Summer trip packing like a pro

This summer could see travel return to pre-pandemic levels as we Americans swarm out into the unknowns. We’re looking to rediscover the open roads, the open skies, the open cruise ships, and how to go viral by getting attacked while feeding a chipmunk in a national park.

This pent-up travel demand means a lot of people are out of practice, and might need some refreshers on how to make the most of their journeys, or even how to do them. Yes, you will need more than one peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a change of undergarments. Which brings me to today’s topic: Packing! It won’t be enough just to figure out how to out-navigate the hordes of zombie travelers. You also need to out-pack them. So, I’m here to offer friendly travel hacks from research I’ve done and experience I’ve gleaned during my own preparations:

• Be prepared: Amelia Earhart once said, “Preparation … is rightly two-thirds of any venture.” Unfortunately, she was lost over the Pacific shortly after, so maybe this was a bad quote to use. Instead, I will give you Abraham Lincoln: “Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.” This is much better. Except … who gives someone 6 hours to chop down a tree? And would it really take 4 hours to sharpen that axe? I could do that in 20 minutes. Anyway, the point is made. I would add to this that no matter how much you plan and prepare, you are still bound to forget your underwear or your wife’s suitcase because you thought it wise to sit down and watch a soccer game. Dummy!

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DNA, is this really my future?

There are times when your DNA is exposed for what it is: Your handed-down future. When you can see quite clearly where you came from, and where it’s taking you. Observe one generation and see where it will lead the next. Sometimes it’s in your looks. Or your shape and mannerisms. Sometimes it’s health. And sometimes it’s the dumb things you do. Or know you will do. Because it’s all in the DNA, and there’s no changing that.

It was Saturday when the texts between my brother and I started bouncing back and forth. My dad had taken a fall. He had nearly blacked out and toppled over at home. On his way down, he did some damage. Some pretty major damage. A broken nose. A gash across his brow requiring enough stitches that it brings automatic membership to the crew of pirates of his choice. Scrapes, bruises, cuts … and oh yeah, … a cracked vertebrae in his spine. His neck. The C2 vertebrae.

The C2!

OK, a little anatomy lesson here: The C2 is the second segment in your spine, just under your skull. It’s pretty important for support, head movement, and of course, protecting the spine. In particular, the C1 and C2 vertebrae do not take kindly to being knocked around. When you look up injuries to the C2, Web sites like to roll out big words like: severe, can lead to full paralysis, often fatal.

You can crack a lot of things in your body, but you would be wise to stay away from the C2.

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Getting back into the swing of hurricane season

Hurricane season is upon us again. We know this here in Florida because the weather gods have already begun flinging tropical bowling balls at us like tourists rushing the gates at Disney on a holiday weekend. “Hurry! Get in there! Get to Peter Pan before the line reaches 90 minutes!”

Last week’s South Florida brush with a tropical weather event wasn’t a doozy by any means. Just a reminder of things to come. Enough to make you sit up and take notice, and wonder what else we have in store this year.

And if 2022 has already taught us anything, it’s that we tropics watchers may find things are more complicated on the planning and preparation front. Inflation stands at more than 8 percent, outrageous gas prices mean it’s cheaper to purchase a backyard nuclear reactor than it is to drive to the grocery store, and even if you could afford to drive there, you probably won’t find much you need on the shelves. Thank you supply chain shortages!

And this is all when the sky is blue and the sun is blazing down.

What happens when the clouds grow dark, the winds pick-up and we Floridians start rushing for hurricane supplies like … well … tourists at the gates of Disney on a holiday weekend? “Hurry! Get in there! Get the last bottle of water!”

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Tips for surviving the 2022 summer travel chaos

Maybe you’ve seen them: The horror stories about summer travel. Long, excruciating security lines at the airport – some stretching farther than your intended trip. Gas prices that will make even backing out of your driveway cost-prohibitive. Rising expenses on everything from hotels to the cost of trail mix. (Hey, you can’t have summer without trail mix!!!)

Well, there’s good news: You and 3 trillion other people will be exactly the same boat this summer. All jetting, driving or cruising off at the same time in search of tranquility and fun. Isn’t that a welcome comfort? And thanks to all of my studious research and expert advice, I have a few tips that are guaranteed to make your summer affordable and memorable. Or at least survivable.

• Gas prices: Griping about the high cost of gas will not accomplish anything. No, I mean I get it. It’s crazy high and completely outrageous. I feel your pain. But you need to redirect that anger and frustration into something more positive. For instance, instead of screaming, “I’m literally burning money!”, maybe instead make it a conversation starter with your family. Say to them, “Gee, did you realize we are literally burning the organic material that once thrived upon this planet millions of years ago? The money we’re wasting on this agonizing trip is actually historic, and kind of cool, right?” And if, by chance, you are spending $35,000 to drive somewhere to see the fossilized remains of dinosaurs, even more exciting! Your entire family will love it … as you go bankrupt.

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Taking driving directions from the king of the back-road long-cut

There are two ways to get anywhere: The first is by traveling from point A to point B in a straight line. This path is the fastest, most efficient and easiest on your patience. If given the choice, this is how most people travel.

The second is how my brother travels: I call it the route of the drunken badger. If drawn out on paper, it resembles a doctor signing his name to a prescription while being struck by lightning. If trying to get from A to B, it is the quickest way to end up at C, and insane. You will also visit all the other letters of the alphabet and never arrive at B. On the surface, this route appears to make no sense, but when examined more closely, it turns out it still doesn’t and you wasted $76 in gasoline.

These drunken badger routes of my brother are wild, rambling, meandering rides that zip over hill and dale, come back around hill, decide to rediscover dale and eventually run out of gas on a country highway that a mapmaker missed because he fell asleep due to boredom.

This is exactly my brother’s kind of place. “AHHHH YESSSS!!!” he says. “Isn’t it beautiful? There is literally nothing around for 263.7 miles.”

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The great end-of-the-year wind down can’t get here soon enough

For millions of Americans across the country, the great end-of-the-school-year wind down has commenced. That time when two great tides of emotion crest simultaneously: the joy, elation and relief of school almost being out and the absolute freakout that comes when you realize how much there is to do BEFORE it lets out.

It’s in full-effect in my house. We are a family ruled by education. My daughter is a sophomore in high school, my wife is a pre-school teacher and I work at a college. If the dog were capable of learning even the most mundane new tricks, it would be the great quadruple. But for the rest of us, we’re navigating choppy and churning waters.

My school year is already over, so I’m pretty chill in comparison. More of an observer to this fascinating world of epic highs and looming lows as the others try to get free of their educational entanglements. The elaborate calendars listing test dates, pickup times, pre-school graduations and dozens of other school commitments. The motivational messages: “Don’t fail. Dad won’t support you your whole life.” The countdown clocks. The books, binders, worksheets and handouts strewn like a tornado has torn through.

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Time for K-9 allergy season and endless shedding

Dog allergy season is upon us. I know this because I have spent the last several weeks shoveling dog fur.

Yes, dog fur. If you have a dog and your dog is not entirely bald, you know what I mean. This time of year, they shed in blizzards. Streams of hair cascading off your animal. They sit in their bed scratching and gnawing while the hair swirls in every direction. It creates a condition that Northerners refer to as a “white-out.”

A fur-pocalypse

Science needs to find the answer to this most important question: Where does it all come from? And yes, I know: From my dog. But it doesn’t add up – the math of it. Consider this: We have one dog. She weighs approximately 45 pounds. She is considered a medium-size dog. Yet, at least twice a week we sweep up a pile of fur that could cover the entirety of an overweight hippo. There would even be extra for a fancy mustache. The fur collected weighs twice my dog.

Biologically, how can an animal produce that much? It’s like she is a fur-shedding factory. I keep checking her expecting to find large bald patches or spots where it’s thinned out from her incessant scratching. But her coat remains full and lush. Thick. And as I pet her, more comes off in my hand.

“You can keep that,” her face seems to say. “I’ll make more.”

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A not-so calamitous run-in with a colonoscopy

There are things we do in life that just aren’t fun. Taxes come to mind. Root canals are pretty high up there. Licking a nettle on a bet. But all pale in comparison to the medical things we’re supposed to start doing when we get up there in age. The kind of ages and medical procedures that you never worried about before. They were too far in the future to give any thought, and you figured someone would just invent an iPhone app to replace it before it became an issue.

The “it” refers to procedures like a … hold on while I figure out how to spell it … c-o-l-o-n-o-s-c-o-p-y.

Wo! That hurt a little just to type it.

That’s what I had last week. It’s when they send a camera up your behind and to have a look-see inside your colon. Just to make sure everything is OK. Think of it like a Martian rover on some great adventure, only not nearly as cool or fun.

But it’s all about preventative medicine. According to the CDC, colon cancer is the third leading cause of cancer deaths in the U.S. And as alarming as that is, early screenings like colonoscopies are the best way to head it off.

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Back on the baby diaper terror aisle

Boy, was I flustered. Already late for a colleague’s baby shower, and here I was at a big-box retailer hunting for something that would enter me into a raffle: diapers!

Bring the future parents some diapers. Win a prize. That sounded cool. I’ve done this before. Piece of cake!

… I thought.

“Mam,” I said, stopping one of the workers. “Can you tell me where the baby diapers are?”

I must have looked forlorn, as she smiled comfortingly and said “certainly” before rushing me across the store.

She was probably thinking: “Poor discombobulated father has a new tike at home and a big poopy mess on his hands. Bless his heart!”

New tike at home!?! Ha!

My daughter is 16. She hasn’t been in anything close to a diaper since … well, I can’t even remember that far back. So far, in fact, that I’ve forgotten where to find the diapers. Not even what part of the store to look in. Over by the bananas? Back with the toys? Electronics!?!

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How will we manage when mom goes away

How will we manage when mom goes away

Now we’re on our own. For a couple days at least. The two of us – my daughter and me. Trying to manage by ourselves. Whew! Heaven help us.

My wife had to travel out of town on Easter Sunday. Sadly, her aunt passed away last week. Her family was gathering on Long Island, New York, to lay her to rest at a cemetery near the North Shore. It happened just before Easter, and that Sunday we drove her at five in the morning to put her on a flight. We said our goodbyes at the departures dropoff and wished her luck. The two of us got back in the car and looked at each other. Kind of lost.

Now what do we do.

Our little family is rarely apart. You take one member out of the mix and it becomes a strange troop of disoriented monkeys. The rhythms and routines altered. The noises different. The needs different. The household emptier.

Add to that, so many things we know nothing about.

I looked at my daughter and said: “I think we’re doomed.”

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