Time Travel

4:30am? What the.....?


This hour is always, 100%,reserved for sleep. That is of course unless one's body clock is out of sorts like mine is and will be for a few days.





I marvel at the fact I can wake up in Paris, hop on a plane and be seated at my desk in the office before the end of the same day. Granted, the 9 time zone difference helped me be Superman yesterday. Today, I'm more like Clark Kent. Human. Vulnerable. Hungry. Tired.

So what does one do at 4:30am? For one, I took my time unpacking. No way I could have unpacked last night - my body ached all over and my eyeballs were spinning around while I tried to convince myself, "Stay up until 10, stay up until 10," - repeated 100 times.

It didn't work.

I flopped in bed at 9 and was asleep by the time my magic sleep machine even revved up.

As I sifted through my things this morning, I found the dirt. Over the years I've made it a point to collect sand from all of the beaches I've traveled to around the globe. Pink sand from Bermuda? Check. Volcanic sand from Hawaii's Big Island? Check. The list goes on. While at Roland Garros I was able to scoop up some of the famous terre battue (red clay). I am still angry with myself for not getting sand from Augusta National a few years ago. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. My collection grows. Still, there are many more places to go before the last capsule of dirt will ever be filled. Some moon rocks would be nice one day.

As always, my mom watched the house while we were gone and as usual, I came home to a place that was better then I left it (except for the pool problem-more on this later).

Mom re-plants flower beds that have withered in the heat. She organizes drawers or closets that we've overlooked and that have turned into Fred Flintstone's closet - in otherwords open at your own risk. Mom, you're the best. But you forgot to clean out the garage. I'm cutting your allowance this month.

Best of all though was that I realized that since the nest is empty, more short hops around the planet are in order.




The world is a neat place and I have always enjoyed going to far off lands and muddling through the language barriers with serviceable Spanish, and less serviceable French. I do however AWAYS use the accent of the country I travel to and talk louder if they don't understand me - a universal and moronic gesture to be sure, but I do it to be funny. Janae rolls her eyes but inside I KNOW she is laughing. Sure it's juvenile. Big deal. It produces hilarity on a grand scale and makes for great dinner conversation. If nothing else, I'm charming when I travel.




I have a wicked-good English accent and have perfected it over the years by discourse with Jake and in his absence Davey. One day while I was standing in the checkout line at Von's I overheard the lady in front of me speaking with an English accent. I couldn't resist. I stepped up to the plate.

I said, "Iz you from the U.K.?"

She turned, smiled and said, "Yes. Which part are you from?"

"Uh....London...Westminster Abbey. Cheers." And walked away.

I don't even know if that is really a place. It took everything I could not to just bust out laughing in her face but the accent was good. Clean.


One year in Barcelona I volunteered my leadership to the group despite, at that time, some questionable foreign language skills. We embarked on an aggressive tour of the city by ourselves. While I managed to lead us to the Gaudi catherdral with little or no trouble (it's the origin of tacky....as in gaudi - it's true, look it up), I did however make a lot of Spaniards laugh out loud. Perhaps I will do a comedy gig there one day?

As for leaving, usually anything more than a week and I'll generally get anxious to be back home - to survey the compound, check the mail, and sit at my desk in the office. All of these worries are archiac and are remants of my father's world. His generation worked at their office, conducted meetings there and lived and died by this old school work ethic credo: Spend long hours at the office.

Our world today is far different. Hours do not measure performance. I can have my bills sent to me electronically. I can do my banking over the web. Anywhere there is cell and internet service I can stay in touch with clients and handle things just as if I was sitting in my office in Las Vegas. As much as I am a slave to the old world, I need to adapt better to the new one AND do things electronically. Heck, I still write checks by hand.

As for business, my biggest client doesn't even live here nor does he necessarily need to see me. Like all clients, they simply need to talk to me. To be able to communicate with me. Jumbo client was on vacation last week just as I was and we both managed to handle various issues without sitting down face to face. My job doesn't require me, for example, to be in an operating room like a surgeon in order to make a living. I don't manufacture anything or swing a hammer so being at a specific place at a specific time isn't relevant. I'm in the relationship business. I just need to have fully charged batteries, an up-to-date rolodex...er....the electronic version, and the guts to trust my instincts.

Okay, so the pool story I referred to earlier remains a mind-numbing experience that can only be fully understood by those souls who have dealt with contractors. As emails testify, our journey began on February 28th of this year. I even blogged about this back in March when the pool guy couldn't muster up the courage, not that I blame him, to jump in 45 degree water to replace 4 pool lights. 4 months later however I am happy to report that 3 of the 4 lights are working. It's the one that sits rusting on the pool deck like unexploded WWII military ordinance that is cause for concern.

I mean, it's June in Las Vegas and people come over all the time to swim and the light just sits there. Sure it's in a protective canister but it's the still-plugged-into-the-electrical-grid part that worries me - aside from the general annoyance of the thing just sitting there week in and week out.

You know what though? Just this morning I made a decision. I decided, just call someone else and get the damn thing fixed. My to-do list just got longer but my mind will rest easy knowing that my grandnieces and nephews who sojourn here to cool off in the pool will do so in safety.

As I sit here in the early morning of a rather cool and overcast Las Vegas day, I contemplate my world - life is extraordinarily good.

I am grateful for this.