Thinking out of the Box

2011-05-09T09:38:00.001-07:00

I wrote this poem several years ago after mother died. Every mother's day I think of her, and this is the way I imagine her now.

Mother’s Day in Heaven.

It’s Mother’s Day in Heaven.

Mom’s perfect day begins

shopping at Macy’s

biggest sale of the year.

Returning burdened with bags,

jewelry and casual wear.

She’ll model the clothes

boasting of bargains and discounts,

Then, at the nearest freshwater lake,

minnows and pole in hand, she’ll catch

a stringer of gigantic bass and perch.

After her guardian angel cleans them,

she’ll dine on fried fish,

potato salad, coleslaw,

perhaps two pieces of cherry pie

topped with dad’s homemade ice cream.

The evening will be bingo, bingo, bingo,

winning a pot here, splitting a pot later,

until the final game—when mother

wins the blackout in only forty numbers.

The Lookout

2010-11-11T14:38:00.000-08:00

I changed dad to "granddad" in this poem because I wanted to communicate age and make the poem more generic and timeless. However, as you can see in the picture, dad truly does ride the streets of Sac City.

The Lookout

Old men like to be of use.

Just having ready opinions

at Kathy’s Korner Café doesn’t satisfy.

So when granddad rides his bike

with us as we walk the streets

of Sac City, population 3000,

he’s our ever-vigilant lookout.

“Three cars on the left,” he calls.

Every corner, every road,

his eyes search the distance looking

for danger as we walk in the streets

of this three dog town. “Wait!”

Granddad spies a car turning

onto our street five blocks away.

Even walking, we benefit from mirrors,

huge glass reflectors on his handle bars.

He announces all traffic—coming, going,

of either lane. Not much happening

in this small Iowa town. But he rides

along with us, enjoying the breeze,

the crisp air, landscape and foliage,

and keeping his loved ones safe.

Loving Iowa

2010-11-09T12:15:00.000-08:00

Although I am a West Coast woman now, I have a big corner of my heart saved for Iowa.

I grew up in Storm Lake, Iowa, an agricultural community with about 10,000 people during the time I lived there. In the fifties, it was one of those little Mayberry communities with a wide, tree-lined main street right down to the gorgeous three mile wide lake. I attended one of the two high schools--St. Mary's, although I burned to know what life would be like at the big public high school several blocks away. The town was very different then: the little Presbyterian college had a smaller footprint, there was no racial diversity in this town that is now half Hispanic. Parks surrounded the lake which was full of bass, pike, catfish, bullheads, and crappies.

My childhood was happy there, so I am delighted when I get a chance to go to my first hometown. Storm Lake looks quite similar today. Despite the recession, there were few empty store fronts. We visited my old church, St. Mary's and were delighted in the beautiful remodeling. No confessionals in 2010, but there was a reconciliation room. We had lunch at King's Pointe, the new waterpark resort built on the lake by the public golf course. We all walked along the lake, visited my old college, and did a bit of shopping.

Sometime around 2004 Mom and Dad moved from Storm Lake to Sac City to live with my brother Mike and his wife Carol. It was safer and easier on dad who had been taking care of mom for some years. Mike had spent half his life on the road traveling to Storm Lake to check on the folks and do their errands; so in many ways it was easier for him as well.

Sac City is another small town of about 3000 based on agriculture. Today it seems like only senior citizens live there, and it is true that retired farmers move to their favorite small town after they leave their farms. There is only one grocery store, a cafe that never opens, a post office, drug store, dentist. Whereas this town is blessed to have a hospital and a good medical staff, many nearby towns don't have one. There are many main line churches; unfortunately the smaller and older congregations can barely keep their huge churches in decent repair.

Iowa's consolidation of schools has had a disastrous affect on these small communities. It is impossible to run a complete school system with their tax base. These communities are usually 5 to 10 miles apart, so the solution is to have one community provide the elementary school, another, like Sac City, provide the middle school, and yet another, like Lakeview, provide the high school. Many of the young families have decided to settle in the bigger towns, or they have decided to work in the big towns and live in a smaller community close by. Consequently, the small communities have lost many facilities. We drove about 15 miles to find a theatre that provided almost current movies. Lake City has a fine theatre run by volunteers. We saw a fine film for $2 a piece. The profits go into paying the heat, film rent, and keeping the theatre in good shape.

It is a good, quiet life. Each day we walked around town, often right down the middle of the street. There were few children and fewer cars. It was a great place for my 97 year old dad to ride his 3 wheeled bicycle. It was a great place to relax and enjoy a beautiful fall.

Koolatron Katastrophe

2010-09-21T10:49:00.000-07:00

The other evening our extended family had a big laugh on me. A great faux pas and a great story:

Chuck and I had planned a long car trip to the Midwest, so we bought a highly recommended 12 volt cooler so we would not be at the mercy of bad road side diners. Our initial trip with the cooler was to the Seattle area where we were going to see our son Will off for his mountaineering in the Rainier area. We had cooled and packed the cooler in our living room, and it was loaded. We had loaded in and out of our car several times and were very pleased. Will needed his own provisions for his climb, so he went shopping for climbing food.

At this point, I should divulge that our new cooler also doubles as a food warmer. I remember quickly reading the instructions and being very puzzled about the process of reversing the polarity so it would heat. (Maybe you know where this is going!)

We had a room at a lovely Victorian Inn between Ashford and Paradise lodge. We unloaded and moved into the little suite, and I quickly plugged in the cooler so we could get some dinner down the road. Will had me put in several package of cheeses and some packages of hot smoked salmon. Dinner was okay, and we returned to our room, read for awhile, and turned in early because it had been a long day.

The next morning at 6:30 AM Will came in holding a plastic package that dangled limply in his hand. It was his cheese. He pointed to the cooler. I opened the cooler and could practically feel steam. There were his two packages of hot, hot-smoked salmon. His cheese was melted and liquid in the cellophane. And everything we had in the "cooler" was cooked. Among the casualties:

An unopened package of Chinese barbecued pork
A package of dried prunes
A bag of peaches turned into peach soup.
A package of lettuce
A bottle of garlic vinaigrette
2 packages of lunch meat
3 packages of cheese
1 jar of pepper jelly
bottles of mustard and catsup
Several containers of yogurt
1 bottle of beer (almost too hot to touch)
1 bottled of Spanish sparkling wine with a very bent cork (I think that it was 5 minutes from blowing its top.)

Did I say it was a very big cooler?

Will desperately needed to replace his lost food for the climb which was about to start in an hour, so Chuck and I start out down the highway looking for backpacking food. We drove several miles before we were stopped by a herd of elk in the middle of the road. (How often does one find a herd of elk when actually looking for them? Never!) It was quite dark out so the camera back in the room probably wouldn't have gotten a good shot of this huge bull elk and his herd of girls anyway. Soon we were on our way. With persistence we were able to find some vacuum-packed tuna, some packages of cheese, some jerky, and some fruit leather.

Will accepted our peace offering, and started up the mountain. Back at the Inn, we cleaned out the cooler. We threw the whole mess into the dumpster. I closely examined the plug on the cooler. There was an arrow on one end of the plug, and a plug with a red side and a blue side on the other end. What were the odds that in plugging it in (about 4 times), each time until the 9th I had selected the lucky blue side. Unfortunately for all of us, the last time I had connected to the red or heat side.

I thought I could blame all of this on a manual written in Skri Lanka, but when I read it after I returned home, it was clear that I had been sloppy in my preparation. I can guarantee you it is a mistake I won't make again.

A Night At Zinzani's

2010-08-30T18:48:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the most exciting date Chuck and I have had in a decade was our evening at Zinzani's. We were to be guests of our friends the Dziekonskis, and would you believe it? We picked Seattle's busiest weekend--a Seafair parade and opera's opening night--all happening in the same area around 200 Mercer. Chuck and I decided to take the bus in from where we were staying in the Wallingford area, and so we spent several hours walking around the Seattle Center listening to bands and watching the fountain. That was an incredibly beautiful time right there, and Chuck was able to have a few deja vu moments watching the bands prepare for the parade.

At 6:30 we went over to Zinzani's where we gave them our name, then we were escorted to the Producer's booth where there were menus and plates waiting for us. We had a view of the entire restaurant, as well as the central area where trapeze acts were to be staged. They planned to serve a five course meal over three hours while performing continuous acts and music.

The food was delicious. Great salads, Chuck enjoyed a steak and I had halibut. Every meal that was served was a big production with the waiters dancing out with their dishes. When the entree was served, after they deposited the dishes, they danced around with the covers using them as cymbals. The cast was huge and professional. There was also an opera singer, a blues singer, a magician, trapeze performers, contortionists, and best of all--a great quartet that played through the three hour dinner. Tom was the violinist. We had no idea that he was a great jazz musician as well as a classical musician. There was a pianist, a percussionist, and a horn player--flute, clarinet, accordion (not exactly a horn.)

After this beautiful evening, we still had to get back to the Wallingford District. We accomplished that by catching the monorail into downtown Seattle. Then we caught the bus to Wallingford. The downtown was full of cops--mounted police, gang units--all dealing with problems left over from the parade. Pretty exciting for a couple of seniors used to being in bed by ten.

Fodder For My "To Do" List

2010-08-25T14:22:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I was making a skirt smaller in the waist when my 45 year old Sears Roebuck machine jammed up and refused to sew. As I pondered how I was going to get that heavy machine (it weighed between 30 pounds and 150 pounds--depending on how strong I felt when I moved it or dead-lifted it from my closet) to the repairman again. Luckily I took time to reflect if I would ever need that machine again. Being able to shorten Chuck's trousers, mend things, maybe do a bit of quilting--I decided it was time for a light machine. So shopping I went.

Replacing my old machine now living at Goodwill was not the cheap task I thought it would be. Several weeks later I still needed a machine. Chuck and I were in Portland visiting our children the Knopps when I discovered that my grandson Eric worked at the Montavilla Sewing and Vacuum store two blocks from their house. I accompanied Eric to work and discovered a very professional and well-equipped sewing department with twenty to thirty machines set up and ready to sew. Prior research had suggested that Janome made an excellent machine, so I was able to purchase an affordable machine with a needle-threader at an excellent discount. They were running an excellent sale--my good luck. I was so happy that I carried that machine the two blocks back to our children's home.

A few weeks later I was able to unpack it and complete a fun project. Note the table cloth in the upper right picture. I was able to make the table cloth (except for the applique which was done by my friend Barbara Kinsman) for our Britt picnic season. It is great to have a good machine, and I am thankful to the Montavilla Sewing center and Sarah for helping me find one. Although I don't want to totally blow Christmas, I will admit that I have projects for Christmas in the works.

Music Family

2010-08-23T18:27:00.000-07:00

Of the friends that move in and out of our lives, Chuck and I treasure the friendships of musicians--those people who have dedicated their lives to the humble life style that goes along with playing in major symphonies and music groups, teaching future musicians, and sharing their art with the world.

At the top are pictures of Tom and Virginia Dziekonski, musicians who were part of our family for years. Beside being top cello and violin players, they are also some of the brightest and most hilarious musicians we have ever known. When they joined us each summer our lives were filled with mosquito dives in our pool, midnight debates over Economist articles, music jokes, and crazy parties (I am thinking about the Nixon Vinaigrette party we had the year they played the Lincoln tribute.) The three weeks they lived with us were the highlight of our summer.

Lower right is Britt musician Lew Sligh, fantastic flautist and piccolo player. Lew joined our family for a few years during the summer Britt musical festival. May Zia, lower left, is another Britt musician who has been a friend eating and picnicking with us for years. We have watched her children grow and now start college.

Like so many friends who share our love of music, we connect with these dear souls when we can, but they will forever be a part of our family.

2010-08-22T15:05:00.000-07:00

A Symphony of Food

Summer blessings definitely include the time we spend on the Britt hill in Jacksonville picnicking with dear friends and music lovers. This has become one of my favorite rituals. After five to twenty emails we decide on our menu for an evening, then we all show up with our favorite dishes. We would wear the label of “foodies” proudly. Here are some of the summer dishes:

· Cioppino with clams, mussels, calamari, octopus, crab, shrimp, prawns & Alaska Pollock, over penne pasta

· white bean salad with sun-dried tomato vinaigrette and tri-tip

· Quinoa salad with roasted garlic dressing and chopped veggys

· mango sorbet with blueberry short-cake

· dolmas

· fruit salad

· barbecued pork

Obviously it is all we can do to avoid gaining a pound or two during symphony season. Foremost are the laughs we have as we talk about our week and share a few glasses of very good wine.

Since Chuck and I are now sitting on the handicap pad (Chuck's hearing is so bad that he can miss whole symphony movements if he isn't close) we now sit almost in the front row. Such closeness to the orchestra has involved me in the music unlike any concerts I have ever attended.

I wrote the following poem in an attempt to express how meaningful the experience was for me.

Evening Under The Stars

The chaos of tuning instruments

greets us as we take front seats.

Silence. The baton slices the air,

sforzando brass bellow, blowing

me back against my chair. Yes,

I can feel the orchestra. As the bass

drone menacingly, their strings buzz,

pulling me forward, tickling my ears.

As the bass bounce, viola and flute

sing melody and counter melody;

melodies wed, becoming gigantic

sound puzzles. Tympani

crescendos rock over me.

After the pop of drum, piccolo,

and horns, the violin bows ricochet,

their sweet pulses blending into the stars.

Sound

building, building, until

the music's purity fills my soul,

and my breath becomes a gasp.

There are no individuals here:

we are one with the song.

A pause

commanded by a measured rest.

A pause

filled by crickets singing to the stars.

The final chord

and I hold out my hands to catch the notes.

The Spice of Life

2010-08-19T15:25:00.000-07:00

There are many people who can eat oatmeal day after day, or read book after book by the same author, or walk the same neighborhood day after day. I am not one of them. Variety and surprise are my friends. I love to try new dishes when I cook, so thank God there are endless ways to cook quinoa. My son laughs at me because I often vary a recipe before I have even cooked it once.

So the monthly haircut has been a real bore lately. My beautician, Cheri Workman, is a genius with hair, so many times in our ten or twelve year relationship I have had her surprise me with something new and different. Back when I taught eighth grade, (been awhile, okay), she once shaved a lightning bolt on the back of my head. A fond memory. It was great time. Lately though, we have caved into my hair's personality. You know--its curliness, cowlicks, thick spots, thin spots. Today we played around with my hair. Using machines, straightening irons, product, we achieved the impossible! This naturally curly haired person has straight hair. Spiky straight hair.

I wore it to a church meeting tonight and gained lots of laughs. My husband Chuck was shocked and startled. I put the picture on Facebook and received a record number of comments--all favorable except for the friend who compared me to a dog with a spiky cut. Whatever the reactions, I have enjoyed having variety and humor in my life.

Me Bad

2010-08-06T15:09:00.000-07:00

The first Sunday of August is traditionally our family reunion day. It is a great time connecting to family and enjoying a picnic. Before I was diagnosed with diabetes, it was always a delightful meal of potato or pasta salad with delicious grilled turkey dogs. This year we tried to do without those delicacies, but at my request, Chuck's daughter Tami brought Lay's baked potato chips.

I love potato chips. The only time I eat them is at the family reunion. I haven't bought a bag in years. For the first time I read the label. One serving was nine chips. So, I laid out nine chips and thought I was strong enough to stop there. I ate eleven and a half. If the temptation is there, I will probably give in to it.

One of my good friends allows herself some chocolate sometimes. After 3 months of successful dieting and eating, I bought a bag of candy and tried having a piece now and then. That is definitely not my nature. If it is in the house, I will eat it. I have learned that if I have a dish that is left over and on my NO list, I will eat it. So I need to give it away before it enters the house.

A crisis situation provides a window into the true mettle of a person. My failure to control impulses could be a stumbling block to my desire to be healthy despite diabetes. Obviously I must trick myself--never bringing temptation into the house is my first line of defense.

Tornado or Flood?

2010-07-27T15:51:00.000-07:00

The other day while I was shopping at Wal-Mart, I received a call from my brother in Iowa. They were in the basement during a Tornado watch. It was an interesting conversation that brought back memories of Iowa's storm warnings--an all too common experience.

This Dark and Stormy Night

blackness replaces the shadows
that usually float on the west wall.
Pelting rain dents the aluminum
window shutters just before
clouds shoot hail onto the roof.

The blanket over my head
blocks out the alarm’s glow,
but not the high pitched wail
of the town’s emergency siren.
It’s a steady screech, warning
this Iowa town of flood,
and with tonight’s blast, a tornado.

We all grab our robes first,
then jeans and sweaters as
we head toward the basement.
We take special care with
granddad. He descends slowly,
testing step after step. Lights
flicker and dim. Darkness.

We grope our way to couches
in the ping pong room. Guarded
by the strongest basement walls,
we exchange lame jokes, stories
about last year’s storms, and compose
mental grocery lists. It’s four A.M.

When the all clear blows
an hour later, we help granddad
upstairs to the kitchen as the lights
sputter and shine. Scrambled eggs
and bacon anyone? We’ll collect
shingles and yard debris later.

Politics As Usual

2010-07-21T07:41:00.000-07:00

The unfortunate situation of Shirley Sherrod should be a lesson for journalists, politicians, and voters everywhere. Fox network showed an piece of a speech she gave to a NAACP meeting. Unfortunately the editing took words out of context, twisting them to show she had racial bias against whites rather than her message that race is not as important as empowering the poor and exploited. Shirley lost her job and her reputation was sullied because of that story, but the situation shows how sloppy our thought and research processes have become.

No one checked the story. No one talked with Shirley.

I could spend some time blaming Fox's editorial policy for this mistake, but it is only a small part of the problem. We are all at fault. I get innumerable political commentaries in emails. How many of them do I check? Just a few. We should all research and check ALL of the story facts all of the time. A overwhelming burden? True. The implication is that we should check the facts of stories with which we agree and those which we question. That is the only way we can be sure we know and understand what we are talking about. Educators have always taught critical thinking and good logic, but applying those skills in today's media market is not easy. When it is possible to Google a topic and get two million references, the need to check facts seems daunting. Journalists have the responsibility to do this, however, and no one reporting on Shirley's speech should have done so without watching the entire speech.

Our technological advances are a waste if we don't use them.

Someday we should also address those people who gain political advantage by twisting their opponents' statements. No President or politican is safe from this contemporary strategy. Personally, I hope there is a special corner in Hell for such political liars.

Birthday Number 70

2010-06-22T16:00:00.000-07:00

I haven't spent a second deciding what I would do or be in my 70th year, but that birthday arrived just the same on June 18. There is something formidable about those birthdays ending in 0. Expectations. The work, transitions of retirement, my first poetry book, all are part of a past decade. Gone. Forgotten.

Seventy could be the beginning of old age. On the other hand, each day we are all older than the day before. Reflecting on age, I believe we are as old as we allow ourselves to be. With plenty of exercise, good food, and lots of interesting projects, the seventies should resemble the sixties and the eighties. Perhaps just a bit more relaxed.

Thank God for good friends and soul sisters. I have been fortunate to belong to several writing groups. My poetry group had a fantastic birthday party for me at our last meeting. Below, a poem written for me fills me with hope and encourages me to go boldly into the next decade. I thought today that if I were to have an eightieth birthday party, it should be poems and readings--wisdom for the next decade.

A Toast to Maryann

First, forget everything you’ve learned
about turning 70,
about black sheep and cracked pots.

Just say “yes” to the glorious anatomy of a simile,
drawing friends as little circles of overlapping similarities.

Together, we drink from the delicate soup of your whimsy,
served with a sly wink,
savoring the morsels that nourish our being.

A toast to you, Maryann;
to the cook who follows no recipe,
but throwing mysterious spices into the pot
somehow transforms everyday ingredients, and
serves up such tasty, unexpected delights
to us, your hungry guests.

Suzanne Frey
June, 2010

Here is a poem written by another dear friend. Very clever:

Wow! With Today's birthday, Maryann becomes seventy.
Now some would say, these are years a-plenty,
But I say, "No," she deserves much more.
She should still brighten this world at one hundred-four.

Alan Axtell. (I hope he is right!)

Whacked

2010-06-22T15:53:00.000-07:00

A gorgeous trumpet vine
winds around my front door,
dropping bell-shaped blossoms
on my door step. Everyday
I sweep their dead brown bodies
into a tan grocery bag, then
perform ritual dumpster burial.

Encouraged by persistent
spring showers, the vine
multiplied madly, sending
tendrils into gutters and cracks,
aspiring to the roof and skies,
snaking into the boxwood bushes,
and whacking my forehead
when I leave my home.

There are boundaries, you know.
Mr. Trumpet vine’s arrogance
begs a lesson. He must learn
his place. Armed with clippers,
tentatively a snip here,
cautiously a cut there,
until left balances right:
trim becomes prune and shape.

Today the green vine twines
round my door-—smaller,
decorous, and well-behaved.
Golden bright flowers
dazzling like sunshine gone.

Anomaly

2010-06-22T15:48:00.000-07:00

She doesn’t understand me.
She claims I am different,
unlike any of their friends or relatives.
The cracked pot on the shelf.
The black sheep in the field.
The inexplicable picture on the wall.

Shy and introverted,
I had few friends in school.
The smart kid. The lonely kid.
The thinking “outside the box” kid.
Even mother complained
I wasn’t normal like the other girls.
She said her friends told her that.

There must be a right way
and a wrong way to think.
The perfect answer to life’s
questions and problems.
My replies are never
the anticipated response.
“That’s a joke, right?”
“Are you serious?”
“Hmm.”

Despite rejection, disconnected
images and thoughts still rush past,
too rapid and numerous to sort
into “acceptable,” “questionable,”
and “more honesty then they need.
Some details are too poetic to speak.
How distressing I risk disgrace
if I share what my soul knows.

Asheville to the Smoky Mountains

2010-04-27T18:29:00.000-07:00

Asheville is a charming mountain town that reminds me of my home in Ashland. In the foothills of the Appalachian mountains (also called the Blue Ridge Mountains) the Cherokee were the first settlers until some adventurers from the Morristown settlement wandered over in about 1797. This was largely tobacco growing country until George Vanderbuilt decided to build a home on 8000 acres of his property in 1889. After the Biltmore became a destination for the rich and famous with its 250 rooms, the Grove Inn was built. Since Obama was vacationing there while we were in the Comfort Inn, I'd say that the Grove still has its appeal.

After we arrived in town, we parked the car and took a walk past the 1930's art decco city hall, the theatre where Charlton Heston directed a play as a young man, the boarding house of Thomas Wolfe's mom where Wolfe spent his youth. I decided to put one of his novels on my reading list because it had been years since I had read You Can't Go Home Again. (He did write about Asheville, and the fact he tried to disguise the name in his unflattering accounts has not kept Asheville from memorializing him.

After Asheville, we traveled toward the Smokies. We kept thinking that we would outrun the resorts and hotels, but since Asheville and the Smokies are so beautiful, the whole area has been commercialized. We stopped in Cherokee, a small community that houses a museum of that Indian nation, and enjoyed the exhibits. Then we stopped at the native craft store across the street. There were beautiful displays of artists and their work as well as valuable baskets and ware for sale. We moved on and drove as far into the Smokies as it deemed prudent considering the time we needed to drive back to Atlanta. It was a rainy day, and much of the mountain range was in fog. So we headed “home.”

This trip has been an interesting window into the Southeast. Despite the fact I was sick with allergies most of the time, I really enjoyed talking to the southerners and studying their history. If we ever get a chance to go back, I definitely want to spend more time in west North Carolina. It is a gorgeous place.

We are home now after driving 3600 miles. We had some beautiful moments with great new and old friends. We were greated by chilling weather and snow on the mountain.

3000 Miles Of Food

2010-04-23T11:48:00.000-07:00

Travelers need to eat. We have done very well in that category. Most of the food was inexpensive, There were good meals and there were horrid meals. Sometimes the need to feed a diabetic husband got in the way of an intelligent choice.

Horrid

TGI Fridays was one of the worst places for a senior citizen (and perhaps anyone else) to stop. We were in the Keys and well past time to eat. There was no senior menu, so we decided to split a meal. We selected the steak, shrimp combo, and I had a extra side salad. The salad was small, the steak was pre-salted with tons of butter and sodium. The steak was overcooked. Even the shrimp were salted. The restaurant may have a good bar, but it had little else that pleased us.

Pretty Darn Good

In Montgomery, Alabama, we stopped at Lek's Railroad Thai. The food was fresh, with crunchy veggys, tasty sauces, for a very reasonable price.

Georgia had several very inexpensive and delicious restaurants: The Bamboo Curtain was a small take out restaurant with several tables. The best $6 meal around. Then we really hit the jackpot at Kikko' Asian Buffet. We normally don't do buffets, but this one was $6, so we felt we wouldn't lose money. There were over 100 items of delicious and well-prepared food. My meal included salmon, barbecued chicken, a great salad with apples and cucumbers. Great eats in Savannah, but we didn't gain 20 lbs eating Paula Dean's special dishes or spend a fortune doing it.

In Atlanta we found the Landmark Diner. Known for its incredible cakes, it also served very generous portions of pot roast or leg of lamb. Chuck and I would split a dinner and even enjoyed a slice of caramel mouse cake.

Somewhere in North Carolina we found Melvin's Barbecue. Barbecue is a big specialty in the south, so we tried this restaurant that had both eat in service and a drive up window. (And heavenly smells.) We ordered pork platters, but I had a side of fried okra. I couldn't imagine what fried okra would taste like, so I was surprised to find that it was pieces of okra, breaded, and deep fried. Very sinful, but very tasty.

When we were at the Keys in Florida, I received a recommendation from a guy at a gas station who just happened to be a chef. He suggested the Conch House, so we followed his directions to a little restaurant in a house hidden in the trees. Our meal was fish tacos with yellowtail fish, and homemade chips. Perhaps the best part was their homemade key lime pie. Excellent flavor.

Best Ambiance

We took Waldie and Carolyn to their choice of restaurants. It was a seafood restaurant on the gulf that they used to enjoy a lot before a hurricane had taken it out. The new Angelo's still had a wonderful view of the bridge and gulf, and even better seafood. Since the restaurant had its own fishing boats, they had very fresh fish, and it was beautifully prepared. Chuck and I shared a stuffed grouper, and savored the incredible sauce and the scallop and shrimp stuffing.

Perhaps the best part of the trip was returning home feeling well-fed, but not over-fed.

The Browns

2010-04-23T04:49:00.000-07:00

My husband Chuck has friends--Bill and Mary Brown-- he taught with in Sitka, Alaska, way back in the early 50's. After he and the Browns left Alaska, they kept their friendship alive by visiting each other and sharing good times. The Browns would drive to Hoquiam, and both families would enjoy clam digging and the ocean beaches. The Chuck would drive his family to California, and they would enjoy Disneyland and life in a sunny place less rainy than Washington.

Now 60 years later they are having a joyful reunion here in Wake Forest where Bill and Mary live with their children Pastor Scott Brown, his wife Deborah, and their beautiful children. Their home is an apartment in an immense barn with rooms around the eaves of the great room. There is a huge stone fireplace which was constructed from the stones of an old abandoned house on Scott's 120 acres. There are three natural ponds on the land, a few pastured cows, and stands of timber on the rolling hills. We have enjoyed a church picnic, complete with softball, ultimate frisbee, and volleyball. Sunday morning we all worshiped at Hope Baptist Church which meets at Tuxedo Junction, a Wake Forest ballroom. After many memories, laughs, and some prayer time, we are off to the Smokey Mountains.

Charleston and North

2010-04-21T18:08:00.000-07:00

Charleston is just a hop and jump north of Savannah. We dropped off the freeway at the Visitor Center in Charleston only to find the parking lot was full. My hero, Chuck the incredible driver, parallel parked on a side street for free. There was only an inch or so on each bumper, plus it had to be the only free place in the city. We snagged a good map at the visitor's center and decided to walk what looked like a short ways to the Battery, a park on the bay. We walked about four blocks admiring large buildings, old buildings, when Maryann struck up a conversation with a city cop who was heading the same direction. We were at the Four Corners of Law. He pointed out the Federal building, the State building, a church (God's law), and the city hall we were standing by, each on a corner. This incredibly generous man proceeded to give us a tour of the newly renovated building. The main council room was restored to what it was in the 1700's, complete with the school desk-like tables. The art in the room was noteable with paintings of Andrew Jackson, John Calhoun, and an 8 million dollar painting of George Washington. The focus of the room was the painting of Washington, but this was the second painting of Washington by that artist. Washington had visited Charleston and posed for the artist who painted a nice likeness in front of a horse whose head was over his right shoulder. Unfortunately Washington didn't like the painting, so the artist painted a second one which is the one hanging in the council chambers. This painting of Washington is just like the first except for the horse. In this painting, the horse's rear is over his shoulder, and the tail is up. Well, you get the artist's message.

Then we started toward the bay again, walking past beautiful Charleston mansions. Meeting Street smelled of horse urine because of all the horse drawn tour wagons, but other than that, it was a beautiful walk past huge homes with balconies on the sides—either the West or South to take advantage of shade. By the time we reached the bay and a view of Fort Sumpter—that three story fort in the middle of the bay, we were really bushed. We looked for bus stops, only to find there weren't any. (We found out later that the bus stops had been changed, but our old map from the visitor's center had not.) So we hired a bike taxi to take us back to our car. Wise investment.

We drove through Myrtle Beach on our way to Wilmington, NC. So many expensive restaurants, so many golf courses. My brother would have loved it.

Savannah

2010-04-20T17:05:00.000-07:00

We expected to love Savannah, but we had no idea how different it would be from St. Augustine just a few miles away. I knew the homes would be big and grand, but I had no idea they would be three story giants that are more like banks or libraries. Of course not all homes were mansions, but three story row homes lined up next to the more stately homes. We arrived in Savannah on Bay Street and parked in front of what used to be the famous cotton exchange which helped make Savannah's rail and commercial success. We walked along the river and imagined the ships coming in full of bricks for ballast, unload, and then leave with bales of cotton. Those old bricks are now worth about $6. a piece. Then we drove the historic district, taking note of the charming squares (24 in all) that occur every few blocks. The squares have fountains, or statues in memory of founders like Olglethorpe. We parked the car and walked in Forsyth Park, stopping to admire the fountain. The live oaks and the Spanish Moss made beautiful canopy walkways.

The Savannah History center pesented an excellent film on important points in Savannah history. Their displays were excellent too. It was interesting to me that the Indians in this area built circular homes with thatched grass roofs. There were odd displays, like Forest Gump's bench. Chuck was taken with the World War II display and the items---mess kit, mirror, M1 carbine, M1 rifle—which were once part of his life and are now a history exhibit. Chuck discovered he couldn't remember his rifle number anymore, a number he had blazoned in his memory for years.

Our best adventure was our morning at Fort Pulaski on the island of Cockspur. Fort Pulaski was built by the Union, occupied by the Confederates after Georgia succeeded, then a part of the Union conquests when Olmstead surrendered after the rifled canons blew a wall to smitherines. The Union mainly used the fort as a prison for 600 Confederate officers. The moat was interesting because it was tidal. The 7 ft deep water could be added or flushed out with adjustable gates. The human sewage of the fort drained into the moat, so it was really one big comode. It was Robert E Lee's first job design the drainage system for the island. The entire fort—which took 18 years and a million dollars to build—had fascinating brickwork and structure.

It was a great visit, and it is onward to Charleston.

St. Augustine

2010-04-19T17:46:00.000-07:00

St. Augustine is steeped in history: at age 444 it has the longest history of any city in the United States. It was founded September 8, 1565, and named for the saint whose feast was that day. Under the control of Spain the settlement grew on this land that was first discovered by Ponce de Leon. In order to protect his settlement, Admiral Menendez had to fight off the French, Sir Francis Drake, hurricanes, fire, the British, piracy, and illegal trade. After control passed back and forth between countries, St. Augustine finally became part of the United States in 1821.

We were very fortunate to have E & B hosts there, but outside of town a few miles in the International World of Golf. This was a very interesting place where there is a big golf museum, streets dedicated to golfers, some retail stores dedicated specifically to golfers, and several world class golf courses, including Saw Grass. Our new friends Bill and Anita lived in a development close but not attached to the golf complex, for they were sailors, not golfers. Their home was built along a decorative lake and had a nice view out their family room. Their home still had that “new-just-built” smell, and better yet, a guest room with a new bed and its own bathroom. We slept like the weary travelers we were. We really enjoyed Bill and Anita as well as a dinner with them at a very fashionable and excellent restaurant on the bay.

Our visit of the historic town included most of the first buildings in the country. First we visited the Castill0 de San Marcos, an early fortress started in 1739 for defense. More than once the settlement hid behind the walls made of coquina, a soft limestone which contains pieces of shells and coral fragments. We saw a small wooden building built in the 1750's which is probably one of the oldest school buildings.

In addition to the first settlement artifacts, there are fantastic remains from the Henry Flagler era.

Flagler was a partner with Rockefeller in Standard Oil who looked for a warm winter resort for an ailing wife. (He had several wives.) After falling in love with the St. Augustine area, he built a beautiful hotel there, added a railroad, invited all his rich New York friends to spend a season there, and then added other hotels, churches, and services. The Ponce de Leon Hotel has beautiful Tiffany windows, Tiffany chandeliers, and beautiful carved woodwork. He later built the Alcazar Hotel, which had a 19^th century spa in it and a huge pool the size of a gym with a floating platform for a band to entertain diners on the surrounding decks. In 1948 Otto Lightner, publisher of Hobbies magazine, bought the building and turned it into a museum of his collections of collections. We enjoyed displays of Tiffany windows and glass, cigar wrappers, purses, toasters, as well as other objects. Then we visited the Cathedral and Basilica of St. Augustine built in 1887. All in all, it was a delightful visit to a town crammed with tourists and clanging tourist trains.

2010-04-16T17:58:00.000-07:00

GPS = Goofy Pickey Service

We have had such a love-hate relationship with our Garmin GPS. Only 2 days into our New England trip, “maggie”--that's the name we gave the unit's voice—stopped talking to us, the car drove in circles, and signs flashed that it had lost its satellites. Busted. And we were on the New Jeresey Turnpike.

We have had much better luck with the replacement unit. Until today. Today our unit suddenly lost its voice. We had to pay special attention to every word at the top of the screen. Later we checked the settings, only to discover the voice was “not available.” Admitedly the car is more peaceful without that GPS nagging us. However, the vocal directions did preview turns and we needed that feature.

Later.......

A bit down the road we turned on the unit again, and, happily enough, the voice was back. This time, however, the voice was Africanus. Sounded like German (or Greek) to me. Anyway, after going back to the settings and changing the Voice to English, Maggie was back.

It is interesting how the unit cannot find certain addresses. It sent us on a route to our host in Miami that left us on a street that did not connect to her apartment. It is a flawed system, but definitely better than not having one.

The Other 5 Percent

Today we drove into the Bal Harbour Mall and discovered how the very wealthy live. Parking was $4 an hour UNLESS the ticket was validated by a purchase. Didn't sound that hard. However, the shops were Versasce, Neiman-Marcus, Saks 5^th Avenue, and other upscale stores. All of the stores had a small stock artfully and tastefully displayed and couches and arm chairs for the shoppers. In contrast to the Aventura Mall there was no loud rock music or screeching golf carts transporting disabled shoppers. It was quiet, classy with koi filled pools and waterfalls. The one restaurant was definitely in the $$ category, and so we were not going to validate our parking by a $15 sandwich. Chuck scored by buying a cup of tea while I “shopped” in Saks. Saks was more approachable because it had many departments and I would be slightly more invisible. Interesting. No price tags showing: I would have to pick up an item and search. I found a pair of cork, wedgie thongs for $390 that were shoes I might wear in Medford. Most of the clothes I saw (and couldn't afford) I wouldn't be comfortable flaunting back in Oregon.

The best of Miami Beach

Our best times were the long walk along the beach in front of the exclusive highrise condos and hotels. In the metro area, we found a mall-like street called Lincoln Road that was a great place to grab a chair and people watch. Chuck especially enjoyed the beautiful women of all colors who seemed to be in a competition to see how much cleavage they could show. On our way to the 17^th street garage, we stopped at a bar and had a beer in their outside patio. A perfect end to a day in Miami.

Miami and Beyond

2010-04-15T18:03:00.000-07:00

Driving across the Everglades on I-75, I wondered how early visitors traveled this route. The water table is so high I can't imagine anything besides boats. But since the population is mostly on the shores, people probably settled on the coast and moved inland slowly. The Miami suburban area was not impressive at first, but hopefully we will see some 'drop dead” views later.

Our most enjoyable time is this area has been Key West. The Keys are an interesting drive, although there were no alligators or deer on the road as advertised. And, at 45mph, the 165 miles felt more like 500 miles. Each little community has its own shops and businesses. Dive shops define Key Largo, T-shirt shops Marathon, and Bars and B & B's are all over Old Town Key West. All around, lapping at this civilization which is only 5 feet or so able sea level, is the most magnificent and undescribable blue water I have ever seen. Sadly no picture could do it justice. The locals explained that the light blue-green water is not the normal color, but that the 20 mph winds had stirred up the water adding more of a milky consistency to it.

Hemingway's home is a typical structure for a home: two stories with big windows (many patio-like doors in the living room), formal dining room, three bedrooms upsstairs. There was also a bath upstairs because there was a huge tank of water above the bathroom, supported by two huge beams. The master bedroom was large for the time—a king composed of two twins tied together and a huge gate for a headboard. His writing office behind the house was above a garage or pool house. Probably not the coolest building in the complex, but the office was large and very private.

And cats ruled. Supposedly there are 45 cats on the premise. There was a “cat house” that housed maybe 15 or 20 cats. At feeding time a gentleman ran around distributing canned food on paper plates.

Chuck and I laughed at the urinal from Sloppy Joe's that Hemingway turned into a drinking fountain for his cats.

After a little rest Chuck and I decided to “do the town.” We drove around the island, looking at sights like the Key West White House where Truman, Kennedy, and Eisenhower stayed. Finally we found a place to park in old town that didn't cost $20, (yea—it was free) and walked over to Duval street where most of the tourists were spending their money. Of course, first stop was Sloppy Joe's where Hemingway used to hang out. I can't imagine that he would like it now—very loud music, Biker crowd. Definitely not a “Clean Well Lighted Place.” We walked up and down the street, enjoyed the tourists, the shops we didn't enter, and examined the bars for a good place for drinks and a snack. Finally we went to Fogarties and their bar the Flying Monkeys. We sat outside under the trees and enjoyed a seafood platter and drinks. A perfect evening.

The Homossasa Springs Wildlife State Park

2010-04-12T18:07:00.000-07:00

We stopped at a seafood diner in Crystal Creek, Florida, and they suggested a stop at Homossasa Park. It sounded like a great place to take a walk, and I had a burning desire to see a manatee or two, so we stopped for a visit. It was not disappointing. The ranger gave a brief lecture on the manatees, and they showed up--those 2000 lb cows--to eat their lettuce. We were so close to the birds and animals. I discovered hippos have hair on their ears. Huge turtles, bigger alligators. From an underwater observatory, we saw lots of fish down at the center of the springs. All in all, it was a gorgeous walk through Florida foliage and wildlife.

Tallahassee

2010-04-11T09:03:00.000-07:00

For Chuck it is possible to have a great reunion with a college roommate. That has brought us to Tallahassee, Florida, and a warmer climate this time of year than Oregon. It has been a pleasure to see the great joy and comradeship the two of them have as they share their musical experiences. A record comes out, we all listen to the bassoon or the oratorio. Great times. I have never had the experience of having a college roommate. My first roommate was Nancy Harvey, a fellow new teacher in Racine, WI. I can't remember how we were put together, but we ended up renting a small two bedroom apartment for our first years with the Racine school system. She taught me how much work it was to be an elementary school teacher--a very valuable lesson for later in life when I would negotiate benefits for a group with whom I had never been a fellow member. She has taught me how valuable these friendships are, so coming to Florida to see Waldie and Carolyn was a must.

Last night Chuck and Waldie went to an outdoor "Pops" concert of Florida State University. Waldie's wife, Carolyn Bridger was playing the electric piano on numbers that were all about moonlight and the stars. I stayed home because I discovered the high pollen count in Florida and Georgia this time of year is a big allergy experience for me. I haven't had allergies like this since I was in high school. However, this time I have asthma, so it is that much worse. By last night, I just wanted to sulk on the couch and blow my nose all by myself.

A highlight of the trip was our Sunday trip to Wakulla Springs for a river cruise and then an elegant dinner. I couldn't believe a swimming hole just feet away from where the alligators bask in the sun. Wouldn't get me dipping a toe in that water. We saw huge turtles and alligators sharing the same log, egrets and other local birds, It was a beautiful cruise, followed by a dinner at Angelo and Son's in Panacea, Florida, on the mouth of the Chatahoochie River and the Gulf. This is a restaurant that had to rebuild after it was destroyed by Hurricane Dennis in 2005. So we visited the rebuilt, remodeled version that was a very beautiful restaurant. We had grouper stuffed with shrimp and scallops and various seafood, with salad and hush puppies. One of my very best meals.

Tomorrow it is off to St. Petersburg.

Pensacola

2010-04-08T16:56:00.000-07:00

After a long drive through a rainy Alabama, we have arrived to sunshine, a soft bed, and an evening snack.

Leaving Atlanta was not easy because we missed a ramp to I-85. So we stopped to ask questions at a gas station. A white gentleman behind the counter gave us directions, but he had his mouth full of food—it looked like he was chewing some of the south's famous chicken—so we asked a black gentleman outside the station. He gave us good directions, but when we started to mess up and take the wrong exit, he honked from the other lane and led to the correct lane. So we kept driving along the freeway, trying to get a sense of what lie beyond. Of course that didn't work, so we drove into downtown Montgomery and took a brief historic tour.

We began at the Montgomery Visitor's Center which used to be the Union Station. Chuck was famished so we ate at a fantastic Thai restaurant that was a part of the station. Then we boarded a touring trolley which drove us to some of the most important sites of the First White House of the Confederacy, the Dexter Baptist Church where Martin Luther King, Jr. was pastor, his home, and the Alabama State Capitol where he tried to end his Freedom March from Selma. There were other important buildings, and we enjoyed a break from the car. After our tour it was back into our Nissan Versa and on to Pensacola.

2010-04-08T16:55:00.000-07:00

After a long drive through a rainy Alabama, we have arrived to sunshine, a soft bed, and an evening snack.

Transitions

2010-04-05T15:12:00.000-07:00

Some transitions are easier than others.

For 68 years Chuck has been a concert musician. His passion for music has been unquenchable. He plays in a concert band for professional musicians that he helped start a few years ago. Realizing that good musicians need to keep their edge, he practices daily and diligently. He plays a bass clarinet now. Because it sits on the floor, it is the perfect instrument to rest on the floor and take pressure off his arthritic fingers.

The band fellowship means so much to him. He really enjoys the men and women who love the same craft, who get that thrill when they are rhythmically and harmonically in sync. Concerts have been an important part of his life, and we have planned vacations and events around his rehearsal schedule.

Going back to his days as a high school band director, he directed in front of the drum line. Things haven't changed much. He still sits in from of the drums at rehearsal and concerts. Proximity to the drums and loud brass have taken their toll over the years. He has lost most of his hearing. Tragically, that which he loves the most is also destroying his hearing.

So last night he told his current director that this would be his last season playing. He has been fighting this decision, but he really wants to retain what little hearing he has left. Of course he will continue to play in the Ashland City band. The rehearsal room is better, and the concerts are out of doors, so the sound doesn't hit his ear drums with quite the intensity.

We have been going to concerts for so many years now. Of course we will continue, but it will be different for him to just be audience-- a different road on the journey of life.

Quilts and More Quilts

2010-04-03T16:54:00.000-07:00

As I have blogged before, I love quilts. One of my treasures is the quilt Grandmother Nitzke made for me. Fortunately, the art of quilting is still constant in my family. Not me, sadly. I go crazy over the patterns, the fabric, but have not had the discipline to try this exacting craft. Pictured above are two of my sister-in-law Carol's projects. Both are going to make up into beautiful quilts. I really appreciated how Carol would slip into the sewing room for a half-hour and assemble two or three little pieces. Quilting definitely lends itself to that persistent "little work here, little work later" effort.

My Brother, The Bowling Alley Cook

2010-04-03T16:42:00.000-07:00

My sister-in-law Carol's son Chris and Nancy moved back to Sac City and purchased the town's (population 3,500) only bowling alley. When my brother retired, he agreed to work there in what I now call, "the family business." Chris and Nancy are an impressive couple in their 20's with a very professional approach to their business. So Mike's role has been to cook and serve up the yummy beef tenderloin sandwiches, the huge burgers and sloppy Joes, and what serves as a great all purpose bar and grill. Surely he didn't imagine this job when he was thinking of retirement. He's an outdoors kind of guy. But part time jobs are hard to find these days and he is enjoying it.

His cooking doesn't stop at the bowling alley. He fires up his smoker and prepares meals like French onion soup with smoked onions, incredible smoked ham, and other dishes. He subscribes to Food and Wine and other cooking magazines. I have to say, I really enjoyed the fruits of his hobby.

You Can Go Home Again. Iowa. March 23, 2010

2010-03-30T13:24:00.000-07:00

But it will be different.

I haven't been back to Iowa since 2007, so naturally I expected some change. For one thing I had heard stories about a big developer who changed Storm Lake's shoreline by taking out an older, unprofitable restaurant, and replacing it with a hotel, waterpark, and some other frills. I expected to hate it, but it is actually less obtrusive than I had thought. The development includes some nice landscaping and park areas. The whole area looks modern and more economically healthy than before. Although there were a few closures, their business district looked healthy. I think the Midwest is making an economic comeback before the West coast.

Family

When I moved to the West Coast I left my immediate family behind. There is a great loss when family is unavailable for Christmas, Easter, birthdays and celebrations. I believe these are the essence of life and it is sad that I have had to give these up. Every holiday I feel this loss. So traveling with dad back to our home territory puts me on home ground, despite the fact the homes I lived in in Storm Lake are housing strangers, despite the fact my family's home base is Sac City instead of Storm Lake, it is still home. In the picture on the left above, Mike and Carol cook dinner.
Family is not territory. It is being welcomed and loved despite who you are and what you have become.

Health Care For More

2010-03-24T05:33:00.000-07:00

As an independent with nine grandchildren, I have had difficulty during this long season of health care debate. It has not brought out the best of the human condition--Republican, Democrat, or Tea Party variety. Spitting, racial epithets, humiliation of patients who talked about lack of care---these are frightening examples of our right to free expression.
With the insurance and health care industry spending more than $1.4 million dollars a day in a media war based and lies and misinformation, it is no wonder that a greater portion of our population did not want reform. It took that campaign and the 350 former governors and retired political staffers to convince people with no insurance that it was in their best interests to be rejected by insurance companies for pre-existing conditions, to be dumped because they were too sick or had a limit on their care, to have no insurance for their 24 year old living at home, to lose their homes because of their need to pay medical bills.
I have family and former students who fear health care solutions, but most of them have insurance. Most of those complaining have no worries for their personal health care. Their concern is for government debt and taxes. With the Republican prescription drug plan running $1.2 trillion for the current decade, there is a certain amount of hypocracy in those objections. Obama and the Democrats have risked their political futures to gain some small measure of equality for the underclass and unlucky. True, many of these people have poor diets, poor spending habits, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't get their diabetes diagnosed, or get their children's asthma treated.
In this instance a courageous President and 219 Democrats fought to bring some reform to what many Republicans acknowledge was a broken system. Hopefully it is just the beginning of reform and the weak and flawed bill will grow into a system that will not bankrupt our country, but will merely entitle US citizens to the same health care as the other major powers of the world.

2010-01-19T17:12:00.000-08:00

Three Generations

My son Will hates that I blog---not that he will admit ever reading it. Our visit to him in San Antonio was a great adventure and a good reunion. We were amazed that his apartment was in such good order because he had moved the day before we arrived. But he had his kitchen, cook books, practically the whole house unpacked and ship-shape. He took us to his office (upper left) and took some time off to "hang" with us. A lot of his efforts were spent cooking us fabulous meals. It would be hard to pick a favorite from his asparagus risotto, chicken roulades, boneless short ribs cooked with Guinness and prunes, along with his mashed potatoes with heavy cream. It was all great.
In the picture above, Will demonstrates a traditional Japanese stringed instrument, the sanshinn. He was lucky enough to find a good teacher in Okinawa, and developed a love of the instrument. Will took us to several great restaurants --P F. Chang's and Canyon Creek. We had great lemon grass chicken at Chang's and Dad was complimented with a Happy 97th Birthday Key Lime pie at Canyon Creek. Both places had great service and tasty food.

A highlight of the week was our Riverwalk Cruise around the San Antonio River Downtown Saturday. Will entertained us with a ride on the only day of week we had sunshine. After days of rain everyone, including vendors, was out on the walk. It was a great way to spend an hour, and dad--who hadn't been in a boat for a few years--enjoyed it immensely. It was a good day for 3 generations.

Many Views of the Alamo

2010-01-16T17:21:00.000-08:00

Visiting The Alamo

Several years ago Chuck and I visited the Alamo. The visitor's center had a poorly interpreted display, largely featuring Bowie knives. We were delighted to see that they had added a new display and film in one of the wings. The Bowie knives are still in the visitor center (along with countless tourist trinkets)but the new display has great time lines and some well interpreted artifacts. We went to the Alamo after seeing the story on the IMAX screen.

I talked to the new historian at the Alamo. He was pleased with how the display had turned out and the efforts of the Daughter of the American Republic of Texas to improve the Alamo experience. It was a perfect experience on a rainy day. My favorite part of the Alamo is the Live Oak pictured above. I love that variety of oak and could photograph every one of those beautiful trees. (Unfortunately they would all look like the one above.) LBJ had a tree just like that in his front yard overlooking the river. He used to meet with his cabinet under its branches.

San Antonio---I can barely see you

2010-01-15T10:23:00.000-08:00

January 15: Visiting Will and the LBJ Ranch in Texas

Every once in awhile we get the itch to see our son Will. Or Paul. We called him that for about 20 years before he took the first part of his name instead. Of course that required a visit to San Antonio, Texas, where he now lives. It also seemed like a great lark to fly to Texas with my 97 year old dad. He's alert, likes to travel, and put down the dollars, so we were on our way.
When I think of flying, I discovered that dad flies easily, but getting the wheel chair, lugging and stowing away my luggage and dad's luggage, the coats, etc. is a pretty tiring process. Anyway, we arrived here all together, with all of our luggage. A good thing.

We had three days at a Wyndham vacation resort on the Riverwalk. It was a great deal smaller than other resorts we had visited, had no on site parking, no wheelchairs to loan, a stove burner that required maintenance, Internet with "weak connectivity" (that means it never worked), and a sleep sofa that I wouldn't have taken home from the store. But the people were friendly and helpful and we were comfortable enough.

Chuck and I have spent a bit of time in San Antonio, and found it still had some surprises for us. First, the San Antonio Riverwalk is drained every year in January, dredged, cleaned and maintained. We arrived just as that process finished. They had restored the river, but because of the severe weather forecasts, the cruise boats were on "standby." (A lot of the storekeepers admitted that these vendors seldom run their boats in the rain.) At any rate we were not able to get dad his boat ride.

We did do several things that he enjoyed. Dad is kind of a Western fan. He loves to watch reruns of Bonanza and Gunsmoke, and if I give him a supply of large print Westerns, he'll read one a day. Dad's first question when we flew into Texas was, "Okay, where are the cowboys and horses?" So we drove up to Johnson City, and took him through LBJ's raanch. We hadn't visited there since we came this way to visit our friends Bill and Mary Brown in Fredericksburg, and found that after Ladybird Johnson passed away, they made some big changes to the property. There is a brand new visitor's center. We saw the film and looked at the exhibits. There was no mention of his great contribution in getting the Headstart program. It was still a nice exhibit. The little bus tour across the waterbridge was gone. Instead we were provided with a CD to put in the car for the tour around the ranch. Two new additions were very interesting to Chuck and me: there was a living history ranch, and it is now possible to tour the LBJ ranch.

Dad loved the living history ranch pictured above. The docent-cook had just finished cooking lunch. Every year they can produce grown on the ranch, and the shelves of the kitchen were full of canned vegetables, meat, and fruit. There was a separator, cream clotting, a wood stove, lots of antique gadgets. Dad wanted to talk about them all We toured the homes and the barns. Yesterday a sow had piglets, so she was over in a far safe corner. The wild turkeys and the roosters didn't pay us any mind. After a car tour, we ended at the ranger led tour of the house. LBJ's office was first--huge--with room for several secretaries. LBJ loved to watch the news on 3 different televisions at once. There was a set in his office, and a set in his living room. The furniture is small by today's standards, and for a 6'4" President, but looked comfy to me. The dining room had landscape wallpaper; however, Ladybird did not want any cowboy and Indian scenes. The kitchen was huge. So we saw part of the 8000 sq ft. home. My favorite part was the huge porch and the rockers viewing the Pertonales River and the huge Live Oak in the front yard.
It rained on our way back to Will's, but it was a good day.

Avatar

2009-12-19T12:48:00.000-08:00

It isn't often that I am moved to write about a film, but Avatar was one of the best films I have seen in ages.
The film is set in the future--perhaps the 2050's--and although it isn't clear at first, Earth has been ravaged and exploited. Jack Sully, the parapelegic hero, has been recruited to enable an expensive avatar that was designed for his now dead twin brother. In return, the US Forces, led by molevalent Col Quaritch, (Stephan Lang) would see that he receives restoring spinal surgery. So Sully is embedded with the Navi. It is embarrassing because he doesn't know the language or anything about their culture. Mentally, he is even awkward in walking and running.

The skinny, giant blue-skinned Navi of Pandora are a charming race, more free and harmonious with their environment than their oppressors, US Forces. Unfortunately Pandora is the source of a precious mineral that the earth needs--and believes is theirs to take. Entitlement. A noun that describes a lot of politicians and earthlings I know.

Sully discovers that in his Avatar body, survival is a learned skill, and he is a baby as far as what he knows about the shark headed 30 ton rhino or the native dogs. He and his avatar are soft, barely able to navigate the trees and mysterious terrain of Pandora. His transformation from a hohah marine into a sensitive forest person is gradual and believable.

Beside the sacred tree, the the floating jelly-fish beings, the cloud-like islands, the US militaristic and technological world looks very ugly. Very quickly our sympathies shift to the Navi who physically and mentally bond with horses and dragonlike flying critters. As the struggle between the two begins, we are reminded of the frontiersman versus the Native Americans and similar struggles. It is the traditional good (aboriginal people) versus evil (exploiting invaders) plot, but with the many subtle layers and details that takes it to a higher level.
There is love (not lust), there is the metaphorical connection the universe; there is the message that once again we cannot disrespect the underclass.

I loved the ending. Had to restrain my 70 year old self from shouting and clapping.
Fortunately, the underclass reminds us--once again--that "Do no wrong" is a rule for life. Sadly we will need to be reminded again and again. Maybe sequels are needed here.

2009-11-24T18:09:00.001-08:00

Threads

Last night was another
of those social evenings,
smiling, meeting strangers.
My husband wore his
leather sport coat, I
wore a black dress
wrapped in a favorit
knitted scarf.

Conversation filled
the evening. They
picked a thread from
the past—their first date—
and pulled, until we
grabbed a soft
blue thread from our past,
our honeymoon in Germany.
Then we laughed
at soggy garments,
cleansed in the front,
mud striped in the back:
the joy of bicycle
trips in the rain. Threads
tangled as we pulled
through our lives.

After appetizers
we shared pictures
of our children, family
portraits, cute grandchildren.
Sipping wine, we discovered
we all lost luggage
in Spain, but only my husband
lost a backpack in London.
The wine and life stories
continued, unraveling
the weft and warp of our lives.

2009-10-29T16:55:00.000-07:00

Autumn Fantasy

Leaves blew against

houses and cars,

mounding burnt orange,

umber, red, and copper leaves,

mulching shrubs,

burying flower beds

and clogging gutters.

With gusty winds

my rake is for naught.

It seems like yesterday

my childhood friends and I

played house in the yard,

raked leaves into walls--

bedroom walls, living room walls,

garage walls that held

imaginary luxury cars;

we played tag and danced in

blueprints of castles

with glorious ballrooms

opening onto patios and porticos.

In my flannel-lined jeans

and plaid shirt, I waltzed

with my friends,

imaginary knights and dukes;

twirling past dusk

in the mansions of our minds.

After that last call for bed

we would roll in the leaves,

savoring the pungent earthiness,

then jump up and down

shaking the scratchy fibers free.

Later, bundled in bed,

the spicy scent

perfuming our hair

drafted the sweetest dreams.

Ashland Fall

2009-10-29T16:46:00.001-07:00

Chuck’s Leaves

Two days

after the fall sun

dried sodden

leaf mounds,

he walked

through the trees,

kicking leaves,

sending oak, poplar,

and plate sized maple

flapping and fluttering

around himself:

the 80 year old man

with the ten year old heart.

2009-10-08T17:25:00.000-07:00

Thursday, October 8

Another beautiful day. After a skimpy Super 8 breakfast we headed out toward Dulles International on HWY 13 north to HWY 50. We crossed the Bay Bridge and headed into Annapolis for some lunch and historical browsing. Very coincidental, because our trip began here about 3 weeks ago. We arrived into Annapolis along with the annual Sailboat show. All those well-to-do shoppers gave the town a real buzz. We walked along Main street to the harbor, noticed the boats and ships; we were partially shopping, partially looking for a good place for lunch. We found an Irish tavern by the harbor and had a wonderful lunch of fresh seafood. Then we investigated the first capital building of the United States, the Maryland State House. One of the most fascinating parts of this statehouse was the acorn shaped cupola that had a rod atop it designed by Benjamin Franklin. I was so moved to be in a building where many great men had gathered to debate the good of our country.

Then it was off to DC. With some effort we found our non smoking Econolodge room. That's right, the one that is now killing my nose with its pervasive smell of smoke. All we noticed when we inspected the room was the brand new marble bathroom. Thank God this is our last motel room. We are ready to be home. We did find a delicious meal at a very busy restaurant a short walk up the road. I wish I could make French Onion soup that well.

We have much to be thankful for. The weather has been incredible We have had only 2 days when it rained. One of those was at night while we slept, and the other storm passed by noon. The weather has been much warmer than we expected as well.

The food has been different. We only had one horrid meal, a very good record for that many meals out. Of course we only bought one meal a day. Vegetables on the east coast are interessting. We found lots of canned vegetables. Often the fresh vegetables we did find were overcooked. We carried raw celery and carrots with us, or we would have been a long time without crunch. As the cook I have had lots of days off, so I think I am ready to go home and "put dinner on the table."

2009-10-07T17:48:00.001-07:00

Wednesday, October 7

The day began with another walk along the promenade in Virginia Beach. Rain was forecast for today, but it all happened before we went out. It was still cloudy as various military in civvies ran past. Their planes were racing back and forth overhead. We walked past a touching air carrier memorial. Great morning walk.

Then, as the sun shone and clouds cleared, we headed toward the East Virginia shore, the other side of the Chesapeake. To get there we had to cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. Built in 1964, the bridge/tunnel system is described as one of the seven structural engineering wonders of the world. Measuring 17.6 miles from shore to shore, the passage consists of 12 miles of trestled bridge, two mile long tunnels under the bay so large ships can pass over them, four man-made islands made by thousands of 15 ton boulders or rip rap. It was pretty impressive, and I will note that Chuck got his $12 toll's worth. She who hates tunnels put on a brave front and survived quite nicely. It was definitely my longest brave front ever.

Starting up HWY 13 toward Maryland, our first and most interesting stop of the whole vacation was at the Barrier Islands Cultural Center near Machipongo. The cultural center was the Almshouse Farm during the 1800's. Shortly after we were inside we were met by the center's historian Jerry Doughty. Since Jerry had lived in the area all his life and had the pleasure of a pioneer grandfather who had told him stories of the island's days of grandeur.

The beautiful town or island names like Wachapeague, Metompkin, and Chincoteague go back to the first Algonquin inhabitants. Their numbers dwindled and the remnants intermarried.

The area was the playground of the New York and Pennsylvania rich. Huge hotels and private gaming clubs for men were very popular at the turn of the century. Sea salt, seafood, and tourism made that county one of the richest in New England. Robert E Lee was one of the island property owners. And one of the biggest businesses was smuggling---from Civil War medicines to Joe Kennedy's rum running. Unfortunately, the prosperity was not to last. The use of DDT and arsenic in agriculture ruined lots of the seafood business. There was the depression and economic downturn in the 30's as well, and most significantly, the beginning of the hurricane seasons for the area, starting in 1933. The 1933 hurricane wiped out many of the hotels and mansions of the rich. They were never rebuilt.

Today there are times when potable water is a problem Global warming is placing all of the island at risk. Developers have exploited resources appealing to tourists. Jerry was truly worried about the area's future.

We moved to the attic where we looked at the unique chimney built for the almshouse. It was twisted in the attic so the smoke would blow the right direction. There were also beautiful examples of decoys that early hunters and islanders had carved. There was also a 4 barreled gun used to shoot birds.

After the museum we had lunch in the Exmore Diner. A true diner with pony-tailed waitresses and the menu at our booth. Good food. Then we were off to Chincoteague to find wild horses. Sadly, the horses were busy doing other things. It had been a great day. We drove into Salisbury, MD, for the night.

2009-10-06T17:49:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, October 6

What a perfect ending for a day. Tonight we are in Virginia Beach and just finished walking blocks along the beach promenade. We have spent entirely too much time in the car this trip, so it was so refreshing to walk and listen to the waves. And the helicopters and jets from the adjacent naval air force base. It seems those planes are in constant motion.

Our day started in Charlottesville, VA. We left a Super 8 manned by the world's grumpiest staff, and headed out on I-64. We thought we were going to Monticello. Unfortunately it was in the opposite direction. So we forgot that plan, and kept going to Williamsburg. Williamsburg's historic district must be quite a money-maker. If we had wanted to enter the homes and 17th century businesses, it would have cost it us $30 a piece. For free we walked up and down the Duke of Glouchester street. Proprietors were on hand to welcome tourists and gawkers like us. I discovered the Historic Society buys their costumes. Each worker reports for a fitting and receives an authentic costume and a list detailing the cost—in case it is lost or stolen.

Williamsburg was a great walk, but eventually we left in search of good food. We found some great Asian food @ $6 a plate. Then it was on to Virginia Beach.

2009-10-05T17:41:00.001-07:00

Monday, October 5

I cannot imagine a more perfect day. After replacing my lost camera bag and media cards, we set off down HWY 30 to I-81. We took a detour to Antietam and enjoyed the bright sunny day walking around the battlefield. We walked to the Dunker Church, looked at the exhibits at the visitor center, and listened to a lecture on the medical care for the battle. Then we drove a few miles for an excellent meal at the Red Byrd. Then back to 81. We took the exit to I-66, and Front Royal because we were told the Skyline Drive through the Shenandoah Valley was spectacular. The ride was incredible, and was along a breathetaking ridge at 2000+ feet. We could see forever. Unfortunately, I was pretty uncomfortable with my fear of heights, but as Chuck phrased it, “ I made the trip with a few fingernails left.” Since the entire National Park trip takes about 5 hours at the speed limit of 35 mph, we left the park at Thorton's Gap. HWY 231 was a lovely, rolling shortcut to Highway 29 to Charlottesville. We are relaxing in our jammies after some Mexican food and a huge marguerita that we shared.

How romantic.

2009-10-04T18:36:00.000-07:00

Sunday, October 4

We had enjoyed the state of New York, but today we crossed Pennsylvania from the northeast to southwest Gettsyburg. Rolling beautiful hills and villages dot the sides of the road. The northern part of the state had the same blazing color found in New York and Vermont. I realize that if the color is great in the south, leaves have fallen in the north. If color is beautiful in the Adirondacks, it is still green in Maryland.

We haven't said much about food. We had found some wonderful inexpensive food until today. Around 12:30 we were cruising down Hwy 81 when we decided to look for a dinnerhouse with the most cars. This has always been an effective strategy. Unfortunately we drove about 7 miles to this small town, picked the diner with the most cars. Casual dress. Down home kind of place with specials like chicken pot pie. Chuck ordered the roast beef dinner, and I ordered a meatloaf sandwich which came with “filling.” Filling was defined as potatoes mixed with onions, celery, etc. What we received was enough food for 5 people. I had this huge plate covered with dark brown stuff. Gravy. Except it didn't taste like gravy. More like brown wallpaper paste. So I lifted the top piece of white bread and ate the meatloaf which was pretty good. The filling wasn't bad either. Fortunately Chuck had shared his salad with me. He put away half of his dry roast beef. Anyway, we left trying to forget the experience. I swallowed a Pepsid about an half hour later.

We arrived at Gettsyburg at about 3:30 and checked into a motel. Then we walked through a forest to get to the Visitor Center. The Gettysburg foundation has built a new center which charges for almost all the exhibits. It is big, glitzy, and has many workers keeping the massive new wood floor shiny. Our motel manager said the new charges ($3 more just this year) paid a number of executives. Our compromise was to take the car tour around the battlefield. We enjoyed the drive. How could such beauty be defiled by such carnage. Although I had been here 10 years ago, I had forgotten how massive the battle was. A beautiful end to our day. The only negative was that I lost my camera case in the moving in and out of the car process. It contained several cards, a flash drive, and my mechanism for transferring pictures to my computer. Drat.

2009-10-03T18:00:00.000-07:00

Saturday,October 3

Fortunately we woke up alive this morning. After finding that bizarre motel in North Albany, NY, I wasn't sure what would happen. We left early—at 8 am-- not hanging around the strange place. I had asked for our money back yet again, and promised I would write the health department, so they were quite glad to get rid of me.

Our first stop was Glen Falls, but it was raining so we headed into the Adirondack National Park, 6 million acres of mountains and beautiful fall color. We drove north to Brant Lake, then took HWY 8 to HWY 28 to the upper Hudson River, and the Indian River. We were traveling a road that was built in 1850, although it was a very modern road. Following the Sacandaga River, we finally bordered a lake by the same name. We moved in and out of the fog, always appreciating the beautiful color on the sides of the road. At Amsterdam we grabbed the freeways to drive southwest to Binghamton, NY, and a clean motel without mice or backward New Yorkers. While Maryann did laundry, Chuck watched football. As I record the day he is well into his 2nd game. Sadly, many Pac 10 games won't begin until we are asleep.

2009-10-03T17:17:00.000-07:00

Friday, October 2

We are staying in the Bates Motel. It has been a long, crazy, yet beautifully colored day. Sunny. Gorgeous mountain drives. However, yet again we have had several small crises. Nothing to dampen our sense of humor. Nothing to discourage our sense of adventure.

The first little boo-boo occurred when Chuck locked the doors of our still running rental car when we got out at a visitor center at Woodstock, VT, just after we had driven the Kancamagus Highway. When your main car is a Prius, there is a tendency to think all cars are like Priuses and have that keyless entry and ignition. We lost an hour and a bit of gas waiting for the AAA service car to let us into the car. We were both pretty quiet about that one. Easy mistake to make, so we are being super careful now.

The second was finding this motel. We had been on the road since 9 am, and we had hoped to find a motel in Bennington. (And look up Robert Frost in the graveyard there.) However, they were having a Moose Fest. Main street was a pasture full of life size moose statues that had been decorated and dressed to be auctioned off at the end of the festival. A bookstore manager who surely was a Chamber of Commerce bigwig tried to sell one to me, claiming that people came from as far as the West Coast to purchase one of the big cuties. But the real impact was there was no room in the Inn. Not unless we wanted to pay $149 for the Hampton Inn or one of the high end motels. I would also compare Bennington to a beautiful girl who was a little stuck on herself. And it was after 5 pm. So we started toward Troy hoping this bedroom community to Albany would have a roo9m. We tried several highways leaving Troy, but no motels except for a Hilton on a hill that said $$$$. By this time it was nearly dark and Chuck was weary, but it was just a few miles to I-87, and I had a book listing many motels there. (And why wasn't I using my GPS to find motels? Because it was dead. And why wasn't I calling for reservations? Because my cell phone battery was dead too.) So we forged on. Finally we were moving on I-87 and yes, there were motels. After getting on the service road, we missed the Holicay Express by not being in the right lane. We pulled into the next motel after noting it had a clean exterior. Just $65 later, we were in a room. And then I noticed the mouse. And Chuck, never particularly worried about mice, noticed the TV didn't work. Did I say that by this time it is almost 8 pm. We called the manager in, and he agreed to give us another room because he was unable to refund our money. (He had no way to reverse a credit card charge.) The room he found for us had clean sheets and pillowcases, but needed the spread and blanket from the other room. I made the bed. Then I took my hand disinfectant and did a bit of sprucing up in the bathroom. I decided it was a bit chilly, and then I realized the heating-cooling unit was a plastic case only. I am hoping this first floor unit will not get too nippy tonight. We were really breaking up about that one. But Chuck was much too tired to drive somewhere else, and we would have lost our money.

On the positive side, the White Mountains were full of every fall color. There were lots of trails and Overlooks so we could photograph the valleys and streams with their hillsides sparkling in the sun. Fall color and fellow leaf peepers were everywhere. I suspect this was very close to peak color here because leaves were already starting to fall. I am sure that my photography didn't picture half of the splendor before me. Beside highway 112 beginning with the Kancamagus Mountains and stops for historic farms, the Quechee Gorge was a breath-taking sight.

2009-10-01T16:42:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, September 30

The subway. Maryann hates subways. Claustrophobia. Today was our day to freestyle it in the city. After a hearty breakfast we were off. The first part of the ride was great and above ground, but we ended our ride nosing our way into a tunnel by Copley Square. Since Chuck wanted to revisit the Berklee School of Music—it's now music, all types of music, not just jazz—that was our first stop. Chuck really enjoyed walking around the campus, finding his dorm, talking about how the college has changed. Berklee now owns almost the whole Back Bay area, and the school has doubled in size. He was able to find TC's, a bar he visited once in awhile as a student. Unfortunately the Back Bay Lounge was now Dunkin Donuts.

Then we walked cross country to the Museum of Fine Arts. Our hosts had lent us their family membership, and that provided admission and some great art for the whole afternoon. There was a great display of the designs and furniture of the architects Greene. There were great Gainsbourghs, Monets, and sculptures. After a great lunch in the cafeteria, we visited the second floor. By 3 pm we were tired of walking and caught the subway Intown. At Copley Square we had to find the outbound subway. After a tour of the gorgeous Boston Public Library, and asking a few natives, we finally found the Outbound tunnel. The ride to the suburbs was much shorter than on Long Island. Back at our hosts, we repacked, I wrote, and Chuck watched the Red Socks on Big Screen TV.

Thursday, October 1

We left our friends Dan and Joan Kunitz and headed for Walden Pond. When we arrived, it was closed. No—not the pond—the gift shop and very spendy parking lot. So we parked before a “Don't park here unless you are shopping sign, and checked out the pond. A cement path around the pond hosted pods of walkers. There was some color around the pond, but it was early yet. Then we drove the Minuteman's ride between Concord and Lexington. The Miniteman's visitor center was well interpreted. Unfortunately we didn't have time to visit Hawthorne's or Alcott's homes.

Then it was off to Cape Ann. Highway 127 takes you on the perimeter of the Cape past fascinating mansions, homes of middleclass fishermen, art galleries on Rockport, the area that was home to Winslow Homer and Edward Hooper, the famous Captain at the wheel statue, and the fishing fleet in Glouchester. Heading north, we finally arrived at North Conway before dark. As we drove north the color became more intense. We will definitely see enough color in New England. We have pulled out the sweat shirts and coats. (Yes, Chuck has been reunited with his coat.)

2009-09-30T16:50:00.000-07:00

Sunday, September 27.

After touring the entire isle of Manhattan, we were ready for a slow day in the city. We repeated the usual trip to the LIRR and made it to Penn Station by noon. We were to meet Chuck's students Laurele and Carol Rippa at Terraza Toscana for lunch at 12:30, so we hailed a taxi and made it to 50th and 9th Avenue for under $7:00. We decided we definitely liked traveling by cab in New York. We had a wonderful long lunch filled with stories, memories, and lots of trivia about New York. We saw their rent-stabilized apartment. Since they do not own a car it was interesting to hear how they traveled about and how much they loved the city. Then we had a beautiful walk through part of Central Park, down Poet's lane, occasionally noting the smell of horse (The horse cabs are everywhere.) We ducked into Tavern On The Green to go to the bathroom. That is one classy restaurant. (Partly open air.)

Since it was rainy all day, we saw an umbrella New York. We took the train home and packed for our trip to Boston.

Monday, September 28

We left Marc Greene and his niece Julie after a wonderful stay that included a Brisket dinner with Julie's scrumptious apple pie (a first for her), and lots of tour hints and good conversation. We drove to the east end of Long Island—Orient and the Orient ferry. It was a beautiful but very long drive past road stands with pumpkins, squash, and fall produce. Not much fall color yet, but it will hit 30 degrees tonight, and we are seeing some beautiful reds and yellows already.

All of those New Englanders who have two dimes to rub together love to go the shore in the Hamptons, the Cape, the shore in MA. Fortunately there is a lot of coast line so there is a place for everyone.

Our ferry ride was very similar to the trips we have had on the Washington ferries. We left Orient and turned back into the Long Island sound. Often we could see land on the North and South. The hour and a half trip was warm and relaxing. Small colonial light houses popped up in the sound by various harbors.

At New London we unloaded our car from the ferry and looked for food. Much of the sandwich fare was not appealing, but we found a small Columbian restaurant with a handsome grandfather outside welcoming patrons in Spanish. We had an incredible meal of talapia cooked in white sauce with fried platains. Then we caught I-95 and drove 3 hours to the suburbs of Boston.

Newton is the largest of suburbs with huge Victorian homes on many streets and corners. Our room was with a wonderful couple, Dan and Joan Kunitz (relatives of the poet and philosopher Stanley Kunitz). We were very comfortable, and they taxied us to the subway and tour bus. Real saints. We arrived on the eve of Yom Kipper when they were just finishing their fast. It has been great to discuss their faith and enjoy meeting these great people.

Tuesday, September 29

This was Tour Boston day. We bought a tour in a small van with a clever interpreter of Boston history. We stopped at Longfellow 's home, looked at Harvard, MIT, and Boston U campuses. Chuck was able to revisit the Charles River, and the Berklee School of Jazz in the historic Back Bay. Gentrification had totally changed the neighborhood. Gone were the hookers outside the dorms, the drunks on corners and in alleys. The new John Handcock building with its huge glass windows that pop out from time to time had completely change Copley Square. There was plenty of Revolutionary history: a tour of the USS Constitution, Bunker Hill, Breed's Hill, Old North Church, and Copps Hill Burial Ground. We also saw the impressive Old Granary Burial Ground, the Boston Commons, and the Public Gardens.

We stopped for lunch at the Quincy Marketplace. Chuck had fish and chips and I had the lobster special for $12. Then we walked over to Faneuil Hall. When Chuck was there on July 4 30 years ago, he heard the Declaration of Independence read. Today that would be impossible because it is a trinkets market. Next it was on to Paul Revere's statue, the Boston Massacre site, and the Old State House. The Freedom Trail was easy to follow.

Those of us who watched Cheers every night saw the real neighborhood, the real bar. The same exact sign.

It was a wonderful day, concluded with a great meal at a Greek restaurant with our hosts.

--

2009-09-27T06:14:00.000-07:00

Friday, September 25

Our first adventure was driving to the Ronkonkoma Long Island Railroad to catch a train to New York. Quite simple, clean, and efficient. It was an interesting ride. We started out where the homes were on huge lots. In Corum where our host lives, his home is on a huge lot of about a half acre with a pool. As we progress toward the city, the lots get smaller, houses are closer together. Soon the pools are small and above ground, and then before you know it, they are nonexistent. As we leave the suburban areas of Deer Park and move toward Brooklyn, there are fewer fields, steeples. Less green space. The paint on the homes becomes haphazard, and as we approach East New York the tenement house becomes taller and very brick.

Beside the 18 stops of the LIRR, are huge park and ride lots. Waiting in them are hundreds of cars for the many passengers of the commuter trains. A good portion of the passengers have a little privacy bubble around them---an attitude communicating a “don't bother me.”

Penn Station is huge. We departed from track # 20 and made our way above ground. One of the most remarkable things about New York is the noise. It is definitely a city for people who desire stimulation and excitement. I will do well to make it through three days. For some reason, I didn't sense the craziness in London, Barcelona, or Madrid that I feel in NYC. Perhaps when I get in the museums or Central Park it will calm down.

One of the interesting aspects about this week is the United Nations session. President Obama is here to address topics like terrorism and Iran's underground nuclear facility. This means that every time these heads of state moved from place to place, a convoy of black SUV's and police protection blazed down the street. It was also impossible to get anywhere close to the 3 United Nations buildings, particularly the General Assembly building. Police were everywhere in the city, particularly at heavy traffic intersections where they needed them.

There has been a sad consequence of the No Smoking bans in stores and restaurants. They have to smoke in the streets. That means that walking in the city or enjoying places like Times Square is difficult because every breath one takes is a smokey one.

Signage is fascinating. The huge LED screens—particularly present around Times Square, 42^nd street, etc. overshadow architecture and all else in the landscape. By Penn Station is a huge football player in his tight pants landmark. After awhile I found all of screens—especially Macy's malfunctioning one—visual overload.

The highlight of the day was a guilded cruise of the Hudson harbor. We had very good views of ellis Island, the train depot many immigrants took across America, the Statue of Liberty, Governor's Island, and the Financial District. This and the other tours we took put everything I have watched on television from business news to Law and Order in perspective. Like looking at society from a new view.

The Coast Guard has a number of small boats that look like smart rafts. They have machine guns mounted on the bow. We watched one pull over a small motor boat and give them a little chat.

Another fascinating thing about New York is the way certain industries have clustered. The garment industry is no longer there because of outsourcing that began with China's production of cheap clothing, but there are many other areas like the music instrument section, ASCAP section, the Theatre District, the area where there are hospitals and research facilities. In general, however, the trend is to tear down and build new glass or glitzy structures. Yes, there are a few of the historic buildings built in the early 1900's like the Art Decco Empire State building with its 104 floors, the Flatiron building, and the Chrysler building, but the push is to rebuild newer and “better.” Actually the Empire State building was more interesting in its architecture.

We took the express train back to Long Island with hundreds of commuters who raced to their waiting cars snoozing in cement fields by the tracks.

Saturday, September 26

This was our big touring day of New York. We covered almost all of the Island and particularly enjoyed the ethnic neighborhoods like Chinatown and Little Italy. Here is a partial list—just to help me remember the details:

I loved the trees and swankie apartments in Chelsea. Somehow I expected more unusual buildings or businesses in the Village. Saw the first pizzaria—John's. One bit of folklore about the bull on Wall Street is that if you kiss its ass, your portfolio will earn lots of money. And there was a huge line of tourists doing just that. Made me wonder what else they would kiss. The lower East side—melting pot of NY—did not have any flamboyant sights, however, there was the sense that the whole area had been the labor and the stability of the island for a long time. Of course all of the area bordering Central Park was beautiful and fascinating from the lavish 5^th avenue digs like the former home of Andrew Carnegie to the museums. Would I had a day to spend in each of them: the Whitney, the white curving Guggenheim, the Metropolitan Museum of Art (I would love 2 days for that one), the Museum of new York City, and the Museum of Natural History where the “Night in” movie was shot.

Harlem was also more of a polished city atmosphere than I expected. There were more blacks in the neighborhood, but other than that, it looked like much of the rest of the island.

Times Square was full of people by 5pm. We also had another insight into Carnegie hall, the Lincoln Center, the Apollo, and other similar venues. To attend a concert one needs to taxi, use public transportation, or pay $35 to $50 at a parking facility. I am so glad we can attend great concerts and plays without that hassle.

Biggest regret of the day? Not having time to have tea in the Plaza hotel.

2009-09-25T05:40:00.000-07:00

Thursday, September 24

The order of things—beginning with Gaithersburg, MD:

Breakfast at a bagel place. Good coffee.
Purchased a styrofoam cooler to keep Lee's gifts from melting.
Left Gaithersburg for New York.
Called Alamo Lost and Found. They had Chuck's coat which they agreed to mail to our next stop in Boston.
Drove on long stretches of 10 lane freeways.
Stopped at a rest stop in Maryland and decided to jump for a cross-country ride to Annapolis on 301 so we could see some countryside. After several hours we decided to turn the GPS on so we could arrive at our host's before Friday.
Alas. That meant "flying" on the New Jersey Turnpike. Not a great experience, but we coped until our GPS told us to “Stay on I-95N” while the readout was pointing toward a road that would take us through the Lincoln Tunnel to our destination. Unfortunately we stayed left while I cursed Ms. SmartyPants of the GPS. Quite a bit later we took the George Washington Bridge (Chuck hummed Persichetti's piece while we crawled over during 5 pm traffic.)
Did I mention that we ended up driving through the Bronx and Queens? We wanted to see New York, but that was not the kindest way.
Then we had to swing South to get the Long Island Expressway. There was a fast Express lane with lots of signs explaining HOV safety. (We have no idea what HOV means.)
Now I know why New Yorkers drive with fists full of dollars in their right hand. Toll roads. No nickel and diming you either. We paid 5 to 10 bucks a time. When we leave for Boston we plan to take the ferry. That is not cheap, however. That will cost about $70.
The good news is that after a long day of driving (Did I mention the Mazda does not have cruise control), we arrived just before dark. We had traveled through 4 states.

A Long Hot Summer

2009-09-17T19:54:00.000-07:00

September 17, 2009

It has been a very busy, hot summer. It is not unusual to look back on a summer and wonder where the time went. Weddings, concerts in Lithia Park, walks to the college--the summer is all a beautiful memory now. What I don't remember is rain this summer. Our last rain was back in June. With all of the low fronts that have blown over us, there has been no measurable rain. We came close the other night. The smell was so rich and desireable I wrote a poem about it.

The Tease

Four days dark gray
cumulous clouds
towered over our
parched valley.
The sun set behind
dusty tan hills
sulking in the shadows.

A warm earthy fragrance
suggested rain.
With bare feet I ran
to greet the drops—
but felt only a warm
damp sidewalk and
slightly slick grass.

Lonely for rain
after a long summer,
I tilt my face toward
the dark sky to feel
only three drops.
Merely the breath
of moisture.

New York and the New Yorker

2009-08-23T15:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Marla,
Your Christmas gift of The New Yorker subscription has been an inspiration to us. We are sitting next to piles of those magazines, eight months of them, those beautiful covers----man on girder overlooking NY, a doctor helping a sick elephant (If only he could), dueling sight-seeing buses---staring up at us. Half the magazines are turned inside out, marking unfinished stories. We love the magazine, and there is so much good stuff that we can't read it all. But we NEVER miss a cartoon. We have our own captions that (moan and groan) would have won--if only we had sent them in.

However, it hits us that we have traveled to some of the other great cities of the world (London, Barcelona, Mexico City, etc.) but have ignored NYC. So we are going. (Please note our map of the transit system of New York.) We know our children will worry about our getting lost. And we promise we will not drive in New York City. Unless we get lost. We are in the process of getting tickets to Broadway. We found a tour company for the overview. And we plan a long walk in Central Park. We'll send you a postcard.

And Will, we have thought about your advice about investing in a Really Good Meal. I have to admit that Bobby Flay is really tempting. Of course, they won't let me in the kitchen. And I can't imagine our being able to spit a meal like we usually do. Sadly, the good meal treat would have been great about thirty years ago when we had appetites. So we will be eating street food and packing lunches. If it worked in London, it will work in NYC.

After you kids read this, I can see our subscriptions next year: African Vibes, Alaska, The last Frontier. I can't guess where you will want to send us.

Julie and Julia

2009-08-20T11:19:00.000-07:00

My fourth of July dessert
and Chuck with Will's
Eggs Benedict

Today I saw a great movie, Julie and Julia. The film resonates with me on so many levels.

First, the contemporary Julie decides to find herself through exploring Julia Child's Mastering French Cooking. By blogging she would "find" herself-----establish an identity. All of us have had those moments on the porch. Midnight. Sitting there with a half-empty bottle of wine, wondering who we are becoming. And why. Julie had skills and compassion and an incredible sense of humor.

Julie and Julia both loved to cook and found relaxation and creativity in the kitchen. However, time I spend in the kitchen is time I can't spend reading or writing. There are many family jokes about my cooking. My son's favorite is the meal I served of garden red potatoes, pork chops, and salad. My son Will took his fork and tried to stab a potato. The potato clinked around the plate instead. He tried again. "Mom, this potato is hard as a rock!" It was a rock. I had scrubbed, boiled, plated, and served a smooth red rock.

So I have covered my kitchen laziness and lack of expertise by saying, "Whereas some are gourmet cooks, I put dinner on the table." But I was still feeling very inadequate. My son, realizing his father, grandfather, and all the men in his life were good cooks became a Foodie, a fantastic cook. Inspired by these people, I have begun to collect recipes, read directions, use measuring spoons and cups, and prepare healthy, tasty, attractive meals. Once in awhile.

My grandmother was an incredible cook who never measured and seldom used a recipe. I watched her make brioche in her big country kitchen. No recipe. No measuring devices. Anna would scoop the flour with her hands and use a huge bowl and a large spoon to beat the batter. No $300 Kitchen Aid for her. Her rhythmic kneading was beautiful to watch. The payoff was picture perfect mouth-watering rolls.

Watching the film I saw how cooking can be a passion. It provided a little window into the soul of cooks like my son Will who invest a lot of money for the freshest Whole Food fruits and vegetables so they will have optimum flavor. My daughters Tami, Marla, Aletha, and Will may outcook me, but no one enjoys good food more. Except Julie and Julia. Historically speaking.

2009-08-19T08:22:00.000-07:00

Reservation Rock

At the south end of Stanley Park’s
Lost Lagoon, Reservation Rock
pokes out of the cool blue
providing a sun-bathing raft
for sleepy turtles. Very popular
this small rock which holds three--
just three of the thirty or so feral
red-eared sliders which have
clawed out of the lagoon’s mud
after a long winter’s nap
with a vegetarian hunger
greater than a panda. After
chewing a huge swath through
water hyacinths, cannas,
and many of the grasses,
these cold-blooded sliders,
big as dinner plates,
must warm themselves in
the afternoon sun, but with
few logs and rocks, it’s
first come, first warmed
on pedestal rock, unless
there are previous reservations.

2009-08-18T13:49:00.001-07:00

Calendars: March 3

Calendars are about expectations.
The worst? online, blank box calendars
staring back at me, begging fulfillment,
like ground waiting to be planted,
defying me to ignore Special Days.

As if calendars are the gift of time.
Christmas brings more calendars;
Audubon nature calendars, art calendars
napping cat calendars, and humor calendars.
This year I made room for three.
all gifts from loving family.
Family photo calendars, warm,
benign, still on January’s picture.

Those daily calendars enslave.
On my daily art calendar, stuck on Feb 1,
the Gauguin women clash with my blue sofa.
My Learning-by-the-day calendar is the worst.
“Manana es un dia especial” reads
my Spanish Language calendar,
February 13th. Manana, tomorrow.
Manana, time awaits.
Manana I may get my calendars updated.
Manana I may put them all in a box.

My Floral History

2009-08-18T11:00:00.000-07:00

Left my two grandmothers are pictured. Anna Pettit is on the far left, and Anna Nitzke is on the right. They are inspecting peonies, and rightfully could serve as master gardeners. Anna Pettit raised her flowers along the three sided fence in her back yard. Rose and pink peonies lined the south side, and daisies and delphiniums lined the back fence. In the middle of the yard was a oblong gold fish pond filled with bright orange fish. (My brothers and I really enjoyed feeding those fish, especially when they resided in grandmother's basement during the cold Iowa winters.)
My father's mother, Anna Nizke, was an important mentor in so many ways. She was an incredible baker and cook, a fisherman, quilter and needlework artist. Our souls clicked on so many levels. We fished together, she showed me how to can, and included me on her needlework days. Her life had a plan. Laundry Day was early Monday morning. Tuesday was gardening day, and Wednesday was baking day. All of this work was performed before this granddaughter got out of bed unless I made an effort to bike the four blocks to grandmothers on an early summer morning. Afternoons were for fishing, needlework, or calling on friends.
The following poem comes from Grandmother's gardening advice.

Deadheading

This morning as I
groom my flower patch,
I feel grandmother looking
over my shoulder. Anna,
my grandmother who died
in 1979 at the age of 98.
She counsels me often,
but this morning I remember
her lecture on deadheading
when I was about ten.
As we strolled through the peonies
and rose bushes in her backyard,
she surgically removed suckers,
and shaped the rose bushes
slicing above the buds on
five leaflet stems. “Your flowers
will be bigger and your bush
healthier,” she said.
Snipping dead yellow cone
flowers, she admonished, “If
you want blooms, you must
clean out the flowers that have
passed.” That lesson worked
on the poppies, delphiniums,
and the asters. but grandmother
remains my most gorgeous flower.

Quilts

2009-08-12T17:16:00.000-07:00

Every woman in my family did some type of needlework. As I was growing up, I watched my mother, grandmothers, aunts, and great aunts, appreciating their skill. Grandmother Pettit tatted. Although I never picked up that skill, I sat at her feet transfixed as she wove lace. They all crocheted. I managed to pick up that skill and once made a bedspread for my son, completed several years after the promised birthday. There were also scarves for boyfriends, although the

suitors often disappeared after receiving the gift. Of course everyone had quilts that were made by a family member. My favorite pictured in this blog were made by my paternal Grandmother Nitzke with several made by my husband's mother Hazel Balis.
I have wonderful memories of visiting Grandmother Anna and her twin sister Gustie. Afternoons they would sit in the living room with a quilt spread out over a frame, their tiny stitches swirling in the margins of the quilt. It was not quiet work. They laughed, told stories on family members and neighbors. Quilting was an act of love that made everyone happy.
Grandmother would use many of her quilts as gifts. They were frequently her wedding presents and become treasures of the granddaughters like myself who were lucky enough to receive them.

The Warmth Of History

When the temperature drops below freezing,
I pull the family crazy quilt from the closet.
Blue, black, lilac, and rose squares greet me
as I unwrap this gift from the past.
After this quilt blessed grandmother’s bed
for the last quarter of her life,
I inherited its loving warmth.
I lay caressed by the past,
snippets of skirts, vests--family clothing
grandmother artistically assembled.
Smoothing brown herringbone squares
from grandfather’s Sunday suit,
the suit he wore to Goodsell’s funeral,
over my corner of the bed, I flatten
dusty rose patches from the dress
grandmother wore to bridge club
and my childhood piano recitals.
Courting sleep, my finger follows
chain stitches in bold black yarn.
Yet white buttonhole embroidery
decorates the rich black triangles
from Aunt Anna’s black velvet gown.
The best family finery now
my bedtime heritage of love.

2009-08-07T16:10:00.000-07:00

Here you are Barb. This poem is for you.

The Stickies

Yesterday I grabbed a rosy pomaceous
Mackintosh from my fruit bowl;
As I bit this perfect apple,
crunchy meat and juice ran
down my freckled hand. Yet
wedged between my molars,
skin or seed tormented my teeth.
At last a toothpick freed the
bar coded villain—pricing label #4042.
These hideous labels do not wash away,
often bonding with skin and pulp,
refusing removal from the fruit.
Who slaps numbers on my food?
Apples are no longer Delicious or
Gravenstein: they are 4042, 4131, or 4139,
Even my tomatoes bear the brand 4664.
Standing in the produce aisle,
beside the flowers, I sense
no fragrance except the newly waxed floor.
Those Cyclops labels stare at me,
ready to jump into my basket.
Is that glue organic?

Off to the Farmer’s market
with their naked, aromatic fruit.
I will delay the day when I’ll sit
on my porch, peeling labels
from each grape, cursing
the pricing God who labeled them.

Cross Upon Cross

2009-07-23T21:49:00.000-07:00

Across the dry desert
of the Bolivian altiplano
four men dig a grave,
silhouetted against the sunset.
Beside a rough box,
the size of a duffel bag,
two women weep, and
distance silences their cries.
Even on the edge of La Paz,
the city that touches the clouds,
heaven is far away.

Seeking to leave sorrow behind,
I descend the labyrinth
of narrow streets toward

Plaza Murillo's sidewalk cafes.
At the Mercado de las Brujas
mysterious food, herbs and charms
distract from street beggars.
Mothers with crying children,
toddlers with outstretched hands,
twisted faces pleading--
please, a peso, just
a meal today for the youngest.
Their cries choking my heart,
I escape across the street;
more begging children
like hungry dogs,
line the sidewalk.

At the cathedral
older, more established beggars,
several missing limbs, plead;
inside the quiet church
there is no solace.
Even in the sanctuary
where statues of saints
wear elegant finery
on altars of gold,
where candles burn,
where cross upon cross
incise sin and sorrow,
church after church
cannot bring justice to the poor.

Relaxation

2009-07-22T10:54:00.000-07:00

Quilting. Macramé. Gardening.
Golfing. Eighteen holes of humiliation,
followed by practice on the putting range.
All in the name of relaxation.
I’ve thought of petting a cat
because that purr relaxes,
or practicing yoga’s warrior pose.
No toxins, stress, or guilt for me.
Well, maybe an ergonomic chair.
I’ll slip on headphones, listen
to Black Sabbath or Motley Crue,
maybe watch a favorite film,
Fatal Attraction or Play Misty.
Perhaps a familiar poem
or a thrilling book—Beowulf
or the Chowchilla Kidnappings.

Honk If You Love Jesus

2009-07-21T10:27:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, in fifth grade
I received my first chain letter.
“Send this letter to ten friends
or your life will be ruined.”
Friendless. Ruined forever.
Those letters always promised
heaven or hell, happiness or catastrophe.

Chain letters are back, annoying
me from cyberspace. The emails
begin, “God Bless You.”
Who would have thought
God would be messaging me
through an email chain letter.

The letter criticized the faint-hearted
who would not forward the message
to ten best friends. Obviously,
they were ashamed to admit
knowing the Lord. Angels, butterflies,
and Thomas Kinkade pictures fill
my computer screen, rivers sparkling
across the screen into the Sidebar.

After recounting many blessings,
the message ends with the kicker:
“If you love Jesus, send this
message and its heavenly
pictures to ten people. Soon
you will be blessed with a miracle.”
Immediately I visualize St. Peter
sitting at his computer in the sky,
crossing me off as I press Delete.

If you love this poem,
pass it on to ten fellow poets
or risk the loss of your muse.
Forever.

That's The Way It Was: Walter Cronkite

2009-07-19T19:47:00.000-07:00

Watching the memorial to Walter Cronkite brings so many thoughts. The evolution of television, his reporting of some of history biggest moments, his other projects like "The Twentieth Century."

Television and I grew up together. As I watched his coverage of the 50's, I remembered watching many of those stories at grandmother's house. The Pettits had television several years before we did, but then they bought us our first television, and we could watch the news every night in our own living room. I have always been a news junkie, and Cronkite was riveting. In retrospect, he inspired me to love politics, history, popular culture. His curiosity and objectivity about everything probably set the stage for my own independent political leanings and my fascination with popular culture.

I have been around radio and television since I was a kid. Microphones, cameras, video have all morphed as technology has changed. Newspapers are reaching the end of their cycle. Television studios are becoming automated. A huge television news staff died way before Walter Cronkite. We are looking at the media of the future. Computers, ipods, podcasts, news to your phone and Kindle will be all part of our future.

Cronkite would definitely be on my list of 4 people in history I would invite to a dinner party. He could not have been the newsman he was without being a world-class listener. Much of media today is weak in the listening department. Cronkite had a respect for details and was a master of research. Would that be common or true today.

I was fascinated by the people who had spent time with Cronkite and counted him as a close friend--Mickey Hart, Robin Williams, George Clooney, President Johnson, and a long list of newsmen, politicians, and television people. We were all blessed by his presence.

Conversion

2009-07-16T16:33:00.001-07:00

Today I tossed my red plaid cookbook,
1930’s New Better Homes and Garden version.
into our co-mingle recycling bin.
Poring through my old friend,
I rescued my favorite recipes—
chocolate chip cookies and mincemeat pie.
My new bible is America’s Test Kitchen.
Mincemeat is not in their new book,
nor is old-time molded perfection salad.
My copper molds live at Goodwill,
leaving more room for microplanes,
my fat separator and salad spinner.
Oxtail stew and chipped beef are missing
with old-fashioned recipes like jelly roll,
buckwheat griddle cakes, sauerbraten,
sea foam candy, tutti-frutti bars, and fruit cocktail pie.
Tuna croquettes, tuna tetrazinni, and
company tuna-bake outlawed forever.
Children rejoice because liver loaf
and snappy liver dip no longer exist.
Test Kitchen chefs believe light brownies or
light cheesecake are not oxymorons.
Our doctors are happier because
mayonnaise, cooking in aluminum wrap,
maraschino cherries, and red food coloring
are no longer part of our diets. But hey,
my cooking light and vegetarian sections
rethink fettuccine alfredo and lasagna.
Come over sometime. We’ll have cassoulet.

Porches and Patios

2009-07-15T19:20:00.000-07:00

On porches on upper Willow Wind Street
white Adirondack chairs stare
silently across the tree-lined street.
Rustic bent willow loveseats
offering plush pillows sit empty.
Porch swings, cypress rockers,
gliders, loungers, potted plants—
all welcoming by design--yet deserted.

Historically, a prosperous man’s porch
held wooden ice boxes for milkman’s
early morning milk and cream delivery.
Neighbors swapped family gossip there,
shared exploits of eccentric ancestors
cherished in their collective memory.
Men read the evening paper, while
their wives knit and purled sweaters,
nodding and chatting with passersby.

Now affluent families crave comfort
behind study cedar privacy fences.
Exhusted working moms and dads
huddle around the barbecue or firepit,
watching their children romp with the dog.
Now the decorator pillows adorn
cushioned settees on back patios
hidden beneath climbing roses or honeysuckle.

Yet on unpainted cottage porches
across town behind the car dealers,
tattoo parlors, and gas stations,
giggling children play with legos
while snuggling parents sip sodas.
Now on along side train tracks
cousins and neighbors stop by
crumbling porches crowded with
bicycles and discarded sofas
to discuss movies and Wal-Mart specials,
their common lives intimacy rich.

I Have Your Word

2009-07-14T14:56:00.000-07:00

The Agriculture Department
proposes to remove “hunger”
for more accurate, “low food security.”
What is a word?
Does it matter if you are blind
or visually challenged?
Or can words blind us from
a more tragic reality?
When murder is liquidation, and when
the death of innocents
becomes collateral damage,
do our words reframe
or ignore truth?
In today’s doublespeak,
ketchup is a vegetable.
Considering the theological,
to eliminate a sin, simply rename it,
the stealthiest of verbal absolution.
What is a word? A test.
It is our language
which reflects our souls.

To Begin

2009-07-14T13:58:00.000-07:00

Last year my husband and I did some "estate" planning and invested in the Neptune Societies burial package for ourselves. We were pleased that we had saved our families a few decisions. Unfortunately, there was baggage associated with that decision: we have two mahogany cube boxes in the garage waiting for us. So when you look at the blog title you will have a hint at the origin of the blog title.

Of course I have colored outside the lines for years.