Sardine in a can.  At this moment I think I understand the feeling of the proverbial sardine in a can. I am currently somewhere around 30,000 feet trapped in a tin cylinder with about 240 other sardines. The man sitting next to me is probably 6’2” if he’s an inch and although I pity him, practically folded in half in his middle seat, no way am I giving up my aisle seat for anyone.

When we travel, and when we walk in the paths of those who came before us, I have a tendency to fixate on a singular person of interest.  I want more than the surface story, I want the details, the behind the scenes story. I’ll read everything I can find on the person, i.e. Johnny Cash, until I exhaust the resources.  And, if I’m lucky enough to find videos on YouTube, I’ll watch as many as I possibly can.

“Man, that record came out and was real big in Memphis.

They started playing it, and it got real big.

Don’t know why-the lyrics had no meaning.”

Elvis Presley

At this time next month we will be back in Washington, D.C. and I am filled with eager anticipation.  I cannot make the days go fast enough.

Do you stay in B&B’s when you travel?  That’s probably one of the most frequently asked questions from our guests.  We always smile, look at each other with a secret little gleam in our eyes, and answer, “No, we don’t.”  And, of course, the next question is, why not?

There’s never a dull moment when you own/operate a Bed and Breakfast.  Trust me on this.  Last night I prepped a large baking dish of French toast souffle, (it has to refrigerate overnight) only to discover this morning that two of our guests left early.

As we ready (and steady) ourselves for the upcoming tourist season, which includes the baking of a gazillion cookies, I was reminded of a hilarious article I read on the Huff Post about stupid idiotic not so smart things people say when it comes to reviewing their travel experiences.

“One day I heard someone talking about ‘sifting sand’. I liked the sound of those words and scribble in my notebook ‘old man sifts sand’ tells stories…’ and forgot about it.

Then one day I was on a beach, watching the sand trickle through my fingers and thought, what if every grain held a story. And what if someone were able to tell those stories by sifting the sand?”  –   Wikiquote

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity…”  ~ John Muir

I am not someone who will sleep under the stars, or in a tent, or in a rustic cabin or go anywhere near anything that creeps, slithers, buzzes, flies, sneaks, spins a web, etc.  I do absolutely love to be outside and I love to hike, as long as the hike doesn’t include me edging along some precarious cliff face. I’ve mentioned before, I’m burdened with a wicked fear of heights.

It’s the stuff movies are made of. Monument Valley. The classic western hero riding his horse along the horizon, the magnificent sandstone buttes that must be seen to be believed and Yes!  There he his, John Wayne, on a 5-year quest; The Searchers.  Yep, it’s the stuff movies are made of.