A Holiday Romance

Published in the book I Can't Believe My Dog Did That! by Chicken Soup For the Soul, September 2012

"I'm watching Olive while India's in Costa Rica," announced my daughter, Dana, home on summer break from college. The news alarmed me because Olive is a dog.

            "Where are you watching her?" I hoped Dana was moving into her friend India's Boston apartment for the duration of the caretaking assignment.

            "Here. I'm getting her tomorrow. She'll be here for nine days."

            I smiled the "that's great" smile moms conjure when they need to show support for something their kids are doing that mom wishes wasn't happening while my brain began contemplating how I'd survive what I was sure would be the longest nine days of my life.

            I'd had a dog, Licorice, when I was a kid, and I loved him. But my good dog feelings had been gnawed away by years in a town where dogs roam unleashed in the green spaces where I run, owners invariably saying, "Don't worry, he doesn't bite" as Rover nips at my Nikes, and where a half-dozen dogs on my street are allowed to bark early, late, often, and for prolonged periods, making sleep difficult and life less enjoyable. I'm not shy about letting my neighbors know I don't appreciate the auditory assaults. Once I sent a morning email that read, "It's 6:23 and your dog is killing me."

            When Dana pulled up with Olive, a Pyrenean Shepherd puppy, I admit to feeling an odd joy on seeing her round-eyed, hairy face. And when Olive strained at her leash to get to me, pulling Dana up the walkway, I felt a little special. 
            "She likes you, mom!" said Dana, either sincere or clever. Olive and I had our first physical contact, she exuberantly licking my shins, me patting her once on the head then moving away. This was Dana's gig, not mine. I'd said hello, now Dana was on duty.

            Or not. Dana's 19. She sleeps in. 
            When I woke at six I realized Dana's "I'm watching Olive" really meant that I was the one watching Olive. Olive hadn't been out since the night before. Dana wouldn't be up until after noon. I realized with mild horror that a fair amount of the upcoming canine care would fall to me. 
             I called Olive's name. When the furry ball bounded out of Dana's room and down the hallway, I felt a little flutter. She didn't know me, but she nuzzled my legs and looked up with trust and anticipation that warmed me. Hmmm.

            I noticed the training pad we'd put down -- India had sent Olive's gear, including pads that smelled like grass to encourage duty-doing there rather than on the floor -- was saturated with pee and piled with poop. I was delighted. 
           "Olive," I said, bringing her near the pad and stroking her back and head, "You're a good, good girl." In a strange house, with strange people who didn't get her out in time for her day's first constitutional, Olive had kept her business on a small plastic square. And, she hadn't barked since setting paw in our home. I was officially smitten.

            It got worse as the days progressed. Olive worked some animal magic and cast a dog endearment spell on me. I started doing weird things -- and enjoying them.

            I became an ardent dog walker, confounding my neighbors, which I loved. I looked forward to our walks and the way Olive circled the kitchen in joyous frenzy when I jangled her leash to call her. As we walked, sometimes side by side, sometimes one pulling the other, I studied the sniffing Olive did before choosing where to make her deposits. 
            I saved the plastic bags I bought my produce in and became skilled at wearing them as gloves then turning them inside out after I'd retrieved Olive's neat little messes. I left the door between our kitchen and deck open all day. That way Olive could be outside whenever she wished and hang with me while I read my newspapers at the umbrella table, forgiving the flies that found their way into my house and bounced off walls. I spread a blanket on the deck, and Olive spent hours lying on it, lifting her head frequently to give me a happy gaze and contented smile. 
           On a shopping trip to buy Dana back-to-campus items, I threw dog treats and chew toys into my cart. I perused my grocery store's pet aisle, comparing food labels to ensure Olive was getting the good stuff. I stopped wincing whenever Olive slurped my limbs and face, which was often. And, I, who heretofore would run for hand sanitizer anytime politeness dictated I pat someone's dog, developed a soothing chin-chuck that made Olive close her eyes and grin. I even considered giving Olive a bath. I didn't, but I thought seriously about it.

            "I'm taking Olive home in a few hours," said Dana one morning. "India's flight comes in tonight, and I'm picking her up at the airport."

            The news hit me hard. This dog had achieved the impossible: she'd made me fall in love with her. I looked down at Olive, who was licking my toes. "I can't believe it's been nine days already. They went by so fast."

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

            

Outdoor Art Adventures

Published in the April 2010 issue of Boston Parents Paper

Not all art lives inside museums and galleries. Wonderful, whimsical pieces – perfect for exploring with children – pepper parks, playgrounds and public places throughout Greater Boston. Now that spring is here, consider exploring these destinations that have creations to delight all ages.

Art-Filled Acres
DeCordova Sculpture Park and Museum in Lincoln features contemporary art indoors and out. Says DeCordova's Victoria Glazomitsky, “Kids and families love the park. It gives little ones 35 acres to run around on while providing a creative backdrop that lends itself to family discussions.” The changing exhibition of about 75 works includes many for kids to enjoy – such as Doug Kornfeld’s outsized Ozymandias figure and Paul Matisse’s xylophone-like Musical Fence. The museum offers many family programs including a kid-friendly Sculpture Park audio tour.
DeCordova Sculpture Park and Museum, 51 Sandy Pond Road, Lincoln; 781-259-8355; http://www.decordova.org/. Park open daily dawn to dusk, admission charged during museum hours: Tuesday-Sunday, 10am – 5pm. Adults, $12; kids ages 6-12, $8; kids ages 5 and under, free.

Water Works
Enjoy sea and city views as you discover art along Boston’s Harborwalk, a public path that runs along or near the water’s edge from East Boston to Dorchester. About 38 of the Harborwalk’s planned 47 miles are completed, with plenty of long stretches perfect for family outings. Pick a route from the Harborwalk Web site, pack a picnic, and set off to find delightful works, including marine animal sculptures, fish-shaped benches and fanciful aluminum panels in South Boston’s Eastport Park. There are also mosaic walls and a spiral tower in Charlestown’s Paul Revere Park and eye-catching, large-scale sculpture at Arts on the Point on the UMASS Boston campus.
Boston Harborwalk, www.bostonharborwalk.com/art.

Outdoor Gallery in Cambridge
The Cambridge Arts Council (CAC) has helped turn Cambridge into a giant gallery of accessible art, much of it outdoors. “Because we serve the public, all of our projects are for a multigenerational audience,” says the CAC’s Lillian Hsu. There are interesting works in a variety of media all over the city, with lots of engaging installations to make kids smile. Check out Danehy Park’s half-mile-long “glassphalt” path by artist Mierle Laderman Ukeles and Nancy Selvage’s Waterwall in Trolley Square. The exteriors of public buildings, restaurants and stores host vibrant murals like Crossroads, Crosswinds and Potluck that celebrate the city’s diversity.
Cambridge Arts Council, 344 Broadway, Cambridge; 617-349-4389; http://www.cambridgema.gov/~cac/ .

Cemetery Sculpture
Don’t get spooked. Founded in 1848 as a park and arboretum as well as a burial ground, Jamaica Plain’s Forest Hills Cemetery offers a 250-acre oasis of paths, trees, and a lake alive with frogs and turtles. It’s also home to an extraordinary sculpture collection. In addition to elaborate Victorian grave art, there’s a Sculpture Path of contemporary pieces that “children and families enjoy exploring,” says Forest Hills Trust’s Cecily Miller. Favorite pieces include interactive works like Mitch Ryerson’s Poetry Chairs, inscribed with poetry written by teens, and Andrea Thompson’s Knock on Wood, with knockers that make different sounds. Forest Hills’s summer camps host more than 800 children, and July’s Lantern Festival draws people of all ages for Japanese drumming, dancing and the sunset launching of lanterns across the lake.
Forest Hills Cemetery, 95 Forest Hills Ave., Boston; 617-524-0128; www.foresthillstrust.org.

Latin: Alive and Well in the Classroom

Published in the January 2010 issue of Boston Parents Paper


Among the classes that kids take in public and private schools today, Latin isn't the first to come to mind. Many people might say it's unnecessary, a "dead language" that no longer applies to "real life."

Yet, more than 60 percent of our English vocabulary has Latin roots. And, while you may not know the origin of the words you speak, many of today's Massachusetts students do. Latin is alive and well in schools across the state. Long a cornerstone of classical education at many private schools, this ancient language now has fans in a wide range of academic settings from municipal to Montessori, charter to parochial, in grades as early as elementary.

For the past five years, Boston lawyer Gregg Bailey has voluntarily taught Latin to Dorchester tweens and teens attending rigorous area schools where the language is required. He does it through Project D.E.E.P., the Dorchester Educational Enrichment Program that tutors and prepares Dorchester youth for entry exams required by schools like Boston Latin and Roxbury Latin. D.E.E.P.’s been so successful getting kids into these institutions that five years ago it launched Learning Latin to support them in their schoolwork.

Bailey, who holds an undergraduate classics degree, stepped in to teach the program. Once a week he and a group of mostly 7th, 8th and 9th-graders study Latin vocabulary and tackle homework challenges. Enrollment doubled in the first three years and, according to D.E.E.P. assistant director Lauren Hughes, continues to climb.

“Latin,” says Hughes, “is paramount to a comprehensive education. It can expand a child’s knowledge of English as well as help in learning any other Romance language.”

Growing In Popularity

Recent Latin enrollment statewide has held steady or grown, with Latin’s value as a building block of English a key reason why.

Alice Lanckton, a Newton South High School teacher who’s seen Latin enrollment double to about 100 since 2002, says, “Students appreciate the importance of Latin in increasing their vocabularies, both for the SATs and for life. Kids who take Latin enjoy understanding words.”

Claire Planeta, Latin teacher at Easton’s Oliver Ames High School agrees. “People tell me they use Latin more than any subject because it helps them with vocabulary. Most of my students would tell you they learned English grammar in Latin class," she says.

Latin classes start in the 6th grade at many private schools. At Brookline’s Dexter and Southfield schools, for example, middle schoolers take three years of Latin, then decide whether to continue at the high school level. About 50 percent do. “We’ve always had a strong interest in Latin among our student body,” says Lisa Pyne, the schools’ classics department head. “Because they’re exposed early, our students are invested in their study of the language.”

Early exposure means parental investment, too. Lynn Sullivan-Galvin, a Boston mom whose son is a Dexter 8th-grader, says, “Sam’s in his third year of Latin; therefore, I’m in my third year of Latin.” Sullivan-Galvin’s seen Sam read novels without looking up words while his high school-age sister, who doesn’t take Latin, keeps a dictionary close. “I can’t believe how much Latin has helped Sam’s vocabulary. When reading, he can figure out words because of the Latin root, making the reading much more enjoyable. When writing, he’s able to use less common words because of Latin.”

Putting It To The Test

Currently, Latin is taught at about 20 percent of middle schools in Massachusetts' 220-odd public school districts and 62 percent of high schools, according to state education department data. A quarter of those high schools offer Advanced Placement (AP) Latin, built around works of ancient Roman poet Vergil.

A trend toward diligent SAT preparation in recent years may help explain the old tongue’s 21st-century appeal: that Latin-takers outperform peers on the verbal (now Critical Reading) portion of the SAT is supported by 2007 Educational Testing Service data showing average scores of 678 for Latin-takers versus 502 for all students. For younger students, Latin may provide an MCAS edge: a study of midwestern 6th-graders shows those exposed daily to Latin surpass peers in reading, spelling, math, social studies and science.

Hingham High is one local school with a robust, multi-level Latin program. Teacher Ron Urbinati reports “a recent increase in enrollment,” with 160 students in Latin I through AP.

Gail Ryder, who teaches middle and high school Latin in the Dover-Sherborn system, has seen Latin explode beyond the one 8th-grade and one high school course offered when she arrived in 1986. “We’ve built an incredibly successful Latin program,” she says. “We now begin in 6th grade, and this year’s 6th grade class has over 40 students.” Dover-Sherborn has strong 7th and 8th grade enrollment and four high school offerings, including AP. “Many of our students wish to be admitted to top colleges and feel that taking Latin AP is a way to help with admission.” Ryder reports that “usually by the end of freshman year students are reading real Latin regularly: Cicero, Caesar, Pliny and all the poets.”

At St. Agnes, a K-8 Catholic school in Arlington, students start Spanish in kindergarten then, at the end of 6th grade, choose to continue or, as Latin teacher Christopher Bogdanski puts it, “come over to the dark side.” About 35% make the switch to Latin, and Bogdanski notes that some of his students continue in high school where, he says, “we’ve had several go on to earn perfect scores on the National Latin Exam.” The exam, offered at several study levels, had about 6,000 takers when first offered in 1977. About 140,000 turned out in 2009, with Massachusetts delivering 11,948 -- more than any state.

Making It Fun

Ed Foley teaches Latin at Arlington’s Ottoson Middle School, where enrollment’s risen and now holds steady at about 180. Foley thinks new teaching methods play a role in the renaissance. “The old image of Latin as a dull, difficult and dead language is no longer accurate,” he says.

Teachers such as Newton South’s Lanckton use games: I Piscatum (Go Fish) and bingo-like Id Habeo (“I’ve Got It!”). Hingham’s Urbinati uses hands-on projects related to Roman history and mythology. The vast reach and influence of the Roman empire, a multi-ethnic, multi-racial culture, allow teachers to wrap art, archaeology, architecture, politics and philosophy around the Latin language and literature core, furthering engaging and enriching today’s students.

Kids may take Latin to gain academic advantages then find their minds opened to its timeless cultural and societal legacies, topics worth exploring. “Non scholae sed vitae discimus.” (We do not learn for school, but for life. )

Get Your Family Into the Cosmos: Great Places to Stargaze

Published in the October 2009 issue of Boston Parents Paper



We’re all shining stars. Really.

That bright star your family contemplated on your summer camping trip? You’re made from bits of one just like it says renowned astronomer Phil Plait. In a video for the British website www.whyscience.co.uk, a collection of thoughts on why science is so important, Plait uses astronomy to show that "science is everything, and it's everywhere, and it's you."

"The iron in your blood and calcium in your bones were created in a star that blew up five billion years ago, seeded a gas cloud with elements, and these elements formed – you," Plait says in the video. "That’s science.”

And that's bound to captivate the imaginations of your kids.

Children are tomorrow’s scientists and engineers. The more skilled they are in the process of wondering why -- the basic tenet of science exploration -- the brighter that future will be.

Astronomy is the perfect science for piquing curiosity and sparking critical thinking. It’s beautiful and mysterious. It’s one of the easiest sciences to investigate, requiring only eyes and, as interest grows, simple optical equipment. And it’s satisfying. Said Joe Doyle, curator of the Bridgewater State College Observatory, “Astronomy is a personal journey, since you’re alone at the eyepiece. You experience the universe through your own eyes and feel a sense of accomplishment when you find an object. The chance of discovery, which is very real, is thrilling.”

Exploring astronomy can make for some unique family outings. Massachusetts is home to many local public stargazing sites -- places where you can view our galaxy and beyond with precision equipment and expert guidance. Both Doyle and Tony Houser, director of the Wheaton College Observatory in Norton, said visitors are awed by magnified views of Saturn and its rings, Jupiter and its moons, and our Moon and its craters. Houser said the Andromeda Galaxy, Ring Nebula, Pleiades star cluster and naked eye objects like satellites, meteors and shooting stars also pack “a big wow factor.”

Check out one or more of the observatories described here and let skilled enthusiasts guide your kids through the universe -- perhaps unleashing their inner scientist. Just remember that stellar viewing requires clear weather, and viewing schedules change, so check an observatory’s website or information line before blasting off for your trip to the cosmos.

College Observatories
Wheaton, Bridgewater, Salem State, Merrimack and Boston University are among the area colleges that share their telescopes with the public on scheduled open viewing nights or by special arrangement. The observatories, some boasting platoons of equipment and others one or two powerful reflectors, are usually manned by physics instructors or passionate students.

Depending on the venue, you may be scanning the heavens from the roof of a science building or from inside a structure whose dome retracts to reveal the night sky. When groups of very young visitors are scheduled, Wheaton even sets up a portable, inflatable planetarium. “The kids – and their parents – enjoy crawling through the dark tunnel to get into the dome, and we have a star projector to tell stories and show star motion in the sky,” said director Houser. Find schedules and visitor information at the observatories’ websites: wheatoncollege.edu/Acad/Astronomy; bridgew.edu/Observatory; nsaac.org/collins.shtml; merrimack.edu/community/Observatory; bu.edu/astronomy/facilities/observatory.html.

Clay Center for Science and Technology
A five-story, state-of-the-art learning center in Brookline operated by the Dexter and Southfield schools, the Clay Center (claycenter.org; 617-522-5544) includes an observatory housing seven professional-grade telescopes. During fall and spring Clay holds weekly public telescope nights for facilitated exploration of planets, stars, the Moon and other celestial surprises. Pre-registration is appreciated. When you’re not gazing upward, enjoy panoramic views of Boston from the observation decks, wander through fiber optic versions of the constellations in the Stars Courtyard and use the Planetary Scales to see what you’d weigh on Mars.

Gilliland Observatory
Most families are familiar with the spectacular Charles Hayden Planetarium at Boston’s Museum of Science. Less well known but just as exciting (on a clear night) is the Gilliland Observatory (mos.org; 617-589-0267), nestled on the roof of the museum’s parking garage. At 8:30 on Friday nights, museum staff invite the public to step up to Gilliland’s powerful Celestron telescope and observe the night sky’s current offerings. Before heading to the observatory, watch the 7 PM planetarium screening of The Sky Tonight, a film that helps you and your kids better appreciate what you’ll see up on the roof.

Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics (CfA)
The CfA (cfa.harvard.edu; 617-495-7461) sponsors observatory nights the third Thursday of each month, except in summer. Starry-eyed future scientists can learn a lot from this Harvard University center. Observatory nights begin with a non-technical lecture (intended for high schoolers and older, but children are welcome) and end with telescopic viewing from the observatory roof. The CfA also runs special events like a Kids Academy and Sci-Fi movie nights. For details check the center’s website, which has a kid-friendly, content-rich “Fun Things To Do and See” section.

Astronomy Groups and Clubs
In addition to regular meetings, at which potential new members are welcome, groups like the South Shore Astronomical Society (SSASTROS.org), North Shore Amateur Astronomy Club (NSAAC.org) and Amateur Telescope Makers of Boston (ATMOB.org) share their astronomical knowledge in various ways.

If your child’s school or scout troop would like to hold a star party to investigate and celebrate the abundant wonder of deep space, both ATMOB and NSAAC can provide support and expertise. SSASTROS invites the public to join its frequent Saturday night observing sessions in Norwell’s Centennial Field. Bring the telescope that’s been sitting in your garage and they’ll teach you how to use it, or get equipment advice if you’re considering a purchase. NSAAC helps run the public viewing nights at Salem State and Merrimack College, and its just-launched Young Astronomers Program features an essay contest for 4th- through 8th-graders, with cool equipment as prizes. To view the heavens with NSAAC members, join their Friday and Saturday viewing nights at Veasey Memorial Park in Groveland.

Tips for Parents of Would-Be Stargazers

Local astronomy experts offer these suggestions for sparking a child's interest in the heavens:

Use a laser pointer to guide young eyes through the night sky

Start with a familiar object like the Moon, and look for things kids can relate to, like large craters or the Apollo landing site

Use binoculars, easy and inexpensive, to effectively view many objects

For a good first telescope, consider the $200 Orion Starblast

Experience the excitement and camaraderie of gatherings scheduled around major events like meteor showers

Let kids click their way through the cosmos on websites like NASA.gov, HubbleSite.org and KidsAstronomy.com

Use star charts, like the downloadable tools at Stellarium.org, to identify what’s in your sky tonight

Boston By Boat

Published in the July 2009 issue of Baystate Parent


Boston By Boat


From craft shaped like swans to machines tricked out like monster fish, Boston is home to a flotilla of vessels that ply the city’s waterways. With peaceful ponds, major river, scenic harbor and island-studded open ocean, Boston offers lots of ways to have family fun afloat:

Swan Boats: A 15-minute ride that’s a 130-year-old tradition. Drivers ease elegant paddleboats around the tree-lined lagoon in Boston Public Garden, America’s first botanical garden. http://www.swanboats.com/; 617-522-1966; $2.75 adults, $1.50 child.

Boston Harbor Cruises: From Long Wharf near the New England Aquarium, this company offers a cruise menu for all tastes, including whale watches, fast ferries to Cape Cod’s Provincetown and harbor cruises that take in lighthouses, the skyline and historical sights. Or ride Codzilla, a 2,800 horsepower beast with fish fangs painted on the hull that flies through the sea at 40 mph, music blaring. Screaming encouraged. http://www.bostonharborcruises.com/; 617-227-4321; prices vary.

Harbor Islands Ferries: From Long Wharf, Pier 10 in South Boston and from three suburban docks south of the city, ferries and water shuttles take you to some of the 34 islands that make up the Boston Harbor Islands National Recreation Area. Georges Island, with its 19th-century Fort Warren, and Spectacle Island, which offers swimming, hiking trails and marvelous views of the Boston skyline, are among the most popular and accessible. http://www.bostonislands.org/; 617-223-8666; prices vary.

Duck Tours: Travel the streets of Boston in a restored World War II-era amphibious vehicle while a ConDucktor narrates, then “splashdown” into the Charles River. Boston sits on one riverbank and Cambridge on the other. 80-minute tour departs from both the Museum of Science and Prudential Center. http://www.bostonducktours.com/; 617-267-DUCK; $29.95 adults, $20 child.

Tall Ships Poincare and Formidable: The crew serves bottled water and ginger snaps, but you’re welcome to bring your own provisions and libations aboard these identical 50-foot square-rigged sailing vessels that accommodate 40 passengers on a two-hour tour of Boston harbor. Depart from Long Wharf’s Boston Waterfront Marina. http://www.tallshipformidable.com/; 617-262-1119; $25 adult, $10 child.

Entertainment Cruises: Cruise the inner harbor from Castle Island to Old Ironsides while enjoying food, drink and dancing. Spirit of Boston offers a variety of sailings at different times of day, departing from the World Trade Center in Boston’s Seaport District. http://www.spiritofboston.com/; 866-310-2469; prices vary.

Charles Riverboat Tours: Float down the Charles, Boston on one side and Cambridge on the other, taking in sights like the Longfellow Bridge, Beacon Hill and the golden-domed State House, the Esplanade, Back Bay, and the campuses and boathouses of MIT, Harvard and Boston University. Hour-long tour departs from the Cambridgeside Galleria. http://www.charlesriverboat.com/; 617-621-3001. $14 adult, $7 child. Also offers harbor cruises.

Charles River Canoe and Kayak: Paddle the Charles on your own steam. Pick up your hourly or daily canoe, kayak or rowboat rental at Artesani Park in Allston and explore a nine-mile stretch of the Charles River Basin. Guided tours available. Open Thurs.-Sun. in season. http://www.paddleboston.com/; 617-462-2513. Kayak/canoe rentals about $15/hour or $60/day.

Jamaica Pond: Rent a sailboat or rowboat from the boathouse at this 68-acre pond, a glacier-carved kettle depression and a jewel in the F.L. Olmsted-designed Emerald Necklace of Boston parkland. http://www.jamaicapond.com/; 617-522-5061. Rowboats $10/hour, sailboats $15/hour.

Travel/parenting: New York For Families: The Big Apple Shines at Holiday Time

This article was published in The Dabbling Mum ezine in December 2008


New York For Families: The Big Apple Shines at Holiday Time
by Lori Hein

A frosty afternoon at Central Park’s Wollman Rink; time for the annual showdown. My kids lace up their rental skates and take off around the icy oval, Adam in front and determined to beat his sister, Dana, who’s threatening mightily from behind. My husband and I sip hot chocolate and take in the contest―and the Manhattan skyline rising beyond the park’s edges―from spectator benches.

We go to New York often, and some of our best visits have been in that crisp period between Thanksgiving and New Year when the city sparkles with holiday spirit. It’s a wonderful time to be in New York, as many families have discovered. Said Leslie Sullivan, a mom from Hingham, Massachusetts, “Being in New York around the holidays really gets us into the Christmas spirit. There’s an energy as well as a serenity. There are crowds, but somehow the place feels friendly and peaceful. We loved our first family holiday trip so much that we’ve made it into a tradition.”

Whether tradition or one-time event, enjoy these holiday sights and activities:

Skating
There’s Wollman, and there’s Rockefeller. The rink at Rockefeller Center is small, but skating around it, under the 1934 gilded Prometheus sculpture and the eyes of a thousand spectators, is a cool experience. Lasker Rink, in Central Park's far north, offers public skating without the crowds. Sky Rink at Chelsea Piers, a sport and entertainment complex on the Hudson River, has afternoon public skating. Or skate at Riverbank State Park, a 28-acre, multi-sport recreational facility, also on the Hudson. For budget skating that packs a full dose of the Manhattan experience, head to Bryant Park, tucked behind the New York Public Library. Ice time is free, and skate rentals are available. The rink is small, but the cross-section of locals and visitors, vendors selling interesting things and the midtown Manhattan skyline above your head make it big fun. For an uncrowded rink in a beautiful setting, head to Brooklyn’s Prospect Park.

Tree-spotting
Typically lit the week after Thanksgiving, Rockefeller Center’s holiday tree, a must-see, has some competition. Twinkling trees tower over Lincoln Center, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and South Street Seaport (from where you get an amazing view of the Brooklyn Bridge). The American Museum of Natural History's Origami Tree is adorned with a thousand folded decorations, each representing an object in the museum’s collection, and paper cranes grace the Peace Tree at the soaring Cathedral of St. John the Divine.

Window-hopping
You’ll find brilliant decorations and window displays all over the city, but some of the best are at a half-dozen midtown department stores: Barney’s and Bloomingdales; Fifth Avenue’s Saks, Bergdorf Goodman and Lord & Taylor (my favorite); Macy’s, on 34th Street. If you visit them all, and on foot, you’ll earn the added fitness bonus of a roughly two-mile walk.

Holiday Fairs And Shows
Catch the Rockettes and their famous high kick line in the annual Radio City Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall, an art deco gem. Browse the vendor stalls at Grand Central Terminal's holiday fair, and take in the half-hourly laser light show projected onto the station’s magnificent, refurbished central ceiling. Head up to the Bronx, where you’ll find family activities at a light festival at the New York Botanical Gardens and a winter wonderland of lights, ice sculptures, music and reindeer at the Bronx Zoo.

Other Treats
For a special tour of Manhattan from the water, splurge on a lunch or dinner Spirit Cruise, departing from Chelsea Piers. Enjoy a kid’s-eye view of over-the-top Christmas gifts―think nearly life-sized stuffed horses and giraffes―at FAO Schwarz, the venerable Fifth Avenue toy store, or ride the Ferris wheel inside the Times Square Toys ‘R’ Us. Take the elevator to the Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center, and enjoy the mindblowing view including, if you go in the evening, the Empire State Building floodlit red and green for the holiday season.

One of the best ways to get around New York is by bus and subway, and a 1- or 7-day Metro Card, available at most subway stations, gives you unlimited rides on both. For New York hotel and visitor information, check out NYCVisit.com.

So who won the Wollman Rink showdown? We all did. As the kids cruised down the home stretch, Adam in the lead, he got a touch of holiday spirit and slowed to let Dana catch up. The race ended in a tie.

Family/inspiration/parenting/running: A Can of Peas

This story was last published in Radish Magazine in September 2008



A Can of Peas


One summer day a dozen years ago, I stood at my living room window and watched two women walk by on the sidewalk. They were both young mothers, and each pushed a stroller holding a toddler about the same size as Dana, my then two-year-old daughter. It struck me how alike the women looked – heavy and slow, with untucked, oversized T-shirts covering ample butts and bellies. Then my window became a mirror, and I saw myself. I looked just like them.

In that instant, as I stood there in my untucked, oversized T-shirt and elastic waist shorts, I knew I had to make some changes. God was hitting me over the head with a giant foam hammer: "This is an epiphany, Lori. Run with it." And that, more or less, is what I did.

I’d always been a tiny person, able to exercise never, eat whatever whenever, and remain trim and petite. I’d even come out the other end of my first pregnancy smaller than when I went into it. I’d had a hard time just holding onto my first child, a boy. After seven months of nausea, projectile rejection of almost all food save Cheerios and Dannon yogurt, and a stint in the hospital hooked to a nasogastric tube that delivered protein drink through my nostrils to my stomach, my Adam greeted the world two months early. Four pounds and able to fit in the palm of my husband’s hand. When we took our tiny fighter home after his stay in intensive care, I weighed five pounds less than I’d weighed in high school.

Dana stayed in the womb a week beyond the due date. While I carried Dana, she and I ate. About every 20 minutes. With Adam, I felt sick if I ate. With Dana, I felt sick if I didn’t. I embarked on a nine-month, nonstop eating orgy. Steak, peanut butter, baked potatoes with sour cream, hot fudge sundaes. Deli meat, frozen pizza, Cheez-Its by the boxful. Oreos, burritos, chocolate and butterscotch pudding smothered in Redi-Whip. I slept with a loaf of bread next to the bed.

When Dana was born, healthy and beautiful, I was big. And stayed big. And pretended I wasn’t. Had God sent the two strolling mothers any earlier, I wouldn’t have been ready to receive the message. Being in denial awhile had allowed me to keep eating donuts, corned beef hash and bacon while rationalizing the weight gain as a normal, perfectly acceptable stage of motherhood.

Upon my epiphany, I resolved to effect a wholesale, cold turkey conversion. I knew exactly what I had to do: eat less, eat well, move more. Forever. And it’s the forever part that made the whole thing easier to swallow.

Were I to put myself "on a diet," I knew I would fail, ultimately if not right away. I needed to replace "diet," a short term, emergency-infused concept, with "life," hopefully long and good. I would never be on a diet. I’d be on life.

A diet would address only what I took in. But life offered the chance to play with energy, experiment with taking it in and burning it off. A diet held no challenge: Here, eat this measured thing. Life said, "Have some fun. See what happens when you eat a little and burn a little. Or eat a lot and burn a little. Or eat a little and burn a lot. Or eat a lot and burn a lot." What fun! Like being a scientist.

So I banished "diet" from my mindset and lexicon and focused on life. I resolved to do three things: center my meals around plants; choose healthy calories over bad or empty ones; move for at least 20 minutes a day.When time came for my first post-conversion meal, I opened the fridge. I wanted to plant-center my plate, but there wasn’t a fresh fruit or vegetable in that whole Kenmore. I opened the cupboard and took down a can of peas. I found an onion, sautéed it in olive oil, threw in some chopped garlic and lemon juice, and folded the mix into the peas. I poured a tall glass of OJ, sat down on my deck, and tucked into this humble, healthy lunch that would change my life.

The next morning, I dug out an old pair of sneakers, pulled on my elastic waist shorts and oversized T-shirt, and went outside to move. I started out walking, but soon found myself lifting my feet high enough off the ground to approximate a rude form of entry level shuffle-jogging. That first day, I made it once around the block. I felt like I was going to die, but I knew I’d run the race of my life.

Now, after years of salads, fruit, fish, chicken, whole grains and the occasional Oreo or Dairy Queen cone, I wear high school-size jeans and have long since given away my elastic waist shorts.

And that energy experiment? My favorite take in-burn off combination is "eat a lot and burn a lot." That’s what I do when I train for a marathon. I’m preparing for my ninth.

Travel/family/parenting: Intergenerational Travel: Finding Family Harmony

This article appeared in the online magazine The Dabbling Mum in February 2008:

Intergenerational Travel: Finding Family Harmony
Lori Hein
All materials copyrighted

It’s a sweet, indelible image: My dad, six-foot-two and lean as a green bean holding hands with my then two-year-old daughter, clad in a puffy turquoise sunsuit. My dad’s long arm reaches down, my daughter’s tiny one reaches up, and they look into each other’s eyes as they make their way, laughing, down the hill from our rented beach house to the ice cream store in town. That simple, joy-filled walk that Dana took with her Pop-Pop was one of many special moments shared by three generations of our family during a week-long vacation together.

Traveling with multiple generations of family can be rich and rewarding. It’s an opportunity to reunite, reminisce, discover, celebrate.

But friction can develop, too, as family members who don’t live together in the real world try to live together in the vacation world. Whether you rent a ski chalet, cabin in the woods or motel rooms near Disney World, some honest pre-trip discussion and planning can help ensure that everyone enjoys your multi-generational journey.

Before leaving home, discuss:

How close the quarters? Chris and Dave Blelloch, a Boston-area couple with three grade-schoolers, have taken several vacations with extended family. Some have been less than perfect, others a joy. The difference? Space. For a reunion trip to North Carolina, the clan, which included aunts, uncles, grandparents and a gaggle of cousins, rented one large house. “It didn’t work,” said Chris. “Too close.”

For a more recent trip to Cape Cod, the group booked separate, side-by-side condos. Each family had its own living space, and the resort’s beach and play area with barbecue pit served as common gathering ground. Harmony reigned.

What are the ground rules – and floor plan? It’s easier to set behavior and etiquette guidelines before a trip than to fret and feud while on vacation because, for example, teenagers come in late, make noise in the kitchen and wake the family. Mom and dad may be used to this at home, but grandma and grandpa aren’t. And mom and dad may need a break from it. It’s their vacation, too.

Set ground rules and devise plans that address issues like curfews; accommodation of early risers and night owls; babies’ naptimes; uses of common space; control of amenities like TVs, computers, sound systems, sports equipment and rental cars. The payoff for your negotiations will be a vacation haven that’s truly a peaceable kingdom.

If you’ll be staying in a vacation rental, knowing the property’s floor plan and layout can help you make advance decisions on potentially thorny issues like bedroom assignments. Who gets the biggest or quietest room, the room nearest the bathroom, the ground floor room, the room in the attic two flights up, the room that faces a busy street? Vacation rental sites like Interhome.com, CyberRentals.com and vrbo.com (Vacation Rentals by Owner) have photos and property descriptions and, with the latter two, you deal directly with the owners and can email them with questions.

Whose turn to dry? You may not want to think about work while on vacation, but jobs will need doing, especially if you’re vacationing in a rental property without restaurants or maid service. Who will shop, cook, clean, watch the kids? If the men golf in the morning, should the women get a few kid-free hours at the pool or gym in the afternoon? Grandma may love hosting family holiday feasts, but she may not want to spend her vacation cooking. Talking in advance about the division of leisure and labor will lighten everyone’s load.

How much togetherness? You’re traveling together, but you’re individuals and separate families, and it’s likely you’ll want and need time apart. Interests, habits, age, finances and health will steer each person and family toward different pursuits. Will you eat in or out? If out, how often? Or will each family do its own thing at mealtime? Should you have several vehicles available so people can go different places? Some of you may want to take daily road trips or climb mountains while others want only to sit and read. Establishing a different strokes for different folks policy gives everyone guilt-free freedom to partake in or pass on outings or activities.

On an intergenerational vacation, planning and communication help smooth the way for wonderful shared experiences.

Like holding hands and laughing all the way to the ice cream store.

Travel/Family: Into the fire zone

Book excerpt published in the Cortez Journal (CO), March 2004:

March 13, 2004
Tourists journey into fire zone
By Lori Hein
Special to the Journal

EDITOR'S NOTE: The summer after Sept. 11, a globetrotting writer from Massachusetts and her two children traveled 12,000 miles of American back roads and byways. "Ribbons of Highway: A Mother-Child Journey Across America" (Booklocker.com, 2004) by Lori Hein (lorihein.com) is the story of the trio's road odyssey. In this excerpt, the travelers visit Cortez and Mesa Verde National Park at the height of wildfire season:


The parking lot of our Cortez motel gave onto a postcard Rocky Mountain view, so I parked New Paint so she could look, enjoy and be rejuvenated. When I went out the next morning to begin the tasks required before daily takeoff, New Paint sat in the early sun facing the Rockies, and a white truck marked OJIBWE Wildcat Firefighters sat next to her, its driver drinking coffee and working a cell phone.

As part of each morning's pre-departure ritual, I'd dump the melted ice from the coolers and send the kids to the motel ice machine for new stocks. There was no way I could throw water away in front of this man, so I hauled the coolers to the room and dumped the old ice in the bathtub, and still felt plenty guilty.

A wildcat firefighter in our motel parking lot meant fire was near. We'd come to Cortez, and Colorado, for Mesa Verde, and, when we got to the park, parts of it, including Cliff Palace and Balcony House, were closed due to fire threat. Wildfires had now affected us personally.

The only way to see anything was to go with a group on one of the tours they'd patched together and were still allowing to go out. The Park Service wanted everyone in one place, to count heads and ease evacuation should fire start. Both temperature and tempers were high as rangers dealt with frustrated tourists who'd traveled the country and world to get here. We were assigned to a 10:30 departure on a yellow Dolores School District bus to Spruce Tree House on Chapin Mesa. We killed time in the Visitor Center watching a film of Cliff Palace, the closest we'd get to it, and joked with a couple looking through postcards in the gift shop that it would be hard to find one of something we'd actually see.

But Spruce Tree House was magnificent, and the tour had an unusual edge to it because of the tense, frightening circumstances. The minute our school bus filled and the driver pulled away from the Visitor Center, all of us on the bus became a club and started talking. We sat next to a family from San Francisco whose two daughters, baby Hailey and 11-year-old Amanda, both fell in love with Adam. He gave them equal time, bouncing Hailey on his leg during the bus ride, and climbing into an underground Spruce Tree House kiva with Amanda.

All the tour kids went down into the cool, dark kiva. I sensed a silent contest taking shape down there after the smallest kids had come up. The older ones stayed in the hole, and I was tempted to ask the other parents if they wanted to wager on whose kid would win the test of wills and be last up the ladder. I'd have put my money on Adam to win and Dana to place.

Sure enough, after the other kids had caved and climbed out, a conversation like this was going on down in the pit:

"You go ahead, Dana."

"No, Adam. You go."

"No, you go up first. I'll follow you."

"Adam, you're just doing this because you want to be last."

"I do not."

"Yes, you do."

"Be quiet, Dana."

"Thanks, Adam."

Dana capitulated, and Adam was last man standing in the kiva.

Our tour group connected quickly because we had similar thoughts. We felt lucky to have nabbed a tour spot. (Becoming rarer by the hour, I imagined tickets being scalped in the parking lot in whispers to families in RVs.) We were optimistic that Spruce Tree House, not the first choice of anyone on our bus, would be "worth it." We were strangely titillated by our flirt with fire. We trusted the rangers, people we'd we never met, to protect us. And, we couldn't wait to see the cliff dwellings, then hightail it out of Mesa Verde.

None of us had missed the hellish landscape on the 15-mile mountain drive from the entrance up to the Visitor Center. Charred, eerie remains of a year 2000 fire covered the mountainsides. Black limbs and trunks. Gray, leafless trees reaching up like skeletal hands. Almost counterintuitive, this already-burned landscape was, in fact, a safe zone. It had no fodder or fuel left, so wouldn't ignite again. It allowed us safe passage into Mesa Verde, and it was safe passage out, should trouble flare.

Copyright © Lori Hein (lorihein.com) 2004. Excerpted from "Ribbons of Highway: A Mother-Child Journey Across America" (Booklocker.com). Reprinted with permission.

Parenting/Travel: Eyeball to eyeball in Santa Rosa

Excerpt from "Ribbons of Highway: A Mother-Child Journey Across America." Published in 2004 and 2005 in print and online publications including Boston Herald-owned community newspapers, iParenting.com and Route 66 Magazine:

Eyeball to eyeball

By Lori Hein
Guest Columnist
Friday, May 7, 2004


Fifty miles from Tucumcari, the orange and adobe-colored land began to thrust itself upward into buttes and mesas, and wilder red rock in the distance promised utter majesty. The patient hand of time had sculpted the earth into art.

In San Jon, the cemetery's evergreens, all wind-bent in the same direction, were testament that the artist was still at work. Striations of color in the sandstone mountains told of creation working its craft across eons. Younger tan and ochre work rested near summits, ancient cinnamon and richer maroon layers deeper down.

This was a powerfully beautiful world where the ordinary seemed extraordinary. The bewitching headlights of a hundred-car Union Pacific made the train a shimmering mirage as it curved toward us through the desert. We were in a place where a freight train is the most magnificent thing you've ever seen.

In Santa Rosa, where truckers stopped to rest and refuel, we took in the amazing collection of vintage cars and Mother Road memorabilia at the Route 66 Auto Museum and talked with Anna, the owner. Adam and I both burned a roll of film on the gleaming Mustangs and GTOs, DeSotos and Impalas, Bel-Air Nomads and Tom Joad trucks, all with hoods up to show pristine engines. I asked Dana to take a picture of Adam and me in front of a tomato-red convertible, circa about when I was born. Dana found us in the lens, then put the camera down.

"Adam's taller than you!"

At least once a week over the past few months, before excusing himself from the dining room table, Adam would give me a slim-eyed look and say, "I'm taller than you," which, of course, required me to stand up and prove him wrong.

I knew the day would come when he'd be right. We always stood eyeball-to-eyeball, not heel-to-heel, because we enjoyed looking into each other's eyes, the one pair saying something like, "I'm not a kid anymore," and the other something like, "Hold on buddy, I'm still your mother."

Mike and Dana measured and refereed. I'd been winning by an almost literal hair for a while now.

Hearing Dana's pronouncement, Adam turned to me, grinning. Hugely. Never mind the vintage wheels. He was taller than his mother. If Dana, chief competitor in almost everything in life had said it, then it must be true.

We stood eyeball-to-eyeball. I disregarded the fact that he wore mega-huge rubber-encased Nikes that must have weighed three pounds and lifted him two inches off the floor (the same shoes the Mississippi had wrapped her mud around). I'd be conceding height to him soon enough. Why not now, while we were on a journey that allowed him to be a boy most of the time, but called on him to be a man some of the time.

I'd left Boston with a moody teenager. I was standing, 3,700 miles later, next to a beautiful young person I knew I could count on to take his headphones off when the situation asked for it, pitch in, keep cool, and help us through whatever bump in the road we faced. He was the man of the house - or van, or tent, or motel - for 12,000 miles.

"You are taller than me. When did that happen?"

We all grinned. Dana lined up her sights again and snapped the photo.

Family/Travel/Inspiration: Chicken Soup for the Soul

This excerpt from "Ribbons of Highway: A Mother-Child Journey Across America" was published in "Chicken Soup for the Horse Lover's Soul II" in March 2006:


Dawn Magic

A bridge over the Big Sandy River took us over the state line. Dusty, ochre ugliness. Kentucky wasn’t supposed to be dry and beige. It was supposed to be rich and green. What was this brown limestone world, this claylike landscape of dirty yellow rock, this Daniel Boone Forest that didn’t seem to have any trees? I made an emergency stop at the Ponderosa buffet in Morehead, so we could fill ourselves with comfort food and recover from the disappointment of learning that Kentucky—at least this part of it—was not very pretty.

Closer to Lexington, redemption. Hints of green and blue. Patches, then whole pastures, of rolling, perfect grass. Grass that nurtures champions. Mare and foal pairs in love and nuzzling, savoring their time together, sunlight on their withers. Horses so beautiful you wanted to cry. Elegance and long legs and strong backs and power bred for a purpose. This was Lexington.

Dana's dream became real, mile by white rail-fenced mile. The horses were pure majesty. I watched Adam watch Dana. I could see him decide to go with the flow and let his sister enjoy. I filled up. My daughter was in her place of a young lifetime, we were surrounded by equine beauty that took your breath away, and Adam was showing himself to be a true gentleman.

Our Lexington days were all horse. We made an eight-hour, 85°- in-the-shade, no-square-inch-missed visit to Kentucky Horse Park. We went three times to Thoroughbred Park to leap among and sit atop the life-size bronze Derby contenders. We stalked a pair of Lexington cops and their chestnut mounts as they walked their Main Street beat. “The police even ride horses!” marveled Dana, as she added law enforcement to her mental list of jobs for horse lovers.

I don’t think Dana slept much the night before our dawn pilgrimage to Keeneland Racecourse to watch the morning workouts. When I whispered in her ear at 5:30 that it was time to get up, her eyes shot open and her face beamed. We dressed quietly so we wouldn’t wake Adam, slipped out and went downstairs for a quick breakfast before heading into the already hot Lexington pre-dawn.

We were the first breakfast customers of the morning. As we passed the reception desk, I whispered to the clerk, “We’re off to Keeneland.” “Ahhhh,” she whispered back, nodding at Dana with a knowing look, telepathy transmitted from one horse lover to another. “You’ll love it.” I looked at Dana, always beautiful and, at this moment, the most excited, gorgeous little girl on the planet.

We traced a route around venerable Keeneland along parts of the Bluegrass Driving Tour, following Rice and Van Meter and Versailles. “We say ‘ver-SALES’, not fancy like the one in France,” the night desk clerk had told me when I’d come down to ask the best route from the hotel to Keeneland. Dana could have spent hours on these roads, each a thin, gray ribbon along which lay some of Lexington’s most storied horse farms. The pastures were lush green carpet, the architecture distinctive and utterly beautiful. Crisp lines, fresh paint, rich trim. Pristine clapboards and elegant cupolas, graceful weathervanes.

Dana has an encyclopedic knowledge of everything equine and, from her reading, was more familiar with these farms than I. Her excitement as we read their names—John Ward, Drumkenny, Broodmare, Manchester, Fares—traveled like an electrical current, stirring in me a deep contentment. We pulled over by a white rail fence on a slight rise in Rice Boulevard and looked out over the pastures spreading before us, hints of blue visible in the rich grass as it waited in the low, early light for the new day to burn off the night’s dew and mist.

On Van Meter, the red trim on the outbuildings of a vast farm betrayed it as Calumet and, as we neared its fences, from a stand of tall trees that graced a velvety grass hillock, came a line of grooms, all Latino, each man leading a stunning Thoroughbred on a rope. The line of small, silent men and sinewy horses flowed down the hillock toward us, then turned left and continued, parallel to the fence and the road we watched from, keeping under the shade of the trees, then turned left again, gently ambling back up the rise toward Calumet’s stables.

At Keeneland, we stood at the rail of the fabled oval, the only spectators, and watched trainers lead horses from the misty rows of silvery stables and onto the track. Light, lean, blue-jeaned trainers, one with dreadlocks flying from under his helmet, put pounding, sweating Thoroughbreds through their paces. The trainers wore helmets and most wore chest pads. They carried crops, which they weren’t shy about using. Some stood, others crouched. Some made their horses step sideways. The men and animals took the track's bends and straightaways at breakneck speeds. Old Joe, tall and gaunt and wrinkled, in jeans and western shirt and a helmet with a pom-pom on top, sat astride his horse, Frog. They sat at the track rail, inside and on the course, ready to go after runaways. That was their job. Joe’s eyes were peeled, and he was ready to ride Frog to the rescue of any trainer whose trainee decided he’d rather be somewhere else.

A good number of the riders took note of Dana. A little girl with a beautiful brown ponytail who’d risen before the sun to stand at the rail. Like this morning’s desk clerk, they recognized her as a kindred spirit. They smiled, waved and slowed down when they passed so she could look longer at their horses. Dana had brought her little plastic camera, and some of the trainers posed for pictures. One trainer with a gentle face and shining eyes assembled himself and three others into a parade formation. They passed us, four abreast, at a slow, regal posting trot, like palace guard presenting the colors before the queen, each rider smiling down at Dana. I thanked them with my eyes. That they took note and took time turned this special morning into magic. These were busy men with hard work to do. Some were watched by the horse owners who paid them, and they weren’t paid to be nice to little girls. But they were, and I’ll always remember them with fondness.

Before we left Keeneland, as the first brush of hot, higher-than-horizon sun kissed the bluegrasss, we ventured into the great grandstand and sat awhile in Mr. George Goodman’s personalized box, imagining what it would be like to settle in here in the cool shade on a sunny race day to watch the horses and the other race goers.

Adam had slept until we turned the key back in the door. “Breakfast is about to close. You’d better get down there, bud.” On this trip, I left no hotel amenity unturned, amassing a sack full of little soaps and bottles of shampoo that I used to wash our clothes in the sink or bathtub. And, I encouraged the eating of any available free food. I looked for the magic words “Free Continental Breakfast” on motel signs. Sometimes we hit pay dirt, finding a motel that also hosted a “Manager’s Happy Hour.” This meant free dinner, because, next to the beer and wine and soda, the manager usually laid out cheese and crackers and a big tray of crudité. The kids drew the line at raw cauliflower and broccoli, but tucked into the celery, carrots and cherry tomatoes, huge dollops of dip on the side. Sometimes pay dirt turned to mother lode, with a spread that included things like tacos and little egg rolls.

Through careful husbandry of free motel fare and a manager’s cocktail hour here and there, we were occasionally able to patch together a string of five free meals in a row. By meal number six, we were ready for a restaurant and we always voted unanimously on type: Mexican.

Dana and I accompanied Adam down to the breakfast bar. “So, how was it?” he asked, of our visit to Keeneland. He asked Dana, directly. I wanted to hug him over his plate of biscuits and gravy. As she wove a tale of the magic kingdom of Keeneland, Adam listened and chewed. While it was clear he thought Keeneland sounded cool—he said, “okay” a few times as Dana talked—I knew he didn’t feel he’d missed anything. Dana preferred horses, he preferred sleep. He was content they’d both gotten what they most wanted from the morning.

That night, while I worked on my first installment for the newspaper, Dana was writing her own story, “Horse Capital of the World.” It begins: “In the heart of Lexington, Kentucky, lies a beauty like no other…


Excerpted from "Ribbons of Highway: A Mother-Child Journey Across America", by Lori Hein