Hotel memories

A recent getaway had me reminiscing about accommodations. My first stay in a hotel was when I was in 6^th grade. We drove from Buffalo to New York City on our way to Long Island to visit family. About the vacation I remember the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty, the automat and a bus tour of the City that went through Chinatown, and my cousin’s house with 2 indoor staircases to the second floor. What I remember about the hotel was the noise outside and the shower. The only other shower I’d seen was at summer camp for back then homes had only bathtubs.

Since then, because of music, work, and wanderlust, I’ve stayed in monasteries, bed & breakfasts, people’s homes, lavish individual hotels, rural lodges, and major high- and low-end chains in nine countries around the world. I am grateful for each business trip and vacation and consider my life blessed to have had such opportunities.

My first lengthy stay was at the Madison Hotel in Madison, New Jersey when AT&T tapped me to work on a yearlong taskforce to plan for and monitor the breakup of the Bell System. We could go home every other weekend, and on my second trip home I packed up some of my sheet music. After that I was often found playing the piano in the hotel lobby. The taskforce created two pilots of what the post-monopoly service center would be like, one in St. Paul and the other in Omaha. From my New Jersey home away from home I also established a base at the Thunderbird Inn in Omaha and was at the St. Paul Hotel when Torvill and Dean earned their perfect 10s skating to Ravel’s Bolero.

Just a couple of years later I was one of four consultants who for months drove from Chicago to Ft. Wayne, Indiana on Sunday night and returned on Friday afternoon after a week of facilitating team building at the new General Motors plant. We stayed at the Marriott, where the staff let me store empty milk gallon jugs in a janitor’s closet so I would have them to do water aerobics in the swimming pool. Later that decade, while working on a project for the Alaska pipeline, I was at a hotel in Anchorage where the rooms included a small kitchenette. For other work assignments I’ve spent a week at hotels in Toronto, Galveston, Calgary, Denver, Istanbul, Tulsa, Dublin, and Howey-in-the-Hills. Such assignments accumulated points that resulted in free nights in Oahu, Seattle, and Auckland.

As a female traveling alone, I have gently reminded many front desk clerks not to announce a room number but to write it on the card they were giving me. I learned to request a room above the ground floor and that it is ok to ask for a room change if something is not satisfactory, particularly before most rooms were converted to non-smoking. Yes, I once got burned with scalding water and in Ireland had to call to have the water turned on. I have been irritated with a gazillion pillows on the bed and disappointed with mediocre room service and non-responsive porters. I have complained about noisy neighbors next door, kids running unsupervised in the hallway, or the lack of adequate heat or air conditioning.

I came to appreciate when something novel, like mints on the pillow or built in blow dryers became the norm. I found that most staff are helpful and want to make your stay in their establishment memorable only in a good way. But overall I am grateful for the scores of hotel rooms I cannot recall. For those with a comfortable bed, adequate water pressure with enough hot water, and whose construction ensured quiet. And, having been a maid at a Howard Johnson’s for two summers during college, for those that met expectations of cleanliness.

If you travel this holiday season perhaps your own hotel memories will surface. May they make you smile.

Marilyn

Friday night fish fry

When I was growing up the choices for eating out were limited.  There were family owned diners and the food counter at Woolworth’s. There were sub shops like John and Mary’s or pizza joints like Jacobi’s for after school or post football games, and if the family wanted exotic food, you could find Chinese. Few fancy restaurants and tearooms spotted the landscape.

Going out to eat was a big deal. This was the era when one dressed up to go shopping, so a lunch or dinner at a restaurant required one’s Sunday best. Except on Friday nights when families went to bars and children were welcome. All for a fish fry. In Buffalo, this meant battered haddock, French fries, and coleslaw. My parents had beer and I could order a Shirley Temple.

Over the years, as meatless Fridays were no longer the norm and a plethora of restaurant chains offering burgers, tacos, chicken, pasta, and salads appeared, eating out became more common. Most bars stopped the traditional fish fry so VFWs adopted Friday nights as a way to make money while providing people with a reasonable dinner and a chance to gather. Broiled became an option for the fish.

This came to mind because last week I was talking to a small business owner who has a seafood restaurant in Chicago and he mentioned they offer a Friday night fish fry. When I asked what fish he uses he said haddock. Then, on Friday night some friends and I ended up at a 60+ year-old restaurant with that neighborhood feel and lots of comfort food on the menu. Two of us had the ‘all you can eat’ fish fry. Turns out they use cod, and while it wasn’t the best plate of food I’ve ever had, included in each bite were the memories of all the previous Friday nights with family and other friends, and I savored every morsel.

Hope something delicious tickles your taste buds, be it pierogis or fried rice or spaghetti and that it provides a sweet nostalgia as we enter the holiday season.

Marilyn

PS: If you are in the Chicagoland area, check out New England Seafood Company (www.neseafoodcompany.com) not just for haddock but great fish every day!

More than five senses

Perhaps you are like me and didn’t get the memo about the time and place they were handing out the sense of direction gene so consequently I have none. From the time as a new driver when I got lost on my way to a babysitting job to last month coming home from Evanston, I take wrong turns and usually have no idea whether I should go left or right – and please, do not tell me north, south, east or west!

Do you go through times when it seems like your sense of humor has deserted you? As I sit here trying to recall the last time I laughed until I cried, one instance popped into my head, reminding me of a sense of connection with others.

Lately I’ve been missing a sense of accomplishment. While yes, in my new home everything has found a place and I gave myself a high five when I flattened and recycled the last box, there are still so many things on my to-do list, and at work it seems that nothing of high priority actually gets finished.  However, at both home and the office I do have a sense of place.

On some days I see so many indications in society that we’ve lost all sense of propriety, but I ask myself if that is all bad. I do worry however, about the lack of a sense of responsibility and accountability that reflects a diminished sense of right and wrong. Just reading the headlines backs me up on this.

As my generation begins to face trifocals and hearing aids and other issues with our five physical senses, we also share a sense of loss when each elder dies and now have deeper holes in our lives as we lose peers.

I'm sure you know other senses that should be mentioned and hope you'll share as I close with one that concerns me greatly. We have lost touch with our sense of wonder, collectively and individually. A colleague’s two and a half year old ran down the alley last Thursday and with glee yelled, “It’s snowing!” as she twirled with arms outstretched and face looking up at the sky. This week, let’s all concentrate on reconnecting with that sense of awe we had when we were that young and that takes us out of ourselves and into the sweet wonders of the world that is always around us.

Marilyn

I don't know about you, but...

…my mailboxes – electronic and snail mail, both inbox and outbox – are not as full as they used to be and I’m not sure what that means.

…I find most of the choices for entertainment, escape, and education on the growing number of network channels more disturbing than intriguing.

…if I start falling asleep in the chair, somehow, by the time I get to bed I am wide awake.

…I am scared that the parts of myself I do not like will become more dominant as I age and no one will admonish me for them.

…as much as I believe in our democracy, something is broken and I don’t know what it is going to take to fix it because we cannot legislate common sense, kindness, or grace.

…despite decades of progress there are more we/they divisions in our country than when we were marching for rights decades ago.

…a turtleneck feels different in October than in March.

…there is always one place in my house or office that, no matter how hard I try, is always cluttered.

…I enjoy seeing license plates from other places and if someone else is around, I point them out.

…it’s good to be back!

Marilyn