Pink Highways

I want the backstory!

2011-07-09T15:12:00.001-05:00

Ruby and I had been hearing this noise for a few minutes, it sounded like really sick hound dogs, and it was getting louder. Ruby was upset, but not vocally. If you know of Ruby, you know she is vocal. That was strange. I finally had to get up and look outside.

Walking by was a heavily tatooed, physically fit young man, in the old style mens undershirt. He had two big, loudly baying hound dogs on heavy chain leashes on his right. They were on the sidewalk, and I could see they weren't barking, but I was still confused. Someone was pissed off!

Off to the side on the grass, in his left hand, was a little black poufy-cut toy poodle wearing a sparkly red leather collar. The poodle was pulling on her leash (away from the big dogs), making a terrible yelling screeching sound.

He had a pretty good grip on the big dogs, who were doing more of a yelling back bark than a wanting to eat the annoying little dog bark. He tightened the poodle's long leash with resolve, and kept moving.

Don't you want to know the backstory behind this?

And, no, sadly, no photos. It happened too fast, they were too far away, and honestly, I was more interested in watching the action!

Then and Now, July 8th

2011-07-08T21:05:00.001-05:00

Last year, I was deep into saying good bye to my Highland gardens, the places I had stalked the previous year. We were getting ready to move, packing, cleaning, arranging. Fortunately, I still had a dog to walk.

I took a lot of pictures in my favorite gardens. It is ironic that as I was getting rid of things before we moved, I was taking and keeping hundreds of pictures. Click, upload, put away until later. Later is here.

This year, I am pulling back, not going in as close on the pictures, looking for the delicate scenes. As my life gets less intense, so does my photography.

Then and Now

2011-07-06T20:36:00.002-05:00

A year ago today I toured what would be our new home. I started thinking about revisiting and moving forward. So, today is the first of a new series, Then and Now.

Since most days I have my camera in my hand, I am going to start showing what I was photographing this day a year ago, and today.

The first picture is a shot as I got off the train and walked to what I knew would be our new home. The second one year later (to the day), our very own pepper being born. What a difference a year makes. Home is where you are. But a garden is nice, too.

Back-road adventurer on America's 'Blue Highways' - CNN.com

2009-11-21T19:20:00.000-06:00

Why I created Pink Highways...

Back-road adventurer on America's 'Blue Highways' - CNN.com

I sit beside the fire and think...

2009-10-25T16:19:00.001-05:00

I think of this every fall, when I wander though the Autumn colors.

From The Lord of the Rings
THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING, BOOK II, CHAPTER III
By J.R.R. Tolkien

I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.

Fracture Whole

2009-10-02T20:40:00.001-05:00

"It doesn't make you broken," Phillips said. "It doesn't make it so that you can't go on and be -- once you deal with honestly and realistically what you've been through, it doesn't mean that you can't be counted on or you can't be well enough to be a part of the world." MacKenzie Phillips

Fractured Whole.

2009-09-29T00:33:00.005-05:00

Spending insomnia rembering Joshua Tree. I spent a great wintry weekend there once too long ago. The freezing-cold late night arrival, winding through the surreal gray rocky landscape, mornings worshiping the sun on large rocks, and afternoon walks around the high desert. Peace, serene, healing. Peace.

Fear and Peace. Calm healing peace. (3) Surreal, Sun!, Joshua Tree.

Mothers who become mothers to daughter's who become mother's of daughters. (3) Maiden - Laughing, dancing daughter. Mother - Fracture strong, birthing. Crone - Aging, shining, being.

Safe House: Woman surviving alone. To her all is gone, she is safe, is it worth it? in cultures where family is everything they are, what does she have left if she is is all there is. (1) Miniature Life

Life of chaos and pain. Fire unwinds her into a woman, same light inside burning but before one leaks it out. Going through the fire lets it out. (2) Leaking, Letting

Crochet Hands. Intricate pattern, Lace tears, frays. (2) Hands Remember, Brain Forgets

Fractured whole.

2009-05-02T08:56:00.000-05:00

For the boys...

It's the spirit that shines from within the crone...

2009-04-25T19:45:00.002-05:00

An artist friend told me that some women who viewed her paintings of the Maiden, Mother and Crone wanted a fourth woman. They weren't ready to be the crone, so she painted a fourth woman, the queen.

I don't see the crone as bad or ugly or old. It is the stage of life after maidenhood and motherhood. It is when your children leave the nest and make their own, when you stop your menses. The only reason that the crones of yore were women who had a short life-expectancy. They all aged early, but life is different now. It is not but a hundred or so years that we have increased the years and the quality of life after menopause. Crone is not a bad word, it is the stage of life you are in, where your spirit is, and it encompasses both the mother and the maiden; they were once us.

The Climb

2009-04-11T12:53:00.001-05:00

Life is about the road, not the destination.

Everything is amazing, nobody is happy...

2009-02-28T15:34:00.005-06:00

Definitely worth watching, especially if you remember dialing the 0's on the rotary dial...

All about the Crone, or not banging your drum slowly

2009-02-14T12:35:00.004-06:00

There is a certain point in a woman's life when she admits that she is the crone. I hate the negative connotation that word brings to mind, because it is really a thing to celebrate, just as we celebrated my daughter's coming of age and the messiness that brings to a woman once a month.

I work with many crones, women who celebrate their womanhood as well as their age and the gifts that can bring.

Today a friend shared a celebration of a woman I aspire to be, in all her crone-ness. Jerrie is a 91 year old woman who is sitll playing her drums. Not some little drums, either. She is a full-on drum-set woman. She does not bang her drum slowly! Hey Jerrie!

Words Matter

2009-02-13T10:05:00.003-06:00

I had an interesting conversation the other day. I was talking to a co-worker and said that I had graduated, and that my major is Information Management. She said, "No, it is not!"

Startled, I asked what it was, then. She said magical words, "Your DEGREE is Information Management."

I started to ruminate on this. Words matter. Words are magical, they can hurt, bring joy, empower or deflate.

Go forth and say nice things.

I am a Katie...

2008-12-07T09:01:00.003-06:00

Fourteen years ago I moved back to Minneapolis after being away for sixteen years. On my way somewhere with a friend - a nursing student at St. Kate's in Minneapolis - we passed the gates of St. Kate's in Saint Paul. Looking at the beautiful campus through the main gate on Cleveland and Randolph, her four-year-old daughter exclaimed, "I want to go there!" Her mother said that if she wanted to, she could.

Silently I echoed her refrain, but as a struggling single parent of whom a high-school counselor had said "might not be college material," I did not believe that could happen.

Eleven years ago next month I received in the mail a postcard for something called Weekend College at the College of Saint Catherine. I looked at that card for days, hearing that guidance counselor echoing in my head. I just knew that with my learning disability and lack of confidence I would never be able to do this. My mother said, "Why would you want to go to college - what will you do with a degree at 50?!"

Stubborn woman that I am, I went to the next information session, applied and was accepted.

Eleven days from now, ten years later, I will walk across that stage and receive my diploma.

What will I do with a college degree at 52? I will live the rest of my life knowing that I did this, that I was - am - college material. Besides, as Ann Landers (or was it Dear Abby?) said, how old would I be without a degree?

Their bombs were mace and pepper spray

2008-09-03T21:20:00.006-05:00

The sights here in the Twin Cities are sickening. The total disregard for the all of us in Saint Paul and Minneapolis are outrageous. The streets are packed with people expelled from our downtowns.

The many colleges and the U of M are in full swing this week; the Twin City public schools started classes. The city buses have been diverted and are running many tens of minutes behind, making people miss secondary connections. Half hour commutes have been doubled, tripled. Parents are early to leave their children, late to gather them from school. They are late for work, dinner is late, children are late to bed and early to rise.

My husband and I attended Take Back Labor Day, a concert on Harriet Island. We were across the river from downtown Saint Paul. I left early to go home. My bus was subverted for an hour and a half until they had figured out an alternate route around downtown. Laura Bush and Cindy McCain were in town. I stood in the heat and sun, with no seat or shade.

At the bridge leaving the island there were four huge city trucks blocking access. Police were everywhere, behind barricades and in helicopters. All around the island were groups of officers, blockades, and police cars. Just in case we burst out of song and into violence.

Once I finally got on the bus it took me around downtown Saint Paul to hook up with the second bus - a half hour ride turned into a one and half hour ride. There were transit supervisors there telling no one anything. The Republican's are in town, freedom and movement is compromised! The streets of this city did not belong to the people of this city, they were co-opted by the civil authorities.

I was standing there not knowing all that was going on downtown. I have a friend with the protesters so I was a little more informed than some. I watched police cars speeding by, some with sirens, some just speeding. There were ambulances flying trough traffic, sirens screaming. A rented Hertze-Penske van rushed by filled with riot police!

My husband left three hours later to find the next bridge over the river blocked by four more huge city trucks, denying access to an area outside of downtown Saint Paul. These are cities of rivers, and our passages across were being denied and funnelled away from our homes. Neighborhoods were taken over by the National Guard. Every overpass and ramp to and from the freeway had police cars.

Is Saint Paul in the Green Zone?

Is this all because those with money felt that they should finish their August vacations and then come to our town and take over during one of the busiest weeks of the year? The Republicans are using the gun of government, and it is being pointed at us. They have seized control of our city, and now it is not ours. Their lives are untouched by we who know how many houses we have. (For too many of us, the answer is none.)

Apparently, our cities and our towns are only ours when they deign to let us have them. The Republicans invaded us like they invaded Iraq, with total disregard for anything but their desires and motivations. Their bombs here were mace and pepper spray.

The results of this did not result in our lives lost, our property destroyed. We were only inconvenienced, and I do not mean to compare our discomforts with what the Iraqi people go through every day. I only mean to compare the disregard for anyting beyond Republican wishes and desires.

This all feels like a first step to more dangerous thoughts, far beyond our small version of civil disobedience. Our own civil authorities not only allowed but participated in this debacle.

Our media is painting the protesters with their broad brush, or not portraying them at all.

Our leaders have forgotten where American sovereignty lies.

I remembered

2008-06-07T15:17:00.003-05:00

I remembered today what my Jasmine smells like! There, sitting amidst all of the plants and flowers at the Farmer's market was one lone Star Jasmine plant. The smell was weak, but it was there!

If you stand for a few minutes, it starts to seep in. My daughter and I have the same memories of Jasmine washing over our dreams; we slept in the same bedroom. I told my granddaughter that story, about how we smelled it all night long.
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The whole morning reminded me of a market in San Diego. The stalls of fruits, vegetables, cheeses, flowers, honey, and other various items was just like spending the day at a seaside market or the big flea market. The jasmine was the perfect topping for this almost Sunday ( it is Saturday today).

Sense Invasion

2008-05-14T21:42:00.004-05:00

As I drifted to sleep every night the scent of night blooming jasmine would float through my night, cradle my dreams and cleanse my senses. I will never forget that, even now when I sometimes can't remember the smell of jasmine. Every spring in Minnesota I remember those San Diego dreams. I remember them as I walk down the street, only to be suddenly surrounded with the smell of apple blossoms, making me both remember and forget the smell of my jasmine dreams.

(This post is for Susan, who helped me remember to write this down, the paragraph I crafted as I walked along the street tonight. The paragraph I remembered to write down. I write a lot, I just don't ever do it when I have a chance to record it, then I forget just as I forget everything else. Thank you, Susan!)

Christmas Vacation

2007-12-22T07:38:00.001-06:00

This is the first day of my Christmas Vacation. I can call it that because I work for a Catholic college, where we can say that it is a Christmas Vacation. I remember the excitement I felt as a child, waiting for what this yesterday was - the last day before our two week break. That was back in the days when there was actually snow on the ground for the holidays. Because our president gives us the days between Christmas and the New Year as a gift, we are off for eleven days!

This year feels like I am still a child - still getting a vacation from school. Possibly that comes from working at a college. There is snow on the ground, though the weather is a little warm for it to stay. But, better, there is snow in the air. It is a wet heavy snow, and the flakes I am watching fall are mixed with water, but it is still beautiful. The flakes are the huge wet ones, that you know contain hundreds of little snowflakes clinging to the bare trunks and branches of the trees. I am sitting here in the pre-dawn dark on the longest night of the year, watching the huge flakes fall outside my window, and I am feeling the same joy that I felt as a child. As I left work, I called out, See you next year!

This is one of my favorite seasons, not especially because of Christmas, but because the year is ending, the next one is starting. The days are short, the night dropping in the late afternoon. Napping now is like curling into a deep cocoon, where you fall asleep in the light and wake in the dark. It feels a little thrilling, like getting back up in the middle of the night to play for a while, then going back to a long winter's night sleep. As a child it made me feel like a grownup. As an adult it makes me feel cozy.

Then, after the holidays are over, it is the second start of a new year for me. Fall is the first new start, with schools opening back up, and either me or my children were returning to the fresh slate of a year. A few months later we get a second brand new start of a year. For me it is also the turning of another year-page; my birthday is on the second of January. Going back to work on the day after my birthday always feels fresh. Clean. New.

For now, as the dark black of the night turns to the dark gray of a snowy winter's morning, as my world turns slowly white, I sit here content and at peace.

--
Janice
---<--<@ @>-->--- ---<--<@ @>-->---
We are all wanderers on this earth. Our hearts are full of wonder, and our souls are deep with dreams. --Gypsy Proverb

On the Road Again....

2007-04-18T07:24:00.000-05:00

We left Mike and Mimi's Monday morning. It was hard to go, especially when they really wanted us to stay longer, but time travels on, and so did we.

We didn't make it far the first night. We left late, moved slow, stopping around, including an outlet mall. Now, I had to promise Brian it would be fast and painless, and it was - espeicially when you consider he is the one who got most of the booty!

We slept in Norfolk (Naw-Fawk), because we wanted to spend the next morning at Virginia Beach. I couldn't be that close to the ocean without spending some time there. So, we hit the road, found several Starbuck's, and stopped by the main tourist beach in town.

There was a huge statue of Neptune. I took a lot of pictures, they will be here soon but I left the camera in my room. :-)

We did a little present shopping and then headed West through Naw-Fawk. It is a long western strip of town, and the road was filled the entire way (miles) with stores and strip malls and big malls and restaurants and everything else you could think of.

We did find a little storefront seafood store, so we stopped there for lunch. Yummm. Brian had Scallopps which were wonderful. I had shrimp and fish; just as good.

Then, we hit the open road. This was the definition of a beautiful open road! The skies were blue, the clouds were white and fluffy, and the road was rolling hills. It was really the perfect day. We wanted to bottle it, or attach a camera to the car just to record this road. We listened to , to the Woodstock concert, The Doors and then Joan Baez.

On another note, I love my iPod! The soundtrack for all of our travels has been amazing. Brian makes a perfect DJ.

Pictures coming tomorrow, if I find Internet again.

Long time no Internet!.

2007-04-11T09:55:00.000-05:00

Mike's place is wonderful and welcoming and full of trees. The trade off for that peace is that he only has dial-up access. Do you have any idea how long it would take to upload pictures that way?

The moral of this story is to be patient, grasshopper, I will do a new blog when we leave here. We will probably leave Friday sometime, so maybe by Saturday morning there will be new stories and pics.

For now, know that we are well and at peace. That and the night stars are incredible. They are brighter than I have seen for a long time and Wow! there are so many!

Humbling and sobering...

2007-04-08T06:18:00.000-05:00

Today started in a place that Erin will recognize - small curvy winding high up low down all around roads. She will recognize it because she will recognize the sweaty palms and the nervousness and the slow driving. Brian went mad (the crazy kind of mad) seeing me pull over to let the faster cars pass us by. I just wanted to be nice, that and get them off of my tail.

It was incredibly beautiful, though it was hard to see with my eyes on the road (note to self: just keep looking at the road, the blacktop, the white lines, the mirrors, ...).

One of my favorite parts of this spring driving is the forsythia. Their golden leaves are the lilac's of the East. I worked with Sr.Ann Ganley, who was from New York .She described a trip back east, where the hills were laden with this golden treasure. I have seen a few in the Twin Cities, but nothing like the laden hills here. They are beautiful, and they remind me of a now departed friend at the same time. It is a nice memory.

We slowly made our way to Hancock, PA, where we had lunch and avoided the 250 vendor antique mall. There Brian laid out the Battle of Gettysburg, and we were back on the road with our destination in sight (25 miles down the road).

When we arrived we followed the auto tour around the battlefield. I cannot describe adequately how this feels. The road goes from the Confederate side, where they fought and died in numbers that are just way too high. They dug in the hills, with their canons and regiments lined up along the ridge. This was not a big hill, but it did stretch a long ways. The view to the left is looking across the main battlefield, where the canons fired and where the soldiers charged.

The road is lined with woods to the south. Not so many today as there were then. There were several owners, each sharing their parcels of land with soldiers. Willingly? Probably not, this is Pennsylvania, part of the north.

There are plaques along the route detailing who was there, how much equipment they had and who led them. They also listed the dates and the casualties. It was a three-day hard battle for a bit of ground that was more symbolic than anything. It was from July 1 to July 4, 1863. Winning it would have meant that Lee managed to press into the Union territory. Losing meant that after three days of hard fighting, when night fell, the Confederate survivors walked thirty miles to Hagerstown, Maryland. It also gave them a wagon-train of wounded that stretched for twenty miles. Humbling and sobering.

The road is also lined with individual monuments to the soldiers of individual states. Some of them are impressive. No matter how terrible this war was, no matter the politics or the brother fighting brother - or even officer fighting against former Academy mates - each state considered their soldiers to have been patriots.

General Lee was a good man, even as he was a soldier. He was doing what he considered to be his duty to his country - or the country he wanted to create. The Union generals were defending the country that they wanted to keep. Each was doing what they were ordered to do.

The ending of the trail led to the hill where Lincoln made the famous address. When we told him that Gettysburg was our next stop, Jim wanted to know if I had the address. I didn't get the joke immediately, and Jim on the phone and Brian in the room were laughing. I now have the address, if you want it. It is at the intersection of Tourist Trap Street and Souvenir Circle. The text of the speech is here.

Tomorrow we will be in Tappahannock (city) on the Rappahannock (river) for a few days with Brian's brother, Mike. Happy Easter all.

From a beautiful beginning to a beautiful ending...

2007-04-07T06:49:00.000-05:00

Our joy in the inn was made complete by a fabulous night's sleep. It was complete when we woke up to wonderful blue skies, and crisp windless weather.

I did have a new coffee experience. We found the cutest little coffee shop in their old business area. It was a long room lined with tables. There was a great over-stuffed couch and wireless Internet. It was one of the prettiest coffee shops I have been in, and I have been in a lot. But. Of course there is a "but". I asked if they brewed their coffee strong, and the nice young man said that he brews it stronger, but he wasn't sure if anyone else did. So, here's an idea; I had him put a shot of espresso in the cup first. It was still weakkkkk! Sigh...

We of course left town taking another small road. This time we were rewarded by some of the most amazing scenery since we left, and that is saying a lot since the Mississippi road was so gorgeous. The roads were not straight at all. We covered a lot of miles, but most of that was, in Brian's words, "up and down and side to side." The views into the valleys were magical. Yes, Joe, I was still watching the road. On top of that I was driving a little less than the speed limits. Erin had experience with my mountain driving. I can say that it is a lot easier to do when you aren't ina 24 foot truck pulling a car along.

The towns we went through were long towns, all along the ridges of valleys of the roads. There were very few homes back off of the road. One town was miles long.

I know that someone was having fun with these roads, and they were driving Haili's car. Or, at the very least the one she needs when she is sixteen. The color here isn't as bright as the car really was. It easily matched her bedroom walls. I wonder where you get a car painted Victoria Secret Pink?

Here's your history lesson for today. We finished our drive on Highway 40, which is a historic road. This is what Wikipedia saays about it:

"U.S. Route 40 is an east-west United States highway. As the "0" in its route number suggests, US 40 was once a coast-to-coast route, stretching from the Atlantic to the Pacific. However, the entire segment west of Salt Lake City, Utah, has been decommissioned in favor of Interstate 80.

As of 2006, the route's eastern terminus is in Atlantic City, New Jersey, near the Atlantic Ocean (and close to the end of U.S. Highway 30). As of 2004, its western terminus is north of Park City, Utah, at an intersection with Interstate 80.^[2]"

We landed in Uniontown, PA for the evening. I wanted to see if we could find a cute Bed and Breakfast for the night. Now, there weren't any signs for anything anywhere, so I had a great idea. I found a cute little antique shop where I was sure that someone would know of a B & B. Fortunately the Antique shop was closed, but next door in a wonderful old mansion was an amazing fabulous wonderful restaurant - Caileigh's. It is owned and run by Chef Joe, a very good man. He took time out of pre-dinner prep to find the names and numbers of three B & B's. While I was waiting for him to come back I spent some time looking around. He is a well-known chef in PA. In 2005 he was Restaurantuer of the year. He has pics up of him and Mario and Emeril, and other equally impressive people. When he came back I commented on the pics and said that my daughter and granddaughter watched all of the cooking shows. I told him that Haili likes Paula Dean, but I am a geek and love Alton Brown. That is his favorite one also.

So, we found a cheap motel and went back there for dinner. Julia and Dana would love it there. The meal was excellent. I had crab cakes and seafood soup (not the real name). Brian had Kobe Steak, and was so kind to share it with me. mmmmmm.

So, now we are on the road to Gettysburg.

More Beautiful Bones...

2007-04-05T18:49:00.000-05:00

Trees do not have a lock on beautiful bones. The buildings that comprise Main Street America have their own bones. Some are gentrified and refurbished, but others are left to the winds of time. It is difficult for me to drive through these towns and keep my eyes on the roads. I want to fix them all! (Yes, Joe, I am watching the roads)

I am not sure if you can read the name of this abandoned diner, but it is "Sanitary Lunch." Don't you want to know the story behind this?

The landscape today started to undulate again. The gentle curves and hills were fun to drive, and we drove more than one roller-coaster road. As we entered Ohio the towns were closer together, so our time suffered. That's ok, the music was wonderful, the company was the best and the day was well-spent.

The best part, though, was the Starbuck's this morning! Real Coffee! The coffee shop from yesterday paled in comparison. Especially the part where I asked what they had brewed other than flavored coffee and the young lady replied, with a puzzled look, "Regular." Today I got a thermos of my special iced espresso recipe for the road. It was the best mid-afternoon pick-me-up! It was a good thing, too, because we didn't see one coffee shop!

There were the birds to watch again. I don't know what they are, but they are little and black and cute. The were in the air just letting the wind blow them where it would, all as a flock. They would try to turn, all of them would manage it, then the wind would catch them again and they were off on a whole new direction. (Yes, Joe, still watching the road)

We passed a town named Kokomo. It isn't the Kokomo of The Beach Boys fame, but it does have a rhythm with Kankakee from Yesterday and with Kickapoo Avenue from later on today. I am on a K kick, I konjecture. Hi Drake!

I passed a wonderful sign, for Buggy Crossing. I did take that pic. The one I did not take was of a boy reading a book. No, it wasn't a library crossing, but there was a library up the street. That's the one I should have taken, I know. By that time I was too tired to get out of the car!

The wind picked up this afternoon, the temperature dropped and the air was filled with sideways-blowing snow. Not a lot, but enough that it was pretty to watch.

We had lunch at a McDonalds in Ohio somewhere. There was a woman there who was just getting off of work. She joined us for lunch and we talked for quite a while. She was nice, and it was fun to talk to a local. She told us that there was a hill that showed the seven steeples of the Catholic churches in that area - and that the are 90% Catholics there.

The part that I had to hold my laughter for was when I asked what state is on the other side of Ohio. Now, I should have known that. But even more, the people who live in Ohio should know that. She asked four other people before she found one who thought it is Pennsylvania! What are the learning in the schools?

After a lot of undulating roads we drove into Mt. Vernon, Oh. Here we found the best place to stay, the Mt. Vernon Inn. It is, in Brian's words, "A peach." It is a house with a u-shaped grouping of rooms surrounded by a pretty garden. Throughout there are table and chair sets, with some random chairs outside of the rooms. Nice garden chairs.

And, they serve a full breakfast in a beautiful little dining room. Homemade scones, eggs, pancakes, waffles, cereal, fresh fruit, Yumm! We are both very happy here, might not want to leave!

Beautiful Bones...

2007-04-04T19:42:00.000-05:00

Today we headed east on Illinois Highway 17. It was a nice wonderful peaceful pretty route, filled with trees having what I called Lovely Bones. Their dark branches bare of leaves make the most marvelous shapes. In this picture the one on the right looks like my hair in the wind.

The wind. Wow. It was blowing so hard today, west to east, that we got much better mileage. When I opened the door to take this picture it almost took it off the hinges, which is why I only took one picture! At least it made Brian smile watching me try to get a shot without the camera blowing away. And cold. I don't think it got above 33 degrees today, and adding the wind chill made even us Minnesotans shiver.

The wind was blowing so hard that the only pheasant we saw was walking across the road. I watched a flock of little black birds start to fly low across the road, see us and try to take off higher. The wind caught them and threw them in a totally different direction. How bad is it when the birds have a hard time? I did watch one crow soar like he was having fun, but mostly it was ducks in the ditch water who were enjoying the day.

Except for us. We had another wonderful day. We listened to Arlo Guthrie sing "The City of New Orleans" as we drove through Kankakee, where "The train pulls out of Kankakee." We passed the train station, but again, I didn't stop to take the picture because of the wind. It was a great little brick station, though.

After that we meandered along, looking for something I have been missing - coffee shops! My goodness gracious sakes alive, all the coffee here is weak weak weak! We did finally find one where I had to describe how to make an Americano, but I got one. Brian's white chocolate mocha was bad, but I pretty much made the Americano recipe for the young girl on the espresso machine, so I was happy.

We sat there for a little bit, because I needed a break from concentrating on driving. It was while I was watching the news show when I realized that I hadn't seen CNN at all - only Fox. Oh No! We are traveling in Red States! I will have to watch my step. And my mouth, perhaps.

I finally found a post office to mail Easter presents, and then we were off to Lafayette, home of Purdue I found. Guess what else I found? Starbuck's! I can hardly wait for tomorrow morning. I don't really need a Starbuck's, but I have found that if there is one, then there are other coffee shops.

We also found a pretty good Mexican restaurant here. It was authentic Mexican food cooked kind of well. Better in my mind than bad Mexican food cooked well.

Tomorrow we head south-east towards Tennessee and Kentucky.

Oh, Kermit and Julia, I am sorry, but this picture had to be taken. If it makes it any better, earlier today we saw a Frog Sanctuary (really!). I can just imagine all those little frogs hopping as fast as their sought-after little legs could carry them. Then I had an image of frogs without their hopping legs in little barrows or wagons being pulled by their friends, all running to the Frog Sanctuary. Go, little frog, go!

Following the Mississippi

2007-04-04T08:23:00.000-05:00

For a trip meant to heal and restore, the beginning was perfect. The rain made the air clean, washing away the old, allowing for the peace to creep into our hearts.

The road down the Mississippi on the Wisconsin side is amazing and beautiful and wonderful. I can't describe the peace I felt. There are a lot of wetlands and nature refuges, and of course the ever present boat landings.

The colors and textures of the landscape as it starts to sprout is so great, and the skeletons of the trees are beautiful. It is fun to round a curve and see the white bones of the birch interlaced with the grays and blacks of the other trees, the spring green of the willows and the reds of the roadside brush. The ground is waterlogged from recent rains, giving the wetlands room to grow. On one field the little dip in the furrows made three S's of water, little curly smiles.

Brian is the DJ, going through the iPod picking song by song. He is finding the rhythm of t he road, and he lets me sing! The beauty of listening to Woody Guthrie sing about the farms and rolling hills go by as we are driving past farms and fields is profound. The stories about the trains rocking and rolling along the landscape as we drive along rail tracks is soothing.

The little towns on the edge of the water are picturesque. The buildings are all types, but my favorites are the Victorian homes. We watch the boats tied to the docks, wishing it was warmer so that they were on the water.

There are bridges that amaze me as they terrify me. One place started out peaceful, going over a bridge made out of fill to appear you are driving on the earth, then you realize it is a road to an island. Out of the blue I was driving over a metal bridge, including the deck. It was not solid metal, but more like a grate, and narrow! I do not like bridges, so I felt like I had accomplished something crossing the river there!

We turned east at Burlington, and started heading into the heartlands of America. Onward, ever onward (Bilbo or Frodo Baggins).

More fun than fun!

2007-03-02T16:11:00.000-06:00

The storm that Silly Lily and I hoped and prayed for really exceeded our expectations. I learned some things today about snow.

I have never been the one in charge of shoveling. I was in San Diego for 19 years, that helped. When I moved back here I was either in apartments or had a teenager-in-residence, Joe on the Radio. Later, I had a teenager-in-close-proximity, and we made him come home to shovel. Last weekend I had our next door neighbor and his snow blower for most of it, though I did do some myself.

Today was a different story. I think that the snow blowing neighbor left town.

On Friday Silly Lily told me about her friend, J. "If you want to have fun in the snow, play with J because she has more fun than fun!" While I was shoveling our long driveway, the ridge at the street from the plow, and the buried front door, I was doing some wishing and hoping for "more fun than fun.

So, when I finished I did these things. First, I called Joe on the Radio and told him he was a wussie for complaining about shoveling our little tiny sidewalk. He replied that it was a big sidewalk. I replied that I now had a gigantic one. He said, "I'm going back to finish my nap, good bye, I love you."

Then I made a snowman. I was too tired to roll the snow, so I used two large compacted chunks from the snow plow. It isn't pretty, but it works. Lastly, I made a snow angel, and learned that getting up from the snow isn't as easy as you might think.

Sometimes you have to make your own fun that is more fun than fun. Oh, and I promise to be more careful what I wish for in the future.

I'm getting a lot of joy from this.

2007-02-13T18:07:00.000-06:00

My granddaughter hadn't been to the library much because we went to bookstores, and she owns a lot of books. She had been to the library at my school, and with her pre-school. I decided that I wanted to introduce her little sponge mind to research. It might be nice for the research queen to have a research princess.

We found a children's book called Snowflake Bently, about a man who - in the late 1800's - learned to photograph snowflakes. The story was a pathfinder for us. The children's book led us to a book that he published just before he died. It had all of his snowflake pictures, and they are amazing. Silly Lilly and I looked through the entire book. She would stop and say, "I was looking for this one!"

At one point she got a very sweetly solemn look on her face and said, "This is giving me a lot of joy." Ah, little woman, you are giving me a lot of joy, too.

I am home.

2007-02-13T17:58:00.000-06:00

I am listening to Michelle (Joe's girlfriend) on the (internet) air. They are playing nice mellow music. I love their the station. And, I heard Joe give a commercial just before Michelle started tonight. Last night I heard Michelle just before Joe was on. This is fun for me, and I like it way more than the football game broadcasting Joe did last fall.

I am sitting in my new room in the basement. I am sitting in front of the beautiful, warm fire in my ugly (but comfortable) rocking chair. I have rocks, all of my beads and many of my books surrounding me. I have my mother's oak table in the middle of the room. My beadstuff is all on her matching oak wall unit. Under the one small window is an old card catalog that an archivist acquaintance gave me. He knew that I was someone who would appreciate it.

I have my library table against one wall, giving me an extra workspace where I am going to re-learn to sew. I have my old desk on the other wall with shelf, a television and all of the stuff that goes with vhs and dvd and a sound system that came from our bedroom.

What it is makes me smile. Throughout my life I have lived in places that were made for me at that time. The things that I had just fit in there. This room is the closest to my perfection that I will ever find. All of the library/art/craft furniture that I had fit together better that I would have imagined. There is the perfect amount of space and place for everything.

Next to the fireplace is my tiffany-style torchiere with magnolias and blue sky. Ginny's oil lamp is on the mantel next to the floor lamp. One the other side is a little frog bankers lamp. The fireplace itself level with the chocolate brown concrete floor. I love it - it almost feels like a campfire. The fireplace is made out of flagstone.

I am working on an alter like the one I made on the upstairs mantle. There is a sign that my aunt made when she lived in a shack way out in the country. She put it up, and one of another of her neighbors would stop by. In crudely painted letters, "Need ride to shopping / Follow Road to white house / I think you." It is a humble sign, and I like it. For now looped over the sign is a large sandalwood Buddhist Mala. The beads are at least 20mm. It is near the angels and goddesses and fairies tears.

I have a piece of driftwood that I used to hold the charcoal / incense. Of course there are rocks all around me. I have water in a finger bowl that belonged to my grandmother, and the fire is dancing with the air.

I am home.

Lady Augusta - AKA Auggie Doggie

2007-01-08T10:55:00.000-06:00

Auggie came to us in 1995, when she was 3 1/2 years old. We found her at the Humane Society, but when we brought her home we discovered her former owner just one block away from our house. Someone had let her out of the yard, she went to the Humane Society, and then to us. Her owner (Amelia) let us keep her, probably because with us she had a boy, and with her she was left alone all night.

We have had many adventures, Auggie and me. Soon after we got her my daughter went to her bedroom on the second floor and yelled down the stairs, "Mom, why is the dog on the roof?" Auggie had jumped from her window to the little porch roof four feet away. That was fun getting her back in the house.

She loved to run away, but she loved more having us chase her. One cold winters night Auggie led my son and I through the snow-filled yards, filling our boots and really annoying us. We finally caught up with her when she stopped to visit two women walking five little yipping dogs. When we came up to them and grabbed the dog, the women said that we really needed to keep her on a leash! I really did not respond all that well to their suggestion.

Once she ate a whole sheet pan of tin foil. They wanted us to give her peroxide to make her throw it up. We tried for about twenty seconds then brought her to the vet's office. They tried for about ten minutes before a very wet vet came out and told us they were going to try something else. Sunday vet visits are extremely expensive.

When Joe came home from soldiering in Iraq, I brought her to their homecoming ceremony. When one police officer smiled I said that it was his kid. You should have seen her joy at having her boy come home!

She is now 15 1/2 years old, pretty good for a big dog. In dog years she is now older than I am. We have been dog-sitting her for a few days. It is nice to become reacquinted a little bit. She has Arthritis and moves slower now. She stood in the open door yesterday and didn't run. Back in the day she would have been ten blocks away by the time I discovered her, but she just stood there with a dreamy longing look on her face.

I have been taking her for walks around the block, slowly reminiscent of the long walks we used to take. You can see in her face that she is trying to run, and that she might be thinking that she is running. I let her go ahead to the end of the long leash - it makes her feel good.

Slow though she is, her mind is still there. Thought the body might be weak, she is still the feisty little bitch she always was - in her dreams. I am happy to have been able to share her dreams for a few days.

Soldiers, TSO, sons, blogs

2007-01-07T07:11:00.000-06:00

My youngest son Joe takes me to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra (TSO) Christmas concert every year. The first time was in December, 2002, before he left for Iraq. He is an Army Reservist with the 353rd Transportation Company. He wanted to take me to a concert for my Christmas present - the gift of time. He found the word "orchestra" and thought he was being nice by taking me to a classical concert. He was willing to suffer through it, and I thought it was sweet.

Then I did my research and discovered that TSO is NOT classical. They are like Emerson Lake and Palmer, a little Jethro Tull-ish, with maybe a bit of Moody Blues. They are classical rock in the grandest most amazing style, and they have an incredible light show. We fell in love with them and have gone to their concert every year since - minus the second December when he wasn't home from being a soldier soon enough to get tickets.

Every year during the middle of the TSO concert, when they are doing their introductions, they give one final thanks to all servicemen and servicewomen everywhere. Most of the auditorium gives a standing ovation, but Joe never stands. This year I asked why and he said that he was one of them, so he couldn't do it. I replied, "So, I will stand for you."

The moment always brings tears to my over-sentimental eyes. I remember how badly the Viet Nam vets were treated. I had a very special boyfriend (George). He served as a radio-operator in the front lines. As I learned, the radio operator was always targeted because he stands next to the lieutenant, who is always targeted. George received only one permanent injury from his two tours there. His hand was cut near his thumb. Not from the war; it was sliced with a broken bottle thrown by an anti-war protester when he came back stateside. Sadly, George died in a auto accident a few years ago.

To the point, now. I found a blog by Garry Trudeau, creator of the comic strip Doonesbury: The Sandobx (an appropriate title for our soldiers in the Middle East). The writers are soldiers, telling us bits and pieces of their days. Their stories are excellent. When I read them I am reminded of how differently the troops of today are treated. This war is just as bad, the stories just as horrific, but the soldier aren't being blamed for it.

In your free minutes, and in George's memory, take some time and read their essays. I promise, you won't be sorry. http://gocomics.typepad.com/the_sandbox/

To see your name in print

2007-01-07T06:56:00.000-06:00

I bought the new WYDMNTYAF (What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Fibromyalgia) yesterday. I have the old edition, but the new one has a bonus for me: One of the authors (Claudia) used one of my quotes. It is a lovely feeling for an aspiring writer to see her name in print, even if it is only a quote in a book. Here is what is printed:

"I started slow, walking around the block. One day I walked five blocks to buy a lottery ticket (hope blooms eternal) and five blocks back. It almost did me in, but I survived. Now I can walk to the grocer store and if I am too fatigued I take the bus partway to save a few blocks. It's like Claudia once said - you will be in pain whether your are home or not. You will be worn out at home or you can get out and be just as tired. Sometimes it is like I am moving in a fog, but at least I am moving. A few times I've called my friend in San Diego on my cell phone and the walk doesn't seem as long because we are talking the whole time."

Not profound, and in a few cases not grammatical, but still powerful. Guaifenesin changed my live, but not without the help of movement.

I have been having a bad cycle lately, combined with stupid blocking. It was helpful for me to read my own words. It has given me strength again.

Confused? Don't know what I am talking about? Please ask, I am always willing to talk about Fibromyalgia. Or, go to their website, Fibromyalgia Treatment. Guai saved my life, let me help you save yours!

It's all a matter of perception

2007-01-05T07:50:00.000-06:00

As my newly-six-year-old granddaughter Silly Lilly and I were walking yesterday, we were comparing the weather to the season. It smelled more like spring, we decided, with all the damp soil and wet smells. Finally she gave heavy sigh and said, "This is the worst winter ever!"

We want to go sledding and make snow angels and run through the drifting snow. We long for the tall banks of compacted snow that she can climb and be taller than me. I love to watch her laughing joy as she makes snow angels. Perhaps that is one difference between nanas and mothers - we have more time to play in the snow.

If it snows a lot, you can blame me and Silly Lilly. We are "Wishin' and hopin' / And thinkin' and prayin' / Plannin' and dreamin (-- Marty Lloyd)" for a nice snow storm.

Side Effects

2007-01-05T07:48:00.000-06:00

I have asthma, and at times I take different medications. I was intrigued by the ad that ran in Time Magazine last week, for one of the occasional asthma meds I take. Curious, I read the ad and immediately wished I hadn't!

It said, and I quote, "In patients with asthma, medicines like salmeterol may increase the chance of asthma-related death."

Talk about your side-effects.

The stuff that dreams are made of...

2006-10-11T11:12:00.000-05:00

From the time my granddaughter was two we have been sharing an important rite of passage for little girls: Dandelions. We eagerly watch for signs as the snow slowly melts, looking for the leaves to shoot up as soon as it is gone. I used to tell people that with her little hands jammed full of dandelions she carried she was performing a pubic service for those who don't share our fascination with these spring flowers.

Each year has been different. The first year was for learning how to pick from the bottom of the stems so that you are getting more than just the flower-top. Our second year she wanted me to shovel the snow away to get to the grass. I explained that the flowers were sleeping, and even if I shoveled all of the snow away we wouldn't find any buried golden treasure. Last year was our third year, and we spent a lot of time in her "dandelion store." This is a stand of little trees near one of St. Kate's gates. They grow taller there because the mower can't get into the island. She has a selection criteria of long stems; she even picked the stems with no flower or fluff, her only criteria being long stems.

This year she lives near the Ford Plant. There is a field there where there are so many treasure-flowers that her hands and mine were filled. These were, of course, for Mommy. I get the pleasure of playing with her, her mother gets the fruits of our labors. For me this is a perfectly acceptable symbiotic relationship. I get the fun, her mother gets the drama when the flowers die and have to be thrown out.

This year she is enchanted with the fluffy stuff. Her Auntie Kirstin taught her to wish on a dandelion; we spent a lot of breath wishing. As I am sure you know, one must close their eyes and not tell anyone what you are wishing for, or it won't come true. Dandelion fluff is wonderful stuff. For us, it is the stuff that dreams are made of.

Happy wishing, Silly Lily

Dandelion Dreams (Assignment)

2006-03-16T21:49:00.000-06:00

I am sitting here watching the snow return to the earth, falling quietly from the sky. The spring that was a gardener's tease last week has turned into drifts of snow that we must tread. But we know that this snow, this March nightmare, will leave us soon. It will turn into the dream of April's reply; water that dampens the soil will again be bringing forth that most perfect sign of spring, the dandelion.

We watch, my granddaugther and I, for signs that her dandelion store will once more open for the season, much as we wait for the Dairy Queen's neon to ligut up with it's own spring rite of passage. Soon there will again be the yellow flowers that mean the world to a mother when passed from the small hands of a child. We dream as we climb the drifting snow piles of the green grass that lies dormant covering the seeds of our much longed-for yellow flower.

She taught me to eat artichokes... (Assignment)

2006-02-18T18:53:00.000-06:00

I smiled when my son called me for directions on how to cook an artichoke. I laughed when he told me what his roommates said about this prickly green vegetable. Something, I think, to do with masculinity.

My Califormia friend taught me to eat artichokes. First you cut the stem some, to make it flat. The cut off a small piece from the top, getting some of the the pointy pokey leaf tips off. This plant seems to make you work for the meat, of which there isn't much.

You then either put it into a steamer, or wrap it in plastic warp with a few drops of water to microwave. The butter is melted, and the artichoke is finished in about ten minutes in the microware, longer in the steamer.

Pull the leaves off one by one, dipping the end in the butter before scraping the meat off the leaf. Once you get in to the softer middle leaves you can bite down and take the whole end. When you get all the leaves off you get to the fuzzy interior. Scoop these down (they will come off easily) and there is the heart - the coveted center piece.

My kids learned to like it when they were fairly young. It might have had something to do with the butter. Now, their Minnesota friends look at them very strangely, but every spring we watch the produce section for them to start arriving with the asparagus and strawberries.

It is such a funny vegetable, but when I eat it I am carried back to Julia's house. Once I can smell the butter with the damp green smell of the artichoke mixed in, I am taken instantly to her kitchen and the scent of the baked salmon with rosemary that we always added to the plate.

In My LIfe (Assignment)

2006-02-09T18:23:00.000-06:00

“There are places I’ll remember all my life | though some have changed.” These opening words to the song “In My Life” always bring strong images to me, so much so that I generally don't listen to the rest of the song. My mind wanders, rembering:

One night in rural Kansas where the stars were flying above us brighter than anyone in a city can image they could be. The man, the tequila, the stars. This I will never forget.

A small glade in Balboa Park, in the middle of San Diego. The sun was streaking through the clouds and the trees, bringing a smile to me when I was so distraught. Walking there healed me for a bit, and this I will never forget.

Walking with friends in the desert outside of Jacumba, California. The landscape looked decidedly lunar though it was full sun. The turtle rock that I climbed into just to stick my head out for a picture, the friends, the hot sun. This I will never forget.

A trip to Joshua Tree National Monument with a friend during yet another time in my life when I needed some serious healing. We arrived at night following a road that I swear was lunar. The rocks shone silver, the dirt a darker gray. I can still feel the emotions I had upon waking in the morning and climbing onto the gigantic rock, sitting in the sun to let some of the desert-night chill drift out of our bones. This I will never forget.

And, I remember gathering rocks on the beach in Cardiff by the Sea, California, on the last time we would have with my friend and her family before moving to Minnesota. I remember the waves, the rocks, the children running around and the fun we all had. The sun was hot, the water was cool and the rocks were heavy. This, I will never forget.

It was a dark and stormy night...

2006-02-02T12:30:00.001-06:00

"It was a dark and stormy night," I read. "And the wind was beginning to whistle," replied four-year-old Haili.

Cheesecake and Lasagna (Assignment)

2006-02-02T12:17:00.000-06:00

The tomato sauce is simmering on the stove, scenting the air with it's acidic tomato and basil-y tang. The sausage and mushrooms are browning in the pan on the next burner, adding their rich smells to the air that is moist from the boiling pasta water. The sweet smell overlaying all is the chocolate chip cheesecake in the oven. it is just about ready to come out to make room for the lasagna, which is itself ready to be assembled and placed for it's turn in the oven. The sounds of family arriving are coming from the next room. Soon everyone will be joining me in the kitchen - well, at least the ones who aren't glued to the football game. The wine is waiting in the glasses, adding it's fruity scent to the smells that are my coming from my Christmas kitchen.

Murmurs: a low continuous indistinct sound. (Assignment)

2006-01-26T14:30:00.000-06:00

The voices are all around me, gentle murmers, quiet rumbles. I listen carefully, but the words are all subdued, and I can only make out some of them. "I'll be home in fifteen minutes," "Click here," "Yes." The keyboards are all chittering with their clicks and clacks, making their own secret words as people type. A cell phone ring jars everyone with the loud song; the offending user rushes to silence the shrill noise. The only voice I want to hear is gone now, so I stop listening to the words until only the murmurs are left.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on the Deep Blue Sea

2006-01-20T20:51:00.000-06:00

I have always like the road much less traveled, so when I first saw The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on PBS many, many years ago I fell instantly in love. Douglas Adams was a very strange man, and I like that in a person. Of course, being the bookworm that I am, I had to get the books and read them all. I loved the quirky sense of humor. Yes, I am a geek - I think that has been previously established. I loved all of the British sci-fi shows.

I remember talking about this show to a friend, and he told me where he was when he first heard the radio show (which preceeded the television show).

Imagine lying on the deck of a small boat, in the middle of the Caribbean Islands. The stars are covering the night sky like Lucy's diamonds. The boat is gently rocking with the tide, and you are listening to music while being lulled to sleep. All of a sudden (and here it helps to have actually heard the radio show to know truly how weird it was) this strange music and strange show came on the radio. Of course, it wasn't helped - or maybe it was - by the fact that he was incredibly stoned at the time!

I am traveling this path down memory lane tonight because I am sitting here watching the movie "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," and maybe getting a little sentimental due to the Pinot Noir I am drinking. It was a nice little journey, and a happy memory of a good friend. Not to mention, a pleasant visit with a very strange group of people; Arthur Dent, Ford Prefect, Zaphod and Trillium.

Mitch, just in case this very strange galaxy leads you to this blog, hey there!

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Douglas Adams (author of the HGTTG) wrote a faboulous book called "Last Chance to See." This is about several species of creatures on Earth that are on their way to extinction. It really was a great book.

The Long and Winding Road

2006-01-19T18:43:00.000-06:00

I haven't written for few days because my path has been cloudy and snow-covered. There are days when my head feels like Pooh, "all stuffed wtih fluff." This is common to those of us who suffer with Fibromyalgia, which is a whole other path best left for another day.

What is it like to have these cognitive issues? It is called by those of us in the life, Fibro Fog. I prefer "Brain Cloud," from the movie "Joe Versus the Volcano." My thoughts are chaotic, veering left ang right without asking me which way I want to go. I can't explain myself very well, I get all mixed up, I can't remember what I wanted to say, words don't come out right, etc. etc. etc.

I will see someone who I know, but I won't be sure that it is really her. Facial recognition is what that is called, and I can't do it. That happened today in the lab. Someone I have taken a class with before - and who I see frequently at my granddaughter's pre-school - was sitting at a computer. I kept looking at her out of the corner of my eye, but I just wasn't sure it was her. I was fearful of making a mistake, so I didn't say anything.

I tried to explain a problem to my boss, and it was just NOT coming out right. Finally, he said, "Let me tell you what you are trying to say." Frustrating doesn't even begin to cover how this feels.

This road is one that I have been on for a very long time. It stalls my plans, messes with my brain, interrupt's my sleep, causes me pain and no end of fatigue, but I am better now than I was a year and a half ago. Next year I will be better yet. For now, at least for today, it is one step at a time, down the long and winding road. Sometimes I feel like the country western song, "There's a light at the end of the tunnel/I sure hope it ain't no train!"

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. And the road goes ever on (That's a quote from somewhere, but I can't remember where...)

As the siren called to Odysseus (assignment)

2006-01-15T08:57:00.000-06:00

The beach here summons me as the siren called to Odysseus, as the piled-up rocks on the shore call the waves back again and again. The sun glitters off of the water like a winter snowfall. As I walk along the beach I pick up the small, smooth rocks that have been massaged by the waves and sand until they are ready for me to take them home. Their colors are a rainbow of the earth; blue, green, brown, red, white, black. The noise is deafening as the wind and the waves race to the shore. The waves crash on the rocks as the wind blows past me, filling all of my senses.

Note for my classmates

2006-01-12T20:33:00.000-06:00

I am going to run with this blog, along the Pink Highways. I will put (assignment) next to the titles of the essays I write for Prof Pat, but I think I will be writing this blog for a long time. It is probable that after this class is over no one will read it, but I have needed this for a long time; It has been simmering in my sub-conscious for several years. It was the Sunday morning after class - when I was in the throes of a major migraine - that I woke up and saw what I had to do. I would prefer that my muse come without pain, but if she felt the need to talk to me then, who am I to turn her away?

Oh, the sage! (assignment)

2006-01-12T20:12:00.000-06:00

The road is winding and the brush is scrubby. There are rocks everywhere - big and little - filled in with Manzanita trees and cactus. During the day the sky is almost always a clear, strong blue, withwispy white clouds moving across the horizon using the ever-present breeze in these foothills of the Cuyamaca Mountains. Tonight the sky is black and clear. The stars shine across the night sky almost in defiance of the light pollution from nearby San Diego. It is an fall-chilled night, but the cool feels good, so I can drive with all of my windows wide open. Then the moment arrives, the one I have been waiting for. Just at that curve, the one past all of the new developments, when the roadside lights are few and far between and the full moon shines her brightest, that’s where the smell of sage washes and waves over me. It is intoxicating and invigorating, restful and calming. Don't ask me how it is all of those, it just is. It goes on for miles and miles, carrying me home with its magical smell.

Dandelion Fluff Is Such Wonderful Stuff

2006-01-11T18:17:00.000-06:00

The road today takes us into the beauty that is somewhere in our day; it is our job to find it. Though we might have to search a bit, it is there waiting for us.

Anne Lamott, in her book Bird by Bird, talks about seeing the world with wonder. She said to walk with a child who’s saying “…Wow, wow!...”

A child sees beauty everywhere. I remember walking into a bead store with my granddaughter, when she was just two. She walked in, stopped in awe, and reverently said, “Wow, beads!” She would say “wow” to a bead, a cloud, or a bug – though she wouldn’t actually be anywhere near the bug when she said it.

When she would pass a yard with a dandelion field she would run with such joy, picking bunches by the handful. She would drop all of her dandelion flowers to blow dandelion fluff into the wind. Now I cannot pass a field of dandelions without smiling at how beautiful they are, white or yellow.

I see things differently after seeing them through the eyes of a child. The most ordinary items become magical. The cranes on the bridge, the trail following the jet, the rocks in the street, they all have a charm now that wasn’t there before.

Etty Hillesum was a young Jewish woman living in Amsterdam during the days of Holocaust. Her letters, “Letters from Westerbork” detail an amazing mind. Etty found beautiful things even in Westerbork (a transit camp for Dutch Jews on their way to concentration camps). She wanted to know, “And isn’t it frivolous to go on finding life so beautiful?”

No, Etty. It is frivolous to NOT find the beauty in life. Etty could see the beauty of a patch of flowers growing inside of the horrible place that was a concentration camp. How can we not stop and see the beauty wherever we are?

That’s the road today. Happy trails to you…

My dream living room (assignment)

2006-01-10T19:03:00.000-06:00

I was outside looking in, yet also in the room. The living room rectangle turned into a U when you saw the shadowy dining room leading into a kitchen that I somehow knew was there but couldn't see. In one corner of the room was a wood-burning stove, with a fire that sent warmth into the chill room, a room filled with rich earth colors.

I was watching myself stand near the stove, looking into the living room, talking to someone. I think there was a gathering of some kind. I recognized the skirt that I was wearing. It was a long quilted tied-dyed skirt that I had just bought because I loved the material. On one side of the stove there was a big window that overlooked a patio. On the other side was a bookcase filled with books. The furniture in the living room was as shadowy as the dining room.

Then I woke up, feeling just as warm and cozy as I felt dream-watching the scene. A week later I was answered an ad for a duplex for rent. I walked into the living room of my dream – sans skirt and burning stove. I immediately rented the place, but was sad to discover that the wood-burning stove never worked.

The Village Emporium

2006-01-09T18:28:00.000-06:00

Since I started out writing about coffee shops, I thought I would tell about my favorite one. It was in La Mesa, California, an old-fashioned little town just outside of San Diego. Actually, all of it wasn't quaint, just the little area that I lived near, called Old Village La Mesa.

The little village shopping area was the original downtown area of the town. The street was three, maybe four blocks long. There were a lot of little shops, many of them closed. There were a few restaurants, and since this is in Sunny California, there were many outside tables. The street was just so friendly. People would walk down the street, hang out at the cafes outside, talk to their neighbors and their non-neighbors, and have a wonderful time.

The Village Emporium was the coffee shop. This was a wonderful place! It was in an arcade-like building. There was a center walkway that went back about thirty to forty feet. One the left side was an antique shop and on the right was the Village Emporium. There were tables in front, and along the walkway. There was a door in the front, but the counter was at the back door, so that is where everyone entered.

The inside was crowded with antique tables and chairs (none of them matching), and many other antiques (all of them for sale). There was an out-of-tune piano for customers to sit down and bang away on. They had local musicians on Friday and Saturday nights, huge crowds, and lots of noise. My artist friend and I sat outside many nights. We would talk, or she would bring a sketch pad. I sometimes wrote (bad) poetry while she drew ideas.

Other nights we would talk about our dreams. Julia is living her dream now, and painting for actual money. I am living part of my dream – I am getting my B. A. this spring, hopefully going to graduate school next fall, and creating my own art (beads and websites and now this blog. I did redesign Julia’s website, though it isn’t finished yet. We laugh because it is a race who will finish her site first, her husband or me.

There were a lot of people to have conversations with at the Emporium - including my first experience with the Christian Coalition. Since these first essays are for Professor Pat’s class, I think that I should be a little tolerant. Come back next spring and I will give you my opinions about the CC. The conversations were interesting, though.

What they did not have was good coffee. It was the worst coffee from any coffee shop around! Their French Roast was like colored water. The excuse was that some people didn't like it strong. I tried to explain that French Roast was meant to be dark and rich, but they didn't buy it, and thus neither did I.

At the time I was hanging out at the Emporium I was also working at Starbuck's. One customer came in and asked if we sold coffee to other coffee shops. She said there was a place in La Mesa that was the best coffee shop with the worst coffee. I said, "The Village Emporium!" and we both laughed, albeit sadly because it was true.

It was a sad day when the owner bought the restaurant across the street and moved the Emporium. It was not the eclectic crowded hangout anymore. The regulars all left for different places because it was too mainstream and normal. It was the sad end to my first coffee shop hangout.

Following the Pink HIghway

2006-01-08T09:28:00.000-06:00

I was captured by the idea of Blue Highways - A Journey into America by William Least Heat Moon. Not just the idea of using the blue highways of the old maps, but of the traveling and the writing. I have a dream of doing this myself.

Least Heat Moon has his blue highways. Mine are pink. While I might never get to take the road trip I dream of on the miles of the open road, I can follow the paths and bytes of the Internet. Pink Highways for me is a symbol. In the early days of the internet it was called the Information Superhighway. My superhighway is pink, and you are welcome to hit the road with me. I am not sure where this trip will go. I don’t have an itinerary or timetable. I just want to drive and listen to some music as I go along (Right now I am listening to Reluctant Daughter by Sally Barris).

Even if I was traveling the real road instead of the digital road, I wouldn't do it like he did. There were some places that frankly, I would have been safe in. There were also places that Least Heat Moon visited that I wouldn't have stopped at. He went to many bars. It isn't that I don't like a drink now and then, but a bar is just not a place that I would enjoy going to alone. A coffee shop would be perfect for me. I love coffee shops. There are, of course, the Starbuck's and Caribou's - the chains. But more appealing to me are the neighborhood cafes.

I have discovered a jewel of coffee shops in Saint Paul (Minnesota). J & S Bean Factory is the Cheers of coffee shops. It is a neighborhood hangout for either conversation or people watching.

For the wi-fi set there is free wireless internet access, so you typically see many laptops here. In this coffee shop, the technology doesn’t necessarily isolate the people. Many times people will be on the internet, talking, sharing what they see, or just interjecting casual comments into their neighbor’s conversations, indicating that the computer does not hold total control of its user’s thoughts.

They roast their own beans, so if you are there on a roasting day you get great coffee, great conversation and the incredible smell of roasting beans! If you are there on the day that they are serving Double Dark roasted coffee there is really no reason to leave.

Nothing here is fancy, it is all old and used well. In the side area to the left of the counter there are eight tables, mix-and-match chairs and a coffee bar with three stools that overlook the street through a big picture window.

For now, I think I will sit by the window for a while. It is a lazy Sunday morning and that’s about all I want to do – sit and watch the world go by. I am not sure where I will be tomorrow, but that’s the beauty of this digital road. Here today, somewhere else tomorrow, with no gas to buy.