Up, Up and Away (in a Beautiful Balloon)

Before we left on our vacation to Scottsdale, Arizona,

I was very excited to book a hot air balloon flight.

Upon landing in Phoenix, I turned my phone on and

read an email notification that our balloon flight had been cancelled.

Why?

Because Trump was coming in for a rally and the airspace

had to be closed for his arrival and departure!

I was not a happy camper!

Nevertheless, I persisted.

I called the company immediately and booked it for another day.

We met at a small airport outside of Phoenix at 6 AM. 

There were more than 70 people flying that morning

In 6 balloons.  We were divided up and taken in vans

to the launch site about 1/2 hour away.  The balloons

take off from different places each day, depending on 

wind direction and speed.

When we arrived at the launch site, our balloon was mostly inflated

but still lying on the ground.  Multiple powerful fans were used to 

inflate it initially.  They allowed us to look inside and it was spectacular!

There were 12 people in our group and we were divided up and assigned

to one of 4 compartments in the basket.  At this point, the propane was 

used and the balloon began to slowly lift upright, pulling the basket upright with it.

There was a short period of time when we had to climb into the basket.

The flight crew on the ground took pictures with our cameras,

we were given instructions, and then the pilot added a lot of flame

and we began to float gracefully up into the blue sky!

We were told beforehand that people rarely experience a fear of height

while in a hot air balloon, and from someone whose legs get all shakey

while climbing to the top of a ladder, I can attest that this is true.

It just felt like we were floating.

The pilot initially brought us up high, then lowered

the balloon to skim over the desert, sometimes

even brushing the tops of trees.

What I never understood is that the flame is not “on”

for most of the flight.  The pilot uses it sporadically

to give lift to the balloon.  When it was turned on, the top

of my head got very hot.  Hats were offered if it bothered anyone.

As we floated across the desert, the flight crew on the ground

was following us off-road in the vans.

After about 45 minutes,  the pilot announced that we were

about to begin our landing.  There were handles in the basket

that we had to hold on each side of us and bend our knees

slightly before landing.

The process of landing took about 15 minutes

as the pilot searched for a clear area.  When we finally

touched down, it was with a pretty gentle thud.

The time AFTER landing was the scariest for me.

The balloon was swaying back and forth and the basket

kept tipping.  Then, the basket was hooked up to a truck 

we were towed by the truck, hovering inches above the

ground, to an area where the balloon could be deflated

without injuring it on cacti or trees.  It was a rough ride!

I was glad to finally get out of the basket.

After taking care of the balloon, the flight crew

laid out a nice breakfast for us to enjoy.

There was a “first flight ceremony” ending with a champagne toast.

This toast is reputed to have started with the first balloonist in France.

Early balloons would land on farmer’s fields and the farmers were 

offered champagne to make amends for their inconvenience.

Breakfast consisted of quiche, cheese, apples, and a croissant.

After conquering our first flight, I wouldn’t mind experiencing

another flight in an area with more to see (the desert doesn’t have

 much variety to look at!).

If you ever get the chance, go for it! 

You’ll be happy you did!

Pumpkins Get Lit Once Again

When the kids were young, it was a family tradition

to go to the pumpkin patch.  Each of us would choose 

a pumpkin and we would come home and carve them.

As the kids became more skilled at carving, 

it inevitably became a competition.  

But when their lives became so busy in high school,

there was no time anymore.

After many years,  I am very happy to see the tradition revived.

It was heartwarming to watch these three young couples

having a simple fall afternoon together.

Annie and Drew,  Mel and Josh, Kerry and Emily.

Our neighbor, Linda, came over to see the carvings in progress.

She has often been the judge of our family contests,

but this time she was here on friendlier terms.

After the carving was completed, seeds were

gathered for roasting.

Candles were put in place.

We had a few games of cornhole.

Then the pumpkins were lit.

The day ended with a dinner of homemade bread, hot soup,

and pumpkin pie.

It was so nice that our home was the hub of fall

traditions like this once again!

Grief

Grief is a funny thing.

My mother passed away 11 years ago.

My father passed away 9 years ago.

I grieved deeply in the days, weeks, and months afterward.

I have always believed that grief is something that

lessens over time.  Life goes on.  As you continue without

your loved ones, you build more and more memories 

of times that do not include them anymore.
Old memories fade.

Life has a way of proving you wrong.

My aunt passed away last week, so I drove home 

to Burlington for her wake and funeral.  I now have only

one aunt and one uncle left, so my family consists of

cousins, their husbands and wives, and their children.

Funerals are an important time for me, 

not only to grieve the loss of a family member,

but to reconnect with the family that is remaining.

My parents, of course, were not there physically,

but there were photos of them on the memory boards,

and stories told about them by my uncle and cousins.

I was in the town where I grew up which in itself

floods me with happy memories.

I started feeling it during the funeral mass.  

The priest was a childhood friend.  We were in

an older Catholic church with old wooden pews 

and kneelers.  There were those little clips in the pews

that I remember so well.  I have clipped many pairs

of mittens gloves to them during mass.  The rituals 

of the mass, although different at times, 

were comfortably

the same.

The funeral service ended and I began the walk to

the neighboring cemetery where another aunt, uncle,

and cousin are buried.  

It was at this point that I was flooded with a very

intense feeling of yearning for my parents. 

I could visualize them walking with us, among my family

members, arm in arm, my father's white hair gleaming

in the sunshine.

I was grieving my parents, but this was definitely nothing 

like the grief I felt during the days and months following

their deaths.  Then, my grief was tempered by the knowledge

that they were no longer in pain, or distracted by my concern

for the surviving parent.

Now, I was just missing them.

Intensely.  

I cried, but it actually felt good.

I welcomed it.

I felt close to them.

It's so easy living in Connecticut to go through my days

without many reminders of my parents.  There are times

that I get the urge to pick up the phone and call my Mom.

Or times that I wish I could call my Dad and get his

advice on how to fix little things around the house.

But I have never experienced grief like this before.

My life continues without them,

but they are not only with me still,

they are inside me:

My mother's sense of humor and compassion.

My father's creativity and patience.

I expected to reconnect with family at this funeral.
And I did reconnect, but in ways I never expected.

Grief is just like love.

It evolves over time,

and 

it never goes away.

Joy

Recently, while spending a few hours at the beach,

I listened to something that made a 

huge 

impression on me.

It was a TED talk by Ingrid Fetel Lee entitled

 "Where Joy Hides and How to Find It". 

She began by discussing the difference between 

happiness and joy.

Happiness is more of an "overall longer-term feeling". 

Joy is something that happens "in the moment". 

Things that bring joy are passing pleasures,

yet extremely important to our lives.

Bubbles.

Rainbows.

Fireworks.

Hot Air Balloons.

Kittens.

Feeding a chipmunk.

The last one is actually something that happened on our

vacation in Lake George this summer, and I have photos

to illustrate it.

On the 3rd day of our vacation,  my daughter, Kerry, noticed

a chipmunk scrounging in the grass for the crumbs of our

s'mores the night before.

Kerry walked slowly toward the chipmunk and held out

a piece of cracker for him.  She waited patiently and it paid off.

She named him Chester.

Chester demonstrated where the term

"chipmunk cheeks" 

comes from.

Three days later,  we noticed a chipmunk eating leftover yogurt

on the breakfast table on the deck.  It ran off to the rock wall 

when people arrived, but kept an eye on us nonetheless.

I grabbed my camera, and the girls went to work to entice

the chipmunk to eat out of their hands.  Kerry said it was Chester,

but we didn't believe her (there were hundreds of chipmunks

running around).

It didn't take long for "Chester" to come closer.

He first took a cracker from Kerry,

and carried it away to eat it.

Then he was back for a cracker with peanut butter.

The peanut butter made him linger a little longer

and even put his little hand on Annie's finger to steady himself!

This time, when he got back to his perch, 

he busied himself cleaning the peanut butter 

off his little hands.

But he wasn't done yet.

The next time he came back was to eat some yogurt 

from a spoon.

Joy.

For a brief time,  we were privileged to 

gain the trust of this small creature.

It brought us joy.

The idea that little things in life can make a big difference

is something that intrigues me a great deal.

I'll be posting more about what brings "joy" to my life.

I also want to note that Kerry was right. 

This was "Chester".

How do I know?

When I zoomed into the pictures, 

Chester had an identifying cut in his right ear.