Tag Archives: Disney World

Running from a Pickaxe

Tax-free week in Ohio is the back-to-school version of Rope Drop at Magic Kingdom. If you’re a parent, you know the drill: you’ve got a list longer than the line for Peter Pan’s Flight, desperate for deals and every coupon clipping you can snag. Last Saturday, the Thompsons charged into the outlet malls like it was the opening bell at Black Friday—fast, purposeful, semi-delirious.

Now, if you’ve ever wandered World Showcase in August, you’ll be familiar with the special brand of sweaty exhaustion that set in as we wound our way through the stores, kids melting faster than a Mickey bar in July. Coupon victory came hard, but eventually we limped home, untamed shopping bags in tow, seasoned and slightly singed around the edges.

But the magic didn’t end there! A sign at the end of our street declared in bold: “Garage Sale. Tools and Man Stuff.” For those who share their home with another adult, this was less a suggestion and more a legally compelling summons. Chas vanished faster than a Lightning Lane slot at Rise of the Resistance, Oz in tow, clearly hoping to unearth some hidden Indiana Jones relic (or at least another stick to add to his collection).

Ten minutes and one mini-expedition later, they reappeared, faces radiating unspoken adventure—think dads after surviving EPCOT’s Food & Wine with only a wallet mildly damaged. Moments later, Oz, our seven-year-old, appeared clutching a ten-dollar bill and loudly proclaiming his new life ambition: acquiring a pickaxe. Cue visions of him storming Frontierland, wielding his new prize, with me nervously calculating just how quickly Child Protective Services would respond in our zip code. But hey, boring never makes for good park stories or memorable family runs.

If there’s a lesson buried beneath the layers of outlet shopping, surprise hardware quests, and the ever-present din of “when does school start”—it’s this: structure is more magical than any Cinderella castle. By the time the school year finally started this morning, my fifth grader bolted for the door like he was rope-dropping Seven Dwarfs Mine Train; his enthusiasm was nothing short of Disney magic itself, and I couldn’t be prouder to stand on the sidelines, medal or no medal.

My second grader approached with equal excitement, though laced with those opening day jitters familiar to anyone who’s ever tried a new ride (or new lunch table). He’ll be making friends by lunchtime, probably organizing a lunchroom conga line just to make things interesting.

The preschooler, meanwhile, is pure Tomorrowland—marching to his own futuristic beat, running operations with a tone that suggests he skipped straight past “Cast Member” to “Attraction Manager.” If anyone’s wondering, yes, I’m bracing for parent-teacher conferences featuring references to “leadership skills” (read: tiny tyrant).

But I crave the rhythm as much as the kids do. And after a summer of running from everything—chaos, coupons, pickaxes—I’m ready to settle down with a fastpass for structure and a side of predictability.

So, here’s to tax-free weeks, unexpected adventures, and the kind of family training that leaves you with memories more magical than any race medal or Disney pin. May your journeys be as joyful and slightly unpredictable as a day at the parks—and may your neighbors never need to speed-dial CPS.

And the morning rope drop? Well, we made it. Just keep running forward.

Running from 999 Happy Haunts

A few years back, in a fit of what I can only describe as pandemic-induced entrepreneurial optimism (or possibly a sugar high), I started a cookie company. I’d love to say it was a calculated business move, but really, it was just me, a mixer, and a vague hope that if I baked enough cookies, I could distract myself from the world falling apart outside my window. I launched the business the year before the “pandy” (as my kids call it), and by 2020, I was happily decorating cookies and shipping them off to rich moms across the USA—women who, I imagine, have never once eaten a cookie in their car while hiding from their children.

Then life, as it does, threw me a few plot twists: a baby, a stroke, and a move to Ohio—because apparently, I like my stress served in a sampler platter. The cookie business went on hiatus, tucked away like a favorite pair of running shoes you keep meaning to break out again. I always hoped I’d pick it back up someday, but between the kids’ schedules, my AFib, and wrestling season (which, if you haven’t experienced it, is like running a marathon in a gym that smells faintly of feet), it just kept slipping down the to-do list.

But I never lost my love for Disney, or for the Haunted Mansion in particular. When it came time to rebrand, I wanted something that captured my passion for all things Disney and my slightly offbeat sense of humor. Thus, Foolish Morsels was born—a nod to the Haunted Mansion’s famous greeting, “Welcome, foolish mortals.” It’s the perfect name for a business that combines the whimsy of Disney with the undeniable truth that cookies are, in fact, the best kind of foolishness.

I’ve done quite a few Haunted Mansion cookie sets now, along with other Disney-inspired treats. And while the business has had its stops and starts (much like my running), my connection to the Haunted Mansion has never faded. It’s a must-do every time we visit the Magic Kingdom. The story is captivating, the details are endless, and every ride in a Doom Buggy reveals something new—sort of like running a familiar route and suddenly noticing a house you’ve passed a hundred times but never really seen.

Now, because I can’t resist a good trivia tangent (and because Len Testa would never forgive me if I didn’t), here are a few delightful tidbits about the Haunted Mansion:

  • It’s older than most of us admit to being. The Haunted Mansion opened in Disneyland in 1969, and in Walt Disney World in 1971. That means it’s been delighting (and mildly spooking) generations of guests for over half a century.
  • There are 999 happy haunts. But there’s always room for one more. (And if you’ve ever run a marathon, you know the feeling of being haunted by at least 999 regrets at mile 20.)
  • The stretching room isn’t actually an elevator in Florida. In Disneyland, the stretching room lowers you into the ride. In Disney World, the ceiling rises instead. Either way, it’s a good metaphor for running: sometimes you go down, sometimes you go up, but you always end up somewhere new.
  • Madame Leota’s head is real. Well, sort of. The face in the crystal ball is that of Leota Toombs, a Disney Imagineer. Her name alone would make a great running team mascot.
  • The ballroom scene uses 19th-century magic. The dancing ghosts are created with a trick called “Pepper’s Ghost,” which uses angled glass and lighting. It’s the same technique magicians used in Victorian times—proof that sometimes the old ways are still the best, whether you’re conjuring ghosts or lacing up your well-worn running shoes.

Much like running, my cookie business has had its ups, downs, and unexpected detours. Some days, I’m sprinting toward a new idea, fueled by inspiration (and maybe a little caffeine). Other days, I’m plodding along, just trying to keep moving. And sometimes, I’m just standing still, admiring the scenery (or the cookies) and reminding myself that even the slowest miles—and the messiest kitchens—are part of the journey.

So here’s to foolish morsels, haunted mansions, and running from everything (except maybe the cookie jar). May your runs be smooth, your cookies be sweet, and your Doom Buggy always have room for one more.

Running to the Land

If you’re a Disney World devotee, you likely have a favorite ride-perhaps even a meticulously ranked list, one per park, cross-referenced by time of day and snack proximity. True Disney adults, of course, go further: we have favorite smells (hello, Rome burning!), napping nooks, people-watching perches, and secret fireworks vantage points. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

For reasons I can’t entirely explain, EPCOT has always tugged at me. Maybe it’s the park’s age-just a hair older than I am, thank you very much-or maybe it’s the sense of breathing room. Unlike the sometimes claustrophobic press of the Magic Kingdom, EPCOT’s pavilions and wide walkways feel positively expansive. With an average of over 32,800 visitors a day, that extra elbow room is not just a nicety, it’s a necessity.

After a few years of health challenges, my days of braving the big, fast, and wildly spinning rides are behind me (not that I ever queued up for Mission: SPACE with gusto). Add in the lingering side effects of a stroke, and the fun of thrill rides is replaced by the fun of not needing a nap in the First Aid station.

But one attraction has always been my EPCOT North Star: Living with the Land.

Nestled in The Land pavilion- an architectural marvel of glass and angles since 1982- Living with the Land is a gentle, 15-minute boat ride that glides you through both a classic Disney dark ride and working greenhouses. It’s a hybrid: part animatronic diorama, part science fair, part “please let me live here” greenhouse tour.

The ride begins with a float through recreated biomes: tropical forests, arid deserts, and sweeping prairies, all narrated with a soothing cadence that could lull even the most caffeinated park-goer into a state of Zen. There are 35 audio-animatronics, but the real stars are the living, growing crops and the innovative farming techniques on display.

You’ll see:

  • The Tropics Greenhouse, with rice, sugar cane, and bananas under a 60-foot dome.
  • The Aquacell, where tilapia and catfish swim in tanks, part of Disney’s sustainable aquaculture.
  • The Temperate Greenhouse, showcasing intercropping and specialized irrigation.
  • The Production Greenhouse, where tons of tomatoes, peppers, and lettuce are grown for use right in EPCOT’s restaurants-including the rotating Garden Grill and the quick-service favorite, Sunshine Seasons, both just steps away.
  • The Creative House, where crops dangle from trellises or float in air, suggesting a future where farming might take place on space stations or, at the very least, in your living room.

If you’re craving more, the Behind the Seeds walking tour offers a closer look at these agricultural marvels for a modest fee.

The Land pavilion itself is a microcosm of EPCOT’s mission: education, innovation, and a dash of whimsy. Alongside Living with the Land, you’ll find Soarin’ Around the World-a hang-gliding simulator that’s the pavilion’s most popular draw-and Awesome Planet, a 10-minute film narrated by Ty Burrell that’s equal parts documentary and pep talk for the planet.

And if you need sustenance, Sunshine Seasons is a food court that’s a cut above, with many ingredients harvested mere yards from your tray. For a more leisurely meal, the Garden Grill serves up family-style platters and character hugs, all while the restaurant gently rotates above the Living with the Land ride path.

Living with the Land is rarely more than a walk-on-unless you’ve arrived on a major holiday or during a torrential Florida downpour, in which case, welcome to the club. With a capacity of 1,600 riders per hour (16 boats, 40 guests each), the line moves quickly, and the ride’s nearly 15-minute duration offers a blissful respite from the Florida sun.

EPCOT welcomed nearly 12 million visitors in 2023, and yet, Living with the Land remains a tranquil corner of the park, a place where science, sustainability, and storytelling float along in perfect harmony.

If Disney ever dares to change it, you’ll find me at the entrance, picket sign in hand, ready to defend my favorite boat ride. Until then, you’ll find me in the greenhouse, dreaming of tomatoes and quietly plotting my next nap spot.

Running Towards the Redhead

Ah, the peculiar alchemy of Disney magic – where else but in Anaheim could the whiff of bromine-treated water become as cherished as the scent of fresh-baked churros? Let us embark on a journey through time, tide, and olfactory obsession, to explore how a pirate-themed boat ride became a cultural touchstone steeped in equal parts history and… well, let’s call it “eau de buccaneer.”

A Whiff of History: From Wax Museums to Waterborne Legends

Picture Walt Disney in the early 1960s, dreaming not of talking mice, but of pirates. His original vision? A walkthrough wax museum in Disneyland’s New Orleans Square, where guests might ponder the sobering realities of 18th-century maritime crime. But fate, like a tipsy parrot, had other plans. After the success of the Carousel of Progress’s audio-animatronic marvels at the 1964 World’s Fair, Disney pivoted. Why settle for static wax when you could have drunken pirates belching Yo Ho in three-dimensional glory? Thus, the ride we know today was born – a splashy, cacophonous ode to pillage and plunder, opening in 1967, three months after Walt’s death, as his final love letter to kinetic storytelling.

The attraction’s façade, modeled after New Orleans’ Cabildo (where the Louisiana Purchase was signed), cost $8 million to build – a sum that, in a delicious twist of irony, matched the price Jefferson paid for the actual Louisiana Territory. Disney’s Imagineers, it seems, have always had a flair for poetic accounting.

The Scent of Nostalgia: Bromine, Bones, and Bedlam

Now, let’s address the elephant – or rather, the skeleton – in the treasure room. Early riders might’ve unknowingly floated past genuine human remains. In a move that would make even the most hardened pirate blush, Disney initially sourced skeletons from UCLA’s medical labs. “Realism!” declared Imagineers, eyeing their unconvincing plastic prototypes. Over time, these macabre decorations were given proper burials… save for one stubborn skull. Rumor insists it still grins from a bedpost in the Captain’s Quarters, a bony holdout from UCLA’s cadaver collection. (Disney officially neither confirms nor denies this, but cast members have been known to wink at the notion.)

Yet for all its skeletal intrigue, the ride’s true legacy lies in its smell. That damp, metallic tang clinging to your clothes isn’t mere water – it’s bromine, chlorine’s posh cousin. Chosen for its gentler scent and resistance to California sunlight, this chemical brew creates an aroma as distinctive as Davy Jones’ locker. Combine it with artificial smoke (burning timber! Gunpowder!), and you’ve bottled the essence of pirate life. So potent is this sensory cocktail that fans now buy Pirates of the Caribbean-scented candles – because nothing says “cozy evening” like evoking moldy caves and cannon fire.

A Ride Through Time: Swashbuckling Revisions

No attraction survives 58 years without controversy. Purists still mourn the 2018 overhaul of the “Auction Scene,” where the infamous redhead shifted from matrimonial merchandise to pillaged poultry. (“We wants the redhead!” became “We wants the chicken!” – progress, Disney-style.) Yet the ride endures, its updates layered like barnacles on a ship’s hull. Even the 2006 addition of Jack Sparrow, swaying drunkenly among the animatronics, feels less like corporate synergy and more like finding a celebrity at your local pub.

The genius lies in the details:

  • 620,000 gallons of brominated water, swirling through 1,838 feet of canal.
  • 120 audio-animatronic rogues, including a pig snoozing peacefully beneath a bridge – a nod to Disney’s belief that even pirates appreciate a good nap.
  • That sleeping pig, by the way, has fans. Real fans. People who’d sooner skip Space Mountain than miss their annual glimpse of swine serenity.

Why We Keep Coming Back: The Alchemy of Memory

What explains our collective obsession? Perhaps it’s the ride’s paradoxical charm – a jolly romp through murder and arson, sanitized for family consumption. Or maybe it’s the way that bromine-laced air acts as a Proustian madeleine, whisking ’90s kids back to sticky summers and souvenir straw hats.

Disney’s Imagineers didn’t just build a ride; they engineered a sensory time machine. The bromine, the skeletons, the coyly winking skull – these are the ingredients of nostalgia, simmered in a kettle of technical wizardry and sheer audacity. So next time you catch that musky scent lingering on your shirt, remember: you’re not just smelling water. You’re inhaling history, one chemically enhanced pirate fart at a time.

Yo ho, yo ho, indeed.

Running from the Phoenecians

Ah, dear reader, strap yourself in for a journey through time and space, or at least through the peculiar realm of Disney’s imagination, as we explore the marvel that is Spaceship Earth. This gargantuan golf ball, this colossal cue ball, this spherical spectacle that looms over Epcot like a geometric tumor, has been boggling minds and confusing pigeons since October 1, 1982.

Picture, if you will, a structure so audaciously futuristic that it makes the average UFO look positively pedestrian. This 18-story geodesic dome, wrapped in a dizzying array of 11,324 triangular panels, stands as a testament to human ingenuity, or perhaps to our species’ collective madness. One can’t help but wonder if the designers were inspired by a particularly vigorous game of connect-the-dots.

Now, imagine my wide-eyed wonder as a young lady in 1996, stumbling upon this behemoth for the first time. “Good heavens,” I thought, “has a colossal alien egg landed in Florida?” Little did I know that this extraterrestrial-looking orb housed a ride that would take me on a whirlwind tour of human communication, from prehistoric grunts to the information superhighway, all without the need for a single textbook or a stern librarian’s glare.

Inside this titanium-clad time machine, we’re treated to a parade of narrators that reads like a Who’s Who of distinguished voices. From Walter Cronkite’s reassuring tones to Jeremy Irons’ silky British purr, and now Dame Judi Dench’s regal intonations, it’s as if the history of communication is being whispered to us by a rotating cast of celebrities who’ve somehow found themselves trapped inside a giant ball.

The current iteration, narrated by the inimitable Dame Judi, is a sensory smorgasbord. As we glide through time in our “omnimover” chariots, we’re assaulted by the scent of burning Rome (a curious choice for a family attraction), while interactive screens invite us to ponder our future. It’s all set to a soundtrack so catchy that I often find myself humming it in the shower, much to the confusion of my neighbors.

But here’s the kicker, dear reader: without this plastic fantastic voyage through human achievement, I might not be here, tapping away at my keyboard like a caffeinated chimpanzee. The very existence of this blog, nay, the entire online Disney community, owes a debt to those intrepid Phoenicians and their newfangled “alphabet.”

So when I inevitably collect my “Most Spectacular Epcot Blogger in the Known Universe” award (a category I’m still lobbying to have recognized), I’ll raise my glass not to some deity or Hollywood star, but to those ancient scribes who set us on the path to today’s digital wonderland.

Here’s to you, Phoenicians! May your legacy live on in every tweet, blog post, and wildly inaccurate online review. Without you, we might all still be communicating through a series of elaborate grunts and interpretive dances. And let’s face it, some of us struggle enough with emojis as it is.

Running from the Beach

Well, here I am, on day eight of a ten-day travel odyssey, and I can scarcely believe I’ve made it this far without collapsing into a heap of exhaustion. Since last Wednesday, life has been a whirlwind of suitcases, sunscreen, and sporadic Wi-Fi. From Florida’s sandy shores to California’s bustling streets, I’ve covered more ground in the past week than I usually do in a month. It’s been two weeks that feel like two years.

The first leg of this adventure was spent in Florida with Chas and the boys. Daytona Beach and Disney World were the highlights, and let me tell you, we packed more “magic” into those days than a Harry Potter marathon. Chas’ conference went swimmingly (pun intended), and the boys had the time of their lives. Now, I’m in California wrapping up work for Prep2Prep, but honestly, my brain is still somewhere between Cinderella’s Castle and the Pacific Ocean.

Let’s pause for a moment to talk about the Hilton Daytona Beach. If you’re ever in need of a place to stay there—and frankly, why wouldn’t you be?—I can’t recommend it highly enough. The location is perfection itself: smack dab in the middle of the boardwalk area, with nine restaurants (yes, nine!), a lovely pool area, and views of the Atlantic so stunning they could make a poet weep. Our room overlooked the ocean, which made mornings feel like something out of a travel brochure. Sure, we had a couple of minor hiccups—the TV decided to stage a rebellion, and we needed a fridge for the baby’s milk—but the staff swooped in like superheroes to save the day. Honestly, you could spend your entire trip within the resort’s confines and leave feeling utterly content. A heartfelt THANK YOU to the Hilton Daytona Beach for making our stay unforgettable!

Now let’s talk about Cub—our resident Aqua Lad. This child was in his element at the beach. I wasted precious packing space on sand toys only to discover he had no interest in them whatsoever. His sole focus? The water. Waves crashing? No problem. Surf pounding? Bring it on. He ran back and forth through the surf like he was auditioning for Baywatch: Toddler Edition. And when he wasn’t frolicking in the ocean, he was in the pool—so much so that his eyes turned red from all the chlorine. Did that stop him? Of course not. Cub has mastered holding his breath underwater to such an alarming degree that strangers started looking concerned.

Then there’s Oz, our little trooper-in-training. He’s teetering on the brink of major mobility—Labor Day will likely mark the start of our new life as full-time wranglers of two mobile children. On this trip, though, he was content to nap on the beach while I dug him a little shady spot in the sand like some sort of makeshift crib architect. He enjoys water too but prefers splashing over swimming—a distinction that makes him slightly less nerve-wracking than his older brother (for now). Flying with him wasn’t terrible this time around, but once he starts moving? Game over.

As this marathon of travel winds down, I find myself staring down the imminent arrival of school season with mixed emotions. On one hand, I know these moments with my young family are fleeting—Cub will be off to school before I know it, and then it’s all downhill from there (kidding… mostly). On the other hand, there’s something comforting about returning to normalcy after two years of pregnancies and ear infections throwing us off course. This year feels promising—straightforward even—and I’m optimistic it’ll be our best one yet.

But for now? Two more days on the road before I can collapse into my own bed and declare this epic journey complete!