This time last year, I was reading twitter and discovered that one of the online women’s magazines was looking for a travel writer. I’ve missed the discipline of a monthly deadline ever since I stopped writing for Gothic.Net. I got in touch, sent her a link to a sample of my writing (my blog post about visiting the swamp outside of New Orleans with my daughter), and got the gig.
I’ve been keeping a list of my columns under the Nonfiction tab above, but in case you missed it, I wanted to post them here, too.
I’ve really enjoyed the opportunity to describe my adventures for readers every month. I’ve written mostly about traveling with my family, because eventually I am going to pull together a book I’ve been thinking of as the Morbid Mom Memoir. These columns may get collected into that.
The most popular piece I wrote was the one in October about taking your kids to the graveyard.
I think the editor’s favorite was November’s piece, about my spa visit to be buried in cedar shavings at Osmosis.
The one that got the most comments was the piece about seeing the treasures of the Detroit Institute of Arts before the museum begins to sell its collection to pay the city’s debts.
It’s hard for me to choose a favorite, but I’m really proud of the work I’ve done on these. Every month, writing about my adventures revealed something to me that I’d missed in the excitement of the moment. I learned something (or more rarely, taught my daughter something). It’s been a blessing to have the monthly reminder to slow down, rethink, and treasure these experiences. Time is blasting by so quickly these days that even my 11-year-old has noticed it.
If any of these thumbnails catch your attention, you can click on the titles and read the full stories.
My brother wanted to do one thing when he visited me in San Francisco: see whales. He’d never been on a boat on the ocean, never even seen an ocean. He’d never seen anything as big as a whale.
For 30 years, the Oceanic Society has offered whale-watching tours along the California coast. I chose a tour out to the Farallon Islands, 25 miles off the San Francisco Coast. We’d have the possibility of seeing blue whales, the largest animals that ever to live on earth. I made sure Allen understood that they couldn’t promise we’d see anything. Viewing whales wasn’t like going to the zoo for the 10:00 feeding. Whales come and go as they please.
I rarely allow myself a day off, so when I finally did, I wanted it to be really special. That meant escaping my office, leaving my computer behind, and being completely unable to do work.
No notebooks, no emails, no expectations.
My plan was to leave home hours early, have a leisurely drive north, and spend a relaxing day atOsmosis Day Spa Sanctuary in Sonoma County.
“I bet I’m the only kid who goes to cemeteries on vacation,” my 11-year-old daughter boasted.
My daughter Sorrell’s been visiting cemeteries since she was an infant in a Baby Bjorn. I think her first was immediately after an exhibit of funeral antiques at a local history museum, but I have a photo of her bundled up to visit the Leland Stanford mausoleum on the grounds of his namesake university. She was all of 8 months old….
We didn’t get shown to our room so much as directed to it. The crewman walked us to the hatch. A very steep ladder led down to a small vestibule with a sink and a mirror. Four doors led off of it to the cabins.
“Always go down facing the ladder,” Adam directed. “And remember, it’s a few steps farther down than you think.”
“I didn’t know they were so big,” my daughter Sorrell said, not taking her eyes off Niagara Falls.
A vivid rainbow arced above the horseshoe-shaped Canadian falls. We leaned over the railing to gaze down at the Maid of the Mist, creeping closer to the base of the cascade.
I grew up in the country, so it’s important to me that my city-girl daughter grows up with a healthy respect for animals. That may have taken root too well: she wants to adopt one of every animal she comes across.
When Sorrell was little, she wanted a deer. She spun a whole scenario that when we visited my parents, she would capture one of the white-tailed deer who came down to drink at the creek. She would put the deer in a sack and carry it on the plane back to San Francisco, where it would become her pet and live in our backyard.
She drew lots of pictures to illustrate key parts of the plan….
We walked up to the ticket desk in a knot. The clerk asked which ride we wanted: if we did the motion simulator, the three of us could go together, but the machine moved on its own. No one would be controlling it. If we chose the flight simulator, it only sat two.
Sorrell really wanted to fly the simulator herself….
My photo of the tour where Joan may have been imprisoned.
Joan of Arc has long been a heroine of mine. That she was a warrior when women rarely left their villages would have been enough to intrigue me, but that she led the French army to victory against the English while a teenaged peasant girl amazed me….
Who would want to eat in the dark? When I told my friends about San Francisco’s Opaque restaurant, the general reaction was “Why would you want to do that?” As my birthday drew nearer, I made a reservation. Then I told my husband, Mason — and gave him the out that if he didn’t want to come, I’d try to find another date. I couldn’t envision going alone….
The last time I went to the Detroit Institute of Arts was in the late ’80s when my husband and I drove down to hear punk rock icon Lydia Lunch speak. Woodward from the highway looked like a demilitarized zone, lined with gutted derelict buildings and full of windblown trash. We were relieved to be able to drive into the garage beneath the art museum and not have to leave our car on the street.
Detroit has changed a lot since then, but its money woes linger. Last year, when there began to be talk of selling some of the city-owned artwork, I decided I needed to take our daughter down to see the DIA one last time, while its collection was still intact….
One of my favorite places in New Orleans has nothing to do with voodoo or food or letting the good times roll. Instead, it’s a small museum full of dusty poisons and wicked-looking metal tools. I couldn’t wait to introduce my daughter to it….
Some opportunities have expiration dates. Beyond the traditional bucket list, I need to do all the things that I can only do in the company of a kid now, while my kid still wants to keep company with me. Besides that, I love the idea of sleeping in strange places. Ever since the program started, I’ve wanted to sleep overnight in the California Academy of Sciences at their Penguins + Pajamas event.…
I'm the author of 199 Cemeteries to See Before You Die and Wish You Were Here: Adventures in Cemetery Travel, as well as a space opera trilogy. I'm also co-author of a series about a succubus and her angel. In addition to blogging at CemeteryTravel.com, I blog about my morbid life at lorenrhoads.com.
I’d been meaning to order it for awhile but kept forgetting.
The book plate would be awesome. I’ll send you my address but if it’s any trouble don’t worry about it. I can always stand in a long line for your autograph at one of your book signings some day. 🙂
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I did miss it, thanks. If I had know you’d have all this to read I wouldn’t have had to order “Wish You Were Here” this week. 😉
But I’m very glad you did buy it. 🙂
Let me know if you’d like me to send you a book plate for it, so your copy will be autographed, too.
Thanks so much for all your support!
Loren
I’d been meaning to order it for awhile but kept forgetting.
The book plate would be awesome. I’ll send you my address but if it’s any trouble don’t worry about it. I can always stand in a long line for your autograph at one of your book signings some day. 🙂
Thanks!