tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16261843459256308932024-03-18T15:09:39.974-05:00Take The Kids WithCome along as we travel around the world with our three children.
Belize, Guatemala, Fiji, New Zealand, Australia,
Japan (Osaka/Kyoto/Nagasaki (on the anniversary of the bomb))
China (Beijing/Xian)
Tibet (Train @ 16,000 feet back to Beijing)
Vienna, Austria
Greece (Friends home in Corinth) and Athens
Germany (Koblenz – with trips to Munich for Octoberfest and Berlin)
Zurich, Switzerland (Trip to ???)
Northern Italy
Northern France
Prague, Czech Republic
Dublin, IrelandUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-44212145093526170192011-11-16T07:40:00.001-06:002011-11-16T07:40:25.998-06:00Different Lattitude, Same Attitude<h3 class="post-title"> Different Latitude, Same Attitude </h3> As a four year old I had no words for it, but I knew that something big was happening. It was a hot summer evening and I felt weird – some odd combo platter of emotion…dread…excitement…fear? I couldn’t tell. But I knew that my six brothers and sisters were thrilled, and that my mom, though she was smiling, was feeling something else, something much more sinister.<br /><br />Around 6pm my dad burst through the door with a puffed up chest and a mischievous smile. “Pack up the kids Doris” he bellowed, “We’re going on vacation.” It was a Friday in late August, commission check time for feed salesman in small town Southern Minnesota, and it had been a good week. My brothers and sisters were jumping and hollering. “Whoo Hoo! Vacation! I get Mom’s lap.” “Hugh-ungh you got it last time.” My mother got this odd look on her face – something between fear and homicidal mania.<br /><br />You see vacation to our family was not some rustic, cozy cabin in the north woods on a lake – or even roughing in a tent with a camp stove. Our vacation home was an old abandoned farmhouse in the middle of a cricket-infested field in southern Minnesota. It had no electricity, no indoor plumbing, no bedding, no dishes – and my mother was to pack up seven children, supplies, equipment, and food at 6 pm on a Friday night so that we could arrive before dark. How she went 55 years without smothering that man in his sleep I will never understand.<br /><br />Packing the car was an exercise in advanced geometry and triangulation. Nine people, food, sheets, towels, supplies, and Poncho – the nervous, incontinent, motion sick terrier were all to fit into the midnight-blue Buick Roadmaster. We were lap-sitters, the lot of us, four in the front and five in the back. As the baby of the family, I got to ride in back window of the sedan along with Poncho, and it was my job to yell “CAR” whenever I saw one approaching or trying to pass.<br /><br />What would turn out to be our very last visit to the abandoned shack began just as all the others had, with frenzy and excitement and undeniable dread. And now it was nighttime – dark as pitch. I was curled up with my sister on an army surplus cot built for one. We were a tangle of clammy arms and legs, sweaty brows and musty old blankets, waging a sleep-war for the only pillow. It was a hushed symphony of cricket chirps and sleep murmurs. Then everything changed.<br /><br />At first I could only hear the huffing. This was not the rhythmic familiarity of my dad’s snoring. No, whatever was breathing like that was definitely not human and it smelled horribly of musk and mold and decay. Satan’s perfume. I heard my mother’s voice.<br /><br />“Ellis” she whisper-screamed “there is a BEAR in here!”<br />“Just go back to sleep. It’ll leave” my dad replied.<br />“GET IT OUT OF HERE!” She was no longer whispering.<br />“How in hell am I supposed to do that? I don’t have a gun.” He said.<br />“WELL THEN CHASE IT OUT!”<br />“You want me to chase a bear?”<br />“I WANT YOU TO CHASE A BEAR!”<br /><br />Muttering curses like Yosemite Sam, my dad hurled himself out of the bed and made all the noise a 5 foot 4 inch, 145 lb man could make. He shouted and flailed and banged on whatever was near him, completely blind in the darkness. My nine year-old brother Jimmy took an inadvertent cuff to the ear and howled out in pain. This started a chain reaction of screaming and falling to the floor from seven children and a very small, very frightened terrier.<br /><br />The commotion died down when Mom lit the gas lantern and we looked around the cabin. No bear, no boogeyman, just that unholy, lingering odor.<br />The door was standing wide open and we held our breath as Dad bravely advanced on the door, and beyond it, the wild, ferocious animal that had nearly massacred his family.<br /><br />There at the bottom of the steps sat a very confused, very hairy golden retriever, panting and huffing with his head tilted a little to one side. “Well there’s you bear Doris, there’s your damn bear.” My father shook his head, quenched the light, and went back to sleep.<br /><br />Fast forward 35 or so years and I am in a lovely hotel with my husband and three kids. We have a pool, a beach, a kitchen and air conditioning. “C’mon you guys, this will be an adventure.” I coaxed. I had met a man named Christian who was building a resort on one of the undeveloped outer cayes in Belize. His resort wasn’t open for guests yet, but would be very soon. He was looking for someone to market the resort in the US, and I, being a travel agent who was already marketing a hotel on another caye, I was a natural choice. He offered free accommodations for the weekend.<br /><br />We packed a boat with provisions and took the two hour ride to Long Caye Resort. As we docked the boat and unloaded, I noticed that my husband had this strange look on his face. He didn’t seem nearly as excited for this adventure as I was. “Jeez” I thought. “Where’s your sense of fun?”<br /><br />The cloud of mosquitoes descended on us almost immediately. I’d never seen anything like it. They were as thick as fog, buzzing and biting like the frenzied vampires they are. At once they were in my eyes, up my nose, in my mouth and ears. Choking and swatting, we jumped into the ocean to escape.<br /><br />“Careful of the stinging jellyfish ma’am.” Christian, our host announced. “They’re everywhere.” We snatched the kids out of the water and put on long sleeves and pants, hats and bandanas. Trouble is, it was about 106º and humid. Everyone was miserable, sweating and itching like crazy. “Quick – inside the hotel” I offered.<br /><br />Christian showed us to our rooms – a 10x10 box with no cross ventilation, no screens on the only window and gaping holes in the unfinished roof. It did have a ceiling fan, and I was hoping that after the sun set the mosquitoes would abate and the breeze of the fan would keep us cool.<br /><br />“You have electricity right?” My husband accused.<br />“Yes, of course.” Replied Christian.<br /><br />And he did. Except, he forgot to mention that the generator was turned off every night around 10 pm - turning the 10x10 hot box of a room into a sweltering, buggy oven. We passed that hideous night taking turns trying to cool off in the shower down the hall – fully clothed.<br /><br />The next morning we were up and out of there before our host was even awake. I was appropriately contrite about my mis-adventure. However, on the way back I asked my husband if we could stop at another island just a little further south. I had heard about a resort that some American had built and then abandoned. Apparently he had been in trouble with the law and had to flee country. “We should stop and take a look.” I said. “I guess it’s brand new and just sitting there empty for anyone to use. We could stay the night. It would be an adventure!” He just looked down and shook his head.<br /><br />How that man has gone 22 years without smothering me in my sleep I will never understand.<br /><br />Word Count 1248<br />Julene Nolan<br /><a href="mailto:jules@julesnolan.com">jules@julesnolan.com</a><br /><a href="http://www.julesnolan.com/">http://www.julesnolan.com/</a><br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/">http://www.takethekidswith.com/</a>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-65756228476944991702011-11-16T07:29:00.000-06:002011-11-16T07:32:52.021-06:00Life Lessons in St. Lucia<p>Long about load number sixteen of the pre-trip laundry piper-paying , I wonder.<span> </span> "Is this going to be worth it?"<span> </span> How much fun will this trip have to <em>be</em> to justify the weeks of sock matching and grocery hauling, necessary to leave 3 children for 8 nights.<span> </span> "A lot" I think.<span> </span> "One hell of a holy lot".</p><p>But the moment I round the corner of the MN-5 exit and the Lindberg terminal bursts into view, I am in love.<span> </span> Yes, the obnoxious long lines, the crabby, clueless travelers, the slow, confused, elderly man in front of me in the security line, who stinks of mothballs, garlic and Efferdent, and has to be prompted to remove every single personal item,<span> </span> "And your belt please sir...and your jacket please sir...and your hat please sir...and your phone please sir...and your shoes please sir..." I love them all.<span> </span> Ditto the self-important business man talking into the collar of his expensive shirt, sporting a star trek, blue tooth, headset, and shoving me with his $1400 alligator briefcase as he cuts ahead of me...okay, maybe <em>him</em> I don't love.</p><p>But I do adore the delicious anticipation as the seatbelt glides across my lap and I hear that satisfying click.<span> </span> And I always, oddly, feel a trifle self satisfied if I need to cinch it in just a tad - that means I am thinner than the last occupant.<span> </span> <span> </span>I poke the earbuds in my ears and Springsteen wails "Baby We Were Born to Run".</p><p>"Yes Bruce.<span> </span> Yes we were."</p><p> </p><p>The plane starts its jerky rumblings down the runway.<span> </span> It relaxes me so much that I often fall asleep just then.<span> </span> While nervous flyers are white-knuckling their armrests and jamming their heels into the floor all around me, I am off in dreamland, head lolling, probably drooling, pleased with my good fortune.<span> </span> But this time, awake, I turn and catch my reflection in the window, and I am changed. I am a woman on a trip.<span> </span> That's what travel does for me.</p><p>And this trip was to be better than most.<span> </span> My husband and I were off on a second honeymoon of sorts (though I contend that 3 nights of watching my husband fish in northern Wisconsin does <em>not</em> qualify as a first honeymoon).<span> </span> We were off to St. Lucia - an island deep in the Caribbean West Indies.<span> </span> This island is said to be for lovers - very popular with the honeymoon set.<span> </span> I had heard it offered lots of adventure, diving, sailing, jungle treks and great food.<span> </span></p><p>St. Lucia has a romantic, if violent history.<span> </span> It is called "The Helen of the Caribbean" for its great beauty and desirability.<span> </span> In fact, it is so beautiful that the powerful rulers of France and England each saw fit to allow their soldiers to die in battle over her, <span> </span>not once but seven times.<span> </span> But it was a battle of a different sort in which I would find myself embroiled here.<span> </span> It was a battle of intuition and trust.</p><p>On a dive boat we met Stuart, a Canadian man traveling alone.<span> </span> He seemed a rather nice guy - and the fact that he said "a boot" when he meant "about" made me giggle.<span> </span> Perfect traveling companion.<span> </span> He was also interested in finding a private charter sail around the island.<span> </span></p><p>"But" I asked "Aren't there catamarans that do group sails much cheaper?"</p><p>"Oh sure" he answered.<span> </span> "They have those eh? - 150 sweaty drunks, jammed elbow to knee on top of each other trying to get to the buffet first.<span> </span> And speakers the size of refrigerators that blast rap music and scare the dolphins halfway to Cuba.<span> </span> Here comes one now.<span> </span> Look at that tall bloke peeing off the starboard.<span> </span> Charming bloke eh?<span> </span> And what's it called?<span> </span> The S.S. Chlamydia?"</p><p>But that meant we had to find someone who would do a private charter.<span> </span> To travel like this you need to be either astoundingly rich, or willing to trust people you don't know.<span> </span> I am not rich and so I must trust.<span> </span> "See that fellow over there with the blue toque?"<span> </span> Said Stuart.<span> </span> "That's Robert.<span> </span> He's supposed to be the one to hook us up".<span> </span> I saw that he was referring to a very shaggy looking island boy, whose dreads were gathered up in a blue stocking cap. "Oh dear" said mid-western sensibilities.</p><p>Robert met us on the beach under a palm tree.<span> </span> "You like-a my office mon?" He smiled gesturing toward the sand.<span> </span> "Friends are callin' me Doctor Feel-Good." <span> </span>Now either he was a licensed Doctor of mind-body holistic medicine, practicing on the beach for the connection it offers to the earth, or he was a drug dealer.<span> </span> <span> </span>Everyone knew Robert, greeted him by name, and he assured us that he would be able to hook us up with anything we wanted.</p><p>"Well Robert, we want a sailboat, a nice one.<span> </span> And a captain, also nice, to sail around the island tomorrow.<span> </span> What would that cost?"<span> </span> Stuart asked.</p><p>"You are my friends, and for you - good deal" Robert replied.<span> </span> We agreed on a price and made plans to meet the next morning.</p><p>That night I awoke with worrying dreams.<span> </span> What did I really know about this guy?<span> </span> Sure he had water-taxied Stuart around for a few nights - had looked after him at the local festival, but what was I doing?<span> </span> Was I being naïve, irresponsible?<span> </span> Or was this feeling of uncertainty a racist response to a person who looked different than me?<span> </span> <span> </span>In the creaky, rusty hours of the night, my paranoid fantasies had me believing horrible things about this young man, and alternately about myself.<span> </span></p><p>The next day was cloudy and rainy - an ominous sign if you believe in such things.<span> </span> Robert and his pal Frederic arrived right on time to pick us up in the water taxi.<span> </span> Robert assured us that the weather at the south end of the island would be better.<span> </span> I looked at him with uncertainty on my face as he held out his hand to help me into the boat.<span> </span> "Do you trust me?"<span> </span> He asked.<span> </span> And at that moment, for better or worse, I did.</p><p>This story ends well, with a beautiful day of sailing, another glimpse of the S.S. Chlamydia as it passed to our port side, with too much noise and too many people, confirming the wisdom of our decision. But it also ends with a lesson in trust - a lesson for both <em>Dr. Feel Good</em> and me.</p><p>We had just started our sail - beautiful weather, beautiful boat, when I realized that my formerly predictable feminine cycle was betraying me, and arriving a full two weeks early.<span> </span> I had nothing in the way of feminine products.<span> </span> NOTHING.<span> </span> There was nothing on the boat, and we had sailed out of the only populated area for miles<span> </span> We were hours from anything but a tiny village with no stores.<span> </span> But I could see women there on the beach and I know where there were women there are feminine products.</p><p>I had my husband ask the captain to find a mooring here, and ferry us into the beach for a little while.<span> </span> The captain said that while we could moor here there was no reason to go to the beach.<span> </span> "There is nothing here to do.<span> </span> No snorkeling, no restaurant, no stores.<span> </span> I have a much better place up ahead in one or two hours."</p><p>But my husband insisted.<span> </span> Suspiciously the captain moored the boat and ferried us in the dingy.<span> </span> We walked the beach for awhile trying not to look so conspicuous.<span> </span> I went from one group of women to another asking for a "favor".<span> </span> Finally a very bohemian-looking young woman nodded.<span> </span> She had the "stuff" I needed, and we ducked behind a palm tree to make the exchange.<span> </span> She didn't want to take money, but I insisted knowing that supplies like these, in places like this are neither inexpensive nor easy to come by.<span> </span> She had saved me.</p><p>My husband told the captain that we were ready to go back to the boat.<span> </span> I noticed a distinct chill coming from both Robert and the Captain.<span> </span> I wondered if they were embarrassed to have to deal so blatantly with a woman's issue and I began to get indignant.<span> </span> I was ready to show these men a little American Feminism.<span> </span><br /><br />I asked, "Is there some problem?"<span> </span></p><p>"Yes"<span> </span> Robert said.<span> </span> "That stuff is not legal here on the island and is not legal on the boat. The captain is afraid he will have big trouble from this and be fired from his job."</p><p>"What is not legal?" I asked incredulous.</p><p>"What you bought from that girl" Robert said.</p><p>"You mean <em>these</em>?" I replied and opened my hand to reveal half a dozen tampons.</p><p>Robert's eyes grew wide.<span> </span> He covered his face with both hands and doubled over with laughter and embarrassment "No," he said "No, not that."</p><p>In the end both Robert and I learned a little something about trust, about making assumptions, and about what all women <em>really</em> want at one time or another.<span> </span> Who knows, maybe <em>Dr. Feel-Good</em> carries them himself now.</p><p>Word Count 1528</p><p>Julene Nolan</p><p><a href="mailto:jules@julesnolan.com">jules@julesnolan.com</a></p><p><a href="http://www.julesnolan.com/">http://www.julesnolan.com/</a></p><p><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/">http://www.takethekidswith.com/</a></p>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-68495943335992602832010-03-20T21:46:00.001-05:002010-03-20T21:47:29.338-05:00This blog has moved<br /> This blog is now located at http://takethekidswith.blogspot.com/.<br /> You will be automatically redirected in 30 seconds, or you may click <a href='http://takethekidswith.blogspot.com/'>here</a>.<br /><br /> For feed subscribers, please update your feed subscriptions to<br /> http://takethekidswith.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default.<br /> Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-56070416989574243492010-03-20T21:32:00.003-05:002010-03-20T22:00:28.321-05:00Not Really Kids Anymore<div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPrzFFvxojLtniQdTzK2gBbk3TYbuqVuDk3sBY2wq2IzZao0Lwl2Qi3M5epiykeGbG8Bd1IF5t4wBGzH7onXfTV0S2ujYm7OyD1gLhi5kdeYEcdFyYQ0Uh8fUxwqxkygqIzcStJKgeiN2i/s1600-h/IMG_7760.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450914588548546098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPrzFFvxojLtniQdTzK2gBbk3TYbuqVuDk3sBY2wq2IzZao0Lwl2Qi3M5epiykeGbG8Bd1IF5t4wBGzH7onXfTV0S2ujYm7OyD1gLhi5kdeYEcdFyYQ0Uh8fUxwqxkygqIzcStJKgeiN2i/s320/IMG_7760.JPG" /></a>They are teenagers now. One in college, two in highschool, but we continue to take the kids with. Our latest adventure was over spring break this year, to Curacao, Netherland Antilles. This island nation is home to more than 50 different nationalities. Local residents speak English, Dutch, Spanish and a local dialict called Papiemento. Rich in culture (UNESCO world heritage site) and adventure (cliff-diving, scuba, snorkel, hiking, biking, even riding an ostrich if that tickles your fancy) this is<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1SmLgqKAaFebECQN_3KPxtgtpdJDQrQlJCan_ZzIpVEVIIaASCtH1AOZW627uF2X5DnxAXaRwsfjneMHKdsACpZ91oTNoIuI_RbKsTzb8qlPHXyUSoXc2Z5j5TxrKq-wWUVbe3_GE_Eu/s1600-h/IMG_7716.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450914887608492722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1SmLgqKAaFebECQN_3KPxtgtpdJDQrQlJCan_ZzIpVEVIIaASCtH1AOZW627uF2X5DnxAXaRwsfjneMHKdsACpZ91oTNoIuI_RbKsTzb8qlPHXyUSoXc2Z5j5TxrKq-wWUVbe3_GE_Eu/s320/IMG_7716.JPG" /></a>land has something for everyone. We stayed at Habitat resort (our 4th visit) which is great for those wanting to be out of the city and have lots of face time with the fishes. More beautiful, centrally located, and expensive is Kura Hulanda - a must-visit hotel, even if you don't stay there. The slavery museum shouldn't be missed.<br /><div></div><br /><div>As part of my new career (getting my doctorate in school psychology) I worked at ISC - the international school of Curacao. Spent 40 hours giving reading and literacy probes to kids from preschool to 2nd grade. Fantastic bunch of polite and well-behaved kid<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqOJBFAPJMPBh830TJVviZ6qAt7vBVeay14MYboUwJwkmCKJowod5Vx7iJmCm8YrMvMOiy0sFaSM_fIVL4ngoZE3v6eDrcmMJO72VLA9hNXZo1NwiiyxoO9l6YXmJVISLydeyYBdFuOz8k/s1600-h/IMG_7685.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450915965867311730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqOJBFAPJMPBh830TJVviZ6qAt7vBVeay14MYboUwJwkmCKJowod5Vx7iJmCm8YrMvMOiy0sFaSM_fIVL4ngoZE3v6eDrcmMJO72VLA9hNXZo1NwiiyxoO9l6YXmJVISLydeyYBdFuOz8k/s320/IMG_7685.JPG" /></a>dos. It was a great way to spend my spring break.</div><div> </div><div> Plus I got to jump off a cliff or two, scuba dive once, and snorkel every day after work. I could spend a good long bit of my life that way</div></div></div>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-35331469005504811072009-11-30T15:01:00.001-06:002009-11-30T15:01:05.990-06:00Habitat Curacao<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p>HAve stayed twice - charming with great diving. A bit of a drive out of town, but shuttles run a few times everyday.</p>in reference to: <a href='http://www.habitatcuracaoresort.com/'>Habitat Curacao Resort - The dive hotel in the Caribbean - The home of diving freedom.</a> (<a href='http://www.google.com/sidewiki/entry/mike.e.nolan/id/hWPewj2XTEL0C4Uj-3Mpg0rZuFY'>view on Google Sidewiki</a>)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-33705363480441793372008-08-13T13:24:00.002-05:002008-08-13T13:38:26.564-05:00What Will You Bring Home?<div><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4533-737252.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4533-736704.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I can hear them in the next room playing guitar - my kids, along with their friends Jake and Evan. Anna is trying to write the music for Evan’s new song “Paper Cuts”. Charlie is trying to choose which harmonica to<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4524-762753.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4524-761158.JPG" border="0" /></a> blow. They are in a spirited discussion now, about a name for their new band. Will it be the Banana Bandanas? The Banana Smurfs? I love this. And believe it or not, this is a result of traveling.<br /><br />Follow me here…..I have brought lots of souvenirs back from our travels and realized along the way that it’s not the things that have made my life richer, but the ideas.<br /><br />On dozens of hopping Saturday nights in Belize, over the past nine years, I have performed with area bands. There is nothing in the world quite like the feeling I get while belting out “Me and Bobby McGee” on the beach – with a band. I watch the honeymooners dance, all snuggled up together. The singles and old-marrieds sway in their chairs with their drinks held aloft. Some croon along softly, smiling. Others are surfing on a memory and sing full throttle, their heads thrown back, their eyes closed.<br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0289-731673.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0289-731120.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />And on Sunday afternoons in Belize, local musicians meet at a certain beachfront bar and hold a jam session. They work on songs that are not ready for primetime, and case the crowd for anyone who might want to sit in. Often they have to cobble a band together in order to play at all, asking over the open mic if anyone can play bass or drums, or knows all the words to “Hotel California”. The musicians, the regulars, the newcomers, everyone has fun, because it is impossible to have a bad time when you are singing.<br /><br />I have brought this concept back home, and a couple of Sundays a month we host a “Sunday Sundown Jam Session” in my dining room. Now the crux of this gathering is the talent and willingness of my two actual musician friends, Joe Tougas and Ann Fee. But thankfully they happily attend, and even bring food. Everyone is invited to bring their whole fa<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4419-773340.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4419-773326.JPG" border="0" /></a>mily and something to strum, pluck, shake, blow or bang on. It is impossible not to have fun, especially when the babies dance.<br /><br />When I meet someone new and they seem receptive, I ask if they play an instrument, or sing, and if they would be interested in bringing their family to a jam session. Most people are shy about it, or downplay their talent. But when they show up on a Sunday afternoon; when they plug in their guitar, or grab the microphone, shake the tambourine or bang on a b<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4498-705374.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4498-704671.JPG" border="0" /></a>ongo, they get that look in their eyes. The same look that I must have when there is a guitar strap on my back, a microphone at my lips, and sand between my toes.<br /><br />And now as I listen to my kids with their friends, playing something that doesn’t involve shooting or exploding, death or injury, I am sure that this is one of the very best things I have ever brought home. </div></div></div></div></div>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-54629592785183130152008-08-13T13:21:00.002-05:002008-08-13T13:23:20.312-05:00Pictures<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan">http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan</a> <br /><br />Last year at this time I was in Japan. This year I am sorting socks, school shopping, and taking kids to dental appts. Last year was better.<br /><br />Here is a link to all the photos from the trip and some that I've posted since.Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-45636931640786310232008-08-05T09:10:00.005-05:002009-09-20T21:00:27.385-05:00And Now It's Your Turn<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0435-716397.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0435-715631.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0569-796779.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0569-795769.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal">If you’ve ever read my column you understand that I have an almost pathological love of travel, of moving on, of finding the next place.<span style=""> </span>I have visited more than 23 countries and sc<st1:personname st="on">hl</st1:personname>epped my family across 5 continents. Last October, after 180 consecutive days on the road, my weary family landed at the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Minneapolis</st1:place></st1:city> airport.<span style=""> </span>As we were blearily shuffling our way to baggage claim, my son was talking about how good it was to be going home.<span style=""> </span>“Can you imagine how great it will be to sleep in our own beds tonight?”<span style=""> </span>Eldest son remarked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yea, and to stay home awhile.<span style=""> </span>I don’t think I will leave the house for a month”<span style=""> </span>Middle son replied.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I want to see my friends tomorrow – but I’ll invite them to come and see me at MY house.”<span style=""> </span>Youngest daughter said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I however, was completely distracted by the airline departure signs, announcing the destinations for which these lucky crowds were bound.<span style=""> </span>“Oh wow” I thought.<span style=""> </span>“Those people are going to <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Hawaii</st1:place></st1:state>.<span style=""> </span>That might be a fun….”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“JULES!”<span style=""> </span>My husband shouted as I started to wander off in the direction of the departure gate. “Where are you going?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So you get the picture.<span style=""> </span>I like to keep moving.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-42182533399994681672008-06-11T13:31:00.002-05:002008-06-11T13:43:13.962-05:00WomenInc Covergirl<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0542-744139.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0542-743571.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>WomenInc used my photo as the cover shot for the June issue. It's terribly embarrassing and a nice compliment all at once.</div><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://www.women-inc.com/">http://www.women-inc.com/</a> has the cover shot and you can read the story at <a href="http://www.julesnolan.com/">http://www.julesnolan.com/</a> The story is called "Bouncing Back From Fear"</div><br /><div></div><div>Also, I will be hosting a trip to Belize for WomenInc readers and friends! We will be going for 7 days January 16-22 and will be learning about the rich culture, magnificent natural environment and warm, welcoming people of Belize. </div><br /><div></div><div>We will be doing some sailing, snorkeling, touring Mayan Ruins, jungle-spa-ing, and beach bbq-ing. With all of the great friends I have made in Belize over the years, this promises to be a very special trip. Please let me know if you are interested in joining us. Since we are staying at a small, independently owned hotel, availability will be limited.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-13959993350672802502008-06-11T12:26:00.005-05:002008-06-11T13:48:14.901-05:00Laying that Big Spike Down<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_2804-792483.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_2804-791608.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Wow it's been awhile since I wrote - and so much has changed!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>First I became a scooter mama. My favorite new past time is scootin' around the town. It makes me feel like I can fly. Also helps me deal with "pump anxiety" as I've put 200 miles on this bike and spent less than $10 in gasoline. I bought a "Buddy" from the Genuine Scooter Company through a local Yamaha dealer called Star Cycle <a href="http://www.starrcycleyamaha.com/">http://www.starrcycleyamaha.com/</a>. It is sweet.</div><div><a href="http://www.genuinescooters.com/">http://www.genuinescooters.com/</a> </div><br /><p></p><p>My friend Beth says "riding a scooter is like giving the earth a hug"</p><p>Also, I am back in school. I started classes this summer in a new doctoral program in School Psychology. I will be an old, grey lady when I finish (5 years) but I would be an old grey lady anyway wouldn't I?</p><p>I scored a graduate assistantship through the Department of Institutional Diversity at MSU-M and am working in the Writing and English Language Lab, tutoring writing. It is a blast and the students are very cool. Lots of countries represented in one room. The next best thing to being there myself!</p><p>The kids are out of school for the summer and are already busy with activities. Charlie is doing The Hobbitt through community theater, Anna took off for Florida to visit Grandparents, and Jack is working at Scheels in Mankato building bikes.</p><p>Mike is doing some business consulting and continues to look for the next big gig. </p>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-42711365602796967952008-04-25T12:48:00.003-05:002008-04-25T13:06:33.930-05:00Laws of Life<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_2569-712249.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_2569-711257.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_2570-713153.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_2570-712464.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_2570-713153.JPG"></a><br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_2569-712249.JPG"></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Brilliant daughter Anna, was one of the winners of an essay contest called "Laws of Life". It is sponsored by the Dollars for Scholars organization for 7-12 grade students attending Mankato Schools. Anna's story is about a young girl who has inspired her. Her name is Emily Brose.<br /><br />Here is the award winning essay and a couple of photos of Anna receiving her award.<br /><br /><div align="left">Inspired by a Friendship </div><div align="left">By Anna Nolan<br /><br />When we think of someone that we admire we think of someone who is great, famous, or who has changed the life of thousands. When I think of someone I admire, I think a little closer to home. The person that I admire is strong, both of mind, and spirit, she is brave and selfless. Also, she is compassionate and she is a great friend. She is also different; different because she has Down syndrome. I have learned so much from her and I think that she is one of the greatest people I know.</div><div align="left"> </div>Down syndrome is a genetic disorder. It is caused by the presence of all or part of an extra 21st chromosome. It is a form of mental retardation. People with Down syndrome usually have a distinct physical appearance. They also might not be able to talk. Despite all of this she is still absolutely amazing. I knew all of this from the moment I met her.<br /><div align="left"><br />Before I met her I had not really ever spent time with a person who has a disability. I admit that before I met her, I became very nervous. My hands were sweaty, and I was extremely uncomfortable. When she came out, she said hello to me, normal as anything, and I said hello back. One of the first things I noticed was that she has an amazing personality. After that, I realized that just because she has Down syndrome, does not mean that I should not get to know her. This was the first of many things that she has taught me. </div><br />Afterwards, we started to hang out more, and this is when I learned many new things. For example, I learned to always get to know someone before you make false assumptions. Also, I learned to always persevere and not to give up. One of the most important things I have learned is that everyone has challenges in their life, some have more than others, so you should not give up no matter how hard it becomes. She is thoughtful and kind and she has a great spirit.<br /><br /><div align="left">Being her friend is an honor. I would like to learn more from her. For now though, she has taught me some things that I am sure I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Yes, she is different, but that does not make me not want to be her friend. I think that if we all had the same outlook on life that she has, the world would be a better place, for everyone. </div>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-37788722450510378642008-04-22T12:28:00.003-05:002008-04-27T11:16:19.626-05:00It's HereSpring is an interesting time of year. I remember when I was young girl, the calves on our farm would get themselves into a lot of trouble in spring. They would bash each other a good deal and get tangled up in places they didn’t belong. They bubbled with energy and their wobbly legs didn’t move in the ways they intended. They stumbled around a lot.<br /><br />Teenage families are a lot like that. Spring brings out mischief and uncertainty and bashings. Teenagers, more than any other "agers", feel that intense craving for movement. They are using limbs, which have grown unweildy over the winter, in ways they haven’t in awhile. Lots of things get broken in the spring including windows and furniture and bones. Sometimes hearts too, but that's another blog entry altogether.<br /><br />Teens are also feeling overwhelmed with deadlines at this time of the year. Most of their big projects are coming due next month. They are crabby.<br /><br />Our house needs to be held upside down and shaken. It needs a spring cleaning of biblical proportions. It needs a hosing off and a blowing dry like never before. And lots of stuff needs fixing. We are crabby too.<br /><br />I’m going to go sit out in the sunshine on the deck and ignore the mess a little longer. It will be there when I get back.Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-67596116502064835462008-04-14T14:09:00.003-05:002008-04-14T14:36:29.931-05:00What's Next?<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/DSCN3871-786542.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/DSCN3871-785877.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0244-787371.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_0244-786796.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>We have been home now for exactly as much time as we were away. I miss it desperately. I miss having something new to learn every day. I miss the hustle of moving my family across the planet. I miss meeting new people. </div><br /><div></div><div>Earlier this week Anna came into my room. She was sad. She said she misses it too, misses the adventure and excitement, but mostly misses the closeness of our family crammed into some hotel room or airplane. She said that now everything is back to normal and it makes her lonely. </div><br /><div></div><div>Everyone is filling their days and nights with friends and projects and work, and we don't focus so much on each other. She said she hates how fast the time is going and can't believe that Jack will be graduating from high school and leaving this time next year.<br /><br />I couldn't agree more</div>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-81248566445855219452008-03-09T12:22:00.012-05:002008-03-10T22:22:35.324-05:00Lessons We LearnedThe local paper did a story about our trip around the world. Cathy Bernardy Jones, a local freelance reporter, came to our home and interviewed us for 4 hours. It was fabulous fun for us, and completely exhausting for her. She did a great job with the story though, and the paper published this cool photo college that Mike made<br /><br />But the big payback for me was a quote from Anna that was published in a sidebar titled "Tips". "What I learned from this trip is how big the world is. That my life is so much more than just Mankato, MN, that it can be whatever I want it to be."<br /><br />Talk about your return on investments. Having her learn that lesson sealed it. This trip was the best thing we could have done for our family.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.nolanonline.com/nolantrip.pdf">www.nolanonline.com/nolantrip.pdf</a>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-26352800110128551602008-02-18T10:23:00.002-06:002008-02-18T10:56:35.039-06:00New Latitude.....Same AttitudeAs a four year old I had no words for it, but I knew that something big was happening. It was a hot summer evening and I felt weird – some odd combo platter of emotion…dread…excitement…fear? I couldn’t tell. But I knew that my six brothers and sisters were thrilled, and that my mom, though she was smiling, was feeling something else, something much more sinister.<br /><br /> Around 6pm my dad burst through the door with a puffed up chest and a mischievous smile. “Pack up the kids Doris” he bellowed, “We’re going on vacation.” It was a Friday in late August, commission check time for feed salesman in small town Southern Minnesota, and it had been a good week. My brothers and sisters were jumping and hollering. “Whoo Hoo! Vacation! I get Mom’s lap.” “Hugh-ungh you got it last time.” My mother got this odd look on her face – something between fear and homicidal mania.<br /><br /> You see vacation to our family was not some rustic, cozy cabin in the north woods on a lake – or even roughing in a tent with a camp stove. Our vacation home was an old abandoned farmhouse in the middle of a cricket-infested field in southern Minnesota. It had no electricity, no indoor plumbing, no bedding, no dishes – and my mother was to pack up seven children, supplies, equipment, and food at 6 pm on a Friday night so that we could arrive before dark. How she went 55 years without smothering that man in his sleep I will never understand.<br /><br /> Packing the car was an exercise in advanced geometry and triangulation. Nine people, food, sheets, towels, supplies, and Poncho – the nervous, incontinent, motion sick terrier were all to fit into the midnight-blue Buick Roadmaster. We were lap-sitters, the lot of us, four in the front and five in the back. As the baby of the family, I got to ride in back window of the sedan along with Poncho, and it was my job to yell “CAR” whenever I saw one approaching or trying to pass.<br /><br />What would turn out to be our very last visit to the abandoned shack began just as all the others had, with frenzy and excitement and undeniable dread. And now it was nighttime – dark as pitch. I was curled up with my sister on an army surplus cot built for one. We were a tangle of clammy arms and legs, sweaty brows and musty old blankets, waging a sleep-war for the only pillow. It was a hushed symphony of cricket chirps and sleep murmurs. Then everything changed.<br /><br />At first I could only hear the huffing. This was not the rhythmic familiarity of my dad’s snoring. No, whatever was breathing like that was definitely not human and it smelled horribly of musk and mold and decay. Satan’s perfume. I heard my mother’s voice.<br /><br />“Ellis” she whisper-screamed “there is a BEAR in here!”<br />“Just go back to sleep. It’ll leave” my dad replied.<br />“GET IT OUT OF HERE!” She was no longer whispering.<br />“How in hell am I supposed to do that? I don’t have a gun.” He said.<br />“WELL THEN CHASE IT OUT!”<br />“You want me to chase a bear?”<br />“I WANT YOU TO CHASE A BEAR!”<br /><br /> Muttering curses like Yosemite Sam, my dad hurled himself out of the bed and made all the noise a 5 foot 4 inch, 145 lb man could make. He shouted and flailed and banged on whatever was near him, completely blind in the darkness. My nine year-old brother Jimmy took an inadvertent cuff to the ear and howled out in pain. This started a chain reaction of screaming and falling to the floor from seven children and a very small, very frightened terrier.<br /><br /> The commotion died down when Mom lit the gas lantern and we looked around the cabin. No bear, no boogeyman, just that unholy, lingering odor. <br />The door was standing wide open and we held our breath as Dad bravely advanced on the door, and beyond it, the wild, ferocious animal that had nearly massacred his family.<br /><br />There at the bottom of the steps sat a very confused, very hairy golden retriever, panting and huffing with his head tilted a little to one side. “Well there’s you bear Doris, there’s your god damned bear.” My father shook his head, quenched the light, and went back to sleep. <br /><br />Fast forward 35 or so years and I am in a lovely hotel with my husband and three kids. We have a pool, a beach, a kitchen and air conditioning. “C’mon you guys, this will be an adventure.” I coaxed. I had met a man named Christian who was building a resort on one of the undeveloped outer cayes in Belize. His resort wasn’t open for guests yet, but would be very soon. He was looking for someone to market the resort in the US, and I, being a travel agent who was already marketing a hotel on another caye, I was a natural choice. He offered free accommodations for the weekend.<br /><br />We packed a boat with provisions and took the two hour ride to Long Caye Resort. As we docked the boat and unloaded, I noticed that my husband had this strange look on his face. He didn’t seem nearly as excited for this adventure as I was. “Jeez” I thought. “Where’s your sense of fun?” <br /><br />The cloud of mosquitoes descended on us almost immediately. I’d never seen anything like it. They were as thick as fog, buzzing and biting like the frenzied vampires they are. At once they were in my eyes, up my nose, in my mouth and ears. Choking and swatting, we jumped into the ocean to escape.<br /><br />“Careful of the stinging jellyfish ma’am.” Christian, our host announced. “They’re everywhere.” We snatched the kids out of the water and put on long sleeves and pants, hats and bandanas. Trouble is, it was about 106º and humid. Everyone was miserable, sweating and itching like crazy. “Quick – inside the hotel” I offered.<br /><br />Christian showed us to our rooms – a 10x10 box with no cross ventilation, no screens on the only window and gaping holes in the unfinished roof. It did have a ceiling fan, and I was hoping that after the sun set the mosquitoes would abate and the breeze of the fan would keep us cool.<br /><br />“You have electricity right?” My husband accused.<br />“Yes, of course.” Replied Christian.<br /><br />And he did. Except, he forgot to mention that the generator was turned off every night around 10 pm - turning the 10x10 hot box of a room into a sweltering, buggy oven. We passed that hideous night taking turns trying to cool off in the shower down the hall – fully clothed.<br /><br />The next morning we were up and out of there before our host was even awake. I was appropriately contrite about my mis-adventure. However, on the way back I asked my husband if we could stop at another island just a little further south. I had heard about a resort that some American had built and then abandoned. Apparently he had been in trouble with the law and had to flee country. “We should stop and take a look.” I said. “I guess it’s brand new and just sitting there empty for anyone to use. We could stay the night. It would be an adventure!” He just looked down and shook his head.<br /><br />How that man has gone 22 years without smothering me in my sleep I will never understand.Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-80304535701817080712008-02-11T11:16:00.000-06:002008-02-11T11:18:39.772-06:00Photos of Kids in ParisTo see photos of where it all began - taking the kids with - click here<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan/Paris2003">http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan/Paris2003</a><br /><br /><br />To read essays from my other travel adventures click here<br /><br /><a href="http://www.traveljules.com/">http://www.traveljules.com/</a>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-5635462462337812012008-02-11T10:24:00.000-06:002008-02-11T10:56:29.499-06:00Paris 2003 As The Taking With Begins<div><div>“WOW! You’re an amazing woman!” he blurted. His eyes flashed with admiration as a giant smile washed across his face. Realizing what he’d just said, how he’d just proclaimed his private feelings, he shyly dropped his chin and glanced down. I have never heard more enchanting words. Sure we were holed up in some dimly lit café in Paris, the epicenter for passionate outbursts. But the fact was this was not some dashing young suitor. This was my 13 year old son, thoroughly impressed with my ability to get him a coke and a hamburger in my halting college French.<br /><br />Two years ago I took our sons, 10 and 13, to Paris over their Thanksgiving break. Those who didn’t think I was crazy surely thought I was stupid. I admit I have an uncommon love for Paris and all things French, and I probably painted a slightly biased picture in their imaginations (hot coco and chocolate filled croissants for breakfast!). But truly, Paris is a wonderful travel destination for children. The secrets? Stay close to a metro stop. Keep museum visits short – less than an hour. Never get too hungry or too tired. Forget shopping – except in the toy stores which are delightful. Keep it fun and active.<br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/DSCN2111-703421.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/DSCN2111-703375.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />At first a sunset cruise on the Seine, directly upon our arrival seemed like a horrible idea. Two jet-lagged boys on a guided tour sounded like a recipe for disaster. As it turned out we were practically the only people on the boat that chilly November evening, and my boys were so tired they were incapable of round 27 of “He’s Touching Me – I’m Not Touching Him”. As the sun set, the twinkling lights of the Eiffel tower reflected in their eyes. They were awed by the sights, the sounds, the thrill of this new city.<br /><br />The next day at the Louvre my boys displayed an astonishing amount of art appreciation. The secret here was telling them the dollar value of the art they are meant to appreciate. I didn’t know it myself of course, but gave them fantastically inflated numbers that made their eyes grow big and round. Plus, somehow they got the impression that if the even seemed to be considering touching the art, before their fingertips could brush the canvas, they would be shot by guards who dressed as tiny old French ladies in big coats. These women were everywhere in the museums, always alone, and staring at young children with menacing glares (Think Granny from the Bugs Bunny cartoons with an enormous hound’s-tooth check overcoats and maybe…… just maybe, an M16 hidden in the folds). They didn’t believe me of course, but when they saw how well-behaved and fearful the French children looked in their tidy little uniforms and precise straight lines, they did wonder.<br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/DSCN2148-783207.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/DSCN2148-783186.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />We saw all the greats, Mona Lisa, Water Lilies, Winged Victory; but we never spent more than 30 minutes in any museum or between snacks. It worked wonderfully. In fact, due to the untold hours that each had spent playing some computer game called Age of Mythology, they recognized the Greek and Roman God sculptures much better than I. Don’t think I didn’t revel in the admiring glances from other parents as my young boys, in their turtle necks and corduroys said “Mom, look! It’s Aphrodite and Eros!” Ah yes, the value of a classic education!<br /><br />The food was incredible and not terribly expensive. My boys squeamishly tasted pate, fois gras, and escargot. They hated it of course, but now take pride in telling people that they ate liver and snails in Paris – just like fear factor! We usually ate from street vendors and bakeries at impromptu outdoor picnics, keeping restaurant visits to a minimum. Their favorite activity was our self-guided hot chocolate tour of Paris. They kept a journal, and rated the delicious concoctions at each café. The very best, at Café Flore en I’lle, was served in 2 separate steaming pitchers, one of milk and one of liquid chocolate. It was the distinct winner, and my boys were consumed with creating the perfect mixture. I got to rest my feet and enjoy views of Notre Dame from our cozy table by the window, my sons on either side of me with matching chocolate mustaches.<br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/DSCN2253-777357.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/DSCN2253-777320.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Best of all though, is that when I embarrassed myself, as I do in every place I visit, my children were spared the humiliation since they didn’t understand the language. We were visiting a glorious little chapel called St. Chapelle. While inside, I set down my guidebook and camera to tie my son’s shoe, and accidentally walked out without them. Just as we were leaving, I realized my mistake, but the doors had been locked behind us and I couldn’t go back inside. I wandered around searching for security when I came upon a small cluster of young policemen. I asked them in French “Please, can you help me?” Then realized I didn’t know how to say that I had “left” my things inside. So what came out was “I have a book and a camera inside, can you help me?” (Complete with my most charming smile).<br /><br />Well, I thought it was odd that the policemen all smiled sheepishly, hands in pockets, and looked at their shoes. They shot sideways glances at one another, and seemed embarrassed, on the verge of laughter. Again I pleaded “I have a book and a camera in there. Can you help me please? It is closed and no one is inside.” (Again the smile).<br /><br />Finally, after much gesturing, I got one of the men to understand me and he kindly helped me retrieve my things. We left without further incident.<br /><br />As I was falling asleep that night I was trying to understand my failure with the language. Then it dawned on me. The French word for book is “livre”. I had been saying “lit” which means BED! I had been begging these men “Please, come with me inside; no one is there. I have a BED and a camera; come with me now! No one is around.”<br /><br />Don’t get me wrong here. It wasn’t a week full of meaningful moments filled with famous, awe-inspiring artwork while the sparkling lights of Paris reflected in my son’s eyes. There were plenty of excruciating rounds of “I Know You Are – But What Am I” “I Did Not – You Did Too” and the perennial favorite “Nolan Children Family Smack Down”. The point is that with humor, a sense of adventure, and lots of activity we had an unforgettable time together.<br /><br />And not that I’m counting, but twice……TWICE they told me they thought I was amazing.</div></div>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-81963635097743716022008-02-04T11:32:00.000-06:002008-02-04T12:44:55.551-06:00Or....Perhaps Go Alone<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_3491-725664.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_3491-725237.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><br />Just three months after returning home from my “around the world” trip and it happens again… itchy feet, restlessness, agitation. I’ve got another case of wanderlusties and I need get on a plane. Luckily my friend Adrienne emailed with a plan. “Five women, a beach in Mexico, four nights, exceedingly affordable. Who’s with me?” She wrote.<br /><br />I didn't know these women (aside from Adrienne) and since I would be meeting them in Mexico, I would do the traveling alone. Perfect. I love to travel alone. It allows me to indulge my favorite guilty pleasure, people-watching. Sometimes this is the most entertaining part of a trip. Once, at an afternoon Jimmy Buffett concert in Wrigley Field I got separated from my friends. Rather than trying to sift through the partying parrotheads*, I sat in the bleachers and watched the shenanigans unfold.<br /><br />I got to see “Wow This Beer Stuff Tastes GREAT” guy, muster enough liquid courage to dance with “Third Prettiest In The Group” girl. “Jumping’ Waving” couple were having a blast together, but seemed unable to synchronize the sipping of their beverages and were rapidly becoming “Soaking Jumping Waving” couple. My favorite was “Happy Dancing Alone” dude. He was a young, smiley guy who danced his way around the entire stadium walkway a dozen or more times. He nodded greetings to anyone who made eye contact, and toasted every glass he could reach without breaking the song’s rhythm. And every woman who crossed his path was gently twirled, winked at, and bid adieu with a bow or a two fingered salute. That dude knew how to travel alone.<br /><br />My husband deposited me at the Minneapolis airport that -15o January morning and lovingly bid me farewell with “You suck, have fun.” I felt washed with a familiar, heady excitement. It reminded me of a time nearly three decades ago, when clutching a temporary driver’s license in my 16 year old hands; I went out for a drive. Alone.<br /><br />I was the first to arrive at the hotel, and as the room wasn’t quite ready, I had to wait. So I flounced off to the restaurant for lunch. I couldn’t have been happier sitting in that beachside café eating fish tacos and drinking a cold beer - alone. The waiter spent a good deal of time talking with me. Maybe he felt sorry for me having to dine alone. Silly boy.<br /><br />After lunch I holed up on a beach chair, still dressed in my warm “from up north” clothes and watched the waves roll into shore - alone. I saw “Annoyed Underbreath Mumbler” husband applying sun block to “You’re Not Doing It Right” wife’s back. Just a few chairs down were “Starry-eyed Honeymoon” couple. She was lying back in her lounge chair, eyes closed, sporting a white bikini, a beautiful tan and a blissful smile. He was smiling too until he spotted “You’re Not Doing It Right” wife, and then wordlessly began to glance from her to his new bride with something between fear and realization on his face.<br /><br />Adrienne arrived with the others and we all set about the business of getting to know each other. Now I have been married to “Center Stage” man for 20 years, and am very comfortable getting to know new people through him. He generally initiates the telling of our funny stories and is mostly responsible for creating the first impression. He is a charming guy and people generally love him, but it I liked creating a different first impression - alone.<br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4050-703496.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_4050-703051.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The long weekend turned out to be an exercise in sunning, lounging, eating and drinking. I enjoyed getting to know new people, but also myself in some small ways. We had political discussions I wouldn’t normally have and I heard myself expressing opinions I hadn’t voiced before. We enjoyed funny conversations which gave me the opportunity to tell stories and use witty lines my husband has heard dozens of times. But with this fresh audience, I got the laughs I hadn’t heard in awhile. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>In addition, I got to be an observer as much as I wanted. One morning, I witnessed "Drunky McLushenstein Experiences Hangover Regret” kid (young construction dude from Chicago) trying to recall the interaction he apparently had with “Early Rising Trolling Cougar” (much older VERY romantically interested woman). He shuffled by my lounge chair, wearing swimsuit and dark sunglasses, head hanging and feeling so ill that he couldn’t even manage to lift his heals. He was emitting a low moan and I could smell the mixture of Coppertone and stale beer from 10 paces. She was in the pool shouting his name and waving frantically. “Jim, Jim, JIM! It’s ME, OVER HERE!” He looked toward her, whispered under his breath “Awww #%&!” (very naughty word). He sighed deeply, turned and crept over to the pool to try to sort out what he’d done the night before and face the music.<br /><br />And also, as much as I wanted, I was alone; exploring the grounds, walking the beach, coming and going as I pleased without having to check with any one else’s schedule.<br /><br />This experience got me thinking. Are there other women like me somewhere? Women who, from time to time would like to travel with the safety and companionship of a group, but also with the option to be alone? I’m not talking about a woman’s retreat, a therapy or enrichment group or some team building experience, but rather just a group of women who like to travel together – alone.<br /><br />If this sounds like you or someone you know, drop me a line at <a href="mailto:jules@julesnolan.com">jules@julesnolan.com</a><br /><br />Who’s with me?<br /><br /><br /><br />*Parrotheads are fervent Jimmy Buffett fans who go to concerts wearing beachy costumes like coconut bras, grass skirts, and any manner of silly head dress. They tailgate the event, are likely drink too much, and dance like no one is watching. I have never been a parrothead….and I will never do it AGAIN! </div>Jules Nolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13170118373586034510noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-39212392865666020652008-02-02T23:08:00.001-06:002008-02-02T23:08:57.726-06:00Eden Campus<div class=Section1> <p class=MsoNormal>Eden Campus is successfully running a Certificate in Marketing under the auspices of Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University; however, from 2008 Eden is entering into a partnership with Junior Achievement and will run their entrepreneurial certificate course.<br> <br> In their Foundation Year, using curriculum from Junior Achievement South Africa, the 2008 intake of students will be taught the fundamentals of entrepreneurial community enterprise business through the Enterprise Dynamics and the Mini Enterprise Courses. Numerous add on modules that will teach specific elements of business will also be taught, including: Banks in Action, Job Shadow Internships, International Marketplace, Success Skills and the economic impact of the HIV/AIDS Pandemic. At the end of the Junior Achievement programme, students will be required to sit The Cambridge Examination, an internationally recognised entrepreneurial qualification underwritten by Cambridge University.<o:p></o:p></p> </div> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-30189200421429295692007-11-20T14:42:00.000-06:002007-11-20T14:56:35.134-06:00Home Again - No JigIt’s over. It’s really over. It has been nearly a month since I arrived back in the hamlet of Mankato, Minnesota. Don’t ask me why it has taken me so long to update the website. It has something to do with not wanting to admit that I’m home. But admitting it is the first step to recovery right? So…..I’m home.<br /><br />Transitioning back in to school went smoothly - mostly. There were a few tearful nights when eighth grade math seemed an insurmountable challenge; when the tantrums and wailing, and the stomping around got to be very unpleasant. But my kids told me to I needed to snap out of it, and that if I just stopped the crying and complaining, did the reading and applied myself I would again be able to help with homework….just like before…..which is to say, not very well.<br /><br />Mike was home for only one week and then had to jet off to Melbourne for the month of November to finish his MBA. I know that he is stressed and truly hard at work. But it is hard for me too. Hard not to dress up in his tie and jacket, look in the mirror and talk to my reflection, my voice a high, squeaky, sniveling-mockery. “Oooooohh, look at meeee! My name is Mike Nolan and I an in Melbourne… in the spring… going to dinners…and concerts…and parties…I don’t have to do eighth grade math.”<br /><br />It has been fun to catch up with friends. I am astounded at the number of people who followed my blog and seemed to enjoy it. Thank you everyone who read it, enjoyed it, and commented. It inspired me.<br /><br />I have many more stories to tell. Some were too “blue” for the blog – my kid’s teachers read it for goodness sake. Some are about the people we met on our journey, some are a little embarassing for us or others, and some are bourne out of not knowing enough about the history or customs of a place. I need to do some more research before I tell these stories. But they'll all be in the book - whose working title is "Big Family on a Small Planet"<br /><br />I am going to continue to post as I believe that so much of the learning that travel stimulates, occurs after you return home. So keep on checking, and comment when you can.<br /><br />I have to go brine a turkey, chop some onions, do some laundry and clean all of the bathrooms in this house. I wonder what Mike is doing…..Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-2474342574087460582007-11-12T22:30:00.000-06:002007-11-13T09:18:57.696-06:00Lovin' DublinI was prepared to love Ireland - just not how <em>thoroughly</em> I would love Ireland. First the people are wonderful. The women are warm, welcoming, lovely. And Irish men (grrrrroooowwwwllll) are the cutest, most charming loveliest on the planet (and as of late, I’ve visited LOTS of the planet.)<br /><br />Of course, you have to consider that I am married to an Irishman, so I might possess that recessive gene that is susceptible to their charms.<br /><br />Secondly, we have recently come from Germany, and although it was beautiful, we didn’t have many episodes of the clever, the witty, and the funny. And let’s face it. I’m unabashedly a sucker for the funny.<br /><br />So when our taxi driver in Dublin took us on an impromptu tour of the city, offered his best recommendations for dining, shopping and drinking; he charmed my socks off.<br /><br />The best moment was when Mike asked “Could we walk this way to get to a descent pub?” Our witty, green-eyed, black haired, Irish cab driver answered.<br /><br />“Yah…..a course. Yer could walk down that way, but yell die a turst”.<br /><br />That became the battle cry of the rest of the trip “I’m dying a turst over here”.<br /><br />In short, we stayed in Dublin for 5 nights. We went to several Irish Pubs. We sang and played with the band.<br /><br />We took the train to a costal city called Bray and hiked the 7 km to Grey Stones. The scenery was lovely, picturesque, and not at all what I expected so close to Dublin.<br /><br />We ate at a restaurant in Grey Stones, recommended by a woman we met on the street. Her name is Bernedette and she is the mother of Johnathan – the young man who won the trophy (from pictures in the last entry).<br /><br />Beautiful Italian food (yep, right here in Ireland). Beautiful people. Beautiful service.<br /><br />We took a bus tour of the city of Dublin which was hilarious thanks to the Irish wit of the driver. He told us the the residents from North Dublin are considered a little "rough around the edges" when compared to the sophisticated folks from South Dublin. He said that a girl from South Dublin would never date a boy from North Dublin - "Except to ge her handbag back"<br /><br />We visited the Guinness factory and the Jameson Distillery, and my friend Ado and I were chosen for the taste testing. Not a huge fan of whisky or scotch, I summoned my courage to participate. Turns out I prefer an Irish variety called Paddys. And so does the homeless man perched on the curb just outside the distillery.<br /><br />I got to sing in a pub with a wonderful Irish trio. Mike got to play harmonica. We both got to embrace the concept that between us we don’t have enough musical talent to fill a thimble when compare to the musicians who showed up later. Violinists, guitarists, drummers and accordion players just walk around the city toting their instruments and looking for a jam session. The jam session that ensued was ridiculously good. Humbled, we went home.<br /><br />We visited Dublinea, the underground museum-esque facility that re-created the history of Dublin, complete with the sights, sound, and smells of the 1200-1600’s.<br />I loved it. Every minute. Charlie said, upon landing in Dublin, “This is it mom, these are my people.”<br /><br />“Mine too baby…mine too”Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-53550590948072196762007-10-26T14:48:00.001-05:002007-10-26T15:50:18.213-05:00New Friends From IrelandHere are some friends we made in Grey Stones, Ireland<br /><div><br />This young man won a trophy for his hard work and dedication in learning Gaelic<img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1434-729089.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><div></div><div><div><div><br /><div><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1435-716478.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1435-715829.JPG" border="0" /></a>This is Valentin. He was our waiter at the little Italian restaurant we visited in Grey Stones. The food was delicious and the waitstaff outstanding!<br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1436-736716.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1436-736072.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And the cook from same restaurant<br /><br /><div><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1383-706033.JPG"></a> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1383-706033.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1383-705693.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div>And this was the bride who for some reason was in her wedding dress in baggage claim at the Dublin Airport. Poor dear.</div><div><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1383-706033.JPG"></a> </div><div> </div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-4975585118696501452007-10-25T08:02:00.001-05:002007-10-25T08:16:11.693-05:00PragueDespite our best intentions to absorb all of the culture, history and art of a destination<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1373-732833.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1373-731994.JPG" border="0" /></a>, our trip has sometimes devolved into a tour of the world’s ice cream. This is not a bad thing. When I took Jack and Charlie to Paris several years ago, we did a self designed “hot chocolate tour” of the city of lights. (The best is at Café’ Flore En Ille across from Notre Dame Cathedral). I think it gave them an appreciation for the culinary delights of Paris. Even for 9 and 12 year olds.<br /><br />Still, there is a pressure not to waste a single second of this trip, to be constantly learning, experiencing or researching. It gets exhausting for all of us. This is why it has been so nice to have friends meet us along the way. They change the dynamics of the trip with their excitement for and knowledge of a new destination. Our friend Adrienne Granger met us in Belize for the kickoff of the trip, and now was meeting us in Prague and traveling on to Dublin for the end.<br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1379-754098.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1379-752756.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Adrienne had been to Prague many times and has friends (Kristine and David) who live there. I totally depended on her to make all of the arrangements and teach us about Prague. It was a smart decision.<br /><br />Prague was a whirlwind. It is such a beautiful city, a lovely little jewel box of gorgeous buildings, bridges, statues and fountains. Kristine and David took us to a castle and on a hiking tour of the countryside our first day there. The kids got to hold a live owl and see an old local wo<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1253-774868.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1253-774181.JPG" border="0" /></a>man bundling wheat sheaves (by hand) in the field.<br /><br />Kristine, a professor at the University, invited Mike to guest lecture in her business class. He loved it!<br /><br />We tried Becherovka (a spicey – think cloves and cinnamon – local liquor) and Gambrinus (yummy, local beer) and thanks to Kristine and David’s talent with the language we were able to eat at local pubs and not accidentally order brain sausage.<br /><br />Another friend of Adrienne’s (Jeff Jordan) also joined us for a few nights. He was lots of fun – waking Mike up with “You Say It’s Your Birthday” musical medley complete with dancing and singing early on the morning of Mike’s 43rd Birthday.<br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1283-793207.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1283-792413.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />And per usual, we met a local man (Andrew) in a café and spent the night trailing him around to the best jazz club in Prague. He also bought us shots of Absinthe (that scary green liquor that is rumored to cause hallucinations and is illegal in the USA) which Mike and I successfully avoided drinking. When your real life is this interesting who needs to hallucinate?<br /><br />Oh, and the Italian gelato, flavors pistachio and green apple, were the hands down favorites.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-51305194637608847802007-10-19T14:27:00.000-05:002007-10-19T14:29:47.157-05:00New PicturesClick here for new pics Jules Bday, The Mankato Girls In Austria and Prague<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan">http://picasaweb.google.com/julenenolan</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1626184345925630893.post-21467193280873975682007-10-19T14:21:00.000-05:002007-11-11T10:16:32.601-06:00Hairy Events in Salzburg<img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1111-773764.JPG" border="0" /> <div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>And so it is written:<br />“The three horsewomen of the apocalypse shall arrive from the East. And they shall be called Nubber Rubber and Cannon Humper and Diversion Dancer. And they shall bring laughter and merriment. And they shall have a mission. And that mission shall be hair.” <a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1145-752223.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1145-751122.JPG" border="0" /></a><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1169-785036.JPG" border="0" /><br />“We’re booked” she’d written. It was Michelle, my friend from Mankato, and fellow alumni of Woody’s - formerly Rose Creek Liquor Store of Rose Creek, MN. This bar, home of pickled eggs, thirsty farmers, and the funniest barroom dialogue anywhere in the world, was the watering hole of our highschool and college years. A product of the area herself, she would be bringing her outrageous humor (she calls her upper arms “the lunch ladies”afterall) and our equally outrageous friends Maureen and Katie.<br /><br />I was on the six hour train ride from Koblenz to Munich to meet them at the airport and I was excited. One of the toughest parts about being on this trip is missing your friends and the loneliness that is a product of not being able to talk with your neighbors, other than to say “good morning, good afternoon, and another beer please” which seems to be met with confused stares by your neighbors.<br /><br />Seeing their bright, shiny faces as they came out of the arrivals area brought it all home. WOW I’d missed my friends. And being involved in funny conversation, wrought with nuance and entandre, I’d missed that the most.<br /><br />We took the train to Salzburg, Austria that night, four American women swilling warm German beer from the bottle, telling funny stories and laughing – loudly. I made excuses for my appearance. No haircut or color since the end of July, clothes are all wash and wear and had been washed MANY times. They told me I looked great – as friends do- and we were off.<br /><br />Michelle had made all of the hotel arrangements and we stayed at a very cool hotel, Blau Gans, in the middle of the shopping district in Salzburg. We checked in and went to the restaurant at the Modern Art Gallery, with incredible food and lovely views of the city. My comrades were tired from their long trip and so after a few Proseccos and some Schnapps to cap off the evening we went back to the hotel.<br /><br />I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to be in a hotel room by myself. After 4 months of sharing everything with Mike and the kids, from beds to dishes, to shower time. I had an entire hotel room to myself. I luxuriated in every square inch of that place, using BOTH sides of the bed, taking a LONG, hot shower, and watching ANY channel I wanted on the television.<br /><br />The next day we did a tour called the “Sound of Music Tour” which included several stops as places used in the filming of the movie. Maureen, the resident musical expert knew the answers to all of the trivia questions. She was slightly disappointed (I surmise) that the tour didn’t end in a bus-wide sing-along. The rest of us weren’t.<br /><br /><br />The scenery was beautiful though and we had a great day chatting, posing for pictures (see “nubber rubber” and “Maureen as roadkill” in the picture ga<a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1081-780943.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1081-780220.JPG" border="0" /></a>llery) and eating strudel. <img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1083-704549.JPG" border="0" />The next day we toured Salzburg, shopped, and went to a Mozart concert at the Salzburg castle. The concert was lovely though the Austrians are not particularly used to having statues of their kings called “dude” and seemed to take offense. Of course it might also have been the “cannon humper” incident. How is one to tell? <a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1092-784392.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1092-784035.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1101-791009.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1101-790448.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />But the best was yet to come. After dinner and a quick visit back to the hotel we went to a local bar called “Maestro”. There we met Georg. Georg is an Austrian man, sort of a cross between Dudley Moore and Richard Gere. Georg was sweet, drunk and outstandingly offended by my hair.<br /><br />It was an emergency he said. He must do something about it immediately. So we followed him two doors down to his salon and at 1:00 am I got a haircut. Georg was swaying slightly, assessing my overgrown, dried-out locks with one eye closed, and kissing his scissors between each snip. <a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1123-708527.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1123-708001.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We got to play beauty salon, giving each other a shampoo and head massage, using the latest conditioning treatment and styling tools. None of us were particularly fit to assess if he had done a good job on my head, but it was an incredibly fun time. <img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1138-778486.JPG" border="0" />Just as we were nearing the end of out beauty treatment, a very young man arrived totting 3 bottles of Champagne. He said he was Georg’s apprentice and we welcomed him gratefully. Just as the Champagne was running out this young man decided to ask us for money for the services we received. It was then that “diversion dancer” leapt to the rescue and began a seductive dance, luring the boy’s attention from us all. She herded us to the front door and said “Now! Run!” and we obediently followed.<br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1160-744662.JPG"></a><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1131-783847.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1131-783437.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The next morning came earlier than I had hoped, though I woke up giggling at our silly, teenage-esque shenanigans. I missed breakfast that morning, opting for some extra sleep and a prayer to the porcelain gods. Michelle, however was there. Not so bright eyed, not so bushy tailed, but entering the dining room in her jammies, face creased from the pillow and shouting “where’s the bacon?” as she scanned the room like a body guard looking for a hitman.<br /><a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1191-732285.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1191-731309.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1166-797300.JPG"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.takethekidswith.com/uploaded_images/IMG_1166-796890.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />“How’s the hair” was the first question that Maureen whispered through my half-opened hotel room door.<br /><br />“Better than the hangover” was my raspy reply.<br /><br />And Georg? We never saw him again. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4