aka “Things I’ve Seen” since 2004
What I’ve always liked about Disney
This is what you see along about holiday time as you enter Epcot’s World Showcase. If Disney does anything well it’s lights. And music. Here, for lack of writing time, are other photos from Florida. Not much of a selection — just things I took. (It’s kind of intimidating being in the company of three professional photographers, so I don’t haul out my little camera much.)
Speaks for itself …
Clydesdales at SeaWorld
Mama and baby
Saturday — We left the girls standing on line at the Test Track in Epcot’s Future World and wandered over to World Showcase in search of lunch. I was hungry but nothing sounded good to both of us – not Japanese or Mexican not German or English or French. So we settled on Italian. We’ve been there before and knew it would be fine. We decided to dine alfresco. To lend authenticity to the experience, all the "countries" in World Showcase hire nationals to work in the restaurants and shops. Salvatore from Napoli was our waiter. Neat trimmed black hair, bright blue eyes, friendly smile. "Signora, how do you like it so far?" was his frequent question as he busied himself among the four or five tables he was serving. He was polite, attentive. Of course. That’s why he was the waiter. But the one I noticed was the busboy who stood by, waiting to clear a plate or table; swooping in with a breadbasket containing exactly enough hot rolls for the number of people at the table. Friendly enough – he was empathetic as he went to the aid of a pair of matrons who dropped a coffee cup that smashed to pieces on the pavement "Do you know how many of these I drop each day?" he laughed, immediately easing the situation. Yet he was brooding looking, dark with expressive eyebrows that seemed easily worried, and a knowing smile that bordered on a sneer. Much of his job consisted of standing in wait, off to the side, out of the way of patrons and waiters. As I was watching, a young blonde woman who’d left her seat momentarily now was wending her way back, navigating the narrow aisle where he stood, his back to her. As she reached him, she must have said excuse me, because he turned to move. Now here’s my observation and I’ll apologize in advance for the obvious stereotyping. Any American guy in this situation would have backed up and let her pass, bowing his head a little, maybe mumbling ‘excuse me’ (or, if he was a gentleman of a certain age he might act the gallant and wave her past with a bow and a flourish of his arm). But not this young Italian man with the brooding eyes. He turned sideways so she could pass, but he did not give over the space – no, he stood to, almost leaning toward her, looked her square in the face (had she been looking), then let his eyes travel, appraising her, turning his head to watch as she passed. Then his stance relaxed and he returned his attention to his duties. She, the tourist, walked on, then sat down in her chair – a young wife and mother to a toddler on an outing at Disney World. In Italy it’s possible that much could be made of such a scene. Here in Disney World, Florida, USA, I doubt the young man’s advance was even noticed.
Probably the most thankful being I know today is Jenny. I mean, the dog loves snow. Celebrates with it. Revels in it. Absolutely comes alive in it.
I took her out with me last night for a few minutes while I retrieved the trash container from the road. (The thing was open all day, and after I struggled it through the eight or so inches that had accumulated in the driveway, I had to shovel the snow out of it.) The white stuff was still coming down and what was on the ground was deep and fluffy, just how JDog likes it. Well, she was blasted all the way back to puppyhood, ducking, jumping, pushing her snout deep into the piles, snorting and laughing, a white snow gumdrop stuck to the top of her nose when she came up for air.
We weren’t out long enough for her apparently, because she hung around me sad-eyed and whine-begging half the evening. Just in case I decided against staying in, she didn’t want to miss it. Too much to do tonight, the night before Thanksgiving, I told her. Finally she gave up and retreated, pouting to her favorite basement sofa.
This morning the sun was up with the snow and she was back at it. Let’s go she said, standing at the bathroom door while I brushed my teeth. Let’s g0-0-0 she whined as I ate my egg-on-toast. LET’S GO! she insisted as I drank a third cup of coffee. I bundled up in my old down-filled Eddie Bauer jacket, pulled on Susan’s knit cap and Drew’s old trompin’-around-in-the-snow boots and out we went.
Somewhere along the way I let her off the leash so I might have a chance to take a picture without the camera moving. (I am really bad at holding it still and get lots of blurry photos that offer no clue about what it was I thought was so photo worthy.) When I leaned back a little to get an angle on a tree that wouldn’t also show the buildings in the background, my hat fell off.
Well that dog was on that hat like she’d killed it herself (see photo). She shook it back and forth, growling and snarling. She threw it away from herself, then pounced on it, shaking it harder. Then she started a game of keep away with me — running back and forth, dodging here then there, never quite letting me catch her, while I chased, laughed, slipped, fell.
When she decided this game was old, she dropped the hat and trotted off to some other snow game, leaving me to retrace our footprints to find it. She wanted to catch some more sniffs in the road before I inevitably came to my senses and reattached her leash. Which I did promptly. Mother that I am, I did what I do best, and that is spoil the fun for kids and dogs.
Walking back home we reached the spot where we usually cross the street to return to our house. She followed me until we entered the base of our driveway. There she stopped, turned her head away, and planted her front feet in the road slush. I don’t want to go in yet, is what this move told me. Amazing I thought, how a little snow (well, a lot of snow) turns this dog from lazy to lively. And so I relented.
We crossed back over and shuffled down the mostly unshoveled sidewalk of the nearby cul-de-sac. Between the houses on one side I could see the river, flowing cold and calm. Somebody was snowblowing his driveway. A couple of kids were working on the season’s first snowman. Most people hadn’t been out yet on this early-ish sun-blasted and snow-buried Thanksgiving morning. Just me and my thankful dog.
They left tonight, about 6:30. Jenny dog and I stood in the driveway and waved as Dad and his two girls drove off in a jam-packed van, bound first for Monroe to pick up our god daughter/niece, then for that home of Mickey and Splash Mountain and everything a kid dreams about (’cause she saw it on TV) — Florida!
I wish them safe driving (might snow tomorrow) and good time (it’s a long haul for one driver). I’ll meet them there on Friday evening after my leisurely two-hour nonstop flight. They’ll likely be spent, having spent their first whole day in Orlando chasing Mickey (whaddya bet they never get out of the Magic Kingdom). But I’m their ticket to staying at the Disney Dolphin Hotel (it’s business, dontcha know) and I’ll bet they’ll be glad to see me.
This will be my girls’ fourth trip to Disney World, and believe it or not, they know kids who’ve gone more often than that. It started the year the girls were 3 (Drew was 7 ) and my inlaws sent us there for Christmas. Round-trip flight, 6 days at the Polynesian — we did it in style. Four years later we saved up and went again. This time we took a road trip and stayed at a more modest Disney hotel, Dixie Landings.
It so happens that Quixtar holds the Achievers incentive trip there every other year, so two years ago, since I was going anyhow, I scraped up frequent flier miles and took the family along. I worked while they got their picture taken at the bottom of every darn ride in the place — and bought every one of ‘em, too. We stayed off site at the Gaylord Palms, but it was luxe nevertheless, and the kids loved it.
This year, because Meg and Sus are 15 and I’m sure close to being done going anywhere with Mom and Dad, we decided to do Disney one more time (I’m out of miles, hence the jam-packed van trip — again). Our niece, Lauren, is a year younger than our girls and has never been to Disney, so naturally she’s all excited. The three girls are great friends, and the trip should be a fun time. I hope Clay can stand all the excitement, ’cause I’m sure I won’t see much of any of it, and they’ll be gone back home (leaving me behind) before I know it.
Believe it or not though, I’m looking forward to going (for 15 days, yikes). It’s going to be warm and sunny. There will be things going on back at work, but I just won’t be able to worry about them. ‘Cause I’ll be at Disney World, stuck in a program that repeats itself every 5 days. My kids’ll be running around the parks high fivin’ Mickey for probably the last time before they have kids of their own. For once I’ll just have to sit back and take things as they come. There’s something kind of comforting – vacation-y, even – in that. Just what I need.
Done been cut down …
So it’s a week since the election. I’m stunned, like almost everyone I know. It’s like my coworker and friend said to me last Wednesday, “What’s wrong with me? Am I that out of touch with what everyone else is thinking?” He says he’s about a half-inch left of center — nowhere near having far- or even middlin’-far left leanings. But he feels he lives in a totally different world than the rest of the country apparently feels it does. “How can this be?” he lamented. “And the thing is, I still think they’re so wrong!”
I hear ya, friend. Even my 15-year-olds are wondering what happened. Why the “God, gays, and guns” rhetoric suddenly drowned out all else. The notion that people “voted their morals” is absurd almost beyond discussion. As if 1,000 young men and women dead in an ill-conceived war is beyond reproach. As if taking a stand against almost the entire world is justified in the name of anything or anyone, let alone in the name of freedom. As if foisting Western democracy, beliefs, and culture on a group of people we make no attempt to understand is any more righteous than the invective they spew at us.
In a Nov. 4 column on TomPaine.com (republished on Common Dreams), Harpers magazine contributing editor Greg Palast outlined how Bush won the election based on “spoilage” or the number of ballots typically thrown out in an election — usually, he claims, these happen to be minority and poorer voters’ ballots cast for democratic candidates. Makes ya wonder.
Thom Hartmann‘s Nov. 6 Common Dreams column cited evidence of how easy it is to tamper with optically scanned paper ballots. Links to Florida election results by county and registrations by party make for a pretty convincing argument against a Bush win in that state.
Like my friend, I believe I’m barely left of center in my political beliefs. Although my husband claims I’m “way lefter” than he is (and he’s a former union committee man). I heard a radio talk show pundit declare today that the huge percentage of Americans who voted for Kerry, purportedly the Senate’s most liberal member, shows that the country is not as right as Bush claims for his mandate.
So what’s left? For starters, it’s not to cry over what we can’t change, as ex-Prez Bill Clinton has admonished us, but to get to work. Never having been overtly political myself, I’m pledging to go out and find out what this means for me.
And what’s left? It’s humans caring for humans in what I still believe to be the greatest democracy in the world. We on the left are yet a pretty powerful force for what’s right. I think we can still make a run at it.
