—–
Take this weekend for instance.

It was around 10 p.m. when I went down. Some one yanked me up off the floor.  My dress crumpled and my hair tangled in front of my face. People were hovering…lots of people…patting my shoulders, smoothing my hair. “Are you ok?”

The shock was still plain across my face.

“Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

I recall both nodding and shaking my head at once.

Still….. “Are you ok?”

I could not speak. Then it finally sunk in. It had happened…..AGAIN.

I am the girl who falls at weddings.

The worst part was….it was in front of the same general group of people as the first incident.

The first incident:

We were at a lovely posh wedding up in wine country. A warm late summer day, a light breeze. The ceremony had just ended. The bride and groom were posing for pictures in the vineyard and guests sipped champagne on the lawn.

My husband had wandered off with a group of friends around the corner of the large estate’s wrap-around terrace. I saw them around the way and as I walked toward them did – what I thought was – a jaunty little hop up onto the terrace ledge. My wedge sandal lurched sideways and I, to my complete horror, pitched right over the ledge.

I fell down down a four foot drop into an embankment of bark-dust and shrubbery.  Witnesses say I executed a perfect barrel roll. My already-too-short dress was exposing more than I want to know. Finally, mercifully, I slid to a stop in the manicured landscaping. I gasped for breath and looked up toward the stunned faces several feet above me. There stood 12 of my husband’s friends in suits, their mouths agape. My husband who didn’t see me coming in the first place, stared in disbelief. I was mortified, in shock really. Did that REALLY just happen. Please….please say that did not just happen. I was miraculously unharmed except for a few scrapes and bark dust slivers. But was not myself for the rest of the evening.

The second incident:

It was 10 p.m. when I went down.

This time, we were at a nice city reception at the Presidio of San Francisco’s officer’s club. All the same group of friends as the wine country wedding. The evening had gone well for me so far. We made it through dinner, dancing, speeches, cake, everything. We were packing it in, it was time to go. I was minding my own business, standing near the bar waiting for everyone to get our things and head on the bus. A few of our friends decided to play the game where one of them gets down on all fours behind a person while another accomplice knocks that person over. Well I was a victim of this charade. Mike decided to push my husband over who grabbed me and took me down with him, smacked like a pancake on the unatractive dark rug of the bar room.

Some one yanked me up off the floor.  My dress crumpled and my hair tangled in front of my face. People were hovering…lots of people…patting my shoulders, smoothing my hair. “Are you ok?”

I was the girl who falls at weddings.

Stay tuned……one more wedding to go this season.

2010 Book Passage Travel Writer’s Conference (see next year’s line up)

The conference was four days long and was stacked with workshops and lectures from 9 am to 10 pm or later – usually the later hours involve drinking wine, which most writers like to do. Each morning we were divided into 6 different groups – your choice from Travel Writing in the Digital Age, Guidebook Writing or Travel Photography and more. I was lucky to get into the Advanced Writer’s Workshop with Tim Cahill.

Tim Cahill is not only a hilarious and brilliant writer but a person who took eight students under his wing almost like a dad would….never unkind but not afraid to tell you that lede was a “dumb idea.” He patiently and generously helped nurture and also kill some of  our “darlings” – as in, our carefully crafted words and paragraphs. His class was so productive and positive for all of us that our group of eight have created an ongoing writer’s group to continue to edit and encourage each other’s writing.

A story about Tim and lessons learned. It was day three of the work shop and the group had already gone over my story and ripped it apart into a million shreds. One of the problems with my story, or maybe one of the positives, was that the the parts where I really insert myself into the story were really good….there just weren’t enough of them. I was told I needed to work on putting myself into the story more, this probably stems from my training in journalism where “I” is never supposed to be part of the deal.

Tim sent us home that night with homework. We were supposed to write for half an hour about any inanimate object. And not to worry….no one would have to read these out loud. I had stayed so late at the conference I hardly had time to do my homework before class started again at 8:30 am the next morning. But I scribbled a few words down. Near the end of that days session I had nearly forgotten about the assignment as I’m sure everyone else had. When Tim said, “ Ah, and to the assignment last night.”

“Don’t worry, as I said nobody has to read theirs aloud.”

Then a grin spreads across his face.

“I lied!” he exclaimed. “Nobody, that is, except Alison!”

Ha ha ha! I practically choked. Wasn’t this a doozy, I thought.

So I read my little story about the green garden hose. And what do you know, still not enough of my voice in there. But this time I actually got it. A good lesson learned and a nice trick by Tim. It’s good for a person to get put on the spot like that every once in a while, and one lesson I will never forget.

My july started off on the west coast of Ireland golfing every day rain or shine, mostly rain, with my dad, brother and sister. I made it to Marin for three days. Then more vacationing ensued on another western shore, this time Lake Tahoe for a week of eating, drinking, boating and some breathtaking hiking near Emerald Bay. From there I flew out of Reno to Portland Oregon for a wedding. Portland to St. Louis Missouri for the US Women’s Amateur and the beginning of my insanely busy fall with Golf Channel. St. Louis to Venice beach to keep husband company while he finishes his NBC summer show. Venice to Marin for 4 days. Marin to Chicago for Golf Channel.

Dunebeg golf course 18th hole – a blessed sunny day

Tomorrow I fly north to attend the world renowned Book Passage Travel Writer’s Conference, and it happens to be in my back yard!

I’ve been accepted into the Advanced Travel Writing Intensive with Outside Magazine founder and best selling author Tim Cahill. Never been to a conference before, I truly wonder what it will be like? Who goes to these things?

See below what Pauline Frommer commented on a Huffington Post article earlier this week about the conference.

The Book Passage Conference is certainly one of the highlights of my year. I teach there every year and I so enjoy the camaraderie and deep commitment to learning that the conference engenders. I also go to scout talent (as do many of the other editors who attend). I’ve hired people from the conference and so have they; in fact, each year, several students come away with jobs. Not all do, of course,

but that’s partially because this is also a terrific conference for folks who are real beginners and just wanting to see what travel writing and photography is all about.

I’d just like to expand upon who’s going to be teaching this year, as it’s pretty remarkable. Along with those listed in the article, there will be:

-Award-winning author Isabelle Allende
-Founder of Outside Magazine and best-selling travel memoirist Tim Cahill
-Wendy Perrin of Conde Naste Travel
-Jim Benning, founder of World Hum
-Robert Holmes,Andrea Johnson, Mikkel Aaland, Jeff Pflueger—all Award winning travel photographers
-Phil Cousineau, Author of the Art of Pilgrmage and star of many travel documentaries
-Larry Habegger, Executive Editor of the Travelers Tales series
-And editors from such publications as Lonely Planet, Sunset Magazine, Afar Magazine, the LA Times and more

We are staying in a Residence Inn Mariott off of a freeway exit called White Marsh about a 25 minute drive from the golf course Bulle Rock in the much quainter town of Havre de Grace right on Hudson Bay. This is a for instance when life on the road is definitely not as glamorous as it sounds. I’m not complaining about the hotel or anything, it’s perfectly adequate, clean and roomy. But when it’s planted right in the heart of an unfinished office park development, dappled with strip malls and an Ikea, it’s hard not to feel like you’re in a soulless void. Who lives here? There are no houses, many hotels, and huge warehouse stores and chain restaurants. The bizarre thing is the restaurants are packed. Where do these people come from?

I went out to get some food to bring back to the room because we had a 6 a.m. call in the morning due to a rain delay. I was merely a quarter of a mile from the Residence Inn when I managed to get lost. I took a wrong turn at the PF Changs, then again at the Chiles. I drove past a Hampton Inn, a Courtyard Mariott, a Fairfield inn, a TGI Fridays. In circles I went. I saw no sign of the Residence Inn, yet another Spring Hill Suites Marriott. Panic set in. What was I to do? I went through another strip mall, a Panera, an Outback, a Macaroni Grill, oh no another PF Chang’s. Oh wait, that is the same PF Changs, phew, my Residence Inn – just made it.

I flew in Monday night to Elmira-Corning airport 13 miles away from Corning New York where the LPGA Corning Classic has been held for the last 31 years. I’m here this week with Golf Channel. Being from the West coast I’ve always had the misconception, and continue to have, that there isn’t much space on the East coast. But flying over upstate New York in the setting sun, before me lay hundreds and hundreds of miles of green rolling forested hills set in just the perfect golden light. It was an eye opener, again, an eye-opener as I have been here before, four years ago. It’s a beautiful time of year here and Corning is a nice little town. Market Street is the main drag and it has a wine bar called The Cellar where you can get a nice Syrah and small plates for 5 bucks. And of course there is the Glory Hole, a bar beloved by the camera men crew and producers and one of the best dives you’ve ever been in. The volunteers here and the towns people have looked forward to this event every year, they come out in droves and populate the small venue. Nearly every store front in town has a welcome LPGA sign in the front window. The course itself is old style, the likes of Olympia CC that you don’t see built anymore these days, lots of old trees, elevation changes; not long in yardage which will be difficult for the newer LPGA stars like Michelle Wie who is here for the first time and the last.

Sadly, this is the last event for the Corning Classic. After 31 years the sponsor, Corning Incorporated and the LPGA pulled the plug. This is after Corning suffered a 13% reduction in it’s workforce, about 3500 layoffs worldwide, desperately affecting the small town of Corning. The LPGA has lost a couple tournaments this year, but it’s next year that everybody’s worried about. Women’s Golf Today: Nice Work, if You Can Get It . But this week should prove memorable as the last in Corning.

P.S.

The weather has been perfect, I mean exceptional, except for the gnats. The Golf Channel crew had a softball game, Old Guys vs. Young Guys – Old Guys ruled. There was a goodbye party at The Glory Hole every night, overseen by the de facto “Mayor of Corning” 18th hole camera-man, Dan-O. Kay Cockerill’s in-laws who live just outside of Corning hosted a party for the entire GC crew with the hugest Paella I’ve ever seen.

Huge paella

After Paella we played a game called Wallyball.  The game is played on an indoor court with a high net (kind of in between badmitton and volleyball) the premise is to score points like volleyball but with a nerf ball and you can bounce it off any wall or ceiling. It’s chaos. And fun.

The story goes, we rent a tiny room in a three bedroom house on Flower Ave in Venice. Even though we officially live in Northern CA, we needed to have a “go-to” spot down here when my husband had to be here for work, so we held onto this little room. It is fine for what we need it for. The house has a nice living room, kitchen and grassy front yard for barbecues. It’s near the beach. The price is right. And most importantly, it’s our hood. We’ve lived off and on within a three block radius of this place for the last five years.

The other renters are our friends who all work in production and are on the road a lot of the time. Ryan, a camera man, rents the back room, Benny and Jenny (yes Benny and Jenny – a married couple), rent the middle room. For various reasons, we’re all getting out – mainly because when the guys go on a shoot for several months on say Survivor or Ice Road Truckers, they’ve gotten in the habit of subletting their rooms to random people. Thus we find ourselves sharing a small house with two 19-year-old go-go dancers, a boyfriend and a dog.

I was here to get us out of this mess.

I arrived at the house by cab around mid-day. A strange young guy opened the door, a natty bichon frise at his heels, no sign of the go-go dancers so far. The young guy looked disoriented and maybe a little stoned. He clearly did not know who on earth I was and shuffled back to the go-go dancer’s room with the dog and shut the door. The house was dark, hippy tapestries and bad psychedelic art now covered the windows.

I am too old for this.

What I had not seen on first inspection was the cage with the Chinchillas. Probably because that was also in the room that included the two go-go dancers, the boyfriend and the dog.

But my first project was our room. It was clear that my husband had lost hope in his current surroundings. He had only been down here for a few days but the clean laundry including sheets that he’d brought from home was dumped on top of the bed and sort of shoved around to make a comfy sleeping spot. It occurred to me that this is where he had been sleeping for the past three nights….probably in his clothes.

Later I met the go go dancers. What is a go go dancer you ask? Don’t feel bad, I had to ask the same thing. I envisioned 1960s polyester dresses and white cowboy boots. I’m not even sure if that is anywhere close. But I googled it and it is….

I have since learned that go go dancers these days dance in clubs on little pedestals or cubes, not quite naked but close, usually painted in body paint and glitter. Ribbons and hair extensions included. These girls were nice and seemed very very young…..strangely I found myself worrying for them and waiting to hear them stumble in at 6 am. You see, these girls don’t even have the protection of clubs and the bouncers they employ. These girls dance in raves. What is a rave? It is a big underground dance party usually held in a warehouse somewhere with copious amounts of E and always lasting till dawn.

May 8 – This morning the girls looked a little beat up after last night’s rave. I sent the husband off to work in Burbank. He is not fond of the drive to Burbank and complains. I was off to hunt for apartments, which when you’re only looking for an apartment for a few weeks, was not going well. But we had to get out.

May-9  – More Chinchillas

There are 3 more chinchillas today. One baby, one albino and one big scruffy gray one. TOTAL: 6 chinchillas, 1 dog, 2 go go dancers, 1 boyfriend. All sharing 1 room.

Wikipedia definition of Chinchilla: Chinchillas are crepuscular rodents, slightly larger than ground squirrels, native to the Andes mountains in South America.

Did you know that the way to clean a Chinchilla is to put it in a Tupperware full of volcanic dust. They love it. They roll around in it gleefully. Chinchilla’s have no glands and for some reason the volcanic dust cleans them. Which also keeps them from stinking too much. Which is good.

Later this same night -
my husband loses his mind and we book the first flight out to San Francisco