Turning 40...The Grumpy Italian Way

Its been very difficult for me to keep up my blog posts as I've given myself a goal of finishing my novel. As a bulldozer, its hard for me to ignore that particular challenge. That said, I'd like to introduce you to an amazing writer and even better friend. My guest blogger for the next few entries is my husband Jon. I've selected some of my favorite stories that he's written. Beginning with the "Hotel Snob" 40th Birthday present for Jon. It begins in Rome. Take the journey with us in his own words.

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Turning 40 hit me like a ton of bricks. Or at least it tasted like a ton of bricks, and will take me a year to digest. So why is a ton of bricks any different than a ton of sausage (or ice cream or stoopewaffles or any other delicacy)?

Travel is not just reaching a destination, it is a journey. All allegory aside, we embarked on a personal journey that would not only open our eyes and hearts, but our mouths as well (gosh, the food was good and I have a waist line to prove it—it can’t be the wine or beer, so it must be the tiramisu and schnitzel). How nice it is to have healthy and willing grandparents to come and parent our boys for ten days, not to mention paint our walls and fix our drains and furnace.

Kristy and I never had a desire to go to Europe, only a mild curiosity. But brother Pete has always spoken so highly of Germany that we finally decided to just go before we changed our mind. Honestly, if we hadn't gotten the passports, we would have never decided to just do it. Sisters Pam and Jen had a very detailed, painstaking plan that we admired, but upon hearing about their journey, we decided we needed a vacation instead of an education. And since Rick Steeves slighted Heidelberg, I joined forces with Kristy and became a hotel snob. After all, that is the American way and birthright!

It was easier leaving home as the cold weather arrived just in time for my birthday. The flight over was almost painless, now that the transatlantic airplanes now have personal TV monitors with the ability to choose your own movies/shows/tunes (note, IPods are no longer a necessity, so I sold my Microsoft stock before sales decline—I guess that isn’t such a problem since traveling adults and not the only market for MP3 players). Even the Northworst meals were not too bad, better than the $10 meals you have to pay for on domestic trips. The big surprise when entering the Amsterdam airport was how modern it is, with McDonalds, Sbaro and all the comforts of home. With three hours to kill, we were pleased to find the overstuffed reclining chairs, and agreed that if we ever got stuck for a day, Amsterdam would be better than St. Louis or Sioux Falls.

The KLM/NW flight from A-dam to Rome was a breeze, and included lots of interesting, free food (for a flight under 2 hours) and friendly crew. Once in Rome, however, the smiling faces were over. Kristy’s view of grumpy Italians come from What About Raymond (an episode with a mean Italian uncle), while mine from the Sopranos. Lack of sleep impaired our judgment, so we took the first cab we could find, which probably cost us an extra $20. That was the last time I’d be rooked. After that it was only public transportation, baby.

When we got to Hotel 47, I was determined not to let a bellboy help us with our bags, so we left them strapped to our back. Well, that was a mistake, ‘cause then we missed out of the tour of our room, which would have included a lesson in the latest in European security. So we had to figure out how to turn the power on, which is needed to unlock the safe, metal window shades, as well as the lights and TV. But even stubborn Americans can figure things out, eventually. I finally noticed a slot near the light switch that looked like the key card entry thing at work. You have to insert your room key to get any power. Now that that was behind us, we crashed (against the advice of many relatives). Waking up past 7 p.m., we wondered if we’d even find a restaurant still serving dinner. Upon reading the guidebooks, we found we’d be lucky to find a good place open BEFORE 7, which was right on. But first we had to learn how to cross the busy Via Della Rosa (the crosswalks are a joke in Rome. Even we, fast walkers that we are, were barely into the street when it turned red. We felt bad for the old and frail). Maybe that’s why we saw so many grumpy faces, or maybe we just had to let the effects of wine set in before we could relax. Because of the many political signs posted about, we realized there must have been some elections in process, because there were signs of grumpy-faced politicians in a contest to look the grumpiest.

As fast moving as Rome is, the hustle bustle did not bother me much as we were on vacation, but I think it would exhaust me as much as any large city. I am just glad I did not have to be in a hurry because traffic sometime inches along. After dodging the fast moving cars, busses, Vespas and bikes on the busy road, we thought we were safe on the narrower streets, until we were nearly run over (note to self, it’s a good thing the boys were not along). Dinner was great, and wine good and cheap. The bottle water, with “gas or no gas” was more expensive than the wine!

Next morning, we set out for The Vatican, and the bus stop was just down the street. The driver did not even look at me when I tried to pay him, just kept driving. Then we noticed people validating tickets on a time clock, but it was too late to jump off. Kristy looked and me and said “I’m just along for the ride” so we just enjoyed the tour. Arriving near the Vatican, tour guides offered English speaking trips, but we are more of the fast and furious types. So we went it alone, and followed a large Asian group. For awhile, I thought we had somehow gotten a free ride, but then realized St. Peters is free for everyone. Once inside, we were amazed at the incredible workmanship and beauty of such intricate detail. A silent side chapel beaconed us in, but once I smelled in incense, I knew we were in trouble (and I could not cope with Kristy’s possible week long migraine set on by some lousy incense). It we sensed God’s presence in this chapel and left after a short prayer and donation to the union of some holy order or another.

Being off-season, we wondered just how busy the Vatican and Sistine Chapel must be in the summer. There were no lines of people to speak of, but could not find any signs to the Sistine. I then figured it must be part of this exhibit just outside St. Peters, which was virtually empty, so we paid and entered. OK, we’d been rooked again, but not to worry. This time, we followed the map and crowds to the Sistine, which was busy but nothing like a regular summer day. Still, I clung to our camera and money, mindful that the pickpocks are in the big crowds. But the bigger crowds yet awaited us at the Metro station. I thought Kristy would enjoy yet another form of public transportation, and had read that the reason the Metro does not expand is because more ruins would be uncovered, which would halt the process (which is true).

After a short Metro ride, we found the Coliseum and Avenue of the Roman ruins themselves, while beautiful in the night lights, does little for us in their historical context. To appreciate the rise and fall of a great empire, I find it much easier to read historical fiction and have purchased (but not yet finished) two books.

Leaving Rome behind was easy, as we were in no hurry, or so we thought. We know holidays are frequent in Europe, but we were not sure if the parade was a celebration or a union/political rally. In any event, it sure slowed traffic down, and we wondered if we should ditch the slow-buss-in-traffic option or take a taxi. Then I remembered the Metro has a connection to another bus line that left the airport. It worked like a charm.

Bulldozing is for Bullies

One of my goals while unemployed last year was to stop and notice my surroundings. It took awhile, about four months to be exact, but I succeeded eventually. I’ve spent most of my adulthood bulldozing my way through life. Although I now see it as a toxic existence, once it was all I knew. Driven to the core…in everything I did. As a bulldozer, I’d plow through the terrain not noticing anything ahead except to the path I was about to destroy.

I started noticing my surroundings with the change of seasons, while on my daily running ritual that started when the snow began to melt. Bulldozing my way through the route each day was how it began. The routine was set for a mission of getting back to the hot body that I had in my twenties. But a strange thing happened when spring came, so did the buds on the trees, the green grass, delicate chirps of the birds singing in the morning. How couldn’t I’ve noticed these subtle changes in my life before? It was so beautiful. The sounds, the smell of the flowers, the rustling of the squirrels in the leaves.

The awakening of my surroundings continued through summer, fall and winter. I’d completed four changes of seasons before returning to work. Each with its own beauty and uniqueness. Now that I’m back to being a working girl, I’ve vowed to continue my quest to notice the beauty of simplicity. My husband catches me slipping now and again, “Honey, you’re dozing again,” he reminds me. And not because I’m sneaking in a nap!

I have to admit that I’m still a bulldozer. What can you expect? It takes a lot of effort to change completely. But now, I’m not dozing for power, prestige and money. I’m bulldozing to be a better wife, mother and person. My drive is now focused on a vision of doing the right thing.

Novel coming to end.....

It’s strange. The notion of finishing my novel is crazy to me. Partly because the characters in my head are so real and vivid. It seems like finishing the novel is like killing off a part of me. This is a concept that most people don’t understand. Although I lead a completely normal life, my imagination can get the best of me. Thank goodness I have my writing. An outlet to let the characters in my head come to life.

Good news is that due to some great counseling of friends and my writer’s club, I have a sequel ready to be written. Thanks to all of you who have read my work and provided feedback. For many of you, it’s been painful; hard to decipher the difference between fact and fiction. Please know that my writing is fiction. Loosely based on my life’s experiences, but completely a work of my imagination.

Once my novel comes to a finale, hopefully in the month or two, I’ll begin the painstaking process of getting published. My goal is to fund my boys’ college education. I’ll count on you and your friends to make this a reality.

Sincerley,
Hotel Snob (BTW…the name of my sequel.)

A Mother's Thought

A beam of light entered the room this afternoon. A fourteen year old with a dream fulfilled. A quiet young man glowed from inside out.

My heart beamed joy back to him. Hard work took its course.

Its an amazing gift from God; to love our children unconditionally more and more each day.

Could the young man possibly know just how much I love him; ambition or not? A feeling that words cannot describe.

Back to the Windy City

Chicago is a city that tugs at my heart. Although I’ve traveled there dozens of times for fun and work, each visit is exhilarating. The bustle of the city alone gives me chills as a Hotel Snob, but it’s the memories cemented in my mind that draw me there again and again.

This past Sunday I pulled out the well used TravelPro from the top shelf of my closet. A strange feeling came over me as I took the small, empty suitcase out again. Although I’d only be gone for one night, a familiar emptiness filled me. It would be my first business trip in almost a year and a half. Strange as I once was on an airplane frequently, some points in my career nearly every week.

The emptiness subsided surprisingly quickly. I could feel the Hotel Snob adrenaline slowly increasing as I packed the items into the case. Envisioning the airport, flight, bustle of the city and the independence of travel made my heart race.

What’s so appealing about the Windy City? The sites maybe…but I think it’s the memories:

• Tripping down Michigan Avenue with my broken leg, cast and crutches. Enjoying the falling snow and Christmas lights with my loving husband. He desperately wanted to hold my hand, as I desperately held onto the crutch.
• My first trip to Burberry. The home of “if you have to ask how much it cost, you can’t afford it.”
• Navy Pier with the boys. Watching them grow larger year after year. Still wanting to hold onto their childhood.
• Wrigley, Wrigley, Wrigley. The highlight being Joe Mauer’s home run against the Cubs.
• Riding the L to the White Sox Stadium, the four of us dressed in Twin’s garb. Big Mistake!!!
• The day before Eli was diagnosed with T1. The frightful airplane ride…to and from the city.
• The rewind return trip exactly one year after Eli was diagnosed. The ‘do over’. The celebration trip.

Although my business trip was less than 48 hours, the memories came back in full force. Just not quite the same without my three men. The emptiness wasn’t there. I made it through my first business trip since my transformation. And it was just fine.

Dear Mr. Pool Table

Dear Mr. Pool Table,

One would think that as the only woman in a household of three men, I’d be some kind of princess surrounded by my court of loyal subjects. On the contrary, my laid back nature has allowed my court to slowly turn our home into a bachelor pad. As a result, there is nothing remotely feminine in any square inch of our house. (Even my master bathroom has been taken over by an array of 14 year old hygiene products. The lingering smell of AXE body spray seeps into what used to be my only retreat from the testosterone filled dwelling.)

Just three short weeks ago, you, “Mr. Pool Table”, were invited to join our family. The most recent addition to the Grayson Family Amusement Center. Yes, your newness and intrigue have left the Xbox 360, Wii, RockBand, 50” cable equipped HDTV, basement and backyard basketball courts, knee hockey rink and the newly formed spring training baseball field located in the formal living room in the dust.

As you know, your new home is located in what used to be the large wood floored room that was originally intended to be a family room. Yet was coined, the “world’s largest mud room” and holy dumping ground of sports equipment and on average at least twenty pair of sneakers. Although assembling you, Mr. Pool Table, is a story in and of itself…I’ll just leave that one alone.

Over the past three weeks, there has been a strange transformation with my men. When a pool cue enters the hand of a young gentleman, suddenly, even the quietest man becomes a pool shark. Full of confidence and swagger. The crack of the balls banging together induces some kind of adrenaline rush within them. It also induces the well known “Mom, we’re hungry” request.

Alas, the princess now comes to the rescue of the four to five 14 year old billiard men to take their order. Three large pizzas, wings and the dreaded request for a case of Mountain Dew. In thirty minutes or less, the loyal subjects are happy again. At the end of the evening, the princess is left with empty pizza boxes and dozens of half consumed cans of soda. Time to turn off the hip-hop music streaming from the iHome and say goodnight for yet another day.

Mr. Pool Table, there are some benefits of living in an all male household:

1) I don’t clean toilets. My handsome prince hired me a cleaning lady after our second son was born. Literally, this saved our marriage. I highly recommend it.

2) Something as little as making a sandwich for a loyal subject turns them into a puppy dog. They know I’m not a gourmet chef, yet these tough men turn into Jello at the sight of ham and cheese.

3) There is no price that a mom can place on the sounds of young men giggling and having fun.

I truly hope that your novelty lasts for many years and that you do not quickly become another piece of furniture that collects sporting equipment in the world’s largest mud room.

Sincerely,
Hotel Snob

Miss Independent - Another preview to my novel.

OK. OK. I've heard it loud and clear....you want me to finish my novel. Well its been difficult as my new work life and personal life has interfered with my writing. So... here is another snap-shot from Olivia's senior year in high school.

“Livvy, you should marry a doctor someday,” said mom the morning of my high school graduation.

“Why’s that?” I asked back annoyingly as any teenager would.

“Your spending habits are out of control. Look at all of these clothes,” she screamed while waving the new blouse I just purchased.

“Why a doctor? Can’t I just marry a rich man,” I responded to her cleverly.

“A doctor is rich, intelligent and doesn’t have time to cheat,” she uttered snidely.

“Don’t worry mom, I’m not going to marry a cheater.”

“You won’t have those looks and that body, forever honey,” she went on.

“So what are you really getting at mom?” I finally confronted her about this ridiculous conversation.

“Just be careful with boys. Don’t get too serious too fast. Go to college and make something of yourself. Be independently wealthy and don’t rely on someone else to take care of you,” she warned.

“What the hell is she talking about? Is this her way of approaching the ‘sex’ talk with me?” I thought. I grabbed the new blouse from her hands and stormed off to my room.


Pondering the conversation that I had with my Mom twenty-two years ago, I began to think about my life and the quest for how important being an independent woman was to me all those years ago. Although I wouldn’t admit it then, my mother’s words did have a profound effect on many of the decisions I made in my young adulthood.

At the time, little did mom know that I was currently semi-dating a pre-med student from the University of Minnesota. She had encouraged me for months to date boys other than my boyfriend, Ben, who had been away on an exchange trip to Europe during my entire senior year of high school. As a typical teenager, I wouldn’t give my mother the satisfaction of knowing I’d been dating other guys the entire year Ben had been away.

I met Christopher, Dr. Chris, as Amanda called him, the night of the contest. Amanda stayed overnight at my house to console me after I didn’t receive the star rating from the asshole judge that made a pass at me that terrible day during my senior year of high school.

“We need to party tonight,” said Amanda as she went through my closet to pick out a sexy outfit for me.

“Tonight, we’re in search of mature men. College men,” said Amanda.

Amanda worked at Target which was a frequent stop for many U of M students. She received an invitation the night prior to attend a party at Phi Gamma Delta (FIJI) from a guy named Tom. Unlike my job at the boutique, Amanda’s job at Target was a goldmine in providing us with an endless stream of dates and party invites. Tom told Amanda to meet him at the fraternity house at 9:00 pm. We told my parents that we were going to hang out at our friend Jackie’s house that evening to watch movies. We begged my mom to let us stay out until 1:00 am. Thank goodness, she consented.

Amanda drove us to the fraternity house. Like other parties at the U of M, it was easy to find the house, but not as easy to park. After looking for a spot for about twenty minutes, we parked about five blocks away from the house which made it a very long and cold walk for a March night. Once we reached the house, we opened the front door and went inside. The fraternity house was dark and crowded with college students. The music extremely loud. The bass rumbled from the stereo located in the basement where the bar was setup. Amanda said, “How are we ever going to find Tom?” Just then we were immediately greeted by two guys.

“Hello ladies how are you this evening?” one asked.

“Are you looking for someone?”

“Yes,” said Amanda.

“We are meeting Tom Johnson tonight. Have you seen him?”

“Sure, I’ll go get him for you,” said a tall, thin blonde guy. Before the blonde could come back to us, we were greeted by a few other guys. They were armed with cold beers for the two of us.

The two guys were very cute, but I knew that Amanda did not want to irritate Tom by flirting with them. I noticed one of the guys staring at me. He was tall with dark wavy hair and striking blue eyes. When I looked at him, he smiled. I smiled back and looked away in my typical shy manner. Then, Tom came over to greet us.

“Amanda, I‘m so glad that you made it,” said Tom. Very politely, he introduced himself to me.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Olivia. I’m glad that you could come tonight.” Tom turned to his friends and introduced us to them.

“This is my younger brother, Christopher,” he said.

“Fraternity brother or biological brother?” I asked as I smiled Christopher. He was the young man that was staring at me.

“Both,” said Christopher.

After the introductions, Tom asked us, “Would you like a tour of the house?”

“Sure,” said Amanda quickly. Tom took her by the hand and led her through the crowded living room.

Christopher placed his hand on my back and said, “After you?”

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That's all for now. Comment if you want more....I need a push to keep writing.