Our family loves road trips. This is how I vacationed as a kid and I have passed this love on to my kids. I have even converted Ted. There is nothing like being in a car together and doing things we can only do on the road: Stopping whenever we want. Visiting tacky tourist traps. Engaging in the always competitive License Plate Game. (Which I won.)

Something about exploring the United States really brings us together.

This year we decided to take a road trip to Savannah with a stop in Nashville.

Another bonus of driving is that I can take as much luggage as I want. So for one week I pack 14 outfits (one for day and one for night). Yes, I realize that not once have I ever changed my clothes mid-day on a vacation, but I am pretty sure this is the trip where I will start a new tradition. I bring four pairs of shoes. Yes, it’s possible I will not wear heels since we are headed to a walking city and to the beach, but I might need those grey strappy sandals with the stacked heel. I will feel better having them with me. I also make sure to include a different pair of earrings and different necklaces for each outfit. I mean, okay, I know I usually wear studs every day, but you never know. I want to be prepared. And finally, I load my travel bag with my entire skin care and makeup regimen plus back up makeup and an exfoliating mask and WHY YES I AM BRINGING THAT SPARKLY EYESHADOW I LAST WORE ON NEW YEAR’S EVE 2018 why do you ask??

I end up wearing the same two pairs of stretchy pants and t-shirts the entire time.

Since we are headed to 75-degree weather, the kids and I hop in the car ready for the heat. We are wearing t-shirts and shorts. Ted is wearing Loyola clothes and dressed for a blizzard. He does not care that we are headed south, he is determined to show his support for his alma mater because they are playing in the Sweet Sixteen this year. This includes a Loyola sweatshirt, Loyola t-shirt underneath, Loyola hat, and the pièce de résistance: his Loyola scarf. Due to the unfortunate coincidence of Loyola and Gryffindor having the same school colors, the scarf is the accessory that causes friends and strangers alike to wonder why a grown man is dressed as Harry Potter.

Since our trip was last minute, we couldn’t get our dog into the kennel we usually use. After researching a few other options, we get a referral from a friend who knows a young woman looking for some work while on break.

Side Note: Someday I may write a whole blog on how differences in what married couples value can cause Friction but for right now I will just say that along with Faith and Family, Ted values Security. This means he bolts the door when he is in the house, no matter what time of day it is. When you arrive home, you might be locked out and actually have to phone from the other side of the door for someone to let you in. It also means he sets the house alarm when he leaves, even if you are home, leading to blaring sirens when you open the back door to let the dog out. Or, if you are walking the dog and you are gone for a while, he might call to find out if you are ok. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s NOON. I have a DOG with me. I am IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.” You can see how when one spouse values security and let’s just say, hypothetically, the other values independence, there might be conflict. But like I said, that’s for another blog.

Here is my point: everything he does is done with thoughts of safety and security at the forefront.

That’s why, for Christmas, I got Ted a Ring doorbell which came with a Blink camera. I don’t know how we did not have either of these gadgets already with Ted’s job (and life) being all about Security and Loss Prevention, but it was LITERALLY and FIGURATIVELY Christmas morning for Ted. He immediately set them both up on Christmas Day. I will say, the doorbell has been a real benefit since before this we did not have a doorbell and we live on a busy street. The camera, on the other hand, is set up in the kitchen and really just acts as a decorative accessory. It’s hooked up to an app so I can see (and hear) what’s happening in the kitchen from my phone. “Ted, I see you are getting ice cream. Please bring me some too.” In reality, the only time this camera has been used is by me when I am at work and I want to check on the kids during lunch and scare them. “I SEE YOU TAKING AN EXTRA BAG OF CHIPS!”

Back to my story. A very pleasant and agreeable young woman comes over to meet us. I will call her “Georgina.” Because her name was Georgina. We like her, Athena likes her, and we decide to hire her to watch our house and dog. But she is still a stranger to us, so I decide I’m not going to just leave my valuables out for all to see. Did I mention we have a heavy, metal safe that we don’t use that takes up a bunch of room in our closet? Ted has the idea that I should put my jewelry box in the safe and then hide the safe inside his car in the garage. He is concerned the safe is not drilled into the floor and someone can just steal the whole safe. I am concerned it is way easier to break into our garage and steal our car than move a 500-pound safe I literally cannot budge with my own weight.

Unfortunately, (or fortunately depending on how you look at it), my jewelry box does not fit inside the safe. I find a good place to hide it and come back to see Ted putting his “spare wallet” inside the safe. Here I am worried about valuable and sentimental jewels passed down for generations while Ted is locking away his Best Buy and Firestone cards. The kids and I pack the car while Ted sets the house up a la Kevin McCallister in Home Alone. He moves the Blink camera to the very inconspicuous living room windowsill with the cord running down the middle of the couch. He makes sure all the windows are locked and outdoor lights are on. I am waiting for him to put marbles on the hallway floor and rig the doggie door.

Finally, we are on the road. I’m navigating and Ted is driving, which is the way it always is even though it usually ends in arguments and missed exits. Today, it results in Ted’s rotary mishap where we end up going around the entire traffic-circle twice as everyone is shouting instructions. Suddenly, we are the Griswolds maneuvering Southeast Indiana.

I stop being the navigator and turn Waze on through the car Bluetooth in order to decrease arguments since it is only Day One after all. I browse through the voices looking for Cookie Monster. (If you haven’t used Cookie Monster as your guide, you are missing out. He is full of entertainment). I can’t find Cookie Monster, so I choose “Boy Band English” instead. I have no idea what it is but it seems like it might be good. “Good” is an understatement. For the rest of the day it seems like Davy Jones, Harry Styles is giving us directions. “Heavy traffic reported ahead,” he says in his lilting voice. It doesn’t matter how many times we hear him, we never get tired of hearing his traffic report in his singsong voice.

As we travel along, sheer boredom causes me to start getting invested in Waze. Did you know you can become a Waze Editor? Relax, I did not do that. Not only does it seem like a big commitment, but also I am not very good with directions and I can see thousands of people getting lost as I start changing street names and highway exits and highlighting Starbucks stores. As we travel along, I notice that Waze will occasionally ask me, “Still there?” I will admit, at first, I thought he was asking me if I was alert and paying attention, like when my Toyota asks me if I need a coffee break when my driving is slow or erratic. But no, Davy was asking me if the roadblock he just told me about was “still there.”

This is like an epiphany for me. Suddenly I am drunk with Waze power. “Pothole straight ahead.” Still there? Yes! The pothole is still there. “Police up ahead,” Davy sings. “Still there?” NO! He is gone! NOT THERE! CLICK! This keeps me busy for about 20 minutes until it becomes way too much responsibility and focus for me.

About midway through the ride I receive a text from a family friend that includes her husband and Ted on it as well. I respond to her text and suddenly hear a (seemingly unrelated) barking sound. “Where did that come from?” I say, looking around to see if someone is watching a funny animal video. “Oh,” Ted says, “that’s my notification for your texts.” WAIT WHAT? My notification is a BARK?? Who is the dog, Ted? I am the dog? I am the dog?

We arrive in Nashville making very good time, however, with the weather forecast, we know that we have only a little bit of light left before the rain hits us. What exactly do Greek people do with limited time in the great city of Nashville? Do we go listen to country music? No way, there is no Bouzouki player in a country band. Do we go have the famous hot chicken or BBQ? Of course not, it’s LENT for goodness sakes! No, instead, like every good Greek American family, we go visit the exact replica of the Parthenon!! Yep, we did it. Thankfully we take some pictures just as it gets dark. Phew.

By the time we get to the hotel, it is pouring rain. There is a flood advisory. We are supposed to leave in the morning for Savannah.

Ted: What time is check-out? There is a flood advisory. We might have to stay here for a while tomorrow.

Me: We are not staying here. There is not going to be a flood.🙄🙄 Suddenly I am reminded of the great Wyoming tornado chase of 2016. Ted wanted to stop in a random Dollar Store out in the middle of nowhere and ask to go in their basement and I wanted him to step on the gas while I watched the radar. (See Security vs. Independence)

And how did our road trip end? Well, we left the next day (as scheduled) and ended up making it to Savannah safely, and having a lovely four days. I wore the same two outfits, did not change my jewelry once, and never pulled out those grey strappy heels. Georgie did a fabulous job watching our house and our dog. Athena loved Georgie and got lots of attention and trips to the dog park. My jewelry was safe and Ted’s Best Buy card was not compromised. In fact, I would say Spring Break 2021 was a success for everyone.

Well, for everyone except Loyola.

And in case you were wondering…back in 2016? We did outrun that tornado.

Today marks one week into January. It seems like everyone was looking forward to a new year more than usual this year due to the awfulness of 2020. Of course, we all know that just changing from 12/31 to 1/1 isn’t going to make that much of a difference in our personal lives, let alone in the global sense. Still, there is hope around the corner as a vaccine is available. And a new year signifies a new start.

And yet…

I’m not sure I’m ready for a new start. Yes, all this sitting around and going nowhere and seeing no one has made me stir crazy. Stir crazy, but also unmotivated. I miss my friends, but I don’t want to leave my house. I have plenty of time to work on home projects, but no desire to do them. I am bored and lonely, but feel anxiety about going out. It’s not even the virus anymore. It’s just me.

We spent Thanksgiving and Christmas at home alone. It was just the four of us. And as sad as we were to forgo our annual trip to see my family in Michigan, there was a simplicity and quiet without all the chaos and busyness of previous years.

Side note: For Thanksgiving dinner we used our Good China. For the very first time. After 23 years. It is called Palace and is made by Pickard in case you are interested. (You bet I still remember the name of it.) We paired it with our silver. (Romance of the Sea, by Wallace). Also never used. I literally had to unwrap it from the original plastic packaging. Both my kids said, “Where did we get this stuff?”

During break, the kids and I spent a lot of time together. We baked. We talked. We laughed. We made six different kinds of cookies and delivered them to friends. We made hot cocoa bombs. We played board games. We drove around and looked at Christmas lights. We opened gift after gift after gift. Yes, I overdid it. No, I don’t care. We watched lots of movies. And yep, we spent a lot of time on electronics.

Even though I look forward to when this pandemic is over, there is a part of me that has a vague anxiety about things getting back to normal. “Normal” being hanging out with friends and going out to eat and driving kids to soccer and guitar and baseball. “Normal” being in-person school and soccer tournaments and going on vacation. “Normal” being Greek Camp and sleepovers and swimming at the pool. In other words, “back to normal” means over-scheduled and overwhelmed and never home and everyone eating dinner at different times while looking at their phone. Remind me again why we are trying to get back to this?

Time slips away and I look at my 15-year-old and realize he’s shaving and driving and I only have two more years left with him until he is gone for good. My 12-year-old, who was in grade school a year ago, will be in high school in a year and a half. I just want to absorb every minute that I have with them.

Someday they will look back and tell their kids about the worst year of their life. Where they were cooped up inside and there was nothing to do and they couldn’t go to school and they couldn’t play sports and they didn’t travel and they were bored all winter. And someday I will tell those same kids about the time where I got to have my babies near me for a whole year and I didn’t have to share them with anyone. Where we played board games and did puzzles and watched movies and baked cookies and stayed home all the time.

And how it was a year I will savor forever.

So make the best of this test 
And don't ask why
It's not a question
But a lesson learned in time
It's something unpredictable
But in the end it's right
I hope you had the time of your life
--Green Day 

I have been the president of the women’s philanthropy group at my church for a year now. We have meetings and social events throughout the year, but the main focus is fundraising so we can support charitable local and national organizations.

Every summer there is a National Convention where several clergy and delegates meet to discuss past initiatives and introduce new ones. We also hear from speakers, and since the conventions are held in big cities, sprinkle in a bit of fun.

This year, because of Covid, the convention was held virtually. What this means is that over 500 (primarily) Greek women (mostly) between the ages of 50 and 70 (that’s me) would be on a zoom call together. For 7 hours. And since it’s run by Greeks, you can factor in an extra hour or so at least because of something we call Greek Time* and because, hello, it is 500 Greek women on a zoom call.

*Greek Time is when you tell everyone to meet at 7:30 but everyone arrives between 8:00 and 8:30. If you want people to show up on time, you say “NOT GREEK TIME” and then everyone shows up between 7:45 to 8:00. One time I hosted a wedding shower at our home for some of Ted’s non-Greek friends when we first got married. The party invitation said 6pm. When the doorbell rang at 6pm I was annoyed, panicked, confused, but mostly NOT READY. It was then that I realized that even though I had been aware of Greek Time for my entire life I did not realize that Americans (which is what we Greeks call non-Greeks even though we are also American. It doesn’t make sense I know just go with it) arrive ON TIME. Like, if the party is at 4pm they show up at 4pm. It’s a hard concept to grasp, I know.

Back to the online convention. We have been instructed to have an appropriate background and dress professionally and refrain from eating during the meeting. Check, Check, ummm…

Since the convention was supposed to be held in Cleveland, our entertainment part of the day has been changed from a tour of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame to a prerecorded video hosted by a representative from the museum who looks the love child of Mama Cass and Weird Al. The presentation is certainly interesting and entertaining, but I will admit, after so many hours of looking at a screen, it is hard for me to give it my full attention. I am starting to get a headache and I have that feeling of exhaustion you get when you do nothing all day. Nevertheless, I keep one eye on the screen because we have been informed that soon there will be a Rock and Roll Trivia Game. If there is one thing I am good at it is trivia and if there is one thing I am it is competitive (except for with sports as I know I am not athletic). I do not want to miss the contest which I feel sure I will win based on the demographic of the contestants. Let’s face it, I am on a call in which 70% of the people owned 8-tracks. I am a shoe-in to win a contest about music. Unless this quiz is going to ask questions about Simon and Garfunkel or Steely Dan, I am going to win.

The contest begins and I quickly realize that my cockiness was unwarranted as the questions are based off the 20 minute video we just watched that I was only half paying attention to. How many square feet is the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? How should I know? Why don’t you ask me which Spice Girl I would be? Posh, obviously. (Okay, fine. Probably Scary). What year was the first band inducted? Who cares? I can name all the boys in One Direction, does that count for anything? Why was Cleveland chosen for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? I don’t know! But you should see me do the dance from Thriller!

Shockingly, I tank on the Rock and Roll Trivia Game. It turns out Haroula, 79, from Pittsburgh was paying a lot more attention than I was. Which is fine because it turns out the prize was a life alert necklace. JUST KIDDING! Do NOT write me letters or impeach me from my presidency please. Zayn, Liam, Niall, Harry, and Louis and I were just making a joke. Sheesh.

It is hour six, and by now I am not even trying to hide the fact that I am snacking. I have also moved from my desk chair to the couch in the playroom which is still in peak toddler decor complete with princess frogs painted on the wall behind me. I do not care. I see a lady in her square with her head in her hands, looking down and dejected. As if she has given up on any hope of saving the rest of the day. Same lady, same. I see another lady lounging comfortably on her couch. I feel sure this is against the rules. Another woman has only her neck in the frame. I notice with absolute glee there is a woman GETTING INTO HER BED with her dog! It’s like I am in my own version of Rear Window except I am not anywhere near as elegant as Grace Kelly and Ted is no Jimmy Stewart and even if for any reason he was injured enough to be in a wheelchair temporarily (like say, a bee sting, or a scratch from a twig) he would not be spearheading an investigation. He would be too weak and I would be too busy waiting on him while completely annoyed.

But I digress.

We are nearing the end and one of the final speakers is just finishing up her presentation. When she is finished, the moderator asks if there are any questions. There is a strict protocol where you raise your digital hand, wait to be called on, and then un-mute yourself to ask the question. When questions are over, they are over. You cannot ask a question about a previous presentation.

What happens next is the most exciting part of the convention. Althea from Rocky River raises her digital hand and she is not happy. Althea wants us to know that she was called on during the last Q & A period but she was not unmuted by the moderator so she could not speak. She then proceeds to tell us what question she was GOING to ask if she were allowed. She ends her comment by saying, “I will take a pass on asking my question.” And then she smiles into the camera. But she is doing that Greek elderly thing where she is smiling but she is not happy and you can just tell. I don’t know if grandmas in other cultures do this but if you have seen it you know. It’s a passive-aggressive smile that makes you nervous-laugh while the hair on your arms stands up.

Side Note: I first remember experiencing this smile from my Yiayia circa 1987 and I believe we still have the episode on video somewhere. It was several years after my Papou had passed away and she was still wearing all black, the custom for Greek widows from a certain time. She had maybe ventured into navy and brown, but patterns and colors were non-negotiable. So she opens her Christmas gift to see my mother and aunt have given her a lovely dark maroon dress, very modest and simple. With a look of shock, disdain, and horror, she exclaims “A RED SHIRT?” closes the box and says, “No.” She then looks up, sees the video camera, remembers she is being filmed, and says “Thank you,” and smiles.

THAT is the smile, dear readers, that Althea is currently giving the moderator.

And that would have been entertaining enough for me, but what comes next is just an added bonus. For whatever reason, Althea does not mute herself back up. Which means she is still on full-screen. So the next thing you know, poor Althea, WHILE ON FULL-SCREEN, gets up and starts walking around her bedroom hanging up clothes. Did I mention she is on full screen? I wish I had a picture. Okay, I do. But I have to show some restraint. Let’s just say that for around 60 glorious seconds, 500 convention goers watched, spellbound, as Althea reorganized her closet.

It was a pretty good ending to a long day. I heard the next convention is in New York. I better start brushing up on my pizza trivia…

***Names, ages, and cities have been changed to protect the innocent. There is also a good chance stories have been embellished.***

Let me preface this by saying I am ardent supporter of mask-wearing.

Now let me also say that these masks are uncomfortable. Sometimes they are too tight. Sometimes they are too loose. Sometimes they ride up. Or down. They pull on my ears. And don’t get me started on how much I sweat underneath them. It’s like a constant rainforest from my upper lip to my chin. (Which actually makes wearing the mask convenient because it then doubles as a little hanky I end up using to wipe off the sweat). When I am wearing a mask, I feel like a can’t talk, breathe, or hear what anyone is saying.

A couple of weeks ago I was due for my yearly eye exam. In case you have never read one of my blogs before, you should know I have terrible eyesight. I have had glasses since I was 8 and then switched to contacts at 13. I am nearsighted and haven’t been able to see far away up until about two or three years ago when suddenly I couldn’t see close-up either. You would think that this phenomenon would cause my eyesight to even out and eventually my eyes would be back to 20/20, but no. It just means that now I can’t see close up OR far away.

Since the eye doctor that I had been seeing for years just retired, I seized the opportunity to move to a clinic closer to home. I did not think this would be an issue since I have had the same prescription for years and have been wearing the same brand and type of contacts forever. The new doctor would merely give me a routine checkup and hand over my standard prescription.

Side note: This seems like a good time to tell you that if you are thinking about getting your eyes checked, stop and ask yourself if you can suffer through with the same glasses or contacts for the next six months or year or however long this pandemic lasts. If the answer is yes, then wait. If the answer is no, wait anyway.

I walk up to the clinic and I am greeted at the door by a 15-year-old boy with a thermometer that I think must be the receptionist’s or doctor’s son who was bribed to be there for the summer or maybe he is getting paid minimum wage I don’t know. Before he lets me in, he checks my temperature with the little gadget that gets close to my forehead but not really. I mean, either we have come a LONG way with technology or this thing is just for show, because I don’t understand how something one inch from my body can tell my internal temperature when it seems like just yesterday I needed to stick a glass tube of mercury under my tongue. I mean, how have we gone from pushing something up our baby’s butts to a hovercraft on our forehead? How accurate can this method be? I’m 51 and pretty much always hot and plus it’s 95 degrees out but with the humidity feels more like 101 so how do I know that those factors aren’t affecting my internal temperature and by the way did I mention under my mask I have droplets of sweat running down my chin?

As Opie checks me, I worry I will register at 104 degrees and be sent directly to the hospital where they will discover it was a false alarm and that I in fact do not have Covid but instead diagnosis me with “post-menopausal-hot-flash” syndrome.

Luckily, I am approved to go inside. I check in with the receptionist who tells me to sign in. I take the pen from the “clean” container and sign in and place it in the “dirty” container. This gives me a false sense of confidence so I try not to think about the fact that I just opened the door using the handle everyone else did and also rested my hands on the counter everyone else did. The receptionist is wearing a mask and there is a Plexiglas divider between us so everything she says is muffled and I think she tells me to take a seat but as far as I know she could have said you are the 100th patient and you win a trip to Mexico but that’s a long shot so I sit down in the waiting area in a chair and wonder if I am in a “clean” chair or a “dirty” chair as it has no label.

Finally, it is time for the doctor to see me. We go through the usual pleasantries and information gathering and then it’s time to take the exam. At this point I realize with alarm that once the machine is pushed up to my eyes, because of the mask I am wearing, my breathing is causing the lens I am supposed to look through to immediately fog up.

Now let’s face it, the outcome of this exam is going to decide whether or not I graduate to old-lady bifocals, so I can’t risk any mistakes on my vision test today. And right now, my face is too close to the machine, my mask is too close to my face, and with each breath I take, the letters are getting more and more blurry.

“F-Z-D-P…” I read the next line down. I squint even more. One more line down. I stumble through it. There is only one line left and things are really hazy by now. At this point, it’s like I just opened the dishwasher after a steaming hot cycle while wearing my glasses. I hate to exaggerate and say I was in a full-blown panic, but I WAS IN A FULL-BLOWN PANIC.

Finally, I admit to the doctor that the lens is just too foggy because of the mask. “That happens,” she says, “I can wipe it off if you need.” I need. She wipes the lenses. But every time I breathe out it happens again.

“Which looks better, one, or two?”

“Wipe please.”

“One or Two?:

“Wipe please.”

“One or Two?”

“Wipe please.”

Dear Lord, I can’t ask her to wipe it after every time she rotates that lens. I know this drill all too well. We are going to be doing this lens switcheroo another 8 or 9 times.

By now I am having an out-of-body experience, so I make the ridiculous decision to just hold my breath for the rest of the exam. I mean, why not limit even MORE oxygen to my brain? Which would have been a good idea if not for the fact that it’s nearly impossible to hold your breath and talk at the same time. And so when the next question comes, I croak out “ONE?” while in complete ophthalmological hysteria.

At this point I am positive I am giving all the wrong answers and also I might pass out from not breathing and l am pretty sure my prescription is going to come back wrong and I will get my contacts and I won’t be able to see out of them and in the meantime “One or Two?” is done but now I need to look for the hot air balloon and everything is a blurry mess and what do you mean YOU WANT TO DILATE MY EYES TOO?

Finally, it is over.

“Your prescription stayed the same,” she says and smiles. “Did you know they make bifocal contacts?”