The what I forgot before list...

Packing for a lengthy trip has become a marathon event.
I start thinking about what I might forget the minute I make the plane and lodging reservations.
Once I miscounted my sleeping tablets and had to rob Peter to pay Paul to make the nights and sleep come out even.
Lately I failed to check the amount of insulin still left in my Pen so Marc had to make a midnight run back to home from Midway.
Over the years we've forgotten things like our temple recommends (which we had to have air-mailed to London) and rain jackets (because, for some reason, it rains a bit in England).
This time is a bit more complicated because there are three of us heading to middle England and then two of us going on to Spain and home again.
We are trying an airline that's new to us and they're British and everything is a little different.
(I have to read dates backwards and already, more than once, I've panicked a bit thinking it said our flight was on 2/8 instead of 8/2.)
And our travel needs have changed.
Instead of just packing a travel pillow and a small blanket, I need my headphones and my aux cord and my Smartphone.
We need recharging cords along with our power adapters.
I have medical needs that go with being a senior citizen. (And a letter from the doctor explaining to the TSA why I need needles in my carry-on.)
We need our passports, our ticket vouchers, our phone confirmations of passes to things like the Alhambra and Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.
I am more forgetful now so I have lists everywhere, and lists of my lists.
It's arduous.
Now, for Marc, it's not such a process.
He calls up his list on his phone and Voila!..
It's all there from before and he packs light. Everything in a backpack.
Plus, if he forgets anything, he buys another in whatever country we're in at the time.
And he has me.
I bring the cash for the country we're in, the sunscreen, the bug repellent, the emergency cookies and the treats.
It's always fun. We like traveling together.

But I can't wait till I get on the plane to find out what I forgot this time.

Honk!

I'm sitting quite comfortably in my car in the parking lot at Market Street Grill waiting for Marc to arrive.
He's coming on his bike from American Fork to meet me for a birthday dinner.
Never mind that it's 103 degrees outside and the journey from our house to the restaurant is more than 20 miles.
As the time ticks by, I start to recognize that it's a reckless thing to attempt.
I had just watched a TV report on a kid who died hiking in the heat, a report that noted that it's too late to stop an episode of heatstroke once the symptoms have shown.
I began to fret.
At 5:45 I went in and told the reservation desk girl that we better make the reservation for 6 p.m. instead and let her know I was probably going to have to go hunt for my husband.
Then Marc called.
He'd had a couple of flats and the tire was still losing air despite his repeated attempts to pump it up. Would I come get him and his bike?
He estimated he was somewhere in the 12600 South area but nowhere he could recognize as an address to give me.
I sighed and started the car.
Marc said just head down the road in front of the restaurant heading south and I would come to 12600 and see the park where he was waiting.
That was good advice except the road ran out after a bit.
I came to a big sign and concrete blocks. The sign said, "This road will be finished in the future!"
So I turned to the west and kept looking for a way through.
"Private Property! Keep out!" said the notices I found.
I went up the hill some more.
And some more. Further west.
Finally I came to 1300 West and found 12600 South.
Marc called again and said he could see the car.
I could see the park he was in but there was a barrier in the road.
I slowed and looked and tried to find my way over.
Cars behind me didn't appreciate it.
They honked.
Marc said he could hear the honking all the way over to the park.
I'm sorry if I delayed any of you.
I did eventually find my husband and we got to dinner without injury or serious trauma.
I have figured out the secret to having a good bike ride?
Have a working car and a willing sidekick.

Movie mob...

For the past three summers, some of the grandkids and I (sometimes Grandpa) have been loading up the car and heading to the Summer Club movies.
We sit through endless commercials and an assortment of day-old kid's movies together.
The kids like it because they get an adventure — out of the heat and with popcorn and drinks.
The mothers like it because I take all of their young ones for several hours every week.
I like it because I get to see them each week and share time laughing, gasping and groaning.
We're on week 7 now and I thought I've take a poll.
"Which movie did you like the best?" I chirped.
There was a big silence.
The 4-year-old finally said, "One was stupid!"
The 7-year-old said she enjoyed the Smurfs' movie and sometimes she liked "My Little Pony."
"Which was the worst?"

The fearless five

"This one," they anwered in unison after seeing "Nut Job 2." "The blue squirrel wouldn't have still been alive after he dropped off the building. They are just little animals. They can't take down a roller coaster! They wouldn't do those things!" said my various critics.
I never did get a definitive answer on the movies. They are realizing that their choices are limited to second-run flicks and they can't expect a blow away show.
Sometimes when we go in past the display advertising they want to know when they're going to see something new.
Sometimes they ask if we can come back to something just released.
Most of the time, though, they are just happy to spend time with each other and away from home.
And they agree on the important things. They like the top of the theater last row of seats. They like Twizzlers and Skittles and chocolate in their treat sacks. They like the little cans of pops.
They're happy with a little blanket to snuggle under.
They don't like screaming babies or tall guys sitting in front of them. They don't understand why some kids run around the theater.

And they want Grandma' Movies to go on forever.

Buying Hawaiian

Just a note: If you are in Hawaii and looking for authentic Hawaiian clothing or food, look no further than the Costco in Maui.

Meant for Kari

We had been searching the island stores for something for Marc for a couple of days. He had some white Hawaiian duds for the family wedding but he wanted something casual.
Every shirt we looked at was either too much money or not anything any different than what we could buy here at home at Kohl's.
Then a family member suggested we go to Costco to get the chocolate-covered Macadamia nuts we wanted to take back as gifts. (They ended up as a big lump of melted chocolate after a day in the car trunk. But that's another story.)
We headed over somewhat skeptically because, after all, we spend way too much time here in American Fork at Costco.
Were we surprised and impressed!
This store had everything Hawaiian and at good prices.
We found the Macadamia nuts, a pair of shorts, a shirt for Marc and all kinds of goodies.
We marveled at our "luck."
The only problem was in our limited carry-on space luggage. We had to pare down the bundle of clothes we wanted to buy.
We'll simply have to take bigger cases when we go back to replace our melted
nuts.
(Editor's note: Costco isn't paying me for this commercial although if they want to drop me some cash, I'll take it!)

Shooting the messengers

Years ago, we at the Deseret News Utah County Bureau in Provo were worried about a very angry news source.
This man felt we were deliberately attacking him in print.
He would sometimes stand across the street and stare up at our office.
He was a big man and just a little unhinged.
It was unnerving.
Our office was pretty open and people could literally walk in off the street with a complaint, a sales pitch or a weapon.
We realized that by putting our names on our stories we were actually volunteering for trouble.
A couple of us asked the receptionist if we had money in petty cash for pepper spray.
She kind of laughed and said she would check on it.
The news bureau chief offered to buy us some toy guns that looked real.
I remember at the time thinking we were probably overreacting.
Since then I've watched the reports on the news about the random mass shootings and car plows and suicide bombings.
The latest tragedy at the Maryland Capital Gazette is horrifying. The people killed were just doing their jobs, just following their inclination to make a difference.

The newspaper men and women killed

It calls attention to the fact that working as a journalist is not so much a situation that calls our worries an overreaction as underplaying what's reality today.
I think it's sad to be at this point.
I also think it's time we wake up and take it very seriously.
I now work from home and seldom do a hard news story.
The closest I come to ticking somebody off is to make a bad joke in this blog.
Meanwhile...
Where does one buy pepper spray and how do I keep it away from the grandchildren?

Counting the miles...

So Marc is telling me about trying to make it home in the electric Leaf on Eco mode with the radio off, the air conditioning shut down, and the windows open.
I'm listening and laughing at his story.
He barely made it (in my opinion) to our garage without going into "turtle mode" which is when the car basically is moving on instinct rather than electrical power.
We had taken our granddaughter to meet her mom in Salt Lake and now we know that to do that we need the car charged at least up to 85 miles. 100 percent would be better.
I tried it a week later on 87 miles and I was sweating it by the time I reached 106th South.
The heat cuts into the range a little and freeway speeds reduce the available miles.
Where I had laughed a little at the image of Marc rolling along the highway with the windows open and at a pretty reduced speed, when it was my turn I didn't laugh.
I stopped thinking it was amusing.
I started watching the mileage rate as I came off down the hill from 1400 East.
Coming downhill is encouraging because not only do you not lose any miles, you gain.
And on the freeway, it was bumper-to-bumper traffic which for me was a plus.
The electric car does fine in parked-car traffic. It doesn't lose anything.
However, I'm still a chicken when it comes to running out of power.
I like to know I can get home without calling a tow truck. (My daughter reminded me that one of the gifts Nissan gave us at the outset is a miniature tow hook for the front of the car.)
I did all of the things Marc had done, took all the same measures: put the car in Eco mode (though it's a little more sluggish in Eco), turned off my music, opened the windows and shut down the air conditioning).
I knew once I cleared the Point of the Mountain and down onto the surface streets, I could coast on home — which I did. But usually my rules is the car should be at 40 miles left at the crest of the Point.
It was at 32, 18 when I got home and with only 1 and a half power bars left.
I reflected on my experience yesterday when my grandkids, Cael and Mia, took our little Monster machine over to the park.
Cael, who routinely checks the gas mileage as he buckles in, was alarmed. "We almost out!" he cried.
Mia leaned over to look. "Grandma, it's on the yellow! she said. (In this small battery-powered car, yellow means "hurry back home" and red means you're stopped in the road.)
Again, I was counting miles and steps back to our garage and the charger.
With a bit of pushing and crossing of fingers, we made it.
Both cars are now charging and we'll all be fine.
I'm just wondering if the electric car makers realize the "range anxiety" is a real thing for all of us.

Flying high...

If you should be inclined to catch the Thunderbirds in the Air Force Air Show at Hill Air Force Base today (or in the future) I have just a few words of essential advice:
Take water, cold water.
Take and wear sunscreen. Apply often and liberally.
Wear a hat and sunglasses.
Wear good, comfortable shoes.
Take a chair.
An umbrella cuts the heat.
Bring earplugs.
Take cash and prepare to spend it for food and trinkets and cold stuff.

Prepare for a long day as the Thunderbirds don't perform their amazing and thrilling show until 3 o'clock "sharp" and even then, it's a 45-minute wait while they go through their pre-flight checklist on the way to actually taking off.
If you take children, secure them with a wristband with your phone number on it. Lots of little folks ended up in the Lost Children facility awaiting reunification.

And take advantage of the UTA special which allows you to ride the Frontrunner and bus bridge for $5 round trip. Not only does it save you the headache of fighting traffic and finding parking but the police made concessions for the buses, allowing them to speed through the intersections without delay.
It's still a crusher at the end when thousands of fans try to leave and board all at the same time.
We went yesterday morning after a stint with our ward cleaning the church so we were there fairly early. (It opens at 8 a.m. and flights begin around 10 a.m.)
If we were to go again I would wait until the afternoon and go around 2:30 so as to catch the Mighty Thunderbirds.
They truly are worth the effort. They are fast (the races toward one another are made at 1,000 miles per hour!) The planes are gleaming. The choreography is unbelievable as these giant, powerful jets fly within inches of each other's wings, tip, dip and roll with seemingly little effort.
You KNOW one tiny mistake could be disaster.
It's thrilling.
It make you appreciate the skill and the training involved.
It makes your heart ache.
I recommend it but like a Scout, go prepared!