Terry Helwig's Blog - Posts Tagged "daughter"
Beware of Flying with a Copy of Moonlight on Linoleum
I’m pleased to announce that the paperback of Moonlight on Linoleum will debut on bookstore shelves Tuesday, May 1. Only six months have passed since the hardcover debuted last October; however, my publisher moved up the pub date of the soft-cover edition to arrive in time for summer vacations. Now the soft cover can be tucked easily into bags and satchels headed for beaches, parks and airplane rides.
Dare I admit that I would love to see someone sit down beside me on an airplane and pull out a copy of Moonlight on Linoleum? I surmise I could keep quiet for all of 60 seconds. My daughter seems to be afflicted with the same tendency. Just recently, she confessed that she stalked an airline passenger all the way to her seat and excitedly explained to the unsuspecting passenger: My mom wrote the book you’re carrying.
I’m reminded of the time my daughter and I flew first class for a once-in-a-life-time trip to Africa. (If you’ve read Moonlight on Linoleum, you know how important this trip was for me.) I saved enough money to fly my daughter and myself first class so we could sleep on the long overnight trip—I didn’t want to waste a single minute in Africa on jet lag. As my daughter and I slid into our leather seats on the airplane, the other passengers in first class wore ho-hum expressions. They casually shook out their newspapers and thumbed open their books, none of them mine, as they settled in for the long flight. My daughter and I, on the other hand, wore expressions that said something like: Wow, have you ever seen anything like this?
We repeatedly pushed a button that raised and lowered a dividing screen between us. Not only that, we found another button that reclined and retracted our seats into a lounger. It looked like we were experiencing an electrical malfunction, except we seemed to be enjoying ourselves immensely. Whenever the screen descended between us, we passed a bowl of nuts, taking only one, and making sure our little finger curled into propriety. We had almost as much fun in first class as we did on safari in Africa. Almost…
I’m happy to announce that my daughter will be traveling with me once again; this time to New Mexico and Colorado to promote the paperback of Moonlight on Linoleum*. Neither of us is flying first class so we should be fairly inconspicuous—unless someone pulls out a copy of Moonlight on Linoleum.
Then all bets are off.
*If you’re in one of the cities I’m visiting please stop by and say hello. See my travel schedule on the calendar page of my website http://www.terryhelwig.com/calendar.aspx
Dare I admit that I would love to see someone sit down beside me on an airplane and pull out a copy of Moonlight on Linoleum? I surmise I could keep quiet for all of 60 seconds. My daughter seems to be afflicted with the same tendency. Just recently, she confessed that she stalked an airline passenger all the way to her seat and excitedly explained to the unsuspecting passenger: My mom wrote the book you’re carrying.
I’m reminded of the time my daughter and I flew first class for a once-in-a-life-time trip to Africa. (If you’ve read Moonlight on Linoleum, you know how important this trip was for me.) I saved enough money to fly my daughter and myself first class so we could sleep on the long overnight trip—I didn’t want to waste a single minute in Africa on jet lag. As my daughter and I slid into our leather seats on the airplane, the other passengers in first class wore ho-hum expressions. They casually shook out their newspapers and thumbed open their books, none of them mine, as they settled in for the long flight. My daughter and I, on the other hand, wore expressions that said something like: Wow, have you ever seen anything like this?
We repeatedly pushed a button that raised and lowered a dividing screen between us. Not only that, we found another button that reclined and retracted our seats into a lounger. It looked like we were experiencing an electrical malfunction, except we seemed to be enjoying ourselves immensely. Whenever the screen descended between us, we passed a bowl of nuts, taking only one, and making sure our little finger curled into propriety. We had almost as much fun in first class as we did on safari in Africa. Almost…
I’m happy to announce that my daughter will be traveling with me once again; this time to New Mexico and Colorado to promote the paperback of Moonlight on Linoleum*. Neither of us is flying first class so we should be fairly inconspicuous—unless someone pulls out a copy of Moonlight on Linoleum.
Then all bets are off.
*If you’re in one of the cities I’m visiting please stop by and say hello. See my travel schedule on the calendar page of my website http://www.terryhelwig.com/calendar.aspx
Get-lost Days, Good for the Soul
In our fast-paced, information-age society, setting aside chunks of time to reconnect is becoming a lost art. While I envy Thoreau’s year in the woods, my nurture and nourishment have, by necessity, been parceled into smaller increments—mostly in the shape of days I call "get-lost days."
The premise of a get-lost day (or a get-lost afternoon) is to block out time to dawdle, explore and connect with the world. Get-lost days fuel my creativity. I often back out of the garage not knowing my destination. The mystery of where the day's current will lead is part of the fun. Years ago, my husband waved to me and my daughter from the garage and called out: "Don't forget your map."
My daughter Mandy, a veteran of get-lost days by age ten, rolled down her window and yelled, “Dad, you don’t use maps on get-lost days.” For the most part, she was right.
Over the years, we hiked Thoreau’s Walden Pond; stained our fingers blue picking wild blueberries; slurped fresh watermelon under various oaks; and bought antique china cups for a tea party. We discovered new trails, tucked-away restaurants (yes, a few dives) and quaint neighborhoods. Once, we even stopped by a roadside stand advertising "Piglets for Sale." I'm happy to report we didn't buy any piglets, but the fresh vegetables were divine!
I have celebrated get-lost days for forty years, and I have never returned empty-hearted. Truly, none of us knows how a given day will unfold. Get-lost days merely celebrate this mystery and create a space for the soul to loiter and revel in the unraveling of time.
The premise of a get-lost day (or a get-lost afternoon) is to block out time to dawdle, explore and connect with the world. Get-lost days fuel my creativity. I often back out of the garage not knowing my destination. The mystery of where the day's current will lead is part of the fun. Years ago, my husband waved to me and my daughter from the garage and called out: "Don't forget your map."
My daughter Mandy, a veteran of get-lost days by age ten, rolled down her window and yelled, “Dad, you don’t use maps on get-lost days.” For the most part, she was right.
Over the years, we hiked Thoreau’s Walden Pond; stained our fingers blue picking wild blueberries; slurped fresh watermelon under various oaks; and bought antique china cups for a tea party. We discovered new trails, tucked-away restaurants (yes, a few dives) and quaint neighborhoods. Once, we even stopped by a roadside stand advertising "Piglets for Sale." I'm happy to report we didn't buy any piglets, but the fresh vegetables were divine!
I have celebrated get-lost days for forty years, and I have never returned empty-hearted. Truly, none of us knows how a given day will unfold. Get-lost days merely celebrate this mystery and create a space for the soul to loiter and revel in the unraveling of time.
