Change In Plans

This short post is about our trip back to the Catskills, where we are gearing up for the next leg of our trip.

We had a farewell dinner with India’s family last night in Nashville. They are all very loving and supportive, but I think they are saddened that we will be away for Christmas, and generally a little confused by our trip. My guess is that they have been pretty confused in the past as well, for example, when we:

• moved (unmarried) to South Africa the first time in 1991, and lived in sin
• both changed our last names when we got married in New York
• drove from Cape Town to Nairobi in 1995
• moved back to South Africa from New York in 1996
• gave birth to our first child in Cape Town, rather than in Nashville
• chose to live in New York (then New Jersey) when we finally did move back to the U.S.

They seem to shower us with love and hope for the best.

This morning we left for the airport in a driving rainstorm at 5:15 (too many early morning flights). We checked in our absurd amount of luggage, boarded the plane, and were airborne by 6:45am. We landed in clear and sunny Newark, and drove up to our Catskills house.

By the time we arrived in the Beaverkill Valley, the skies had clouded over, and the temperature was in the high 40’s. In the two weeks we have been away, all of the leaves have fallen, it has snowed (and melted), and everyone has shifted into winter mode.

Zola, Tallulah, and I went for a bicycle ride before sunset, maybe the last one of the year. We saw a family of bald eagles near the fish hatchery, which made us feel very patriotic. Zola complained about the cold, and Tallulah shouted “Cowboy up, cupcake!” at the top of her lungs several times. Because she was in the seat on the back of my bike, when her hands got cold a few minutes later, she just slipped them under my sweater without Zola noticing and retorting.

We have a lot of packing and organizing to do in the next two days, before we head down to New York City and then off to Japan (and India and Nepal and the Maldives and …)

Unfortunately, it seems unlikely that Zola will see his friend Matthew before we go, which will be a little traumatic. When we landed from Italy, Zola and Matthew talked on the phone. Zola launched into a Pokemon monologue (or “Pokemonologue”), which was interrrupted by Matthew saying something like: “I am not so much into Pokemon anymore. I am much more into Avatar now.” When they hung up, Zola said that “a little fire went out inside of him” when Matthew told him he wasn’t into Pokemon anymore.

This may be somewhat of a metaphor for all of our external relationships in this year of travel. Fires may not go out, but they may dim and need rekindling when we get back.

On the other hand, Zola did tell my mother-in-law that his favorite part of the trip was spending so much time with his Dad, so there are benefits as well, I guess.

This short post is about my day volunteering for the Obama campaign in Nashville.

We took Tallulah home at 4pm yesterday, after about 5 hours in the surgi-center and more than two hours of actual oral surgery. She was fine, and good spirited, if a little puffy-cheeked, throughout the entire ordeal. Kids are amazing.

After we arrived home, late yesterday afternoon, I called the Obama campaign headquarters in Nashville, and asked what I needed to do in order to volunteer. The answer was simple: show up, and we will put you to work. They didn’t even take my name.

This morning, I hitched a ride into the center of Nashville (Rosa Parks Boulevard) with my father-in-law, L.C. I was a little early for the campaign world, I guess, arriving at about 8:45. The cavernous Nashville HQ was pretty much empty. Not an auspicious start.

Before 9am, however, a team of volunteer co-ordinators had arrived, registered me, and gotten me working the phones. There were no land lines, only a huge table full of cell phones on chargers. Today’s big get-out-the-vote task in the phone bank was to contact elderly Democratic voters (80-95 years old!), encourage them to vote, and find out whether they wanted an absentee ballot. This was (at least) the second pass through these phone lists, because my pages were already heavily annotated, and I was instructed to just call the ones coded “No Answer” and “Busy”.

Calling the old people was more fun than I would have imagined: “Since you are recovering from the triple-bypass surgery, Ma’am, can we help you get an absentee ballot and vote from the comfort of your home?” At about 11am, though, I was flattered to be selected for door-to-door canvassing.

With a very smooth young African-American guy as my partner (he on the left side of the street, I on the right), we knocked on doors in a Nashville neighborhood called The Bordeaux. It had been described to me as “demographically friendly.” This turned out to mean “mostly African American.” The purpose of the canvassing was to get voters to go to the polls early - today if possible.

About two minutes after I started, a young guy yelled out the window of his car as he drove by: “This is the ‘hood, bro. Don’t get shot!” That was a little dramatic for what was an entirely pleasant experience. Of the 50 doors I knocked on, maybe 20 had people at home. 19 were planning to vote (or had already voted) for Obama/Biden. One woman told me she was undecided, but would enter the voting booth on election day, and would pray “until Jesus tells me who to choose.” Hmmmm. My big accomplishment was calling in an “immediate ride” request, and having a nice elderly woman taken for early voting within 15 minutes. Impact!

When I returned to the HQ, I was served lunch, got back on the phone (now alongside dozens of other volunteers), and started calling the elderly voters once again. Throughout the day, the place got more crowded and more lively.

Overall, this was a fun and worthwhile day. It is too limited an experience (in time and in geographic scope) to draw any conclusions about the race, about the campaign, or about much of anything. That said, I was surprised by a couple of things that I observed:

1- The campaign seemed extremely well organized. As new volunteers wandered in (or returned), they were made immediately productive. Detailed plans for the day, and for the next 12 days were printed and hanging on the walls. There was enormous capacity in phones and computers and literature and paraphernalia. There was good guidance and oversight, and clear task orientation, all in a completely fluid environment. Very impressive.

2- Even though Obama/Biden is trailing by 8 points in Tennessee, the turnout and energy of volunteers was amazing. It seems unlikely that a concerted get-out-the-vote effort amongst the 80-95 year-old demographic, or really anything else that a group of volunteers can do at this point, will close the 8-point gap. That said, the commitment and seriousness and passion of the volunteer effort is truly inspiring. This is the democratic process at its finest.

India and I view this period of me not working -this “year off”- as a precious gift. I had some fleeting remorse today that we are expending this gift time on our trip, rather than on a political campaign or on non-profit work. The trip still seems like the best thing for us as a family, and probably also the most fun. That said, I became more aware of the opportunity cost with my one-day visit to Campaignland.

This short post is about taking the kids to see a pediatric dentist in Nashville.

As we get ready to embark on the third, and longest, leg of our family trip, India had the good sense to schedule dental appointments for Zola and Tallulah. We found ourselves at an incredibly busy and well managed practice about three miles from India’s parents’ house.

The practice has about six administrators and at least ten hygienists/assistants, supporting three calm but busy doctors. The practice is designed to be entertaining and fun for kids. The waiting room has old-school arcade video games (with volumes turned way down), and a climbing/tunnel area. The treatment area itself has sports pictures and gear hanging up everywhere, and lots of windows. Above each treatment chair there is a TV screen built into the ceiling, tuned to the Disney Channel. Every kid gets a swag bag when they finish: toothbrushes and toothpaste and a mug and comics and games and stuff. Any kid who has more than an exam and tooth cleaning goes to claim a toy from a stack of prizes. Once a year, the practice hosts a free all-day picnic for its patients at a local amusement park. Every kid we saw seemed genuinely happy to be at the dentist’s office. Amazing. Maybe all suburban dentist offices are like this, and I am just easily impressed.

Unfortunately for us, Zola had to have a rotten baby tooth “wiggled out,” which wasn’t pleasant. They gave him laughing gas (although he didn’t seem affected by it very much), and pulled it. We agreed with Dr. Taylor that this was better than waiting for it to fall out on its own, and risking an abcess while we are in India or Nepal or somewhere. Zola is now nursing a wad of bloody gauze, and wondering if the tooth fairy will bring him Pokemon cards.

More unfortunately, little Tallulah needs some extensive work done on her baby molars. She was not blessed with thick enamel on her baby teeth: let’s hope the adult teeth are better. Apparently the best approach is to do this under general anesthesia in a surgical center.

We discussed several options with Dr. Taylor, who I think was both intrigued and slightly horrified by us. One option was to wait until we are in South Africa or Australia, and to find a good dentist there. Another option was to try and have the surgery done in Nashville before we leave for Japan (or delay our departure until we can have it done). “Do nothing” is apparently not an option.

In the end, Dr. Taylor cancelled his Wednesday-morning golf game (really), and will do the procedure tomorrow. Watching your child go under general anesthesia is an awful thing for a parent to experience, but this is the least painful, least stressful, and fastest way to solve the problem. Fewer sweets and more brushing are in both kids’ futures.

Capping off an afternoon of relatively unpleasant surprises, the “COBRA” dental insurance that we arranged when I left my job has somehow not gone into effect. We were fortunate to be able to pay cash and sort it out later, but I can at least imagine the stress of the financial tradeoffs for uninsured parents. Scary stuff. Having good health insurance is a great job benefit.

So, we will have more drama in our Nashville visit than we were hoping, but it will be good to have the kids’ dentistry sorted out.

Our original flight back to Winnipeg was cancelled, then just delayed by several hours, so we managed to Fletch our way onto a charter flight that was leaving on time. With minimal drama (relatively speaking - we were still on an ancient turboprop, taking off in lousy weather) we departed from Churchill and flew down south.

After four days in Churchill, Winnipeg seemed balmy and cosmopolitan. We actually sat and soaked up the afternoon sun for 20 minutes after we arrived.

Later that evening, because we were five passengers, and the taxi driver refused to bend the “four passenger rule” for us, we had to figure out another way to get from our hotel to a restaurant. Creating what will probably be Zola’s and Charlsi’s most abiding memory of the whole polar bear trip, we took a white stretch limousine to the restaurant (less expensive than two cabs). It was funny to me that the limo created more giddy, gee-whiz excitement in the two kids than the Tundra Buggy, or the second polar-bear sighting, or the turboprop plane. I’ve given up trying to predict what will get Zola excited. He was happy, we were happy.

Rae & Jerry’s, where we went for dinner, is a perfectly preserved, circa 1957 , retro fine dining steak house. It is a Winnipeg institution: red velvet, bucket seats in the cocktail lounge, dark wood paneling. We had a good dinner, celebrated our ploar bear adventure, called Amit the limo driver to take us back to the hotel, and got everyone to bed.

We were out of the hotel by about 6:15 this morning, through check-in and U.S. customs and passport control on the Winnipeg side by 7:30, and airborne at 8:30. We changed planes again in Minneapolis-St. Paul, and were back in Nashville just before noon. Aside from the woman in the seat in front of Zola complaining repeatedly to the flight attendant that he was kicking her (we eventually switched his seat), the flights were uneventful.

The polar bear trip was cool. We have a lot to think about and talk about over the next few days as we process the experience. Churchill is not quite ready for prime time as a tourist destination, but we had a great time, and we sure saw a lot of polar bears.

This very short post is about being back at Newark Airport, en route to Nashville. Prior to leaving my job in May, EWR had been a central part of my life for the previous several years.

We drove down out of the Beaverkill Valley at about 12:30pm. The trip to Newark was largely uneventful, except for the bad guidance given by the navigation system in my car. Having made that trip dozens of times before, I probably should have gone the way I know, but variety is the spice of life.

It is definitely strange to be at Newark Airport for the first time in several months. When I was still working, I flew out of and into this place with ridiculous frequency. Ironically, now that we are travelling full time, I haven’t been to (this) airport in a long while. It doesn’t appear to have changed much, but perhaps I have.

When I was working at McKinsey, and we were living in New Jersey, I could drive or take the train to most of my clients. I flew on average only about every other week.

When I left the Firm to take a corporate job, my office was first in St. Paul, Minnesota, and then in San Diego. Every Monday morning, week in and week out, I would kiss the sleeping family goodbye in a darkened house, drive the 45 minutes to Newark Airport, get on a plane, and be an absentee father and husband until Friday evening. On some special occasions I would leave a day later, or get back a day earlier.

This was no way to live, but somehow I talked myself into thinking it was OK (eg, “it’s only temporary”, “India and the kids are fine without me”, “I’m really not gone that much”, etc.)

Being at this airport brings back a flood of those memories, and makes me sad for what I have missed. Travelling this year as a family doesn’t make up for the years I was away, but it’s a start.

This short post is about arriving back at our cabin in the Catskills, after the first eight weeks of our trip. It is a sunny and crisp fall day, the foliage is simply spectacular, and we are all glad to be back.

The flight from Madrid to New York seemed to take forever: left a little late, strong headwinds, long delay in starting the kid-distraction movies. Mostly, I think we were just eager to get here.

Once we landed, everything was almost unbelievably smooth. The flight touched down at 7:30, by 7:55 we had all of our luggage and had cleared customs, and by 8:20 we had taken the Air Train out to the remotest parking lot and gotten in the car. Lu was even courteous enough to pee in a dark corner of the parking lot, and save us a stop.

We pulled into the driveway of our darkened Catskills cabin before 11:30, having travelled a total of 20 hours door to door from Positano.

Everyone was up before 5am, confused and jet lagged. The night sky was exceptionally clear, and the stars were bright and beautiful.

At dawn, we went up to look at our pond, and to admire the brilliant foliage up and down the valley. It is a truly spectacular fall day, like Robert Frost would write about, or state tourism boards would photograph feverishly for next year’s brochures. India went for a run in the mountains (carrying her “bear bell”), and was gone so long that we went looking for her. She said that it was so beautiful, and that she felt so good, that she just kep on going.

We have a lot to to do in the few days we are here, starting with about ten loads of laundry. For the time being, though, the kids are playing happily with their long-forgotten toys, and we are just enjoying being in our own place.