In Dallas, last Saturday, on our way from St. Louis to Vail, Colorado for a ski vacation, two ground crew attendants attempted to control the crowd trying to board an AA flight. The flight was late and most passengers were travelling with young kids, who were starting to squirm and whine.
In fact, the crowd was not rowdy. No-one pushed. The problem was that every single person was crammed in the line-up labelled “Priority”, which is reserved for AA’s platinum and gold members and first-class passengers. Not one single person was in the regular line-up!
The attendant kept using the loudspeaker to announce the brief delay and to demand that, “Y’all need to step back! This is priority boarding only!” I thought this was uproariously funny and assumed that AA had been overly generous with points, allowing a disproportionate number of travellers to enjoy privileges normally reserved for high-paying customers and frequent flyers.
I was wrong.
A short flight brought us to Vail-Eagle, a beautiful new airport nestled in the Colorado Mountains, a short drive from world-class Vail ski resort and family-friendly Beaver Creek resort. I anticipated that our bags would arrive first on the baggage carrousel because my husband’s Platinum status meant that our suitcases had been checked with bright red “priority” tags.
I was wrong.
Our bags were nearly last to appear on the carrousel after approximately 50 other suitcases tagged with bright red “priority” tags! Every single bag was priority checked! Are you starting to get it? It took me awhile. Maybe I’m naive. Maybe I just wasn’t paying attention? To be fair, I’ve only lived in the United States for seven months and I never dreamed I’d get to ski at Vail, a destination that seemed so far away when we lived in Canada.
As we hopped into our $350 40-minute shuttle to the $500 per night hotel, I began to realise why every person and every bag had been priority checked ... let’s just say that Vail, Colorado is not exactly your average cheap vacation spot!
Even Beaver Creek’s tongue-in-cheek “Not exactly roughing it!” slogan recognises the fact that this is luxury skiing at its best. Runs are carefully groomed every night. Young people on four-month visas from all over the world cheerfully work tables at fabulous restaurants serving fine wines, imported beers, and local specialties such as elk, bison and trout, as well as imported delicacies.
Even the sunny blue skies looked like they’d been bought! Did Vail arrange for a foot of fresh, fluffy powder to fall all day on Friday? How did they do it? This place is magic and ... yes, very expensive. As we wait at the airport to return home, pockets a bit emptier, faces a little more tanned, and grateful for being able to take such a wonderful family vacation, I count my blessings and wait for the Priority Boarding call!!!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Lovey stayed home.
Lovey is a stuffed bunny. She is small and very well-loved. More than 10 years ago, when she was new, you might have recognised her as the grey bunny in blue-and-white striped pyjamas from the children’s book, “Goodnight Moon”. In fact, Lovey came to us as a gift with that very book.
Lovey belongs to my 11-year old daughter. Even before she could speak – in those early months, when she could just raise her head and “creep” across the floor – our little girl always reached for the same bunny. Thinking it would be useful to have a special “lovey”, as parenting books call them, I started putting the bunny into the baby’s crib at night and during naptime, so it would always have her scent and, hopefully, be of comfort to her wherever we went.
Well, it turns out that we went a lot of places and that bunny has come along every time, starting with an amazing trip to visit friends in Europe before our daughter had even turned one. The bunny is in every picture.
It was around that time that she indicated in every possible way that she wanted her Lovey Bunny – as we called her by then – pretty much all the time. It was also around that time that she started rubbing the bottom of the bunny’s soft rubbery feet against her cheeks to soothe herself to sleep. As a result, Lovey Bunny started to wear thin in the feet, even before her colour started to fade and before the fluff inside her got compacted from love and washing.
When our daughter was nearly two years old, I left her in good hands – her father’s – the night after the birth of our baby boy. That evening, I received a frantic call at the hospital from my husband, saying that our daughter kept asking for her bunny and he that couldn’t find it. She spoke fairly early but, like all young children, not clearly. She kept saying, “Bunny. Lawn-dwee”, so my husband searched the laundry room. Then, he searched her room. Then, with rising degrees of panic, he searched every room in the house for, by now, she was firmly attached to that bunny and could not sleep without it!
Now, I had been prepared for this situation and had a spare bunny up on the top shelf on the linen cupboard, which I instructed him to give to her. Second frantic call: she rejected it saying, “Dat NEW bunny. Dat not my bunny.” Finally, I recalled her toy plastic washing machine in the basement, which is, in fact, where bunny was. Crisis averted.
Over the years, there have been many frantic searches for Lovey. We always found her, often twisted in the sheets, under the bed or tucked in the sofa cushions. Lovey continued to travel with us and, indeed, would have an impressive passport had we kept one for her! When our daughter went away on her first overnight school trip in third grade at the International School of Brussels, I packed Lovey in the pyjamas, instructing her to look after my little girl. The next year, when the class went to France, Lovey helped out with a couple of homesick moments. By fifth grade, I asked if I should pack Lovey, which we did for “just in case”.
Now, here in St. Louis, there are no overnight school trips. However, sleepovers are popular and our daughter has her new friends here some weekends or gets invited elsewhere. Recently, when three of her new friends spent the night, I noticed that Lovey was nowhere near the bed but resided instead with all the other stuffed toys for the night. I said nothing.
For the first couple of sleepovers elsewhere, I asked if I should pack Lovey, who by now is tiny and faded, but still soft. Her little plastic eyes are worn but still seem gentle and reassuring somehow. But, Lovey has not gone to any sleepovers in St. Louis. So, when our daughter spent the night at a friend’s house the night before leaving for a ski vacation in Colorado, I did not pack Lovey in the overnight bag. Nor – for the first time – did I pack her for the vacation. It was an accident and I didn’t think of it until we were at the airport.
Lovey stayed home. I regret to say that we’re just fine.
Lovey belongs to my 11-year old daughter. Even before she could speak – in those early months, when she could just raise her head and “creep” across the floor – our little girl always reached for the same bunny. Thinking it would be useful to have a special “lovey”, as parenting books call them, I started putting the bunny into the baby’s crib at night and during naptime, so it would always have her scent and, hopefully, be of comfort to her wherever we went.
Well, it turns out that we went a lot of places and that bunny has come along every time, starting with an amazing trip to visit friends in Europe before our daughter had even turned one. The bunny is in every picture.
It was around that time that she indicated in every possible way that she wanted her Lovey Bunny – as we called her by then – pretty much all the time. It was also around that time that she started rubbing the bottom of the bunny’s soft rubbery feet against her cheeks to soothe herself to sleep. As a result, Lovey Bunny started to wear thin in the feet, even before her colour started to fade and before the fluff inside her got compacted from love and washing.
When our daughter was nearly two years old, I left her in good hands – her father’s – the night after the birth of our baby boy. That evening, I received a frantic call at the hospital from my husband, saying that our daughter kept asking for her bunny and he that couldn’t find it. She spoke fairly early but, like all young children, not clearly. She kept saying, “Bunny. Lawn-dwee”, so my husband searched the laundry room. Then, he searched her room. Then, with rising degrees of panic, he searched every room in the house for, by now, she was firmly attached to that bunny and could not sleep without it!
Now, I had been prepared for this situation and had a spare bunny up on the top shelf on the linen cupboard, which I instructed him to give to her. Second frantic call: she rejected it saying, “Dat NEW bunny. Dat not my bunny.” Finally, I recalled her toy plastic washing machine in the basement, which is, in fact, where bunny was. Crisis averted.
Over the years, there have been many frantic searches for Lovey. We always found her, often twisted in the sheets, under the bed or tucked in the sofa cushions. Lovey continued to travel with us and, indeed, would have an impressive passport had we kept one for her! When our daughter went away on her first overnight school trip in third grade at the International School of Brussels, I packed Lovey in the pyjamas, instructing her to look after my little girl. The next year, when the class went to France, Lovey helped out with a couple of homesick moments. By fifth grade, I asked if I should pack Lovey, which we did for “just in case”.
Now, here in St. Louis, there are no overnight school trips. However, sleepovers are popular and our daughter has her new friends here some weekends or gets invited elsewhere. Recently, when three of her new friends spent the night, I noticed that Lovey was nowhere near the bed but resided instead with all the other stuffed toys for the night. I said nothing.
For the first couple of sleepovers elsewhere, I asked if I should pack Lovey, who by now is tiny and faded, but still soft. Her little plastic eyes are worn but still seem gentle and reassuring somehow. But, Lovey has not gone to any sleepovers in St. Louis. So, when our daughter spent the night at a friend’s house the night before leaving for a ski vacation in Colorado, I did not pack Lovey in the overnight bag. Nor – for the first time – did I pack her for the vacation. It was an accident and I didn’t think of it until we were at the airport.
Lovey stayed home. I regret to say that we’re just fine.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Overtime, Overjoyed, Overtired!
Did you see the men’s final hockey game at the Olympics in Vancouver? Wasn’t that exciting? We were there, up in the last row, against the wall at about centre ice. We barely sat down the whole game. We screamed ourselves hoarse. We cheered when the Canadians scored early and then doubled it up midway through the game. We groaned when the Americans scored and then cried when they tied up the game with a mere 20 seconds left in the third period.
Then, our voices joined millions of others across Canada, wildly and joyously celebrating our 3-2 victory in overtime. There was more “wild” and “joyous” at the events and at post-event all-night parties than I’ve ever seen in my life. The streets of downtown Vancouver were jammed with people cheering, singing and screaming the entire time we were there. It was all in good fun; even the firemen, whose trucks were parked strategically across several streets to help with traffic and people flow, were honking passionately.
I’m so glad that we got to be there in Vancouver for the last five days of this worldwide celebration of sports. As a Canadian who has lived abroad for the past three years, I was anxious to see how my fellow countrymen would manage. I felt a bit like a parent who has come to visit her grown-up child. That child – Canada – is now an independent adult – of me and like me, but separate all the same. I accept its faults, I revel in its complexity, I cry for its beauty, and I am in awe of what it has become. Mostly, though, I am thankful that I am part of it at all.
The host city did a wonderful job and there were so many volunteers, they were practically falling over each other to help fans at the events! What better city to welcome visitors from around the world than one which is already so international itself? Day after day, I looked around at the myriad of faces in the streets and in the stands, and I soaked up the multi-ethnicity of that beautiful city. I was thirsty for it; the ease with which people from so many different places live and play together in effortless harmony.
For the first week and a half of the Olympics, NBC was our window into that exciting world, as we watched the competitions on television from our home in St. Louis, Missouri in the United States. NBC introduced the Games with a beautiful piece about the lengthy friendship between the U.S. and its northern neighbour, including visuals of Vancouver and its majestic mountains, and footage of world and regional wars the two countries have fought and continue to fight side-by-side. I hope Canadians get a chance to see it; it will make my apologetic and sometimes insecure compatriots realise how much we are valued by our southern friends.
NBC’s coverage and commentary was fabulous – interesting and entertaining, although they were resoundingly criticized here for tape-delaying the first Canada-U.S. hockey game! I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of exposure given to Canadians and other countries in competition, including the fascinating profiles of various athletes between events and during re-runs. Still, though, I have to admit that I was thrilled to get to Canada and watch non-stop Canadian interviews, footage and celebrations in both English and French. When Canadians weren’t competing, they just showed re-runs of the Canadian curling teams!
Curling isn’t that popular here in the U.S., although NBC showed a ton of it during the Games. Before I left for Vancouver, my book club friends here in St. Louis asked me what the “older people throwing big stones down the ice” are doing. However, my neighbour here claims that there’s a real spike in interest in curling and predicts the sport will take off (eh?) in the U.S! Was it the Norwegian curling pants – grey and red argyle-inspired diamonds? Was it the gorgeous faces and impeccable hair of the Swiss men’s and Swedish women’s teams? Was it the happy, young faces of the Chinese bronze medalists? Was it the seriousness with which the rocks were thrown? Was it the fact that they made sweeping look fun – like a sport, rather than a chore?
You certainly couldn’t blame the unmasked joy on the faces of the curling medal winners for the increase in interest in the game, for that was common to every sport. You couldn’t help but be happy for all of the athletes and, particularly, the medal winners at the end of a winning race, as they embraced their families and friends, and as they stepped onto the podium with shaking hands and a look of disbelief. They certainly adhered to the Olympic motto: “Faster! Higher! Stronger!”
My son couldn’t tear himself from the speed skating, so we were very lucky to have had a chance to see the short-track and a relay live in Vancouver. For him, the race, with its speed and intensity, is mesmerizing and he is desperate to learn how to do it. He warned me that I should be prepared to see him at the 2018 Games! I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s never been on skates before.
I guess that’s the Olympic dream!
Then, our voices joined millions of others across Canada, wildly and joyously celebrating our 3-2 victory in overtime. There was more “wild” and “joyous” at the events and at post-event all-night parties than I’ve ever seen in my life. The streets of downtown Vancouver were jammed with people cheering, singing and screaming the entire time we were there. It was all in good fun; even the firemen, whose trucks were parked strategically across several streets to help with traffic and people flow, were honking passionately.
I’m so glad that we got to be there in Vancouver for the last five days of this worldwide celebration of sports. As a Canadian who has lived abroad for the past three years, I was anxious to see how my fellow countrymen would manage. I felt a bit like a parent who has come to visit her grown-up child. That child – Canada – is now an independent adult – of me and like me, but separate all the same. I accept its faults, I revel in its complexity, I cry for its beauty, and I am in awe of what it has become. Mostly, though, I am thankful that I am part of it at all.
The host city did a wonderful job and there were so many volunteers, they were practically falling over each other to help fans at the events! What better city to welcome visitors from around the world than one which is already so international itself? Day after day, I looked around at the myriad of faces in the streets and in the stands, and I soaked up the multi-ethnicity of that beautiful city. I was thirsty for it; the ease with which people from so many different places live and play together in effortless harmony.
For the first week and a half of the Olympics, NBC was our window into that exciting world, as we watched the competitions on television from our home in St. Louis, Missouri in the United States. NBC introduced the Games with a beautiful piece about the lengthy friendship between the U.S. and its northern neighbour, including visuals of Vancouver and its majestic mountains, and footage of world and regional wars the two countries have fought and continue to fight side-by-side. I hope Canadians get a chance to see it; it will make my apologetic and sometimes insecure compatriots realise how much we are valued by our southern friends.
NBC’s coverage and commentary was fabulous – interesting and entertaining, although they were resoundingly criticized here for tape-delaying the first Canada-U.S. hockey game! I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of exposure given to Canadians and other countries in competition, including the fascinating profiles of various athletes between events and during re-runs. Still, though, I have to admit that I was thrilled to get to Canada and watch non-stop Canadian interviews, footage and celebrations in both English and French. When Canadians weren’t competing, they just showed re-runs of the Canadian curling teams!
Curling isn’t that popular here in the U.S., although NBC showed a ton of it during the Games. Before I left for Vancouver, my book club friends here in St. Louis asked me what the “older people throwing big stones down the ice” are doing. However, my neighbour here claims that there’s a real spike in interest in curling and predicts the sport will take off (eh?) in the U.S! Was it the Norwegian curling pants – grey and red argyle-inspired diamonds? Was it the gorgeous faces and impeccable hair of the Swiss men’s and Swedish women’s teams? Was it the happy, young faces of the Chinese bronze medalists? Was it the seriousness with which the rocks were thrown? Was it the fact that they made sweeping look fun – like a sport, rather than a chore?
You certainly couldn’t blame the unmasked joy on the faces of the curling medal winners for the increase in interest in the game, for that was common to every sport. You couldn’t help but be happy for all of the athletes and, particularly, the medal winners at the end of a winning race, as they embraced their families and friends, and as they stepped onto the podium with shaking hands and a look of disbelief. They certainly adhered to the Olympic motto: “Faster! Higher! Stronger!”
My son couldn’t tear himself from the speed skating, so we were very lucky to have had a chance to see the short-track and a relay live in Vancouver. For him, the race, with its speed and intensity, is mesmerizing and he is desperate to learn how to do it. He warned me that I should be prepared to see him at the 2018 Games! I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s never been on skates before.
I guess that’s the Olympic dream!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)