My Story in Lists|Places I've Been|Winnipeg

I give credit on how to incorporate personal travel with business travel to my brother Victor. I wished I would have been that I would have learned this lesson at a much earlier age. I would have taken advantage of more opportunities that I let pass me by and no doubt seen more of the world than I have.

En Route to Winnipeg

I noticed one day on Facebook that Vic would post about a business trip he was taking adding something about a museum or other sight he had taken in or was planning to see. I made a comment on a post about how I admired that he seemed to always seem to include sightseeing with his business trip. Vic responded right away acknowledging that it was something he tried to do whenever he traveled.

Preparing for Landing

Shortly thereafter our exchange of comments, I had an unexpected trip to Winnipeg Canada come up. I was determined to see more of the destination than the hotel and office this time around. It had been a while since I had left the country, but thanks to our trip to Alaska in 2009, my passport was raring and willing to go.

My opportunity to explore Winnipeg was heightened by the fact that I was going to rent a car and be there for almost a whole week. Unfortunately, I was so busy at work the week before, I didn't have time to do any research about the area before I boarded the airplane. Oh, well, that's what the internet was for, right? I wasn't about to let a minor detail such as that to get in the way of my plans.

Power Station Close to the Hotel

I had intended to go out and hit the town my first night upon my arrival, but I was tired out by the time I checked into the hotel. I ended up eating at what they called a restaurant at the hotel and went to bed feeling defeated. Yet in many ways I was even more determined that my next night would not be a repeat of the first. I was determined go out and explore Winnipeg.

The next morning, I headed out to the office, thanking God for my iPhone, Google Maps and even more importantly, my handy-dandy Starbucks app, which according to the Store Locations tab indicated there were not one but three Starbucks stores en route to the office. Within the seven minutes promised, I had parked my car in front of the closest local Starbucks and was placing my order for a grande dark roast and a cinnamon twist. Score one for Debra!

One of Three Starbucks I Visited While in Winnipeg

Generally, my first day at a new office entailed me arriving at least 15-30 minutes before the official start time, working all day long, stopping for a quick sandwich, leaving the office at least 30 minutes to an hour after the official end time, driving straight back to the hotel and eating room service food to while reviewing and responding to a multitude of emails waiting their turn like planes lined up on the tarmac. Not to make myself sound like a goodie goodie, but business trips were all about work, after all, that's why you made the trip in the first place, right?

This trip was going to be different, which meant, there would be a leisurely stop at Starbucks in which I drank my coffee and ate my danish at a table in the store like a civilized person. It also meant I walked into the office just a few minutes before the official start time and left a few minutes before the official end time (yikes! I know!). This was not the Debbi, Deb and/or Debra that my boss and co-workers knew and loved so well.

Driving Thru Downtown Winnipeg

In preparation for the sight-seeing excursions, I had packed my DSLR which I planned to carry with me everywhere as to not miss a single photo op. Imagine my dismay when I made a pit stop at my hotel to look up tourist stops in the area and discovered my camera was MIA. My stomach tied in a jumble of knots as I retraced my steps in a valiant effort to find my camera. Happily, I learned that my camera was securely locked in the supervisor's office of the office I was visiting, having left it on the desk in which I was using. Thankfully, I had my trusty iPhone with a newly downloaded app which promised to take my photos to a new level.

By this time, the sun was beginning to set and temptation to head back to the hotel began to rise. I knew that if I gave in for a second night in a row that I might as well admit defeat. I wasn't ready to do that. Determined, I pushed my foot down on the gas as I passed the hotel, heading to an area in Winnipeg called The Forks.

Heading Towards the Forks

The Forks promised to delight tourists with places to eat and shop. I was not disappointed. There was a building called The Lofts which reminded me of quaint shopping areas located in Seattle and San Francisco. I wandered first down to the river bank, taking in the view, framing shot after shot with my iPhone, using a new app I discovered called Hipstamatic. Not worried what others may be thinking (perhaps that I was looney tunes), I moved from here to there like this would be the last day on earth that pictures would be allowed to be taken.

The Mighty Red River

Ultimately, I ended up across the parking lot and lo and behold found there was an "Old Spaghetti Factory" located in the other side of the Forks. I had already eaten dinner which meant one thing...I was coming back the next evening for dinner. A quick call was also made to Brienne, excitedly telling her my luck at finding out that our favorite restaurant had a location here. How could it be we had no idea one existed in Winnipeg?

The Old Spaghetti Factory

The sun had long since set as I headed back to my car, a happy kick to my step and, as luck would have it, silver charms for our charm bracelets which gave proof to the visit, tucked safely in the zippered pocket of my purse. By the time my card key slipped into the slot, I was exhausted but exhilarated. I didn't open my laptop that night at all. I believe it was the first time ever while on business travel that I didn't go back to my hotel and put in more work at the end of the day. 

Added to my delight was the fact that this was only Monday and I wasn't leaving town until Friday which meant there would be ample opportunity for more exploring the city.

The next day, work couldn't end soon enough. It was the first time I went on a business trip and didn't concentrate 110% or more of my time on the business aspect of the trip. It was as if a monster had been unleashed. On Tuesday, I didn't even stop at the hotel after work. Instead I headed back to The Forks to further check out the areas I missed from the evening before.

The Shops at The Lofts, located at the Forks

Ultimately, my sense of adventure peaked at the Forks and spent not just Tuesday evening, but Wednesday evening, too, roaming the familiar grounds. Each evening I would venture out a bit further, even at one point crossing the suspension bridge that connected one side of the city to the other across the Assiniboine River.  There was one rainy evening, but the rest of the visit was blessed with clear blue, albeit it cool, skies.

Crossing the Assiniboine River

If there was one thing I wish I could change, it would have been that I would have expanded my exploration radius earlier. On the other side of the river was a whole different side of Winnipeg. One with beautiful stone churches, storied cemeteries, quaint shops and restaurants with deliciously intriguing menus.

On the Other Side of the Assiniboine River

By the time I crossed the bridge by foot, my hip was hurting something fierce. I had to turn around earlier than planned so as to get back to my car before I needed to call in the calvary. Despite my best efforts,  I got to my car, the sun had set. There would be no opportunities for pictures of the world that awaited on the other side of the Assiniboine River.

As I drove around the quiet streets of the other side of the Assiniboine River, I pondered my next move. Most of the work I set out to accomplish at the office was complete. I could end the trip a day early, save my company some money or stay until Friday as originally planned. Since the fact finding mission for work was completed, it made more sense for me to return home on Thursday no matter how much I wanted to return for one more sightseeing excursion.

The next morning I checked out of the hotel, went into the office to see if there were any final pieces of information I needed to follow up on and say farewell to the customer service team that so graciously worked with me for the past week. From there I went to another local Starbucks and went online to change my flight from Friday to Thursday.

Goodbye, Winnipeg...as much as I loved your hospitality, there is no place like home.

My Story in Lists|Pets I've Had

The first pet we've ever had was a Cocker Spaniel, we named Paul. Or should I say my sister named Paul, after Paul McCartney. We called him Paulie Baby. We loved him even though he was a high strung, biting loving, non-obeying trouble-maker. He didn't listen to anyone and bit as many of us as he could. I was one of the lucky ones who never had his teeth sunken into.

One morning we woke up and much to our delight, there he was. He was the offspring of a dog named Spanky that my uncle and aunt owned who was a biter, too. Luckily for my parents, after we had him for a year or so we moved to Puerto Rico and they didn't want to take him with us so they gave him away to a friend of my grandfather's. The truth is, I don't know how much longer we would have kept him had we not moved away. Having small children with a high strung dog doesn't really work too well. But we still loved him.

Our next pet was a duck that meandered it's way into our backyard one day. The boys named him Twaddle. He was more Greg's duck than anyone else's but having a duck was pretty darn cool. Except for the yucky mucky pool that he would float in from time to time. 

He was a good little duck and unlike Paul, didn't relish biting us and never ran like a wild child through the neighborhood. That still didn't save him from being given away when we moved from Puerto Rico back to the states. I think we all knew that he wasn't going to make the trip home with us and he was given to the neighbor children before we left. I often wondered how long he lived before they served him up for dinner. 

Our next pet was a rabbit, we named Rabbit (yes, we are very good at names in our family). Like, Twaddle, he just came into our lives via the backyard. He lived with us for almost two years, feeding off the grass, roaming freely in the confines of the yard. It was a sad day when he died because he was a good little rabbit.

We went for a long period without anymore pets, until dad got us another dog when we lived in Iran. It was a Lhasa Apso that Greg named Pepper. Like most of our other pets, he was mainly Greg's dog, but mom took Pepper under her wing, treating him like her 5th child. Like, Paul, he was high strung and while he didn't bite us, he was a growler and a grumbler. I liked him well enough, until it was apparent that mom liked him better than the rest of us, after which I became a little (or a lot) jealous of him.

He lived a long and privileged life in our house until he passed away when Matt was a toddler. Matthew's arrival took some of the glow off Pepper and he never really liked Matthew for that. As mom once told Matthew when he commented that Pepper didn't really like people..."He doesn't like YOU".

After much prayer, Belle entered our lives almost exactly two years ago. We brought her home from the Pasadena animal shelter. Matthew says that she often has a sad look about her and I always reply that we don't know what her life was life before we brought her home. Yes, she might look a little scruffy and a little sad at times, but the truth is, she's a little lovey dovey. 

She's a licker (lover) and loves to greet people with licks galore but that's because she is friendly and sweet. And sometimes, no denying, annoying. When Maximus was a baby, she could  barely contain herself because she wanted to lick him like a lollipop, but really she's so sweet natured that he can take his food and treats and bowl and she doesn't do anything about it. 

We have been so blessed to have her. 

My Story in Lists|Places I've Lived Part I

I take great pride in the fact that I'm true Californian, 2nd generation at that. Both my parents were born in this state, all my brothers and sisters, my children and now my grandchildren. I've also been blessed to have lived in other states and other countries and I can emphatically say that there is no place like the United States of America and no place like California.

My first memory of home was a little house on Red Bird Lane in a working class community called Pico Rivera. I don't remember much about the interior of the house.

I have vague memories of the kitchen with a high chair, a bedroom and looking at my brother in his crib. I remember most vividly the spacious backyard with the brick wall that kept us safe. 

I have vague memories of the kitchen with a high chair, a bedroom and looking at my brother in his crib. I remember most vividly the spacious backyard with the brick wall that kept us safe.

Within the confines of that yard was a swing set and a kiddie pool. Those were happy times.  And looking back, I realize that there is not a memory that I have of those times in which my sister, Elizabeth is not a part of.

Sometime in 1964, our little family did something daring at the time. We moved to Brazil. I'm sure my mom and dad must have been pinching themselves as they readied for the trip. By that time, my dad had worked his way into a solid job with an engineering company called Fluor and he had an opportunity to take a short time assignment in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

I was not even 3-years old at the time and my brother, Victor was merely an infant, but I remember little tiny snippets of the trip there. The walk down the hallway in the hotel we had to stay at in Mexico City. The silver creamer that held the milk for my cereal. Even at my age, I knew there was something exciting about that. The smell of the hotel.

I also remember little snippets of our time in Sao Paulo. Waiting for my mom to come home from the store while we stayed at our apartment with the housekeeper/babysitter. The Yoder's, another American family who was there, too, coming over to visit. The kitchen table.

I'm sure it was hard for my mom, being in a foreign land with three children under 5-years, away from family and friends in a time where there wasn't instant communication. And generally when we've lived overseas, the work hours are longer than state side so I'm sure she held the house down more than usual, but someone she persevered.

My Story in Lists|Places I've Lived Part II

After our short stint in Brazil, we moved back our cozy little house in Pico Rivera. The time in Brazil proved to be good for my dad's career. In preparation for the Greg's birth, we moved to what I would assume was a bigger house in a newer community of La Puente. 581 Peckam Drive will be forever ingrained in my head.

For the next few years this house became our home and, often times, the gathering place for our extended family. The three bedroom, two bathroom house fit our needs. It came complete with neighborhood children that we would traipse around the street with, riding bicycles, roller skates and toy cars up and down the block till dark.

It was here that I truly remember my first Christmas's and Easter's. It was here that I lost my first tooth and lay in bed at night, if not fighting with Eliz about whether the door should be fully or half closed, then talking silliness until our dad ordered us to sleep.

It was during the start of my 2nd grade when I realized that a change was about to happen. One of the first clues where a series of appointments to the doctors for vaccinations. On December 1 (Greg's 3rd birthday), we moved to Ponce, Puerto Rico. This was back in the day before 9/11, terrorist threats and underwear or shoe bombers so the whole family came with us to the airport to say goodbye.

I was both sad and terribly excited. Plane travel at that time was glamorous and not many people could say they had been on a plane. I had no idea what or where Puerto Rico was. I just knew there was plane travel and hotel stays. We flew from LAX to New Orleans to Miami where we stopped for the night. The next morning we took a little peddle jumper to San Juan, Puerto Rico where we stayed at the InterContinental Hotel for a few nights while dad did some work in the city. It was luxuriousness like we have never seen before.

For the first year, we lived in a little house near a co-worker of my dad's and thus began our long friendship with the Keeney's. Genevieve in third grade at the time so right in the middle of me and Elizabeth. Her brother, Richard, was a year younger than Vic which worked out perfectly, too.

It was in many ways paradise for us. Mom and dad joined a country club that many other Fluor employees belonged to and there we would spend weekends and some weeknights swimming like little fishes. On the weekends that we didn't go to the club, we frequented the beach which had clear blue water, nothing like you see in California or we would go sight-seeing.

Dad didn't get along too well with the woman who owned or managed the house we lived in and it had leaky ceilings and other issues so we moved to a house on Constancia Gardens. It was here that I met my other best friend Jill. She was in my class and it was so exciting to live on the same street as her.

Because there was still no such think as email, texting and telephone calls were too expensive, it was so exciting to have dad come home to find out if there was mail. Christmas would bring a flurry of packages in brown paper. While I missed our family, they were never far from our memory or conversations.

Because everyone that we knew was in the same boat (away from home) our friends became our extended family.

My Story in Lists|Places I've Been|Boston

The first time I went to Beantown, I was in my twenties, working for a family travel agency, Holiday Travel, who treated their employees like family. Every year, they would take all ten of their employees, for a long weekend to a big city destination.

We would leave on a Friday night flight, arrive in the early morning and hit the ground running soaking up as much of the area as we could and return, exhausted, but filled with souvenirs, happy memories and fun tales about the trip, on Sunday afternoon. There may have also been signed promises that we would not call in sick to work on Monday (just kidding about the last part).

From the moment we arrived in Boston, I fell in love with the city. It was, without a doubt, love, love, love at first sight. It had a big city feel with small town love about it. Most of my co-workers had opted for a morning tour of the city the day we arrived. I was afraid that sitting on a bus after a night flight would do nothing but put me into a deep sleep.

Since one of the aspects of the trip was to familarize ourselves with the destination, sleeping on the job would have defeated that purpose.  Instead I chose to roam around the city by myself on foot. It was the first time I explored such a great unknown alone like that. It helped that I had experiencing touring foreign places so as I stepped out of the lobby past the uniformed bellhops and bell captains, my gait had a bounce that disguised the nervous pit in my stomach.

Armed with nothing but a map and the Freedom Trail which was a series of arrows painted on the ground pointing the way to historical landmarks.  It was a cold, crisp fall morning making the walk even more exhilarating for this young California girl. Before I knew it, I made my way to Faneuil Hall, Boston Harbor, The Old North Church, The USS Constitution and past several hauntingly beautiful cemetaries . With each step I took, my confidence in myself and my love of Boston grew. Too soon it was time to head back to meet the rest of my team.

I arrived back at the Marriott Back Bay with some time to spare so I decided to warm my cold hands and fingers with a cup of hit coffee in the posh coffee lounge by the lobby. After ordering my coffee, I was shocked to learn that the cup of coffee would cost a whopping $1.85. Yes, back in 1982 almost two dollars for a cup of coffee made me want to faint. When the waiter came back to ask if I wanted more coffee, I didn't know what to say. I did, but not if refills weren't free. Who would have thought that almost thirty years later, I pay that price or more for a cup of coffee without even blinking an eye.

Fast forward to 2012 when I learned that the annual conference my company attended was going to be held in Boston, I crossed my fingers, toes and eyes hoping I would make the list of attendees. It didn't matter to me that the conference started less than a week after we would return from Italy. The call and love affair with Boston tugged at my heart.

As soon as I found out that I did indeed make the list, I told our marketing director that I wanted to extend my stay. I would stay two extra nights on my own so I could once again explore the city. It had been 30-years (gasp, I know!) since I walked the streets of Boston. What would be the likelihood that I would still love it as much as I did back then. Maybe Bostonians turned uncivil during this time. Or the city wasn't as small town as I remembered. Maybe it would be too dirty or crowded. Maybe I would be too tired and achy to enjoy it. I closed my ears to the ramblings of doubt that tried to talk me into forgoing my extended stay.

From the moment I arrived, I fell in love with the city all over again. Driving in from the airport, my face was pinned to the glass taking in the skyline, my heart skipping beats giving anything to be walking amongst the crowds instead of being cooped up in the car passing old interesting brick buildings and other landmarks.



Things were different, after all thirty years had passed since I was last there, but not enough to make this 50-something year old woman anymore cynical than I already was. It was more crowded, but then again, the 4th of July was literally two days away so it was no surprise that there were crowds. The walk along the Freedom Trail brought to surface memories I had long forgotten. There were sights I passed up this time around. For example, I did not board the Boston Tea Party ship or cross the river to board the USS Constitution.



There was a hop on, hop off city sightseeing bus that I took so I could take a tour of Fenway Park. I enjoyed Fenway Park more than this Angel/Dodger fan would care to admit. But give me the name of any true baseball fan and tell me they wouldn't get excited about being up close and personal with the Big Green Monster.

I didn't spoil myself with a cup of coffee at the Omni as there were several Starbucks and one other local coffee house within walking distance to the hotel. I loved starting the mornings while the air was still cool and the streets were somewhat empty, filled mainly with workers setting up their street venues. There is something magical about watching the city slowly come to life as moon and stars give way to the sun. That is something I didn't notice the first time I visited the city.

Three of the nicest aspect of the city remained the same...overall the city is cleanly. Bostonians obviously take pride in their city, keeping streets free of litter, windows were free of dirt and dust and building walls free of overt graffiti. One feels safe walking the main streets of the city. Second, most of the admission fees to the infamous landmarks are either free or nominal. After thirty years that in itself is amazing. And third, the people of Boston are about as friendly as can be.

On my last day in Beantown, I stopped to take a picture of a manhole cover with an identifying marker carved in the center. As I was framing the shot, a man in his thirties stopped beside me to look down at what I was going to immortalize with the snap of the shutter. I froze for a moment, preparing myself for the sarcastic remark I knew was coming.



Instead he smiled kindly at me as he told me that he walks by the manhole cover and other historical sights on a daily basis without much thought or any awe about the history he is passing by and that perhaps from now on, he shouldn't take this all for granted. I smiled kindly back at him.

I understood what he was saying. When I saw the Duomo in Florence with seemingly normal apartment and commercial buildings surrounding the majestic cathedral, I wondered who lived and worked in the other buildings and if they rightly appreciated the beauty of the cathedral or was it just part of the background. It would be sad if it were the latter. I'm sure there must be a mixture of both. Some for which it's just part of the background, others for which they look up each day as they leave and/or arrive at their building, look across the street and gasp in appreciation.

I wonder now, if the man who stopped to talk to me walked a bit slower the next day to his destination, taking in the sights he had whizzed past so many times before or if life got in the way of making it happen. For his sake, I hope he's taken the time to enjoy it. And if there are things I miss on a regular basis, then I hope someone will nudge me so I take notice.

Thank you, mom, for supporting my decisions to travel for the last five years. It's meant a lot to me. It would mean a lot to be able to continue to explore the world. I pray my traveling days aren't over. Not yet. I'm not ready yet.