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Wheels up

Two years ago, the Mayor and I headed north with his best friend Andrew and his mom Michelle to a Selects tournament in Minnesota.  We were originally slated to go to tournaments in Minneapolis and Boston, but opted out of the Boston trip when the stars aligned and round two of the Stanley Cup put game four of Minnesota vs. Chicago there during our trip.  It wasn’t a tough choice.

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From the first minute of the trip, I knew it was going to be an epic weekend.  We were flying out of PBI on Zachary’s birthday.  When we got to the airport to check our bags at the Southwest counter, the customer service rep handed us a $200 in vouchers and a hotel voucher for a luxurious stay in Atlanta.  Lucky us!  We headed to security where we met up with our friends.  As we prepared to go through the queue, the boys felt compelled to ask if Doritos were considered a weapon.  Thankfully, TSA had a sense of humor that day.

As we waited to board, we watched in awe as several elderly passengers sat in wheel chairs waiting to get pushed to the baggage area.  The airport was not staffed to handle the volume of wheelchairs and they soon grew impatient.  No more than five minute had passed before they felt compelled to take matters into their own hands.  Soon they all stood and started pushing their chairs.  Only in Florida….

Finally boarding zone B was called and we were free to board the plane.  Our boys, on their way to their way to their first out of state tournament and their first Stanley Cup playoff game, were bouncing off the walls.  At the time, the Mayor had just turned 9 and Andrew was still 8 and only came with one volume level extra loud.  We got them calm enough to stand in line to get on the plane.

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As we walked down the aisle of the plane to find some window seats for the boys and ourselves, people stopped moving as our fellow passengers put their carry-ons on the overhead.  As luck would have it, we were stopped in front of a very attractive, young black woman wearing a white shirt and no bra.  Had this site only elicited giggles, it probably would have been okay, but we were not going to get off that lucky.  Nope the boys had to announce that they could see her nipples.  Oh the shades of red Michelle and I turned as they loudly shared their discovery with us.

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We continued filing to the back of the jet, but the boys could not believe what they just saw.  They were completely transfixed (pretty much like every other guy I know.)  As our flight took off and headed to Atlanta, the boys became distracted by discussions of hockey, jets and life in general.  Lucky for us, we would continue to cross paths with the women in the white shirt everywhere we went in the ATL terminal.

To be continued.

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Go Local

When I go to my favorite restaurant, I am a creature of habit.  I always order the same dish the same way.  I always look at the other menu items, but ultimately I decide to stick with what I know.  My coffee is no different, which is why Selena or Adam always have it ready for me when I walk into Dunkin in the morning.  I wish I could be more adventurous when it comes to dining out, but I hate spending money on food and then being disappointed.

There’s one exception to this rule and that is when I travel.   If I’m travelling abroad, aside from my coffee habit, my creature of habit and safe food choices go out the window.   To truly experience another culture, you have to delve into their cuisine and local dishes even if it is a bit scary.  One rule we have in our house is when travelling abroad, you only get one McDonald’s trip so you can experience the different menus across the globe. All other meals should be eaten in local restaurants.

Most places are known for a specialty dish or two.  In the Brittany region of France, they’re known for the delectable Kouign-amannn cake.  This wonderful pastry is a round, crusty cake that comprises of layers of butter and sugar between layers of pastry. I know – it sounds awful right?  I have craved this dessert since leaving Saint Malo in 2011.

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Saint Malo is an incredible seaside city, where my husband’s grandfather happened to have landed in 1944 as part of the allied forces.  Despite coming into the city under heavy Nazi fire, he was enthralled with its beauty and brought back two paintings of Saint Malo with him to the states when the war had ended.    Saint Malo is also the city that Jacques Cartier departed from when he discovered Quebec.  I never knew how much I would grow to love Jacques Cartier.

In 2016, we had the opportunity to travel to Quebec City for Peewee Quebec, which was one of the most incredible trips I’ve ever taken.  Thank god for Jacques Cartier discovering Canada because les petit pains au chocolats and other pastries in Quebec City tasted like they had been baked in France.  The food in Quebec City. The cuisine of Quebec City is heavily influenced by Breton cuisine and what a tasty treat.

One night two of the moms, a hockey sister and I walked off the beaten path looking for a local bistro.  We found the cutest little place that would seat us at their bar, so we wouldn’t have to wait too long.  My friend Inga and I let the waitress order us her favorite dishes.  I ended up with veal sweet bread dish and Inga ended up with a seafood dish.   The food was incredible, though the sweet bread was a bit rich for my tummy.  Quite frankly if I had known what it was, I probably wouldn’t have ordered it, but then I would have missed out on the experience.

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The most important part of dinner, however, was dessert.  After 5 years of waiting and searching high and low in North America, I found a restaurant that served Kouign-amann.  It was absolutely amazing.  As I ate it, it instantly took me back to Saint Malo and the gite in Normandy.   The taste of the cake, combined with the memories of France and the new memories being created that night in Quebec City made for an incredible culinary experience.  If we hadn’t gone off the beaten path, we would have missed out.

I look forward to exploring Norway and its foods with my boys this summer.  The food, much like the land and the cities we will visit, is a connection to our Norwegian heritage.  While my boys are pretty picky eaters at home, I’m hoping this trip abroad will broaden their taste buds.

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Revelation

When I think about a revelation, I think of a big, salacious announcement, Armageddon or a major personal break through.  The definition of revelation can vary across people.  Some may find new details of Taylor Swift’s love life to revelatory, while others could not careless.  Many of us our looking for revelations in our own lives; the meaning of life, our purpose, or our path.

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In looking for our revelations, we often look for big signs.  As if there will be a billboard pointing out our path and purpose with an easy to follow map.  That would be awesome, but it doesn’t exist.  In our everyday lives, there are often revelations that we overlook.   It is these small revelations that overtime add up into wisdom if heeded.

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Music makes the world go round.  If it has a good beat, good rhythm and I can dance to it, I am a happy camper.  Music is a universal language.  If it has no words or is in a foreign language is a matter of little consequence.  Music is revelatory.   When we here a song, it can transport us to a meaningful moment in our lives.   Every time I hear the Beatles, “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away,” I am transported back to the tram in Germany travelling down the rainy hill from Neuschwanstein Castle to our where our tour bus was parked.   We all have songs that transport us back to magical moments in our lives or songs that carried us through the difficult times.    Which song is your favorite?

 

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Tracing Our Roots

Growing up in Minnesota, my family was very proud of its Norwegian heritage.  Like many Minnesotans, our families had immigrated to the United States in the late 19th century from Scandinavia.   While factions of both my mom and dad’s family emigrated from Norway during this period, my mother-in-law’s family emigrated from Finland.  It has always been a dream of ours to trace our roots and understand where our family came from and why they emigrated.

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After many years of dreaming, it will finally become a reality.  This summer we will embark on an epic trip to explore our Norwegian heritage and trace our roots in Norway.  Not only are my kids going, but my mom, dad, grandma and my brothers and their families are going.  Together we will be able to meet our family that still lives in Norway and explore the seaside towns, the countryside and farmland where they once lived.

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We look forward to connecting with our heritage and the rich history of Norway while disconnecting from everyday life.  Kayaking on the beautiful fjords where one can see seals instead of alligators.  The beautiful mountains and mountain valleys will be a site for sore eyes since we barely have what can be called a hill here in Florida.

In the coming years, there will be more trips to plan.  With family having immigrated to the US from Finland, Germany, Switzerland and the United Kingdom, we have plenty of trips to make in order to truly connect with our heritage.   Our heritage is an important part of our identity, but more than that the experience of exploring the world with my boys is priceless.  Nothing beats living a life full of wanderlust.

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Memorial Day

Several years ago we were in France for our dear friend’s wedding.  After enjoying the incredible ceremony and party, we headed to Normandy and Paris.  After a brief pit stop in the beautiful seaside town of Honfleur, we headed to Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery.   We knew it would be a tough place to visit, but I truly don’t think we understood just how powerful and emotional the visit would be.

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From the moment we stepped onto Omaha Beach, you could feel the death, destruction and despair that had occurred there as if it had just happened.  The feeling was palpable and inescapable.  We started our visit by walking down to the beach where our troops handed landed.  When the attack was launched, it was planned to begin 1-3 hours after low tide, which represented a compromise between the Army and the Navy.  When we visited the beach that day, it was low tide.  As we stood on the beach looking at the beachhead, I couldn’t help but imagine how it must have looked to our troops on June 6, 1944.  The cliffs are steep and were heavily fortified.  As they made their way up the beach, grenades and mines would detonate.  That fateful day 6,600 American soldiers were killed in action, wounded or went missing in action.

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Over the course of the campaign to secure the beachhead, June 6, 1944 to August 21, 1944, 72,911 Americans were killed or went missing in action.  Omaha Beach present day is serene, beautiful and quiet, but the overwhelming feeling of loss that was omnipresent made for hard juxtaposition. It was almost hard to imagine the carnage that had happened in this beautiful place except for the pain of walking on hallowed ground in omnipresent.

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We left the beach and began to walk through the cemetery.  It is here that over 9,000 men who died in the Normandy campaign are buried.  They came from all 50 states and were so young.   As we walked through the cemetery, I couldn’t hold back the tears.  The tomb of the unknown soldiers, of which there are many in Normandy, was difficult to see as a mother.  I could not imagine the pain their mothers endured never knowing what happened to their son and never having closure. My heart ached for them.

We were there in 2011, 67 years after the D-Day Invasion. There were flowers and personal notes left on several graves, which took me aback.  Sixty seven years later, the pain of loss from World War II was still very real.  The wounds of war are slow to heal.  We left the American Cemetery quietly and without speaking we headed to lunch.   The experience was heavy, emotional and one that took several days to digest before any of us could speak about it.

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The American Cemetery was humbling visualization of how many brave soldiers, sailors and airmen were willing to go to their death to preserve our freedom.  Amazingly,  it is representative of only one campaign in one war.  In the course of American history, we have lost 651,008 servicemen and women.  This Memorial Day we remember those that paid the ultimate price to preserve our freedom.  The deep sense of gratitude hardly seems adequate for the price they paid.  Lastly, we hold near their families, friends, and battle buddies, who still feel the pain of their loss.  

 

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Mont St. Michel

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There have been many people, places and events that have left an indelible impression on my life.  One my favorite places can be found in the Normandy region of France.  Mont St. Michel appears almost as if it is an apparition in the distance as you approach via car.  It looks as if it is a castle rising out of the Atlantic.  Undoubtedly, there is something so absolutely and hauntingly beautiful about Mont St. Michel and something exciting about exploring its narrow winding paths and stairways.   The architecture of Mont St. Michel is breathtaking in its beauty and each of its evolutions and layers.  You can see the progression of culture vis-à-vis the evolution in architecture seen in the abbey’s construction, which is absolutely fascinating.

 

While Mont St. Michel is fairly commercialized now, we did still find it possible to get lost and explore a bit.  As the tide rises and falls at Mont St. Michel, it intoxicates you.  It both rushes in and rushes out, much different from how our tides behave here in Florida.  The difference in between low and high tides at Mont St. Michel is nothing short of astounding.  In low tide, you can walk to the abbey (if you choose, but beware of quicksand.)  If you try walking to the abbey during high tide, you’ll need either water wings or to stay on the paved road that now leads to island.

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Aside from the natural and manmade beauty that bounds at Mont St. Michel, it is a feat of human ingenuity and engineering. It is amazing to me that they were able to build such an amazing structure on this island without a paved road and without modern machinery.  It almost seems impossible.  I think that the beauty in travelling is discovering places like Mont St. Michel that speak to you and leave a lasting impression on your soul.

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As our kids grow older, we’re trying to instill in them that experiences/trips are more fruitful and significantly more meaningful than material goods.  Often these experiences and trips are shared with people who have made deep and beautiful impressions on our souls.  When I’m confident that they won’t break something in the Abbey I cannot afford to replace, I will certainly bring them.  I know, I know, after last night’s blog you’re probably thinking I’ll be waiting a long time and you’re probably right.  Can you imagine figs catapulting in the bay from Mont St Michel?   With my boys in the Abbey, I certainly could.