Crossing The Pacific Again

I don't know how I became a person who takes the trip of a lifetime more than once but it's happening. Over the past few days, in a blur of interchangeable airports, odd meals, and a variety of uncomfortable sleeping positions, I rode the Pacific Rim once again.

This time, my destination was Danang, Vietnam, a mid-sized port town on the South China Sea in a sleepy communist country. Spurred on by a chance to see my third born who has been living abroad for almost a year, and the promises of delicious southeast Asian cuisine, I packed my suitcase, took a deep breath, and began my global journey. 

^ Packing up for an intercontinental trip is always a delicate balance between cramming in everything I might ever dream of needing plus the kitchen sink versus carrying only the bare essentials and trusting good karma to see me through. 

^ I generally lean toward the good karma end of the spectrum but this time I brought along maple syrup, boogie boards, and a block of cheddar cheese. The latter did not fit into my already-jam packed suitcase but I did manage to find a few spare cubic centimeters in my handbag. Carry on then. 

^ For the first leg of the journey, my second -born and I hopped a little puddle-jumper and flew a hundred mikes north of Seattle to Vancouver, British Columbia, also known as Canada. We waited several hours as a crowd of Asian-headed travelers accumulated, and then we streamed onto a half-filled jumbo jet, stepping quietly past a cabin full of already-sleeping passengers who had boarded at JFK and had already flown across the continental US to pick us West Coasters up. 

^ But before we boarded, thus photo happened. Great tile pattern. I couldn't resist. 

^ Twelve elapsed hours and who knows how many time zones later, we dropped out of the skies and our groggy half-sleeping stasis to an early morning in Hong Kong. With our feet back on the ground, we first sought the essentials: Starbucks fir my daughter and a Diet Coke for me. Thus sustained, we were ready for anything.

A few shots from our ten-hour layover:

^Snacks at Starbucks. The round marble table and hipster chairs were a lot more satisfying than the mushy sandwich but that's okay. 

^ I'm always intrigued by airport restaurants that are obviously trying to appeal to American aesthetics. This cafe has a fun little bistro vibe and I especially enjoyed the modern take on Asian painting. 

^ Mountains surround the city of Hong Kong? Who knew?

^ The day had been sunny and clear...until the time finally came for us to board our plane. Then the dark storm clouds descended, thunder and lightning cut loose, and the rain pored down.

But no problem, right? That's why jetways exist...so passengers can board their planes in comfort no matter what the weather. 

Wrong. We didn't board our plane through a jetway. Instead, we were herded onto a bus and handed a square packet of plastic. But what is it? 

A rain poncho. Uh oh. 

^ Gamely, we donned our stylish rain wear as we cruised across the tarmac. 

^ And then we were escorted off the bus. Outside the wind blew sideways and whipped our ponchos into thrashing plastic tornadoes. I dashed up the steps and ducked into my plane in record time but a few seconds in the storm reduced me to a disheveled soggy mess. 

^ Still, the cozy cabin was comfortable and dry, and I was soon happily snapping pics of the wet world outside. 

^ Shortly after takeoff, the storm clouds gave way and we were treated to views of the green tropical waters south of Hong Kong. 

^ And we were delighted to see jeweled green islands, much like the ones we saw from our first leg of the trip over our home state of Washington. 

But despite the similaritues, there was no doubt that this was a whole new world. I had crossed the Pacific once again and my new Asian adventure had begun. 

A Two-Day Trip To Tucson In Three Acts

 There's nothing like a whirlwind trip with a specific purpose and a tight timeline to get the blood pumping.

Case in point - at 5:15 a.m. on Thursday morning, I hopped a plane to Arizona to bring my fourth-born home for the summer. Exactly 48 hours later, at 5 a.m. on the dot, she and I rolled up into the driveway at home. In between, I covered a total distance of somewhere around 2955 miles and here's how it all went down.

Act I: Flying South

Rather than drive cross country solo, I opted to make the first leg of my journey via plane. In order to be a team player, I agreed to be dropped at the airport a full three hours before my early morning flight, and honestly, by the time I boarded, I could barely keep my eyes open. I pretty much fell asleep the moment I settled into my seat and dreamed all the way through the flight. Heaven.

^ And heavenly indeed it was to wake up as our plane touched down in Phoenix, and take in these brilliant blue skies. I could never live in a place so unrelentingly sunny, but after a long, cold Seattle winter and typically soggy spring, this sunshine was pure delight.

Act II: On The Ground In AZ

To make the most of every minute, rather than waiting around for a short connecting flight to nearby Tucson, I rented a car in Phoenix and drove the last 100 miles myself. During my lovely and familiar cruise through the Sonoran Desert, I enjoyed the company of a scattered army of saguaro cacti, who were just about to burst into bloom. So wish I could go back next week to see them fully flowered.

^ I had to settle for this darling pot of pink blossoms, parked along the drive-thru lane at the McDonald's where I stopped to buy a drink. Loved their cheerful pastel faces, a sweet sight in the hot sun. 

And a hot sun was exactly what awaited me in Tucson. Midday temps around 96 F were quite a shock to my system, given that Seattle has barely had a day over 70 F yet this spring. But my youngest and I merrily carried her worldly possessions down the stairs from her third floor room and out into the hostile heat.

As we marched back and forth, up and down, I stole a few moments to snap a handful of photos. Wish I had a hundred more. 

Act III: The Long Haul Home

We had just enough time for a quick lunch before we kissed the campus goodbye and headed for home. Basically, our route involves driving west until we hit the outskirts of Los Angeles, then weaving our way through the outer suburbs till we connect with Interstate 5 which we then follow all the way home. 

While I've wandered these parts at least half a dozen times before, there are always new sights to see. 

 ^ Western Arizona looks a little bit like the surface of the moon. And I mean that as a compliment.

^ Sunset near Palm Springs, California. 

^ Midday stop near an orchard in central California. 

^ In-N-Out Burgers are a staple of any trip through California and as usual, we planned a stop at Redding to take in one last meal at the northernmost store in the regional chain. And as has become  tradition, we brought back burgers for family at home.

^ Mount Shasta, as seen from the Chevron gas station in Weed, California. She looks even prettier from the other side, where her flanks are still covered in snow.

* * * * *

The pace of the trip was insane. I drove 600 miles the first day on two hours of sleep. And after a sound night's slumber on crisp white sheets at a lovely hotel in Palmdale, California, I drove over 1200 miles in the next 20 hours. That's a personal record for me. 

While this journey was not necessarily my idea of a relaxing vacation, I am always glad for experience to be out on the open road. And though the curtain has fallen on this short, intensive trip, the opening music of my next adventure has just begun to play.

* * * * *

I've been lucky enough to visit the Sonoran Desert and the magical cacti who live there. Read more about my adventures:

A Two-Day Trip To Tucson In Three Acts

Among The Saguaro

Among The Giants

Heaven

Desert Blooms

Good Advice

Reading About The Desert

Priorities

In the next few days, I am embarking on not one but two major trips. Both journeys have complex agendas, tight timing and no room for error.

So this past weekend, obviously, I devoted myself to fine-tuning my packing lists, grabbing a few extra passport photos and taking care of trip-related financial matters.

Right?

Wrong.

Instead, I devoted the better part of three days to cleaning the garage.

Oh gosh, I never intended for that to happen. The whole project started innocently enough with a trip-related search for my extra phone-sized screen protectors. I can't go out of town with old, scratched up screen covers, can I?

Obviously not.

I found the packet of protectors exactly where I expected them to be - in the upper left hand drawer of that green wooden cabinet, pictured above. 

But at the time, that green wooden cabinet was not sitting happily on this shelf in my garage work area.

It was buried under a pile of abandoned objects from various cleaning efforts in the past year. I have a bad habit of stashing stuff out in the garage and then forgetting slash ignoring it for long periods of time. Dumb. Clearly, the task of sorting good from bad, and getting rid of the unneeded stuff was long overdue.

Yet I wasn't satisfied just to sort and pitch. I wanted to declutter my space and restyle the shelves to be a bit more interesting. And, you know, no time like the present, right?

So my math books got a new home,

a few of my favorite projects, old and new, got some special attention,

 and I made space for the organizers and equipment that I use with my art students at school.

Also, I vacuumed up a ton of spiders, cleaned out Ranger's kennel, which lives under my work table, and dusted with abandon.

In just a few short days, I made a lot of useful changes on those two shelves in the middle of the wall, and I have big plans to finish off the effort when I have a bit more time.

But for now, you must excuse me because I have only a few hours left to throw some clothes in a bag and hop on a plane. There may be a bit of a mad scramble at the end, but I'll venture off into the world knowing that my home sweet home will be clean and orderly when I return. 

And that is my favorite way to travel.

* * * * *

I love to clean. And I love to tell stories about cleaning. Wanna read some more?

You Were Expecting The Mona Lisa?

Gonna Fly Now

Fruits Of The Spirit: Peace

Brown Sugar

Garage-Cleaning Haiku

Workbench Inspiration

A Major Overhaul

A Major Pantry Overhaul
Cleaning Frenzy
Perfectly Imperfect

Simple Pleasures

Today was a sunny day.

I woke up early, went to church, and heard a word that touched my heart.

I came home and took a much-needed nap.

When I woke up, my second-born made us blueberry smoothies and we ate them together in the sun.

And those simple pleasures, all by themselves, were enough to make this a very lovely Mother's Day indeed.

Life Of A Math Teacher: Isolating The Radical

My math students, past and present, are pretty darn awesome. 

They come to class week after week, full of good cheer and ready to work.

They complete boatloads of homework.

And every month or so, when test time rolls around, they sharpen their pencils and dig in. I'm so impressed with how well they do.

But most of all, my students are awesome because they put up with my whack-a-doodle explanations of mathematical concepts.

Here's an example of what I mean.

Recently, I taught a lesson on radical equations. In order to solve these intimidating beasts, one must first complete a step called "isolating the radical."

Well, even if you have no idea of what that means - especially if you have no idea what that means - those words just sound scary and difficult, don't they? 

And in my opinion, the first and foremost job of an algebra teacher is to break down the scary and difficult words, so that the students can get on with their learning. 

So whenever I present good old Lesson 108, I first share my story of free association with this frightening phrase, when I first heard it back in my own algebra class.

When I was a little girl, our daily errands often took us around and through the campus at the University of Michigan. At most colleges in those days, anti-war protesters and peace activists were all the rage, and it wasn't unusual to see them out and about in Ann Arbor, expounding on their views and rallying the passersby. Often they looked very much the part of the classic counter-cultural political dissidents, brandishing their placards on the steps of the law school building and looking all bearded and hippie-like. They made quite an impression on four-year-old me. I had heard the expression, "radicals" used by disapproving adults to describe these zealots, and I logged that information away in my child-sized brain.

Years later, as a high schooler, when I first heard of this algebraic operation called "isolating the radical," my mind conjured up an image of one of those nonconforming dudes atop a steep flight of stone steps, classic columns behind him, anti-war slogan signboard in hand. In my mind's eye, I watch from afar as the police enter the scene to confront the dude, and the gathered crowd quickly shrinks back to distance themselves from the situation.

Thus, the radical is isolated. 

^ And if the verbal version of that wonky story isn't enough to cement the concept in my students' minds forever, I punctuate the telling with a hastily-drawn but fairly effective sketch of - you guessed it - an isolated radical.

^ Then I quickly demonstrate the mathematical process of isolating the radical, which in comparison to that outlandish preamble, is simple and straightforward.

My students, who certainly had every right to question my sanity during the big build-up, now quickly connect the dots. Forever they will remember this process, and the elaborate tale that preceded it.

^ And let's be honest. As nutty as my narrative may be, it's one heck of a lot more interesting than the dry description offered in the text. 

So I offer a big round of thanks to my awesome students, who patiently listen to my ramblings about

ice cream sundae and peanut problems, 

magic numbers,

flying trapezes,

schools of fish,

the fricken formula,

children who need to go home for supper,

the Hannah Cranny rule,

and of course, the man-eating dragon.

You listen to me because you trust me to make sense in the end, and I hope I will always hold up my end of the bargain.

P.S. Just two more lessons left to teach and then we are done for the year. Woo hoo! Summer, here we come!

* * * * *

Read more stories about my life as a math teacher:

Test Drives

Bringing Joy

Math By Phone

Yabba Dabba Do

Eccentric Connections

Math Mammals

Social Distancing
Playing With A Full Deck

The (Math) Joke's On Me

Sharing Life

Little Brothers

Sweet Inspiration

My Hero

What I Do

Number 15

Christmas Edition

3.1415926

Buy It And Burn It

In Honor Of James K. Polk

House Tours

My Deep Gladness

Isolating The Radical

By The Numbers

Teaching My Own: High School Art And Algebra

This Little Piggy

^ He's hiding behind the tulips. Look carefully for that tiny yellow snout.

Some days are full of surprises.

Take today, for example. 

When I began my day by dragging myself out of bed, popping open a Diet Dr Pepper, and reviewing a lesson on logarithms for my afternoon pre-calculus class, I had no idea that I wanted a yellow pig planter in my life.

^ Oh hay, you cute and shiny little fellow.

And yet by nightfall, I couldn't imagine my life without him. 

 

^ Right now, he is holding a spare handful of change...

My life was changed when I wandered through Michaels, ostensibly buying a few materials for a painting project. As usual, I took a lap through the clearance section which, as usual, was mostly full of seasonal decor castoffs.

Which is not usually my jam. 

But as my eye flitted over the seahorse sculptures and giant-sized teacups, I spied a pair of cute yellow ears. Investigating further, I bent down to get a better look into the low shelf, and noticed the sassy snout. Oh gosh. 

^ but I've got plans to fill him up with some potting soil and a few choice succulents. 

I reached out to scoop him up for a closer look, and as soon as my hand felt the smooth, cool, gently rounded pig-belly shape, I knew I was smitten.

Which is actually kind of strange. Because I don't necessarily have any deep and abiding fondness for pigs. Humpback whales and elephants are my go-to animal faves.

^ He seems to fit right in here on the front dresser, as if the whole arrangement was planned just for him.

But as I stood there in the discount aisle, holding my newfound friend who - it turns out - also functions as a planter, two powerful memories jumped into my mind:

I remembered a book from my childhood called Emmett's Pig, in which a young boy has a pretty solid obsession with pigs. There's a double-page spread that shows his bedroom which is decorated with a preponderance of pigs: pig pillow, pig rug, pig calendar, pig toys and best of all, a pig-shaped chair. As a four- or five-year-old, I was fascinated with the pure luxury of such a finely curated collection.

I was also reminded of my grandmother's ceramic duck planter. He was considerably bigger than this pig, a much bolder shade of yellow, and trimmed out with some jaunty details. Honestly, his looks put me off but the fact that a tall, spiked mother-in-law's tongue plant grew out of his back...well,I found that fascinating and incredibly stylish.

And you know, those recollections totally sealed the deal for me. I can easily talk myself out of buying unnecessary bric-a-brac that will simply clutter up my house. But this little piggy conjures up sweet memories of my childhood daydreams, and that's why I brought him home.

^Welcome, little piggy! I'm glad you're here.

 

^ Ummm, I think you meant to say that IRISH SETTERS are your go-to favorite animals. Am I right?!

* * * * *

Here is another nice story about pigs. Shhh, don't tell Ranger.

Some Pigs

Cinco De Mayo + 1

¡Hola mis amigos! Due to crazy work schedules and a poor showing for dinner on May 5, I postponed my Cinco de Mayo fiesta dinner for today, the sixth of May.

¡Ay, caramba! A chica's gotta do what a chica's gotta do.

And while our celebration was nothing extravagant, we enjoyed our meal con mucho gusto.

Taco shells, refried beans, mole sauce, salsa, green onions, seasoned ground beef,

corn, black beans, 

seasoned steak, grilled red peppers and mushrooms, cheddar cheese,

and a big bed of mixed greens, topped with green chiles, for the no-carb kid. 

I wouldn't have minded downing a few of these insanely stuffed tacos. 

But you know, when the salad ends up looking like this, I don't mind my no-carb lifestyle a bit. 

So three cheers to our scrappy neighbors to the south, whose ragtag band of brothers managed to defeat the vastly superior French invaders in a small victory on the fifth of May, 1862. Though not a significant military turning point, this win brought pride and a big morale boost to the Mexican army and to the Mexican people during a dark time in their history. 

And it just goes to show what can happen when feisty, determined people take up a shared cause. 

We celebrate these Mexican beacons of hope and positive thinking with our tacos and cervezas frias. Vaya con Dios, neighbors, and please pass the salsa!

* * * * *

Let's be honest. Holidays are all about the food. Read here for more stories about what I serve on special days.

Happy Chinese New Year

Happy Groundhog's Day! Happy Candlemas!

Easter Eats

Easter Dinner

Cinco De Mayo + 1

A Happy Birthday Cake

Happy Halloween: Enjoying The Tricks And Treats

My Annual Indulgence

My Thanksgiving Feast

An Angel Food Birthday Cake