Image

Image can be such a fickle thing.  One little misstep, one indiscretion, and it all comes apart.

Public figures and even politicians hire specialists in the field to maintain their public images.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

Consider Sterling.  Or, more correctly, Sterling Ice Fog of Alaska, according to his registered name, for Sterling came with a lengthy pedigree.

Who could tell, when he was a cuddly puppy, that he would mature into this prince of a dog? 

Oh, and he was a prince.  His breed originated in the Weimar area of Germany centuries ago.  They were bred to be reliable gundogs, used by royalty to hunt boar, bear, and deer.  When those species began to decline, the dogs hunted small game and birds, and then were bred to be companions for the nobility.

The nobility strictly controlled the breeding of the dogs in order to keep the lines pure.  In order to own one, you had to be a member of the Weimaraner Club, and membership was limited.  Finally, these aristocratic dogs were brought to the United States in 1929, but not until 1942 were the dogs available for sale.

 

Their regal head, athleticism, and high intelligence endear these dogs as special companions.   Their unusual coloring of both coat and eyes identify them immediately as a special breed.

 

 Sterling was an uncommon dog, in that he was a long-haired Weimaraner, where most AKC register Weimaraners are short-coated.  AKC does not recognize the long-haired dogs for show, but they are recognized by the European kennel club.  All of which indicates that Sterling harked back to his regal heritage.

All except for the bird hunting thing.  Sterling hated to get his feet wet.

But, as many image-managers know very well, even a prince can have a bad hair day:

Sterling, 1992-2004

The Germany Journals, Ch. 1

Just downstream from where I sit, a massive slab of slate rises almost five hundred feet above the Rhine River.  From that wall, the Loreley sing their seductive songs, luring sailors to their deaths.  I am safe behind the walls of this medieval town, tummy filled with saubrauten, potato dumpling and a lovely, tender green salad, its light touch rarely seens in the U.S.

The only siren song enticing me this Saturday night is the one from the goose down pillow on the bed in my wee roon at Pension Lettie in the town of Bacharach.  That same  pillow had serenaded me earlier this day into a sleep so profound, my friends were unable to awaken me when they left for dinner. 

I wandered through the narrow, cobblestone streets searching for them in the few hotel restaurants that are open this time of year, finding them and the sauerbraten in the third one.

The drive from Frankfurt to Bacharach follows the legendary Rhine through wine country.  The hills and cultivated slopes of the Rhine Valley are punctuated with castles and castle ruins, reminding me yet again how very young my own country is in terms of history.  Fog and rain gave way to blue skies and sun as we drove the  Autobahn, then turned onto a two lane road that followed the course of the river.

 

This day began in Chicago O'Hare airport, boarding a United 747 headed to Frankfurt, Germany.  I was in the very last row, the one with only two seats across rather than three, because the airplane's fuselage tapers to the tail, thus narrowing the interior cabin width.

Seated next to me was Oadan, a slight man perhaps in his late thirties, who teaches chemistry in secondary schools.  He lives in Oklahoma City, and was flying to his homeland of Turkey.  Very discreetly, after dinner, he began to pray, bowing forward as far as the restricted seating would allow, then read for some time from his Quram, bound in a beautiful green embossed material.

Oadan belongs to a group that promotes friendship between Americans and Muslims.  Ironically, when two of my group of friends had flown to Germany the week prior, they also had been seated with a Turk who lived in Oklahoma City, who taught secondary school.

Oadan believes what is happening in the Middle East right now is good for not only the people in the Middle East, but in the whole world.  And education, he insists, is what will better world relations.



Bacharach main street



In the meantime, the narrow streets of Bacharach are here for me to explore.  This is the off season, the streets all but empty.  The bakery is open, singing its own siren song of desire.  The quaint restaurant down the lane enticed me earlier in the day with hot German potato salad and a frankfurter.  Not the corn syrup sweetened hot dogs sold at home, but delicately seasoned tubes of sausage in a casing that resists for a moment and then surrenders with a satifying pop and a burst of flavor.  The closest product I have seen in Alaska are the Casper's hot dogs Costco sometimes carries in the summer.

I had eaten one for breakfast, because one must have a frankfurter in Frankfurt, no?



Bacharach and the Rhine River





Too cold yet for the summer flowers, these added color to the lanes of Bachrach.



The bear went over the mountain....

I've always been curious about what's out there.  I've always wanted to travel and explore.

 A psychic reader in Hawaii told me exploring was good for my soul.   That was two hours after I'd purchased a token I saw in a wicker basket next to the cash register in a tee shirt shop.  It spoke to me, for some reason.  Now, I carry it with me always.

The bear went over the mountain....

I left today for Europe.  My first visit to that part of the world.  We'll be driving the Romantic Road, exploring medieval towns and picturesque castles.

The bear went over the mountain....

The bear went over the mountain.....

To see what it could see.

Travel is not only good for my soul, it's IN my soul.  Started at an early age.

I have no idea what I was doing in that last photo.  Flashing is not my style.

What Was My First Clue?

I had everything ready to go for my trip to Germany.  I'd managed to keep the whole thing secret from Pablo Parrot.  I got my carry on luggage down the stairs from packing central (the spare bedroom) to the garage without him seeing anything or becoming suspicious.

I still had my stay-at-home clothes on when I went to his cage and asked, "Do you want to go?"  That's how I usually invite him to go with me up to the loft.  He stepped right onto my hand.  Then I took him down to the garage and put him in on top of his travel cage in the front seat of the truck.

So far, so good.  Now for the risky part--changing into going-away-from-home clothes.  But, shoot, he was in the truck wasn't he?  He knew he wasn't being left behind. 

Then I slipped on my light blue fleece jacket and sat in the driver's seat.

Pablo running after me.

Pablo said, "Grrrrrr!"   And attacked, giving me a nice nip on the forearm, which has turned into a rather impressive green today.   I jumped out of the truck.  He came after me. 

I went back to get a pair of gloves and he attacked my shoe.  Just for that, he had to ride in the travel cage instead of on top of it.

The red mark is a going away gift from Pablo.  The brown one is a freckle.

He growled at me for the first ten miles, then got rather pleasant.

We stayed at Patti's overnight, with Pablo ensconced in his big cage of the dining room table.

I woke up to four inches of new snow.

After that everything went okay.  A four hour layover in Seattle passed quickly.  I met a lady one her way back to Alaska from Mexico.

The flight to San Francisco went well.....and then everything fell apart.

First, I wandered around wondering what terminal United is in.  I was feeling pretty smug about passing up the baggage carousels because I had only carry on luggage.  The baggage gods were gonna get me for this.  Keep reading.

Despite what the sign says, United is in Terminal Three, not Terminal One.  That involved taking a multitude of escalators to the top of Terminal One, finding the Blue Line for the Air Train, and riding the rails to Terminal Three.  Then a multitude of escalators down to United check-in counters.  Which, of course, were all closed because by now it's almost midnight.

I wandered around looking for a restroom--which was closed.

I had six hours to wait for my flight to Chicago and connection to Germany.  I asked a security person where to hang out and she recommended the Subway shop on the third level.  Back up the escalators to the Subway shop, where a sign said the restrooms were on level 1, under the escalators.  Back down the escalators, and back up the escalators.

I found a nice corner booth where I would be out of the way in the Subway shop in case I decided to take a four hour nap, passing by a number of other nappers in booths.  I had taken one bite out of my Italian BMT with lettuce, ripe olives, spicy mustard and vinegar, when I discovered I didn't have my blue fleece jacket with me.  I stuffed everything in my purple bag, took the Red Line Air Train back to Terminal One, rode all the escalators down to the baggage level to the Alaska Airlines baggage claims office.  Which was closed.

So, I sat on the edge of the baggage carousel, ripped a page out of the Moleskine notebook and wrote them a note asking that they hang onto the jacket until I return on April 1.  Their office won't open until 6 AM, at which time I will be plummeting down the runway on a United 747, bound for Chicago.

Then I picked up the purple bag and slung it over my arm, and found the bottom was soaking wet because I hadn't tightened the cap on my water bottle when I scraped everything, including the Italian BMT, into the bag when I raced out of the Subway shop.  Up the escalators to the Blue Line Air Train just in time to hear an announcement that the Blue Line was out of order and I should take the Red Line.

The Red Line Air Train to everywhere you never wanted to go.  At 1 AM.

The Red Line is the milk run to the edge of the earth and back and I rode and rode and rode.  Just at the last stop before Terminal Three, I saw the Blue Line train alive and well and loaded with smirking passengers on the next rail.

Okay, may be they weren't smirking at me.  Maybe they were really baggage handlers enjoying the little trick they'd played on me.  Right about then I realized that this whole trip was out of my hands.  There was nothing I could do one way or another to control what was going to happen.  I may as well sit back and enjoy the discombobulation.

By the time I returned to the Subway Shop, someone had landed in my corner booth and was sound asleep. My Italian BMT with spicy mustard and vinegar was soggy on one side and hard on the other.  Now I'm in a middle booth with nappers on either side.  At least no one's snoring.

So, here I am with a big green bruise on my arm, highlighted with two red triangles in the middle of it, heading to Germany in the winter with no jacket.

You realize what all this means, don't you?

I'm going to have to do some shopping in Germany....

Putting Dreams to Rest

I have recurring dreams with various subject matters, if the utter nonsense that makes up these dreams can be referred to as subject matters, thereby erroneously bestowing them with some veracity.

I am really, really tired of some of those dreams yet they play on the dream screen with the annoying repetition of “ring around the collar, ring around the collar.”  For those of you who weren’t around in the 60’s, replace that ad with one of today's more annoying auto insurance commercials.

Last night was a review of the decade's finest.  Times and locations were lumped together in a large bowl without regard to chronology and reality.  Into that, my dream-baker combined  the owning of a restaurant, an RV park, the log home my parents built and in which I grew up, the log-sided playhouse there, my husband, litter clean-up, and firing an employee for theft.  Wee pieces of reality that become completely unrecognizable in this new batter.
 

That's me in 1952 sweeping the walk in front of my playhouse.

Fold in a guy who gives horseback trips out of a nearby town, windows that wouldn’t stay closed, window blinds that wouldn’t stay down, firewood, my John Deere riding lawn mower, and ear plugs.

Frost with multiple layers of idiocy and sprinkle with improbable connections.

Stir well, half-bake at 98.6 degrees, and stand back.

I won’t go into the moronic details.  What I want to tell you is that during that dream I had a rare flash of brilliance, and my dreams are not known for brilliance of any kind.

This is what happened:

Several years ago, I dreamed my John Deere riding lawn mower suffered a serious mechanical problem.   My husband was out of town, so I dismantled it down to the last bolt and o-ring.  Ever since then I’ve been dream-nagging my husband to reassemble it so I can mow the lawns. 

Forget reality.  There’s nothing wrong with my John Deere riding mower and my husband died four years ago.  Yet, I survey the mass of pieces and nag ad nauseam as I watch my lawns overgrow.  Remember:  He's deceased.  Even in death he gets no peace.

Except for last night.

Last night, I looked at him and suggested we haul the billions of pieces to the John Deere dealer in Soldotna and have Vern, the head mechanic, reassemble it. 

My husband, though a gifted mechanic, was always reluctant to take on basket cases (the mower, not me), so he thought that a great idea.

And then came my flash of brilliance:  “You know,” I said, “It probably will cost as much in labor to have Vern reassemble the mower as it would to buy a new one…”

OMG!  I sure hope that idea puts that recurring dream to rest.

Now, if you'll excuse me...

See that carefully packed, compact, light-weight luggage over there?  All ready to put in the truck and head for the airport.  All carry-on, no luggage fees? Suitcase weights only 25 pounds.

Yeah, well, I unpacked it all today.  Every little bit, unpacked, paid out on a dusty rose colored sheet, and photographed.  And it's all Carlene's fault, who never goes anywhere, but thinks it would be cool to know how one packs light anyway.

On a three-week trip to Australia, New Zealand and Fiji a couple years ago, or maybe it was the three-week trip to Russia the next year, I was utterly astonished at a woman who traveled with only a carry-on bag.  When I asked her how she did it, she, a frequent traveler, said she wore two colors:  black and khaki.  Actually, she said stone, but they looked khaki to me.  Anyway, she was very well put together the whole trip.  Everything coordinated.  

I struggled with keeping my large suitcase under the international weight limit, plus I had a carry-on.  And a big, stuffed "purse."  I hated carting all that stuff around, much I which I didn't use. I abandoned a semi-large stack of stuff, including a folding travel iron (!), in Australia, along with a note stating it was abandoned.

I've mailed packages home, stuffed with things I didn't need, and often the postage was more than the contents were worth.

During my recent three-week trip to China and Tibet, I again had a large suitcase, a rolling carry-on, and the purple bag, while several people had only a carry-on bag and a handbag.  Think about it--your checked baggage doesn't go to Reykjavik  while you're heading to Beijing.  No baggage fees.  No suitcase wrestling.  No 800 lb. gorillas using your suitcase as a trampoline.

Time to get serious about packing light.

Carlene thought that might be an interesting blog post, so I laid it all out.  I balked at ironing the sheet, though.  Ironing, like sewing, gives me sinus headaches and allergic reactions.  Or, as I am fond of saying, I get cross looking a needle in the eye.

First, the bedroll.  Remember when airlines used to leave a pillow and blanket on each seat?  The good old days?  Now I carry a neck pillow, a small fleece travel blanket, and a pair of warm socks because my feet get cold on those long overseas flights. The fleece blankie is a relatively new addition because the airport in San Francisco, where I tried to take a nap in a quiet corner during five hour layover in the wee hours of a rainy night, was cold. 

Then, the purple shoulder bag that I always take on trips because it's so darned handy.  I got it a few years ago at the lavender farm on Maui.  It has an internal zipped pocket and a cell phone pocket in the strap that closes with Velcro.  I recently sent photos for the owner of the lavender farm of all the places the purple bag has been with me:  Russia, China, Tibet, Grand Canyon.

 

Just in case someone gets snooty about three pieces of carry-ons, the bedroll will fit in the purple bag.

Also in the purple bag:

From left to right,back row:  Small laptop (2-1/2 lbs.) with neoprene slip case,  neck pouch for easy access to passport and ID, passport case, moistened wipes, see-through plastic toiletries bag so they're all in one place (folding toothbrush and small toothpaste, small nail clippers, hand wipes, hand lotion, eyeshades, and ear plugs), Kindle and soft slip case.

The jumble in the front:  pouch with extra battery and flash card for camera, small notebook and pen, reading glasses in hard case, hand sanitizer, chap stick, Listerine breath strips, eyeglass lens cleaners, jump drive for computer, travel clock with alarm, and cell phone.

Plus, my constant companion, the "Explore" token.

 

And for the carry-on, suitcase, which has a handle and four wheels:

Left to right, front to back:

First row:  Brown corduroy slacks,  light blue jeans, turquoise "dressy-for-Moose-Pass"  overshirt, 7 pairs of smart wool sox plus one fluffy white pair to wear to bed if need be (strictly a luxury).

Second row:  white cotton pants for lounging in my room or in case the bathroom's down the hall, red tee for sleeping, a cloth tube for emergencies--it can be contorted into any number of things such as a baclava, hat, neck scarf, etc.--a black long-sleeved tee, and brown, purple, and black short-sleeved tees.

Third row:  behind this jumble in the front are a lt. aqua sun shirt, a neck scarf with absorbing pellets that can be soaked in water for cooling, a long sleeved black fleece pullover, a North Face lt. blue rain jacket with hood that folds into the collar.  Somewhere in all of this is a mini-umbrella.

Beside the rain jacket are a fleece scarf with gloves and headband in case it's cold, a pair of Teva light weight water resistant shoes (slip-on), the white things in the shoe are pantie liners (by using these I can wear the same pair of underwear for three days), then a white dressy sweatshirt-like sweater, a blue visor, and five pairs of panties (remember the pantie liners?)

Now for the jumble in the front. left to right, front to back and around in a circle:

The AC changer for the laptop goes in the purple Crown Royal bag.  Behind that are a small pair of binoculars, two shopping bags that fold into self-pockets, clip-on sunglasses in hard case,  a plastic, see-through hanging toiletries bag (SOOOOO handy!!!) with small containers of deodorant, toothpaste, hand cream, hand wipes, more lens cleaners, hair gel, shampoo.  I considered leaving out the shampoo, but we'll be staying in pensions, and I don't know if they supply shampoo.

Then there's the red zipped bag that holds:

Two small zip pouches with camera batteries and flash cards (one goes in the purple bag for day outings), an extra camera that uses the same battery.  This was a hard lesson I learned in Australia when I left my camera in the seat back pouch on a Qantas flight.  For the same reason, each evening I download my photos to the laptop.

Also in the zip bag:  a wireless mouse for the laptop ( so much easier), spare AAA batteries for mouse,a clip-on reading light that can double as an emergency flashlight, a surge protector/electrical adaptor for charging the laptop, cameras, and Kindle, charging accessories for the cameras, a DSL connection cord, minimal camera lens cleaners,and an AC cell phone charger.

Off to the far right side of all of this are an empty Zip-loc bag for whatever, and two plastic folded-up shopping bags for laundry.  The lime green thing at the far right is an index card with my name and contact information, and on the back is my itinerary with the dates names of places I'll be staying.  Not pictured are some folded, very soft paper towels.  I use them instead of Kleenex. 

If you actually managed to read through all this, can you tell me what I've forgotten?

I'm intentionally leaving behind the DSLR camera.  It's too bulky and I don't know how to use it well enough yet.  I'm relying on point and shoot digital cameras.

So you see,  I have lots of stuff, but still have room for improvement and lightening the load.  If I'd been to Europe before and knew what to expect, I could probably reduce it a few pounds.  After this trip, I think I'll make up a checklist in M/S Excel.  Then I can print that out for future travels.

Of course, if I left behind the laptop and the cameras, and didn't have a blog, I could realize an immediate weight saving.  But, shoot, sharing it with y'all is half the fun of traveling.

Now that I have to repack all of this, there are a few things I'm thinking about jettisoning, like the small bottle of hand sanitizer (I have individually packaged wipes), the DSL cord (surely I can find wireless somewhere), and maybe the umbrella.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go pack.  Again.

Thanks to Carlene.

Half Full, Half Empty

I suppose if you search long enough, you could find a bit of good in anything, no matter how dire the situation.

As I recently told a friend who was having a bad day, “all of life is a writing prompt.”   Take my frozen septic system, for instance.  Following my own advice, I’ve been having fun writing about that chunk of ice that effectively blocks the effluents from flowing to their intended destination.

All is half-well now, because the line to the tank is thawed and I can use the indoor facilities, as long as I keep the tank pumped down so the liquids don’t back-flow into the underground line and freeze again. 

And they will if they have a chance, because a very stubborn high pressure system has been homesteading over Alaska since forever.  That is causing temperatures at and below zero each night. 

Yesterday when I looked at the thermometer, it was two below zero.  Ditto today.  “I’m getting tired of this,” I said.  Now that we have several hours of direct sunlight, I want temps in the thirties and forties.  Or higher.

Today, I think zero is just fine.  Why?  Because that obstinate high pressure is forcing the jet stream to move south of Alaska.  And why should that make me happy?

Because it keeps any radioactive particles in Japan that rise high enough to enter the eastward-blowing jet stream from drifting over me and Pablo Parrot.  That’s why. 

NASA photo

Don’t think that’s so far-fetched.  A couple years ago, we could see smoke from Russian forest fires and clouds of dust from sand storms in the Gobi Desert as they wafted overhead.  So, you see, Tina Fey wasn’t too far off the mark when she “quoted” Sarah Palin as supposedly saying, “I can see Russia from my porch.”

While a jet stream missing Alaska is good news for me, it doesn’t bode well for the rest of the West Coast.  Assuming, of course, that glow-in-the-dark stuff rises high enough, and that’s a big “if.” 

I guess this is as good a time as any to leave on a pre-planned trip.  My bag is packed and here is the astonishing thing about that:  18 days in Germany and Austria, including travel days, and all I have is a carry-on bag weighing 25 lbs.  Plus my usual purple shoulder bag with laptop and Kindle, and my “bedroll,” which consists of a neck pillow, a small fleece travel blanket, and a pair of warm socks.

I find all that hard to believe as I usually fight to stay under the luggage weight limit.  I’ve picked up quite a few tips on light-weight travel, so perhaps I’ve learned.

Either that or I’m forgetting something really, really important.