Ever The Self-Promoter...

It’s embarrassing to admit but I’m taking several copies of my book with me on our trip. There is no logical reason for this as packing space is already tight and it may come down to making the call between the books or a fourth pair of black shoes (the only ones that go with that skirt), which is frightening. But more frightening is that I’m taking the books because…who knows? Maybe something will pan out.

I beg shops to sell the book in America but have this notion that I will show up on the shores of England, whip out the book and hear bells toll in ancient castles as shopkeepers across the UK weep, “We’ve been waiting for a jolly-good cat book like this one. Thank the Queen you’ve arrived!” (I doubt people living in the UK say, “Thank the Queen,” but I’ve no idea yet what they do say, so thanking the Queen it is).

What am I going to do if I find a shop that actually wants it? Spend the shipping costs to ship 2 copies of one book to England? Ha! And yet…that’s exactly what I’d do. Because then I’d be an international author. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? Yes, this needs to happen. I’ll shove a cat book down some poor country storekeeper’s throat if I have to…

God Save The Queen.

Home or Away?

Jerry Seinfeld has a comedy routine that is so “me” it’s like he spied on my life before he wrote it. It has to do with never being satisfied with what we have. When we’re home, we say, “We should get out more.” And then when we’re out we say, “We really need to get home.”

That’s me. I have strong homebound roots that, when stretched too thin over time or distance, start to unravel and cause me to become homesick. I’m good for about 8 days of travel and then, sitting in a four-star restaurant eating a dish that took more time to prepare than I’ve spent cooking in my entire life, I start to think how much I like eating cereal out of a bowl at home. Or how a peanutbutter and jelly sandwich would hit the spot. I get misty-eyed thinking about my pillows and my bathroom with the fan that runs too loud and the toilet handle you have to jiggle to get it to quit running. And don’t even get me started on the cats. If I think about my babies home alone, wondering where their Mommy is and why no one has been there to comb them or offer them kisses, I’ll hijack the nearest cab to the airport.

But right now, being home, and writing this, I can’t wait to get away. Problems, stress, bad eating habits—all will disappear when we’re in that magic place called “away.” (Okay, maybe not that last one but a girl can dream). Life will be better, love more intense, and I will have nothing but good hair days. That is the magic we dream of in being “away.”

Killing Time On An Airplane

We fly from Greensboro to New York and then New York to Gatwick—a full day of travel.  I’ve been mentally compiling a list of activities to keep myself occupied during this time period. My ideas for mental and physical stimulation include:

• Diving into the literary novel I’ve been saving for the plane
• Working on my next Pet-a-Scopes column, due one week after our return
• Seated Yoga Poses
• Quiet, Inner Meditation
• Plotting my next novel
• Spontaneous writing on my current novel
• Journal about my life and my progress. Am I where I want to be? What’s keeping me from my dreams? What do I need to change or be more open to?
• Bond with my mother and my husband in the form of quiet airplane conversation, card games, shared jokes and knowing smiles.

Lovely. Now here’s how I’ll actually spend my time on the plane:

• Sleeping
• Watching the inflight movie, “Cheaper By The Dozen II”
• Eating
• Peeing
• Reading the People magazines my Mom will most likely bring
• Whining that I’m bored and when will we get there?

So much for self-improvement—bring on the snack cart!

Does TV Really Matter?

I know I spend too much time watching TV and I frequently say I'm "addicted" to certain shows. But it came to my attention this week that it's not so much about addiction as it is just laziness or habit.

I'm a huge American Idol fan and I've been pulling for Chris Daughtery, hometown North Carolina boy and rocker extraordinaire, to win. If you watch the show, you know that Chris--to the astonishment of the nation--was voted off this week. Blair and I were chatting about it and I was speculating on who might win now. Then it hit me.

"Oh my gosh," I said. "We're going to miss the finale. We'll be on our trip!"

Blair looked at me and shrugged. "I don't really care," he said. "Do you?"

I thought for a moment and realized to my surprise that, eh, I really don't.  Not when there were so many other exciting things for us to be doing. But that's what I mean about habit and laziness. I'd watch the show if I were home, even though I just admitted I don't really care who wins or not.  I'd watch it because it's there. Now, is that "addiction" or is that I'm just too lazy to find other--better--things to occupy my time?

Same realization with The Amazing Race--another show I'm "addicted" to.  We forgot to record it on Wednesday night and then realized that we didn't really care that we missed an episode. That kind of freed us up to admitting that if we didn't care about an episode, we really didn't care about the final outcome, which we'll also miss while we're on our trip. It got me to thinking that if I don't care about the final outcome of these shows, why watch in the first place?

Don't misunderstand--I'm not saying TV is bad or wrong. Sometimes vegging in front of the TV is the exact right thing to be doing to blow off steam and relax. My point is that convincing myself I "must" see these shows isn't doing myself any favors. A big trip isn't going to come along each week to remind me that I really don't care that much about them and could be spending my time in more fruitful ways.