Category: travel

Posted on by Fern Brady - No Comments on Beach Time

Beach Time

There are moments in life when it becomes necessary to take yourself off somewhere and reflect. My trip to Brownsville proved an amazing time of refreshing. The last day I was there, I visited South Padre Island.

As a child, we would often go to S. Padre to hang out at the beach. It is barely twenty minutes from Brownsville and the sand is so beautiful. My godmother had a condo at the Bahia Mar. She put us as authorized users so we would go there and hang out for the day.

During my recent visit, I took a day to enjoy the time by the ocean. There’s something about water that brings on a deep sense of peace. Listening to the waves, feeling the salty breeze on your body, the kiss of the sun’s rays on your skin, all this makes for a great time of meditation.

There was a lot to process that weekend. The attack by a parent group that is pushing for puritanical cleansing of education was high among these. My name was smeared by them as if somehow my author persona made me unworthy of working with kids. After being a teacher for 23 years, my identity was called into question.

I won’t lie. It shook me deeply. But as I sat there, on the beach listening to the waves and praying, I felt God’s presence in my life. He is my vindicator. I felt sorrow for these people. Their lives are so full of hate and insecurity. They can’t stand seeing others living a full and happy life.

As kids, my brother and I would sword fight when we went to Blackbeard’s.

How dare I enjoy writing science fantasy romance? How dare I enjoy smoking my cigars? How dare I not conform to what the evangelical lifestyle says a woman should be?

Well, I won’t conform. I will continue to be me, unabashedly and unashamedly. I’ve worked too hard to like myself to allow small minded people to come in and try to stick me back in the box that never fit to begin with.

There’s an interesting verse int he bible: I’m making something new. A woman shall encompass a man.

Their seafood is delicious but I always order the avocado burger. To die for good.

God called me to do great things. He is the author of my faith and of my journey. He is well able to finish the work He began in me. So I will continue my journey and I will let go of the hurt these people caused. I hope He is merciful when he deals with them. But I know He will give me justice in the end, for He despises those that try to shed innocent blood — and the tongue is an instrument of death with these kind of people.

After the time by the sea, I went to my favorite eatery not he island: Blackbeards. As a kid, I always called it black birds. I think because it has birds not he sign. Whatever you call this spot, it has the best damn burgers anywhere in the world. I challenge anyone to find better burgers.

Me enjoying my last cigar of my personal retreat time.

If you go down to the Rio Grande Valley, be sure to check out S. Padre and Blackbeard’s. You won’t regret it.

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Glady’s Porter Zoo

Giraffes are my favorite animals.

When I was a child, every summer my mother enrolled us in the Summer Safari program at Glady’s Porter Zoo. I loved going there and learning about the animals. We would do many different activities and walk the zoo. It was literally the best part of my childhood.

The Glady’s Porter Zoo is in Brownsville TX. It is considered one of the best zoos in the country. The zoo has a strong conservation program and they have seen the birth of many wonderful animals over the years, helping grow endangered species’s populations.

The aviary lets you walk among the birds. Scary.

One of the best parts of the zoo, is the way that the animals are housed. Unlike many zoos, Glady’s Porter designs the enclosures to mimic the animals’ natural habitat. The zoo has a large spread of land which it can use and has been given more by the city.

As a child, my favorite part of the zoo was the giraffes. I still love giraffes. I don’t know why they are my favorite animal, but they are. I love wolves and I love sharks and others as well, but the giraffe is the best. They are so peaceful and tall, and ungainly. You wouldn’t think they were beautiful when you look at the oddness of their body shape. Yet they have grace and poise and kind faces. Maybe, thinking about it now, that’s why I connected with them.

This is where we hosted one of my birthdays growing up.

Glady’s porter has an aviary. It’s kinda frightening going in there. All those birds, flying free, all around you. Very Hitchcockian. But it is also pretty cool. I don’t know how recent the changes have been, but they added a butterfly enclosure. Filled with flowers and free flying butterflies, it is kind of like a wonderland area. They also added a new activity center where they display some fossils that were excavated in the Rio Grande Valley area. It even hosts a playground zone now.

Since my birthday is in July, we had several parties at the zoo. As I walked it during my recent visit, I stopped at the area where we would have the celebration. It is still an eating spot.

I was sad to see that the polar bears are gone. I don’t know why. I remember one summer, as we walked past their enclosure, we caught them swimming. I have always been a fan of bears. Though they seem cuddly, they are actually very dangerous. The dichotomy of it appeals to me.

Glady’s Porter has a strong conservation program to help breed endangered species.

I didn’t see the elephants during this visit. I recall that the zoo had some issues when I was younger with the male elephant. He apparently had tried to kill the baby that was born to them. I remember seeing how they had built a wall to separate him and how the female and baby would come lean against it while he was leaning on the other side. There’s something about that which stirred me and even recalling it now gives rise to sadness.

My biggest regret is that my family moved to Houston during the summer of my sophomore year in high school. This meant no more summer safaris. But more than that, it meant not being able to be a part of the conservation side of the zoo. Only the junior and seniors who participated during the summer, and even during the school year, got to be in the baby zone and work with the staff on that part of the zoo’s program. Wish I had been able to stick around for that. But, I can enjoy going back and seeing all the work the zoo has done. If you are ever in the area., you definitely should visit the Glady’s Porter Zoo.

The zoo is spread out over a large area of land which allows it to form beautiful enclave habitats for the animals.
Posted on by Fern Brady - No Comments on Brownsville Trip #2

Brownsville Trip #2

During my last blog post, I wrote about the quick trip I took down to Brownsville with my parents. The weekend after that visit, I returned having booked a nice Airbnb to stay there for a long weekend. It was a time of refreshing, healing, and writing.

I headed out onto the highway on Thursday. Of course, I had all manner of snacks along with me. It isn’t a legitimate road trip unless you are eating a bunch of junk food along the way. At least, that’s my philosophy. I have a strong bladder from having been a teacher all my life, so I made only one pit stop at Refugio. I was met there by a seagull who was most upset when I told her I had nothing to offer her.

Back on the highway, I drove along singing loudly in my car. You absolutely must have a good playlist when on a road trip. I have one I labeled as Karaoke and it is great for in car singing. The trip from Houston to Brownsville takes almost six hours without stops.

Arriving at the little studio I rented, the first thing I did after lugging the five hundred suitcases and bags I brought with me — okay maybe it wasn’t THAT many but it sure felt like it — into the space was take in the view. In Brownsville, the Rio Grande river has left behind during its lifetime pockets of river that have been cut off from the main flow over the years. The locals call these resacas. One of the prime real estate assets for property down here is if it has a resaca in the backyard. This little studio did, and it makes for a fantastic view.

This church is on the edge of Refugio. As a child when we would drive by it, I always imagined I might get married here some day.

I spent the first day in the studio. I enjoyed morning reflection and coffee with my cigar outside with that relaxing scenery. I bathed, put on one facial mask and some strong conditioner on my hair. I spent time just reading and reflecting on the very hard situations I’ve been dealing with for the past 3 years. After some time, I took those products off and put on a renewing facial mask. I used the time while it worked on my skin to list out all the people and situations that have been hurtful these past few years and any that came up even from before.

Sometimes you think you’ve processed something but it pops back up, so you have to deal with whatever lingered. After my final bath, I was ready for my Friday night writing group. It was lovely to catch up with everyone and set some intentions for the writing I was planning to do that weekend. Most of it centered on getting out emotions and viewing situations so that I could make better sense of where I was and where I am going. But I didn’t plan to just stay in doors and process feelings the whole time.

The view from the studio of the resaca. Sitting out on the patio to smoke my cigars and take in this natural beauty was a major part of the refreshing effects of this trip.

I made my preparations to head to the zoo and to the beach while I was there. I’ve run out of words in this post to share those experiences, but you can come back when it’s my turn again to post and you’ll find out about my zoo and beach excursions and about the writing and resolutions I came to during that weekend. See you next time!

Posted on by Fern Brady - No Comments on Brownsville Trip Part 1

Brownsville Trip Part 1

Me as passenger enjoying not having to worry about anything.

This past weekend, my mother, dad, and I drove down to Brownsville, Texas. This little town on the very tip of the state, bordering with Matamoros, Mexico, is where I grew up. We moved here when I was five years old.

Growing up in a small town has a certain degree of charm. It can also be a nightmare. For me, it was more of the later. I was always a chubby little kid. Early on, I had to have glasses for my eyesight which I inherited from my father. And then we added braces to fix the bad teeth I inherited from my mother. All of this lead to an awful lot of bullying in my childhood.

It was generally there throughout my early years, but in fourth grade, it got intense thanks to a very bad teacher, Ms. Doyle. She was single you see and my mother befriended her and thought to pair her up with a gentleman friend of our family. Sadly, the match didn’t take. This created a tension in Ms. Doyle. I was too young to realize this was happening.

One afternoon, she asked me if I had completed my math homework as I and my mom walked past her during carpool. I told her yes, that it was in my notebook. AND I HAD. To this day , I can recall the page of carefully written math problems. But the next morning, it wasn’t there. Now, she had a habit of making us stand up if we didn’t do it, so I did ’cause I couldn’t find it. She came roaring around the desk, towered over me as I crumbled crying on the floor, telling me I was a liar and humiliating me in front of the whole class.

After that it was open season on me. If the teacher humiliated and ostracized me, then the other students felt justified in doing it too. In fact, when we were graduating form 5th grade and the school invited us to a pool party celebration, the bullying had become so intense I begged my parents to let me stay home. I felt that if I went, they would drown me.

The second placemat that has been used forever at this restaurant.

In the midst of all this, there was a solace. My family and I attended Pastor Gene Loya’s church, Centro Cristiano Shamma. Here I found God’s love and acceptance. Most importantly, the pastor’s mother, took me under her wing. Her advice and comfort was a part of my life that I will always cherish.

Mrs. Loya is 103 years old now. She is the most beautiful lady and her fire and love for God is still burning bright. Her mind is a s sharp as ever, though her body has become frail. We went to Brownsville to visit with her and to take a time with Pastor Loya, whose advice in the midst of so much going on was a balm to my spirit.

Thanks to its port, Brownsville offers the freshest seafood ever!

Of course, we went and had dinner at The Oyster Bar. One thing about small towns… they don’t change. The same place mats that have always been there are still being used. I put them here because they are really cool.

Posted on by Fern Brady - 1 Comment on Hidden Treasures

Hidden Treasures

It always amazes me when I discover parts of Houston that I never even knew existed. There is so much happening in this city and I feel like most of us live secluded in tiny corners unaware of the breadth and depth of opportunities.

Take downtown for instance. How often do most of us go there?

For me the answer is nearly never. In the past, when my dad used to work downtown at the federal courts, I would go have lunch with him occasionally. Most of the time, I drove up to the building and picked him up. Then we headed over to a nearby hotel, usually the Double Tree since they validated your parking, and we would valet for lunch.

A few times, I was called in for jury duty and of course I experienced the area of downtown around the state courthouses. I even got selected for Grand Jury one time and that was fun. But, again the excursions were simply to attend the courthouse in question and, for lunch, I mostly brought my own or bought something at a nearby coffee shop or deli.

I was aware, vaguely, that there was a downtown tunnel system, but I never had occasion to venture there.

Now, my brother works at the federal courthouse. We decided to have lunch together. Instead of driving up and going to some eatery, he told me to park in the garage and we would get food at the tunnel. This peaked my interest.

I arrived and met him downstairs so I wouldn’t have to go through security. We then set out across the street to the building over one block which had the access to the tunnels. This made sense that the courthouse would not have an way to enter the tunnel system. It could be a dangerous access point for the building.

Once in the tunnel we walked a ways. I felt a slight concern being aware of the fact we were walking under ground and all. The tunnel is wide enough for many people to walk in both directions, but it still felt a little tight for me. Then we arrived at a juncture.

Before us lay a wide expanse of tables and chairs around which an array of eateries had storefronts. It reminded me of the mall food courts of my childhood years. There are maps posted at certain intervals. Sadly, I didn’t take a picture of them since I, at that moment, hadn’t thought to write up the excursion for the blog.

We walked further and found an area with loungers and sofas, ping pong and corn hole, and even a table shuffleboard option. Sadly, they had no wax, so we couldn’t throw any weights. Plus, it is a short version and not the 22 foot long that is the official length for serious shufflers.

As we passed this area, my brother pointed out a wide white wall and explained that during the World Cup Soccer, they projected the games there so people could come and watch while sitting in the comfy loungers and sofas. Eventually, we selected a food choice and took it to go. We went back to his office and ate there. If you go to a courthouse, by the way, don’t take scissors or lighters. They confiscate them and store them for you until you leave. Yes. I know from first hand experience.

Anyway, if you are curious and want to enjoy a fun adventure, head over to downtown, park, and do lunch in the tunnels. Buzz me and we can make a day of it. I’m not sure which building uses these Star Wars inspired elevators, but I plan to find out on my next outing.

Oh, PS. this is a picture of me and my brother. Isn’t he cute?

Posted on by Fern Brady - No Comments on Cruisin’

Cruisin’

It has been a while since this RoadBroad took off on an adventure. Recently, my friend, Sharon Gilmore, offered me the opportunity to take a cruise. I’d always wanted to go on one, but my family is not fond of the idea of being out in the open water. So, when Sharon said she could use a cabin mate, I jumped on the opportunity.

The Adventure of the Sea is a Royal Caribbean cruise ship and it is huge. Truthfully, I was amazed at the immensity of it, and how cozy it actually felt. In spite of having 14 decks and an expansive array of shops, food halls, show spaces, and assorted activities, the ship felt homy.

So what does one do on a cruise. Well, the center of the ship is taken up by the casino which seems like the place where most people hang out. There are great activities and sections for children of all ages to pass the time. But for the single adult travelers, the key activities revolve around eating, shopping, and watching shows. There’s also great spaces for taking in the sun and enjoying the sound of the water as the ship moves through it.

As a writer, I hung out a lot on the smoking deck with a cigar and my computer. I also enjoyed the wonderful food each evening. The chef prepares a thematic menu and on the final evening the kitchen staff come out and perform a dance. Coming back to our cabin was always exciting. You never could tell what towel animal was going to be waiting for you. We found a monkey hanging from a hanger and then there was this fellow lounging on my bed.

My ship stopped at Costa Maya and Cozumel. We enjoyed the beautiful beach, and did some major shopping. We had lunch at a local restaurant and indulged in a margarita at Margaritaville. Needless to say we took photos with locals dressed up for the tourists as indigenous Mayans.

The water in this part of the world is so beautiful. Crystal clear and blue the sound of it is so soothing. It felt so good to get out there and travel again. I am really looking forward to doing it again soon. For now, here are a few awesome pictures I took on the trip.

Posted on by Melanie Ormand - No Comments on Rome & Rental Cars: a Sweat to Remember?

Rome & Rental Cars: a Sweat to Remember?

Fern Brady — author and rental car ace!

NOTE: What’s your worse rental car nightmare? Fern Brady returns to RoadBroads to share hers. 

Guest blogger Fern Brady is the founder and CEO of Inklings Publishing. She’s worked as a foreign correspondent, schoolteacher, and realtor. Fern’s publishing credits include two children’s picture books, and multiple short stories and poems. Next comes her debut novel, United Vidden (Book One in her Jornian Chronicles Series). Follow Fern’s writing at: www.fernbrady.com. 

Thank you, Fern, for joining our RoadBroads team today! - Melanie & Ellen

Rome & Rental Cars: A Sweat to Remember?

by Fern Brady

After nearly missing our flight from Germany, we landed in Rome, Italy.

Ten o’clock in the morning and the four of us thrilled to a full afternoon of exploring.

All we needed was a car.

First, we had to find the car rental hub.

Winding our way through the congested airport, we lugged our five pieces of checked luggage and four carry-ons then crossed a connecting skywalk. Entering the rental offices, we froze.

In horror. We had arrived in Donut Land.

Double doors opened up into a cramped round space. Employee offices centered the donut. Along the outside wall, individual rental car companies staffed counters crowded with passenger-packed lines that jutted out like spokes on a wheel. I counted fifteen people in one line. They looked like us, tired travelers who craved any place but here.

At the entry, we noticed a floor mat with the room’s layout. Our car company was located, of course, on the opposite side of where we stood. We would need to make our way through every other line to get to ours.

“I think it would be better if I stay here with the luggage,” I turned to my brother and father who were still trying to sort out the room’s diagram. “So we don’t have to go through these thick crowds with our stuff.

“It’s time for baggage island,” I began to move our stuff to an out-of-the-way corner where I could guard our luggage at my back.

My brother stared at the overcrowded space and sighed, “Good idea.”

Next to him stood his wife, Mariely. She turned to the hub.

“Okay, we’ll get this done. Text us if you need something,” she said before squaring off as if ready to lead us into battle. My brother and father flanked her. The trio left. I stood there. On guard, and sweating.

It. Was. Hot. Like no A/C hot. Like dripping-down-everywhere sweat hot.

The lines grew. More and more people arrived. Hours ticked by. Other baggage islands began to form as passengers realized what I was doing.

I became an archipelago.

A line formed right next to me. With a child. Random, arbitrary, piercing shrieks issued from The Creature. Her parents ignored her as they tried to coordinate something with others of their party. I threw The Creature my best ‘teacher look.’ It worked for a time but had to be reissued periodically.

Two and a half hours later, we’re told we have a car.

We streamed sweat as we hauled our luggage through the bustling airport to the car pickup area. And, no, the car was not ready.

An hour later, we learned the insurance was incomplete. Runarounds ensued. My brother returned to the original counter attendant. Another told us a different story. We sweated. We steamed. We waited.

At seven p.m.—nine hours after we landed in Rome—we had a car.

A station wagon. Roomy. Cool.

We drove to the hotel then walked to dinner.

Posted on by Melanie Ormand - No Comments on Declaring Self

Declaring Self

Greatest gift from my recent 11-day road trip?

This objet d’art, customized at a Boulder end-of-summer festival:

Repurposed license plate from Texas and Colorado redefines a life. Thanks to Neil and Blaise of www.JunkLoveArt!

With the plate, I now own the title.

Full-time. With pride.

Thank you, Colorado.

Thank you, Oregon.

Recent excursions north and west marked one of the best trips ever for DH and me. That’s a meaningful brag, given how many places we’ve explored in 34 years of co-adventuring.

More details in the weeks to come.

When I’m rested.

Yes, from vacation.

Posted on by Melanie Ormand - 4 Comments on Losing Faith in Shining Moments

Losing Faith in Shining Moments

Inspiration arrives in odd places.

Its opposite does, too.

For years, the writings of Stephen King have enchanted, even as they terrified. The Stand. Carrie. The Shining.

DH and I planned our summer playtime around two creative locales: Boulder, CO and Portland, OR. From Boulder, he insisted on a quick jaunt to his old childhood haunt — Estes Park, CO. I replied, Stanley Hotel.

Copyright G. Wigler 2017

My mind raced to memorable scenes from the film made from King’s novel, The Shining.

”Redrum” scrawled in blood across a bathroom mirror.

Jack Nicholson taunting, “Here’s Johnny!” through a cracked-open door.

A hundred sheets of paper filled with a single sentence, repeated over and over — “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Memory reminded me the movie was filmed at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park. What could be more fun than seeing the mirror, the door, the paper.

Then we did. Saw the paper.

What you can’t see in the typewriter photo is what’s beneath the space bar. A red cautionary note warns the tempted: CAUTION! Old! Do Not Touch! 

This third sign confirmed our suspicions. Nothing was as it seemed with either the hotel or the movie.

The first was the entry fee.

To enter the hotel parking lot — guest, visitor, whomever — you discover a $10 entry fee that “you only pay one time but you receive this $5 gold coin which you can use in our gift shop or restaurant.”

You mean the Stanley keeps $5 to stave off the unwanted, the cheap, and the wise.

We discussed leaving. As we did, a line of cars grew to the street. The parking gate behind the guard was down. He glared at us as DH and I strategized. My writerly curiousity won, we paid the ten and drove in, both of us irritated to a slow burn.

Seventy minutes later into our tour (another $20 per person, the reduced senior rate) and I seethed.

The movie was filmed in Oregon, not Colorado.

Because a different hotel was used, there’s no basement bar. No maze either. Except…

…for this: what the Stanley built itself. Three years ago. How many years is that post-movie?

Room 217 is where Stephen King slept the night he conceived The Shining. Hotel officials asked the movie’s director to change the room number to 237. Here’s why: 

Room 217 never has a posted number. Novel readers are smart people. They figure things out. Eventually.

Kimg hated the movie so much, he helped to fund a later mini-series of his novel. Filmed at the Stanley.

It is a beautiful, old hotel. With a rich heritage. And a clever marketing staff.

But now, when I think The Shining, bile fills my throat. I remember what the marriage of marketing and money-making can create.

I hope Stephen King gets a cut of the Stanley dough.

I got mine. It’s a $5 gold coin. Forgot to use it when I bought that #217 room marker.

Posted on by Melanie Ormand - 1 Comment on Road Trip Twist

Road Trip Twist

NOTE: Not all road trips are alike. The following story offers a compelling twist on the Journey tale, one that only Kay Cox — our dear writing retreat friend — could tell, and well.

Guest blogger Kay L. Cox writes poetry and stories from her San Antonio home. She’s an experienced blogger (check out her writings on www.picklesandroses.blogspot.com). Earlier, Kay worked as an art and family therapist, teaching graduate-level art therapy classes in the US and abroad.

Thank you, Kay, for joining our RoadBroads team today! — Melanie & Ellen

Road Trip With a Twist

by Kay L. Cox
Kay L. Cox

My lunch plate that Friday held sliced roast beef, slathered with gravy. But the instant mashed potatoes looked like a sauce, thanks to too much liquid on top. I spy broccoli. Fresh broccoli. I can’t wait. I grab my fork. Then the broccoli’s so tough, my fork can’t cut it and even my knife has a hard time. It’s so tough, I can hardly chew it.

I open my mouth to complain. Then I remember.

The previous Sunday. Dinner at my son’s house.

Emotion overwhelms me.

My family is active with local churches in helping documented migrant families as they head through San Antonio enroute to their next destination by bus. We were asked to house two families. One family stayed one night. The other was a young father, Juan, and his 2 ½ year old son, Ricardo.

When I arrived at my son’s house, the pair sat on the sofa watching television. Ricardo snuggled, sleeping, on his father’s chest. I greeted Juan in Spanish. He nodded, giving me a big smile. I noticed an ankle monitor on Juan. What have we come to in this country?

I went to the kitchen to help prepare the dinner. Chicken casserole and steamed broccoli. Soon, Ricardo awoke and Juan sat him in his lap to eat. Ricardo’s big brown eyes and shy smile won our hearts. He was so well behaved, almost too quiet. I surmised that in his long treacherous journey from Guatemala he had been taught to be very quiet. Ricardo looked at the plate in front of him. His eyes grew bigger still as he looked at the plate in front of him.

He picked up a piece of broccoli, looking at it as if he had never seen such a vegetable. He spoke softly to his dad. With my limited Spanish, I think he called the broccoli a tree before plopping it in his mouth. Then he picked up another, looking at each “tree” carefully before putting each piece in his mouth. Over and over, Ricardo did this, eating bite after bite. I think his body was craving fresh, green food. I wondered when he had last had fresh vegetables.

Never have I seen a child that young eat broccoli like that. Any complaints I might ever have about food from now on fall into a different perspective. I have so much to be grateful for.

My daughter in law bought clothes and diapers for Ricardo, along with snacks and books in Spanish, and his long journey with his father riding multiple buses to Washington. She found a children’s backpack and filled it. Ricardo proudly put it on and clung to her leg at the bus station when she turned them over to the woman who guided them to their correct bus.

What a beautiful experience to share what we take for granted. We were able to make a difference in making someone’s life easier.

I will never eat broccoli again – be it steamed-to-mush, raw or tough — without thinking of Ricardo and Juan. And I’ll feel grateful.

All we have to do is be kind to each other. It’s that simple to create change.