Epic Road Trip — Part 2

We stayed in a sketchy hotel room in Wilmington that night and stayed up way too late drinking and telling stories. Our late night resulted in a late start the next morning.

We tried to stop somewhere to get decent clothes to wear to see "Phantom of the Opera" and we got a little turned around — set us back a couple of hours. Between the traffic and endless tolls we had to pay, driving up North is not something I would ever recommend. We found a parking lot in the city and started walking around the city. It was just like I remembered it — except Time Square was a mess with a bunch of construction. We grabbed some drinks, ate a ridiculous meal at Carmine's Italian restaurant. We were so full with chicken marsala and scaloppini afterward.

We took a quick walk around Grand Central Station before heading back to Majestic Theatre to see Phantom. We had nosebleed seats all the way at the top and made it to the top balcony just as the lights were going down. We had to literally walk on people to get to our seats. But it was worth it. Phantom was amazing — not sure if dad and Matt appreciated it as much as I did.

Knowing it was the only day we had in New York, we walked 10 blocks down to the Empire State Building determined to see the best view of the city at night. Considering it was almost 11 p.m. on a Tuesday night, we couldn't believe the line of people waiting to get to the top. I wouldn't want to be in that line on a Saturday! But it was worth it. The view was unbelievable. What a great day it had been.

After a long day of driving and walking around NYC, we were getting pretty exhausted. We spent the night in Newark, where we learned we could have taken a shuttle into the city from there instead of paying almost $50 to park! Anyway, we stopped to see Leilah again in Wilmington the next day and got to tour her school and dorm. The we drop back to Virginia. We found a hole in the wall town to stay at close to the entrance of Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park.

The next day dad let me drive down Skyline Drive while he enjoyed a six pack in the back seat! LOL! It was a beautiful peaceful ride but when we reached the end 100 miles later, we still had six hours to go back to Asheville.

We got home Thursday afternoon. It was a whirlwind vacation but I was glad to get back and still have a few days to recover at home. I was glad to do some traveling with my hubby and also spend some quality time with my dad. Can't remember the last vacation we took together. I'm proud of my little sister making it on her own in Wilmington. And I can't wait to plan our next excursion.

Epic road trip it is — Part 1

I don't like ultimatums — I like to figure out a way to have my cake and eat it too. Life is too short.

In my last post I was trying to decide whether to be spontaneous and take a road trip up the East Coast or save for a down payment on a house. Well after being pre-approved for a 100-percent USDA loan, I decided the road trip was still doable. Dad was planning on driving up to see Leilah in Delaware in September so he convinced me and Matt to combine our trips.

Now, the idea of being in a car with my father for a week was not very appealing, but how could we pass up free gas and a free driver? So with two weeks to plan our trip I started outlining our route, booking hotel rooms and deciding the stopping points. Charlottesville, Va., Washington, D.C., Baltimore, Md., Wilmington, De., Philadelphia, Pa., New York City and back again.

We knew it was ambitious but what the hell? How many chances in our busy lives do we get to drop everything and get on the road?

We drove 6 hours to Charlottesville enjoying the mountain views along the way — the Great Smoky Mountains are an unbelievable and serene experience. Our first disappoint was a stop I planned for Matt at a guitar museum shaped like a large guitar. It was closed of course but it made for a good laugh and photo op.

The Charlottesville traffic was insane! It didn't take us long to realize there was a Taylor Swift concert that night. Little girls were hanging out of windows squealing and holding signs. We stirred clear from the mess and had dinner before hanging out at the Mellow Mushroom on campus and trying lots of good local beer. My favorite? The "Sweet Baby Jesus" — a peanut butter beer.

It was only a two-hour drive into D.C. the next morning. We found a parking spot and made our way to the Newseum. It was amazing and way too much to take in within a couple of hours. It's overwhelming. I bought little souvenirs for my newsroom girls — of course at some point during the day I lost them either in a bathroom or in a cab. So it goes...

But seeing the history of my profession is pretty powerful for me. I feel proud to be a part of it. Even with all the mistakes we make on a daily basis, we are writing history on every level. It reminded me of the importance of what I do and that I am in good company. I can see myself someday in D.C., in some capacity. But perhaps I've been watching too much "West Wing" and "Scandal."

It was a beautiful day for sight seeing. We ate a gyro from a food truck and sat in the grass to take in everything around us, including the National Monument in the backdrop. We walked the two miles to see all the monuments. It's surreal finally seeing all those icons that we see on the screen so often. And it was quite lucky that we went when we did because if we had waited another month like Matt and I had planned, it would have been in the midst of the 15-day government shutdown, which means all the monuments would have been closed!

We stayed at The Rouge —a cute boutique hotel. We drank quite a bit of rum before walking a mile to Ben's Chili Bowl for dinner. It was a "must-do" food recommendation from my former editor Blake Spurney. The place is a historic landmark now after surviving fire riots in the 70s. Bill Cosby and President Barack Obama have frequented the place and their faces are plastered on the side of the building.

The chili burgers were evil — heartburn city! We ate way too much and couldn't force ourselves to do anymore site seeing after that so we went back to the hotel and continued to drink. And then this happened: As I was checking out the bathroom, I noticed a water bubble on the ceiling above the toilet. I made the mistake if mentioning to dad who of course had to go in the bathroom and poke at the water bubble. The water bubble bursts and the nasty (probably toilet) water splattered in the toilet bowl. 

In Matt's drunken state he decides the front desk people should know about what happened. He tells the lady that he was "doing his business" when the water bubble exploded by itself on top of his head. Surely mortified and also trying not to laugh, the lady offered to change our room but we refused. They sent someone to look at it and then someone brought us a complimentary bottle of champagne and 2 free breakfast tickets for the inconvenience. That is the least they could do considering they charged us $50 for valet parking once we got there. 

We made our way down to breakfast the next morning to nurse our hangovers. Then we saw the news — law enforcement was on the lookout for a shooter or shooters who randomly shot people at the Navy shipyard right there in D.C. — just miles away from where we were. We quickly got out of there to get to Baltimore to pick up my little sister. 

The exit we needed to take was blocked with police — no entry. The GPS couldn't tell us how to turn around because we had no signal — probably because the helicopters were hovering overhead. Needless to say, we had to take the long way to Baltimore. By the time we picked up Leilah and got to Philadelphia it was almost night time. But we got to explore and eat and Philly cheesesteak. It was yummy! 

Part 2 to come — stay tuned for a drunken night in a sketchy hotel in Wilmington followed by an epic, short lived day in NYC.

Another year older

Tomorrow I will turn 28 — I wonder if others are as contemplative about their birthdays as I am? I just read my blog post from when I turned 25 and it seems decades away, yet the sentiment is pretty much the same as I feel today.

While I think I will hold on to a bitterness each year of growing older, I can also bask in the brief contentment of growing, improving and dreaming. I reach goals and reach further for new ones. As I read my 25-year-old thoughts, it's comforting to know I've accomplished many of those goals, overcome some of those anxieties and Matt and I are well on our way to being where we want to be at 30.

At 25, we were just married and barely living together and making ends meet. Since then we've taken chances together and those risks have paid off. We moved to Florida for better opportunities. We made the best of it though it wasn't our ideal location — enjoyed time with my mom and sister.

I grew professionally — became the editor of a community newspaper by 26 and produced work that I can be proud of for years to come. I formed relationships with amazing people and passed on everything I love and learned about journalism to two reporters. Their persistence and encouragement pushed me to do my best and I pushed them to be better in return.

We earned the most prestigious awards in the state for editorials, investigative reporting, feature writing,  First Amendment Defense and more. I couldn't be more proud of my short tenure there. But I always know when it's time for me to go.

I had the opportunity to not only continue my career at a larger paper and use the master's degree I worked so hard to earn — but we had the opportunity to move to one of the most beautiful parts of the country. So here we are near Asheville, North Carolina. As my dad likes to say, "We're living the dream."

I have a great job, great co-workers and a supporter editor. I get to write the news and also serve as editor of an arts and entertainment publication. Matt and I have been playing more shows around town and feel like we're thriving in this community rich with culture and fine arts.

I try to keep that in mind as I whine about turning 28. It's a weird age. It's not quite 30, but close enough. It’s an age where you feel you should be closer to getting your priorities straight but a part of you wants to hold on to your 20s for as long as you can.

For example — Matt and I are trying to decide whether we want to use the money we’ve saved for the past year (not as much as it should be) to go on an epic vacation this fall or use that money to put a down payment on a house. Adventure or first time home ownership? It’s really a hard decision. Trying to keep your life on schedule or throwing caution (and money) to the wind and going where life takes you — preferably a road trip up the East coast.

I'm still contemplating that one. But in the meantime and do my best to live in the moment and remember that as much as I may try, I can't plan every moment in my life — and why would I want to? It's always the unexpected that makes life worth living. Like my new puppy Atticus!

Women: Your expectations are too high

My mother has a strange wedding gift to give brides in our family before their big day.

It’s a book called “Marriage Shock: The Transformation of Women into Wives” by Dalma Heyn. She loaned me the book before my wedding more than three years ago and also to my sister-in-law before she married my brother.

I’ll admit I didn’t read it thoroughly — I skimmed its pages to get the gist of it, but I didn’t think it applied to me. I had already taken numerous sociology classes in college on gender and women’s studies. I get it. But the concept probably rings true for many young women who feel like their lives will be complete from the moment they say, “I do.”

Now I’ve loaned it to my colleague DeeAnna Haney who will be tying the knot next year. I’m not assuming it will apply to her either — it was just a precautionary measure, of course.

What I took away from it was simple: women’s expectations of marriage are often unrealistic and you can’t rely on a man (or anyone for that matter) to make you happy. And this isn’t a man-bashing statement. Men should actually be thankful that such a book exists to take some pressure off of them — we’re only human after all.

From the time we are little girls, we dress up and play house with our Fisher Price kitchen sets, Easy Bake Ovens and baby dolls. We pretend Barbie doll and Ken get married, have a baby and will live happily ever after. Boys are not conditioned to even think of such things — their games and toys revolve around exploring and adventure.

Courtesy of Knittingparadise.com

It isn’t completely our fault that we think about getting married from a young age and think it will be all sunshine and roses. But the truth is every marriage is different. Your marriage doesn’t have to be like your parents’ or your best friend’s marriage. You can chart your own course and break the stereotypes that need to be broken.

In the book, Heyn talks about ways for women to acknowledge and overcome those deeply ingrained social and personal expectations so that a woman can be a wife and still maintain her sense of self.

I don’t blame my mother for giving what could be perceived as a pretty rude gift to rain on a bride’s parade. After seeing many of my friends in their 20s divorced or on their second marriages, I am now the first to badger them with “Are you sure?” “Have you talked about money?” “Have you talked about kids?” “Religion and politics?”

Many couples seem to overlook these factors when they're head over heels and planning a wedding. Not to say a difference of opinion on these big topics is a deal breaker, but it’s better to lay it all out on the table beforehand instead of five or 10 years down the road. Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce — a pretty scary statistic.

Marriage has enough surprises on a daily basis without having to worry about whether your spouse will ever change his or her mind about having children or whether you and your husband will raise your child Jewish or Methodist.

Maybe it’s because my husband and I both came from a long lineage of divorce (and dating for nine years couldn’t have hurt), but I felt like we entered into our marriage with eyes wide open. I didn’t want to have any doubts, but I was doubtful that day would ever come. How can you ever be sure? But one day it did come. It was a peaceful moment of clarity. We made an absolute commitment to not only love each other but to stand by each other and take this journey through life together. 

It’s not always easy — but I know nothing worth having in life is ever easy.

I’m by no means and expert on marriage. However, my one piece of advice for women would be not to focus so much on the happiness of your wedding day but on how to sustain that happiness with your partner for the rest of your life. 

Courtesy of Empowernetwork.com

Journalism loses fearless reporter

Michael Hastings, 33, died June 18 in a car crash in Los Angeles. While I’m sure his death is a great personal loss for his friends and family, it’s a greater loss for a dying breed of journalists.

His name may not ring any bells for you, but I bet you remember his work of exposes’ — most notably “The Runaway General.”

Hastings’ is the Rolling Stone journalist who is credited with ending Gen. Stanley McChrystal’s career after his profile on McChrystal was published in 2010. The general, who at the time was the commander of the Afghanistan war, was exposed in the article for his arrogance and failures.

Michael Hastings and his book/Courtesy of Salon.com

He is quoted criticizing President Barack Obama, Vice President Joe Biden, foreign ambassadors and other military personnel. Hastings’ portrayal of the untouchable general cost McChrystal his position.

Hastings was known and respected in the world of journalism for his unwillingness to “cozy up to power.” A decision to print an article like that is not made lightly. Fact checkers pour over the information, managing editors weigh every possible outcome, but in the end it comes down to telling the entire — sometimes ugly — truth.

Too many reporters today are more concerned with gaining and maintaining access to those in power that they are willing to close their eyes and ears to the truth. At best they will report watered down versions of the truth and at worst they will regurgitate a press release provided by a politician’s public relations machine.

Even though McChrystal’s aides disputed that the printed comments were “off the record,” they never argued that he was misquoted. 

We’ll probably never know whether the results of the article were intended to be off the record or not. The question readers and journalists have to ask themselves is “does it matter?” Are those rules worth breaking when it’s the right thing to do? Is the public better off knowing the truth about how our leaders act in a critical time of war?

As journalists, we must remain honest and loyal to our readers first and foremost — that’s who we work for and that’s who matters. That said — I believe Hastings did the right thing. Even in his short life, he is one of the lucky few who will leave behind a respectable legacy of journalistic integrity.

That is what all journalists should strive for in their reporting. There are three pieces of advice given to me by trusted mentors that I live by professionally.

My first journalism teacher told me:

“Credibility is the only thing a journalist has. Once you lose it, you can’t get it back.”

Objectivity — a crucial part of establishing credibility — is hard to come by in today’s media. The so-called TV news personalities aren’t even expected to be objective anymore. You know their leanings within the first few minutes and instantly lose all credibility with viewers.

My father told me:

“Never burn your bridges; you never know when you may have to cross them again.” 

While I try to avoid bridge burning whenever possible, I must always be prepared for that outcome when I write a news story that I know may upset someone. But I can’t let that outweigh the importance of the truth.

My first editor told me:

“We’re not here to make friends; we’re here to report the news.” 

This doesn’t mean I don’t like the people I write about. It just means I can’t let my personal feelings toward someone affect the outcome of a story.

Journalists are not perfect — we’re human and we often make mistakes. We can only learn from those mistakes and be honest with ourselves about our shortcomings. I strive every day to create a consistent record of reporting accurately and fairly. Hopefully that will allow me to leave behind a legacy that speaks for itself and inspires others to seek the truth. 

Read the complete article, "The Runaway General."

My sister's watcher

“Of two sisters one is always the watcher, one the dancer.” 
― Louise Glück

My little sister just turned 20. It was 20 years ago I was so happy to finally have my wish of a little sister come true. Be careful what you wish for sometimes. I still remember the day she was born, how she was obsessively attached to her pacifier until she was 3 and a half and how she ate handfuls of sand the first time she went to the beach.

Being eight years apart in age and lightyears away in thinking presents many challenges for sisters - even more than others endure. I watched her when my mom went back to work and I watched her grow up. I've watched her go through every phase imaginable — every hair color, new piercing and angry punk band.

I've been happy to watch her talents bloom and to watch her try to find out who she is — who she will be. I watched her walk across the stage to get her high school diploma and play her first gig. My husband taught her her first chords on the guitar and watched her take off on her own.

Some things I witnessed I hoped were phases, but years later there are still undesirable parts of her that remain. Parts I will never understand. I guess I should just be thankful that she at least doesn't listen to the Spice Girls anymore and doesn't pick at her underwear in public.

She does still pitch a fit when she doesn't get her way. She says things that hurt the ones who love her most. She has the most unrealistic sense of entitlement. Sometimes I wonder how we can even have the same parents. She won't heed my advice.

I can't say it's all bad. We have shared countless laughs, countless shots and embarrassing moments. I'm so proud of her for knowing what she wants to do and moving to Delaware to get the best education she can for the career she wants. But I know she still has a long way to go. She's not there yet. She wants to act like an adult when it is convenient for her but act like a child when she needs something.

I know I push too hard at times. I never hesitate to say what I'm thinking. I know the mistakes she is making, but I should know I can't stop her from them. She hates my input — until she needs it. I rarely feel like her sister but more like a naggy mom or aunt.

But what choice do I have? You would think it would be easy for me to throw my hands up and stop trying to be the helper. I should accept the fact that her life is her own now. I'm the watcher after all — one sister has to be. She will keep dancing — oblivious to those around watching her every move and just hoping she won't fall.

But when she does, I will be there to pick her up, dust her off and tell her to get her ass back out there.