The Spoon in the Road

Cycling through Italy

2011-08-27T19:18:00.000-07:00

At 4:45 this morning, I left a perfectly good bed and sleeping partner to journey with six equally insane women. As Amy picked me up, I laughed as I realized the hilarity of applying sunscreen before the sun was even up.

The seven of us caravanned about 60 miles to our starting point. Someone had a replacement tube and passed it around for everyone to ‘touch the tube’. Perhaps this would keep any of us from getting a flat tire. Still cool out, we debated about whether to wear sleeves. About 3 miles into our ride, we were glad we chose not to.

We had been warned that this ride was hilly. We are used to riding on relatively flat terrain. About 16 miles in came a gloriously shaded and cool downhill. I checked my speed and clocked 34mph. Nothing compared to what racers do, but the fastest speed I had ever gone. Around a lovely curve and then the markings for a right turn that I couldn’t yet see.

And there it was. The first F-bomb of the day. About halfway up a steep incline were four of my comrades….walking their bikes up the hill. Completely unprepared to make it any other way, the rest of us dismounted and pushed our way up the hill. A skinny little guy come around the corner and bolted up the hill trying not to laugh at us. Ah, humility.

The second killer hill came soon after and although I tried my best to ride it, I ended up walking that one too. There were others that we did ride though. My thighs are no longer hill virgins.

The scenery was beautiful and it was great to be on unfamiliar roads. I told Amy that we should pretend we were cycling in Italy. At the next town we encountered, she said “Hey, It’s sure nice of this Italian village to have a water tower labeled in English!” That Amy doesn’t miss a beat.

At one point, Sue and I were going along, anxious for our first rest stop, when a male cyclist came up behind us. I kept looking back thinking that he was going to pass us. Eventually he said “I’m ok. Just taking a rest.” That’s the first time anyone has drafted off of me (usually the slowest in the pack)! Soon we arrived at the rest stop and I chatted with the draftee. I noticed he had an accent that I couldn’t recognize and when I mentioned the conversation to Amy, she replied “Italian!” And with the tortellini at 9am, a theme seemed to be developing.

The other theme in this ride was churches. Little ones with the quotable signs out front. The first one we encountered said "Hell really exists. Are you going?" We got a little chuckle over that one. Yes, we would experience it in about 40 miles!

Further down the road we convened at the dividing point where we had to decide whether we were riding 54 miles or 77. The 99 route was already ruled out by the smarter ones in our group. (I still had a silly pipedream.) Given that there were seven of us, it seemed too perfect for us to ride 77. Five of us turned left to finish 77, two turned right to finish a very respectable 54. There were many times during the rest of the 77 that I wished I had turned right.

As the sun rose, so did the temperature. Before the battery of my bike computer died, it registered 91 degrees. The headwinds actually felt good since they had a cooling effect. The five miles prior to the next rest stop, I had thoughts of letting a sag wagon take me back. My head was tingly and my legs felt like lead. At one point I thought I heard a vehicle behind us and yelled “Car back!....I think. My ears might be hallucinating.” Rachel started singing songs from Annie. We were officially delirious.

Next rest stop at mile 47 (BBQ sandwiches!) we sat and tried to figure out a strategy to get through the next thirty miles. “It’s just a short Friday Night Ladies Ride!” said Rachel. I groaned. “It’s 3 ten mile rides!” Ok. Better. I can get behind this strategy. We slowly remounted and headed out. It was high noon.

About ten miles later, we entered one of the many small towns and decided we needed more refueling. Something cold. With caffeine perhaps. Our brains were fuzzy. I have never been more happy to see a Casey’s General Store in my life. I filled up a giant Coke, and then stumbled around the parking lot like I was drinking a pint of gin in a paper bag. I used the leftover ice to cool down the rest of us. No one even flinched when I dropped ice cubes down their tops. Good times.

The next twenty is a bit of a blur. More hills, more headwinds, more heat. As we got closer to the finish, we all remembered the warning that we got at registration. “There’s a big climb right at the end. Sorry about that.” And there it was. A long steady climb. Jenny, who talked me through those last twenty, gave me one last “We can do this!” and up we went. Under the blazing sun, it felt like my skin and muscles were on fire, but then there was the turn into the park.

Jenny and I arrived to cheers from the crew ahead of us and I wished I had been there to cheer them in. We then realized that the ‘touch the tube’ moment had worked. No flat tires! Thank goodness. Not sure I would have had the strength and brain power to change one!

Sue and Amanda had patiently waited for two hours for us to arrive. We all shared our war stories and got more to eat and drink. We couldn’t help to just look at each other and laugh. What makes us do these crazy things? What are we trying to prove?

I thought of an article that a fellow Spokeswoman had posted. It included Eleanor Roosevelt’s quote “Do one thing everyday that scares you.” In other words, take risks and get out of your comfort zone. “Instead of talking myself out of things, I talked myself into them.” This is what we do. We talk ourselves and each other into these crazy things so that we can accomplish something out of the ordinary.

For me, it also means I get to spend a lot of time with some spectacular women, in places almost as beautiful as Italy.

Christmas Was Her Holiday

2010-12-08T19:17:00.000-08:00

Christmas was her holiday.

She reveled in the true spirit of giving. She did not give to receive. She gave because she truly loved searching for the perfect color, the perfect texture, the perfect shape, the things that would make our eyes sparkle. Not once did I ever hear her complain about the commercial rush of the holidays. She weaved around the chaos and stayed grounded in love and generosity.

Some years she would arrive heavy suitcases in tow, treasures for all tucked inside along with the ribbons and extra tape. Then she would spend hours hiding in the guest bedroom, folding and wrapping and stacking and sorting. She was our Santa.

Other times, the packages would preempt her arrival. Or we would go to her. When we all made the trek to her, those were the ones I remember most. This new geography that she made her home was the backdrop of every perfect Christmas card. Towering evergreens, snow on the ground, regal homes tucked in hillsides and Norman Rockwell villages.

There were no idyllic nights singing Christmas carols or baking cookies. She didn’t try to set up the perfect holiday for us. She provided the warmth, the peace, the love and the laughter. If there was drama…and there usually was…she listened and encouraged us to talk it through. Always the peacemaker and the caregiver.

So when I wonder how to make this holiday special for my own children, I learn from her. Offer some love wrapped in pretty paper, carve a wide path in the snow, light the way with laughter and help when the walk becomes slippery.

Warmth, love, laughter and light to you and yours.

Transformations, Zen and Impermanence

2010-08-02T20:36:00.000-07:00

In 2003, I drove with my Dad and two kids to Montana. I was going to a family reunion to meet a branch of my family tree that at the age of 40, I had never met before. These were my Dad's cousins, who he had been out of touch with since he was in college. He had recently rediscovered them and knew that I would love them. That was an understatement.

The reunion was held in a church camp site in southern Montana. As the crow flies, we were just miles from Yellowstone, but with a tricky mountain range separating us. There were no TV's, no access to cell phones. It was pure heaven. We spent the days hiking and getting to know each other. We spent the nights around a raging campfire, laughing and telling stories.

One afternoon, my 'uncle' Paul and my cousin Karl were planning to obtain a topographical map of the peak in view of our camp and spend the following day climbing it. Paul was a Biologist. Going on a walk in the woods with him was like a biology lesson in itself. Karl, in his 30's had just finished his PhD in chemical engineering. While the rest of us slept in cabins, Karl opted for a one-man tent deeper into the woods. Tales of bears didn't bother him. He is an experienced climber and outdoorsman. Not only are these two men wildly intelligent, but they are the warmest, friendliest, most open men you could ever meet. When I asked them if I could join them on their climb, they didn't hesitate to welcome me.

The next day we set out before dawn. I'll never forget Madi getting up to give me a hug and see me off on my adventure. We would be back before nightfall.

There were no trails on this mountain. Mostly we traversed what we called 'boulder fields'. Massive boulders of granite that had fallen off the mountain in centuries past. They call for deliberate steps. Each boulder is at a different angle than the next. Some are solid on the ground. Others are wobbly and I imagined critters underneath. As we alternated between boulder traversing and trailblazing, Paul would point out bear scat or rare plants and tell us stories.

As we continued hiking up the mountain, the boulder fields grew wider and my legs began to tire. The three of us walked quietly, concentrating on every step. It was then that I reached the Zen moment that I'd been reading about. All the other thoughts that normally crowded my brain faded away and I was clearly in the moment. I could feel the muscles in my body straining and hear my breath. The scents, the sounds of the mountain were completely clear to me.

It was a moment and a day I'll never forget.

Ride

2010-08-02T20:00:00.000-07:00

Independent.

Strong.

Capable.

Funny.

Witty.

Caring.

Loving.

Nurturing.

I can be all these things every minute of every day, but some days all I want is for the right person to say...

“It will be ok. I’ll take care of it. Let’s go for a ride.”

Ripe But Not Rotten

2010-07-12T19:53:00.000-07:00

I’ve been reading The Season’s on Henry’s Farm by Terra Brockman. Terra is the sister of Henry Brockman, who supplies me with the majority of my vegetables, and Teresa who supplies me with the majority of my fruits. The Brockman’s have an organic, sustainable farm twenty miles from my home. Each week throughout the summer and fall, they come into town and supply lots of families with shares of beautiful produce. I love the format of Terra’s book because she chose to write each chapter as a chronological week on the farm. The first chapter is a week in November when the garlic crop is planted. When I realized her format, I decided to read a chapter a week, so each time I read a chapter I learn about a process on the farm that is happening right now.

This week’s chapter is entitled Ripe and Rotten. It’s about the fruits and vegetables that aren’t beautiful enough to be sold to the public. Because their produce isn’t genetically modified or treated with chemicals they have a fair amount that are split, bruised, too small or too large. Terra goes into detailed description about an imperfect peach that has a few moldy spots and wormholes. Yet she simply cleans off those spots, splits it in half with her fingers to make sure there aren’t any worms inside and then “I bring it to my nose and read its spicy-sweet promise…the juice runs down my chin as I slurp away, wanting to bury my whole face in the utter bliss of it.” She then goes on to talk about our intolerance for imperfections. We don’t choose our friends by the way they look, she says. We choose them for their personality, intelligence, wit, etc.

I smiled when I read this. I had just had this conversation with a dear friend of mine when we were driving home from a visitation of an old friend of ours. We knew Mark and his brother, Keith, back in high school. Their family had lived in that area for a long time. Like most people in the small community, they were farmers and everyone knew them. Mark and Keith were stars on the winning basketball and football teams. They were not typically ‘model’ good-looking, but as soon as you met them, you got a sense of who they were and immediately loved them. They were funny, open, friendly and genuinely kind to everyone and, well, they were a little bit wild, so very fun to be around.

Going back for the visitation of Mark and his son, while extremely sad because of the tragic circumstances, was therapeutic because we were able to visit with the people we grew up with. After thirty years, some had changed dramatically, but most had physically changed very little. Maybe we had grown a bit wider with wrinkles or sunspots to give us character. I actually love looking for those ‘imperfections’ in people as they age. I find them much more interesting and beautiful than the faces that have been surgically altered to appear youthful. Perhaps it’s because by the time we’re in our 40s and 50s, we have (hopefully) become comfortable in our own skin and can fully reveal what is inside.

At the start of the visitation line was Keith, and although he was deeply mourning the loss of his big brother and nephew, he gave us a wide smile and a huge hug. He spoke eloquently about his feelings about the accident and what this outpouring of community meant to him. He was still as beautiful and warm as I remembered. Our bruised and wrinkled exteriors didn’t matter. We were there to comfort each other in friendship and love.

When I approached the open caskets of Mark and his young son, I chose not to look. I knew the accident had not been gentle to their bodies. Their shells were empty and I wanted to remember their lively smiles and their fragrant, juicy souls instead.

Birthday Week

2010-07-09T08:53:00.000-07:00

Birthday Week

This week is very special to me. And it's not for the reason you think. Yes, it's my birthday. But it's also the birthday week for the women in this picture with me:

I've known three out of four of these women since 1968. That was the year we entered Kindergarten together.

The fourth moved into town later-fifth grade, I think. Michele (2nd from right) is the one who remembers everything so she should really be the one writing this. When we're all together and telling stories, Michele remembers the name of every random friend and teacher and neighbor. Diane and I look at each other and shake our heads. We never remember anything. Michele is The Archaeologist. Her skills are put to good use when it comes time for the reunions. She is always first in line to volunteer her time and energy. Her birthday is July 16.

Karen1 is The Badass (far left). She knows how to have a good time and she doesn't pull any punches. Karen1 is one tough broad with a sexy raspy voice to go with it. But she knows how to party AND be responsible. She is the sole provider for a pair of feisty twins and you'd better know she is one protective Mama. Karen1's birthday is also July 16.

Diane (2nd from left) was actually born in December, but we gave her an honorary birthday in July just because we could. Diane is Chief Administrator of Fun. I've never seen someone with so many balls in the air, juggling them like an expert circus performer. She's always got something big in the works: a new business idea, a new vacation plan, a new women's support group. When something doesn't work out the way she planned, she just changes her plans and keeps going, all the while making us laugh out loud with the latest trendy drink in hand. Diane's honorary birthday is July 15.

Karen2 (far left) is The Calm One. Until you get her drunk. Then you can't shut her up. Karen2 rarely gets flustered. She seems to always take things in stride, listening intently to our stories, our dramas until we decide the focus needs to be on her (which she hates). When she starts revealing what's going on in that pretty head of hers, though….still waters run deep. Karen2's birthday is July 18.

And then there's me. My birthday is July 17.

The five of us used to get together for a marathon sleep-over-birthday-party every year. I'll never forget when we were in sixth grade and BOYS showed up! We snuck out into my backyard and *gasp* held hands! We were one boy short, so Karen2 and I even shared a boy.

Between the five of us we have:

8 marriages plus 1 pending.
5 ex-husbands.
9 children.

We don't always share the same viewpoint on everything but we share something very important: History. Out of that history comes respect, connection and love. I know that we will be there for each other if we ever need it and that their love is unconditional.

A few years ago, Michele sent us all the download for a song from the 70's. I hadn't heard it in forever. This corny verse caught my ear.

And when we both get older
With walking canes and hair of gray
Have no fear, even though it's hard to hear
I will stand real close and say,
Thank you for being a friend

I laughed. And then I cried. Among other things, they would call me The Softy.

Happy Birthday Week, Friends.

Passion Ruby

2010-06-13T09:38:00.000-07:00

What's Your Passion?

I used to hate when people would ask me that question. I never had an answer and always felt inferior because of it. My father had music. My mother and sister had gardening. Sports, Art, Teaching.....it seemed like everyone I knew had something. There are plenty of things I enjoy doing, but a passion? Something was missing.

Then last year when I was training for a 50 mile walk, I mentioned to a friend that when the walk was over, I wanted to try something else...maybe cycling. She suggested I come to one of Friday night "Ladies Rides" organized by a local bike shop. I imagined a group of hard-core spandex wearing tri-athletes, but I went.

I met lots of different women that night. I've lived here for 27 years and all of a sudden there were all these really great women that I'd never met before! They were a mixture of cyclists, runners, tri-athletes, non-athletes, mothers, mothers with their teenage daughters. Many others were new that night also. We rode about 6 miles, stopped, asked around...."Who wants to go farther?" Some did, some turned around for the ride back to the bike shop. No one rode alone. Back at the bike shop, the women brought out wine, chips, dip, etc. Oh! A party! Every Friday is like this? I'm in!

Since then I've ridden many miles and spent many a Friday evening at the bike shop. I moved past the Friday night ride and have ridden up to 35 miles. I haven't ridden alone yet. From this group there is always someone willing to ride. We encourage each other. We laugh a lot. We connect in a meaningful way...which has always been another passion of mine...to recognize yourself in someone else.

I am in love. With cycling. Even without the support of my fellow riders, cycling makes me feel strong. It is reliable like an old friend. It is the psychotherapist that clears out my brain. I spend a lot of time (too much maybe) thinking about the relationships in my life. Cycling is where I can forget about all of that. Cycling is about me. It's about being out in the middle of this landscape appreciating the beauty of the cornfields where you can see for miles.

A few weeks ago, I bought a new bike. It's the first real 'toy' I've ever splurged on for myself. It should last me many decades to come. When you break it down into 'smiles per mile' it won't cost much at all.

I have a passion. And her name is Dr. Ruby.

Travel Under the Tree

2010-01-11T11:29:00.000-08:00

Back in 2005 I decided I wanted to do something different for the holidays. The kids were older and didn't have their eye on any treasures to put under the tree. My mom, who really loved Christmas, had passed three years before. The holidays had lost that special something when we lost her.

So I decided we should travel. We decided on somewhere warm. Initially it was Cancun. Hurricane Emily rerouted us to Riviera Maya. The boyfriend and his daughter wanted to go. So did my dad and his wife.

I announced the trip to the kids and they were elated. I warned them "No presents!". "Who cares about presents? We're going to Mexico!!!!", they said. I let them each choose an excursion. Jake chose the ruins of Tulum. Madison chose to swim with the dolphins. Everyone para-sailed too, except Dad.

We engaged in all the usual activities that a beach vacation requires of you: eating too much, walking the beach, snorkeling, swimming, etc. It was glorious.

We arrived home on Christmas Eve and I asked the kids if they would have preferred gifts. They laughed and said "No Mom! Can we do this every year?"

Every year? No.

But this year I surprised them with a trip to San Francisco. It's a city that I had never visited. Jake had spoken of its draw for a few years now. Madison is interested in marine biology, so it seemed a good fit for her.

In early December I told them we were going on a trip, but I told him they had to guess where. They could ask one yes or no question each day until they figured it out.

Their questions were:

Will it be warmer than Illinois? (Typically, yes)
Is it in the U.S.? (At first I said nothing, then opened up my laptop and pretended to do some quick research. Then I answered "Yes." Evil mother.)
Is it within 100 miles of a city? (Pretty much)
Is it east of the Mississippi? (depends on how far east you go....)
Is it north or south of the Mason/Dixie line? Uhhhhh.
Is it in California?
Does it start with San or Santa?
Is it San Diego?
Is it San Francisco? YES!

I forgot my camera. These are all from my kids' cameras. Enjoy.

Puerto Rico

2009-09-29T12:42:00.000-07:00

To thank me for the work I do, my boss let me go to a conference in Puerto Rico. It was my first trip there, so I took plenty of pictures. Let me be your tour guide.

But first..

The first night was kayaking in the bioluminescent lagoon. Because there was absolutely no light and the bioluminescent effects would not work with a flash, I chose to leave my camera in the bus and just soak it all in.

I was paired up with a woman from Idaho who had never kayaked. Luckily she was a quick learner. The kayaks all had glow sticks mounted to the front and the back and soon we would find out why. We were led off the beach into a mangrove canal where the light from the moon was blocked. Imagine the dark tunnel rides at amusement parks...where your eyes never quite adjust. All we could see were the glow sticks ahead of us. All around us, however, were sounds from tree frogs and occasional splashes in the water.

And then, we saw it. As our paddles entered the water, they lit up. When a fish swam by, it glowed. The outline of the kayaks as they moved through the water lit up. I dropped my hand into the water and watched as it became luminescent. When I cupped water in my hand and brought it closer, I could see what looked like liquid fairy dust in my hand.

The effect is caused by single-celled bioluminescent dinoflagellates. The half-plant, half-animal organisms emit the light when agitated.

Once through the canal, we entered a lagoon, formed a circle with our kayaks and then just sat quietly and took it in. The sky above was lit up with stars and a pale half-moon.
Every once in a while, a fish would swim by all lit up like a ball of liquid fire. The guide warned us of fish jumping into our canoes. Sure enough, a fish came barreling out of the water right next to us. After taking in this unique eco-system we lined up and headed back through the mangrove canal.

Bioluminescent bodies of water are only in Puerto Rico and the Bahamas. If you have a chance I highly recommend taking it in.

On to the photo tour:

For $50 more I could have had an ocean view. Now ya tell me...

Old San Juan

City Wall

Parade of Doors

Landmarks

Birthplace of the Pina Colada in 1963. (a fine year for coconuts....)

El Morro: Begun in 1540
and completed in 1589.

San Felipe del Morro was named in honor of King Phillip II.

City Streets

Paved with cobbles of adoquine, a blue stone cast from furnace slag; they
were brought over as ballast on Spanish ships and time and moisture have
lent them their characteristic color.

Adios!

Shades of Green

2009-05-20T11:23:00.000-07:00

On Friday, the boy, the cello and I headed north through the
torrential downpour.

Eventually the boy and his cello were dropped into the
middle of heaven.

That left me with time to myself. That sound that you heard
on Saturday morning was a giant “Ahhhhhhh”.

I began by getting my bearings in this quaint little town on
the lakeshore.

And then I asked a townie to suggest some good walking
trails. She gave me good advice. Pristine wooded trails surrounding a former
(?) landfill (!) What exactly makes a landfill former?

A few times during the
walk I was detoured by gigantic puddles of standing water.
Eventually I approached a couple on a leisurely walk. It was about this time
that we realized that all the paths leading back to civilization were under water.

Rather than turn back, we attempted to make bridges from downed
trees. Finally we made our way to the adjacent road and took the less scenic
route back to our cars. On the way, we talked about commonalities: love of
nature, challenges of parenting teenagers, etc. They offered suggestions of
other places of interest, restaurants, walking trails. The Mr. offered an
invitation to a church nearby where he pastored.

I smiled in appreciation and gestured to the
trees surrounding us. “Thank you. This
is my church.” They nodded in genuine understanding.

Welcome to my our sanctuary. All are welcome.

The following day, I headed due north. See that blue mass to the right of me? That be Lake Michigan. I can't actually see it at this point because of the very expensive property value in between me and the lake.

Today's excursion is into a bit of a different ecosystem.

Life goes on, even when it is cloaked by a glacier-sized sand box. Life finds a way.

Waiting and listening. Will it fall?

I just missed this one:

It fell from here:

We're going down there:

Come with me.

Sidenote Alert: I've decided there's something very Kubrick about these glasses. And I like it.

If I was an animal, I would want to sleep here:

Rather than bow my head in this sanctuary, I like to... :

Shades of green.

Amen.

How Not to Visit Toronto

2009-04-09T08:25:00.000-07:00

True exploration of a city is impossible with 97 teenagers in tow. But I never give up an opportunity to discover a new place.

I'm just not a travel-with-a-group-kind-of-gal.

Enough with the negativity. On with the show.

• Stats:
3 buses
97 high-school choir and orchestra members (including my fabulous son, Jake)
15 parent/teacher chaperones
630 miles each way
11 hours drive time each way

• Reason why I wish I had remained dedicated to yoga:
This position would have been more comfortable than sleeping on a bus.

• Jake and I had seen Niagara Falls before although he didn't remember it. It's a natural marvel, of course. However, I felt much like Chevy Chase in Vacation when the family arrived at the Grand Canyon. There it is. Fabulous. Ready to go? My lack of enthusiasm has to do with interaction. When I do finally see the Grand Canyon, I want to hike it, camp in it, canoe through it. Other than going over it in a barrel, there's no way to really interact with Niagara Falls, so it leaves me a bit unaffected.

• Toronto Science Center is fantastic. Carve out a good afternoon at least to enjoy all it has to offer.

• The IMAX film Mysteries of the Great Lake is much more fascinating than it sounds। Did you know that it takes a drop of water 400 years to travel from the headwaters of Lake Superior to the edge of Lake Ontario? How do they know that?

The star of the movie is the sturgeon. He is one badass prehistoric fish.

• The Rogers Centre, formerly the Toronto SkyDome, home of the Toronto Blue Jays and Toronto Argonauts is impressive even to a sports idiot like me. It has a fully retractable roof and a hotel attached with windows looking out onto the field.

• Some 16 year old boys still like to hang with their mom in Chinatown and beyond. Kensington street and shops were beyond funky.

• The Four Seasons or Franki Valli were before my time, but Jersey Boys is an excellent story and compelling show.

• Freddie Mercury and Queen are right up my alley but We Will Rock You is simply ok. We got a nice surprise when two of the best actors came out after the show just to speak to our group. They were fantastic engaging the kids in a lively question and answer session.

• The CN Tower is...

... highly inefficient, but the views are nice once you get to the top. The same is true of the St. Louis Arch and Chicago’s Sears Tower. Sidenote: If you’re in Chicago, skip the tourist trap rip-off at Sears Tower and go to the 96th floor of the John Hancock Center. Make sure to visit the women’s restroom for the best view. Honest.

Here’s more from the CN Tower. Pics courtesy of Jake. [Vertigo Warning] No. Really.

The glass floor completely freaked me out. Those are our buses down there.

Here was an example of how not to make money as a musician. Good for our young musicians to see.

• Jake enjoyed the names of these establishments:

and

although he much prefers these kind of signs:

and

• Enjoy your Easter or Pagan holiday this weekend.

Duck a l’orange anyone?

Maybe not.

I'll just leave you with dessert then.

Till next time, Bon Appetit.

Citified

2009-03-14T21:36:00.000-07:00

About two years ago, my 16-year-old (then 14) discovered podcasts. He particularly liked the NPR News Quiz Show, "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me". I would be doing things around the house and I would hear him laughing out loud to seemingly nothing. Then I would know what he was listening to.

When I asked the kids what they wanted to do during Spring Break, they both said "Go to Chicago!" Easy enough. I love the city. If given a choice of where to live, I'd go back and forth between an apartment in the city and a place in the middle of nowhere.

When scheduling the time for us to go, I remembered that they tape "Wait Wait" in downtown Chicago on Thursday nights. I checked into tickets and when I told Jake, you would have thought I had just given him tickets to see The Beatles. Wait. Let me rephrase that. Jake doesn't outwardly show much excitement about anything. He keeps his emotions well encased in his lanky posture. It all comes out in his smile and his eyes. He was stoked. Luckily Madison had heard the show too and was mildly willing to go along. While her dream tickets would have been more along the lines of Project Runway, she did get a promise that we would shop for a dress for her next big event: The 8th Grade Graduation. *sigh*

So off we went to the big city. We had one errand to do while we were there. Jake's cello needed a new bridge and we were told there was a place right downtown that would work on it. I knew the logistics sucked for parking, so we made a plan. We found The Fine Arts Building, a very cool old place among many very cool old places.

I pulled into an alley amidst a high traffic area. Jake jumped out, grabbed the cello and headed to the instrument shop. I had given him directions to our hotel, a mile away. He's been to Chicago before along with NYC and Boston. He's interested in going to college in a big city. I wanted to give him some space to feel comfortable on his own in the midst of the city chaos.

In the meantime, Madison and I arrived at the hotel and got settled in. After a while, I got a call from Jake. He sounded invigorated, confident and cold! It was a high of only about 25 that day and, you guessed it, windy! He was already at the hotel. He'd made it without any problems and just needed the room number. When he got to the room, he was excited to tell us about the elevator in the Fine Arts Building. "It was one of those old elevators with two sets of elaborate doors and an attendant!" Cool.

After lunch, Jake wanted to check out the gigantic Border's store, while Madison and I began our search for the perfect dress. Eventually, Jake met up with us again. He wasn't impressed with the store, Forever XXI, but at least he had found something at Border's to make the time pass more quickly.

He also found this gem and couldn't help photographing it. Jake loves irony.

We ended the shopping time with a quick visit to The Art Institute. At 5:00 on Thursdays, there is no fee to get in, so a line had already formed when we arrived at 4:45pm.

The homeless are well aware of this Thursday evening opportunity and while I didn't see them inside the museum, they didn't hesitate to ask the patrons for some change. I pulled out a $5 to give to a woman collecting for the Jane Addams Hull House and another $5 fell out of my purse. I swear it was like a bunch of pigeons dropped down to get the breadcrumbs I dropped. I gave the elusive $5 to the first guy that saw it and went on my way.

There was an exhibit by Yousuf Karsh, a portrait photographer. I had heard of Annie Lebowitz, but not of Karsh. Wow. Amazing black and white photos of Churchill, Audrey Hepburn, Hemingway, Castro, Picasso, Warhol, etc.

We headed upstairs to the architectural work. Great works by Frank Lloyd Wright,

Do you see the American flag in the piece?

but also wonderful gates from doorways, artists unknown. Wouldn't you love to have this as the entrance to your home?

From the Art Institute we headed west into the Loop to the prestigious (not) Chase Auditorium for the Wait Wait show. We were told to stand in a holding area until the auditorium doors were open. So there we were standing among other NPR geeks like ourselves. It was a well-behaved, orderly group.

As our 'wait' time passed and the group grew larger, what amused me was this: We had been told to stand in a serpentine line. Imagine the rope lines at the movie theater or at a theme park. Now....take away the rope lines. Never before had I been asked to stand in a serpentine line without the rope. And never would I have expected people to actually heed the rules that the rope line insists you follow. It became even more hilarious to me after the doors opened, because the group of approximately 500 people actually walked in a serpentine even though there were no rope lines. Would a group of people going to see Rush Limbaugh have followed the invisible rope line? These are questions a philosophy major asks. Welcome to my messed-up mind.

Once inside the Chase Auditorium, we found good seats near the front. They had music piped in for us to listen to while we waited for the show to start. Whoever makes the soundtrack is brilliant. It was a bit like walking past six different dorm rooms in 1979. We heard Air Supply, Supertramp, Lyle Lovett, and The Who playing everyone's favorite, "Squeezebox".

I looked around and got a good assessment of the group sitting close-by. In the midst of an inspiring amount of grey hair, sat a fur-wearing redhead looking horribly uncomfortable. By the end of the show, she seemed to lighten up and even enjoy herself a bit.

I won't go into details about the taping of Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me, because if you haven't ever heard it, you would find my description of it exceedingly dull. If you are a fan, you'll be delighted to know that they introduce Peter Segel, Carl Kasell and the panelists Chicago Bulls style. Remember the stadium going dark, then the colored strobe lights with the Alan Parsons Project music? Do the Chicago Bulls still use that introduction? Or did that go out with Michael Jordan? Anyway, all the panelists on Wait, Wait are just as geeky in person, Paula Poundstone especially. Carl Kasell is very tall and they all stand around after the show ready and willing to chat and sign autographs. They have a merch table where I could have picked up the Wait Wait Commemmorative Plate (yes, really) or the Bowling Shirt with the name 'Carl' embroidered on the pocket. I am an NPR geek. It's official now.

The next day we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art. Some very cool exhibits that I couldn't take pictures of. But I did sneak this one. Sorry for the bad...err..cloudy quality. I took it on my phone. Imagine this covering an entire wall.

Onward through and out of the city to drop Jake off at his debate tournament. (No spectators allowed, hmph) Madison and I headed over to what we later deemed The Cave of Capitalism, but is better known as Woodfield Mall. While the city is filled with diversity ranging from the uber-wealthy to the high-fashion to the artsy-fartsy, Woodfield is filled with ummmmmm....errr.....I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was depressing. It was the young girls trying to look grown-up. It was the aging women trying to look young. But after a few hours, we found our exit and stepped outside into the sunshine. We found ourselves gasping for air. Yes! We made it out of the Perfumed Corridors of Barbie Hell. I was relieved to know that Madison was as anxious to leave as I was. After we settled in at home, she suggested we watch Little Miss Sunshine. When the family arrives at the hotel in Redondo Beach and gets a load of the miniature barbie dolls, I yelled out "That! That is Woodfield Mall!" Madison laughed in agreement.

God, I love my kids.

Transformation in Kenya

2009-02-23T19:17:00.000-08:00

1981. I was almost 18.

My Dad's aunt and uncle were doing the Baptist missionary thing in Kenya. Dad never gave up the opportunity to take us on adventures. So off we went. ..my Dad, his young new wife, my sister and me.

We had traveled all over Europe when I was nine, but traveling to Kenya was like going to the moon. The flight was 24 hours and when we landed in Nairobi, there were few who looked like me. I grew up in a small Midwestern farm town with no diversity. Mom and Dad did their best to incorporate people of all kinds into our lives, but nothing could match this.

We weren't part of an expensive safari tour. Uncle JZ (Texans, donchya know)and Aunt Francis directed us to some of the hot wildlife spots. Our first stop was Treetops Lodge in Aberdares. We traveled there on a bus, not a plush motorcoach, but an aging school bus. The bus dropped us off on the side of a road without a building in sight. Lodge porters took care of our luggage and instructed us to stay together. They warned that if wildlife approached us, we were to remain still. As we approached intermittent wall structures built in the middle of the forest, 'rangers' with guns scoured the area to make sure wildlife wasn't near, then would direct us to the next protective structure. Then Treetops came into view.

(There are better pictures on Google, but we took these and those that follow.)

Treetops became famous when visited in 1952 by then Princess Elizabeth. During her stay there, King George VI passed away, and she left Treetops as the new Queen of England.

Situated next to watering holes and salt licks, wildlife arrived mostly at night in full view of the hotel and guests.

The rooms were small with barred windows. We were instructed to not leave anything within a monkey arm's length to the window. Seriously. The monkeys particularly liked expensive camera equipment.

(Fuzzy monkey makes for fuzzy image)

The two places I remember most about the hotel were the roof and the floor level lookout. I don't remember sleeping. At night, the water holes were lit up and I stayed there and watched elephants, wildebeest and rhinos.

Baboons hung out on the roof as well, but we were instructed to leave them alone. They could get quite mean. (more on my interactions with baboons further in the story)

During the day when an elephant herd arrived, we went to the enclosed bunker on ground level. From there we could reach out and touch them. I remember being surprised at how much hair they had!

Next stop: Keekorok Lodge in the Masai Mara Reserve. (west of Nairobi) If it weren't for this picture, I would not remember where we stayed. Now I make a point to take pictures of the signs that say where I am. There's a phrase we use a lot in our family: "Is this the road we're on?" I feel like that much of the time.

I always encourage my own kids to keep travel journals now. There is so much that I've forgotten that I never thought I would. The pictures you see come from old brittle slides. I recently had them converted to digital. I should have done it sooner.

It was in Keekorok that we got to ride in those cool safari jeeps.

(stock photo. I was probably too chicken to get out of the Jeep to take a picture.)

The prize that everyone wants to see is the elusive lion. When one jeep finds them, they radio the others and we all descend. You can see how excited these were to see us.

I could have stayed there all day just to watch her sleeping in her element.

She'd make a good spooner, don't you think?

After a long day of wildlife viewing, we had dinner on the lodge patio. We noticed small monkeys in the trees nearby. Just moments after the waiters left rolls on our bread plates, a monkey descended and snatched my roll. Spooner=Sucker. This was my favorite picture from the entire trip.

Age has darkened the photo, so you can't see the roll in the monkey's hands. The sign that it's sitting on says "Please do not feed the monkeys." I love it when the wildlife mocks us.

We visited Masai villages where they were excited for the opportunity to sell their crafts. I still have a few of the things that I bought over twenty-five years ago.

The women were considered highly feminine if they shaved their heads. I was fascinated with their elaborate piercings to create large holes in their ears. This was before the ear gauges that you see now.

A little culture never hurt anyone. Masai Warrior Dances.

Air Jordan?

The houses were made of dung.

I guarantee there were many puns made about this hut being full of shit, etc.
Dad is all about the puns.

The Masai women were too busy to be bothered with deodorizing smelly homes. You would see them in the middle of seemingly nowhere carrying huge piles of goods on their back, often swaddling a baby....

...and shoeless.

Driving around the country, I was amazed that we would see eagles, giraffe, gazelles, wildebeest, elephants by the side of the road. These were not the cows and horses that we saw in Illinois.

And these, termite mounds. Yes, termites made this.

We were on our way to Mombasa and the older generation just had to stop and see the termite mounds. "Yawn" says the teenager. My sister and I decided to stay in the car and read. It was warm so we sat in the car with the doors and windows wide open, reading our books. Then we heard Dad yelling at us about something. We looked up and saw a family of baboons walking down the center of the abandoned highway right toward us. Our initial excitement gave way to fear and we quickly closed all the doors and windows of the car. There we sat inside laughing our asses off as the baboons ascended onto the hood of the car and watched us through the windshield. Then we remembered something someone had told us. Laughing is a threat to them because we're showing our teeth. So we tried very hard to stop. In the meantime, Dad shot some photos.

Eventually, the baboon family got bored with us and carried on to their destination. All of a sudden I knew how animals in the zoo must feel.

Onward to Mombasa, the Kenyan beachside resort on the Indian Ocean. The first day we snorkeled just past the reef and then came in to be told that there were many sharks in the area that day. *shudders* The rest of that time was spent at the pool.

Can you find Spooner?

Dad loved to befriend any of the natives no matter where we went. He quickly started up a conversation with one of the young Masai men who worked at the resort. They began comparing cultures and the subject of me and my sister came up. He asked Dad if either of us were betrothed. Dad chuckled and said that, indeed, Lisa was engaged to be married and pointed out her ring. The man asked Dad "Well, what do you get when she marries?" Dad answered, "I get a son." "Well, what about your younger daughter?" (That would be Young and Nubile Spooner) Dad answered, "She's not engaged or married." "Ah...", the Masai Warrior said. "I will give you nine cows for her hand in marriage."

Dad still jokes that he asked to see pictures of the cows and checked into the cost of shipping them to the states. I tell him he should have. With depreciation and age, I'm sure I'm only worth about a half a sheep at this point.

Traveling to Kenya was a huge turning point in my life. Before this trip, I thought that the world revolved around me, as most seventeen-year-olds do. Traveling halfway around the world to witness cultures completely different from mine, to be a minority but to be greeted warmly by people who I didn't understand, to be as far from home as I could possibly get, was an experience like no other. As global as our society has become, nothing awakens consciousness like solid feet on unfamiliar soil.

No matter my finances, I have always put a little something away in order to travel. My destinations of late haven't been near as exotic as Africa, but my list of desired locations is long and varied. This time I'll take a journal.

Love of the Unknown

2009-02-14T19:17:00.000-08:00

A Map of the World

One of the ancient maps of the world
is heart-shaped, carefully drawn
and once washed with bright colors,
though the colors have faded
as you might expect feelings to fade
from a fragile old heart, the brown map
of a life. But feeling is indelible,
and longing infinite, a starburst compass
pointing in all the directions
two lovers might go, a fresh breeze
swelling their sails, the future uncharted,
still far from the edge
where the sea pours into the stars.

Ted Kooser

My Dinner with Danny Glover and more, much more.

2009-01-24T19:17:00.000-08:00

On April 4, 1967, Martin Luther King, Jr. gave a speech entitled “Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break the Silence” in New York City.

On April 4, 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated.

We have all heard his speech “I Have A Dream” many times, but how many of you are aware of this lesser known speech? Here is the complete speech. It’s lengthy, but still remains relevant forty years later.

While Dr. King was, of course, a supporter of equal rights, he was also in staunch opposition to the Vietnam War. Yet, it was not just the war that he was opposed to. What he brought to light in ‘Break the Silence’ speech were the inequities between how blacks were being treated here in their own country and in Vietnam fighting for this country.

“It was sending their sons and their brothers and their husbands to fight and to die in extraordinarily high proportions relative to the rest of the population. We were taking the black young men who had been crippled by our society and sending them eight thousand miles away to guarantee liberties in Southeast Asia which they had not found in southwest Georgia and East Harlem. And so we have been repeatedly faced with the cruel irony of watching Negro and white boys on TV screens as they kill and die together for a nation that has been unable to seat them together in the same schools. And so we watch them in brutal solidarity burning the huts of a poor village, but we realize that they would hardly live on the same block in Chicago. I could not be silent in the face of such cruel manipulation of the poor.”

…

“To me the relationship of this ministry to the making of peace is so obvious that I sometimes marvel at those who ask me why I'm speaking against the war. Could it be that they do not know that the good news was meant for all men -- for Communist and capitalist, for their children and ours, for black and for white, for revolutionary and conservative? Have they forgotten that my ministry is in obedience to the One who loved his enemies so fully that he died for them? What then can I say to the Vietcong or to Castro or to Mao as a faithful minister of this One? Can I threaten them with death or must I not share with them my life?”

Felix Justice delivering a dramatic version of King’s speech.

Friday night, I attended An Evening with Danny Glover and Felix Justice in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. So technically I had dinner with Danny Glover, but there were also about 500 others in the room.

The dinner and performance was sponsored by the local chapter of the NAACP. The energy in the room was palpable. The audience was diverse in age and race. There was much talk and excitement about the inauguration. The president of the university was introduced. He is a much loved black man. He is our local Obama.

After Justice’s composite of King’s speech, Glover delivered some of Langston Hughes’ poetry.

Progress has definitely been made. The proof is Obama. But we shouldn't wait for him to make change. We can certainly make change without him and we have. Nice to have a leader that inspires it though.

Glover also told us about Hughes’ cartoon character, Jesse B Semple which takes the very serious subject of racism and allows us to laugh, poking fun at liberals who talk (or in this case, blog) about issues of racism, but never really do anything.

After the performances was a Q and A session. Our University President asked the first question, wanting to know their impressions of the Obama Inauguration.

"I was very impressed with his kindliness and concern for the 'least of these,' as I was for your Governor Stevenson, I thought he was a kindly man too," Justice answered. Bowman quipped “I got nervous when you said ‘Governor’” (I am in Illinois. Perhaps you’ve heard of our now famous Governor Blagojevich.)

Glover answered by sharing a story about his 5-year-old grandson who began crying on November 4 because he could not vote.

"To see the picture of him as he was riveted to the screen on Inauguration Day, this is a child who loves everything from Spiderman to all the other graphic novels..." Glover said.

"He's riveted to that television, listening and watching, watching not only a new presidency, but the kind of visual language that happens when you see an audience that understands something special is happening."

Then came the time for audience members to ask questions. I always hope for intelligent questions by those who make it to the microphone. I always hope that the honored guests will remember us well. Yet brave and intelligent don’t always go together. What irks me even more is when someone says “I think I speak for us all when….” Think again.

My dinner companion was my friend, Lisa who is a middle school teacher. She said that since the election and the inauguration, she has seen a difference in her African –American students. They are standing taller, becoming more involved, exuding more confidence.

That is a change I can believe in.

Reflections on Three Cups of Tea

2009-01-15T19:17:00.000-08:00

Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin tells the real-life account of Mortenson’s journeys to some of the most physically and politically dangerous parts of the world. In 1993 he traveled as a climber to a peak in the Karakoram mountains in Pakistan. After becoming lost on his way down the mountain, he made his way into an impoverished village, where the people opened their hearts and homes to him and helped him recover from the climb. He watched the children as they used sticks in the dirt to get through their lessons. He vowed to return to build a school. Fifteen years later, he has built 78 schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan.

The book describes the multitude of obstacles Mortenson faced along the way. Back in the US, he was an RN, living in his car, so that he could save the money for these children. Each time he saved enough, he would go back, meeting new contacts, obtaining building materials, stumbling his way through the cultural differences. He survived an armed kidnapping and various death threats, but he continues in order to give better options to children who would likely be recruited by the Taliban. Many of the schools focus on girls, because history has shown that if boys are educated, they will move to more developed countries. Girls, on the other hand, will stay and use their education to better their homeland and pass the education on to others.

I was riveted to this story and I hear a movie is in the works. Through Mortenson, we discover the kindness of humanity from cultures usually depicted by our media as evil. We recognize the value of connecting with the people through sitting down and sharing tea. We are appalled when we find out how very little money it takes to build a school in comparison to the money it takes to fund a war.
After reading the last pages of this, all I could think about were the faces of these children.

This book also made me think about the real-life people that I do know. The people who continue to leap over amazing obstacles. The people who inspire me everyday and bring me back to this playground.

The women who suffer from an invisible disease, yet they rarely complain and they make us laugh daily with their unique views of life.

The woman who was dealt a completely unfair set of circumstances and was left homeless, yet now works her ass off to work in the system that screwed her over, so that she can make sure it comes out fair for others.

The woman who was abused as a child, but who does everything in her power to make sure her child is raised in a loving, nurturing environment.

The women who take over all the work in the household while their husbands heal from debilitating surgeries and the women facing the daily obstacles of raising children alone or raising children with disabilities.

The woman who helps take care of her ailing mother, while healing a broken heart.

The woman signing up for the Peace Corps to help others and the women signing up to walk a few days or run a marathon in order to find a cure.

Those of you faced with the obstacle of joblessness in a failing economy and those of you taking the risk to find a new path for yourselves.

Those of you dealing with the loss of a loved one while keeping it together for everyone else.

Those of you dealing with prejudice because of what you look like, where you came from or who you love.

Those of you who face everyday life with passion, searching for answers to the important questions.

Those of you willing to sit down with a friend and listen.

In Pakistan, they drink three cups of tea to do business; the first you are a stranger, the second you become a friend, and the third, you join the family. For their family, they are prepared to do anything.

Greg Mortenson goes through life prepared to do anything for those he’s never even met.

Go here for more information on the book and his foundation.

Paul, Pulitzer and Principles

2008-08-02T20:20:00.000-07:00

I love Netflix.

I don't do well in video rental stores. I wander aimlessly trying to remember movies that have been recommended to me or think of an actor that I want to see, but can't remember any of their movies. I get distracted by the kid trying to persuade their Dad to see the latest Disney movie for the thousandth time. Frustration builds by not being able to read more than the back of the box as a recommendation. The lack of foreign films, independent films, etc. You get the picture. I think it's too close to shopping. I hate that too. Go figure.

I love adding movies to the queue in Netflix. I love the ability to look at the list of movies I've watched. One that is at the top of my ratings is Hud.

Over the years I heard great things about this movie from great people, so years ago I wrote it on a paper list that got stuck in a drawer never to be found again.

Another reason to love Netflix. One less random note in a junk drawer.

For those of you saying "Hud?" What in the hell kind of movie name is that? Well, then my friend, you've never known a Texan. Texans name their kids all sorts of weird things. My Texan grandfather was W.O. (pronounced Dubyo and not to be confused with Dubya). He was married to Lytle. (not little, but Lightel)

Hud is based on a book written by Pulitzer prize winning author Larry McMurty (Terms of Endearment, Lonesome Dove, Brokeback Mountain), who happened to be my Dad's best friend through high school and the best man in my parent's wedding. Larry and Dad grew up in the same tiny little town in Northwest Texas. Believe it or not my father was also nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in music composition. Imagine-two Pulitzer Prize nominees coming out of a town that size.

Hud is about a guy who lives in a small Texas town in the 1950's (the same time Dad and McMurtry were hanging out). If for no other reason, watch this movie for Paul Newman. This is decades prior to his philanthropic salad dressing. His anti-hero character is young and hot and studly, albeit a bit of a drunken player.

"The only question I ever ask any woman is "What time is your husband coming home?"

You can almost see the beautiful blueness of his eyes even though the film is black and white.

There is no soundtrack.Just the power of great words and well-timed drawn out silences. The landscape is the barren loneliness that defines Northwest Texas, similar to the beauty of the deep wrinkles in a wise and experienced grandmother. Aesthetically pleasing? No, the beauty is much deeper.

Existential subjects are raised such as: principles, decency, fairness, the value of hard work and the honor of a man's word. Hud's father, is the epitomy of these values juxtaposed against ruthless Hud.

After the father is forced to kill his diseased cattle, he pronounces "Doesn't take long to kill things-not like it does to grow." His love of doing over taking is inspiring in this world of many takers.

Patricia O'Neal plays the singular female lead, Alma and won an Oscar for her efforts.

Her character is full of merits as well. Cautiously tolerant of the Texan machismo standards, she's damn smart to keep Hud at arm's length for most of the time and to leave town at the first opportunity.

Hud Bannon: Give me a clean white shirt.
Alma Brown: Boy, you're real big with the "please" and "thank you," aren't you?
Hud Bannon: Please get up off your lazy butt and get me a clean white shirt. Thank you.

This movie was released in 1963, the year I was born. That means that McMurtry wrote the book no later than his early 20's. Amazing.

I felt the whole movie could have been summed up in the following quote and when I heard it, that's when I knew I would have to make you suffer through my ramblings.

Homer Bannon: Little by little the look of the country changes because of the men we admire. You're just going to have to make up your own mind one day about what's right and wrong.

Popcorn, anyone?