MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I remember waking up as a child and racing downstairs Christmas morning to open presents. My dad was a grump who always said, “Bah humbug,” so often that my mom just referred to him as Scrooge every Christmas season.

On years when Christmas fell on a Sunday, we were not allowed to open our presents until after church, which really meant after dinner because we would be starving by the time church had finished. Having to wait made my brother and me very unhappy.

When I was 12 we moved to Ohio with my mom’s family. Their tradition was to celebrate Christmas as a family on Christmas Eve. Each year my brother and I were allowed to pick one gift from under the tree and take it to Aunt Mitsa’s house to open at the holiday party. The rest remained for Christmas Day.

The Alek family members – my grandmother’s generation and their descendants – all gather for a potluck dinner and time around the tree. A potluck is an American tradition where every family brings a dish to be served to the group. At our family dinners, one person is responsible for the main course, usually a turkey or a ham, and guests bring a salad, side dishes and desserts. Our Christmas Eve gathering has turned into a Day After Christmas gathering but it still works the same.

This year’s festivities began Christmas Eve morning at my husband’s house. Breakfast was served, a traditional bacon, egg and cheese casserole alongside cinnamon rolls and toast. Paul and I joined his parents and his brother into the room with the presents and passed them to each recipient.

A little later, Paul’s three stepsisters and their families joined in the festivities. We enjoyed more food and more presents together.  

Paul's step-dad a.k.a. Santa's helper

Our nephew

Paul's mom and our niece

Christmas Day we went to church, I with my mother and Paul with his, and then met at Paul’s grandmother’s house that afternoon. This year Paul and I had the pleasure of shopping for the dollar gifts, a Paparodis family tradition. We received a lot of strange looks as we filled our cart at the store where everything is $1 and checked out with nearly $40 worth of merchandise. Apparently no one spends $40 at the dollar store….at least not a few days before Christmas.

Each gift was wrapped and then family members from oldest to youngest select a pretty present. Once unwrapped, the next in line may either steal an opened present or choose another present to be opened. We had some great gifts this year.

Our dollar gifts

Uncle Roy picked a stellar winter hat

Cousin Nicole has always had a strange fascination with Paul's feet

The Singapore picture books we brought along were a big hit

Cousin Stephanie wins best photo

Christmas number three occurred Monday morning when Paul’s brother and his girlfriend joined us. We again had breakfast and then gathered around the tree to shower Jamienne with gifts. Then it was time for my family’s Christmas.

Paul and I headed to my aunt’s house first where I saw my cousins and their kids. We learned that a new little person will be arriving in July, so that was super exciting.

At Aunt Mitsa’s, we enjoyed dinner and sat around the table talking. Most of the men ended up in the living room watching two of my family members play each other in a football video game. My 11-year-old cousin creams every one of his opponents, including his father, every time. I have to root for the underdog but my money is always on the kid.  

My Gran, 87, is the eldest of nine. She and her remaining brother and her sister still
reside in the same neighborhood in which they were raised. 

It’s always great to see family, especially those I only see one day a year. While I am bummed that I will yet again miss my cousin being pregnant, I am excited to come home to her new baby next Christmas. Paul and I have offered to host Christmas in Singapore next year but I am not sure how many people will actually follow through. Plus, let’s be honest, I’m not sure they will all fit.

WHAT COULD I DO BUT LAUGH?

When people ask if Singaporeans decorate for Christmas, I typically laugh and explain that Singaporean shopping centers decorate for Christmas like no one I have ever seen. Each year Singapore creates a theme and all retailers develop elaborate displays according to that theme.

Giant decorated trees are found inside and outside each major retailer, decorations fall from the ceilings many stories below open atria and Christmas music can be heard as early as October. Yes, Singapore decorates for Christmas though the vast majority of the population does not actually celebrate Christmas.

I thought it would be good to give our non-American audience a peak into how we decorate for Christmas over here. Well, if people were actually allowed to celebrate Christmas over here, I might have a lot more photos. In America, the land of the free where people left England to celebrate the freedom of religion, among other things, we are not really allowed to be publicly Christian.

The PC Police (politically correct) have banned people from saying “Merry Christmas,” and advised that “Happy Holidays,” would be best. Nativity scenes that are currently seen on government property will not be there next year and a sign boasting atheism might accompany said nativity scene before the year is through.

Streets and malls used to be decorated to the nines but no more. I don’t know if people are afraid that they will upset those who celebrate other Christmas-like holidays such as African holiday Kwanza and Jewish holiday Hanukkah. Maybe they want to be as PC as possible. Maybe they are just lazy.

Either way, Christmas Lane no longer seems to exist.

There are two families in our area that are not afraid to show their Christmas spirit so I made sure to drop by the neighborhoods. Unfortunately, I got a new phone and accidentally deleted my photos, so please forgive me and continue reading.

The first stop was in my hometown where a local multi-millionaire moved in more than a decade ago. The man graduated from my high school and has since done a lot for the local community. His custom-built home hides in the trees this year behind thousands of multi-colored lights and lighted signs. I was not impressed with this year's decorations because they resembled those one would see driving through a park - cheesy, two-dimensional frames with lights wrapped around them in the shapes of candy canes and signs that read, "Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year." No decorations on the house, no giant light showing the way to Bethlehem like they did the first couple years. 

The second stop was suggested to me by a young family member earlier this week. Situated a little more than 20 miles (32 km) northeast of my hometown, between Canfield and Boardman, Ohio, was a spectacular Christmas light display that was unlike anything I had ever seen.

One family in a posh neighborhood decided to develop their own vocal and musical script, create their own magical light show to the music and have the music broadcast on a local radio frequency. It was spectacular.

Not sure exactly where we were going, we crept through the neighborhood as Aunt Diane quoted the directions her daughter relayed. Once we turned the corner, we knew exactly where we were headed. We searched the 107 stations until we found the correct on, 107.3, and then we watched as the lights flashed and danced before our eyes to songs from classics like the Trans-Siberian Orchestra and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

Never having seen anything like this outside of YouTube, we just sat there and laughed. Diane thought she saw someone in the window while the show in progress. As we got closer, we realized that a high-quality video of Santa Claus waving, walking back and forth and checking his list was playing through one window. We laughed again.

Here is a short video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQwddq40z4E&feature=youtu.be

Merry Christmas!

SOMEONE TO LAUGH WITH

No one makes me laugh like Paul McKee. I typically laugh my hardest when he thinks he is the funniest person on the planet and laughs so hard at his own jokes that his face turns red. 

Paul has only been here a few days but he is already making fun of me and my crazy antics. I seem to have a new appreciation for grocery stores since returning to the States, which gives Paul endless material.

I happen to like the Oreos that have white cookies and chocolate cream in the centers like the E.L. Fudge cookies. Not only did I buy myself a pack during my travels, my mom had two packages ready for me upon landing in Pittsburgh. I am stocked.

The other day Paul’s mom went to the grocery store. She and I looked over the holiday ads to see what was on special that week – something I never did – and I watched as she prepared her grocery list. I was suddenly carried away. Stove Top Stuffing was on special so I told her to grab the largest canister she could find. Stove Top cannot be found in Singapore, so I needed to put it in a box to be shipped home.

Honey Nut Cheerios were four for $5 so I had her get four boxes. I have not seen a single box of Honey Nut Cheerios in Singapore – sometimes we can find the regular or the five-grain boxes. If we were able to find them, do you know how much they would be? We would pay $12 a box – for the small box! You better believe I am shipping them.

When Paul prepared his breakfast yesterday, he saw the four boxes in the cupboard. He then came up with this idea that we should just buy up all the Honey Nut Cheerios and empty all the boxes into our suitcases. We could then just pour milk into the suitcases and eat right out of them.

“Wait, what would we tell the TSA?” he asks, laughing harder as he attempts to answer himself. “We can’t take any liquids!”

Yes, I realized this is one of those “you had to be there” moments, but the point is that my husband thinks he is the funniest man on the planet.

This evening at dinner, I joked about just having pie for dinner since I was truly not in the mood for anything at all and the apple pie on the cover of the menu looked so good. Paul decided to criticize my sweet tooth and proceeded to tell me how I should just give up sugar.

“We should get you tested,” he said, referring to my blood sugar levels.

“I get tested every year,” I replied, “since both of my parents are diabetic.”

“What?! You eat this many sweets and both of your parents are diabetic? Do you want your feet?”

After about 15 seconds, he continued, “You can’t eat that. Your foot’s going to fall off!”

At this point I grabbed a pen from my purse and began writing his one-liners on a cocktail napkin, knowing this conversation would fit right into this already-in-process post. Paul picked up the napkin once I had finished and started laughing out loud as he read what he had said moments prior, proving my point that he thinks he is so funny.

This moment reminded me of a time in college when Paul and I were dating. He came to visit me for my birthday. As we sat in my living room across from each other, I watched while Paul picked up the card that he purchased for me, read it to himself, laughed out loud and then signed the card, licked the envelope and threw it across the room at me. “What?” he asked. “I forgot what it said.”

Tonight we continued to chat while awaiting Paul’s aunt/godmother who was to join us. We were commenting on the dryness of our noses and how much our boogers hurt. I made a face while imitating Paul.

“If your face stays like that, I’m leaving you,” he said. What could I do but laugh? 

THE AMAZING YOUNG WOMEN IN MY LIFE

Well, my travelling adventures are officially over. I am at home with family and Paul arrived this evening so it is time to simply relax.

I truly enjoyed my time with friends and appreciated how each of them – within two years of each other – is in so many different stages in life.

One friend at 28 is married for the second time and has two children. Another at 28 is more than content living the single-and-not-exactly-looking life.

At 29, one friend is married and in the process of trying to have a baby, while at 30, two of my friends are out living the single and always mingling life.

No matter where I was or how long I was there, I fit into each lifestyle almost as if it were my own. I appreciated each woman’s life for what it was and sometimes considered whether or not I would like to be in her shoes (great movie, by the way). I also began to realize that I was quite content in my own life journey compared to each of my friends'.

All but one of my friends are working, though they are not all content with their jobs at the moment. Seeing so many of my friends where they are in their careers made me slightly envious of their positions since I have not been able to find work in Singapore. Then again, because of my early retirement, I have the opportunity to travel, explore my home and run errands in the middle of a weekday.

I spent a few days with a friend who I had not seen in nearly 15 years. She and I were friends in kindergarten and quickly became the kind of friends who call themselves sisters because they like the same things and spend every day with one another, then fight and hate each other for a week before once again becoming inseparable best friends.

She has led an epic life and has done a great job raising two children in tough times. Now married to a man who truly complements her in every way, I got to experience a little bit of what it means to be a stay-at-home Army wife.

Being an Army wife is similar to being an expat wife in that one never knows exactly how long one will be in the same location. Friends are great to have but it may be difficult to meet some good ones and, once again, it is never certain how long those friends will be with you.

One night, while making dinner for Amanda and her husband as a way to say “Thank you for allowing me to invite myself over, kick your son out of his room and keep you up all hours of the night,” I had the opportunity to help Amanda’s son with a school project. I was prepping the food one minute and turning around to remind Barrett to keep writing his speech the next and I thought, “Hey, I can do this!”

In Massachusetts with another life-long best friend, I enjoyed spending time with her in her perfect world of living single and social in small town New England. She does with her life what she pleases, sees friends when she wants, chats with friends regularly and could really care less if she found a man to fill in the little time she has between her job, her social life and her sleep. And let’s not forget about the vintage Mercedes that she gets to drive around. She is so content with what she is doing and I love it!

My friends in Jersey are living it up. They truly embody the phrase, “Work hard, play hard.” Travelling to Miami, Las Vegas and the Dominican Republic for vacations, partying in clubs and spending time at the Jersey Shore beach house (not the show, the actual Jersey Shore) are just a few of the ways my former roommates are enlivening their 30s.

While I appreciate my friends living the active single life, I am appreciative for the opportunity to have a best friend at home who can put up with me in any mood and any physical state (I know I am not always pretty). Someone to laugh with, make fun of and share the best memories with makes me truly grateful to be 29, married and retired.

WELCOME TO SPRINGFIELD

My life-long friends Curtis and Anna Marie live in the tiniest town in Central Massachusetts. After some research, we decided Springfield, Massachusetts, an hour southwest of their home, would be an ideal location to meet up as I would be spending the next four days in their home. The Amtrak train stops in Springfield and Curtis could easily drop by since he was working out that way Thursday afternoon.

I had been warned that Springfield was not the nicest location so I was glad to hear that I would only have about two hours on my own until Curtis arrived. The night before, I consulted Trip Advisor to find out what I should do during my leisure time.

After witnessing the arrest, I decided to check my bags at the station and take a cab to a series of museums I found online. For $12.50 I gained access to the Springfield Science Museum, the Connecticut Valley Historical Museum, the Museum of Springfield History, the George Walter Vincent Smith Art Museum and the Michele & Donald D’Amour Museum of Fine Arts; all sit on the same property surrounding a courtyard – but not just any courtyard.

The courtyard in the center of the museums featured sculptures from a woman named Lark Grey Dimond-Cates. Lark is not only a talented artist, she happens to be the step-daughter of literary genius Theodor Seuss Geisel. Dr. Seuss, who grew up in Springfield, is featured in the sculpture garden, along with several of his famous characters.

The Science Museum was in the same building as the Welcome Center, so I began there. If it had not been for the Gingerbread Fantasy display, I would say this museum was a complete bust since it really resembled a stuffed zoo and consisted of exhibits that really had nothing to do with one another.

The homemade gingerbread houses inspired by fairy tales and Dr. Seuss books, however, were quite spectacular. Children and adults submitted houses in a variety of categories; finalists received a display in the museum’s gallery. The public is currently voting on their favorite house.

The Art Museum was mostly filled with artifacts and there were only a few displays so I blew through there pretty quickly. My favorite building was the Fine Arts Museum, which housed fascinating paintings and sculptures – real sculptures, not simply casts of real sculptures like in the other art museum.

I am a huge fan of the fine arts and am particularly fascinated with pieces that look real, reflect varying lights and invoke strong emotion.

One of my favorites was a painting that covered nearly an entire wall. The painting featured a number of towers that were more than 20 stories in height with a row of American flags encircling each tower. There were words about religion written into the painting that appeared in several areas. The detail of each building was amazing; I stood in front of the painting, looked at every inch, read every word and tried to understand what the artist intended to convey.

My face was centimeters from some of the paintings as I examined brush strokes and followed the paint’s movement. I love this kind of art.

One gallery featured a little bit of modern art. The first painting I saw was one directly across the door. Standing a few inches in front of the painting, I saw this:

Back by the door, I saw this:

Amazing, right?

Here is another of my favorites - keep in mind this is a painting, not a photograph (I checked):

Though I was impressed with a number of pieces upon entering this gallery, one in the corner caught my eye once the moment I saw the piece. I turned and looked to my right and saw from a distance what I thought looked like a man with one pronounced breast. Yes, it captured my attention, so, puzzled, I walked over to take a closer look.

When I approached the image, I realized that the person featured was a woman whose right breast had been removed. To the right of the image was a short paragraph about how this woman was diagnosed with breast cancer and subsequently had a mastectomy. She first posed as a model for an art class in order to begin the healing process; she wanted to feel sexy again while faced with the reality that her body had changed.

The art teacher later asked if he could paint a portrait of the woman who was quoted as saying she refused to “hide behind pink ribbons.” I was so struck by this painting and its description, I just stood there.

Moments like this one make me grateful for the amazing young women in my life.

TRUE STORY

I decided to begin my holiday in the United States two weeks ahead of Paul so that I could visit friends. I arrived in D.C. on Friday, Dec. 2 and planned to travel between Southern Virginia and Massachusetts over the course of 10 days.

Since I would be spending 26 hours in airports and on planes on my way to the States, the last thing I wanted to do was spend more time in airports and on planes once I arrived. I considered renting a car but that would mean not only paying a rental fee, but also paying for fuel and tolls and additional taxes. Plus, Virginia = traffic and I am not so keen on sitting in traffic, especially when I have places to go and people to see.

My solution was to take a train – well, three trains – so that I could see the countryside and be chauffeured around, all while not sitting in traffic. I called it my Amtrak Adventure because I had never taken a train for anything other than a quick ride to the North Pole when I was little.

After a stellar weekend with Katie and Van, I arrived at Union Station, beautifully situated across from the Capitol building.

Luckily, Katie is an Amtrak veteran so she gave me all of the inside info so that I would be able to make it to my train on time. Day One took me from Washington, D.C. to Newport News, Virginia, where I was greeted by my long-time best childhood friend.

Amanda and I met in kindergarten and became instant sisters. We liked each other so much that we spent every waking moment away from our parents together. We spent so much time together that we got on each other’s nerves and got into the biggest fights and stopped being friends about a half a dozen times. Of course, after a couple of days, we were fine.

The train ride was great. As I rode I wondered why I had never considered taking Amtrak before. I was provided slightly more legroom than on a commercial airline, there was free Wi-Fi and electrical outlets in each seating pair, the seats reclined at a more than reasonable angle, there was a café car and there was no security anywhere.

No TSA people approached me and forced me to place everything on a conveyer belt and take off my shoes. No one patted me down. I did not have to worry about how many liquids I had, the volume of each or which bag they were in. I was allowed to carry on any size bag I pleased at no additional cost.

The train was quiet. The first time I heard a dull whistle, I got excited as I realized that I was on the train from which the whistle was sounded. The sun was shining outside and I got to see the landscape, though it was rather dull. Brown grass, brown leafless trees, brown buildings. Singapore is much prettier.

On Amtrak Adventure Day Two, I opted for the business class car since I had a sevenish-hour ride north to New Jersey. The business class car was really no different than the coach cars. The seats were slightly larger and there was a bit more leg room but that was it.

The seats were cloth just like in coach; there were no additional amenities. I was advised that my ticket stub would earn me a free beverage from the café car but I, of course, left it in my seatback pocket. The biggest thing I noticed is that the coach cars were actually quieter than the business car. There were lots of people on phones and typing on computers in the business car.

The weather from Southern Virginia to New Jersey was utterly gross. The sky was grey, fog rolled in, rain was constant. The farther north we travelled, the harder the rain poured. Then, my real adventure started.

I opted to alight at Newark Penn Station so that I could take another train to Western New Jersey. Somehow I got distracted and did not realize when the train was at my desired station. I heard the Amtrak attendant say that a lot of people would be leaving the train in Newark, so I assumed that a lot of people moving would be my cue to get up.

I asked my seat partner if we were at Penn Station and he advised me that Penn Station is underground and that that station would be our next stop. Well, whoever named these stations sure made life difficult because Newark Penn Station and New York Penn Station are not the same even though they are pronounced the same.

When I realized we were indeed at my stop, I tried to flag the attendant to confirm but the train began to pull out of the station after a mere minute and a half of being stationary. “Next stop New York Penn Station in New York City,” I heard the woman on the loudspeaker say. “Fifteen minutes to New York Penn Station.” Crap.

Missing my station meant that I would have to go into New York City, find the New Jersey trains, purchase an additional ticket and find my way back west. I got off the train and headed inside, trying my hardest to remember Penn Station’s layout – it had been three years or more since I had been there.

I was rolling two bags, one medium-sized black rollerboard typically seen as an airplane carry on and one small rollerboard suitcase about half the size. I was also carrying my purse, which was filled to utter capacity, a small travel pillow and I had a coat or two clipped to the front of my black rollerboard. This is why I did not want to go into New York City. I was not crowd friendly.

No kidding – I was in Penn Station for about 30 seconds when a man in his 20s came walking toward me in the masses. I was contemplating whether or not I could fit in between him and another man to his left. There was a space between so I went for it. I curled my arms behind me so that I could trim my personal space and not hit anyone in the process.

While the one man moved to allow me more space, the man in his 20s very rudely and very loudly yelled in my ear as he passed, “The world does not revolve around you!” Oh yes, I am in America. I heart New York, right?

I found my way to the New Jersey Transit station, bought my $14+ ticket and headed into an overcrowded corridor, down a single-width escalator and into an overcrowded train. Now, when I say overcrowded train, I mean that I was standing with five other men in the corridor between two trains because there was no room inside the trains. This was, after all, New York City transit rush hour.

I alighted at the first station and realized about five minutes later that I was not back at Newark Penn Station as I had thought. I was in Secaucus, another New Jersey City. After speaking with a security agent, I was advised that I now needed to take two more trains to get to Raritan, my former New Jersey home.

A little more than an hour later, I made it into the tiny town of Raritan, New Jersey my former home. The world was pitch black and the rain was pouring hard. What made the rain worse was the low, single-digit Celsius temperatures (40 Fahrenheit or below) and the wind that made my fingers feel like they were about to break off my hands. Why was I not wearing gloves? Oh yeah, because they were in Ohio. I was smart enough to have a winter coat shipped to D.C. so that my friends could have it waiting for me upon arrival but I did not think about gloves until I really needed them.

Unable to contact my friend to advise her that I was at the station because my American sim card is almost worthless, I walked to my former apartment building about five minutes away. I arrived on Jackie’s doorstep, soaked, two hours after I intended to arrive but she greeted me with open arms anyway – even if she did forget I was coming.

Yesterday was Amtrak Adventure Day Three and I enjoyed riding through my favorite part of the United States – New England. I took the New Jersey Transit train to Newark Penn Station – and made it without a hitch this time. As the train pulled into the city of Newark, I was reminded of how indescribable the city is.

Paul has spent a little time in India while working as a pilot and has advised me on more than five occasions that nothing good comes from India. “There is no good reason to go to India,” he says. I, personally, would enjoy spending a few days in India. I would like to explore some culture, see the Taj Mahal, see some wild tigers and I hear Goa is nice. “I repeat – there is no good reason to go to India.”

Newark, for Paul’s sake, is like India. After spending two years in New Jersey, I can honestly say that there is absolutely no reason – good or bad – to go to Newark. It is utterly disgusting. See for yourself:

Connecticut and Massachusetts, however are all quite beautiful.

My train ended in a little town where I saw a man get arrested in the station – handcuffed, put in the back of the police vehicle and all – and I thought, welcome to Springfield.

THE BOURBON TRAIL

  

It all started with a man named Van and a bottle of Beam Inc.’s Maker’s Mark^® handmade premium Kentucky Bourbon. Van loved his bourbon and his friends knew it, so they bought him a bottle of Maker’s for his birthday, for his holiday parties and for any other Saturday night party in Northern Virginia. He always had a bottle in the house.

After a while, Van’s friends thought that he needed to class it up a bit so they bought him a bottle of higher caliber bourbon. Before long, Van had a collection of bourbons ranging from Maker’s Mark to the ultra-premium brand that CNN Money called a “cult brand,” Pappy Van Winkle, courtesy of his amazing wife, Katie.

In 2009, Van decided to take his friends on a tour of his collection as a testament to drinking fortitude, which created a challenge that few have accepted and even fewer have completed without stumbling somewhere in the middle. And by stumbling I mean tossing their cookies and maybe taking out a toilet paper holder in the process.

Two men began the journey and only one man reigned victorious. The second decided that he was brave enough for a repeat adventure but, sadly, his journey ended expectedly. The poor soul ended up running away from the scene as he profusely vomited in his hands. Then he passed out on the bathroom floor. Thank God I was not there to witness that endeavor.

Saturday night I had the pleasure of observing an edition of the Bourbon Trail, taking detailed notes and photos to document each stage of the journey. I did promise to change names but I advised that I would not be changing faces so feel free to make fun of anyone you recognize.

Before we begin, I must explain that the Bourbon Trail might be based upon a fantastic American childhood game back in the days of the original Apple MacIntosh computers. A good time was had by all travelling the Oregon Trail; a version of the game can be played on Facebook for those who are unfamiliar.

And so we begin.

It was a beautiful night in Northern Virginia. Friends gathered around a fire, enjoying some fine drinks and a crazy game of the celebrity name game. When the chatter got too loud for the neighborhood watch, we moved inside for the night.

A party goer, who will now be referred to as Sheldon because this guy is like a posh version of the famous The Bing Bang Theory character, inquired about the legendary Bourbon Trail, which immediately set Van into action. 

The official unwritten rulebook states that one cannot travel the Trail alone so Van volunteered another man, henceforth called B.D.*, to join Sheldon.

*NOTE: B.D. does not refer to Mr. Beattie with the same pronunciation. Although Beattie went two rounds and then utterly failed the Trail, the name B.D. was given because the Asian cowboy could be B.D. Wong's brother. Seriously, how am I the only person who noticed this?

   

  

Van scanned the table and selected his bourbons, ranking them along the way. Sheldon and B.D. were presented with the selection of nine bourbons they would be sampling and both accepted the challenge that awaited them with wide eyes and nervous stomachs.

First on the list was the bourbon that was Van’s first love: Maker’s Mark. The bourbon was first bottled in Kentucky in 1958. Margie Samuels, wife of the Maker’s Mark founder Bill Samuels, Sr., designed the bottle and dipped the first batch in wax at home, creating the production standard.

The second bourbon, Maker’s 46^TM, was first produced in 2010. The Labrot & Graham Woodford Reserve^® ranked number three on the list, working our way from least lethal to most. At number four, Knob Creek^® was a popular choice for Sheldon and B.D. The 100 proof bourbon is a full-bodied beverage with a maple sugar aroma, a sweetness and a rich, woody, caramel flavor.

Basil Hayden’s^® was not as popular. The spicy, light-bodied bourbon has hints of pepper and honey. The sixth stop on the Bourbon Trail was Blanton’s^®, the world’s first single-barrel bourbon at 93 proof. Jefferson’s Reserve^TM was unlucky number seven. Castle Brands Inc. describes the 90 proof bourbon as complex, elegant and sophisticated.

At this point, sometimes known as the Seventh Inning Stretch, B.D. wasn’t looking so stellar. He excused himself and commenced the walk of shame as we began to yell, “MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!” and then he likely broke the toilet paper holder off the bathroom wall – the third time someone damaged the wall in the exact location within nine months.

B.D. returned a few minutes later with a renewed attitude and some vomit splatters on his shirt.

Van carried on and led the boys down the home stretch, beginning with Rock Hill, a 96 proof bourbon that one reviewer called, “a wonderful rich bourbon that puts the other bourbons in its price range to shame.”

The final selection in the Bourbon Trail was Booker’s^® at an obnoxious 128.4 proof. To compare,
Absente is 138 proof and that might kill a person. Sheldon and B.D. took their last shot with pride…well, with drunken pride anyway. 

Van does not share his Pappy Van Winkle. Selfish, I know, but, in his defense, it is quite rare – many stores do not stock the bourbon because the bottles fly off the shelves due to the small number of batches produced. Waiting lists to receive a bottle average six months if one can obtain a space on the sacred list.

Throughout Sheldon’s and B.D.’s journey, their smiles got bigger, their attitudes were more relaxed and their eyes shown more sparkly. They were happier as well – giddy, really.

When asked how it felt to complete the Trail without default, Sheldon replied quite loudly, ”I expect a medal for this.”

B.D., on the other hand, coyly replied, “I’m a little drunk,” and then stumbled into the next room.

I felt honored to witness the two men’s journey on the Bourbon Trail but I was intrigued by the order of Van’s selection. He methodically lined each bottle on the table but I noticed that he fidgeted a bit and changed the order a couple times.

Only Van can best put into words what went through his mind during the selection process, so please, enjoy:

“These are all good bourbons, and I wouldn't say the order is determined by the class of the bourbon so much as the desired outcome. The trail (much like the Oregon Trail game) starts off pretty easy. For no real reason, I'm going to explain the Bourbon Trail in Oregon Trail terms.

“The beginning of the trail is the Maker's. It's nice, smooth, and pretty easy. You just left town, you got plenty of supplies and all the members of your party (and your stomach) are still with you. You think you have what it takes to make it all the way. Then you make your way up the trail and get to the Basil.

“At this point, you may have to get some supplies for your party. You'll see some people get a chaser right around the Knob or Basil point. Then you get to the Blanton's and you think to yourself, ‘Do I have a fever? Or am I about to die of dysentery?’

“The Blanton's is 93 proof, so you're starting to feel the burn. At this point, you may have had to make a detour and lost a member of your party along the way. The Jefferson serves as a nice break. It's the point at the top of the mountains before you make your way through the most treacherous part of the journey.

“Now you're into the Rock Hill. This one's 96 proof and you're going to feel it. At this point, you realize that when you left town, one of your oxen just died and you're asking yourself why you wanted to go to Oregon in the first place.

“Finally, we save the hardest one for last; the Booker's, a.k.a the Widow-maker. This bourbon is almost 130 proof, so when you finally get to Oregon, you're thankful it's done. You can't remember why you wanted to travel the trail, or, sometimes, even who you are, but you're going to be O.K. The journey's been tough, and you most likely lost most of your party along the way, but you're relieved it's over.”

Well said.

That night Sheldon became a true champion. He is now one of only two men to conquer the Bourbon Trail without falter, which earned him the right to not only wear someone else’s sunglasses at night, but inside well into the next morning.

There was morning and there was evening on the sixth day and Van saw that everything was good. On the seventh day, they rested. A lot.

I hope you enjoyed the story of the Bourbon Trail. When asked if readers may continue the tradition, the almighty creator replied, “I highly encourage it.”

True story, brah.

THE SIMPLE THINGS

I knew that I was missing out on a few American standards in Singapore but I had no idea just how good it would be to experience certain things again like it was the first time.

In Doha, just prior to boarding my flight to D.C., I spoke with an American woman on the same flight. She asked where I was from and where I was going and we conversed for a few minutes before we were able to board the flight. When I told her that I had not been cold in nearly a year, she burst out laughing.

I don’t think I have experienced cold yet but the high 40s temperatures I experienced in D.C. were enough to make me consider never leaving Singapore again. “This was stupid,” I told my friend when I walked outside for the first time.

When I arrived at Katie and Van’s house, I slipped off my flip flops and then, after walking a few steps, stopped, squished my toes, moved my feet a bit and nearly melted as I felt the soft fibers of carpet between my toes. I forgot how amazing carpet is since ALL of the floors in Singapore are made of marble.

One thing I know I took advantage of was watching college football while the games were being played on HDTV. Paul and I only got to see 13 games this season and 12 featured Ohio State; the 13^th was the first Penn State game following the firing of Joe Paterno.

We only once saw a game live. Due to the U.S. time change and late game start time, we were able to tune into one 7 p.m. U.S. (8 a.m. Singapore) Buckeye game. We only saw a portion of the games in HD if we watched them online.

Singapore stations only offer a handful of HD stations so, even though we have an HD television, we felt it was pointless to pay for the HD receiver if only four channels would be broadcast in HD. Yesterday I was seen staring at the television with my jaw on the ground saying things like, “It’s so pretty,” “Look at all the colors,” and “OMG it’s so clear!”

I realized I was going crazy Friday evening when Van, Katie and I went for a ride. We were on our way to the most American dinner ever and I was secretly freaking out because I thought Van was driving on the wrong side of the road a few times. Any time Van made a left turn, I expected him to turn into one of the immediate left lanes. When he pulled out rather far and continued straight a bit before turning to the far lanes, I wanted to yell but I did not. My brain then realized that I was in America so I needed to readjust.

American food is amazing. The portions are huge, the grease level is high and nothing tastes like it anywhere else in the world. For my first American meal, we went to one of my D.C. favorites, The Counter, a build-your-own burger bar that serves almost anything fried and specializes in milkshakes for kids of all ages, including the special milkshakes with things like bourbon in them.

I ordered a beef burger with sweet BBQ sauce, provolone cheese and fried onion straws on a toasty bun. On my last visit, I had a lamb burger with gruyere cheese, black forest ham and a fried egg. So good. To accompany our burgers, we had a pile of sweet potato fries, fried onion straws and fried pickles. You can’t get more American than burgers, fries, fried onions and fried pickles. And yes, there was a root beer float involved.

Later that evening, Katie and I went to her local grocery for a few items needed for Saturday night’s dinner party. I was amazed at the size of the store, though I had been there before. I found myself walking through isles like a girl in Tiffany’s wishing I could just take everything off the shelf I ever wanted because I knew it was there. The aisles were so huge and everything was cheap. I bought a six-pack of beer. That’s right, this store sold beer in six-packs and cases. Take that, Singapore!

I was like a 5-year-old at the self checkout. Not having stood in front of one of those machines in about a year, I literally had no idea what I was doing. I was so caught off guard that I unbalanced by basket, which fell onto the floor, and the man behind me had to help me. I tried to sign the wrong screen after my credit card was swiped. I just laughed the whole time.

This afternoon, Katie drove me to the train station so I could begin my Amtrak Adventure. By the time we got into the city, I noticed that I really did not need my sunglasses. I was puzzled. The sky did not appear to be cloudy or expecting rain. Then I realized that it was 4:30 and December and that on the East Coast of America, the sun is down by 5. That is something I did not miss.

I had a great weekend with Katie and Van. I totally feel like I live at their house and I even impressed myself with how well I remembered the area. I have been there so often that their friends are my friends but I always seem to make new friends each time and learn something new. This weekend’s lesson: The Bourbon Trail.

IN AMERICA

When my husband and I moved to Singapore earlier this year, we flew on Singapore Airlines. After extensive research – and I do mean extensive – my husband decided to book our tickets for our American holiday on Qatar.

Just before midnight on a late Thursday evening, I headed to Changi Airport, a few minutes from our house. I was happily surprised as my cab pulled up to the first set of doors and I saw a display of Angry Birds above the doorway. As I looked to my right, I saw that every doorway in Changi’s Terminal 3 were covered in different Angry Birds game scenarios. I loved it!

The inside of the terminal had a few decorations but they were only in a few areas.

Paul wisely advised me that I needed to do my best to not sleep on my 7ish-hour flight to Doha so that I could sleep on my 14-ish hour flight from Doha to D.C. Smart boy.

With two hours left in my first flight, my midnight coffee had pretty much worn off and I decided that I would take a little nap, stay awake during my three-hour layover and then sleep again on my second flight. Of course, 10 minutes after I decided to close my eyes, the cabin crew came in to serve a meal so I was awake.

In Doha, I paid a fee of $40 U.S. to spend three hours in an enclosed lounge that offered small bites and beverages, lots of tables and chairs and a shower. The shower ended up being the only worthwhile experience.

Just after I sat down in a less populated area, a woman came up behind me. She very rudely and quite loudly stomped over to speak with a man sitting behind me. A rather tall woman with average build bent over so that her face was no more than two inches from the well-dressed Middle Eastern-looking man’s face.

“Will you please stop staring at me?” she crudely yelled. I was so taken aback that I turned around to see who this woman was and to whom exactly she was speaking. I think the man just quietly replied with an “O.K.” or something like that. The woman immediately turned and went back to her chair about 10 yards away. I was dumbfounded. I could not believe she had just done that.

This encounter reminded me of a similar experience I had hours earlier. I had a doctor’s appointment in town the day that I left for the States. I wore a sundress that, I admit, showed some cleavage. I decided to take the bus home since there was a stop conveniently located a block away. It was raining, so I was carrying the bottom of my long dress in one hand and my umbrella in the other.

Right after I arrived and sat down on a bench, an old Indian-looking man sat upon the bench in front of me. A woman about two decades younger accompanied him. He did not just stare at me, sitting on the bench with the bottom of my sundress resting on my knees so as not to get the dress wet, he gawked and gazed for a period of time that made me feel uncomfortable on more than three occasions. At one point, he spun around (because he was facing front and I was behind him), stared at my chest, stared at my legs, stared at my chest again and then looked into my eyes and saw the disgusted look I was giving him and then he turned away. And then he turned around again seconds later.

While I might have wanted to say something like, “What is with the staring? They’re called boobs and I have seen more of them on the other side of Orchard Road than I have seen almost anywhere. Mine aren’t that big even by Asian standards. What is your problem?”

I instead simply stood up, walked to the other end of the bus stop a few meters in front of the man and stood on the other side of a sign so that I could not see him and he could not see me. I took myself out of the situation instead of choosing to cause a scene. The woman in the lounge chose to cause a scene.

After I showered, brushed my teeth and put on fresh clothes, I headed to the area of Doha Airport with the big, lighted sign that read, “U.S. FLIGHTS.” I thought it was quite convenient to have all U.S. departures in the same area. As I approached the gates, however, I realized the reasoning behind this great convenience.

Everyone flying into a U.S. destination had to go through an extensive security check, even after clearing security in at least one prior location. Signs with the infamous and highly dreaded “TSA” letters were plastered all over the walls and security apparatuses.

I stood in a seemingly endless line as I watched two security agents check passports and boarding passes four line turns ahead. Just after I made my first turn, I noticed a security man approaching. He was pushing everyone to the left in order to make room for others to pass on the right. He pointed at me and ushered me ahead. I skipped in front of no less than 40 people and wondered why I received this special treatment. Was it because I was American? An Indian woman and her husband in front of me were not American so probably not.

Then, when the Indian couple passed the check, then man tried to move forward with his wife (I assume). He was stopped, however, and I heard a male guard say, “No, this line for women only.” Ahhhh. Discrimination in my favor. I looked around and noticed that the 40+ people I moved ahead of were indeed all men.

The security near the departure gates was unlike any I had seen. For the first time since I left the States, I had to remove my shoes – cheap flip flops, by the way. I placed everything onto a conveyer belt and then watched as four people tore into everything I owned. They opened my purse and my carry-on luggage, pulled everything out and searched my bags for contraband. They were no match for my impressive packing, however, and failed to close my carry-on bag. I told them I could handle that part.

Twenty-seven hours later, I landed in D.C. I went through a bit of confusion upon landing because I did not remember which airport I flew into or which airport I told my friends I flew into. I eventually figured it out and partnered up just fine.

My friend, Katie and I were chatting earlier today about things I may have taken for granted while living in the States. Other than semi-free speech and freedom from censorship, I could not think of many. I had no idea, however, the simple things I missed out on while living abroad. 

MY FIRST SINGAPOREAN THANKSGIVING

I arrived back in Singapore just in time to throw my bags onto the floor, grab my shopping list and head into town. I needed fresh herbs and vegetables, various breads, a couple décor items and, of course, the turkey and the Thanksgiving tenderloin. Yes, beef tenderloin.

About a year and a half ago my husband decided that he hated the thought of eating turkey for Thanksgiving. “Turkey sucks!” he exclaimed one afternoon. You see, the way Paul was raised – spoiled by his Papou – beef tenderloin was served for Christmas and lamb was served at Easter.

After 20 something years of having turkey for Thanksgiving, it suddenly dawned on Paul that this fowl was much below the red meat standard set by the other major holidays. “That’s it. I am renouncing turkey. I hate turkey.”

Paul does not actually hate turkey – he just despises the idea of a holiday revolving around a turkey. So he decided he had had enough.

He devised a plan to purchase a beef tenderloin for the forthcoming Thanksgiving holiday and bring the tenderloin to his family’s traditional Thanksgiving dinner. In order to partake in the tenderloin free of charge, one must renounce turkey forever. Anyone who refused to renounce turkey could still have a slice of beef for a hefty fee. I believe it was something like $20.

His plan was foiled, however, when he was scheduled to work on Thanksgiving. Apparently the airlines needed pilots to fly the planes on Turkey Day. I was sworn to secrecy (which, I suppose I am now defying) that year so that I would not ruin the surprise.

This year we were in Singapore for Thanksgiving and I oh-so-cheerfully-and-without-the-consent-of-my-husband offered to host Thanksgiving for a few of our American friends living in Singapore. While at the butcher picking up my pre-ordered American Butterball turkey without the head and the feet, I decided to surprise Paul with a tenderloin. He was thrilled when he came home and discovered the addition to our menu.

While I prepped the appetizers, potatoes, stuffing (STUFFING IS EVIL!) and roasted vegetables, Paul took on the task of prepping the turkey. Yes, you read correctly. Paul prepared the turkey that he previously renounced.

For those who may not be aware, Alton Brown is the best chef that has ever lived and there is no disputing that fact. This is Paul’s mantra. If I ever want to cook or bake or roast or fry anything, I must consult Alton Brown’s recipes before moving forward. Period.

Just as when we were dating, the world stops at 7 p.m. so that Paul can tune into Alton’s show, Good Eats. If I am home, I am forced to stop whatever I am doing and pay attention. There is always a quiz to see if I am listening.

Wednesday evening, Paul prepared the brine according to the great Alton’s recipe and even stayed up late to ensure that the salty and sweet liquid mixture cooled before placing the pot in the fridge to cool overnight. In the morning, he prepped the turkey, removing all of the innards, and placed the turkey in the brine.

And he rearranged my fridge for me. How nice.

He set his alarm to flip the bird at the exact moment it needed to be flipped and he arranged an apparatus to ensure the bird stayed submerged.

He cleaned the bird, stuffed the bird – but not with stuffing because STUFFING IS EVIL!

OK time out. I was forced to watch no less than twice each two Alton Brown Thanksgiving episodes from which I learned that putting stuffing inside a bird to cook is neither sanitary nor healthy. Yes, grandmothers have been doing this for years but what do they know?

While I had never planned to place the bread mixture inside the bird, I obliged and continued to watch for Paul’s amusement.

In one of Paul’s favorite scenes, Alton presents a painting – William Blake’s “Satan throws the plagues over Job,” pictured below.

Picture taken from www.wooop.com

According to Alton’s research, he derived from Blake’s writings that the plagues being poured out over Job were, in fact, stuffing. “Stuffing,” Alton says in a presentation to Google employees.

“STUFFING was being poured out by Satan onto Job and, uh, so it easy to work out this model, which is:

   Satan is evil.

   Satan likes stuffing.

   Stuffing is evil.”

So, any time stuffing was mentioned in the Thanksgiving prep process, Paul would, of course, yell out, “STUFFING IS EVIL!”

OK, back to the turkey.

Paul let the turkey soak in the brine for about six hours before roasting. He cleaned the bird and we both dressed it with butter and seasonings before placing the 6 kg bird into the oven. Two and a half hours later, the beautiful turkey was resting. The bird had a brown, crusty skin and the meat was so tender. The seasoning was great. This was one Alton Brown recipe we will repeat several times.

The tenderloin was cooked to perfection as well.

Three couples joined us in our tiny home. They came equipped with wine, bread and dessert to complete our holiday meal. 

We had a great spread and we all filled our bellies until we could simply not eat anymore. Though we could not be in America to celebrate with our family, it was certainly a treat to have our American friends in Singapore celebrate with us – even if they did have to work that day.