My sister Mary and I decided we deserved a small vacation. Mary hasn’t traveled all that much in her life, so she considers anything beyond 30 miles a first-rate getaway. I decided it would be fun to go to Sonoma for a day of shopping, which then extended into a two day affair as my son lives in Sebastopol and if you can’t use your children and their fine home for a free night of food and lodging, well, I’d say you raised the wrong children.
In my quest for the perfect weekend adventure, I created a binder complete with directions to some possible fun places to visit. I’m very organized when it comes to adventures as I tend to want to pack in as much fun as I can.
I downloaded a Sherlock Holmes mystery and an Agatha Christie Miss Marples mystery to my iPod. I like to make sure we are prepared for any eventuality, one of which would be the need to listen to a good murder mystery in case we were stuck in traffic somewhere.
Let me begin this travel odyssey by saying the weather this past week-end was what you might imagine for California and the wine country. Perfect!
We drove to Yountville as our first stop and found some wonderful clothing stores with very unique and very pricey clothing. We had lunch at Pacific Blues Café and sat at a table on the outside porch overlooking the mountains and complimented ourselves on having such an excellent vacation. It was fit for two chicks on the lam from their daily responsibilities of life! We were almost a Thelma and Louise, except we had no intention of driving off a cliff.
We then drove to Healdsburg where we discovered they were having a big event for their 150 year anniversary. It was fairly warm (read hot) and we only found one shop that had some clothing we found interesting. I found a necklace I liked, but the $250 price tag made it far less appealing than I had originally thought. Everyone had a glass of wine in their hand…naturally since it is the wine country. If you love wine, you will find these art/wine festivals a dream come true. If wine isn’t of interest, you’ll find these festivals something like one big outdoor bar. It’s oddly interesting.
We had paused on a street corner where a sweet shop was handing out chocolate bars. Never one to be shy in taking free candy, I grabbed that chocolate delight but quick. We went back to the car where I started up the air conditioning, unwrapped the chocolate, and took a quick bite…it was slightly on the soft and melting side, so I thought I should eat as much of it as I could before it became chocolate soup, which although wouldn’t be bad, would be horribly difficult to eat and would display bad manners to just lick it off the wrapping. And besides, I didn’t have any handiwipes with me.
We tried finding the local Indian casino, being two women who are fond of putting coins in the slot machines, but only managed to find the corporate offices. Not really the same at all for our purposes. I then found a place, quite by accident, called The Gardner. The sign for the store was located in a slightly difficult place to see when driving by, which made turning in time for the driveway a little on the chance-y side. I managed to turn into “a” driveway, which didn’t lead to the garden center at all, and in fact, I couldn’t actually see any other cars parked at the garden center, so decided it wasn’t worth the work to backtrack and find my way into the correct driveway. Mary and I are prone to quick decisions when it comes to stopping at stores. The store has to be quite appealing before we consider any minor hassle getting to it as a worthwhile endeavor.
We then decided to go to Guerneville, so got on the freeway and took the Guerneville exit and drove. And drove. And drove some more. Lots of countryside and wineries, but no signs for our destination. And we drove. Sheesh. We finally came to a sign which said Sebastopol one way and Guerneville straight ahead. We weren’t sure that we should continue on our quest, since goodness only knows how many more hours it would take us. We were probably right around the bend from the town, but being cautious vacationers, we decided to go directly to my son’s house. He and his partner David had, after all, stayed home in order to take us to dinner.
We went to a nice restaurant called The Bistro, which is owned and run by the chef and his wife. The food was quite good and we were even lucky enough to have the chef come out and talk with us.
Back at the house, we were lucky enough to witness two shooting stars. Jonathan brought out his telescope and gave us a mini-lesson in astronomy. We even saw a satellite zooming across the sky! I hadn’t realized they go so fast. I feel pretty “astro physicist” now…in a very small sort of ignorant way. The night sky was humbling. You don’t get to see such an awe inspiring sight when you live in the city. We obliterate such beauty with our lights. But in the country…oh my. The vastness of the space and the diamond chest of stars make you want to learn more. And buy a telescope!
Now if you think this was the end of the evening’s entertainment, you’d be kidding yourself. My son’s partner, David, is a world-class organist. I mean that both complimentary and factually. He has played all over the world and knows the organists in many of the large churches. I wish I knew people. I live vicariously through Jonathan and David. They know lots of interesting people.
I really do have to get out more.
They have a room in their house that is devoted to a newly rebuilt organ…with a lot of pipes! It reminds me of a mini-chapel. I wonder if it sounds spooky at night when he’s playing…like the Phantom of the Opera. We were treated to a mini-concert, which was quite an honor. Thanks David!
On Sunday we drove to Tiberon where the sailboats were out in full force. Tiburon, like any California area that has a great view and hills, has homes dug into the hillside and squeezed closely together. Land is gold when it comes to those spectacular views! You will find bike riders galore, lots of people with their dogs, and fragrant aromas of good food from the restaurants. Bring your camera and your appetite. Dogs and bikes are optional.
Mary and I have decided that a quarterly vacation is in order. We forget how near we are to so many unique areas. We also forget that taking time out just to look at the beauty of nature around us is imperative to our mental health.
I thought about visiting Jonathan and David every week, which could turn into a demand for a “Mom’s quarters”. He said the gate code that you have to punch to get into his area has changed and he can’t seem to find the new number. I think that sounds very fishy. Won’t he be surprised when the moving van pulls up with a “few” of my personal belongings!
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Where’s My Car?
I recently purchased a used Honda Accord. I love the car, but I’m having trouble finding my car in the parking lot.
I call the color gunmetal grey, which has a snazzier ring to it than just commonplace grey or charcoal. The first few days I had the car I kept forgetting what color it was at all when I went to look for it in the parking lot. Unless your car is something memorable, like canary yellow, bubblegum pink or hideous orange, you’ll find that you can’t quite remember exactly what you just bought. Was it silver or dark blue? You know it was something dark. At least you think it was. But you test drove several and the green one seems to stick out in your memory, but did you buy the green one or the other dark color car? And darn, what dark color was it?
I guess I would never make a good eye witness for a crime involving a getaway car. “Well officer, I saw it clearly. It was a darkish color car. Definitely not red. It might have been a dark blue. Or green. Or maybe a burgundy. But definitely a dark color. Or maybe the interior was dark and the exterior was lighter. But for sure it was a sedan. With 2 or 4 doors. It had a distinctive logo on it too. Honda or Toyota. Maybe VW. But distinctive nonetheless.” The poor officer would have so many erasure marks in his little notebook that he would probably write my name down with a big note that said: “Do not ask this woman for details. She saw nothing.”
Now try to discern your car from among the zillions of other Hondas, Toyotas, Volkswagons, and Lexus sitting in row upon row. They all look pretty much alike. And you’ll find there are lots…and lots of dark colors too. Instead of panic buttons, which sound annoying and just shout to the world, “the idiot woman forgot where she parked”, why don’t they make an attractive whirly thing that comes out of the roof that says, “I’m over here”. Quiet and discreet.
I also realized this morning that I have become akin to an airplane pilot in the morning…
Work security badge: check
Sunglasses: check
iPod: check
Insert iPod into radio adapter thing and into cigarette lighter. Turn to correct playlist: check
Cell phone: check
Plug in cell phone: check
Sync earpiece to cell phone: check
Put on earpiece: check
If it’s a grey morning, push back moonroof cover, if not, keep it closed: check
20 minutes later I’m finally backing out of the driveway, just sure I’ve forgotten something. Probably my lunch, or earrings, or makeup. But at least I’ve got all my electronic gadgetry. They’re all black. Or maybe dark silver. Or maybe the case is black, but the gadget is…a dark color.
I call the color gunmetal grey, which has a snazzier ring to it than just commonplace grey or charcoal. The first few days I had the car I kept forgetting what color it was at all when I went to look for it in the parking lot. Unless your car is something memorable, like canary yellow, bubblegum pink or hideous orange, you’ll find that you can’t quite remember exactly what you just bought. Was it silver or dark blue? You know it was something dark. At least you think it was. But you test drove several and the green one seems to stick out in your memory, but did you buy the green one or the other dark color car? And darn, what dark color was it?
I guess I would never make a good eye witness for a crime involving a getaway car. “Well officer, I saw it clearly. It was a darkish color car. Definitely not red. It might have been a dark blue. Or green. Or maybe a burgundy. But definitely a dark color. Or maybe the interior was dark and the exterior was lighter. But for sure it was a sedan. With 2 or 4 doors. It had a distinctive logo on it too. Honda or Toyota. Maybe VW. But distinctive nonetheless.” The poor officer would have so many erasure marks in his little notebook that he would probably write my name down with a big note that said: “Do not ask this woman for details. She saw nothing.”
Now try to discern your car from among the zillions of other Hondas, Toyotas, Volkswagons, and Lexus sitting in row upon row. They all look pretty much alike. And you’ll find there are lots…and lots of dark colors too. Instead of panic buttons, which sound annoying and just shout to the world, “the idiot woman forgot where she parked”, why don’t they make an attractive whirly thing that comes out of the roof that says, “I’m over here”. Quiet and discreet.
I also realized this morning that I have become akin to an airplane pilot in the morning…
Work security badge: check
Sunglasses: check
iPod: check
Insert iPod into radio adapter thing and into cigarette lighter. Turn to correct playlist: check
Cell phone: check
Plug in cell phone: check
Sync earpiece to cell phone: check
Put on earpiece: check
If it’s a grey morning, push back moonroof cover, if not, keep it closed: check
20 minutes later I’m finally backing out of the driveway, just sure I’ve forgotten something. Probably my lunch, or earrings, or makeup. But at least I’ve got all my electronic gadgetry. They’re all black. Or maybe dark silver. Or maybe the case is black, but the gadget is…a dark color.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Executive Assistant without Mercy
I just got a call from a salesman wanting to speak with my boss, the president of the company. I know he was a salesman because I know the pushy, sly, trying-to-intimidate-me voice of a salesman. They are tricky, forceful, and try any number of clever voice approaches on me…such as a deep-voiced, don’t mess with a businessman, I want to talk to the president NOW.
Oh gosh, like that works on a fearless, experienced mature woman such as myself. Not.
Today’s punk-salesman tried the “I’m in a rush, so hurry up and connect me” voice. That doesn’t work either. They all use my boss’s first name, suggesting they actually know the man. That doesn’t work on me either. As the Assistant to the President (note use of very important capital letters in my job title), I know the people who know my boss. And this guy wasn’t one of them. Gosh I’m good.
Salesmen must think I’m stupid or easily intimidated. Salesmen forget how long it took us Executive types to stomp our way to the top of the working heap, and how clever we have become at filtering out riff-raff.
I asked him the name of his company and told him if this was a sales call that the president would not take the call. He said no one does. Got that right. Still…he demanded to be connected. Still…I didn’t do it. I told him the president was in a meeting and I asked again about the sales call angle and the nature of his business. He asked if I needed a hearing aid.
Oh son…you really…really should NOT get pissy with the Executive Assistant. You’ve hit her on a really…really menopausal sort of day. I could take you out without batting an eye and go for some ice cream after you’re laid out on the floor with little x’s over your eyes.
But, as a good professional, I kept my voice calm and unflustered. I asked again if it was a sales call. He asked again if I needed a hearing aid. Gosh…we’re not getting anywhere are we?
I suggested that if he were a customer with an issue, I could forward his call to someone else in the company who could help him (actually, I was thinking I could forward his call to hell). He said it was a “courtesy” call. Translates to sales. I stopped talking. Silence. He probably thought I was too scared to talk. I was filing my nails.
He asked to be connected to the president … NOW. Ooooh…look at me all scared and shivering in my expensive high heels that I could stomp you with. Ooooh I just love a sales guy with a good forceful “NOW” in his repertoire.
Again, I asked if it was a sales call. I just don’t give up. Again, he asked if I needed a hearing aid. I wanted to ask if he valued his piss-ant life and HIS ears, because he would be hard of hearing after I boxed his ears. Guess he read my mind as he hung up before I had a chance to say anything else.
I told the president I would like hazard pay as my job is getting pretty intense. He thinks I’m funny. Or he might be afraid of me. He tells everyone I’m his boss and I keep him in line.
So, if you see a sleazy guy named Josh who works for a company called Mills…tell him I’m looking for him. I’d like to make a courtesy call.
Oh gosh, like that works on a fearless, experienced mature woman such as myself. Not.
Today’s punk-salesman tried the “I’m in a rush, so hurry up and connect me” voice. That doesn’t work either. They all use my boss’s first name, suggesting they actually know the man. That doesn’t work on me either. As the Assistant to the President (note use of very important capital letters in my job title), I know the people who know my boss. And this guy wasn’t one of them. Gosh I’m good.
Salesmen must think I’m stupid or easily intimidated. Salesmen forget how long it took us Executive types to stomp our way to the top of the working heap, and how clever we have become at filtering out riff-raff.
I asked him the name of his company and told him if this was a sales call that the president would not take the call. He said no one does. Got that right. Still…he demanded to be connected. Still…I didn’t do it. I told him the president was in a meeting and I asked again about the sales call angle and the nature of his business. He asked if I needed a hearing aid.
Oh son…you really…really should NOT get pissy with the Executive Assistant. You’ve hit her on a really…really menopausal sort of day. I could take you out without batting an eye and go for some ice cream after you’re laid out on the floor with little x’s over your eyes.
But, as a good professional, I kept my voice calm and unflustered. I asked again if it was a sales call. He asked again if I needed a hearing aid. Gosh…we’re not getting anywhere are we?
I suggested that if he were a customer with an issue, I could forward his call to someone else in the company who could help him (actually, I was thinking I could forward his call to hell). He said it was a “courtesy” call. Translates to sales. I stopped talking. Silence. He probably thought I was too scared to talk. I was filing my nails.
He asked to be connected to the president … NOW. Ooooh…look at me all scared and shivering in my expensive high heels that I could stomp you with. Ooooh I just love a sales guy with a good forceful “NOW” in his repertoire.
Again, I asked if it was a sales call. I just don’t give up. Again, he asked if I needed a hearing aid. I wanted to ask if he valued his piss-ant life and HIS ears, because he would be hard of hearing after I boxed his ears. Guess he read my mind as he hung up before I had a chance to say anything else.
I told the president I would like hazard pay as my job is getting pretty intense. He thinks I’m funny. Or he might be afraid of me. He tells everyone I’m his boss and I keep him in line.
So, if you see a sleazy guy named Josh who works for a company called Mills…tell him I’m looking for him. I’d like to make a courtesy call.
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