Wanderlust

Santa Teresa Beach, Costa Rica

I have an incurable, insatiable case of wanderlust. It's in my DNA. Ask anyone that knows me and they will tell you I am a total and complete travel nut. No, make that a travel hound, always sniffing out the next hot spot that's off the beaten path. Whether it's riding elephants in Thailand (honeymoon), ice climbing in the Swiss Alps (most frightening stunt I have ever attempted), skiing in Austria (exceptional), working the grape harvest in the beautiful wine region of Alsace, France (definitely the most physically demanding and exhausting), or sitting on Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janiero, Brazil (purely indulgent and hedonistic) every trip has pushed my personal limits in one way or another and broadened my perspective and respect for the world around me.

When I was fifteen I was lucky enough to travel through Southern Spain for a month. The following year, a summer in Brazil. After that, a college semester abroad in Copenhagen. My parents just believed it was part of my education; equally important as algebra and chemistry. Finances didn't allow for international sojourns each year so we found scholarships- one through my Dad's employer at the time and another grant that sent me abroad in college. I worked part time to supplement spending money and trip by fabulous trip, away I would go. When I was younger, I always preferred traveling alone, which allowed for detours whenever needed. I was hanging in Prague with a great group of Australians, Kiwis and California surf bums when they all decided that spending Halloween night in a castle in Transylvania (yeah, it's a real place!) seemed like a fantastic idea. Me, not so much. Traveling solo allowed me the freedom to hit the trail again in search of something just a touch lighter, which is how I found myself hanging over the side of a "glacier crevasse" in Switzerland with cramp-on's and a pick ax. At that point Transylvania sounded like Disneyland.

My travels earlier in life bordered on the thrilling and dangerous, which I am sure to this day my parents still don't know all the details. After college, as soon as employment became a necessity my passport seemed to get stamped with much more civilized locales- Australia, France, Italy. Corporate frequent flier miles put me in the front of the plane and expense accounts landed me in cushy hotels and world class restaurants. It was pretty plush, but after a few years it all left me exhausted, unfulfilled, and most importantly, guilt ridden with one little guy at home and another on the way. Something had to give, so almost eight years ago I hung up my corporate hat and traded it all in for carpools and Caillou. As you can imagine, travel came to a screeching halt and I was left behind as Mr. C packed his bag every week for a different destination. I made him promise that as soon as our babies got bigger, we would hit the road again in search of great adventure and places far flung to introduce to our children. Hallelujah! The time has come.

My boys have all been passport holders since before they could walk and little by little they have each hit the road with us. Our oldest saw the Hawaiian islands three times before his younger brother came along. Our middle son screamed his way through Paris for a long weekend. And sure enough, just as I hoped, they all look forward to the experience of seeing new places, tasting new foods and exploring new cultures. They truly love traveling like I do. They pack like pros and navigate security as if they were seasoned business travelers. In two weeks we are heading to a remote area of Costa Rica for bug hunting, monkey handling, zip lining, and surfing. It will take us nearly eight hours and three planes (one being a twin engine Cessna) to reach our destination but we are thrilled and our kids are literally squirming out of their skin with excitement. I am proud of their sense of adventure and willingness to explore the world. We have many places on our list- Africa, China, The Galapagos, India. I am thrilled that my travel companions now include Mr. C and my three sons.

Wanderlust lives on...

What Happens in Vegas...

Stays in Vegas!

Love It or Loath It

Viva Las Vegas!

This weekend we are jetting off for another 40th celebration in, you guessed it, Sin City. Mr. C's BFF is crossing over to the dark side and has invited us along for the ride. Now, Mr. C's BFF, whom we shall call Uncle Bub, is no stranger to a good time, especially in Vegas. Let's just say he and Mr. C have spent a night or two trolling this crazy town together; winning money, losing money, seeing shows (and not the Cirque de Soleil types), and causing a little bit of general mayhem in various hotels over the years. Thank GOD the wives are invited this time around- I'm not sure Vegas could handle these two on a 40th birthday bender.

So, what does it mean to head out to Vegas as a 40 year old? Hopefully it doesn't include a tiger in the bathroom, a baby in the closet, a small Asian man flying out of the trunk of a car, Mike Tyson, or any missing teeth. (OK- if you don't know what I'm talking about here you clearly have not seen The Hangover. Stop reading right now, go watch it and get back to me when you are privy to popular culture.)

It means a nice hotel (The Bellagio), a few nice meals (no 3 a.m. buffets), and a private VIP lounge at Tabu so we are not forced to dance with the masses (a little different than bumping and grinding next to drooling, drunken bachelors on their last night of freedom) at The Luxor.

Of course there will be a little gambling. Who can resist fresh oxygen being pumped into the casinos with all those bells dinging and coins clanking? And don't you just love the crowds leaning around the Roulette tables when someone is on a roll (no pun intended)? I absolutely hate to admit how much I love the energy in Vegas. It never sleeps (maybe between 4 am and 5 am it takes a little snooze) and there is constant action. I know it comes from seedy roots, but Vegas has really cleaned up its act in the last 12 years. Every serious chef from coast to coast has an outpost there. The hotels are gorgeous. The spas are pretty killer. And don't forget about Celine Dion. What's not to love?

Viva Las Vegas and Happy 40th Uncle Bub!!!

The Bellagio

Let's just say there are people that love Las Vegas, and people that hate Las Vegas. I happen to be one of those people that L-O-V-E Vegas!

Surprised? Yeah right.

"In case you were wondering..."

courtesy of www.826Valencia.org

Received this today...completely made me smile.

We all need a little reinforcement from time to time.

Thank you!!!

Ya Sure...You Betcha

Are we there yet? Well, not quite, but I am looking through the tunnel and I can almost see the light. I raked my roof yesterday for what I hope will be the final time this season. I threw Ice Melt on the ground in hopes of seeing the pavers that lie beneath the nasty, uneven crap that has become my driveway. Yes folks, we have hit the Dog Days of Winter. Melt baby, MELT!!!

Before all this glorious snow gives way to green leaves and grass, let's not forget about all the fun times we had this winter. So often my West Coast friends say, "How the hell do you do it?" Or, more directly, "WHAT the hell do you do for all those, long, dark months?"

Well, my West Coast pals, this one's for you.

Here in what is most certainly known as God's Country (insert chuckle #1) we spend most weekends drinking coolers full of PBR in heated shacks while sitting around a hole in the ice that we popped open with a giant corkscrew (insert chuckle #2) waiting for a catch. Yeah baby, ice fishing!

With a backpack full of bologna sandwiches and a flask or two of Peppermint Schnapps's we tell Ole and Lena jokes until our faces are frozen then hop on our snowmobiles with one eye open and hope we make it across the vast frozen wasteland that doubles as a recreational lake in the summertime while dodging the DNR. Needing at least one bump before making it all the way home, we beach our sleds at the nearest dive bar where the Juke Box (yeah, I said Juke Box) plays only Country and you pull a frozen pizza out of a cooler and hand it to the frosted hair beauty behind the bar and tell her to pop it in for ya while she mixes you a Folger's and buttered rum concoction. Hopefully by now you are sober enough to jump into your pick-up (watch the gun rack) with two eyes open to be home in time for Cheer's reruns.

Typical day in Minnesota, right? OOOOHHHH NOOOO.

(Can't you just hear the accent?)

Ummm, Minnesota friends, I hate to inform you, but this is what so many folks on the Left Coast believe we do with our time from December to April. I kid you not. Don't be offended, it's all right. Let them think we are a collection of bumpkins with missing teeth and a taste for processed, salted meats.

But let's be honest here, winter can be long. It can bleak. It can be downright depressing when you don't breathe fresh air for 48 hours at a stretch, but I gotta hand it to ya, my hearty Midwestern comrades- you know how to have a hellava good time!

www.pedalpub.com.

Betcha never heard of this West Coasties- peddling around your own sixteen seater personal pub from bar at bar. Quite a novel way to do a pub crawl AND keep the PBR flowing! Fun stuff.

(Never mind the Lederhosen on the fella in the middle.)

We play a miniature form of tennis with a paddle. In a cage. In the snow with a heated floor. Even when it's 8 degrees. OK, it sounds weird, but it's cool.
And then there is the cross country skiing, the snowshoeing, the hockey, the downhill skiing.

We earn our stripes here in The Heartland and we wear them with dignity and honor. It takes a special person to be able to handle life in this freezing little corner of the world.
I am proudly sewing my "I Survived my Fourth Winter in Minnesota" on my knee- length North Face jacket. Yup, you betcha. I've made it (almost) four years and have not gone criminally insane. Yet.