better.

My first impression of Montreal is the welcoming atmosphere.  Most shop attendants and transport people will ask if you speak French or English.  They easily switch to both.  They also recognize an American "Bon JouR" from their own, bonjour. I think it is the irrepressible desire to say the "r".   It is nice to be able to speak a few words to let them know that you are willing to try.  The other thing to note, is that no matter where daughter and I went, the city felt safe.  The people who ask for money, do so in a polite and distant way.  It is always hard to pass those less fortunate.  In Europe and in Canada, people tend to give food, rather than money.  Young people offer their chips or their half sandwich.  One man, who looked as if he too could use help, gave the person with the open hat, his transport ticket.  In many ways, I feel this is productive.  In Bordeaux, France, we saw people leave coffee, milk, bread and cheese next to sleeping homeless in the streets.  I thought that very kind.

The streets are fairly clean and in order.  The walk-able downtown is easy to traverse.  The cobblestone streets are charming, but careful footing for the weak ankled is advised.  The underground is fabulous during the rain.  More on that later.

Our first full day, we went to the Musée Art Contemporain, оr the MAC, to see the Leonard Cohen presentation.  For those of you who do not know him, his site is still active beyond his life.  Canadians love their own famous singer, poet, author and rebel.  I do too.

Our lovely Airbnb apartment is downtown and very close to transportation.  It doesn't feel quite so close in 21 degree weather with wind.  But, it felt just fine at 45 degree weather and sun.  Moments from the Boulevard René-Lévesque, we were close to grocery stores, restaurants and subways.

Our second day it rained.  So, to walk across the city, we enter the underground city of Montreal.  It is an incredible underground maze of food and shopping.  There are attractions, entertainment and people watching galore.  I cannot attest to the summer months, but the winter drives people underground where  it is warm and you can walk and shop or eat.  The underground  actually goes for many blocks and attaches to the subway.  It behooves one to understand the streets and the metro, or you will surely be turned around below earth.  However, you will be turned around with some of the best international shopping you have ever done.  Someone told us that the only underground shopping better than Montreal, is Atlanta.  Born in Atlanta, I have some innate affection for the city.  However, I have to say that underground Atlanta  is a place of transition.  And that Montreal surely has much more to offer in terms of a network.  If you were born to shop, this is your city.

My daughter and i moved to the usual tourist spots, seeing the Biodôme de Montréal with the frogs and more importantly the penguins.  It seemed odd walking into the first area and seeing an alligator as a display.  But, of course, we are from Florida, home of the alligator!  I asked my daughter to tell me the difference between an alligator and a crocodile.  She rolled her eyes and said, "Please!" Oy vey, those Florida girls know everything!

  As she entered the river fish display, I asked about a weird looking fish.  She says that it is a sturgeon.  I look at her with wonder.  How does she know this?  Then, I look with admiration.  Does it matter?  She does know it, and she is right!

Does anyone know what Brady 12 means?

We proceed to the next area, out of the river environment.  To my surprise, we see penguins.  Not just one, but four varieties of penguins in this habitat.  The penguins are very fun to watch and better than the internet.  I promise.  If you take your kid to see them, this is what will happen.

 Can you imagine anything cuter?  Does it matter that he slipped under the ropes to touch a penguin face?  This was so terribly fun and I vicariously wished him on, to laugh, to touch and go under every rope for the rest of his life!

I wish I could tell you that I was a rope ducker, but the truth is that my husband and daughter are the rope duckers.  I am the rope administrator.  Perhaps that is why only now, I take chances!

  For now, think of those ropes and the ones you can duck under! 

Of Eleventh Grade again

Not very often one gets to go back to high school in a good way.  I for one, hated high school.  I dropped out of at least three.  Was invited to not return to Clearwater Central Catholic School.  Probably best that we parted ways.

Fast forward 44 years.  I am at a business meeting in Phoenix.  I am meeting a woman that I have seen once in 30 years.  She was my disco buddy in the seventies.  She knew how to dance.  I knew how to hang around her.  She was all grace and style, I was all hang around her.  But, I had a car.  So a new friendship was born of admiration and motorization.  Two catholic gals on the town.

I can tell you what beautiful looks like to me, and it may not be what it looks like to you.  My friend Karisa had the coal black hair with curls of Sophia Loren and a shape like her as well.  She had her Spanish mother's eyes and her Italian father's verve.  She was talented in acting and in movement.  I was good at geometry and reading.

Our young relationship was shrouded in family controversies.  We retreated as all young teen do, into our teen world of music and sharing.  Then, she married and moved away.  I went to school, and school and school.

I remember her writing about a house and marriage.  I had no clue.  I was pursuing a Master Degree and working at the All Important Legislature of Florida.  We disconnected.

Then, I had a conference in Phoenix.  I called her and she made time for me.  She was as delightful and warming and fun as I had remembered.

This is not a poignant blog.  This is a reminder to say that old connections can be refreshed.  Old friendships still live.  What a wonderful evening we had today.  We shared food and stories and walked the cactus walk.  She told me of birds and cactus and the feeders and the moon.

We aren't in high school any more, but for a few hours, we were that young and that beautiful.  We definitely will meet again.

of Livingston Montana and Married Life

And as if by magic (or Delta Airlines) we were transported from 96 degrees and humidity of the same at sea level, to the land of the arid mountains and smoky air at 4,200 feet.

We departed Tallahassee, Florida arriving to Salt Lake late at night their time and early in the morning our time.  We arrived to the downtown Hilton hotel, tired as can be and slept soundly till 8 a.m.  EST.  We arose and had a bite in the Hilton Executive Lounge, then strode off to pick up our rental vehicle.  Alas, the reservation was made for the day before we arrived, and now the same vehicle would cost six times as much.  Avis prices were crazy, and I am an Avis Wizard Member!!!

Upstairs to hit Kayak.com to see if they could save us.  And even more magic happened.  We got a Nissan four door truck for $200 less than our original reservation!  Thanks Budget!  After a forty five minute wait, we were off to the Hilton to retrieve our bags and start the drive to Livingston, Montana.

The google maps said a mere 6 and 1/2 hour drive through Utah and Idaho, then over to Montana.  The time frame did not include rest breaks or food breaks or road maintenance. The actual trip was closer to 8 hours.  Most of it was through valleys that paralleled rivers, or maybe, the roads were built next to the rivers... don't know the answer.  But, it is serious agricultural land.

 Cows, corn and silos everywhere.  Potatoes growing in neat rows, greenery a nice break from the dry mountains above.  The fires burning in several states make the view a smoky red color.  Still, it was a pleasant drive, rich in color and so different from where we live.

We finally arrived in Bozeman thinking we were close.  Close is never close enough on the last leg.  Livingston was yet another 30 minutes.  We arrived to a pleasant AirBnb accommodation, which had everything we needed.  We settled in, then walked the main drag in search of food.  We settled on a Mexican restaurant, which was not really what we needed after sitting all day, but it was easy and we were tired.

Up the next day and off to the fly fishing event.  The Flyfishers were gathering for the annual event.  The local high school provided the venue.  The rooms were afloat with Columbia shirts and Simms hats.  The land of sensible shoes and comfortable pants.  Fly rods bobbed in every back pack as people wandered in and out of the lobby.  We had registered for a couple of classes.  Mine was a casting class, learning the basics of the roll cast.  Must say the gals (and Frank) in my group were pretty good.  The instructor was very experienced and she kept things simple to make practice easier.  I was particularly good at the side cast, which is handy in Florida.  I enjoyed the time.  It is a lot standing and casting, but once you get something right, you get a little smug.  Casting on grass, and no fish in sight, you can sort of huff and puff about what might have been!

Class over, it was time for lunch and a big Montana nap.  The Fish Fest Hoot was the entertainment of the evening and the music was fun, the weather fine and the crowd very relaxed.

We sipped wine and beer, ate smoked trout and lamb, and swayed to the music in the street.  We also bought new boots and waders for me!  Dan Bailey was fab and my new boots were only $25!  Many a fly fishers dream, I might add.  I also got killer waders for less than $70 bucks.  Thanks to you Dan!

Next morning cooking class was the order of the day.  We got up and slipped out to Gil's to grab a pastry and coffee.  Hurried to class, as to not be late.  However, shouldn't have done so, as the instructor did not arrive for another half hour and then didn't start for another.  He was a large cowboy looking type with a well worn hat, a big mustache and a large belly.  He was teaching dutch oven cooking with charcoal, a camp style cooking.  He promised peach cobbler and cowboy eggs.

He read his instructions in a very deep voice, with authority they way one might talk when narrating a movie.  The recipes were all simple and he had the ingredients with him.  Well, most of them.  After reviewing the process, we all donned aprons and proceeded to begin the chores.  He insisted all eyes be on him, and all hands be on deck for prep work.  Coals in the chimney for warming, we proceeded to cut onions and beat eggs.  He forgot the peppers, so he had to leave us and the group of eight began chopping and beating eggs.

Then, he had everyone gather round him to take a bite of the same peach.  I did so, but very reluctantly.  Fortunately, I was  second.  He handed out peaches and we began cutting them for the oven.  There is a short distraction as the coals are poured onto the flat grill bed.   Butter slicing resumes and the mix is put on the peaches.  The butter was not to his liking so he took over placing the butter on the mixture.  The recipe would take 45 minutes and all of that would be listening to him regale us with his prowess in canning, smoking and bar b queuing.  My best take away was how little charcoal it takes to make a cobbler.  The heavy cast iron dutch oven with legs is a mighty grilling tool.  To be able to make desert at the same time as ribs, is simply freeing.   A very valuable lesson indeed.  Luckily, the class over, I found the little park where we assembled to be charming.

A very pleasant ending to a very different kind of morning!

Rising to the Occasion of the Return to Austin Texas!

Back in #Austin for the first time in a while.  Great city.  Weather is meh, mid February and very cloudy, but not cold!

Humidity makes me have big Texas hair.  Pretty sure that's why they tease it and stack it here.  Not much else to do with it.  Went to see the #Driskill and have the famous Batini.  Not so much on agave syrup.

Love the vibe though.  Walked back through the capital.  For all the unpleasant TSA officers, there must be 20 polite charming #TexasRangers to make up for it.  They let us in the Capital Building with the aplomb one hopes the President uses inviting his guests in for dinner.

The meetings were fine, and I am glad that I got to hear the updates.  But, secretly, I am just glad I got to walk Austin again!

If you need other assistance, check our my trip advisor page for detailed view.  And if you are a YELP user, just click on this link for my reviews.

god

I am the kind of mother who touched her children every night and prayed to god in heaven to make them smarter, braver, stronger, and better than the way they were the day before.

I asked that they be kind and direct and courteous and love their parents.

I asked to make them better at what they love and put music in their hearts in the morning.

I prayed to make me a better mother, but if only one prayer can be answered, I wanted god to care for them.

I am the kind of mother that wept when they failed.

I shook when they are on stage and I gasped when the spaces of breath are too long.

I am the kind of mother who waited patiently for them to figure out the math.

I am the kind of mother who said wipe it up, I’ll make more.  It doesn’t matter.  Breathe.

I am the kind of mother who explained boys don’t get it as fast as girls and that the pamphlet forgot to say ask permission to touch anyone under any circumstances.

I am the kind of mother who said you can save yourself for marriage.  It is always an option.

I am the kind of mother who said you will need your brother one day don’t talk to him like that.

I am the kind of mother who cries secretly, fearing their future and praying I did enough.