September Swan Song

I don't know about you guys, but to me, it felt like a loooooong week. (Do I hear some "Amen"s out there? And also, "Whoo hoo for the weekend"? That's what I'm talking about...)

For me, it started off on Sunday morning with a local 5K that I had opted to run solo. It benefited an excellent cause--UNC's Children's Hospital--and began and ended at the iconic Old Well, so it was an easy choice for a September race. As a delightful bonus, it was only about 70 degrees at the start...which made the approximately 972% humidity slightly more bearable. Having done this course a number of times, I also knew each and every hill to expect along the way.

The wild card, if you will, was my rebellious left knee, which has been obnoxiously, stubbornly painful lately, despite all efforts to placate it. So I strapped it in place with a soft brace, admonished it to be on its best behavior, and hoped for the best. And while these measures did not miraculously cause me to clock a fabulous time for the 3.1 miles, at least I got through it...which was honestly my only goal for this one. Still, 81st out of 253 participants, and keeping it under a 10 minute mile? I'll call that good enough for a Win.

Next, let's catch up on a couple of Derek stories, shall we? First, a lesson learned: when we moved him into college last month, I was appalled at the...concrete-like firmness...of the mattress provided him in his dorm room. I asked him at the time if he'd like to purchase a cushiony pad, while I was there, but he dismissed this suggestion with a breezy, "Nah, I'm sure it'll be fine." Fast forward five weeks or so, and he admitted that it's gotten to the point that he feels like he's bruising his knees and elbows when he rolls over at night. (One second: I. Told. You. So. Which part of "always listen to your mother" has somehow failed to sink in after all these years? Siiiighhhh...) So after doing some online research, he sent me a couple of links, and I helped him select an appropriate one to have shipped directly to his PO box at the university. (The next time we spoke, he raved about how soft and comfortable it is, and how much better he's sleeping, so apparently we chose wisely. Phew!)

And now, in the social category, based on his self-report, Derek is doing a bang-up job of finding ways to have nice, clean fun during his Freshman year. Such as, he told me he and some buddies played pool one night in the Student Center...until 5 a.m. (Yeah, it makes me want to crawl under the covers right now, just thinking about staying up that late...er, "early". You?) It's okay, though, because he also mentioned the fact that they created (wait for it) a spreadsheet to keep track of their stats, like the numbers of attempts and successes, types of shots, angles of attack...and a bunch of other stuff I've forgotten, but which is equal parts adorable male sports-centric bonding...and super-geeky. So at least he's using his budding higher education brainpower for good? (Or whatever...)

Then there's an amusing by-product of his bank accounts being bundled with ours, meaning that when I routinely check them all, to make sure there's no suspicious activity, I get a glimpse into some of Derek's outings. Like what has become a pretty much weekly occurrence...the pilgrimage to Waffle House. Now, this is an establishment that I'm fairly certain Derek had never patronized before moving to The (Further) South, but evidently it's a popular thing to do, so he just goes with it. (When in Rome, right? Or, you know, "Columbia"...)

On a more academic note, I was somewhat confused one day to see not one, but three separate transactions in a short space of time...all at Office Depot. I wondered if this was something I should be alarmed about--did he misplace his card? Had some, I don't know, nerdy criminal mastermind swiped it, and gone on a...school-supply-buying...rampage? So naturally, I texted him to check if he'd made all of the purchases himself. His response: "Yes, I have an insatiable craving for rubber erasers. I like to snack on them between classes." At which point I felt justified in (affectionately, but sincerely) calling my beloved 18-year old son...a smartass...and assuming (since he never actually addressed the question) that there was no need to alert our bank's Fraud Department.

And finally, continuing with the education-related theme, I went to Riley's Back to School Night, and got to meet all his teachers, while doing a compressed walk-through of his schedule. First, the obvious: it was weird being there for just one kid, and knowing it was the only Open House I'd have to attend. But it was definitely worthwhile, since by the inexplicable luck of the draw, Riley ended up with a whole new crop of instructors that Derek somehow missed. (Except for Drafting--between the two of them, I've been to Mr. McS's presentation three times now, so we're like best buds, or something...) There was some required stuff that most 10th graders take--Civics and Econ, Chemistry, Math, English. And also a couple of electives, like Spanish 3 (since Riley enjoys learning the language and chose to keep going with it) and AP World (because he's a glutton for punishment--I mean "a dedicated student"--and wanted to try a challenging course as a Sophomore).

In the ultra-quick snapshot of each class, all of his teachers gave positive first impressions, while none particularly stood out. That is, aside from the AP, which is taught by a well-known local celebrity...who has written books, regularly gives public seminars on special historical topics, tapes his lectures and uploads them to his own podcast, for crying out loud...the guy is a seriously Big. Deal. Oh, and did I forget to mention, HI-LARIOUS? Just based on his 10-minute spiel, and the funny quotes Riley comes home and relays to me on a quasi-daily basis, I think could listen to him talk for quite a while. As a matter of fact, he did point out the recliner situated in the back of the room, and invited us to drop in anytime we were free, and felt like listening in for an hour. Hmm...Fridays are good for me...

And with that, September draws to a close. Now we can finally move on to Fall pursuits...like appreciating the Great Outdoors without sweating buckets, if we're lucky...perhaps even while sipping a pumpkin spice coffee (although still iced--after all, we wouldn't want to jump the gun and get all crazy now, would we?). Who knows, in the next couple of weeks, we might...just maybe...be able to throw on a sweater once in a while. Hey, one can dream, folks...I'm keeping my fingers crossed....

Natural disasters large and small...

To kick off this edition of the WestEnders Update, we need to revisit our unwanted "guest" from last week--you may remember good old Flo? To review: the storm had originally been forecasted to bring us hurricane-level gales and downpours...but then it turned slightly south, changing the predictions significantly for the better (although the coast, unfortunately, was not spared, and suffered devastating damage).

So, Thursday and Friday passed with pretty much nothing notable, weather-wise. And then, just when folks in the Triangle thought it was safe to scoff at what seemed to have been unwarranted meteorologist hype and ensuing citizen panic...the--I don't know, is there a fancy climate term for "back end of the system"?--arrived with a vengeance, and proceeded to dump copious amounts of water on our region over the weekend.

Suddenly all of the charming, docile little streams in the area swelled to resemble more like raging whitewater rivers. Some of them overflowed their banks and flooded nearby meadows, roadways, businesses, and parking lots. In fact, on my way to work on Monday, I witnessed police and a tow truck about a block from my office, rescuing a car that had perhaps unwisely attempted to drive through the inundated street and gotten stuck. I also heard that they had to evacuate an apartment complex right next to that, because of the same creek that had gotten out of hand from the prodigious rainfall. And about a quarter mile in the other direction, a shopping center had temporarily transformed into a lake, with the water encroaching into all of the stores--a week later, they're all still closed, while cleaning up the mess and restoring the spaces.

Of course, I reiterate that none of this even begins to compare to what they suffered in cities like Wilmington and New Bern, where they got pummeled with the full brunt of the storm. The photos and stories that continue to pour in from places closer to the Atlantic are terrifying and heartbreaking. Here, we ended up with, I believe, 9 inches of rain when all was said and done; and school was closed for one more day--with good reason this time, due to the dangerous conditions. But we got off pretty easy on this go-around, and for that, I'm eternally grateful.

Now how about we move on to something a bit more on the light and fluffy side, shall we? Let me first state, for the record, that I consider myself a strong, independent, self-sufficient woman. Of course I'm not claiming that I don't need anyone, ever...I'm merely saying I'm perfectly capable of doing many things for myself. But you guys, there are some tasks I absolutely, categorically REFUSE to undertake, and therefore file them firmly under Not. My. Freakin'. Job.

For example, the other night I marched into the living room, where Husband was peacefully reading, and waited with my arms folded for him to look up. "Yeeeess?" he queried, with a mildly curious expression. "There's a B.A.B. in the kitchen," I announced. And it is to his considerable credit--and also in no small part due to the fact that he's known me now for 23 years--that it took no longer than a couple of beats for him to reply, "Ah. Big-Ass Bug? I'm on it." (Also in the sub-category of "Teamwork Makes the Dream Work"? Or maybe..."Delegate like a...Mother?" Snicker...) Thirty seconds or so later, after a few determined whacks with a large (wipeable) book, and the issue was successfully resolved.

So yeah, that was a win for the Man of the House, for sure. But then...one day this week, he took it upon himself to use one of our 72 new flashlights* (perhaps a slight exaggeration) to conduct an informal inspection of all the ceilings in the house, to identify any damp spots the heavy rains might have caused. He was even so dedicated to this endeavor--and so thorough--as to climb into the attic and have a look around.

When he came back down, he reported that everything appeared dry, which was obviously a huge relief. He then cheerfully added that he'd also discovered something unexpected while checking out the space...namely, a BAT. I gaped at him, astonished at his incomprehensible mixture of apparent enthusiasm and acceptance in the face of this situation. When I recovered sufficiently to marshal my thoughts, I demanded indignantly, "Well? Did you try to catch it?" He had the audacity to appear slightly miffed at this perfectly reasonable suggestion and responded, "Um...noooo. It was SLEEPING!" (In an unmistakable "Duh" tone, like I'd suggested giving it the aforementioned Unwanted Insect Treatment, or something...)

Ay yi yi. As if this in any way explains or excuses the flying rodent's incursion into our home, amiright? I mean, someone needs to let this critter know that we are NOT running a Nature Hotel up there. (Oh, and it's clear that this person would again be "Someone Besides Me"? I thought so...) He went on to sagely predict that it would probably leave...as soon as it stopped raining. Oh....suuuure. Who died and left you an expert on chiroptera, eh? (Yeah, I Googled that sucker. So what? I'm not the one who thinks he knows so much about Barbie the Bat...or Bruno...whatever...)

Anyway, for all I know, it could still be up there, making itself comfortable, having friends over for dinner parties, redecorating in the latest hip nocturnal mammal style. And we're left with many important questions, such as "How did it get in?" and "Who does one contact to (safely, carefully, humanely) remove it?" All of which I'm obviously justified in assigning to Husband, since I was forced to deduct a considerable number of the Spousal Commendation Points he earned for...Six-Legged Creature Dispatching...based on his less-than-satisfactory performance in Bat Wrangling. (Yes, of course there's a scorecard. It's in the Marriage Rules. You can look it up...)

So, that's what's new, fresh, and exciting in our world lately. As we look forward to another week, our Wish List includes: a preview of Autumn, with cooler temps and lower humidity (Pleeeaaase, weather gods?)...a dearth of creepy crawly critters...and one winged-mammal eviction. Yep...business as usual, y'all...ha!

Going with the...Flo (Ha! Sorry...)

Here it is, mid-September, and subtle signs of Fall are starting to pop up all around us. From pumpkin spice everything, to the slightly shorter daylight hours, to the overly eager homeowners who have chosen to display their Halloween decorations (and I mean, already? C'mon, folks, the unspoken but generally agreed-upon rule is that we wait until October 1st, 'kay?), people are clearly ready to move on from Summer.

One thing that refuses to give up, though, is the oppressive humidity, which continues to feel like an unwelcome wet blanket whenever you venture outside. And then to add to the weather...excitement...this week we were suddenly warned about a dangerous, destructive guest who might be showing up on our collective doorstep--of course I'm talking about delightful Hurricane Florence.

Looking back, it seems like the forecasters went ballistic on this one right out of the gate. They started with severe warnings, and worked their way right up to "dire" in short order. Granted...the models that I came across on the Internet did show an eerily amoeba-shaped storm, whose imaginary face appeared to be...well, eating the Carolinas. (I swear, it was like some kind of...twisted cartoon horror meme, I tell ya.) People began throwing around words like "catastrophic flooding" and "devastating damage", and frankly, everyone got very freaked out, extremely quickly.

This led to the predictable but annoying phenomenon we'll call Pre-Precipitation Panic, as folks flocked to grocery, drug, and hardware stores and cleaned them out of bottled water, flashlights, batteries...and anything else on the "recommended emergency supplies" list. Siting back and observing all the mayhem, at first I just shook my head and took a laid-back approach--I figured, hey, we're at least 2-1/2 HOURS inland, so how bad could it realistically get around here, anyway?

But then stories bubbled to the surface, told by residents who'd been here the last time something like this went down...and the news was not pretty. They described floodwaters whisking away everything in their path, and powerful winds toppling trees and flinging stuff around with abandon. But most of all, they spoke of the electrical outages that lasted weeks, rather than hours or even days. Gulp. Okay, this got my full and undivided attention, and caused me to jump into the fray...of citizens who were taking this 100% seriously.

So I dutifully took stock of what survival necessities we had on hand--and those that we still lacked--and set out to fill in the gaps. Yeeaaah...about that...let's just say I found myself waaayyyy behind on the whole "preparing for a natural disaster" curve. As in "bare shelves" wherever I turned, to the point that it became less about getting ready for the storm, and more about "Dang it, you know better--why didn't you think about this sooner?"

I forget which day it was that the situation devolved into text exchanges between Husband and me, to the tune of, "Checked Harris Teeter, CVS, and Food Lion...no luck. You?" "I'll try Lowe's and Walgreen's again. Fingers crossed." I was convinced that we should have some of that elusive, precious bottled water in our pantry...because I was laboring under the misconception that if the power goes out, you lose the agua as well. Fortunately, in the meantime it dawned on me that I ought to follow the official Twitter feeds of the local governments, and in doing so I learned that--while you may have to do it in the dark--you can still wash and flush and drink, as long as the treatment plant and the pipes remain in good working order. Phew! I can't tell you what a ginormous load off my mind this was.

Of course, after a couple of days had passed, and some of the pandemonium had died down (or all the First Wave Peppers had obtained their apocalypse stash) the rest of us were able to take advantage of the replenished stores and get what we needed as well. (Which is why we now have more flashlights in the house than we have people...and no one will ever have to pee in a pitch-black bathroom...as it should be...)

From there, it kind of turned into a series of silly scenarios--such as me running out to the supermarket on a daily basis, to get a litany of...increasingly ridiculous items. For example: "Ooh, we must have 3 packs of biodegradable baby wipes, in case we can't bathe...for, like, a week!" And also "What if there's nothing I can eat in the house, and the supermarkets are all closed? I know, I'll get sweet potato chips, and popcorn, and...chocolate!" (I assure you that it made perfect sense to me at the time. I was clearly suffering from adrenaline overload and pre-hurricane brain, after several days of operating under heightened stress and climate-fueled anxiety...or whatever...) Every day something else occurred to me, that we absolutely, undeniably, Must. Obtain. Immediately. It was flippin' exhausting, y'all.

Then, wouldn't you know it, as the countdown to landfall kicked off in earnest, Fickle Flo couldn't make up her damn mind. She turned slightly south, and the other Carolina ratcheted back into high alert mode. But wait--now she's veering back northward, and they might get...nothing! Yikes. Keeping tabs on the Weather Channel (as everyone was pretty much obsessively doing by now) was like watching a particularly diabolical game of...atmospheric "chicken".

Here in the good old Triangle, we could get 40 inches of rain accompanied by 100+ mph gales--figures which boggle the mind, to say the least. Or, you know, a couple of sprinkles...and maybe a stiff breeze. (Meteorologists: can't live with 'em...can't throw 'em into the path of an oncoming tornado...No, no, no--I'm just kidding, I promise!)

In Columbia, SC, where Derek's hunkered down to wait out Mother Nature's tantrum, the university--in what seems to me to be an excess of caution--cancelled classes starting on Tuesday...and continuing through next Monday. (By the way, I spoke with him tonight, and he reports that he hasn't seen so much as a drop of moisture from the sky yet. So. How 'bout that semester, yeah? Siiighhhh...) Our own school system erred on the side of...believing the worst...and also shut down both Thursday and Friday...aaannnnd was also rewarded with dry skies. In fact, so far--and I'm not trying to jinx anything, trust me--we've experienced regular old seasonal thunderstorms more potent than this.

So while I appreciate the crash course in "last-minute storm stockpiling", (Memo to Me: Never, NEVER to be repeated. From now on, get your act together well before anyone mentions the H-word, do you hear me?) I'm even more grateful for the fact that Flo merely sideswiped us. Because I've seen videos of what's happening on the coast, and it's every bit as deadly and terrifying as they thought it would be. So we seem to have dodged the proverbial bullet on this one, and I'm feeling both massively lucky...and relieved.

Plus, now I have a stack of fresh library books, abundant storm-snacks (which one may consume guilt-free, due to the herculean effort expended in procuring them)...and a tank full of gasoline--for when I get super-bored of being in the house, and need to escape. (I give it a couple more hours...see ya on the flip side!)

Wandering...but not lost...

Last Friday continued the (at this point in the season) seemingly endless trend of warm, sticky conditions we've been experiencing. (Tangent alert: as I was deciding how to describe our weather just now, it occurred to me that while those two particular adjectives aren't terribly pleasant when characterizing the discomfort of Summer-weary humans...they would be absolutely delightful when applied to, say, a freshly-baked cinnamon roll...mmm, how's that for reframing? Sorry, back on topic...)

Nevertheless, I had an unusually light day of errands to address, and an urge to go explore...somewhere...so I picked a historic spot I hadn't visited yet, grabbed my camera, and hit the highway. Or perhaps I should say "rural back roads", since my route took me south and west, through...well, basically the proverbial middle-of-nowhere...ville.

It was definitely scenic and peaceful, though, so the 45 minutes passed enjoyably--with me singing along to my showtunes playlist and wondering just where the HECK I was going to end up whenever the GPS cheerfully informed me "you've arrived!" As it turned out...a modest structure known as any one of the following: 1) the Alston House, after its first owner, a Whig colonel on the colonial side during the Revolutionary War; 2) the House in the Horseshoe, based on it being situated within a bend in the Deep River, which flows nearby; or 3) the Retreat, so designated by North Carolina Governor Benjamin Williams, who purchased it after Alston left.

I didn't feel compelled to take the formal tour, but I peeked in the windows and strolled around the grounds for a while, (sweating and) relishing the bucolic farmland surrounding the property. I also read up on the historical background--about how in 1781, Alston and a group of his soldiers who were camping out at the homestead clashed with Tory forces, culminating in casualties on both sides, and Alston's ultimate surrender. (Supposedly there are still bullet holes in the walls of the home...I took their word for it.)

Having satisfied my educational and photographic needs, I headed back toward the Triangle, knowing that I'd be stopping several times along the way to take a closer look at a couple of things that had captured my interest on the trip out. For example, a tiny little...really, "town" is too strong a word for it...I don't know, "borough" maybe?...called Goldston, which sits next to a set of train tracks, and as far as I could tell consists of a couple of restaurants, a bank, a post office, and a gas station. However, they proudly proclaim (in no fewer than two spots) their pride for (wait for it) Charlie Daniels, he of the fiddle-playing Devil Went Down to Georgia fame. (Ahhh...America...)


And then there was the outpost that I'd passed--not near anything, as far as I could tell--with an irresistible old Esso gasoline pole, and a set of businesses that I wasn't entirely sure were open...or abandoned. I mean, the signage looked to be recent, and in good shape. But the buildings themselves...well, let's just go with "rustic" (one of them a smidgen shy of "dilapidated", to be honest). Still, I felt like I had to tiptoe around with my camera, in case I was, you know, trespassing or something. I'm happy to report that no attack watchdogs came after me; nor did I hear sirens approaching while I snapped a few pictures...and then skedaddled.

So there you have it: a low-key field trip which included a lovely drive through the countryside, a little bit of learning, and a glimpse of some previously unknown (to me) parts of the state. Not a bad Friday's "work", if I do say so myself!

Happy anniversary! (Of sorts...)

September 5th, 2008: a calendar date of no particular consequence...a random weekday...a Friday just like any other. I wouldn't mention it at all, really...except for the fact that this date marks when it all started...well, at least this blog, anyway! Now, please don't feel compelled to go back and look at the inaugural post--I already checked for you, and I can offer my assurance that it was simply a brief paragraph written about (appropriately) choosing a name for this endeavor.

You see, I've been writing for as long as I can remember--okay, that's not entirely true. My earliest memory of crafting anything longer than an elementary school sentence came in 2nd or 3rd grade, when we were assigned to come up with our own short story (on looseleaf paper, complete with pencil-drawn illustrations. Yes, I still have it. It's terrible...and adorable...).

So, not an ounce of drawing talent, clearly...

That must have sparked something, because next I attempted (in my obviously abundant free time) to fashion a mystery novel. (What can I say? I was 8, apparently super-ambitious, and naively confident in my ability to pull something like this off. Oh, and also VERY into Nancy Drew...and Scooby Doo, if I'm being totally honest...) So I used a legal pad, and my looping cursive covered the fronts and backs of 33 sheets of paper, top to bottom, left to right, with no blank spaces left for margins. Then apparently I got stuck; I'm not sure what happened, but I seem to recall that there was some sort of conflict with a ghost (see previously-named influences), and in my tragic inexperience, I'd backed myself into such a corner, narratively, that I just couldn't figure out how to get myself...or my characters...free from the quagmire. (Yep, I still have the unfinished manuscript. It's an absolutely unreadable mess...and also unbearably precious...)

From there, I (wisely) decided that fiction definitely wasn't my thing, and instead channeled my inner author into obsessive journaling. And by that, I mean "chronicling every ridiculous moment of tween and teenage life". I'm serious--I spent heaven only knows how many evenings scribbling in pastel shades about boys, and girls, and clothes, and all the silliness of adolescence. ("My crush talked to me today! I wonder what that MEANS!" For pages...and pages...and pages. I'm not kidding--I had stacks of spiral notebooks filled with this garbage...it was both nauseating and mortifying...I pitched all of it once I grew up...)

But something about the process stuck with me, and as an adult (finally!) I continued to record my (infinitely more interesting, mercifully less angsty, and rarely vomit-inducing) adventures...using nicer books, but still with a penchant for the colorful pens I'd adopted as a youngster. And then, it all came to a screeching halt when--no big surprise--the kiddos came along. Suddenly there were people to take care of 24/7, and fatigue, and few, if any, brain cells to spare for frivolous tasks like trying to describe the day-to-day routine (Eating, sleeping. errands, or a million childcare-related things--none of which really seemed worth sweating over preserving for posterity...)

The chapter titles alone, dude...

And then, after some years had passed in the quiet normalcy of family time and everyday living, came...the Grand Epiphany of 2008, if you will. It's no coincidence that the first entry appeared right around the time that Riley started Kindergarten. Suddenly I regained just a little bit of spare time...and what felt like a whole section of my intellect that had been mired in the...ahem..."joys of childhood"...Thomas the Tank Engine and the Wiggles and Dr. Seuss and the like. With both boys safely ensconced in the hallowed halls of learning for 30 hours a week, I realized I not only wanted, but NEEDED to resume writing...something. Hence that short, tentative, toe-in-the-water trial of 9/5/08.

The real work came later, over the next 10 years...1,035 stories...41,000+ views...and many cherished comments on Facebook. And that's not to mention the stats I can't even begin to calculate, like the sheer volume of WORDS involved, and the countless hours spent toiling to wrangle them into submission in my head, and then shepherd them from my fingers to the keyboard to the screen. (And then to rearrange, cut, and/or embellish them further, to try and make them funnier, or clearer, or at the very least, less like a hyperactive squirrel took over my brain and banged out a bunch of nonsense on my laptop. 'Cuz that's always been my deepest, secret fear, y'all...)

Or how many times I actually took liberties with the language by intentionally butchering innocent little collections of letters (for FUN--that's right, I'm a sadistic word...mangler! Mwah hah hah! ), or by choosing to exercise my..Artistic License...and recklessly making up new ones. (Memo to Me:  renew that permit regularly, and never let it lapse, or I'll be in deep trouble with the Prose Police...) Hmm...what else...oh, yeah how about the many times I've freely and unapologetically utilized--let's call it "inventive punctuation" to suit my fancy? Wow, the list of my transgressions seems to be fairly extensive, so I'm gonna call a halt to exploring the...shady side...of my little wordsmith venture, 'kay?

Yes! Professor Snape shall be my inspiration from now on!

I've gotten off-topic here anyway. (I know, I know: SHOCKER!) I  just meant to wrap up by saying that I believe we've come to another crossroads. With one child having gone off to college, and the other in High School, there aren't going to be as many Tales of the Boys. They're making up (and starring in) their own sagas now, which sometimes are not going to be mine to share. I'm also no longer privy to every wise-cracking comment they make, so I can't always jot them down and post them later. (RATS! I soooo miss that, I'm not gonna lie...)

Don't worry--this isn't me waving goodbye and disappearing into the depths of cyberspace, never to be heard from again. I'm just saying, we may have arrived at a point in which we're all going to have to... evolve a little bit, my friends. So I'll do my part to, I don't know...adopt some fresh hobbies...or pick something interesting to study...or focus on developing a new skill...to give me fuel for my ramblings. And in the meantime, please bear with me during what might prove to be a humdrum phase of...ordinary. But hey, you never know--I might get bored pretty quickly, and decide to drop everything and travel the world--now, those would be some spectacular posts! Stay tuned....