Tag: vacation

AU REVOIR SANITY

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks2 Comments

Warning: this post is all over the place. The impending departure has obviously produced ADD symptoms. I stop and start more times than…something that stops and starts a lot. <Fail.>

Saturday: We leave soon for Paris! My guest bedroom is covered in clothing, suitcases and shoes. Robert is color coding our itinerary so I know what to select from this hodge-podge of a wardrobe.

Work was challenging Friday, as it always is when you prepare to go on vacation. You try to wrap up all those loose ends, but have short-timers and are completely unable to focus. The fact that well-wishing co-workers stopped by regularly to speak to me in French or advise me how to carry my purse so as to minimize the chance of it being stolen didn’t help matters.

I have received thought-provoking hand written notes on our infamous itinerary from those co-workers who frequent Paris. I appreciate their advice and comments more than I can say – for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which was the comic relief. “Seems a long way to go to smoke a “j,” noted beside one particular destination will keep me laughing for days. I believe we have crossed that off the list. (The cemetery where Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde reside.)

I’ve been told to not bother speaking French, as it will just tick them off, but would like to at least be able to say please, thank you, you’re welcome, good day and such.  I’m having trouble with the “you’re welcome” or “no problem,” but have considered it and concluded no Parisian will be thanking me for anything anyway, most likely. Unless it’s for leaving. Perhaps a curtsy will suffice in a pinch.

Sunday: I stopped writing yesterday and went back to packing. I’m glad I did because I discovered there was NO WAY IN HELL all these clothes were going into one bag. I haven’t even started on the evening wear! Last night I borrowed a second from my in-laws and will be loading that up as well. The fact that I will still, no doubt, stand in the hotel room each morning crying, “I have nothing to wear!” should make Robert’s head explode. What’s a wife for, anyway?

<Time lapse.>

I have just spent an hour online researching cheese course etiquette. I have serious mental problems. Cheese course etiquette is now my greatest concern. Sigh.

I would like to offer a special note of thanks to my adorable marketing team (with whom I work – not who market me) for supplying a collection of scarves, cardigans and belts to take on my trip. I am not really an accessories girl, so they are responsible for pulling my whole “I’m not a tourist, I am actually French” look together. And it is a “look.” Once I open my mouth, it’s all over.

They are also to blame for my two suitcase situation, because now half my suitcase is full of scarves, cardigans and belts.

And finally, in a semi-awkward segue, say hello to the Flat Marketing team. My companions, (in addition to Robert) on this adventure. If I can fit them in the suitcase, that is.

I COULD EAT A HORSE (SADDLING UP FOR FRANCE)

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks7 Comments

We are scheduled to leave for France in a few weeks. (Cue the panic attack regarding what to wear, how we’re going to navigate, communicate, or order anything I recognize as food that doesn’t involve brains or horsemeat.) The chevalier situation is actually the most disconcerting as I’m sure my husband is going to try to freak me out by sneaking it past me. If I find I have been tricked into eating horsemeat I will throttle him in a foreign country and end up on the show “Locked Up Abroad.”

I tried to explain to him that as a former rodeo queen and horse trainer, the thought of eating one of those gorgeous animals is repellent. I learned during my short stint as a ranch manager in East Texas when I was 20 that each horse has its own personality. Some are adorable, some demanding, and as we used to say, some had nothing wrong with them a bullet wouldn’t fix.

But I wouldn’t EAT them.

Here’s where I get totally off topic and talk about cats. Why? Because even though this could be a separate post all together, I have no self-restraint today.

During the ranch days, I also learned that barn cats have a pretty high mortality rate. We always had strays around the barn. They’d get into the walls and have litters. Some would survive and we’d feed them and tickle their heads while they slept in a cluster of ears and tails on a pile of saddle blankets. But some didn’t survive.

This still seems so surreal to me – but part of my responsibilities was to take the kittens that hadn’t survived, roll them up in the empty paper feed bags, carry them down beside the lake in the evening and cremate them. I suppose I managed that because it was part of my job, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. A city girl might freak out, but a country girl, a ranch hand, would not. I really wanted to be a ranch girl.

Sometimes when I’m feeling particularly wimpy I remind myself of those days – standing alone by the lake as the sun went down (after checking the area for water moccasins) and setting kittens on fire. Dead kittens, but still, kittens. 

Looking back I wonder why the people who owned the ranch didn’t have the cats fixed – but maybe that’s just a country thing. If you took every stray cat you found on your property to the vet you’d be running a recovery home for wayward cats, rather than a horse ranch.

AND we’re back to horse talk. Maybe I should get tested for A.D.D. But where some might say this post is disjointed, I prefer to call it “dynamic.” 

This whole horsemeat as dinner thing is troublesome because I seem to be able to turn a blind eye to beef, pork, and yes, sometimes even lamb and veal. If it helps, I feel terrible afterward though. Especially if City Slickers comes on and I see Norman’s soft little snout. Believe me, I would be a vegetarian (or at least give it a try) if I could eat lettuce and actually LIKED vegetables other than corn, carrots, green beans and peas. Unfortunately, those are the only veggies I will eat without a deep-fried breaded coating and/or ranch dressing. Or cheese.

So, what have we learned?

No chevalier for dinner, although I HAVE threatened a horse before.

I am tougher than I look.

Everything is better when battered and fried, but I should probably consider vitamin supplements, or a V8. 

If I go missing after the trip, watch for me on Locked Up Abroad.

VACATION DEFLATION

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks3 Comments

I’m back.

A 9.5 hour plane ride on “Can you give me LESS space for my legs?” Saturday was followed by “Who am I and what is my name?” Sunday.

My first day back at the office was Monday. Strangely, people seem to expect me to “produce” results of some kind during my hours at the office. Crazy, right? Meanwhile, I keep looking at the clock and wondering – “If I was in Wales, what would I be doing now?” Then, out of nowhere, an email pops up demanding my attention, so I mentally wander back from the rolling hills dotted with little white fluffy sheep and throw myself back into the normal work day. 

My normal work day, sadly, does not involve sheep. Or pints. Or cheese. Or castles.

Sigh.

I DID actually manage to download photos from the trip on Sunday, and was able to identify each castle and ruin AND ruined castle. This buoyed my sense of confidence to a ridiculous degree, but those castles DO start to run together a bit. How was it Adrian (a.k.a. Langland Death March Commander from See Wales Tours) referred to them?

Oh, that’s right.  He called them ABC Tours.  

Another Bloody Castle.

An interesting side note to this whole trip is that when people ask, “Where did you go on vacation?” and I say, “Wales,” they say, “Wales??! Why Wales?”

You should have heard the Londoners’ responses when they discovered we had spent our time anywhere other than their fair city. I’m surprised they even let us stay overnight, considering how we betrayed them with the Welsh. “Wales?? Wales?!!”
(We stayed in London Friday night to see a show and prepare for our Saturday flight out of Heathrow, or as I call it, “The Mall That Thinks it’s an Airport.”)

They took great pains to point out the National Museum and say, “Bloody Wales doesn’t have a museum like THAT.”

“They bloody well don’t!” We agreed hastily and enthusiastically. (Self preservation is strong in those being transported at break neck speed by annoyed but proud taxi drivers.)

I think Wales and England might need to have a little “I’m okay, you’re okay,” discussion. Maybe over a few pints. I’d be happy to act as mediator.

Anything to get me away from email for another 9 days.

A CASTLE FULL OF CHEESE

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks1 Comment
As I begin this post, I am on the terrace deck at the hotel, sipping a Chardonnay and thrilling to the fact I am off my feet. We arrived at the infamous Cheese Festival around 11:00 AM. A drizzling rain was falling, which allowed me to wear Sandra’s fabulous rain cloak with hood. I felt very dramatic as we walked the Cardiff Castle grounds, cloak billowing in the breeze. We were one of the few who braved the weather, and were greeted immediately by a young man at the cheese tossing area who asked where we were from. Apparently Sandy’s “Hello!” was a dead giveaway that we are not locals. He tried to entice us to toss a large block of cheese to each other. This is performed by one person taking a giant step backward after each successful toss and catch, and repeating the process. Luckily, we had enough sense about us to refuse on the grounds we were each afraid our competitive natures would lead us to potentially render the other unconscious or with a broken nose from an overexhuberant toss.
We did watch others, though…

Cheese Tossing.

The jokes of the day? “Stay Stilton!!” and “I Camembert the pressure.” (Jokes courtesy of the cheese toss referee.) Got complaints? Talk to him.

We visited the museum, then purchased our tickets for the castle tour. Premium, baby. Your own tour guide and all. He was a charming older gentleman who could climb the 51 steps to the chamber level of the castle far easier than I. Sandy has taken some great pictures, again, but I took a few with my phone. Items of interest? The castle had central heat in the late 1800s. And, it is still working today.

 

These were taken in the dining hall. Princess Diana, Prince Charles, and Nelson Mandela have all dined in this room.

We also climbed to the keep, which was amazing, and spotted the peregrine falcon perches in the distance. Note to self: add “Falcon” to Christmas list this year.

The Keep.

And of course, what’s a Cheese Festival without cheese? It’s just a festival, that’s what.

We sampled cheese until we couldn’t stand it anymore. I had visions of trying to sneak a ten pound block of cheese on the plane in a baby blanket, like the episode of I Love Lucy, when Lucy and Ethel have to try to eat the entire cheese before they get charged for another ticket.

We resisted the urge. However, we will be googling and ordering cheese upon our arrival back home.

A couple of bands played as well, but our favorite was the Severed Limbs. (I am not making that up.)

The sun came out this afternoon and everyone lit up with smiles. It was warm and absolutely perfect. Apparently we have brought some Texas warmth here, and temps are expected to continue into the mid and even upper 20s C.
Gorgeous. Now, I will have nothing to wear.

Tonight, we enjoyed a steak, red wine and bacon pie at a nearby pub. Tomorrow,we attempt to be our own tour guides and find some ruins to visit. Caerleon, here we come!

CRUISING CARDIFF

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks5 Comments

Bad news last night:  Our tour of Romans & Ruins was canceled. We will regroup and arrange to see those places on our own now.  Plan B was to attend the Cheese Festival. We decided to skip to the previously non-existent Plan C, due to the chance of rain today. Plan C turned out to be AWESOME. And by awesome I mean it involved more yummy food, a pint, and a freezing cold and windy ride across the viaduct which resulted in that panicky kind of hysterical laughter that happens when you think you are going to turn to ice and break into a million pieces.  Sigh. Good times.

First, we walked over to Cardiff Castle, where we realized we better be on queue first thing in the morning, as the Cheesefest is POPULAR.

There, we boarded a tour bus headed for interesting sights around Cardiff.

Click HERE for Sandy’s intro.

It was a hop on-hop off type tour, so we did just so at the Millennium Centre. Sandy took a jillion pictures, which is great, because I took approximately 6. With my phone. I figure hers are better because 1, they were taken with a REAL camera, and 2, it’s impossible to be a worse photographer than I.

We wandered about Cardiff Bay, where we found a carousel…

Please click CAROUSEL to view the Cardiff Bay video.

Lunch was rarebit – bread, cheese with ale sauce, plus a pint at Brains.

We walked around Millennium Centre’s gift shop where I came perilously close to purchasing this book. Warning: Best title EVER.

Then, we visited Cathays Park where we saw some amazing wildlife. Making no sudden movements while stealthily tracking them, Sandy was able to snap this pic of the seldom seen “Flamboyant Trio.” (Or as Sandy calls them, Harry Potter gone bad.)

We ate a subdued dinner since we were – Whoop whoop! It’s the word of the day: KNACKERED.  (Very tired, exhausted.)

However, I was not too knackered to try for a quick photo of one of the lovely freshers strolling (stumbling) around in the rain. However, it is not as easy as one might think to look “not guilty” while trying to take a photo with which to mock someone. So, this was the best I could get tonight. I have a few more nights to try again.

Tomorrow, the Cheese Fest. Really. That is Plan A, B and C. Stay tuned. EyeonWales tells us it’s brilliant, and we can’t wait!

OMG! There’s cheese tossing!

IT’S ALL RELATIVE

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks6 Comments

Family Reunion Summary – Gulf Shores, AL and surrounding area: Arrived Saturday evening and was picked up at the airport by my husband. We stopped at what was referred to as a “liquor store,” but was in fact more of a dust store that happened to have some bottles of booze in it. We bought the few names we recognized and headed next door to what was termed a “grocery store,” but was really more of a “cluster *.” It looked like an episode of Hoarders had exploded. While it did have a better selection of wines than the liquor store, every time I touched a package of food (cereal, chips, crackers, lunch meat) I had an irresistible urge to 1 – check the expiration date to see if it read 1989, and 2 – take a shower. I did pick up a great pair of flip-flops for the beach while there. (“Great” being defined as “they sort of fit and would keep me from burning my feet on hot sand/pavement.”) They were the first reunion casualty after just one day. Not a great loss to fashion history, but sad nonetheless.

The weird thing about arriving at a vacation destination after dark was that aside from the resort itself, which looked like this…

…I had no idea what to expect view-wise until morning, when I saw this:

Very nice. Beachy. Chairs, umbrellas, the potential for vacation drinks… all good. Then I saw the painting in our room for the first time. As usual, Max had the perfect description: “It’s a monkey in Chinese drag!”

We found him to be a bit unnerving, though festive.

The advent and adoption of many of Hubby’s relatives to Facebook meant for the first time, there was a GROUP where we could all communicate and share photos.

This new development startled me a bit as I received a couple of friend requests from under 16-year-old “first cousins once removed.” I hesitantly accepted said requests, both honored and alarmed. My first thought was, “Well, I can’t work blue on FB anymore. Twitter is all that’s left.” However, I realized I don’t work blue on either. I just like to think I do. Apparently my inner voice and outer voice remain separate.

The usual family traditions remained, including the annual Guys Visit to Hooters. As each young man approaches 16, he is invited to join the Hooters patrol. This is apparently a great honor, as I suppose men don’t see as much cleavage in Alabama and Tennessee as one does in Dallas, where you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting some newly purchased “water floatation devices” on display at restaurants, basketball games, PTA meetings and church bazaars. My husband actually DECLINED the invitation saying it was a long way to drive (20 minutes) for not much reward. Yes, Hubby is a Hooters snob. I, for one, am certain this lovely young lady is saving her money for law school and reads to the blind on weekends.

So, aside from a couple of jellyfish incidents, and an attack of some sort of seaweed forest on the last couple of days at the beach, all went well. We even took another of our famous Gerber Family Reunion photos. These require more coordination and anguish by some than can possibly be justified. However, it does prove the sayings that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and birds of a feather DO flock together…

Cheers to another successful family reunion. Raise your “Wine Woozie” in celebration.

These are my kind of people.

36 PEOPLE WALK INTO A BAR…

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Growing up, my family had a reunion maybe every 5 years. We’d meet at some convenient location for the day, and go away again for another 5 years. We stopped the whole thing when I was still pretty young, so I’m not sure what out-of-towners did after those exhilarating few hours. Maybe that explains why we quit having them. That, or all the polyester in one room was a fire hazard and we could no longer secure a venue.

Now, my in-laws have a reunion every year. EVERY YEAR. It’s either in the “home town” or some beachy location. It typically lasts 5 days and this year involves a head count of 36.

That’s 36 for Happy Hour before dinner. 36 to transport to dinner. 36 for dinner. 36 for beaching (chairs and umbrellas, etc.) 36… well, you get the idea.

Needless to say, a lot of prep goes into this each year, as evidenced by the…oh, about 1000 email I’ve been copied on since planning began. The last 3 days saw a flurry of “Reply Alls” regarding laundry detergent and its exact room number, the disastrous potential of NOT using low suds detergent, (who’s doing laundry on vacation??) what is considered appropriate dinner attire, (well, it IS a beach…) and an unapologetic calling out of the purveyors of the $3 Family Happy Hour wine and insinuation that it will no longer be tolerated. Surprisingly, the complainant WAS NOT ME.

These little missives have kept my co-workers and me entertained for days. They hear me say, “Oh, for the love…” and spring up like prairie dogs to peek over the cubicle and hear the latest news flash.

I would copy all the email trail(s) into the blog directly and leave it at that, but I do have to spend 5 days with these people, and I bet if they wanted, an “accident” COULD be arranged. “Accidents” happen at the ocean all the time. And anyone who can coordinate this group can arrange ANYTHING.

Stay tuned. The fun is about to begin. My hubby (who arrived yesterday) has already texted me the term “bat $#&!”

Meanwhile…

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Meet my Flat Marketing team. They so enjoyed hearing about this trip, they decided to join in “paper” form. You can follow their adventures at the family reunion if you Like the Flat Marketing FB page.