What Happens When You Get a Bug in Your Ear

One of my very favorite southern sayings is “like a duck on a June bug.” You know, he was all over her like a duck on a June bug or like white on rice. I have friends who had a great time as kids tying strings to the legs of June bugs and watching them fly in circles.

These things make June bugs seems charming, even cute.

They are not.

This summer I came face-to-face, well, ear to body, with a June bug. We went to the woodshed and I survived, but it wasn’t pretty.

I was enjoying an evening at the Romp Bluegrass Festival in Owensboro, Kentucky. It was a lovely evening, despite the tiny little chairs we brought to sit on for hours. In an effort to relieve our rear-ends we laid on a blanket in the grass. It was just like a country song – laying under the stars with your boyfriend listening to music and enjoying a warm summer night. It was until, without warning, a bug flew into my right ear.

This wasn’t just a bug crawling on my head. This bug dive-bombed my ear and was in my ear canal before I could raise my hand to swat it away.

What happened next was mostly a blur of me crying, screaming, and dancing around trying to get the moving, wing flapping, biting, and scratching bug out of my ear. I can only imagine what the other concertgoers thought as they watched me. In a moment of desperation I opened our Nalgene bottles and poured water in my ear. By the time we reached the security tent the June bug stopped moving. I was relieved that the pain had stopped and horrified that I was bleeding from my ear and had a dead bug in my head.

The kind security guard called for a cart to take me to the EMT (the first aid tent closed at 8:00 p.m.) and talked to me until it arrived. Very encouraging. But that feeling quickly faded when the cart arrived. The driver, a man I can only describe as Bubba, told me to get in. He was accompanied by what appeared to be his girlfriend and her little sister, who was holding a dog. I explained the problem and the little girl, sitting next to me, said “you can get a bug in your ear?” I braced myself.

We started down the narrow road, carving a path through the concertgoers who were surely camping (all night – long after first aid closed). I noticed the cart slowing and heard Bubba call out to a man at our right as he stopped the cart to say, “hey man how’s it going?” I was near the end of my rope, as nicely as I could I said “dude, seriously?” He promptly starting moving and announcing that there was a “woman in the cart who is bleeding.” This did not do much to move the crowd.

We arrived at the ambulance. The EMT was not there. But in the distance we saw a small form running toward us. He arrived and while nice he seemed about 19. He looked in my ear and promptly declared that he could not see anything, “could not do anything” for me and that I would have to go to the hospital.

We explained that we are from out of town and aren’t familiar with Owensboro or the hospital. He attempted the give us directions, which culminated in, “Do you have GPS? Use that.”

We walked silently back to the car. In the dark. In the middle of a field in Owensboro, Kentucky.

I started to cry – the I-am-at-the-end-of-myself slow weeping – as I opened my Google Maps app and found the directions to the hospital. It was nearby.

I walked into the emergency room and spoke to the nice lady at the registration desk. I gave her my information and story with big tears rolling down my cheeks. She sweetly asked if I was alone, I said no and that I am from out of town. She tilted her head and looked at me as only an elderly southern woman can and said slowly and sweetly, “bless your heart.”

Then we sat in the waiting room for an hour, my head in the only position that wasn’t painful and bleeding on my boyfriend’s shirt.

After an hour they called my name. I went back and met with a cheery physician’s assistant who wanted to know “what’s going on tonight?” Through my now dry swollen eyes I explained that there is a bug in my ear.

He took a look in my ear and proclaimed that he “could see something brown and it could be a bug, but it could be earwax.” He does not know how close he came to getting smacked in the face. I calmly but condescendingly explained that I could feel the bug moving in my ear (back when it was alive) and I am certain that is not earwax. Suddenly, he was a bit more motivated to take a closer look.

We went into a procedure room where I promptly refused to lay on the bed because there was a distinctive looking black hair on it. We moved rooms. He was annoyed. I was indignant.

I laid down on my side in the clean room. The PA took forceps with a long nose and immediately dove into my ear. I immediately screamed and insisted on sitting up. As I did I watched as he examined a tiny piece of something he pulled out of my ear, which he described as “not part of your ear.” Duh.

Meanwhile, I was reeling from the pain. He did not warn me that taking whatever was in there out would be far more painful than when it went in (and that was very painful). I asked, nearly begged, if there was another way? He offered irrigation but said it might cause the bug to break apart and that did not seem desirable.

So, I braced myself, squeezed my sweet boyfriend’s hand, and employed my yoga breathing as he made 3 more pulls from my ear. The last drew out the bulk of the bug’s body to which he exclaimed “oh my God.” Turns out, it was a bug. I exclaimed, “thank you, Jesus.”

I thought we were finished, but he explained that he thought that there was a leg left behind in my ear (we counted only five on the bugs body). He could not go searching for it because of the blood and swelling and danger for my eardrum, but “it isn’t a big deal, it will come out in wax.” Easy for him to say, he didn’t have a bug leg in his ear.

I was release from the hospital a short time later. The next day we returned to the festival (I wore ear plugs), listened to some great music, and celebrated me not having a bug in my ear.

I am still okay with bugs and my ear no longer hurts, but I’ll never hear the old saying “put a bug in someone’s ear” quite the same way ever again.

Portland, OR: Gluten-Free Paradise

I sat down at the bar at Ground Breaker Brewing in Southeast Portland for dinner. The server approached with a menu and I immediately launched into my I-have-celiac-disease routine. She listened and promptly responded, with a smile, that they do not use gluten anywhere in their facility and that I could have anything on the menu. I was giddy. This never happens.

Next she said, “you don’t have to be afraid here.”

She got it.

Eating out for someone with celiac disease is scary. When food is what makes you sick trusting a stranger to take your condition seriously and make sure you are safe is terrifying. Eating dinner out is like rolling dice; you just never know whether you are going to be sick tomorrow or not.

In most restaurant kitchens wheat abounds and special care must be taken with my food to be sure my meal is truly gluten-free and to prevent cross contamination. This means that not only do I have limited choices of food when I go to restaurants; I have a limited choice of restaurants. In the town that I live I eat at 5 places because those are the only places where I feel safe.

I travel frequently and on occasion I happen upon a 100% gluten-free restaurant or bakery like Posana in Asheville, NC or Coffee and a Specialty Bakery in Seattle, WA. These, of course, are the exception and not the rule – unless you are in Portland.

In Portland I felt like I had been set free, at least in the culinary sense. I ate at multiple restaurants that were 100% gluten-free and others that were experienced serving patrons with celiac disease. It is such a pleasant experience to eat without fear that what you are consuming might hurt you tomorrow.

In my short stay I made the following gluten-free stops in Portland (there are others and I’ll get to them next time):

Ground Breaker Brewing – Ground Breaker is a cozy spot with super friendly staff. I had gnocchi with a venison ragout, fish tacos, and their version of Appalachian stack cake (it wasn’t so much Appalachian, but that is another post entirely).

Fish Tacos

Venison Ragout Gnocchi

“Appalachian” Stack Cake

Brooklyn House – This restaurant is in a former home and has lovely little nooks and crannies perfect for a date or small celebration. It has a 100% gluten-free kitchen with a diverse menu. I had sweet potatoes and the white fish over Brussels sprouts, mushrooms, and carrots.

Sweet Potatoes with Bacon

White Fish, Bussels Sprouts, and Carrots

Deschutes Brewery – Deschutes is a super popular Pearl District brewery with award-winning beers. They do a gluten-free beer, but more importantly they have a dedicated fryer. So, I had fries, with garlic and cheese, for the first time in forever. Worth the trip.

Prasad – This is a 100% gluten-free and vegan spot located inside Yoga Pearl, a yoga studio located in the Pearl District. They serve full meals and juices. I ate here twice for breakfast. Day one I had a green juice and a rice bowl. Day two I enjoyed the chili farmhouse scramble with tempeh, greens, and brown rice with another green juice. Both were fantastic. The space is small and is open, so you will see the yogis come and go.

Chili Farmhouse Scramble

Pride of Portland

Petunia’s Pies and Pastries – Petunia’s is 100% gluten-free and vegan bakery and was a two-stop spot as well. They serve breakfast, sweets, and drinks and it is lovely. They offer biscuits and gravy and while I was tempted to try I declined, I would rather remember biscuits and gravy the way my Mommy makes them (with lots of gluten). But I did have coconut yogurt with fruit and blueberry coconut pound cake. On the return trip I had a maple, pumpkin, carrot, and zucchini cupcake with maple icing. Also, worth the trip.

Coconut Blueberry Pound Cake

Coconut Yogurt with Fruit

Maple, Pumpkin, Zucchini and Carrot Cupcake

Verde Cocina – Also in the Pearl District, this Latin restaurant has a gluten-free kitchen and features house-made chips and tortillas from certified gluten-free masa. I had dinner and lunch here. At dinner I had a chili relleno and for lunch chilaquiles. Both were wonderful, but know these aren’t the cheesy, greasy version of Latin dishes you might expect; both entrees were light on the cheese and heavy on the vegetables. Good and good for you.

Chili Relleno

Chilaquiles

Andina – This was the event dinner of the trip. Andina is located around the corner from Verde Cocina in the Pearl District, and while not 100% gluten-free it has a robust gluten-free menu and well-trained staff. There was spicy tuna with potatoes and crab salad, marinated asparagus, paella, and espresso panna cotta. All amazing. The server was very helpful; she eats gluten-free and took the time to recommend a number of other places to visit.

Spicy Tuna, Potatoes, and Crab Salad and Asparagus

Paella

Chocolate Andina and Expresso Panna Cotta

I am looking forward to my next trip to Portland and hope that what is happening in the food world there quickly spreads. If keeping Portland weird means keeping it this gluten-free, then I am in.

Eating Gluten-Free on Carnival Cruise Lines

Traveling with celiac disease is a never ending challenge. Spending a week or more in a domestic or international location is difficult. You have to locate grocery stores, pack your food for the plane and beyond and research restaurants that have gluten-free menus or are rumored to cater to the needs of the gluten free. It is a lot of work.

So, when my sister informed me that the 2014 family vacation would be an Alaskan cruise I immediately started spinning all the potential food-related nightmare scenarios. This was my first cruise.

We sailed on the Carnival Miracle for seven days out of Seattle with stops in Skagway, Juneau and Victoria. I shared the least dramatic of my worries with my sister and she assured me that she had made the necessary arrangements for me. I was to meet with Guest Services and then the maitre d’ to discuss my requirements. The Carnival representative assured my sister that they could safely feed me. My sweet sister then researched gluten free eating on Carnival cruises and she found a blog post by the lovely G-Free Laura. I felt better. I knew I would be worried until I was on the boat and talking to someone but this information helped.

I arrived in Seattle and enjoyed lovely gluten-free meals at Tom Douglas’s Lola, Anthony’s and Elliot’s, Oddfellow’s in Capitol Hill (I also recommend Elliot Bay Book Company while you are there), and Local 360, which is super awesome spot where everything on the menu is local. All these meals were lovely and gluten-free.

Then it was time to board the ship. The embarkation process took less time than I expected (considering there were over 2000 people aboard). We headed for Guest Services to request the partition between our rooms be opened and to talk about my dietary needs. Unfortunately, my record did not reflect that I needed a gluten-free accommodation, it only noted a special need. I took this as – they aren’t ready for me and I have to be perfectly honest, I was scared. Guest Services confidently advised me that all I needed to do was talk with the maitre d’ and it would be fine. I had packed enough food to eat one or two meals a day out of my bag, but I knew I needed at least one good meal a day from the kitchen. So, scared doesn’t really describe it, I had a minor meltdown.

We made our way to the dining room for our first meal. I met the maitre d’, Ken, at the door and explained what I needed. He promptly dispatched the lovely Jana to my table. I explained to her that I have celiac disease and would need a gluten-free meal. I went on to explain that I am medically required to have a gluten-free meal and that I am extremely sensitive. She was unflappable. She assured me immediately that they could accommodate my needs. In fact, because of my concern she offered to personally order and deliver my food herself since my server would be responsible for multiple tables of people. I happily agreed. She got me. To ensure that the kitchen would have time to specially (separately) prepare my meals I would need to order my meals a day in advance. So, every night at dinner I ordered my meals for the next day. It seems like it might be inconvenient, but I did not mind and it gave my family a preview of the next day’s offerings.

Our server, Damir, was helpful and a pleasure to be around. He understood my need and worked hard with Jana and the kitchen to make sure my meals came out at the same time as the rest of the table. This was a struggle on some nights, but they were aware and working on it. The kitchen is stocked with gluten-free bread and flour. So, many traditional items (sandwiches, French toast, pancakes, etc.) are available. I avoid all grains but rice when I am traveling, so I was slightly more limited and declined to eat the bread and flour-based items. Despite my more restrictive diet Jana was able to work with the kitchen each day to find something for me to eat that was interesting. I did eat a lot of steamed vegetables and plain meat – salmon, mahi mahi, flank steak, filet mignon and ribs. But I was also to have the seafood Newberg revised to meet my needs. Instead of the Newberg sauce they made a lemon butter sauce and put it over rice.

They were willing to go the extra step to help me enjoy my meal. As for dessert, the cream brulee and chocolate melting cake were my go-to items. Although, they did have other gluten-free choices. While dining room service was very good and accommodating, the room service and buffet offerings were off limits. I was specifically instructed not to order room service and as a rule I do not eat off buffets (too many changes for cross-contamination). So, on the ship my meals were restricted to what I brought onboard and eating in the main dining room. Know this ahead of time – eating is not a whenever-you-want-it-option unless you have a large stash of food in your cabin.

I was pleased with the attention and consideration that I was given by the dining room staff. They were genuinely concerned for me and they went out of there way to try to make my meals fun and interesting. It was not a perfect situation but the service was great and the food was better than expected. Tip your servers, maitre d’ and Jana. They deserve it.

Why Everyone Loves Notre Dame

One of the things that has always been a mystery to me is the University Notre Dame’s (“ND”) and its fan base. Growing up in the mountains of Virginia most people cheered for one of three college football programs – Virginia Tech, Virginia, or Tennessee. Many people were fans because they or their family members attended those schools (I am a proud Cavalier Volunteer) and others because of their proximity to those schools. The proximity fans I can understand, it makes sense, they love the sport and they pick a Division I team that is nearby. Fair enough.

What I don’t understand is the large number of ND fans that exist in the world. All over the country. Seriously? How does a Catholic school in South Bend, Indiana become the favored team of people everywhere? And when I say favored I mean these people are tattooing the leprechaun on their bodies, flying flags on their cars, and doing all manner of crazy, committed-fan-things. It’s confusing especially when my conversations with these people go something like this:

Me: Did you go to Notre Dame?

ND Fan: No.

Me: Are you from Indiana?

ND Fan: No.

Me: Are you Catholic?

ND Fan: No.

Me: Are you Irish?

ND Fan: No.

Me: Have you been to South Bend?

ND Fan: No.

Me: Then why Notre Dame?

The answer to that last one ranges from “I just do” to talk of “traditions” that the fan has never experienced themselves or something related to the fact that they are always on television. I don’t understand it and I cannot deny that this odd loyalty to ND has, along with the fact that they are constantly on television and over-rated, caused me to dislike ND. I am not a fan.

But, because I pride myself on being fair and trying something before I say I don’t like it, I took myself to South Bend to watch the Fighting Irish play Michigan State. I committed myself to doing it right – seeing all the monuments, experiencing the traditions, and being open-minded about it all. This also allowed me to check another Big Ten stadium off my “to visit” list.

The game was a hot mess. There was not one sustained drive until Michigan State started the second half. The Irish won, but not impressively.

The experience, however, was far more impressive than the game. The ND fans are friendly, passionate, and interesting. For example, my neighbors by my seat were super friendly people. To my left was a Catholic couple who went to Michigan State, were cheering on the Irish because their son teaches there. The sweet wife immediately struck up a conversation and about religion in which she educated me on how the Catholic church marginalizes women and how Pope Francis’s admonishment of the church’s wrongs was too little too late. To my left was a large man who loves ND. He did not attend ND and he’s not Catholic or Irish, but he lives in Northeast Indiana so he gets a proximity pass. He loves ND so much that he has 5 tattoos celebrating his team, including a giant Leprechaun tattooed on his back (luckily, I did not see this but I believe him) and the college’s logo on his ankle (which I saw).

I was also the happy beneficiary of help with campus navigation by friendly ND fans and ND staff. There were lots of smiles and hellos all day.

The stadium, however, is not as nice as the fans. It seems that there isn’t a bad view in the stadium, but the bleachers aren’t much to sit on. The stadium bleachers are wooden 2x6s bolted to the risers. Not comfortable, not wide enough, and they have crammed too many “seats” into a row. I was shocked and disappointed to say the least. My high school’s bleachers are more comfortable. My other issue with the stadium is the score board. ND doesn’t have a jumbotron. Seriously? Can you really consider yourself a world-class Division I program without a jumbotron? I need to be able to watch replays. I am a spoiled UVA and Tennessee fan, both have jumbotrons. The athletic department, donors, and administration at ND need to step it up here and join the 21st century.

Then there is the matter of Touchdown Jesus. I have to say I was not fully comfortable with it. It is a beautiful piece of artwork, definitely, but calling it Touchdown Jesus doesn’t seem right. I mentioned this to my neighbor in the stadium, the Catholic feminist to my right, and she quickly responded “well it is no different then calling a pass a Hail Mary.” True, and I had not thought of that (I am very Protestant), but still, it seems somehow disrespectful coming from a religious school.

The ND band was definitely a high point. The band is only one fire baton short of being fabulous. Really. In the South the marching bands have fire batons and that is my standard for greatness, so, the Irish just missed it. The band’s performance was great. However, I was most intrigued by the Irish Guards. I had no idea theses guys existed in the world. I enjoyed their inspection drill and their halftime marching performance. Very neat. I also loved that the band sits on the field. Initially, I thought this was awful, because it appeared that they had to stand the entire game, but when I realized they could sit down I found the proximity better for hearing and somehow more collegiate than having them in the stands. I do love a marching bad.

The grand traditions are also worth loving. Visiting the dome, the basilica and the grotto were alone worth the trip. It must be lovely to have such grandeur on your campus, although I imagine more than one 20-year-old has taken it for granted. I watched the band concert and the march to the stadium. No detail is ignored at ND it seems. The reverence and respect paid by ND to its traditions and buildings is something worth experiencing. It is also very Southern. The South loves and is often hyper-focus on tradition and pomp and circumstance and there is definitely an air of that at ND. It is grand and I enjoyed it very much. I even bought a shirt (gasp!).

All in all, it was a good experience. The campus is beautiful, the people are nice (and if not, they are at least entertaining), and the tradition is a lovely and grand one.

But, make no mistake, I did not leave South Bend a fan. I still think they are the media’s pet and annually overrated, but I do understand a little better now why they are beloved by the masses.

Traveling: Things I Learned in London

Visiting London has been on my short list for at least three years. I needed to go, but I put it off. There are challenges that come with international travel when you are single. Well, mainly one for me, can I do an international trip alone? Should I?

I travel within North America alone regularly whether it’s a road trip to Canada, a weekend in Asheville, or a work trip to Seattle. But I have never traveled overseas by myself. I have a dear friend that I travel internationally with from time to time, but we haven’t been able to coordinate our destinations and timelines since our Ireland adventure in 2010. And she lived in London years ago and is not so hot to go there. As you have read here and elsewhere, many of my friends are married and have children. Therefore, their travel priorities and vacation time are often spoken for well in advance. My single friends, while willing are not always able. So, I was left to find another travel partner or go it alone.

I found another travel partner, sort of. Last fall I decided, Sister and my brother-in-law permitting, that I would take my oldest niece, The Princess, to London with me. She is sixteen, very smart, and has plenty of domestic travel under her belt, including 30+ trips to Disney World (true story). Also, I really feel blessed by what I have and want to share things that I enjoy with people I love. It is very charming isn’t it? Just like a movie – I am taking my niece on a trip of a lifetime so we can experience travel and a different place together. A time that will bring us back home changed for the better. Dramatic, yes, but it’s fitting or a 16-year-old.

I asked, she agreed and her parents acquiesced.

London was fabulous. We had decent weather, only a couple of days were rainy and cold. We worked the tourists experiences like they were a job: we took the Tube everywhere, saw the changing of the guard, visited Piccadilly Circus, British Museum, Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Tower of London, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Millennium Bridge, The Globe Theatre, Victoria & Albert Museum, Hyde Park, Kensington Palace, Harrods, took walks through South Kensington, Chelsea, the West End, visited Bath, Stonehenge, Salisbury Cathedral, Dover, Leeds Castle, Canterbury Cathedral, had tea at Fortnum & Mason, ate fabulous meals at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay & The Ledbury, and a cruised up the Thames from Greenwich. We did not do it all, but we did a lot.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Did we come back changed for the better?

I was told years ago, and still believe it, that we learn more from traveling than we do from anything else. So, while I cannot say that I am changed forever, I can say that I learned somethings.

I’m now tough like my parents were tough.

I remember traveling with my parents as a kid and thinking – wow, they are tough. Of course, I had good reason to think so. My parents are the kind of people who consider long-distance driving without stops or breaks a sport. My Mommy dragged, er, took Sister and I to Washington, D.C. alone and walked us like soldiers from monument to museum all day. They are the kind of people who drive from Iowa to the panhandle of Florida non-stop, just to say that they did it. I suspect my Mommy suggested stopping and my Daddy would have none of it, but either way, that is how they have always rolled. I would get tired and wonder how they continued to walk. I would get bored with the beach and wonder how my Mommy could stay out on the stand from 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. (not an exaggeration). Age makes you wise and tough.

This trip reminded me of that – I spent the entire trip about three steps ahead of The Princess telling her to keep up or three steps behind making sure she got where she was going. I could not get tired, wimp out, or stay in (even if I was or wanted to) – I was in charge. I wanted her to get out of it everything she could. I became my Mommy. I get now that my parents were tough for our benefit. They were tough so we could learn, experience the world, and have fun. My enjoyment was their job. They walked longer than they wanted to so that we could see all the sights, stood up at the park all day so that we could ride all the rides, and stayed on the beach so we could swim and play for as long as it took to wear us out. I’ve haven’t given birth but I have become like my parents and for 7 days I felt like I was someone’s mama.

I am more practical than ever.

Everyday The Princess had a nicely coordinated and chic outfit to wear. She was perfectly layered, mismatched, and draped with just the right color scarf. Me, well, it wasn’t nearly as cute; I was most often wearing Keen sandals, a comfortable skirt, and a series of layered shirts that may or may not have matched. Seriously, I brought three skirts, two pairs of shoes, five shirts, and two jackets. I appreciate The Princess’s disregard for comfort, but when the limping started I was reminded that I am now old and wise – a solid color skirt, layered t-shirt/sweater, and comfortable shoes carry the day. I can be super cute at home.

I am no longer a mademoiselle.

This was a sad revelation. I am the first to accept and admit my age. I’ve always been older. According to my mother I was “30 at 15.” It is who I am. So, I get that at my age I could biologically have a 16-year-old child. In fact, I have high school classmates who have 16-year-old children. It is possible. Knowing and understanding this reality, however, is not enough to prevent the shock when someone points it out. The very fabulous and cosmopolitan host at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay approached our table and looked first at The Princess and greeted her as “madamoiselle” and then turned to me, paused, and said “madame.” Really? Madame? Yes, really. Then, at the end of the meal one of the charming, young, and handsome wait staff kept The Princess company while I was in the restroom. He politely asked her if the jacket in the coat check was “her mum’s.” Oh, yes he did. That cute little fella immediately thought I was her mother. It still hurts a little.

There is a reason that parents want to hit teenagers.

“Keep up.”

“Sit up straight.”

“Have you thought about how _____ feels, or why they did that?”

“Don’t be so negative.”

“You should go to sleep.”

“Keep up.”

“Take off your sunglasses.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“You have to talk to people.”

“Keep up.”

“You look miserable.”

“Be polite.”

“Are you having fun?”

“Speak.”

“Keep up.”

What you just read is one-side of the daily conversation during my 6.5 days with The Princess. The other side of the conversation was much simpler. It consistently included the following: “okay,” “I don’t know,” and most often silence. So, there were a lot of one-way conversations.

The good news is that I did not hit The Princess. But, I now have a better appreciation for people who must live with unimpressed, too cool, self-absorbed, scared, confused children that look like adults (i.e. teenagers). You people have my deepest sympathy. I’m told that they grow out of it.

I can travel anywhere alone.

I satisfied myself that I could have easily made the London trip alone. If I can manage 6.5 days with a minor in my charge, I can do it alone. I’ve turned the last of the traveling alone corners. It is a nice bonus to fun trip with a cool kid.

Indiana Winter: Cold, Flat, & Windy, Part II

It seems that I’ve been fooled. My first winter in Indiana, 2011-2012, was incredibly mild. Not only was there not one single large snowfall there was not much snow at all. Additionally, the temperature, while cold, was not consistently and continuously bitter. Oh, and I lived in an apartment with a garage. So, I never had to encounter snow directly: no shoveling, no sweeping, no cleaning off the car. All I had to do outside was walk the dog.

The Eel River frozen up to the falls.

Everyone I’ve talked with about the weather (which is nearly everyone) told me not “get used to it.” I am afraid I did.

This winter is different. There have not been any giant snows, but we have had more snow and the temperatures have been way (at least it seems to me) colder. Days and days of temperatures under 20 degrees. Wind. Constant, cold wind with wind chills repeatedly below -10. Oh, and I now have a driveway to shovel, a walk to sweep, and neighborhood streets to try to navigate safely.

Geese walking on water.

Where is the salt?

The partially frozen pond.

I have prided myself on the fact that I can handle cold weather and drive in the snow. I was raised in the mountains! It does snow in the mountains and it does get cold. However, it doesn’t stay this cold for this long, the snow doesn’t hang around for weeks from one storm, and it doesn’t snow this often. And, there is no wind there, at least not constant, extremely cold, and sustained winds.

This has been much more of an adjustment than I am comfortable admitting. It is not in my nature (or raising) to concede weakness or discomfort. Every time I walk out into the piercing cold wind I cringe. I long for some mountain cover. The question – why do I live here crosses my mind. Regularly. If I missed home when it was warm here, I miss home 1000x more now.

Luckily, I had the chance to escape the Midwest winter briefly. I spent part of the last week in Puerto Rico, where it was sunny, warm, and, like Fort Wayne, windy; there the wind blows warm. It was a much needed break even though I worked most of the trip. But that trip taught me a very important lesson. I now know the key to surviving a Midwestern winter. Take a break.

Seasons change and I have access to airplanes. So, my new vacation window is going to be January to March, just in time for a nice break from the Midwestern winter.

At 7:00 a.m. you get the beach to yourself.

A tribute to my Dad, who had taken many a picture featuring his feet.

My favorite shot from the PR trip.

View from the Tower in the El Yunque Rainforest

It is a rainforest, I guess that explains the wet.

La Mina Falls Hike

Puerto Rican sunsets are somehow different from Midwestern sunsets.

The rainforest is the greenest thing I’ve ever seen.

Gluten-Free Traveling: Compromises, Ziploc Bags, & Patience

“Ma’am, is this your bag?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I will need to run it through the scanner again.”

“Okay, thank you.”

This is the moment when, as an experienced traveler, I self-righteously wonder (to myself – I don’t talk back to TSA agents, please note me thanking her for holding me up) what in the world could she need to see again. My bag is fine. There are no contraband weapons, liquids, or matches in there.

Oh, wait, it is the food. Food, you say?

Yes, food. I bet they think it strange that my carry-on backpack contains gallon-sized Ziploc bags of KIND bars, bananas, apples, Glutino pretzels, tea-bags, cured meat, boiled eggs, and random vegetables.

That is right, due to my gluten house arrest, need to eat every three hours or so, and general distrust of most restaurants, I travel with food. Sometimes large amounts of it. This is not a problem when traveling by car. Obviously, road trips are manageable for traveling with your own kitchen. I can load up the passenger seat, take a cooler, and stop at grocery stores when I need to reload or refresh my stash.

Gluten-free snacks riding shotgun.

Flying is a totally different story.

I try to take enough food so that I limit the amount of times I eat at restaurants, this decreases my risk of being exposed to gluten. However, traveling for more than 4 days is a challenge. Food is heavy and I hate to check bags (and I need to be able to take clothes with me), fruit doesn’t keep all that well in a suitcase or backpack, and I can only eat so many nut bars a day.

Make-shift hotel room kitchen.

However, the biggest reason that gluten-free travel hard is that having fun and fabulous (according to me) food-related experiences is a big part of traveling for me.

Some of my most memorable travel experiences have been associated with food. I’ll never forget the tasting menu at Spoon in Kowloon while looking out at the Hong Kong skyline, lunching on tuna and foie gras with my best friend at Le Bernardin in New York City, eating squab at Le Louis XV at the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo (while my handbag sat on its own fancy little stool), drinks at the Oak Room in the Plaza Hotel with my Mommy and Sister, or eating giant portions of everything at the Hash House A-Go-Go with my family in Las Vegas. I love food. Food is not just about sustenance. I enjoy sharing food with people who I love about as much as I enjoy anything.

So, as a foodie, I am trying to figure out a way to live and travel the way I want to and still be healthy. In the short time I have been dealing with this it has become clear to me that the life of a foodie with celiac disease is emotionally, socially, and practically frustrating. It is also adventurous and full of compromises.

I don’t want to eat every meal in my hotel room, but I need to be safe. So, I take enough food to cover breakfast and all snacks. If it is a short trip I take breakfast and lunch. My standard buffet includes some sort of nut bar, apples, bananas (on a short jaunt), crackers or chips of some sort, vegetables that keep (green peppers, carrots, etc), and pepperoni (Boar’s Head). On the travel day I take my standard breakfast with me – two boiled eggs and a bag-o-fruit. Ziploc bags are my friend. This compromise allows me to focus on making the restaurant experiences I do get fantastic.

Before the trip I research restaurants at my destination that have gluten-free menus or focus on farm to fork cuisine. These types of restaurants seem to be the easiest to manage because most of the staff understand what I need or are willing to listen and help. You are not going to get that at a chain place. I do not eat at chain restaurants any more. They make me sick, literally. While traveling in Richmond, Virginia recently I had the great fortune to stay near the Urban Farmhouse, a great spot for gluten-free support. I also safely enjoyed dinner at The Blue Goat. Both places feature locally sourced food. They get food.

Next, I find the closest grocery store to my hotel. This is a great way to make sure you have fresh and varied things to eat while on the go. Also, if you are in a super cool place like New York City you can hit a Dean & Deluca and really treat yourself to something you probably can’t find at home. This is also key if the room does not have a refrigerator or the mini-bar fridge is not usable (you know, the kind that has sensors and if I shove something in there and move a bottle I end up getting charged $8.00 for a Coke I won’t drink).

I love hot tea and I like to try all different kinds. Sadly, though, it sometimes is not safe and you can’t always trust what the coffee shop or restaurant is going to sell you. So, I bring my own. I am the person who drives through or walks up to Starbucks and asks for a grande cup of hot water . . . I am not ashamed. Sometimes they charge me a quarter and sometimes they don’t, either way I get my tea. Speaking of water, I could not live without my trusty green Nalgene bottle. I bought this bottle in preparation for Coachella 2012 and it is one of the best things I have ever done. I drink a gallon or more of water a day and the 32 ounce bottle allows me to keep up with that while not being tempted to drink other things. Drinks can contain gluten too (watch out for smoothies, juices, etc). In fact, you will find that airport bars, Starbucks, and other places will fill up the bottle for you if you ask. Yes, it does help the environment but I’d be lying if I said that was part of my plan. It’s a nice incidental benefit, though.

So far, these little compromises with my immune system are working out well. I get to enjoy my trips and have more confidence that I will feel well (even though I know nothing’s 100% safe unless I make it). Also, dealing with fewer restaurants decreases my stress level and allows me to better enjoy my dinner company (rather than fretting about whether the server understands or nervously googling the ingredient, restaurant, or dish on my iPhone). I still have missteps, problems, and get sick but I am learning.

I am growing to appreciate the quote “It is not about perfection, it is about progress” more and more these days.

Boston in Pictures

I just made my first trip to Boston. It is nothing if not charming. I stayed in the theatre district and spent two days walking the city. The location was perfect and Boston was easier to navigate than I expected. It was interesting, beautiful, and fun.

The Boston Common and Public Gardens were the perfect introduction to Boston. You get the history, the pretty, and, if you are lucky, nice enough December weather to be outside.

Skyline from the Common

Pond and Skyline from Gardens

George Washington on Guard

Arlington Entrance to the Common

After a tour through the Common I wandered through Beacon Hill. It is a lovely urban community. A cross between Colonial Williamsburg and Manhattan with super cool doors.

Next, I picked up The Freedom Trail at the Massachusetts State House. It was getting dark at this point and I was hustling to see as much as possible before dark caught me, especially the burial grounds at the Park Street Church. This is when I punched myself in the stomach. Seriously. I was crossing the street from the Common to Park Street Church. Rather than watch where I was going I was taking a picture AND walking (see the picture below) and walked directly into a huge green rib-cage-level pole in front of two lanes of traffic. Full speed. I have never been punched in the stomach but I imagine that this is what it would feel like. I was embarrassed but could not be too concerned about the gawking bus driver and passengers since I could neither breath nor stand-up straight. So, for a time I sat at the foot of the Boston Common sign trying to decide if I was really hurt or if the pain would pass. I was not and it did. I just felt stupid. Live it, learn it.

The Freedom Trail

The Boston Common Sign

Park Street Church

Park Street Church from the Burial Ground

Paul Revere’s Gravestone

The Franklin Monument

Massachusetts State House

Massachusetts State House

Sam Adams’s Gravestone

Paul Revere’s House

Paul Revere’s House on North Street

The Old North Church

The Old North Church

View of the city from the North End

Boston at night

My last day was spent wandering through Newbury and Boylston Streets doing some window shopping and taking in the view. This is where I learned that I sound Australian, at least to a sales representative at Brooks Brothers. Maybe she had talked with the taxi driver from the day before who asked me if I am British. Who knew the Appalachian twang was so hard to decipher?

The storefront used in Cheers made this leg of the tour as did the view from the Prudential Tower and the Boston Public Library.

Boston Public Library

Lions guarding the library

Lights in the library entry-way

Boston Public Library

View of Fenway Park from the Prudential Tower

View of downtown from the Prudential Tower.

No trip of mine would be complete without some food pictures . . . the eating is good in Boston. I planned dinners at Market by Jean-Georges and Nebo, but oysters at Neptune was an impromptu stop and by far the best eating I did the three days I was there and I just had oysters. Super good.

I had super tasty oyster shooters at the Rustic Kitchen on Stuart.

Neptune on Salem in the North End is THE place for raw oysters and clams.

Nebo is a lifesaver – gluten free Italian done right.

Neptune Menu

Market by Jean-Georges’s Pear Sorbet

Jean-Georges’s Market does New England Cod with peppers and asparagus

There is plenty more of Boston to see, but for this first trip I feel like I covered some serious territory in a day and a half. My muscles are still sore and my feet are still recovering. I will go back, if only to hear someone say “wicked smahhrt.”

Fall in Indiana, Part 2

Football.

I was raised by a raging football fans. My childhood Friday nights and Saturdays were spent at high school football fields or college football stadiums. Until 2011 my Daddy had not missed a football game played by our high school alma mater since the early 1980’s. My mom is indignant toward people who leave games early because their team was far behind. She would say “true fans stay until the end.” She is big on loyalty. Football is serious, people, we are talking life lessons here.

Recently, I told my parents that I was going to be on the “chain gang” at a small college football game. I totally under estimated their interest. My Daddy declared to my Mom, Sister, and Brother-in-Law that this was the closest thing we were going to get to having someone in our family (we are all girls) play football. He was psyched.

So psyched, in fact, that he drove 7 hours (one-way) to FW to watch me run the chains.

It was super fun, well, after I realized that it was not my job to follow the down box guy. It is kind of important for me to stay at the spot of the ball. I only did that twice, but of course, my lone fan in attendance noticed.

I learned that working the chains is not as easy as it looks, football players are really smelly, the referees talk to the players a lot more than I thought, and I can move a good size guy in football pads with a hip check. Even better, the day was gorgeous, it was a high scoring (the chains moved a lot) game, and my team won. That is a good day.

Now, I can check that one off my bucket list. It was right after milking a cow.

Bristol Rhythm & Roots Reunion: An Epic Friday Night

“Can’t you feel those hills around you, Can’t you feel that touch of home, And don’t you wish you’d never gone, There are some things memories can’t bring home.” Hazel Dickens

There is one weekend every year when State Street in Bristol, Virginia/Tennessee turns into a haven for Americana, folk, and bluegrass musicians. It is the Bristol Rhythm & Roots Reunion (“BRRR”). I headed south into the mountains from the flatlands of Indiana for a visit with my precious family and Friday night at BRRR.

I have not missed a BRRR since 2003 (I think), back when it was just a couple thousand people and I was living in walking distance (if you had to walk). Now, it is becoming a top-notch festival. While I am biased, I would recommend BRRR to anyone. You can’t beat great bands, both new an old, kind people, and a fun atmosphere.

Sunshine and her hubby were my partners in crime for the evening. Sunshine’s man is an organizer extraordinaire, so our itinerary was well-researched and set. We started with dinner at 620 State with a prime view of State Street and the tunes of J.P. Parsons in the background. Bless the hearts of those folks at 620, they carefully helped me have a nice gluten-free dinner on a crazy busy night with a limited menu. From our dinner table I happily spotted friends and acquaintances from my former life. Oh, and former Governor and candidate for the Virginia Senate Tim Kaine.

Our line up for the rest of night was Whiskey Gentry, Lydia Loveless, Folk Soul Revival, The Black Lillies, Billy Joe Shaver, and City and Colour. All were good, if not exceptional. However, for me the night was epic because it was a delightful combination of some of my all time favorite tunes and one of my all time favorite people.

Folk Soul Revival not only played Sweet Virginia (I like to think it is what the Commonwealth is singing to me), but they covered Tom Petty’s Don’t Do Me Like That and Prince’s Purple Rain. Yes, Purple Rain. It was awesome. Also, Tim Kaine played the harmonica on a number with Folk Soul for Tennessee Shines, an excellent radio program for WDVX out of Knoxville, Tennessee. Folk Soul Revival laid it down, big time.

Speaking of Knoxville, Tennessee, The Black Lillies (based in my law school stomping grounds of Knoxville) played like their hair was on fire at the Paramount Theatre. I adore this band. Their music is independent, personal, and high order entertaining. As an additional bonus, they are nice people and Cruz Contreras and the boys in the band are all easy on the eyes. However, the lone lady in the band stole the show on Friday night. Trisha Gene Brady gave a moving (she was brought to tears herself) a cappella performance of Hazel Dickens’s Hills of Home. It was amazing. Sunshine looked at me afterward and said “that had to be worth the trip” and, indeed, it was. I would happily drive again from FW to Bristol to hear it. They also did one of my all time favorites – There’s Only One – which made me smile. If you haven’t bought the music of The Black Lillies, please do yourself a favor and do it now.

The cherry on my Friday night at BRRR sundae came from a music veteran. This guy was writing songs for the Outlaws . . . hello, Waylon. I have been listening to Billy Joe Shaver for years. He is a lovely man. Once a hell raiser and now a Jesus advocate. I met him twice, once in Houston and then in Knoxville, and he is just a joy (I like to think he was telling the truth when he said he remembered me). I wandered down to the State Street stage after The Black Lillies just in time to hear Billy Joe Shaver belt out I’m Gonna Live Forever. No one does this tune like him. And for the frat-boy next to me who thinks that is a Robert Earl Keen song, puh-lease. Billy Joe was writing those kinds of tunes when REK was knee-high to a grasshopper. Billy Joe wrote that song with his son Eddie, a talented guitarist who died too young. Hearing it live is almost a religious experience.

It was a perfect end to a perfect evening. Heck, even the weather was perfect. This was the best Friday night at BRRR in my memory. The music was epic and the company was perfect.

Thanks to Sunshine, her man, and Bristol for making it a beautiful night.