I wrote about annoyances at the supermarket deli.  My husband read my piece and disagreed with almost all of my complaints.  I learned that I had been living with the enemy all along.  I want customers to be brief and direct.  My husband, however,  enjoys deli chit-chat.   It’s important to him to share information regarding how he plans to ultimately use the meats and cheeses that he is buying.  He explains that perhaps the person working can give him advice regarding the best selection or best cut.  Regarding the perfect cut, my husband also feels that it is the customer’s prerogative to guide the deli employee in finding the perfect thickness setting on the slicer.  He likes it when the employee presents the initial slice so he can offer a thumbs up or a thumbs down.

My husband is also a fan of the deli free sample.  Exploring new varieties of meats and cheeses is fun, and no one should have to commit to a new item without getting a free taste of it first.  “After all,” he said, “Not all country hams are created equal.  I don’t ever want to bring home country ham that doesn’t conform to my standards.” 

I am the chief food shopper in our family.  I share my husband’s love of deli foods, but he has not suffered as I have.  He has not stood patiently, holding the number 230 ticket while “Miss Number 224” blathers on about what she considers to be the perfect pastrami.  My husband has not witnessed abuse of the free sample privilege.   He hasn’t waited, as people unreasonably fuss over the setting on the slicer, and then want to eat the mistakes as free samples.  If it is good enough to eat now, it could have been eaten at home and they should have paid for that slice.  My husband has not watched people’s frustration when their order is 0.17 pounds over.  Seriously, what is the additional cost, maybe 15 cents?  Remember, a “third of a pound” is an approximate amount.  If the weight comes in just a little high, take it and eat it. 

Where do my husband and I find common ground?  Hairnets.  Employees often cover only half of their hair with a net.  This immediately downgrades hairnets from a safety measure to a sorry, sorry fashion statement.  Since deli items are rarely heated after they are purchased, sanitation needs to exceed what is found in the seafood and butcher’s departments. 

I miss the deli computer kiosk at the front of my old grocery.  I’d enter my order, and pick up my food in a case near the deli about 15 minutes later.  I was able to completely skip the pageantry of the deli.  I really miss those days. 

Becky Reil is a lover of art, architecture and good food.  Traveling with her husband and friends is her favorite way to enjoy all of her interests.  She ate her way through thirteen countries and has several trips planned for the near future.  Local food is her passion, and she will reluctantly share her "secret" sources for sausage, beef, grits and produce. Becky is constantly working to enlarge her fabric stash and enjoys quilting and collecting textiles.  A graduate of Radford University, she has worked as an Art Teacher and as a Job Coach for disabled persons.

I thought my search for a rescued dog would be a breeze.  But I contacted many rescue groups and the responses I received were sometimes surprising.  One group took over two weeks to respond to my emails.  Sometimes I’d see postings for local dogs, but they were actually several states away.  Occasionally there were postings for dogs who were deceased.  Rescue groups used the post as a memorial and an opportunity to ask for a monetary donations.  Often groups required me to submit a lengthy application before they would respond to questions regarding specific dogs.  I’d spend over an hour filling out the application, only to be told later that the dog was permanently on “medical hold” or had already been adopted.  In the end, I found the right animal rescue organization for me, and ultimately, the right pet.  Here is what I learned about doing a careful pet search.      

Be honest with your lifestyle and dog requirements 

Spend just as much time determining your needs as you do picking out your dog.  For at least one month, reflect on your lifestyle.  Research dog behavior.  Think about dog traits that you like.  Think about the dog traits that you find annoying and make a list of all of these determining factors.  These issues are more important than the appearance of the dog.  Don’t worry, there will still be many cute dogs that meet your requirements.  My list required a housebroken dog small in size, who didn’t require a fenced yard or a very active lifestyle.  A low maintenance coat, very little barking, no food guarding issues and being able to be alone for five hours at a time were also on my checklist. 

Do your own background check

Not every rescue group is organized or reputable.  See how long the group has been in operation.  Call your animal shelter or SPCA and see if they have heard of the group and approve its track record.  Meet with the group in person.  If the group takes longer than 24 hours to respond to your email or hesitates to meet with you in person, move on.  For safety reasons, Many groups only meet with individuals at planned group events.

Use extra care when considering a purebred rescue organization  Often these groups re-home animals that were breeding stock from puppy mills.  These dogs need homes, too, but you may not want an animal without social skills as your first pet.  For example, I took in a 4 year old dog who had never lived inside and had little contact with people.  It took over six months to housebreak him.  We spent at least a year working on leash training.  If you’re not extremely dedicated, patient and consistent, consider a dog who‘s behavior has been tested in a foster home first.  Purebred rescue groups do great work.  Just make sure you contact a group who is forthcoming about the background of each dog. 

Consider fostering a dog  Owning a dog is a huge commitment.  You will be responsible for its care for years-maybe even decades.  If you are not sure if you are ready, be a temporary guardian for a dog while they are looking for a permanent one.  If you are not sure what traits you are looking for in a pet, this is a good place to start.  Fostering a dog usually requires signing a contract and agreeing to show the dog to interested persons at adoption events.

Be Patient

There is a lot of information you need to sift through before you find your perfectly matched pet.  Take your time.  It’s more important to find the right dog than to bring home a pet quickly.

Becky Reil is a lover of art, architecture and good food.  Traveling with her husband and friends is her favorite way to enjoy all of her interests.  She ate her way through thirteen countries and has several trips planned for the near future.  Local food is her passion, and she will reluctantly share her "secret" sources for sausage, beef, grits and produce. Becky is constantly working to enlarge her fabric stash and enjoys quilting and collecting textiles.  A graduate of Radford University, she has worked as an Art Teacher and as a Job Coach for disabled persons.

As I posted earlier, when I can’t find anything to watch on television I screen the adoptable dogs available On Demand.  Comcast offers three minute videos of dogs that are waiting for a home at the SPCA.  Three months ago, I saw the world’s most unadoptable dog.  It was ugly.  It was blind and deaf.  It needed daily eye drops.  Its matted hair was a tangle that would require a shave or a traumatic series of brushing.  It quivered in the lap of the person as she explained that the animal wasn’t socialized and was at least 12 years old.  I explained to my husband that we HAD to adopt this dog.  After all, who else would adopt such a sad case?  He wasn’t moved by my plea.  I kept asking, and he kept saying, “No.”  I would interrupt his television shows with the On Demand video of the pitiful dog, and I reminded him that we were its only hope.  He said no, and listed good reasons for why it was a bad idea. 

On the sly, I went to visit the dog.  It formerly belonged to an animal hoarder who lived in a mobile home and kept more than 100 animals.  Later I explained to my husband that I visited the dog, who seemed nice but traumatized.  He dug his heels in, sensibly.  He explained that there was no way that a herd of dogs in a trailer were housebroken.  He was right, the dog wasn’t housebroken. 

Still, I kept asking.  I kept checking On Demand, and no one adopted the pitiful dog. Finally after months of badgering, my husband agreed to go and look at the dog.  We visited the SPCA and to my surprise, someone adopted the unadoptable dog.  Somehow, I felt sad and disappointed.  Something had changed inside me.

The year before had been a horrible one for me.  At its close, I decided that I could not care about anything.  I did not vote.  I didn’t recycle.  I had so many aggravations and disappointments that I had to stop caring.  We still gave to our favorite charities, but beyond that, I didn’t care.  The best I could do was to change my bitterness into just not caring.   But this feeling changed when I saw the world’s most pathetic dog on television.  Even after the dog slipped away, I was left to face the fact that I had changed.  I could care again.  I do care again. 

I spent the next month looking for another pitiful dog.  I haven’t kept up with my blog.   I couldn’t type;  my hand hurt from all of the online searching for the perfectly overlooked dog.  I couldn’t focus on anything else.  I searched and searched for a new dog to befriend my sweet Greyhound, Sofie.  I yearned.  I carefully researched and corresponded with several rescue groups.   And now I have Maggie, who I care about very much.  

Becky Reil is a lover of art, architecture and good food.  Traveling with her husband and friends is her favorite way to enjoy all of her interests.  She ate her way through thirteen countries and has several trips planned for the near future.  Local food is her passion, and she will reluctantly share her "secret" sources for sausage, beef, grits and produce. Becky is constantly working to enlarge her fabric stash and enjoys quilting and collecting textiles.  A graduate of Radford University, she has worked as an Art Teacher and as a Job Coach for disabled persons.

We settled into a lovely lunch with friends at Heiligenkreuz Abby, just outside Vienna.  We lounged al freco while we waited for our stuffed schnitzel to arrive.  Conversation meandered as we sipped and debated our radler style beer.  I suddenly remembered something I just saw on the news before we left the states.  It was on the tip of my tounge, which I bit before I blurted it out.  The Soup Nazi had just reopened his shop in Manhattan.  Our friends would have been interested to hear about the famous soup vendor that had been featured in Seinfeld.  His tiny shop had been a destination in some of our earlier travels.  But my inside voice yelled, “Don’t say Nazi.”

This same inner dialog happened again the next day.  We encountered a humorless ticket taker on the train.  I almost complained to someone that the man was being a…

”DON’T.” My inside voice stopped me.  “Don’t joke about it.  JUST DON’T.”

I wondered if I was being overly sensitive.  I came to the conclusion that I was not.  It turns out that I had just grown complacent in my humor.  Popular culture and media led me down the wrong path, beginning with Hogan’s Heroes reruns.  Comedians and my friends both use the term Nazi to describe a humorless and strict person or situation.    An unhelpful nurse in the emergency room, for example, might earn the Nazi slur.

But I was wrong in joining the crowd and assuming that Nazis could be a punch line.  By making flippant comments about things being Nazi-like, I diluted the sacrifices our allies made in WWII.  I belittled the memory of the six million people who died in concentration camps at the hand of the Nazi party. 

I vow to stop using the word Nazi as a synonym for uptight, brutally regimented things.  Instead, when I need to make light of an uptight situation, I’ll revive a reference that has become mostly forgotten. I will mention Nurse Ratched.  I think the time is right to reintroduce One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest back into popular culture.  I will leave the Nazis where they belong — in the history books.      

Becky Reil is a lover of art, architecture and good food.  Traveling with her husband and friends is her favorite way to enjoy all of her interests.  She ate her way through thirteen countries and has several trips planned for the near future.  Local food is her passion, and she will reluctantly share her "secret" sources for sausage, beef, grits and produce. Becky is constantly working to enlarge her fabric stash and enjoys quilting and collecting textiles.  A graduate of Radford University, she has worked as an Art Teacher and as a Job Coach for disabled persons.

I wrote a piece last week that was rejected by my husband.  He said that I should keep it to myself and called it, “very disturbing.”  I followed his advice, toned down the doom, and wrote a new blog on fearful flying.  He admitted that my new blog was less upsetting, but then grumbled that it wasn’t as funny as my first attempt.  So I’ve chosen to share part of what was left on the editing room floor.  The following is the quiz I conduct before each flight to determine my personal safety.  Part of my husband’s objections was the insane scoring chart, but I explained that fear is often not rational. 

How Safe is my Flight?

1.  The flight number:

            A.  sounds like a crash.

            B.   does not have a catchy sound.

2.  The pilots appear to be:

            A.   tired, or knuckleheads. 

            B.   sober.

3.  Scan the passengers, and locate a:

            A.   nervous passenger who may wig out in the cabin or be a terrorist.

            B.   person who looks like an air marshal.

4.  The plane:

            A.  has a propeller.

            B.  is large enough to need two aisles.

5.  The plane has been at the gate:

            A.  one hour or less between flights.

            B.   been docked long enough for a complete safety inspection.

6.  The weather:

            A.   includes precipitation or wind. 

            B.   is clear and calm.

7.  Look out the window.  Locate:

            A.   geese or seagulls.

            B.   an absence of birds.

8.  Examine the exterior of the plane.  It looks:

            A.  old or dirty.

            B.  like it rolled off the factory floor.

 Scoring

      A-35 points

      B-1 point

0-1    Looks like you are not flying today, so you have nothing to worry about.

2-8    Things seems to be in order, but there is still a small chance of a fiery crash.  To be safe, constantly monitor the flight attendants and make sure that they appear calm.

8-40    Oh no, an elevated risk level means that if you worry about it and grip the arm rests firmly, things might still be fine.

40-above    A crash seems likely.  Make sure your travel companion doesn’t fall asleep so you won’t die alone.  Order a drink; it will hurt less when you hit the ground.  

Becky Reil is a lover of art, architecture and good food.  Traveling with her husband and friends is her favorite way to enjoy all of her interests.  She ate her way through thirteen countries and has several trips planned for the near future.  Local food is her passion, and she will reluctantly share her "secret" sources for sausage, beef, grits and produce. Becky is constantly working to enlarge her fabric stash and enjoys quilting and collecting textiles.  A graduate of Radford University, she has worked as an Art Teacher and as a Job Coach for disabled persons.

Maybe you’ve seen me.  I’m the person clutching the armrests.   But I wasn’t always a nervous flyer.  Once, I was a relaxed passenger during the days of stewards and stewardesses, before the unisex flight attendant title became correct.  I loved the look of a stewardess floating down the aisle in sturdy, but chic black high heels.  Her scarf would flutter slightly as she poured a ginger ale with an efficient flourish.  During this period of airline travel, our meals were served on pfaltzgraff crockery.  Travelers were offered hot towels before descending so they arrived fresh.  Airlines served croissants and warm cookies with tongs.  I tried to duplicate the technique at home.  Even in flat shoes an on firm land, the tong pass is harder than it looks.  

Over the years, warm cookies and anything else requiring tongs vanished from economy air travel.  As corner after corner have been cut from air travel, I’ve wondered if safety checks had been cut, too.  How can an airplane be inspected carefully when it’s often docked for only 30 minutes between flights? 

As civility faded, my anxiety increased.  I no longer look forward to flying.  It is just the price we pay in order to attend a vacation.  So allow me to issue a few apologies regarding my tense behavior.  For everyone who suffered from me hogging the armrest, I’m sorry, but I really do need to hold on tight.  To my husband, I’m sorry for waking you up all those times, just to ask if you think we’re going to crash.  To everyone on the flight from Utah to Atlanta in 2008, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for yelling out the F word multiple times when our dinky, dinky plane banked too far to the left during our ascent. 

I know that some things were not better in the good old days.  The rolling luggage never worked.  Maintaining separate smoking and nonsmoking sections onboard didn’t work either.  But back then I didn’t start my vacation with a body scan and seven different people barking orders at me.  I didn’t wonder about air traffic errors or people turning their underpants into bombs.  I only wondered about how the stewardess tied her scarf, and if they were going to run out of the chicken.  

Becky Reil is a lover of art, architecture and good food.  Traveling with her husband and friends is her favorite way to enjoy all of her interests.  She ate her way through thirteen countries and has several trips planned for the near future.  Local food is her passion, and she will reluctantly share her "secret" sources for sausage, beef, grits and produce. Becky is constantly working to enlarge her fabric stash and enjoys quilting and collecting textiles.  A graduate of Radford University, she has worked as an Art Teacher and as a Job Coach for disabled persons.

Each morning for the past week, we’ve gotten up an hour earlier.  Now, after an incredible amount of effort, I’ve denied my true nature and have become an early-early bird. I woke up at 3:30 a.m. both yesterday and today.  We will be leaving for Vienna in two days so we have gradually switched over to Austrian time (or whatever the name is for their time zone). There is a seven-hour time difference, so we’re getting our stomachs and sleep schedule sorted out before we leave on our trip.  Going to bed extra early has proven to be the most difficult challenge.

The interesting part of this schedule shift is watching early (early) morning television programming. The commercials are much shadier. Prepaid credit cards and personal injury lawyers abound.  Believe it or not, but during this time period, MTV actually runs music videos.  In a sleep-deprived state of mind, the frequent infomercials seem much more compelling. I find myself wondering if I really needed a shark steam cleaner or the magic bullet food processing system.

The quiet world outside is dark and asleep, except for my 24-hour gym.  I’m afraid of what I’d find there at 4:00 a.m., so I just stay home and sort socks.  I wait for hours for the Today show to begin.

Everyone thinks we are absolutely crazy to attempt the time shift before we travel abroad. We always receive the same advice. “Just stay up when you get there.” Somehow this never works out and we wind up taking a nap, or oversleeping four hours the next day. The result is usually never acclimating to the local time until it is time to return back home. If you have the flexibility in your schedule, I highly recommend pre-planning your jet lag before your trip. Let me know if you ever do — and if you buy a magic bullet while you wait for dawn.


Special note: This was previously written. To reduce the risk of robbery, blogs, Tweets and Facebook posts should never state in real time that a person is out of town.

Becky Reil is a lover of art, architecture and good food.  Traveling with her husband and friends is her favorite way to enjoy all of her interests.  She ate her way through thirteen countries and has several trips planned for the near future.  Local food is her passion, and she will reluctantly share her "secret" sources for sausage, beef, grits and produce. Becky is constantly working to enlarge her fabric stash and enjoys quilting and collecting textiles.  A graduate of Radford University, she has worked as an Art Teacher and as a Job Coach for disabled persons.

Pouring over emailed pictures from Norway, I could hardly wait to pack. Though my phone calls to the captain with specific questions were often answered with short one word Nordic grunts, he was very busy, right? So, to find answers about the 1991 boat I was about to call home for the next six months, I looked at a brand new model; what difference would a few years of chartering to complete strangers in the Caribbean make? Let me share the feeling of …wonder that met my eyes when a half-inflated dinghy with a rusty  bashed out-board  transported me rather noisily to an  old boat that had just had the paint touched up quite obviously by hand with a brush in several places with a color that was several shades off. “There she is,” beamed the captain as we pulled alongside. “We just finished polishing her up for you!”

I soon discovered a space that had been lived in by two Norwegian men who it seemed were hell-bent on seeing who could pile the dishes highest before they toppled over onto what they proudly announced was the newly varnished floor, barely visible under “stuff” of every description. “Where do you eat?” seemed a logical question as I carefully stepped over this and that to get to my designated aft cabin. “Oh, we mostly grill something and eat topside.” Hmmm. 

Storage: As I glanced  at six months of hot and cold weather clothing, plus foul weather gear awaiting some space-bag miracle to fit into two drawers in a standard night table and hang space consisting of a 14x14x36 closet with two life jackets in it. Oh yes...nearly forgot: I sleep the wrong way on my queen bunk. It  has the added benefit of not rolling me on the floor when we do night sails.

Welcome to Water World.

Cleaning has become a constant obsession just to keep up with the Norskies. I keep wondering who these charter people were…a bunch of Chimps? Welcome to my new watery world.

Sharon Heggie, a Canadian, has been everything from a successful innkeeper to a chiropractic assistant to a TV producer/host and the list now includes sailor! When not traveling, she cheerfully bakes cookies for her family in Midlothian, VA where she can also be found at frequent food and wine events. 

We all have a built in autopilot that helps us do routine tasks.  Muscle memory is developed after we do a task over and over again, multiple times.  We remember the  motor skills needed for an activity and can perform it “automatically” without needing to think about.  We rely on muscle memory for typing, walking and tying our shoes.  I’ve been thinking quite a bit about muscle memory since I have been trying to both forget an existing muscle memory and to create a new one. 

My husband and I have been taking waltz lessons.  We are hoping to create some dance instincts for our four left feet, but our efforts haven’t been going too well.  Our international competition dance instructor has relied on his muscle memory for so long that he had trouble relating to our null skill set.   His attempts at telling us “to dance lighter on our feet” were as effective as asking a second grader to put more jazz into their “jazz hands.”  We need to be shown basic steps.  When I say basic, I mean basic.  I’m looking for, “The right foot starts, and goes here.  Then your left foot goes here.  That is not your left foot.  That still is not your left foot.”  

Even though we haven’t yet developed Waltz muscle memory, I think that trying something new offers great benefits.  Looking clumsy in public maintains humility.  Attempting a new skill keeps the neurological pathways in the brain sharp.  Being a dance partner with your life partner feeds your heart.   

While I was trying to learn something new, I was also trying to unlearn a deeply established act.  I never considered how starting my car was so deeply automatic.  My loaner car this week had a push button ignition and I never got the hang of it.   In my old car, with one swoop, I’d put on my seatbelt while I turned the key in the ignition.  Now with a new hybrid vehicle, I labored with stepping on the brake, finding and pushing the ignition and selecting “yes” on the dashboard computer.  I waited to hear an engine that never would make a sound.    

With the key unnecessary, I wasn’t sure if I still had my key chain.  I stopped, dug it out from my purse, looked at it and then put it back in my purse.  My autopilot was gone.  I had to think about how to start the car.  It seemed so unrewarding to push the start button.  My disappointment reminded me of the first time I gave up our rotary phone.  I had to push the button to hang up, instead of slamming down the receiver.   I think that unlearning something is much harder than learning new things.  But I know that it is good for me to try something new and to let go of something old and comfortable.  It sharpens my brain and softens my outlook.    

Becky Reil is a lover of art, architecture and good food.  Traveling with her husband and friends is her favorite way to enjoy all of her interests.  She ate her way through thirteen countries and has several trips planned for the near future.  Local food is her passion, and she will reluctantly share her "secret" sources for sausage, beef, grits and produce. Becky is constantly working to enlarge her fabric stash and enjoys quilting and collecting textiles.  A graduate of Radford University, she has worked as an Art Teacher and as a Job Coach for disabled persons.          

 Overwhelmed by cruise ships and their  hordes’ effect on the islands, I found myself sharing the midnight watch with Andreas when we were quite literally forced to change course, pronto, or be plowed under by one of the behemoths as we sailed to St. Martin!  There we found three more docked and one more waiting and the beaches bursting with more American accents than Caribbean patois. We hastily bought our duty free liquid gold and departed ASAP in search of the island that Kenny Chesney sang to me about all winter — “kickin’ back with Ivan.” We drop the hook about 50m offshore from my one can’t miss stop for this voyage: Ivan’s Local Flavor Stress Free Bar on Jost Van Dyke, BVI.

What’s not to love about an island named after a pirate with place names like Pull and Be Damn Point? This is my kind of heaven acknowledged by my daughter Jenna when I called home from a hammock under a coconut lined beach they call main street, “You’re never coming home, are you?” (This more a statement than a question.) Then, “Do they need a great bartender?” To the overworked, stressed-out folks, this magical place is all that’s needed — “no shoes, no shirt, no problem.” Yup, Kenny comes here to hang out, write songs about it and has shot videos from the bar which is what had me dreaming of this island all this time…and here I was.

Ivan Chinnery, 70-something, has been described as “The Nicest Man In The World” by locals, authors and celebrities alike. He counts as fans and friends Mick Jagger, Keith Richards and, of course, Kenny Chesney, with whom he performs in the USA in concerts which Kenny bills this way: “Kenny Chesney opening for Ivan.” Meeting Ivan was one of those life moments. He said it best, “I look in your eyes and I see into your heart, your beautiful soul. We were meant to meet. We are one.” He embodies the kindness, truth and genuine trusting spirit of the BVI. He is the heart of these islands. His contagious good humor and his wisdom filled my heart and when his eyes twinkled he grinned and said, “We should get married, or maybe go into business together.” I laughed till I cried. I promised to come back to discuss the business part of the proposition so all of us could continue to live stress free “on the coast of somewhere beautiful.”

Sharon Heggie, a Canadian, has been everything from a successful innkeeper to a chiropractic assistant to a TV producer/host and the list now includes sailor! When not traveling, she cheerfully bakes cookies for her family in Midlothian, VA where she can also be found at frequent food and wine events.