It was midnight in Alaska when I arrived. The trip was a last minute whim. I could see the sunset on the horizon. “Why is it light outside?” I joked to the women sitting beside me on the plane, both Anchorage natives. Aliza, with whom I’d be staying, met me at the arrivals in her big puffy jacket, and Alaska-ready suburban. Every single vehicle in the parking garage was a truck, Jeep, Subaru, or 4×4. I’d never seen such a thing. There wasn’t a shiny car to be seen, although throughout the week I spotted a few. It was a far cry from the spoiled Phoenix cars sporting their fresh washes and chrome.
I buried my toes in the sand and peered off into the foggy mist that hovered over the Kite Festival in Long Beach, Washington. It was cool, but not cold for an August afternoon. My hair whipped madly against the ocean air that was tickling the show kites every which way. Kite festivals draw an interesting crowd; enthusiasts of the sport who must spend most of their time practicing new moves and jumps. I learned that freestyle kite flying is a professional event as I looked on toward a kite jigging and jiving up and down and side to side in tantric movements to the beat of a remixed dubstep version of the Lion King’s “In the Jungle”. There were thousands of kites in every direction, little fast trick kites and big hovering 145+feet long monsters that hovered in the sky, hidden behind the fog like ghosts tied to a string.
Even on the clearest of Seattle mornings I can often see the fog rolling away over the ocean, while the smell of fresh fish still lingers on the morning dew. I live near Ballard and the docks where the Deadliest Catch boats tie up, and gruff fisherman unload their loot.
In May 2015, I moved from Arizona’s sunniest city to Seattle, Washington. As a perfect summer in Seattle progressed, my worry about the sure to be coming onslaught of rain and dreary winter increased. I likened it to my time waiting for winter in Germany, when I lived on the Eastern side of the country, just a quick skip to the border of the Czech Republic. I wasn’t sure what to expect there, I had never experienced a place where the sun would disappear completely for weeks or months on end. Where the sky turned into clouds, rain and snow. Continue reading
County Clare, Ireland – Wednesday, September 2010
“I won’t be giving you a ride deary, but I’m happy to give you a lift!” I blushed, immediately realizing what I had just said to the older gentleman bus driver. He was about 5’5 with sparkling blue eyes and wirey gray hair. He had a sharp twinkle in his eye. The passengers of the Galway Tours bus made their way back onto the bus we stood before, the wind was just picking up around the famous Cliffs of Moher in County Clare, Ireland.
Fellow Study Abroad Students at Bamberg – Schloss Seehof
I was lucky enough to see a very inspiring man speak last year at a conference, you may remember – I talk about it HERE . “Normal?” He pleaded, “who wants to be normal?” His presentation began with a slide picturing three upside-down bats. “Look outside the box, what do hanging bats look like if you flip over the picture?” “They look like some saucy vampire dance scene set in New York City.” The man giving the presentation was Seth Godin.
“Show up different, treat different people differently, you will get a different response,” he emphasized. Continue reading
From the passenger seat I watched the front right tire of the jeep roll up, and twist over a big rock in the trail. In the shiny, black metal I could see the reflected red hued mountains in the distance along the desert trail, wrapped up in the endless, clear blue sky above. Our friends followed along in an older little vehicle, their windows down, in awe at the Jeep crawling over the rocks, flexing and bending over the washed out parts of the road. It would go anywhere. It also made a big spectacle of everything it went over, a nimble black widow scampering across its web on long, nimble legs. Their little vehicle, sporting brand new little tires lightly rolled right over the same obstacle with much less of a show. The wind whistled between the cactus spines along the trail before us.
After chugging up the long road to Taos, the RV pulled into a dirt lot in front of the Two Graces gallery where Robert Cafazzo stood, awaiting his six gumptious travel writers known as the “Whiskey Sisters.” He was the first and last man to step foot on our RV with us during the trip. Continue reading
On Thursday May 23rd Aliza and I cruised highway 95 up to Las Vegas to check out our RV, check into to the Oasis Las Vegas RV Resort and set up camp for the incoming ladies (we made a dancing Vine HERE). Carol Cain flew in from New Jersey (and technically straight from France when we picked her up) Carla King from San Diego, Chelsea Duran from my beloved Boulder, Colorado and Melissa Pierce from Chicago, Illinois. Aliza and I played the welcoming crew in our Whiskey Sister shirts all morning as everyone landed in sunny Sin City.
A newbie to the world of distilled liqueurs, I’ll soon be devoting my research to not only whiskey, but whiskey in the West and the women who helped shaped that history. I’ll be searching out the kinds of women you’d find.. perhaps drinking a glass of whiskey to feature in the upcoming Whiskey Sister Herstory Tour. I am setting out on a historic RV Adventure through the past. On Thursday May 22nd, Aliza Sherman and I will drive up to Las Vegas to gather four amazing women who will celebrate the premier of the whiskey for “Real Women Who Drink Whiskey.” Continue reading