I just finished a travel journal, ran out of pages, and stacked it up with ten others. A person who writes for fun cannot just do it a little bit..........it is a compulsion.
My travel journaling began when I married Randy, ten years ago, and got a mate with my same itchy feet and love of history. We were off and away, any time school was out. No historical location, beach, winery, or oddity goes unvisited when we're "on the road." We've spent afternoons traipsing through cemeteries, battlefields, hiked city streets, walked beaches, and climbed lighthouse steps. As we go along, for sure, I don't want to forget where we've been or what we've seen!
I collect ticket stubs, post cards and brochures, paste them into journals, and write about what we see, in between the pasted-on items. Once I began this, I couldn't control my need to tell MORE about what we'd seen, details of each event, people we'd met, food we'd enjoyed, places we'd stayed, and interesting facts we'd learned about the sights we'd visited.
Randy and I travel hit or miss. We used to get in the car and let the driver choose the direction. That worked for awhile, but we drove all over Alabama once: north, south, north, south, and wasted some gas, before we decided that a better plan was to AIM in one direction, and then stop along the way to see what we could see. Getting off the major highways is what we do best. There are all kinds of fun things to see off the interstates! Choose an exit, get off, and just see what I mean!
For ten years, that is what we've done. We have a wall map of the United States on which we've marked the routes we've covered. Colored lines with dates cover most of this map. Dotted lines mark cruise routes. Anything unmarked is saved for retirement. We've gone east, west, north and south. We've retraced routes to beaches many times, revisited cities and sites we didn't get enough of the first time, and gotten off the beaten path to discover little-known (but oughta-be) places. (Who ELSE liked the "World's Largest Frying Pan" in North Carolina enough to go back a second time?)
This is not to tell of the places we've been, but to explain my travel journals. Once I started writing about each day's events, I was hooked on keeping notes for posterity. The books piled up, one upon the other. Sometimes we get one out to look up the name of a restaurant or town that we've forgotten. On a quiet day I will open one and relive a special vacation or short jaunt, and enjoy reading what we did and what I thought about a particular day.
Randy and I pack lightly for our trips, but I carry my "journal bag" on the back seat. It's a small gray sack holding markers, scissors, glue stick, pencils and pens. I gather things to put into my journal as we go along. I used to write the text out, longhand, but recently I've taken to recording the days by blog each night. I began to share my travel blog with friends and relatives.
When a trip is over, I print the blog, paste the writings and memorabilia into a blank book, and that journey is "saved" for us to enjoy again later.
We take joy in having our travel history written for perpetuity. We know that as long as one of us is alive, the remaining one will keep reading them, re-enjoying trips by heart. Then they will be handed-down to my adult children.
Today I played catch-up: I was months behind in the pasting process. I glued in two trips this afternoon, filled a trash basket with leftover brochure scraps, and still have a weekend and another vacation to finish up before we start out on our next trip.
Is this a chore? Not on a bet. Today I RE-travelled to Nashville, attended, by memory, the Grand Ol Opry at the Ryman Auditorium, and recalled a lovely dinner and people we'd met. It was all vivid in my mind as I pasted my writings, post cards and photos on those pages.
Travel Journaling is joyous writing. While personal journals are generally meant for only the writer's eyes, I share my travel journal because I've always been the kind of person who wants to SHARE with others when I've found something grand. Frankly, I wish I could do travel writing for a living. What a combination of my two favorite activities that would be!
My minimalist children might want to dispose of my journals some day. Before they do that, I would hope that they'd look at that map of the United States, figure out the colored lines criss-crossing our marvelous country, read them, picture the places in their minds, and set out on their own journies and adventures.
The passion for travel might be the best inheritance I leave to them, and while it takes no space in a suitcase, it's the most important thing to take along!
copyright: KP Gillenwater
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
My Stuff, His Stuff............or, "Bits and Pieces"
In the eighties, there was a pair of crazy sisters who called themselves "The Slob Sisters." They wrote a book* about how to clean a house and do it right. I howled with laughter, and kept a file box of day-to-day household duties on the program. It worked, and it was delightful fun at the time. It felt good to keep my home orderly, clean, and working like a clock. A number of my friends embraced this program at the same time, and we worked in our homes, laughed a lot, and enjoyed the system.
We wore aprons with pockets filled with dusters and screwdrivers, used a 50-foot cord on our vacuum cleaner, had spray bottles of cleaning fluids hanging from the loops on the sides of our aprons, and virtually laughed ourselves silly as we cleaned. It worked. My home was organized, clean, and uncluttered.
Occasionally I would don my "cleaning fairy suit," and stop in, unannounced, at homes of friends on the program, do a white-glove inspection, laugh a lot, and have coffee afterwards.
You notice that we laughed a lot. That's because back then we didn't have a lot of STUFF.
Now, I HAVE STUFF. Lots of it. My beloved Randy reminds me every day of my stuff. He says I have too much stuff, and he'd really like me to de-stuff, or at least to organize it to his satisfaction.
Recently we passed a shop named "The Stuff Store." I laughed uncontrollably for days over that. Randy wouldn't stop the car to see what stuff they had in there, so I had to imagine it. The visuals I concocted probably were better than the store's actual stock..............
We ALL have "stuff." (and if you don't, then what's wrong with you?)
George Carlin, the late humorist, said, "A house is just a place to keep your stuff, while you go out and get more stuff." I've had four houses, in ever-expanding sizes, and the stuff has increased incrementally, too. I think, and Randy agrees, that I am just about overstuffed.
My major problem is that Randy keeps MOVING and HIDING my stuff! If we're having company, he seems to think that it will offend these people. I keep telling him that THEY HAVE STUFF, too, but he moves it, and sometimes it doesn't show up again for years!
Fortunately, I have a room for most of my stuff, with shelving, boxes and labels to control this collection. It is fairly organized. I can find anything I am looking for, because it's my stuff, and I take care of it. Even I amaze myself, sometimes, when I need Aunt Helen's pewter candelabra or a striped ribbon, and voila..........I can produce it because I know my stuff!
The NEW stuff that hasn't yet been categorized and found its "place," is where it gets a bit sticky. You know that old phrase: A place for everything, and everything in its place? Whoever wrote that bit of drivel must not really DO anything ! He probably just SITS, looking at his stuff, never USING it!!
When I bring home a new piece of stuff, sometimes I am not quite certain how it is going to fit into my life. This new item might linger on the kitchen counter for a day or so before I "locate" it to its new destination. This is the danger point. After I disappear to work, Randy picks it up, puts it on a chair or carries it to my stuff-room, where it gets lost under random papers or projects; or worse yet, he delivers it to the location HE thinks it should live! (Wrong!!!)
Entire collections of valuable stuff have been misplaced in just this way. My tax receipts for twenty years got burned up when I moved boxes, to relocate them. I just happened to set them near a fireplace. Mr. Johnny-on-the Spot incinerated my entire tax history!!! (Guess what? I haven't needed any of that stuff yet, either.....but I don't mention that part, much.)
Part of the problem is that I get side-tracked in the never-ending quest to position my stuff in the best possible spots, and sometimes I don't move fast enough for Randy. The tax info was destined for another shelf, and never got there. If I lay a knife down when I've sliced a tomato, to pick up a pepper, the knife might get washed while my back is turned! I've actually taken mustard out of the frig, and it has been replaced while I reached for the loaf of bread!
I bought thirty-six CD boxes a few weeks ago. (Don't ask why.) I put the bag of boxes next to the cabinet where the box-less CD's awaited their new homes. Imagine this: Randy was INSULTED when I called home to ask him if the bag was still sitting where I'd put it! (This was a test.....) He denied even THINKING of moving it! And when I got home, there it was, where I'd left it. (He probably had to search the house while I was gone, retrieve it, and replace it before I got home.....)
He wonders why I attach sticky notes that say, "Leave this here!" on things. He became peeved when I wrote "Do Not Remove," on defrosting chicken. Vacuum cleaners are labeled, "Not done yet. Walk around this." Newly-washed underwear that is hanging up to dry needs a sign that says, "TEST FOR DRYNESS BEFORE FOLDING." (I kid you not....)
Does HE have stuff, too? Of course he does, but he doesn't call it that. It's a "collection" of wood, windows, doors, shelves, nails, nuts, bolts, twine and other building materials. He calls it "work equipment." Periodically, I threaten to go to into his workshop and rearrange HIS STUFF, and put things where I THINK THEY SHOULD GO. The look of terror on his face is that of pure fright when I say that.................. and I haven't done it...............yet.
This is not about de-stuffing. I already know I can't do that. I need my stuff. I just hope that if anything happens to me, my family will look it over well before they trash it, maybe find a treasure or two, and THEN yell, "Why in the Hell did she keep THIS?"
I just visited Amazon.com and ordered a copy of that book. I could use a really good laugh while I shuffle through my stuff, and maybe I can clean the house with joy in my heart and laughter in my soul........as long as the fifty-foot vacuum cord doesn't get wrapped around my neck........but I know that if it did, Randy would wind the cord up quickly and save my life.
copyright: KP Gillenwater
* The book is titled Sidetracked Home Executives, by Pam Young and Peggy Jones. It seems to have been reprinted, and it's on Amazon.com.
We wore aprons with pockets filled with dusters and screwdrivers, used a 50-foot cord on our vacuum cleaner, had spray bottles of cleaning fluids hanging from the loops on the sides of our aprons, and virtually laughed ourselves silly as we cleaned. It worked. My home was organized, clean, and uncluttered.
Occasionally I would don my "cleaning fairy suit," and stop in, unannounced, at homes of friends on the program, do a white-glove inspection, laugh a lot, and have coffee afterwards.
You notice that we laughed a lot. That's because back then we didn't have a lot of STUFF.
Now, I HAVE STUFF. Lots of it. My beloved Randy reminds me every day of my stuff. He says I have too much stuff, and he'd really like me to de-stuff, or at least to organize it to his satisfaction.
Recently we passed a shop named "The Stuff Store." I laughed uncontrollably for days over that. Randy wouldn't stop the car to see what stuff they had in there, so I had to imagine it. The visuals I concocted probably were better than the store's actual stock..............
We ALL have "stuff." (and if you don't, then what's wrong with you?)
George Carlin, the late humorist, said, "A house is just a place to keep your stuff, while you go out and get more stuff." I've had four houses, in ever-expanding sizes, and the stuff has increased incrementally, too. I think, and Randy agrees, that I am just about overstuffed.
My major problem is that Randy keeps MOVING and HIDING my stuff! If we're having company, he seems to think that it will offend these people. I keep telling him that THEY HAVE STUFF, too, but he moves it, and sometimes it doesn't show up again for years!
Fortunately, I have a room for most of my stuff, with shelving, boxes and labels to control this collection. It is fairly organized. I can find anything I am looking for, because it's my stuff, and I take care of it. Even I amaze myself, sometimes, when I need Aunt Helen's pewter candelabra or a striped ribbon, and voila..........I can produce it because I know my stuff!
The NEW stuff that hasn't yet been categorized and found its "place," is where it gets a bit sticky. You know that old phrase: A place for everything, and everything in its place? Whoever wrote that bit of drivel must not really DO anything ! He probably just SITS, looking at his stuff, never USING it!!
When I bring home a new piece of stuff, sometimes I am not quite certain how it is going to fit into my life. This new item might linger on the kitchen counter for a day or so before I "locate" it to its new destination. This is the danger point. After I disappear to work, Randy picks it up, puts it on a chair or carries it to my stuff-room, where it gets lost under random papers or projects; or worse yet, he delivers it to the location HE thinks it should live! (Wrong!!!)
Entire collections of valuable stuff have been misplaced in just this way. My tax receipts for twenty years got burned up when I moved boxes, to relocate them. I just happened to set them near a fireplace. Mr. Johnny-on-the Spot incinerated my entire tax history!!! (Guess what? I haven't needed any of that stuff yet, either.....but I don't mention that part, much.)
Part of the problem is that I get side-tracked in the never-ending quest to position my stuff in the best possible spots, and sometimes I don't move fast enough for Randy. The tax info was destined for another shelf, and never got there. If I lay a knife down when I've sliced a tomato, to pick up a pepper, the knife might get washed while my back is turned! I've actually taken mustard out of the frig, and it has been replaced while I reached for the loaf of bread!
I bought thirty-six CD boxes a few weeks ago. (Don't ask why.) I put the bag of boxes next to the cabinet where the box-less CD's awaited their new homes. Imagine this: Randy was INSULTED when I called home to ask him if the bag was still sitting where I'd put it! (This was a test.....) He denied even THINKING of moving it! And when I got home, there it was, where I'd left it. (He probably had to search the house while I was gone, retrieve it, and replace it before I got home.....)
He wonders why I attach sticky notes that say, "Leave this here!" on things. He became peeved when I wrote "Do Not Remove," on defrosting chicken. Vacuum cleaners are labeled, "Not done yet. Walk around this." Newly-washed underwear that is hanging up to dry needs a sign that says, "TEST FOR DRYNESS BEFORE FOLDING." (I kid you not....)
Does HE have stuff, too? Of course he does, but he doesn't call it that. It's a "collection" of wood, windows, doors, shelves, nails, nuts, bolts, twine and other building materials. He calls it "work equipment." Periodically, I threaten to go to into his workshop and rearrange HIS STUFF, and put things where I THINK THEY SHOULD GO. The look of terror on his face is that of pure fright when I say that.................. and I haven't done it...............yet.
This is not about de-stuffing. I already know I can't do that. I need my stuff. I just hope that if anything happens to me, my family will look it over well before they trash it, maybe find a treasure or two, and THEN yell, "Why in the Hell did she keep THIS?"
I just visited Amazon.com and ordered a copy of that book. I could use a really good laugh while I shuffle through my stuff, and maybe I can clean the house with joy in my heart and laughter in my soul........as long as the fifty-foot vacuum cord doesn't get wrapped around my neck........but I know that if it did, Randy would wind the cord up quickly and save my life.
copyright: KP Gillenwater
* The book is titled Sidetracked Home Executives, by Pam Young and Peggy Jones. It seems to have been reprinted, and it's on Amazon.com.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Your Deepest Secrets Revealed ! or, "Do You Want to Know a Secret?"
I saw a news item on CNN titled " Did Cell Phones Unleash Our Inner Rudeness?"
I DON'T THINK SO! But for truly rude people it would be a great excuse.
I think there have ALWAYS been rude people amongst us.........We just didn't think they were cool or fun to be around, and we were not forced to interact with them...........until now.
The cell phone has made everybody's business everybody's business, apparently!
I don't really WANT to know about strangers' elimination schedules or dental visit details, but lately the entire world is sharing that kind of information via the cell phone that might as well be surgically implanted onto their ears~ and while you might not even BE on the other end, YOU get to hear all about it!
The first time I encountered a true cell phone publicity hound, I was attending a book sale at a library and a fool got on his cell phone. He roamed the library, talking loudly about his ex-wife and what she could do with herself. Details of the yelling match they'd had were re-yelled into his cell, so we all got the picture. We patrons stood open-mouthed in aisles of books, in horror, listening to intimate details of the screamer's private business. We pretended to be interested in old National Geographic Magazines! None of us had the nerve to tell him to take it outside. I suppose we presumed he might be intuitive enough to hear our gasps, see our mouths opened in shock, and translate that to a big "Whoops!" but he did not.
I heard one woman betray her best friend's most private secret while she waited for a doctor appointment. The entire waiting room was treated to this, by the way. No one interrupted her or pointed to the door, but I wish someone had. We heard the details, dirty as they were. Some friend!
I love the signs at fast food places or banks that say, "Please finish your call before we wait on you." I bet those tellers and servers have heard more private conversations and verbal foreplay than they can stomach.
I've learned more about diseases, rashes, divorce and family dysfunction from complete strangers than I knew existed. I heard sex-talk as I waited in line at the post office! I was party to a final break-up of complete strangers, as one yelled, and those nearby listened. I politely turned away.
I remember when we didn't even mention distasteful issues. Colonoscopies were private! We didn't know what you ate or threw up, then.
My hubby won't even speak to me if I call him when he is standing in line at Home Depot. "Later," is about the sum of his conversation then. I make my cell calls outside of stores or in the car. A personal talk should BE private!
I would like to see a national defensive action by those of us who still have a sense of propriety: Join me, so I don't feel alone in this, by stopping dead in your tracks during the next private conversation revealed. Let's all stand stock still, mouths gaping, and give full attention to the speaker! On Stage! Let the speaker be a star! Let's applaud if he hangs up! Or grab pens and tablets and take notes! We could croon "ahhhhhhhhhh," or "Oh no! or No way!" when the details get really juicy. Do you think that those subteties would get the point across? Would he hang up, crawl away mortified and embarrassed? Probably not.
I actually believe those people don't KNOW any better!
What I'd like to say to these people is simple: Please keep your private calls private! Don't tell about Aunt Lulu's bowel obstruction in the grocery line. Your daughter's broken engagement details should stay in the family. Tell people off privately, so we don't hear your @##!!!* words!
We really DON'T WANT to hear it!!!
copyright@ K P Gillenwater
I DON'T THINK SO! But for truly rude people it would be a great excuse.
I think there have ALWAYS been rude people amongst us.........We just didn't think they were cool or fun to be around, and we were not forced to interact with them...........until now.
The cell phone has made everybody's business everybody's business, apparently!
I don't really WANT to know about strangers' elimination schedules or dental visit details, but lately the entire world is sharing that kind of information via the cell phone that might as well be surgically implanted onto their ears~ and while you might not even BE on the other end, YOU get to hear all about it!
The first time I encountered a true cell phone publicity hound, I was attending a book sale at a library and a fool got on his cell phone. He roamed the library, talking loudly about his ex-wife and what she could do with herself. Details of the yelling match they'd had were re-yelled into his cell, so we all got the picture. We patrons stood open-mouthed in aisles of books, in horror, listening to intimate details of the screamer's private business. We pretended to be interested in old National Geographic Magazines! None of us had the nerve to tell him to take it outside. I suppose we presumed he might be intuitive enough to hear our gasps, see our mouths opened in shock, and translate that to a big "Whoops!" but he did not.
I heard one woman betray her best friend's most private secret while she waited for a doctor appointment. The entire waiting room was treated to this, by the way. No one interrupted her or pointed to the door, but I wish someone had. We heard the details, dirty as they were. Some friend!
I love the signs at fast food places or banks that say, "Please finish your call before we wait on you." I bet those tellers and servers have heard more private conversations and verbal foreplay than they can stomach.
I've learned more about diseases, rashes, divorce and family dysfunction from complete strangers than I knew existed. I heard sex-talk as I waited in line at the post office! I was party to a final break-up of complete strangers, as one yelled, and those nearby listened. I politely turned away.
I remember when we didn't even mention distasteful issues. Colonoscopies were private! We didn't know what you ate or threw up, then.
My hubby won't even speak to me if I call him when he is standing in line at Home Depot. "Later," is about the sum of his conversation then. I make my cell calls outside of stores or in the car. A personal talk should BE private!
I would like to see a national defensive action by those of us who still have a sense of propriety: Join me, so I don't feel alone in this, by stopping dead in your tracks during the next private conversation revealed. Let's all stand stock still, mouths gaping, and give full attention to the speaker! On Stage! Let the speaker be a star! Let's applaud if he hangs up! Or grab pens and tablets and take notes! We could croon "ahhhhhhhhhh," or "Oh no! or No way!" when the details get really juicy. Do you think that those subteties would get the point across? Would he hang up, crawl away mortified and embarrassed? Probably not.
I actually believe those people don't KNOW any better!
What I'd like to say to these people is simple: Please keep your private calls private! Don't tell about Aunt Lulu's bowel obstruction in the grocery line. Your daughter's broken engagement details should stay in the family. Tell people off privately, so we don't hear your @##!!!* words!
We really DON'T WANT to hear it!!!
copyright@ K P Gillenwater
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