Pass Me My Tiara

Sophomore year of high school is always an awkward year, but I believe that my year was more awkward than most. I’ve mentioned before that I never won the popularity contests as Inchelium, and my 10th grade year of school had its ups and downs for sure.

I had plenty of braces and zero sense of fashion. While other girls were busy doing their hair and wearing the latest trendy clothes, I’d show up to school with my bangs pinned to one side and some non-descript outfit from the closet. Obtaining fame as a fashionista was definitely out of the question.

Obtaining fame as a talented ball player was out of the question too. We had athletes in our school, skilled athletes that made the rest of our league’s best players look like a bunch of playground goobs. Unfortunately for me, I was not one of our school’s famed jocks.

I truly believe that everyone’s estimate of my athletic abilities was determined when (in the winter of my Sophomore year) I dribbled a basketball at break-neck speed from one end of the court to the other and made a fabulously stylish basket…in the wrong hoop. I didn’t realize that I had just scored for the other team until AFTER I did a little enthusiastic fist pump and dance of joy right there on the court. It felt so good to score, and so terrible to find out that I not only just added two points to the opposing team’s score but I also made a complete fool out of myself in front of my own hometown crowd.

Finally, seasons changed from Basketball to Spring and the school carnival loomed on the calendar. It was my classes’ turn to vote for who they wanted running for the famed Inchelium Carnival King and Queen position. I seriously don’t even really know what happened that day because somehow I was selected to run for queen with the uber-popular David Tonasket running for King. When it was announced that I, the epitome of awkwardness, was to try to win the title, my legs nearly gave out and I am pretty sure I had to go home early.

Weeks passed and I sold raffle tickets like hotcakes. (The couple who sells the most tickets wins the title). David sold tickets too, and if I remember correctly, I think his Mom did some selling as well (legit, I promise).

The night of the carnival arrived on time and I remember strolling in the school with a home-spun hairdo, a shiny purple gown, and a large manila envelope filled with tickets. A few hours later, the carnival drew to an end and the tickets were counted.

Summoned to center stage, David and I ascended the steps and stood with the freshman, junior, and senior couples who, just like us, had feverishly sold raffle tickets to poor unsuspecting community members for weeks.

Standing up there, in front of the carnival crowd, I decided to take a sneak peek at the coveted tiara that the winning queen would don after. My eyes saw it: a thing of beauty, a shiny collection of rhinestones and silver, it looked like it had been designed just for me. Just looking at it made me shake with sheer excitement- to think that I might get to wear it.

Finally, after many tense minutes of waiting, the head-ticket counter turned on the mic announced the winner:

“This year’s Inchelium Carnival King and Queen title goes to...”

_______________________________________

For weeks, I kept that tiara on the kitchen table. I’d look at it and remember the moment when the previous year’s Carnival Queen tried to calm me down enough to get the bobby-pins through my hair and placed the rhinestone encrusted prize on my head. Whether at breakfast, lunch, or dinner, I made sure that that crown stayed in sight.

Whenever things got too depressing or discouraging at the table, I’d look at my shiny jewel and remember that, for one moment, I was at the top. Recalling that moment made me want to put it on:

“Mom, could you pass me the pepper?
While you’re at it, please pass me my tiara.”

Baggage Claim

I got my luggage!

Juanita seems pleased with my hard-side rolling monster. This gigantic piece is earmarked for all of my art supplies.
The smaller carry on will tote all of my clothing and personal items.
I got them both at Ross for about $140- Not bad. Not bad at all.

My Traveling Buddy

As time ticks ever closer to July 6th, I've found myself faced with the challenge of finding a traveling buddy to keep me company on this trip.

The good news is that, with the help of over two dozen people's input on the subject, I've finally chosen my lucky sidekick: a bright pink sock monkey named Juanita.

It came down between the Coach the Bear, Squirrley, or Juanita and, after hours of inner angst, I've chosen the multi colored monkey for three reasons:

1. She's bilingual and can help me with the language barrier (Italian is close to Spanish, right?)

2. She weighs less than two ounces compared to the 14 ounce whopper of a teddy bear.

3. I can smash her, easily fitting her in a shoe, or a compartment in my easel, or heck, even wad her up and put her in my back pocket.

Bonus reason #4: She won the hearts and affections of my Facebook friends who voted for her and I succumb to peer pressure quite easily.

So, that's it. I've got a little colorful mascot to carry around with me from country to country- someone to take pictures with, someone to talk to, someone to cry on, and someone to delight in the sights, sounds, and spectacular adventures to come.

Pack your bags, Juanita. It's going to be a wild ride.

Dear Austria

Dear Austria,

I want to apologize for the large percentage of American people who consistently get you mixed up with Australia.

"Austria. Like, 'Fosters- Austrian for 'Beer', right?'"

While I'm at it, I'd also like to apologize for the large percentage of Americans who get your capitol city of Vienna confused with Venice.

"Oh, you're going to Vienna? That's cool. Make sure you tip the gondolier."

I would like to blame our country folks' geographic ignorance on our broken public education system, but considering I AM a public school teacher, I think I'll remain silent on the subject. Nevertheless, I feel really badly that you, dearest Austria, get overlooked, misunderstood, and so shamelessly prejudged.

I will continue to work on things at this end, but I'm not sure how many more times I can handle a person hearing your name and instantly saying "Now this is a knife" like Crocodile Dundee.

I can't wait to meet you,
Vivian

Cyber Bully

I received my first random blog hate note the other day.
This is what it said:

"Seriously!? I just saw your fundraising blog. Please get a job like the rest of us and pay for your own trip to EU yourself. I'm a little offended by your irresponsibility and your supporters spamming their own networks for donations."

Thank you, (who ever you are) for going out of your way to be mean. You threw a verbal granade in my tent of happiness. It is obvious that you have no clue as to who I am or what I do for a living.

Be a hater somewhere else; there's no room for dream smashers here.

Dear Readers

A letter addressed to me arrived today in my PO BOX. Inside was a donation towards my trip and a simple note:

Thank you, mystery donor.

You made my day.

Little blessings and surprises have been popping up all over the place, a kind note, a small gift, a word of encouragement, a card in the mail, a supportive email, a phone call... all of these spur me on and keep me motivated to pursue this big adventure.

Thanks to all my friends and family for your support and for reading this. And, according to my Blog Statistics I have readers in Austria, China, Canada, Russia, France, Sweden, and Australia who have been following my adventures too...so, a big thanks to all you too. Every single one of you are helping to keep my dream alive.

Extra Baggage

In the last two days, I've spent over three and a half hours researching luggage.

Yes, luggage. Who knew there where so many choices?!

When I first entered "sturdy luggage" into the Google search box on my laptop, I figured a quick browse through some consumer reviews and a narrowing to fit my budget would bring me to the perfect suitcase. Wrong.

If you want to be really confused and frustrated, just visit Overstock.com and look at their luggage section- there's way too much to pick from.

First, there's style:
Rolling? Duffel? Carry-on? Messenger Bag? Tote? Satchel?

Then there's size:

Small, Medium, Large, or even, the stereotypical American-Overpacker-I-Own-Too-Much-And-Can't-Part-With-Any-Of-It Size (we're talking BIG, like Texas on wheels big).

Next, there's color:
Pink, Brown, Black, Zebra-striped, Leopard print, Red, Yellow, Puce. You name it. A myriad of colors to choose from, an ADHD-er's worst nightmare. "Oooh. Silver, I like silver. Oh wait, they have COPPER! Copper's the new black... speaking of black... maybe I should just go with black...nah, too boring. YELLOW!"

Also, let's consider fabric and material to choose from:
Leather (nice, but over indulgent), Hard sided plastic (sturdy? maybe), Canvas (too heavy), Light-weight Nylon (too weak), Burlap (too scratchy), Jute (too weird), Hemp (too Hippie).

Have I mentioned there's a plethora of prices, zipper styles, accessories, and even handle lengths?

It's all too much.

I just need a rolling box to hold all of my art supplies and a medium carry-on for clothing, that's it. The only problem is that it can't be too heavy, too bulky, too ugly, too 'look at me', too expensive, too small, too wimpy, too boring, or too 'tourist-y'.

Am I acting a little too high maintenance, picky, or unrealistic about all this? Do you think I'm obsessing about something that doesn't really matter that much?
I do.
But... now that I think about it, that's the only kind of 'baggage' that I seem to tote around these days.