Postcards from the Mothership

Ten years ago today, I was on a train headed east through Germany to Salzburg, Austria.

On the rails again – “railing” as the lingo here goes. On my way from Heidelberg to Salzburg, with a change of trains at Munich.

I saw the most lovely sight this morning – a field of sunflowers. A whole crop of them! Of course, the way we eat sunflower seeds it makes sense that someone somewhere would be farming them. I just never thought of them as a cash crop before. And what a happy sight, these big, happy, floppy-headed sunflowers bobbing in the morning sun. Too bad I didn’t have my camera ready.

I’m excited about today’s trip – I should be able to see the Alps by the time I get into Munich. Mountains are cool!

I didn’t tell you about the man I met on the train from Manheim to Heidelberg. He was 74, and I’ve got his business card with his name on it somewhere. He saw my Canadian flag and started talking to me in English. He told me about his sister in Toronto and brother in Washington. He told me briefly that he had been a radioman stationed in Russia during the war, and he told me about Heidelberg. We sat together for the 20 minute train ride from Manheim to Heidelberg and chatted. It was an altogether lovely chat! This Canadian flag – it does wonders!

Categories: Europe95

I dedicate this post to ÃœberGeek, who said, “Enough with the Germany stuff already. I’ve heard all these stories already.” Because some stories are worth hearing more than once. This might not be one of them, but we’ll never know if we don’t try!

It’s been another good day in Heidelberg. Started with breakfast at the Hardrock Café with my roommate Deena from Southern California (Ed. note: Kay, maybe you know her?) We had a beer last night, and breakfast this morning before she was off to somewhere, I’ve already forgotten where.

After wandering around aimlessly again (it’s what I do best) I stopped at an outdoor café for dinner. There was this great busker-style street band playing right in front of me. Four guys in an a-capella style, but with a bit of rhythm from a guitar, tambourines, bongos and occasionally kazoos. They completely captured the crowd’s attention, and seemed to be having such a good time. Sucker that I am for souvenirs and a good cause, I bought one of their CDs – a demo, I assume. I hope it’s as good as their street music, but I won’t know until I get home.

Categories: Europe95

Vacations aren’t quite the same now that I’m a mom, and < quote fingers >responsible adult< /quote fingers >. Someone has to pack the bags, make the beds before we leave the cottage, wash the dishes after a meal, and chase Simon out of the cupboard, the fireplace ornaments, the bathroom and all the other unchildproofed surfaces that have been scraped barren in our home.

Even at home on vacation, when I sit out in the backyard with my book, hiding from the boys, there’s the faint call of laundry unsorted, paint still in its can, garage decluttering left cluttered. Gone are the days of blissful boredom, when my biggest responsibility was remembering to tan evenly on both sides. (I don’t even have the tolerance for the sun I used to have. When I was a teen, I would slather myself in baby oil to tan; now, I covet shady spots and wear hats that give me bad hair.)

But today, today was one of those blissful vacation days that recall the endless summer days of youth. We brought the boys and my parents to Mont Cascades water park. It’s not quite the Lake Huron beaches of my childhood, but it’s a good second choice.

The boys loved the big pool with the sloping sides, even though the water was somewhere around frigid. Simon was brave and endured a few runs on the baby slide with me, and survived my attempt to drown him by bringing him on one of the larger kiddie slides. (We hurtled down the tube at what must have been Mach 2, and as gravity, centrifigul force and inertia fought to rend us, my mind bellowed, “DON’T LET GO OF THE BABY. DON’T LET GO OF THE BABY! NO MATTER WHAT ELSE HAPPENS, DO NOT LET GO OF THE BABY!!!” Thankfully, my mother was waiting for us at the bottom and rescued a very wet and surprised Simon from my arms as we crashed like a Tsunami into the reservoir and I dropped like a stone. Kiddie slide my ass. That scared me worse than the Vortex, the one that spins you around like a big toilet bowl and flushes you uncerimoniously out the bottom.)

If you go to a water park with preschoolers, bringing extra adults along is an excellent plan. Our ratio of two adults for each preschooler seemed to work perfectly, allowing Beloved and I to try a few of the big slides while the kids splashed with Granny or begged French Fries from Papa Lou.

Sadly, the sunscreen was no match for the brilliant sun and 37C humidex, and Tristan’s cheeks, ears and shoulders are looking distinctly lobstery tonight. Well, I got through 3.5 years without a sunburn, that’s got to count for something, right? It’s not much of a burn and will probably turn tan by morning. I wish I could say the same for Beloved’s scalp. Hair loss and bright sun are a cruel couple.

You’ve been reading about my summer adventures, both in 2005 and 1995. What’s been your best summer adventure, this year or ever?

Another brilliant blue morning as Intrepid Traveler takes to the rails again. We left Trier at 8:45 am , to arrive in Manheim at 11:30. In Manheim, we change trains for a quick 15 minute ride to Heidelberg. I didn’t expect to be going thru Manheim, I thought I’d have to go back thru Koblenz. This is better – no backtracking.

We’re following the Saar river right now, and although it’s not quite as beautiful as the Mosel Valley, it is still picturesque and lined with the same timeless small towns.

I’m glad I spent two nights in Trier. The town was wondeful, and I was a bit tired of town-hopping. Yesterday morning I did a Roman ruin tour, visiting the 3rd century Imperial bath and ampitheatre ruins, and checked out the Konstantin Basilika. What a strange feeling to think of these ancient structures, to try to imagine them in their first years of use, to wonder how many generations of people, how many different cultures, had stood in exactly the same spot. I found it especially fascinating to read how the Porta Nigra and the Imperial baths changed used over the years (both were used as city gates and churches, among other things) and to read about the wars that they withstood – Napoleon was particularly brutal and blew up most of Trier. I sat for over half an hour on a low wall in the ampitheatre, thinking of Roman imperialism, the Dark Ages, the Crusades, medieval times, Napolean’s armies, world wars… so much history and change, and these structures still standing. It takes your breath away. It makes me feel dwarfed and insignificant, yet so connected; so much a part of the great interlaced web of humanity.

Beginning my second week of travel now. Ask me during the day how I’m enjoying my trip and I’ll rave for hours about what a wonderful trip I’m having. Ask me at night and you’ll probably have caught me considering how many more weeks/days/hours I’ll have to ‘endure’ until I can go home. I know it’s just homesickness and a bit of loneliness (not to mention lingering culture-shock) and I’m always ready for the next adventure in the morning light. I can’t believe how casually I’m gathering knowledge and experiences, how I’m adapting to all of this.

One of the most indimidating things about Germany for me was the language, but I’ve only been in the country for four days, and I know enough to ask for a room (“einen damen, zimmer, dwei nacht” = one woman, room, two nights), and I can count to ten; order a coffee; find a street, toilet or trainstation; ask a price and tell someone I don’t speak German. If someone addresses me in German, I give my most charming smile, point to the Canadian flag on my backpack and shrug my shoulders. When I am polite, most Germans seem to know enough English to help me out.

I really think the Canadian flag makes a difference, though. I was on a city bus in Koblenz on my way to the youth hostel. As I was getting off the bus, a large German frau in a floral print house dress said in a very loud voice, “Canada!” and gave me the hugest smile, bobbing her head up and down enthusiastically. I imagine that’s the only English word she knew, so I returned her greeting with the multi-purpose “Bitte schön”. This most wonderful and utilitarian German expression means, “excuse me”, “please”, “you’re welcome” and “sorry I just ran over your foot with my bicycle.” English should have such a versatile expression.

The waning afternoon light finds Intrepid Traveler in the Marketplace Square of yet another gorgeous medieval town completely overrun by tourists. I can see over the rooftop of the nearest building the ruins of the huge Castle Heidelberg, which I will visit tomorrow morning.

The manner in which I familiarize myself with these strange cities has become routine: step one, find a map. Free is best, but not always an option. Step two: find a/the hotel. Step three: figure out the easiest way to get there. Step four: ditch backpack at hotel, but keep daypack. Step five: wander aimlessly for hours.

To find things of interest in a city, Let’s Go is a good start. The postcard racks will show you what the town is proud of, as will info from the local tourist bureau. An inexpensive guidebook (4-6 DM) is a good buy. Generally, though, the town presents itself.

I’ve never seen to many oriental tourists as are in Heidelberg. How interesting.

Categories: Europe95

I told this story to my mother yesterday, and she thought it was hilarious, so I’ll share it with you now. I’m still not so sure I think it’s funny.

We were at the Day Out With Thomas last Saturday, and they had a couple of tables set up with train sets. Even though we have train sets at home which get at least an hour or two of play a day, we had to stop and play with these tables, too. As did every other preschooler in all of southern Ontario. It was kind of like a beehive, and with Thomas as their queen.

As you can imagine, there were a few ugly moments as one little boy would decide that it was his turn RIGHT NOW to have a train, and there was a lot of grabbing and coveting and hoarding and other inspiring behaviour going on. In fact, Tristan’s only tears of the day came later in the day when he was playing at the table and put his train down for a minute to move around the table and a parent (a parent, mind you) snatched the train away to give to his child while pretending not to notice Tristan’s obvious upset. I wasn’t there to witness that one, lucky for the other parent.

But I digress. At the moment in question, Tristan was playing happily with one of the trains, as were probably half a dozen other kids. Every now and then a new child would walk up, but some other child would leave, and there was a fairly impressive amount of sharing going on. At one point, one little boy reached over and tried to take away the train from Tristan, and Tristan took two steps backward and held the train to his chest with a worried look on his face. The parent of the other child intervened and told him to wait for his turn, and all was well. Suddenly, the entire museum full of people fell silent at the exact same time, just in time for everyone within a three mile range to hear Tristan shout across the table to me, “Mummy, did you see that? That kid tried to kill me!”

I was mortified. I don’t embarrass easily. He could have shouted out anything about penises or farts or boogers or any of the other stuff preschool boys come out with, and I would have just laughed it off. But that one floored me. I had absolutely no idea how to react, so like a good mother, I sputtered.

“Tristan,” I gasped, in my best scandalized voice, “we don’t – he didn’t – you shouldn’t – it’s not – ” and then I stopped talking and switched to praying that the floor would just open up and swallow me whole.

I’m still not sure I think this is a funny story. I honestly have no idea where he would come up with something like that, but the older kids at daycare is probably a good bet.

Share your mortification moment and make me feel better about mine!

Once again, another instalment from my travel journal. Are you enjoying reading these? There haven’t been too many comments, but now that I’ve started getting these out I am enjoying reliving the experience. Ten years ago today, I turned 26 years old. I think my 26 year old self would be pleased and impressed with the state of our life in 2005.

Happy birthday to me! To celebrate, I’m taking a six hour cruise down the Mosel from Bernkastel-Kues to Trier. The “schiff” leaves in 15 minutes.

I feel kind of out of place here… the only lone traveler, the only traveler under 30, and I don’t speak German. Oh well, we’ll make due.

How can I describe these vineyards? The mountains rise straight up from the river, with 400-600 feet to the top. Every available surface is covered with orderly rows of grapes, kilometre after kilometre, all the way down to the river.

How interesting, we must be near an air force base because three fighter jets just zoomed by, completely shattering the morning calm.

But back to the vineyards… aside from seeing a helicopter doing some spraying (talk about shattering imagery) it appears that the vineyards are still tended by hand. They must be – I can’t imagine how they would manoeuver farm equipment on these slopes! Every available surface on the slope is covered. Where a rock outcropping is too inhospitable even for the grapes, the vineyard just surrounds it. It is SO beautiful!

I may have committed a bit of cultural faux pas earlier… a waitress came around taking orders and since it was 9:30 in the morning and I hadn’t had breakfast, I ordered a coffee and an orange juice. Imagine my surprise when she started bringing up our orders and almost everyone else had ordered wine. At 9:30 in the morning! A few had ordered beer instead, and one or two ordered the ubiquitous Fanta (Europeans seem to love orange Fanta.) Mine was the only coffee! Oh well, I enjoyed it nonetheless.

We just went through the coolest lock… it was industrial sized, for those huge river barges, but the water rose so quickly – at least one or two metres per minute, and the whole lock is at least 100m long.

We just passed by a huge rock face. There were tiny areas of vineyard scratched into the side of the mountain, accessible only by water!

I find it impossible to believe that each city I visit is more beautiful and enchanting than the last, but it’s true (with the possible exception of Koblenz.)

Trier is a 2000 year old city, the oldest in Germany. The “Porta Nigra” (black gate) in the city centre is the gate of a 2nd century Roman city wall, and the “world’s best preserved Roman gate.” There’s also Konstantin’s Basillica, and more ancient and medieval structures and ruins than you can count. Tomorrow I’m going to check out some 2nd century Roman baths and a Roman ampitheatre.

It’s SO hot. At 5:30, I saw a thermometer registered at 38C. The heat takes a lot out of you; it’s 7 pm and I’m exhausted. I thought I was going to melt on the ferry, and then I had to hike across the city centre with my pack on in the mid-day sun. Finally, I found the hotel recommended in Let’s Go and it is great! The tiniest little room, but the bed is soft, and it’s ultra-clean (no centipedes!) and it only costs 34DM per night ($Cnd = 99 pfennings; 100pf = 1DM). As soon as I was rid of my infernal pack, I was off to explore the city.

I can’t believe how well this trip is turning out! (touch wood) They days of exploring are wonderful, and each hour brings a new adventure. The only time I am really homesick is at night. I have been especially homesick the past few evenings. It gets especially bad when I think of the time difference… when I’m having lunch, everyone else is still asleep. When I start getting lonely in the evenings, everyone is still at work but by the time they are home from work, I’m in bed… you get the picture. At least I can call home tonight. I’ve been looking forward to it all day! Yes, I’m spending a small fortune in phone calls, but it’s worth it.

Categories: Europe95

Another post pilfered from my scribbled travel diary from 1995. Part of the reason I went on this trip was to see my Grandmother’s homeland. When I was a little girl, she would tell the stories of growing up in her family’s vineyard with her 10 brothers and sisters. She would talk about how the workers would sing as they picked the grapes, and the song would float down the Mosel River. And she talked about the great sundial carved into the rock. She died when I was 18, and I still miss her. On this day, the day before I turned 26 years old, I finally made it to her tiny home town.

So I’m here at the Koblenz hauptbanhauf (station), waiting for a train to take me to Wittlich, which is actually past Bernkastel-Kues, so I can take a bus back to B-K. A convoluted way to do it, but there is no train station in B-K and no bus from here to there.

Last night ended up being the best night! After dinner, I was sitting in the fortress courtyard enjoying the view and wondering if 7 pm was too early for bedtime when I started chatting with this crazy Australian guy named Tom and his friend from L.A., Peter. We sat around shooting the shit for a while, and another Australian girl named Veronique joined us. We went over to the patio for a beer, and played euchre until it was too dark to see (considering the sun goes down quite late here, I’m sure it was 11 pm or later by the time we quit.)

It was great, just like it was supposed to be! They even teased me about saying “eh” a lot. Veronique has been traveling by herself for some time now, and completely reassured me about traveling alone, even through Italy.

Tom was the ultimate Aussie backpaker – irreverent, bold, looking for a good time. For dinner, he hauled a HUGE box of corn flakes out of his pack, and some milk he had filched from the hostel and ate it out of a tin camping pack. Imagine a surfer-boy version of Crocodile Dundee.

The train is moving now. I’m going backwards. I can see quaint German towns hurtling past me. I’m going to stare aimlessly out the window for a while…

What a beautiful train ride. From Koblenz to Cochem (about 40 minutes) the train tracks follow along the winding Mosel river, past tiny medieval villages, huge fortresses and of course, scores of vineyards. Between Cochem and Wittlich (about 15 minutes) the train pulls away from the Mosel to go overland but we go through several long tunnels through the mountains. Breathtaking! I spent the first 45 minutes of the ride standing in the aisle (even though I had a seat) just so I could look out the open window onto the Mosel valley. Absolutely heavenly. Now I’ve got 45 minutes to kill until the bus to Bernkastel-Kues. I thought about renting a bike and riding into B-K, but this is a tiny blip on the map town and they don’t seem to have a commercial-area-cum-downtown, let alone tourist info or bike rentals.

This is the most beautiful, tranquil, peaceful place! I’m sitting on a little stone ramp less than a foot from the Mosel. There is only a bike path behind me and it’s so quiet and so wonderful!

Today was a good day. I scoped out Bernkastel-Kues (two linked towns on either side of the Mosel) and got myself a nice room for the night in Kues. Bernkastel is really something to see – I wasn’t expecting it to be so, so medieval. I sat for a while in a courtyard trying to translate a sign with my German-English dictionary. It said generally that Bernkastel received town status in the 1300s, something indecipherable in German, rebuilt in the 18th century. The streets go every which way and are so narrow and unpredictable that they make Amsterdam look like Ottawa.

After I got myself a room, I dropped off my pack and set off on foot for Wehlen. Vince had said it was only two kms (ed. note: Vince is a relative of my Grandmother’s who contacted my dad out of the blue and completely by coincidence in the months preceeding my trip to ask some questions about genealogical research he was doing. He happened to live in Ottawa, and gave me a lot of information about the Keifer family and Wehlen, the town where my Grandma grew up.) It was godawful hot again today, though, and just as I reached the edge of Kues, I found a gas station with bicycles for rent. So, for 10 DM I rented myself a bike for the afternoon and set off for Wehlen.

It was a nice ride down the highway (and I use that term loosely) of only 15 mins or so. Finally, I found myself in Wehlen. It’s just a tiny little village, but it’s SO beautiful. I rode around the streets for a while, wondering how much it had changed since Grandma’s childhood and wondering where she lived. I stopped by Juippe Keifer’s Sonnenuhr Weingut (Sundial Vineyard) but no-one was there. Finally, I rode down to the river to get a better look at the Sonnenuhr.

I had seen it from town, but there is a great bike bath that skirts along the river’s edge, with some benches directly across from the sundial. I sat there for the longest time. It was such an interesting experience to finally BE there, looking at the sundial and the vineyards, almost listening for Grandma’s workers and their songs. I was glad I came. I felt a little bit more connected to my own personal history.

After puttering around Wehlen for a bit, I followed the riverside path back to Bernkastel-Kues. What a beautiful ride! There were wild raspberries growing everywhere along the path. But it was so SO hot! I was seriously considering going for a dip in the Mosel (I had already washed my face and hands in it in front of the sundial.)

After returning the bike, I was wandering along the path back to Kues when wonder of wonders, I heard that most distinctive sound of children laughing, and shouting… lots of children… and was that — the smell of — chlorine?? In the air?? I had stumbled across, on this hotter than hades day, a public park with two huge swimming pools. So I hurried back to my pension and grabbed my ‘kini and my towel and spend the best 3 DM of the trip so far (except for the phone calls home).

That was 1/2 hour ago, and I walked a little ways further toward Kues when I fond this little spot. Twice while writting this I’ve had to quickly move to higher ground to avoid the waves from the wake of a tourist ferry and river barge. Now I’m off to find some tasty German dinner. Bratwurst – mmmmm!!!

(Ed. note: My trip was just before the arrival of the Internet, and I never thought to try it before, but look! I found the sonnenuhr on Google! God bless the Web.)

Categories: Europe95

The latest entry in my retro-travelogue. Ten years ago today, I was riding the rails through Holland and Germany.

An auspicious occasion: the first day of Eurail travel. I’m in a train compartment in a relatively nice Euro City train between Amsterdam and Koblenz. We left Amsterdam at 8:00 am. ETA in Koblenz is 11:05. I haven’t yet decided how (or if) I’m getting from Koblenz to Bernkastel and/or Wehlen. (ed. note: Wehlen is the small town where my grandmother grew up.)

I’ve been temporarily adopted by a nice American family from Dallas. I was a little lost at the station in Amsterdam, and so I approached the friendliest, most non-threatening looking person I could see. Of course, at 7:30 in the morning, there just weren’t that many people around period (especially station attendants). It ends up they are going to Düsseldorf (where my dad was born) to fly home. Düsseldorf is a few stops before Koblenz, and they asked me to join them in their compartment. The mother, Dorthy (about mom’s age) called me, in her twangy Texas drawl, a “gutsy lady” for travelling thru Europe by myself. Personally, I’m thinking “crazy” may be a more apt term.

I’m in the station at Düsseldorf. The Americans just got off at the last stop to go to the airport. I gave them each a Canadian flag from the stash Todd gave me and they gave me a “Texas Longhorn” soccer club pin (they were in Europe for their son’s soccer tournament.) What a nice cultural exchange!

So this is Germany. It looks so – so – so industial, kind of like Hamilton. Smokestacks and electrical towers everywhere. The towns are so close together, you can hardly tell where one ends and the next begins. No passport or luggage check at the Netherlands/Germany border. The only way I could tell we were in Germany was the language on the signs in the station.

Okay, now we’re in Koln and I’m trying not to panic. Not only do they not translate all the announcements, but the German is much harder to understand than the Dutch, which I could at least pick through.

It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll be able to figure this out. Just over 1/2 hour to Koblenz. I just read in Let’s Go that the youth hostel in Koblenz is in a mediaval Prussian fortress. Cool! Maybe I’ll stay there tonight and go to Bernkastel first thing in the morning.

In the capital. The countryside is much more picturesque around here; tiny villages clinging to the hillside. Even the city of Bonn is much more attractive than some we’ve passed through. My compartment is now full of Germans (imagine! In Germany!) including a young student/businesswoman, and a grandmother with her young grandson The downtown is beautiful, with houses stacked on top of each other like the Amsterdam canal houses. They’re often draped with vines and ivy. Toward the edge of the city are pretty single-family homes with colourful stucco walls. It’s funny how noticably different the architecture is, even from Amsterdam to here.

Travel tip: avoid, if possible, arriving in a small German town on mid-day Sunday afternoon, with no deutschemarks, no reservations, no idea of the language and no idea where you are going.

Having said that, I’ve survived the aforementioned, and am now in an overpriced tourist restaurant in the fortress Ehrenbreitstein, which also happens to house the youth hostel. You should see this place! I had to take a chairlift to get into the place. The view is absolutely spellbinding! I’m looking down into the intersection of the Rhine and Mosel rivers, right down on top of it! As soon as the hostel reopens (20 mins or so), I’m going to dump my backpack and go exploring. It’s awfully hot, though – 33C degrees is pretty hot for hiking up and down to mountaintop fortresses. I wish the rivers had beaches – but the water looks pretty brown and kinda gross.

The German food is much better than the Dutch so far – I had a tasty bratwurst with mustard at the station.

By the way, that German “girl” on the train earlier? Turns out she’s a lawyer on her way to Geneva to represent some small Serbian faction at a UN conference. She was quite nice, and we chatted a bit. She told me a little about the German countryside we were passing through, and pointed out this huge chateau/hotel called the St Petersberg or something – apparently it’s a favourite of the rich, famous and politically important.

Okay, so things can’t always go smoothly. The youth hostel here is in a spectatular location, but I’m not so sure about this whole youth hostel thing. Mass sleep-ins with strangers just don’t appeal to me. And I know it’s a 10th century fortress, but it’s also damp and dank and the room (with TEN bunks in it) has centipedes. I’m trying to be brave.

Actually, it’s been a bit of a rough day. Hardly anyone speaks English, which is a real change from the Netherlands. We’re less than 50 miles from Bernkastel, and no one’s even heard of it, let alone knows how to get there. Basically, I’m just killing time here until a decent hour to go to bed, so I can get up and get the hell out of here.

But I’m still doing okay for myself. I got this far, and this afternoon I taught myself to count to ten in German. It’s all just so new and strange… I just got used to Amsterdam (in hindsight, a good choice for a starting point) and now I have to start all over again.

But a 10th century fortress, the Rhine and Mosel reviers, strange cultures and stranger people: this is the adventure I was looking for!

Categories: Europe95

I just read this morning that NBC is running a new show this fall called Inconceivable, set in a (cringe) fertility clinic. Here’s the synopsis from Yahoo TV:

Come inside the world of the doctors of the Family Options Fertility Clinic in this ensemble drama, where one of the most complicated questions is to conceive — or not to conceive. Assuredly, theirs is a noble quest as they help desperate couples give birth; however, clinic co-founders Dr. Malcolm Bower and Rachael Lew and their staff (including psychologist Lydia Crawford, Nurse Patrice, office manager Marrissa and attorney Scott) are not above their own occasional adventures involving sex, deception and secrets. Navigate through the ultrasound and super-egos, the missing frozen embryos and impending malpractice suits, and it’s positively clear that life inside this clinic is anything but sterile.

This makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. This is wrong. I try so hard to keep my sense of humour about my infertility struggles, and not be one of those relentlessly cheerless people who can’t take a joke, I really do. But come on, “navigate through the ultrasounds and super-egos, the missing frozen embryos and impending malpractice suits”? Give me a fucking break.

There are already so many misconceptions (pardon the pun – see, I can be funny about this) about infertility and fertility treatments as it is, I can only imagine this show will do nothing more than perpetuate the myths and muddy the waters even further. And I know it’s TV, for goodness sake, they aren’t out to educate the unwashed masses. In fact, they’re out to tittilate and entertain and make a buck.

No doubt, they will find lots of ways to play up the drama. I don’t think there was anything more suspenseful in my life than the infamous two week wait (between treatment and knowing whether the treatment was successful or not), but that was a very personal drama, and frankly, one I’d rather not relive.

I can’t imagine myself watching this show. I’ve lived it, and continue to live it vicariously with friends still struggling with infertility. Dramatic? Hell yes. Suspenseful? You bet. Full of interesting personalities and life-altering circumstances? Absolutely. Perfect fodder for Desperate Housewives meets St Elsewhere meets Ally McBeal? I don’t think so.

Am I being thin-skinned about this, or does this whole thing seem incredibly tastelss to you, too?

I had a date last night. He came to the door and picked me up, took me to a fancy restaurant for dinner, and took me to a concert that’s part of the Ottawa Chamber Music Festival. I wore a dress. And even make-up. And I got to leave the kids at home with my husband! My escort for the evening was my dad.

In honour of my birthday next week, he picked up tickets for us to see PDQ Bach. If you haven’t heard of him, he’s the alter ego of musicologist and professor of music Peter Schickele. When my dad first told me about the tickets, and tried to explain that it was a combination of comedy and classical music, I was curious, if not a little perplexed by the unusual juxtaposition.

But it was amazing! I know just enough about music to be able to appreciate the humour and the skill of his compositions. And the front-row seats were terrific, too. There was one movement that was written for “a viola and four hands” – two men playing the same viola at the same time (something you have to see to really appreciate). And they sang a madrigal called “My Bonnie Lass, She Smelleth.” It was terrific! The performance will be broadcast on CBC Radio Two’s In Performance on August 31 at 8 pm if you’re interested. I highly recommend it if you are at all interested in music. Or laughing.

It was great being out with my dad. He was a professional musician when I was growing up, and has been nurturing a love of music in me my whole life. He took me to my very first rock concert when I was nine (Hall and Oats), and has tended to my “I want to learn about classical music” and “I want to learn about jazz” phases with careful attention.

We see my parents often because they live more or less around the corner from us, but it’s not often I get to spent one-on-one time with them without demanding preschoolers dangling from one of us, so last night was a real treat on several levels. A night away from the boys, a nice dinner, fantastic music and belly laughs, and an entire evening to remind me what a daddy’s girl I really am. A perfect evening!

Now that you are grown up (more or less), has your relationship with your parents changed very much?