Back in the saddle from Seattle

I've been out of town for a few days, visiting my pal Frank in Seattle, playing Scrabble and doing my best to provide some economic stimulus to the city's restaurants.

A very quick trip, driving through beautiful weather. We sure as hell got a lot of scenery out here in the Pacific Northwest.

I posted a new Corner Booth column here.

School's out

The end of the school year can be a tough time for parents.

In the summer months, we parents no longer have a taxpayer-funded place to store our children for seven hours a day. We must find ways to keep the kids safe, fed and amused while we work. We must transport them from place to place in oven-like minivans. We pay more for summer camp than we might pay for tuition at Yale. We must plan a (gulp!) vacation trip with the kids.

But let’s not focus on the complaints. Let’s take a moment to look at the benefits of school-free summers.

No more pencils, notebooks or other school supplies are necessary in summer. Children (especially boys) tend to lose those items repeatedly during the school year, along with their jackets, gloves and random shoes. Replacement costs go way down until fall, when we must completely outfit the students all over again.

No more books other than those of the children’s choosing. I recommend that kids spend as much time as possible in a nice, air-conditioned library.

No more teachers’ dirty looks. Parents suffer just as much as the kids when misbehavior, failing grades or other bad news require teacher meetings throughout the school year. Sure, the kids might still be little vandals during the summer, but your neighbors can’t force a face-to-face meeting the way teachers can. Just don’t answer the doorbell.

No more calls from the principal. (See above paragraph.) Plus, no more of those automated calls where the principal’s disembodied voice informs parents of minimum days, STAR testing, truancies, emergency lockdowns, etc.

No school means no homework which may mean fewer arguments around the house. Instead of standing over the offspring, forcing them to do their homework, we parents can force them to do yard work.

Summer means lots less laundry. Youngsters need to wear fresh clothes to school every day (whether they like it or not), but in summer they can go around in the same swimsuit, T-shirt and flip-flops for days on end. Swimming puts more towels in the mix, but at least those are easy to fold. Since the kids are home for the summer, maybe you can even get them to do the laundry. (Hahaha. Just kidding.)

School-related fundraising comes to a halt in summer. For three months, parents won’t have to foist band candy, bake sales or raffle tickets on their co-workers, neighbors and former friends.

Summer gives children more free time to climb trees, ride bicycles and skateboards, wrestle the family dog and engage in other dangerous activities. This gives parents the opportunity to get re-acquainted with the family doctor, insurance providers and the staffs at local emergency rooms.

(A parenting tip: Remind your children that “Look, Ma, no hands!” is a boast, not a medical condition.)

Most of all, summer vacation means parents can spend more “quality time” with their kids, aside from the hours spent in emergency rooms.

Take the children on a picnic, take them fishing, go to a ballgame, play games together or spend hot afternoons in air-conditioned matinees. Family activities are where memories are made, and summer is the best time for them. The kids will thank you (someday) for devoting your summer months to their welfare and amusement.

One final benefit: The more time the family spends together, the more eager the children will be to return to school next fall.

Stay-cation

With gasoline prices still steep, many folks must skip the traditional summer driving vacation to some faraway marvel such as the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore or Grandma’s house.

There’s always plenty to do closer to home, of course. All areas of the country have their natural wonders and hidden waterholes and Giant Balls of Twine.

But let’s talk really close to home. You can take a mini-vacation without ever getting in your car. A stroll around the neighborhood can feel like a real get-away-from-it-all if you’re in the right frame of mind. Relax and take your time and find a new way to look at the world. If you can think on a smaller scale, your typical suburb becomes a Japanese bonsai garden, carefully designed to please the eye. It helps if you’ve been taking cold medicine.

Here, then, is a little pamphlet I made up:

GUIDE TO HIKING TRAILS AND RECREATIONAL OPPORTUNITIES AROUND MY YARD

Trails are easy unless otherwise indicated. All water is potable except that slimy bucket by the patio. Hikers are warned that a large, floppy dog inhabits the premises; all food should be kept in sealed containers. Also, a big bearded guy sometimes comes out and yells at trespassers, but he’s harmless.

Fig Tree Outlook Trail: An easy hike, but not to be attempted in bare feet because of an expanse of hot concrete driveway. The reward at the end of this walk is a weedy pocket garden with a shredded bark floor. At its center stands a symbol of hope, a small fig tree that’s been in the process of dying for one year. Spectacular.

Transverse Trail: This short stroll can be challenging because of a stretch of thick, sodden lawn. Uphill a few steps, then a slippery downslope the rest of the way, past the Impenetrable Lantana Jungle and the Tangled Trees of Lower Front Yard to the safety of the sidewalk.

Around Back Trail: This strenuous hike involves a couple of squeaky gates and a variety of tricky surfaces, so it’s not for the faint of heart or the bare of foot. For those intrepid enough to tackle it, many mysteries are revealed along the way, including the bloodlike Drips of Red Paint that accidentally got on the sidewalk that time. Past the looming Basketball Hoop stretch the Inexplicable Plains of Sharp Gravel, which cannot be traversed without shoes. Beyond another squeaky gate lies the real prize, a burbling waterfall and scenic pool. (Swimming not recommended -- Department of Health)

“Up Your Berm” Trail: The most strenuous hike on the property, this risky path goes up a steep berm covered in landscaping bark and the occasional decorative boulder. Not to be attempted in sandals. If you can manage it, however, it’s only a few strides before you reach the magnificent Great Wall of Suburbia, a gray concrete marvel that only the tallest of men can see over without a ladder. Beyond that wall, a majestic view of the next subdivision.

As you can see, the world is filled with many wonders, if you set your sights low enough. I urge my fellow armchair travelers and computer addicts to get up and go outside once in a while. Take a fond look at the world around you.

Plan your hikes carefully, and you can be back under the air conditioning before you break a sweat.

They call me Mr. Look-at-that

I was born to be a tour guide. Whenever we leave the house, I spend the whole trip pointing out the sights.

Sometimes, it’s informative.

“Look at that,” I’ll say. “Those black rocks originally came from that volcano way over there. Wow, what an explosion, huh?”

Sometimes, it’s sublime.

“Look at that. The way the sunlight plays on the water. Beautiful.”

Other times, it’s ridiculous.

“Look at that. Another chain-saw grizzly bear sculpture!”

And sometimes, sad to say, it’s downright mean.

“Look at the ears on that guy! If he could flap ’em, he could fly.”

It’s not as if other people can’t see these passing sights for themselves. It’s not as if they’re breathlessly waiting for me to show them the next point of interest. In fact, there’s evidence that it gets downright annoying.

“I see it,” my wife says, once she’s had enough. “We can all see it. It’s right there in front of us. We are not blind.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure you were looking over there,” I’ll say. “I didn’t want you to miss that particular cloud and -- Hey! Look at THAT!”

Heavy sighs all around.

My look-at-that compulsion may stem from my decades as a journalist. Newspaper folks are professional observers, relating what others don’t have the time or inclination to go see for themselves. When I see something interesting, I feel I must report back, even if the people receiving the reports are standing right next to me.

The compulsion may go even farther back, to the classroom, where I was one of those kids who always had his hand up, eager to share the (possibly) correct answer with my fellow students. They found it annoying, too, which resulted in bathroom-related hazing and the nickname “Swirly Steve.” (OK, I made up that last part.)

I can’t help it that I’m full of trivia. My brain collects factoids the way pants pockets collect lint. Acting as tour guide gives me a chance to inflict that knowledge on others.

My family doesn’t even bother to do any research before a vacation. They know Mr. Look-at-that will study the travel guides and websites so he can make pronouncements about when a particular monument was erected, the differences between bald eagles and ospreys, or why the native rock is that color. They just go along for the ride, relaxing and taking in the scenery while secretly hoping I’ll run out of steam.

I stand ready for any visitors we get this summer. I’ve got some stuff to show them. Whether they want to look at it or not.

Big fun on "Lonely Street"

I've posted a column all about our trip to the Newport Beach Film Festival over at the Corner Booth. Click here to read it.

It was thrilling to see the movie made from my first novel. Saw a lot of friends, too. A wonderful trip.

Scrabble in Seattle

Back at the helm after a fun few days of Scrabble and dining out with my pal Frank in beautiful Seattle. We even got one day of sunshine while I was there. Not that we were outside much. We played 19 games of Scrabble between Wednesday night and Saturday morning.

I won the majority, humbly remaining Scrabble Champion of the Known World. Because Frank is the loser, feel free to taunt him if you cross paths. Spitting is allowed.

Notes from Pismo

Nothing takes the go-go-go out of the harried Christmas season like a few days at the beach. Kel and I recently celebrated our 25th anniversary with a second honeymoon at Pismo Beach, and she's got photos here. One day, I too will know how to post photos to my blog, but that day is not today. So go check 'em out at Pink Hollyhock.

I spent a good deal of the trip sitting on our veranda, watching the waves crash against the cliffs, and I had many deep thoughts that I can't remember now. I did, however, make a few notes:

--At the beach, everyone looks sunburned and windswept.

--At sunup, it's a little chilly for sipping coffee on my second-floor veranda, so I wear unlaced sneakers and a leather flight jacket with my pajamas. I look like the pilot on the redeye flight.

--While Kel took a nap, I sneaked in a televised NFL game with the audio off. Sure, it's our 25th anniversary and all, but come on. The playoffs are coming up.

--Otters!

--In the harsh glare of the motel bathroom light, my wiry white whiskers make me look like a sidekick. Gabby Hayes, somebody like that.

--It is not possible to stare long at white seabirds without thinking of the word "wheeling."

--One insistently shrieking seagull can ruin a perfectly good veranda.

Second honeymoon

We're back from a wonderful 25th anniversary trip to sunny Pismo Beach, CA, and environs. Spent several days looking out at the Pacific from our balcony, admiring the seabirds and pondering stuff. Came back rested and relaxed for the usual Christmas craziness. Kel's parents are here, it's raining, and we've got carols on the stereo, but in my head I still hear the surf.

I'll post more later, and Kel will provide more photos at http://www.pinkhollyhock.blogspot.com/.

Surviving driving vacations

If you want to experience true family togetherness, then pile the kids in the car and take a long driving vacation. You'll never feel closer, assuming you don't kill each other.

Spending time with your family -- cooped up in a car around the clock -- will remind you why you normally choose to hide at a job eight or 10 hours a day. By the time vacation's over, you'll be rested and ready to return to work -- anything to escape your kids' caterwauling and your spouse's annoying little habits. Plus, after spending the "college fund" on gas, food and lodging, you'll need to hurry back to work to raise some money.

Our family's last driving vacation was a few summers ago, before gas prices went through the roof. We toured Northern California, a truly inspiring land, from its redwood forests to its, um, other redwood forests. My wife and I, our two sons (then 15 and 12) and enough luggage to require sherpas all packed into a minivan and hit the Open Road. For a week. I'm happy to report that we all survived, physically intact, if emotionally frazzled, and ready to vacation together again real soon. Say, once they perfect private space travel.

It's easier to travel with the boys now than it was when they were little and demanding. Now that they're big and demanding, they can at least fend for themselves if they're, say, accidentally left behind in a redwood forest somewhere.

We vacationed with our boys when they were younger -- we've got photo albums to prove it -- but I seem to have blocked the experience from my memory banks. Harried parents know that certain memories (such as diapers) are erased from the mind as time passes. Which explains why couples have more than one child. For those of you out there traveling with kids still small enough to require diapers, all I can say is we'll remember you in our prayers.

The role of older kids on vacation is to appear bored. They're too jaded to appreciate redwood forests and other natural wonders, having seen better examples on TV. Museums make them yawn. Beaches are okay, but there's all that yucky sand everywhere.

The mantra of small children on vacation is the perennial favorite, "Are we there yet?" With teens, it's "Whatever."

This emphatic ennui grates on parents, especially if they're unable to block out that other sound in their heads, the steady ka-ching like a taxi meter, recording how much everything costs.
If we're going to spend this much, the thinking goes, then these kids will by golly be impressed and learn something and enjoy themselves, if we have to strangle them.

We stayed in hotels on our trip, spending the equivalent of two months' mortgage payments for seven nights in hotels. Our kids have reached that stage of maturity (and actual physical size) that we needed suites so everybody would have his own bed. I couldn't sleep for the ka-chinging in the background.

Yes, there are cheaper ways for families to travel. RVs, for example, or camping. But my idea of "roughing it" is four people sharing one bathroom. Trust me, this was rough enough.

But it was worth it. Really. We spent "quality time" together and we made some memories.

I can see myself years from now, when my kids bring their own families to visit:

"Hey, son, remember that vacation we took? Those big trees?"

And he'll roll his eyes and say, "Sure, Dad. Whatever."

Like tumbleweeds rolling across the prairie

It's that time of year again. Time to pack up the family and drive across country on summer vacation. See the grand panoramas of America. Soak up history and culture at museums and national monuments. Spend meaningful time together. Fill those photo albums.

Had you going for a minute there, didn't I? Let's face it. For most of us, traveling with our kids is a battle of wills. Children gag at the thought of a museum. They make faces at the camera. They wander off. They get bored. Seen one grand panorama, you've seen 'em all. The national monuments all have golden arches.

All together now: "Are we there yet?"

My wife and I recently took our two sons, ages 6 and 8, on a driving trip to Arkansas to see my relatives. More than 900 miles each way, through some of the most unspectacular country on God's Earth. Interstate 40 takes you through eastern New Mexico, which is almost scenic in a big, empty sort of way. Then there's the endlessly flat Texas panhandle and the whole rolling blah of Oklahoma.

People in that part of the world know they don't have much to offer. Their tourist attractions are big enough that you can marvel at them without stopping the car. The Cadillac Ranch near Amarillo. The World's Largest Cross in Groom, Texas. Oklahoma has a lakeside exit called Lotawatah Road (hilarious laughter from the kids) and one called Arnot Road ("Are, too!"). That's about it. I always look for a town called Allright, OK, because that's what we parents keep saying, but I haven't found one yet.

We're veterans at this. We make this pilgrimmage to see the folks back home every year or so. We know to take plenty of toys and books. We know to keep lots of snacks hidden in the car. We know to stop overnight in a motel with an indoor pool.

We even stock the car with children's music on cassette. Of course, that's hard on the adults. After a dozen listens to Bob Dylan croaking "This Old Man" or chirpy folksingers giving us "Little Bunny Fou-Fou," we're pulling out our hair.

Making up new lyrics helps. One song strings together all the parts of the body by funny names -- "smell-sniffer" and "soup-strainer" and the like. My wife and I sing a version that goes: "nosepicker, backstabber, bootlicker, Whitewater, pants-dropper. . ." The boys don't understand why we're laughing up in the front seat.

As the kids get older, each trip gets a little easier. The 8-year-old simply reads one book after another, never looking up until we reach out destination. The 6-year-old plays with his plastic superheroes, plays handheld video games, sleeps and, twice an hour or so, says, "How much longer 'til we get there?"

We travel eight hours a day. On our recent trip, the 6-year-old was good for about seven hours, then his patience wore out and he started getting into trouble.

During the last hour of our trip home, when we could see the Sandias looming up ahead, he amused himself by removing his shoes and tossing his dirty socks at my head. My wife was driving, so he left her alone.

But the shotgun passenger makes a heck of a target. Knowing we were in that deadly last hour and trying to be the good-natured dad, I tossed them back. Oh, that was so funny we had to do it again. About the ninth time a stinky sock hit me in the head, I wheeled on him and, laughing villainously, rubbed it all over his nose, saying, "How do YOU like that smell? Hah?"

His reply: "Smells like French fries!"

By that time, everything in the car smelled like French fries.

So, as your summer driving vacation nears, remember this advice: Lots of food, lots of distractions, regular exercise breaks.

And keep their socks in the trunk.