Lessons from NASA

Stennis Space Center, Mississippi

If you’ve ever had the privilege of eating at my mother’s table, you understand why I am willing to drive from Houston to St. Petersburg a scant two weeks after making the drive the other direction.

This time, it’s just Riley and me, cruising along the Gulf Coast.  Without following the big rig, I find myself paying more attention.  I’m sure the other drivers on the road are pleased with that, but the mind does wander as one drives along Interstate 10 through Texas, Louisiana and into Mississippi.  

We’ve just entered Mississippi, advertised as "the birthplace of music," when Riley makes herself known in the backseat.  Although she is only 5 months old, traveling with her is like hitting the road with a faithful stuffed animal.  Not a peep for mile after mile.  As we passed the state line, she sat up and gave me a head nod that let me know it was time to stretch her legs.

I pulled into the rest stop/welcome center that I spotted from the I-10.  Actually, what caught my eye was what I thought was a giant jungle gym perched on cement pillars.  On closer inspection, I learned that this was no children’s playground.  It was the Lunar Lander that was used in the 1960’s as a trainer by the Apollo astronauts in preparation for their moon missions.  I had stumbled into the NASA Stennis Space Center, which was originally called Mississippi Test Facility.

The Lunar Lander played an important role in the Apollo program, and therefore, in the imaginations of all of us lucky enough to grow up during NASA’s golden years. From this type of vehicle, Neil Armstrong proclaimed, “The Eagle has landed” as he and Buzz Aldrin became the first humans to touch down on the moon’s surface.

Man on the Moon

It was another Lunar Lander, called “Aquarius” that became a life-saving pod for the Apollo 13 astronauts.  Those astronauts were Jim Lovell, Fred Haise, and Jack Swigert.

As I stood pondering the scientific expertise that went into the creation of such an important vehicle, I was reminded of a dark spot in my own educational history.  In 1979, I was selected to attend a journalism camp in Denver with budding high school journalists from all over Colorado.  When we arrived, the organizers excitedly told us they had a special surprise for us.  Astronaut Jack Swigert (a Coloradoan) was coming to speak to us and we would have the opportunity to ask him questions.  

Truthfully, I don’t remember what I thought before I went in to hear him speak.  I probably had a vague idea about Apollo 13, but remember, this was years before Tom Hanks and Kevin Bacon made the mission famous again in the Hollywood version of “Apollo 13.”  

The crew of Apollo 13

I remember there were about 30 of us in the room.  Astronaut Swigert spoke for about 20 minutes, then said he would take questions.  There was dead silence. Not one person asked a question.  Not one.  I felt embarrassed for myself, and for Col. Swigert, as he stood there trying to coax a question out of us.  It didn’t happen. We were too ignorant and unprepared to come up with even a “how did it feel?” the standard lazy journalist question.

I’ve thought of that day so many times over the years.  I always wanted to apologize to him.  He was a truly great American and deserved better than a room full of students more worried about their social lives than a man who risked his life in quest of knowledge.  

Astronaut Swigert

Col. Swigert went on to become a U.S. Congressman from Colorado, but in 1984, shortly after he was elected, he died of cancer. In addition to an apology, I owe him a debt of gratitude.  That day had a tremendous impact on my journalism career.  I never again went to an interview unprepared.  

The Town that Mickey Built

Celebration, FL (taken with my cool Panorama option on my iPhone)

Everybody is familiar with Disney Land, Disney World, and Epcot, but did you know that in the '90s Disney built a town?  It's called Celebration and it's just south of the gates to Central Florida's Magic Kingdom.

Downtown Celebration

The idea was to build a master-planned community with the perfection of the Disney product.  The style is early 20th century.  According to Zillow.com, which measures real estate value, housing prices run from condos for $200,000 to single family homes in the millions.

Porches grace most of the single family homes.

  The community has a golf course, lots of parks, and churches (the Sunday evening Catholic Mass is contemporary, and it ROCKS...) in addition to its downtown area.  Stetson University also has a campus within the confines of the community.  You won't find gas stations or grocery stores, but you will find a bakery for dogs (Riley's favorite haunt).

At first glance, a visitor might think of that movie, "The Stepford Wives."  Everything IS pretty orderly. I was reminded of the play, "Our Town" by Thornton Wilder.  This is a place where people walk to go out to dinner and they talk to their neighbors.  People are genuinely friendly here.  Whether you're in line at the post office or the theatre, the locals will engage in conversation.

Post Office

Theatre

It's not all perfect, however. On a recent trip we noticed a marked change in downtown once the high school lets out for the day.  Hoards of teens make their way, on skateboards, to the brick paved streets of downtown Celebration.  It quickly puts a damper on strolling along tree-lined streets wishing for a bygone era.  The facade may change, but the problems of modern communities remain the same.

Never fear, however.  Unlike "Our Town" of Thorton's imagination, Disney Imagineers were savvy enough to include a Starbucks: it's the anecdote for anything that ails you.

Don't even think about the perfect town without a Starbucks.

Spinning Class: No Politicians Allowed

I joined the YMCA in a working class neighborhood of Osceola County here in Central Florida.  The Y is nestled between a local elementary school and the middle and high school on a quiet side street.  It’s away from the hustle and bustle of vacation revelers.  On any given morning, as I make my way into the parking lot, children from the local school walk over as a class in one straight line to get their swimming lessons.  For many of these children, this is their big chance to learn the lifelong skill of swimming.  Not only is it fun, but this generation has seen its physical education time dwindle. This is a chance to move.  

The majority of these children get free breakfast and free lunch at school.  For the time they are in the pool, they are free to float, dive, and splash: to be children without a care in the world.

Once inside the Y, I walk to the spinning class led by Patricia.  Patricia is from Bogota, Columbia.  At 5 feet, she is has the energy and enthusiasm of Minnie Mouse, and the drive and determination of a world-class Drill Sergeant.  In the class, I am the only gringo.  Patricia likes to go around the room and holler out country names to find out where people originated.  On this day, we represent Puerto Rico, Cuba, Brazil, and Portugal.  

Perhaps because I have been bombarded by political ads for the past few months, I suddenly realize I am surrounded by a political trifecta: they are women, they are Soccer Moms, and, most importantly this year, they are Latinas.  I chuckle to myself because there are two empty bikes in front of me.  I imagine Mitt on one and Barack on the other.  They’ll have to pedal hard to keep up with these women to make their promises of a better tomorrow.  This is NOT the spin of politics.

Before class, conversation was about the teenagers at home who wouldn’t get out of bed to come to the Y.  One was worried about a college-age daughter who couldn’t find a job worthy of her education.  Another woman worried that her job might go away in this unstable economy.  These are the concerns of any woman, any town, any color, in America.  We need not be categorized by pollsters.  We all want the same thing: a healthy country, safe from terrorism, in which we can be proud.  

Life in the Shadow of the Mouse

Dateline--Orlando-ish, Florida....

I had a serendipitous thought the other day as I was driving down Highway 192 in Kissimmee, Florida.  There are two completely different Floridas.  

I noticed a year ago when I told people we were headed for Florida, there was often a pregnant pause, followed by..."oh, that's nice..." in a lukewarm sort of way.  Sometimes people would say, "Really? Florida?? Are you sure?"  I couldn't understand it.  To me, Florida was building sand castles with my girls on white sandy beaches, shelling on Sanibel Island, sailing and fishing (read: barfing) in the Gulf of Mexico. That's My Florida.

The second "Other" Florida brings me back to my Eureka! moment.  It's the Florida most people see.  It's the world of concrete and retention ponds that grew like Kudzu around the borders of Disney.  It's no wonder people were surprised when I said I love Florida.  

I snapped some pictures of that other Florida to prove my point.  I didn't search far to find examples:

The Gator Inn

Nothing says comfort and elegance like "The Gator Inn."  Why would they think people would find this image restful?

If you drive North on Highway 192, you will find the Magic Kingdom.  Head South, and you can find a million different ways to spend your money...

Shopping...maybe a Harry Potter wanna be?

Orlando used to be an Orange Grove.

Disney Gift Outlet...

Starting at $24, see Florida from the air

So I get it now.  If you have traveled to Florida, but never ventured out of the Orlando area, you've seen the "Other" Florida.  While it may be "the happiest place on earth," it isn't, by any stretch of the imagination, the most beautiful.

Sempre Gumby

it’s hard to write a blog called “No Strings Attached” when you are busy trying to grow roots.  When we left California five months ago, our plan was to mosey across the country and end up in the Tampa area.  Once there, we hoped to find a house and a community to call home.  We almost did it.

When  I first married Larry, he taught me the motto he lives by, thanks to the U.S. Marines and pop culture: “Sempre Gumby.” Translation: Ever Flexible.  That saying has come in handy, because over the past few months, we have hit road blocks at every turn.  

The first block was that it’s darn near impossible to get homeowner’s insurance in Florida.  If you are new to the state, all that’s available is the administratively bloated, self-serving, State-run “Citizen’s Insurance.” They call it “Insurance of Last Resort.” I call it “All that’s Available.”

I called our insurance company, USAA, which prides itself on serving members of the  military. I asked them how they can fail to offer homeowner’s insurance to a combat Veteran.  They have to answer to shareholders, the representative said.  USAA doesn’t mention that in their ads. What’s more laughable is that USAA’s headquarters is in Tampa. 

A series of other real estate snafus, along with the realization that living near Southwest’s headquarters would be more financially beneficial than the small domicile of Orlando, brought us to a tough decision. We decided to leave my parents and all the wonderful people and culture here in Central Florida, and move to Dallas, Texas. Sempre Gumby.

Texas is great.  I am related to half the state and I look forward to seeing my family on a more regular basis.  A little piece of my heart will remain behind in Tampa, but we are looking forward to hitting the road again and finding more adventure down the road.

Oh, there’s just one more thing...because we were planning to close on a house on August 29, we got a puppy.  Riley is a Golden Doodle and is now 13 weeks old.  Time will tell if she will like traveling as much as we do...

Food for Thought

As I've looked back over my blog, I realized it reads more like a regional food review than anything else.  I am happy to report that if you get off the crumbling interstate system when traveling across this great country of ours, there's still plenty of regional flair and flavor.  The food is one of the things I love best about Tampa.  There are a plethora of great ethnic restaurants to match the population.

I am a coffee drinker. As I sit writing this, I am sucking down Starbucks.  And while I love, love, love my Grande Non-Fat Latte, there is nothing in this world to compare to a properly made Cafe con Leche. Nothing.  There are secrets to the perfect cup of joe that is famous in Tampa  and Miami.  First, start with full-bodied expresso beans.  Cafe Bustelo is one of the famous brands.  Next, steam whole milk.  I made the mistake of asking if I could have my cafe con leche with skim milk.  The waitress at the restaurant made a face like she didn't understand me.  When I repeated my request, she scrunched up her face as if she were fighting off dry-heaves.  I got whole milk.  After they steam the milk, they put regular old white sugar in it until it's just sweet enough.  You can't use stevia, equal, splenda, raw sugar or any other substitute (same response as above).  To the table comes a cappuccino-size cup and saucer filled with sweet milk and a separate little pitcher of expresso.  Pour the expresso into the milk to the desired strength, and voila! So good.

Cuban food, for me, is comfort food.  My daughters grew up eating it.  One of my favorite restaurants in Tampa is a little place called Arco Iris on Columbus St. On a recent visit I had ropa vieja (which is kind of like a pot roast) and yellow rice and black beans.  Larry had roast pork that is so tender and full of flavor.  If you have room, you can get flan for dessert, but why bother when cafe con leche is on the menu...

Baseball and Other Essentials of Life

Although we originally planned to tour U.S. presidential libraries as we traveled across the country, it turned out we were drawn to Major League Baseball.  After Arizona’s fan-friendly stadium, we went to downtown St. Louis to see the Cardinals play in their new ballpark.  The view was beautiful.  From our seats, I could see the Arch, the old courthouse where the Dred Scott citizen case was heard before it went to the Supreme Court, and of course, Beltran, Freese, Holliday (the handsomest man in baseball), and the rest of the Cards.

We also traveled to Miami with my parents to see the Marlins in their new park  (with all these new ballparks, you would think the economy was booming…).  It is a techno dreamboat for fans and fish.  The roof opens for outside ball games when the weather cooperates.  My favorite thing in this dazzling, bling-infested park is the Homerun Sculpture designed by the famous artist, Red Grooms.  We were lucky enough to see two homers the day we went—and the sculpture comes to life: lights blink, fish swim and splash.  It’s FAN-tastic!  Oh, and they have a bobble-head museum, too.  Pretty neat stuff, even before the first pitch is thrown!

Those poor Tampa Bay Rays are "forced to make due" with a stadium that was built to woo a major league team way, way back in the ‘90s. “If we build it, they will come…” said city leaders.  After many failed attempts, St. Petersburg finally bagged a team of its own, only to have the team leave the name of its host city out of its name.  Ever heard of the St. Petersburg Rays? It’s like being a parent to a teen who doesn’t want to be seen in public with you…they don’t want to share your name and your house isn’t fancy enough for them. But that is all behind the scenes owner’s stuff.  The Rays are my new team and I enjoy watching them whenever I get the chance.  Larry even bought me a scorebook so I can keep track of what the boys are doing. 

Bottom line, I seen a lot of baseball, but I missed many of the presidential libraries along the way.  It wasn’t my fault: I had the plague in Texas so I missed both the Bush museums and the LBJ library is closed because its being renovated.  The stop at Jimmy Carter’s library in Atlanta was canceled because someone in the group was tired of traveling…

I still plan to visit those libraries and more—they are a treasure for those of us who love history.  But not today, there’s a game on at 3.  Play ball!

 

Becoming Real People Again

For the past few weeks we have gone about the business of establishing ourselves in Tampa.  We rented a mailbox at the U.S. Post Office on MacDill AFB and went to the AAA to get our Florida Driver’s Licenses and Florida License Plates.  Because of the events of 9/11 and the Patriot Act, it is darn near impossible to get a driver’s license, especially if you have no real physical address—P.O. Boxes no longer work for an address for driver’s licenses, banks, or credit cards. It doesn’t really matter what you use for a physical address, as long as you have one.

After much creative thinking and scavenging, we managed to find enough proof of identity to please the state of Florida.  We now have our identity in one state: our permanent home address is the Family Camp office at MacDill.

Next order of business was admitting that a person cannot graze with wild abandon on fried okra without paying a price.  My price: 10 additional pounds to shed.  My solution: Weight Watchers.  Hi, my name is Cindy and I have recently eaten my body weight in fried okra and Reese’s Pieces.  No judgment, just a new plan.  “It’s choice not chance that determines your destiny,” said the WW leader.  I decided that’s an updated quote for “you are what you eat.” I am now eating less. My destiny is to get back into people clothes and out of moo-moos.

What better way to slim down than to get a bike? However, in addition to being the lightning capital of the world, the Tampa Bay region is known for cars flattening bike riders.  Defensive bike riding is definitely a must.  Larry has mirrors and reflectors hanging off multiple parts of his body and bike.  I wanted to mount a cannon on the side of my bike, but Larry thought that was impractical.  I do try to stay off roads and ride on trails or sidewalks.  Although militant walkers have been known to push over sidewalk bike riders.  Riding in Florida is great, though. After the hills of Carmel Valley, CA,  the flat expanses of the bay area are welcome to couch potatoes like me.

Hello, Tampa!

When we loosely planned our trip, we thought we would spend a few days in Nashville listening to music and eating grits, then head on down to Atlanta to tour the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library, and finally push on south to Tampa.  But when we hit the road in Indiana, Larry was struck with the notion that it was time to be in Florida.  His foot was out of the cast but it was swelling daily and sore.  He needed physical therapy  and he needed structure.  

I thought he would slow down as we drove through Kentucky, but we whizzed past the Jim Beam plant and the Makers Mark plant.  We plowed through Atlanta (yes it was rush hour!) on Thursday, then on a Friday afternoon, we pulled into MacDill Air Force Base in beautiful Tampa, Florida. My trip odometer read 6,364 miles.

(Atlanta in Rush Hour. )

MacDill and Tampa have changed a lot since I left 8 years ago.  With both Central Command (dealing with Europe, Africa, and the Middle East--including Afghanistan) and Special Operations Command (Larry’s old command which is responsible for Task Force 160, Seal Team 6, and all the other secret squirrel groups) headquartered here, the Air Force has spent money to spruce up this base.  Compared to the Marine’s Camp Pendleton, it’s the Ritz-Carlton.

MacDill AFB Tampa, FL

The family camp is on Tampa Bay.  Actually, if you think of Tampa Bay as a mouth opening into the Gulf of Mexico, the peninsula MacDill is on is the dangly thing in its throat.  (Dr. Larry says it’s “the Uvula.”)  The sunsets are incredible but cell phone service and internet connectivity is almost non-existent.

Our first outing took us to nearby Ybor City (pronounced E-boar) where the nationalities that make Tampa so diverse converge.  Cuban and Italian immigrants called Ybor home, and their culture is evident on the streets today.  There’s a Cuban Sandwich contest underway, and for those of you who have not been to Tampa, let me tell you about cubans (the sandwich, not the people.)

Cubans were created in Tampa, NOT in Miami or on that island south of us.  To make a perfect Tampa cuban, start with a loaf of fresh cuban bread sliced lengthwise.  Cuban bread is long and thin and lighter and airier than french bread.  If it is real, it has a palmetto frond in the center of it.  Back in the day, bakers delivered cuban bread to houses using horse-drawn carts.  Each house had a hook located on the alley side of the house.  The driver would hook the long loaf onto the hook in the alley.  No bag, paper or plastic.

Back to the sandwich...add sliced pork marinated in mojo, thin italian sausage, a slice of swiss cheese, dill pickles and mustard.  Slather the outside of the bread with a little bit of butter and heat in a press.  Pair it with fried plantains and a cafe con leche and you have the perfect meal.  

I don’t know which restaurant won the bragging rights for Best Cuban Sandwich in Tampa this year in Ybor, but I can tell you everyone in the vicinity was a winner for partaking in the fragrance alone.

A Field Trip to Redwood RV's

Maybe I should have been in construction.  Or maybe I should have worked in a chocolate factory like Lucy and Ethel.  For that matter, a TV newsroom is a lot like a factory...it’s just the product doesn’t taste as good as chocolate at the end of the day.  

Anyway, I’ve always been intrigued by how things are made, especially things on an assembly line.  So when we had to take our 5th wheel to the factory to get a few things fixed, I was delighted to find out we could take a tour.

Redwood RV’s are literally built from the ground up.  They make about six RV’s a week in the factory in Syracuse, Indiana.  It’s not an assembly line exactly, but there are teams that construct each part of the RV, starting at the wheels and frame and working up to the roof.  It’s a relatively new company and their target market is baby boomers who want an all-season coach.  As “full-timers” born in ’53 and ’61, we can say “bullseye” to the marketing folks.

I learned a lot about our home during our three-hour tour.  Maybe we should have taken the sales tour BEFORE we bought the RV, but I am happy camper.  We learned some really helpful things.  We found out there is a vent that can be opened so the microwave and exhaust fan have somewhere to push out steam.  We also learned that the hose for the black/grey water actually swings out from under the RV.  Maybe Larry already knew this, but didn’t tell me so I would have to crawl under the RV every time we set up camp.  Finally, we found out we have a hidden safe in the bedroom! Who knew??? Now I just have to buy jewels to keep in the safe...

It was fun to see other RV’s in various stages of completion, but it was even more fun to meet the people who actually made our 5th wheel.  They were absolutely delighted that we were happy with our home.  Pride in workmanship.  Made in the USA.

A Day in Paradise

As a self-proclaimed Coloradan, you may think my next statement is blasphemous: Northern Indiana is as close to my image of heaven as I have seen on earth.


We traveled to northern Indiana to visit the Redwood RV factory, and as a side benefit we got to spend three days in the tranquil beauty of the Amish countryside.

According to Religioustolerance.org, the Amish were started by Jacob Amman (Amish is derived from his name) in 1693 in Switzerland as a reform group within the Mennonite movement. The Amish thought the Mennonites lacked discipline and wanted to restore their faith to its earlier practices. In the 18th century, some of the Amish migrated to the United States, originally settling in Pennsylvania, but soon moved west into Indiana, Ohio, and many other states.

The Amish attempt to preserve the rural lifestyle of 17th Century Europe. By avoiding modern conveniences, they isolate themselves from today’s American culture.

As we meandered past picturesque farms and through small towns decked out with American flags, we made our way to Shipshewana, an Amish village that welcomes visitors.  Most of the pictures I've included here are from around Shipshewana.  What really made it my idea of paradise was the number of quilt shops. We saw Cotton Corners and Yoders Department Store, plus Lolly's Fabric store.   I must report that Larry dutifully trooped behind me until his eyes glazed over and his head was about to explode. No worries. Nothing a beer can't fix.