Welcome to the Terror Dome

Like many of you I have a few phobias. They are all well managed. I hate to fly, but love to travel. With meditation, prayer and glass of prosecco I do just fine on planes. Since the apartment fire in Vicenza I am a tad claustrophobic. I cannot tolerate small, windowless spaces for very long at all. High bridges over large bodies of water are another trigger to panic, but if I am prepared for them I do just fine. The problem today was I did not have a chance to prepare.

I had a meeting with the CEO of a nonprofit this afternoon. The headquarters are on the far side of town in a neighborhood I am not well acquainted with yet. He asked me to create a proposal for my dream project for the organization. I was excited because I spent the days leading up to the meeting studying their website and digital footprint. I left feeling inspired. The position could have a tremendous impact on the community. Before I headed to my car I called my friend who helped to schedule the meeting. We met briefly in her small, windowless office. My chest started to feel a bit tight, but nothing I could not relax through.

As I walked to my car I considered a small celebratory gesture. As in a decadent cocktail before happy hour, in the middle of the afternoon. The only problem was the reception in that part of town was sporadic. Too weak to find a the kind a trendy spot that could make my fancy cocktail. I had a general idea of how to get home. I decided against the celebration since the cell signal was so weak. I had a general idea of where I was and started driving in the direction of my house, but before my GPS could get a signal I found myself on the ramp for the Talmadge Memorial Bridge to South Carolina (SC).

Talmadge Memorial Bridge

Let's stop right here to look at the bridge. This is a scary view. (I did not take the picture. It came up when I googled Talmadge Bridge.) The steep incline limited my field of vision. The narrow lanes  were recently expanded due to the frequent collisions. On the other side is a steep decline that leads to a two lane road surrounded by marshland. Good grief was I scared. The name of the bridge is under scrutiny as the City of Savannah wrestles with its confederate past. Eugene Talmadge was famously elected to Governor of Georgia four times from 1933 to 1937, 1941 to 1943 and a fourth term in 1946. He died before his inauguration. He was a well known white supremacist. He actively promoted segregation and racism in the Georgia University system during his tenure. The Girl Scouts (and me) would love to have it re-named for their founder and Savannah native Juliette Gordon Low. 

That is probably enough history for today. Back to my detour. I was not happy about my impromptu bridge crossing and less happy to have crossed state lines into SC. I have nothing against SC. It is a beautiful state. Charleston is gorgeous and Beaufort is a delight. I just did not want to be there today. I was on one of those roads that will not let you make a U-turn for miles. It was such a pain, but the worst part was I had to cross the bridge to get home. I would have done almost anything not to cross that bridge again. 

When I finally made it back on the bridge in the right direction, I stayed as far left as possible and went as fast as I possibly could. Which was about 45mph because my deepest fear is that I will loose control of the vehicle and end up plunging over the side of the bridge. Geez, I watch too much TV. I made it back just in time to have a margarita with my neighbor before her kid came home. I left when her bestfriend called. She has lupus and just had her hip replaced. It was grounding reminder that even when faced with deep seated phobias, things could be much more challenging. I have so much to be grateful for everyday. Even when I end up across state lines life is very good. 

This is more than just a coincidence

The subtitle of the blog is I don't know how this happened because I often find myself in unexpected situations. This week was filled with them. It began with a request for a middle school substitute teacher at the school I visited last week. Yesterday was my first day, and it was filled with all the energy and excitement you should expect from a new job teaching at an exclusive prep school.

The next morning (today) I was up at 6am excited to volunteer at the Savannah Book Festival. I was there to help because hoards of people were expected to descend on the Savannah Theater at 7:30am. I have to say book lovers are the nicest people, and the lines were very orderly. I even met a couple from New York. We were all very excited to meet Douglas Preston. He is the best-selling author who has written about Amanda Knox, the American college student who was studying in Italy when she was accused, convicted and exonerated of murdering her roommate Meredith Kercher. I obsessed about this case for years, oscillating between her guilt and innocence. Our family had an unfortunate experience with the Italian authorities as well when an electrical fire destroyed our home. Douglas also had a jarring experience with Italian law enforcement while doing research for a novel in Italy. And so it was with deep excitement that I arrived at the festival looking forward to meeting Douglas. That is when it happened. At the moment I most believed it could happen. Just before the crowds came. The doors to the Savannah Theater were open and he walked in with an easy stride. I said good morning Douglas. He was warm, affable and genuine. I told him I spent seven years in Italy and was fascinated with the Amanda Knox case. We became fast friends, quickly transitioning to hushed tones when necessary. The most incredible conversation of my life was cut short when my supervisor for the event needed my help. When told her I was talking to Douglas she swept him deeper into the theater to set up for the most exhilarating presentation ever.

Selfie with Douglas Preston 

Some of us are better one-on-one while others are better in groups. Then there are the gifted few who are spectacular at both. Douglas Preston is one of those people. He told the wildly fascinating story of his new book, The Lost City of the Monkey God. It is a magnificent tale of his expedition in Honduras to one of the last scientifically unexplored areas on the surface of the earth. He gave the audience a synopsis of the adventure in a forest with deep vegetation, deadly snakes and quick sinking mud that could easily swallow an adult human. He peppered his talk with searing details about the deadly fer-de-lance snake known as the ultimate pit viper. It was sleeping under a member of the expedition's hammock. A former British SAS (a combination of our Army and Navy special forces) on the team stabbed it in the neck which caused the snake to explode into a violent cloud of dust and venom. I was riveted to my seat. The SAS guy cut the head off and left it as a warning to the others on the expedition because where there is in one fer-de-lance there are many. He answered a few questions about the Honduran government's plans to turn the site into a tourist attraction. He said they would like to but, almost everyone on the expedition contracted an incurable tropical disease known as leishmaniasis. They were treated at the National Institute of Health and are doing well. He made a joke about it being highly contagious. I recovered from that scare quickly. Then the lights came up and I sat in my seat anguished that I did not get a picture. I exited the theater with the other attendees when I remembered to be present in every moment. That's when I recognized his backpack and said, "Mr. Preston," touching his shoulder lightly. "Mr. Preston, can we take a selfie?" He turned to me with a warm smile and said yes let's go outside for better light.

I thought the Amanda Knox, Italy, Savannah, Douglas Preston confluence was just a terrific coincidence, but while reading his Wikipedia entry I saw that Richard Preston is his brother. Richard Preston is the author of the Hot Zone. The breakout non-fiction thriller about Ebola. Hunter's Godfather is a Veterinarian in the Army. He recommended the Hot Zone to me when I was going through my fascination with Ebola. It gave me a healthy dose of reality while scaring the heck out of me. I am not sure why all those details came together at this moment, but I am off to start reading Douglas' books. Something important happened today. It does not make sense yet, but what I know for sure is that it was an extreme pleasure to meet such an accomplished journalist, author and human. Yay!

I love Savannah!

Jupiter stools are suddenly in my orbit

Parenthood is a wild, wild ride. Super Bowl Sunday is our one year arrival in Savannah, GA. We arrived at our hotel in the afternoon checked-in, got the animals situated and ventured out for food. Everyone was watching the Super Bowl at Buffalo Wild Wings and for some reason we thought that would be fun. The Atlanta Falcons were playing that year and Buffalo Wild Wings was ground zero in Savannah. When we arrived the atmosphere was jubilant and chaotic, but once the Patriots took the lead the place quickly emptied out.

My how things have changed. This year we spent the evening with our neighbors, had dinner and went on with our usual Sunday routine. It was a busy week. I made my first steps into the sport of competitive childcare.

Hunter is at a good day care program at the local YMCA. It is a lottery funded pre-k, which means it is very competitive. How competitive you ask? So competitive that I was number five in line at 4:30am on Thursday morning to register. I expected there would be a line,  but I thought it would form around 5:30 with the doors opening at 6:00. I packed a little breakfast and had my favorite podcast downloaded ready to spend 90 minutes or so in my toasty, warm car with the heated seats at a comfy medium. No such luck dear reader. Instead I found myself fifth in line under an awning, in 34 degree temps with the most caffeinated, friendly and inquisitive parents this side of the Holland Tunnel.

I suffered through a barrage of questions regarding which kid was mine; inane banter about the Super Bowl; and of course praise for showing up for our kids. I was dazed and confused. I mostly grunted and nodded to most of the questions. I had my hood pulled all the way up and probably gave off the vibe that I was not as caffeinated or eager to commiserate.

Once I completed registration I headed back to the house for some hot tea and waited for Hunter to wake up to get him ready to head back to our regularly scheduled programming. The rest of the week was uneventful except for a visit to a very fancy private prep-school nearby. I took a friend who works there up on her offer to visit the campus. It was an eye-opening experience. I attended private, religious schools growing up in Brooklyn, but this was a next level experience for which I was scarcely prepared.

The classrooms were not the traditional desk, chair and linoleum floors of my youth. There were bean bags, electric screen whiteboards, 3D printers, Jupiter stools with laminate inlays that serve as collaborative spaces for students. All the rooms were warm and inviting with quite nooks tucked in corner spaces for quiet time. I walked around starry eyed wondering if this kind of place was right for Hunter. It goes without saying this kind of education is not cheap. This is a vision I had not considered before the visit. My outlook was limited to options in my immediate radius. Ladies and gentleman I have a lot to think about.

Jupiter stool with white laminate inlay