Tuesday, June 08, 2004

Map-ments in Time

This one's for T...

Since I only have 13 states here (having skipped the four that qualified only in the plane-changing category), I've topped off my list with a dollop of Europe.

New Year’s Eve 1998: dinner at Sazerac in downtown Seattle and a night at the very cool Hotel Monaco. (All FREE!)

Two a.m. breakfast at the Hot Cake House in Portland with huge crush (now "the boyfriend") followed by first kiss, which lasted for three hours.

Waking up with the boyfriend in a borrowed tent on a tiny island in the middle of Lake Berryessa where we’d camped illegally.

Attending Johnny Carson's show in one of the “old Vegas” casinos when I was 18, where I was served a cocktail without being carded.

Boarding a corporate jet to fly out of Salt Lake City, a bland, extremely white city I was only too happy to leave.

Hosting a large group of television station "VIP's" at the U.S. National Skiing Championships in Copper Mountain.

Skinnydipping at Tonto Natural Bridge State Park.

New Mexico
Snapping a photo of Taos Pueblo Church which I’d later loan to my painter friend for inspiration. (I wish I owned the resulting painting.)

Getting stranded at Gilley’s outside Houston with an NBC producer and a motley crew of a few others (including the cleaning staff)--an event I later dubbed “My Evening at “Gilley-gan’s Island.”

Sitting on the tiny balcony of an 18th century New Orleans apartment with a huge full moon illuminating the rooftops of the French Quarter.

New York
Attending game 1 of the '86 World Series with a sportswriter date where I was two seats away from Robert Klein, my childhood stand-up idol.

Watching it go by from a train window and thinking I wasn't very impressed.

Standing outside the Kennedy Library looking out at the choppy sea.


Waking up in a hotel room in Frankfurt on the morning of my return to the States after two months of travel around the continent to find I was covered in a mysterious rash.

Walking around Zermatt as the first snow fell which turned the village into a living, breathing postcard.

Rounding the corner of a narrow street in Fanano to see to my grandmother’s maiden name painted in gold above a café door, and walking inside and learning that one of the old men drinking wine and smoking cigarettes while playing cards with his friends was her first cousin. (And being welcomed with open arms by him and his wife who promptly invited me to stay with them in their apartment upstairs for a few days, which is where I spent Thanksgiving 1983.)

Spending 2-1/2 weeks in a hotel in Paris where I kept a constant boquet of pink tulips on the fireplace mantel in my room, had a fling with a guy from Santa Barbara and spent countless hours talking and laughing with a woman from Perth, Australia who had a room two doors down the hall.


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