Trail #6

I managed to somehow ditch the family for a short while one morning. Joe was off early golfing The Batman Open, and the kids were on a trecherous hike to Eagle Falls with Chris and a bunch of other kids. Ahhhh, solitude. And what to do with it? I quick look at the clock and realize I don't have to decorate for Fain's party for another hour, so I grab the camera and head off to find something to photograph.

This park is known for its hiking, and its not easy hiking, as these hills are rocky and moss covered. There is poison ivy every 3 inches and snakes are common here. I'm not in hiking clothes, just the nice stuff I packed for partying and generally looking cute, and I have on the snappy platform sandals that are not made for climbing, hiking, or travelling anywhere other than the mall or perhaps a nice restaurant. Make-up done nicely, lipstick on, and the hair was just starting to stick out funny as the humidity is about a billion percent in these hills, I set off on my kind of hike. Camera in tow.

I found a trail that was easily accessible and there wasn't a soul around. As I went down a ton of steps that were carved out of stone, all that I kept thinking about was the horrible climb back up that awaited me. I didn't go far as I didn't want to really hike, I just wanted to find a quiet place with lots of trees and solitude. It didn't take me too long to find it, thank God, and I started taking pictures.

It's funny how you start to see things differently once you start taking pictures. This new camera offers me a world that I could never visit before. I can finally get close up and mess with the settings to get different effects--light and dark, shadows, fill-in flash, soft focus. It is a whole new adventure and it was great to have the time and space to just play with the settings and take a new look at things I took for granted before. Trees became greener, moss seemed more alive, chipmunks were posing, and paths seemed to welcome me, begging me to keep going--just one more corner, one more tree. Oooh, nooo--I'm not that stupid. I decided to just sit down and see what I saw from my rocky spot.

I sat for long while , breathed deeply, and looked around. I watched the leaves dance and the trees move with the breeze. I watched the patterns of sun and shade change in the forest as clouds passed silently overhead. I heard branches snap as some unseen animal hopped about--it wasn't the scary kind of branch-snapping though. I first spotted one, then two chipmunks who thought I was nuts. They stopped, stared, then went about their search for food, forgetting about the human intruder. There were flowers brushing my leg on one side, and I had to make sure I wasn't sitting in a patch of poison ivy. There weren't many bugs, or maybe I just didn't notice them.

The silence of the forest made me smile. And think. What a lovely place I was--both physically and emotionally. I had no worries or concerns. My children were off having fun, Joe was finally doing something for himself, and I was far from home and its responsibilities. My only thoughts were if my immediate physical needs were met--hungry? No. Too warm or cold? No, just right. Maybe a little too humid, but heck, its vacation. Should I go to the pool later? What is that sweet smell down here? Why does it stick in my memory after all of these years? Is there a better place on earth? What is it about this place? I feel like I am home. Not Chicago home--home inside of me. Who I am and who I should be.

There was nothing but good swirling inside me sitting there. I thought about how much I loved this group of people and how lucky I was to be a part of them. I am the same person at home as I am when I am here, but I just feel better here. I feel unconditional love and acceptance. I laugh really hard and am extra silly. I square dance and wolf down pulled cremes. I lay at the poolside like one of my frogs sunning himself and play beachball in the water when I get too warm. I'm not crabby and stressed out. I walk slow and wake up late. I like this me.

While I sat, I finally started to check out the pictures that I took. I think there are about 20 of my new chipmunk friend--he looks like he was posing for me. Work it, chipmunk! I deleted some of the weird mossy rock ones and the fuzzy I-need-a-tripod ones, and even some of the duplicated scenes. I notice that I am photographing way too many path photos. Then I start to think--what is with the path that I am drawn to?

I'm sure there is some deep psychological meaning to all of these path photos. Like I'm heading somewhere, but I don't know where. Yep. I like where I've been but it is time to move on. Yep. Don't go too far to one side, you'll fall down a cliff and nobody will find you. Or maybe you'll die. Don't get too close to the poison ivy on the other side--you won't die, but you'll be miserable for a long time. Watch where you walk, it is a bumpy rocky path. Even the smooth parts are deceiving as there are tree roots to trip you up. It's all very deep if you want it to be. I can over-analyze that whole path thing forever, but I found it interesting that I prefered to just stop--dead center of the path. No moving forward, no looking back. Just stop, breathe, and love where and who I was for the moment.

Thank you, Trail #6.

Blue Moon of Kentucky

Start your giggling now, you city folk. This is my "square" on Friday night, doing "Blue Moon of Kentucky"--a kind of tough, nobody-walks-you-through-ahead-of-time square dance that I love. It's sort of for the more seasoned folk as nobody really takes the time to teach squares anymore at the Falls. Fain is patient with us all and last year she started bringing back the squares to the delight of the kids, my kids included. It's "culture" she says, and it's part of the last great minorities of our country--Applachian Americans. That's what Fain says anyway. We just nod our heads like we understand her.

When someone requests "Blue Moon", we all run around like kids trying to get our square together. It's tough going as most of the adults would rather sit and drink a cold one instead of mastering a "right and left grand" these days. Joe and I are game, although I do admit to trying to snag Kenny for my partner before anyone else does. Joe grabbed Fain, Kim grabbed Ricky, Ralph partnered up with Cheri, and I had my cherished Kenny--we were set. Things were going to be great, only if Joe could remember his Aleman left and how to "weave around the ring". He fumbled a few nights ago and I was just beginning to forgive him. There is nothing worse than the goof who screws up the weave. God help him.

It all started off good, although I think there was a few pushes and shoves to get Joe in the right direction. He made up for it in the "4 hands through" (which he is doing in the picture), and I had to forgive him as he was only just introduced to this world 3 years ago. Everyone was singing the directions to keep us on track and I think we actually pulled off a good Blue Moon. Ahhhh, heaven. It doesn't take much to make me happy, and this is definitely one of those things. Good friends, a good square, and a nearly perfect Blue Moon.

My Pot of Gold

I thought it was an interesting coincidence that there happened to be a rainbow at the edge of the Falls on the very first day we were there. I took it as a sign--we were at the end of the rainbow, you know, where the gold is. Except my gold was the most incredible people I know and a week of endless laughs and fun. I've been home for two days now, and I still have not recovered. I have this silly grin on my face and my eyes are kind of glazed over with sweet memories of a really good time. I'm kind of sad to be home actually.

It is hard to explain how this group came to be or why they continue to meet every year at the exact same week for the past 30 years, but they do. And I'm glad that they do. It is quite the mixture of people from all over and we get together for a week every year in July and laugh our butts off. Time stands still and the world is good. The sun shines and the pool water is just cool enough to refresh you. There are lovely hills to hike and always somebody to do something with. There are cold beers and Joe's famous Lemon Drop Martinis. There is the Hal Rogers Water Park to visit and Pat's rainbow floaty to laugh at. And Fain is there too--calling a square dance or two with her suave lounge lizard voice on the microphone. There is Cheri and I thinking we are the cutest things down there, Michelle who can't find her kids, and Tammy feeding everybody yummy things. There is the golfing group of Chicago Joe, Charlie, Atlanta Joe, Batman, and whoever else they convince to join them. Chris is in charge of keeping track of the kids and Pat passes out cold beers incessantly. The Ostler's are there with their sweet smiles and geniune goodness that warms me. There are numerous others that join in the fun and make us all laugh until our tummies hurt. It's just all good.

Em cried when we said our goodbyes at the final campfire and I have to admit it brought me back to when I did the same cry 25 years ago at nearly the same age as she. We miss our Cumberland gang terribly and I hate that we don't see them throughout the year nearly enough. The closest thing was visiting the Ostler Farm back in May.

I took a long walk one morning, all by myself, to take some photos and meditate. I sat quietly on a rock in the path and just watched the beauty around me. Two chipmunks appeared and looked at me before they scrambled away. I felt so serene, so calm, so happy for that short time and it was as if I found myself there. I took some photos to remind me of how I felt being there, and I hope it triggers me back to that place when everyday craziness starts to bog me down. It is my inner Cumberland Falls where I am accepted unconditionally--nobody judges, nobody gossips, nobody is a negative force. It is the nearest thing to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow as you can get.

Frog Vacation

Puppet Bike

I have this weird sense of humor and rarely does anybody else think what I think is funny. Puppet Bike is one of my favorite things and nobody, I mean NOBODY thinks it is as funny as me. They just don't get it.

Puppet Bike is a puppet show set up on the back of a bicycle. It is run by some obscure artsy group of people who take pride in their puppetry. The puppets are actually antique Steiff puppets, so these aren't your kiddy puppets--they are actually worth something. The Puppet Bike is set up on a busy corner, usually across from Millenium Park, but we also saw them in front of Macy's at Thanksgiving. The puppets dance to some really funky jazzy music, and it isn't half bad. They be-bop about doing solos or couples dances. If you put a dollar in their tip jar on the front of the box, they climb down there, grab your dollar and do a special "Thank you" dance. This is major entertainment.

And can those puppets dance! Wow. Whoever is in there is really good, as there are some tough puppet moves going on. There is a disco ball up top and lights a-flashing. A crowd gathers and the little kids all push to come up front for a better view. Me? I'm right in there with the kids hootin' and hollerin' like a groupie. "Yeah! Puppet Bike! Whoo-hoo!" is me screaming loudly. If I had a lighter, I'd be lighting it like a rock concert. Meanwhile, my family is shrinking in the back, acting like they don't know me. Joe is mortified when I ask him for a couple of bucks to give my puppet friends. Now, I think they purposely direct me away from the location of Puppet Bike.

On the scale of street performers in Chicago--this one is IT. Metal Man? Boring. Garbage can drummers? Ho hum. Hip Hop dancers? Yawn. Even Saxophone guy on the bridge over the Chicago River doesn't interest me. Puppet Bike is pure art. I bet you look for it the next time you are downtown. Give em' a buck for me.

The Baby Llama

It was a strange combination at best, but both Fain and the Dalai Lama were coming to Chicago on exactly the same weekend. This was last spring, but it was a weekend that I remember fondly. Lots of fun having Fain here, doing all kinds of touristy stuff, eating touristy Chicago food. We dragged her downtown to see Millenium Park, The Bean, and my personal favorite--Puppet Bike. (More on Puppet Bike later) Little did we realize that the Dalai Lama was also speaking right there in Millenium Park when we were there.

There were throngs of people everywhere. I guess the opportunity to hear the Holy One speak draws quite the crowd, and if I had been more of a follower then, I would have been with all of these people sitting quietly. I have since become more interested in his teachings and his thoughts and am now kicking myself for not joining in. I guess my Dalai Lama daily calendar will have to suffice.

We walked all around the Bean, taking silly pictures and trying not to be too loud for those straining to hear the gentle man. We decided to sit for a minute, to rest our weary legs and to people watch--always a hoot in a crowd. Colin and Emma were still full of energy and decided to take advantage of the warm sun on an early day in May. They kicked off their shoes, rolled up their pant legs, and splashed about in the fountain. It was kind of chilly, but kids being kids, they didn't care.

I'm shaking my head thinking they are nuts when I hear Fain talking to somebody. She's a magnet for everyone, as complete strangers just start talking to her. She doesn't even approach them, they approach her--it is the darnedest thing. And how the heck they understand her is beyond me! Anyway, she's chatting with this guy and his daughter who is about 3. They came from somewhere across country and had a layover at the airport before they carried on. It was boring at the airport so they hopped a train and came into the city. He had apparently heard that the Dalai Lama was at Millenium park so he headed there.

The little girl was taking her shoes off and chatting with Fain like she was an old friend. "I'm going to see the baby llama." she's telling Fain. Bewildered, Fain is going along with this kid asking her where the llama is, what color is it, and how did she know it was here. I'm not sure she made the connection until the father spoke up. "I think she misunderstood and now I don't have the heart to tell her." he's shoving her shoes in his backpack. So, they share a laugh and the dad joins the little girl in the water, splashing and forgetting for the moment about the llama. Fain tells me the story and we giggle. Then we spot him.

Across from us was, unbelievably---The Baby Lama. Here is this little Asian kid who, I swear, looks like the Dalai Lama when he was a child. He had on a stripey shirt and his underpants, oblivious to the people giggling and taking his picture. He was the picture of innocence splashing and jumping in the cold water. He was all alone, talking to himself, just having fun. I saw his mother a little ways away, but she was letting him have his space. It was so sweet to watch him, and even sweeter to watch the people watching him. Did anybody else think he was the Baby Lama? We weren't the only ones taking his picture, so I'm thinking somebody else thought the same thought.

It was an enlightening moment. There was this great holy man spewing pearls of wisdom and peace, and here was this miniature version of him dancing in the fountain not far away. It was surreal. I could only wonder if this man was allowed the same innocence of youth as this boy. Did he laugh and dance in puddles? Could he run around in his undies? Did his mother give him the freedom to be a child? Did his predetermined position as holy man inhibit his childhood? I like to think he was like this boy jumping and splashing in the warm sun. A laugh as deep as his has to come from somewhere good.

The bigger question: Did the little girl even notice the Baby Lama?

The Ubiquitous Screensaver

I think nearly everyone I know from the Falls has the same screensaver picture--the view from the back patio at Dupont Lodge. It is quiet and peaceful and you can find me here, just gazing, about a hundred times this week alone. Mornings bring dense clouds on these hills, and the river is nearly impossible to see. Once the sun warms the day, the clouds disappear, and you are left with this picturesque view. I tell the family to toss my ashes over this railing when I die. I'm one step from heaven.

Getting Out of Dodge

I found by accident last year a great route on my bike. I needed to find a way for Col to get to the school for some tennis get-together and because I was working that day, he had to ride his bike there. There was much crabbing about the fact that he had to ride his bike versus being chauffeured there in comfort, but hey, I can only be so many places. Besides, it would be a lovely ride, I promised. So, we headed in the direction of the school on our bikes, mapping out an easy, no traffic path that he could take later in the week.

It was an adventure for us both to find our way, and it was fun to figure out together a different way of getting somewhere. We snuck around the baseball fields to cross the footbridge over the creek. We ambled down a dead end to cross a busy street and head into another neighborhood. There, we were surprised to feel our thighs burning as we climbed an invisible-to-the-eye incline that nearly killed me. We zig-zagged through tree-lined streets that, surprisingly, was void of cars. It was a lovely neighborhood of large yards and lots of space. We cruised happily until we found the bush-covered bike path that led directly to the tennis courts of the school. Hooray! We found our way!

I was thrilled, what a great ride! It was scenic, peaceful, and easy to do. Colin didn't seem as excited about this new found route as I did, as he was busy counting the distance on his odometer. "One point five" his disgusted voice exclaimed. I'm sure there was a deep sigh connected to that, but back then I was oblivious to those. I was just glad we found a way that was safe for him, as we had a little incident with Colin, his bike, and an automobile a few years back that entailed 15 weeks of castings on his leg. Needless to say, I was a little nervous sending him on a bike adventure on his own. Ok--he's 15 now, I think I'll let the apron strings loosen a bit. This was good.

Ever since that July morning, I take that bike route almost daily in nice weather. I try to sneak out without anybody wanting to join me, as I prefer the solitude of my own ride. I like to go fast or slow depending on my mood. I like to zig-zag up and down the streets, admiring gardens or nice houses. I love that I don't know anybody here, I don't have to wave or say "hi" if I don't want to. I don't worry about who's doing what to their house or who is selling. It isn't but a half a mile from my house and it is like being a world away.

Last summer, in the height of neighbor problems around my own house, I would escape and pedal away my angry thoughts and unhappiness. Yeah, you can say it was the endorphins, but I'm convinced it was just the change of scenery and ambiguity of a different neighborhood that lifted my spirits. Just me and my bike, wind in my hair (I admit I ditched the helmet a few times), and my mind a-whirling with happy thoughts. It saved me.

I take the family on my ride sometimes, but it isn't as much fun. Em crabs about her legs hurting and has to stop for a drink every 10 feet. Colin beefs about having to be the last bike in the single-line formation when a car comes. Joe is breathing heavy and trying to talk to me, even when he is facing the wind and I can't hear a thing he is saying. They just kind of ruin it. It's 5 miles of pure hell if the whole family decides to "keep me company". I end up going early in the morning if I can, to find the joy in the ride. "Getting out of Dodge " I call it, and leaving it's inhabitants behind.

Ahhh, Vacation

It's the Niagra of the South. It is one of only two places on Earth that have a moonbow. It is Cumberland Falls and one of my very favorite places to be.

This week I'll be laying by the pool liked a beached whale. That's me under the big hat and sunglasses kind of like a movie star, but in reality, I just don't want the sun on my face. I'm going to hide it under sunscreen and a really really good book. I yell when the kids drip cold water on me and tell me to jump in. If I get too toasty, I will gently ease the old bod into the shallow end and slide like a turtle into the cool water, careful not to get the hair wet. (I'm always wondering at what point in my life did the thought of getting my hair wet bother me.) Anyway, that's me on the chair looking for peace and quiet. And finding it. Ahhhh.

Vacation Clothes Blues

I'm out in the yard today, mowing the grass that really doesn't need to be mowed, and watering flowers that, according to Tom Skilling, will be watered from above in a few hours anyway. I'm clipping flowers that aren't quite done blooming, as I don't have time to wait for them to be finished. I'm going on vacation and I'm getting all those jobs done before we leave. Joe said that he's helping me by taking a few extra vacation days, but they don't count as they are scheduled AFTER we get home. I still have not figured out how that is going to help me.

As I'm sweating around the perimeter, I look down and realize what a dork I must look like to the neighbors. I've got on some shorts that are a little baggy thanks to Weight Watchers last winter, a yellowed white tank top, my white socks, and my gardening clogs. I look a mess. But I have my hair done nicely and some make-up on. I hope that makes up for it.

As I'm looking at my dirty sweaty self, I start thinking about bad fashion days in our lives. There are times that most people relax the fashion a tad and go without make-up. There is the sneak to drive the kids to school in your pajamas, or perhaps on a Saturday house cleaning binge. Some lay around in sweats at home or on weekends as relief from the workweek spiffed up look. Some, like at my kids school, don't even bother to put on something nice for things like Christmas concerts or parent-teacher conferences. They are comfortable being slobby. The "Slobification of America" Tim Gunn calls it. He and I both agree, there is just too much of it.

I catch crap all the time because I always have make-up on. Even after surgery last year--every day I got up, dressed and put the make-up on to lie on the couch and recover. I get up early in the morning to be ready for the drive to school. I even have my lipstick on at the pool. You should see the looks I get in the bathroom when we are camping--there are lots of eye-rolls directed at me. I don't care, and I definitely don't expect anyone else to do the same. It's just me and it's not going to change anytime soon.

But now I'm thinking--when am I a total slob? There are really only 2 days a year that I can count on--the day before and the day after vacation.

I have most of my favorite and good things packed for the week ahead. Whatever isn't in the suitcase is in the washing machine for one last load. I'm left with whatever is in the closet or drawers that is either not comfortable, doesn't fit right, or is just ugly. I am wearing things that are not bad enough to part with, but will do in a pinch--like for cleaning the house or mowing the grass. I dread the thought that I may have to run an errand in these clothes, and I anticipate putting on something that is really too dressy for the store. I am waaayyy overdressed for the Walmart, but they don't know I have nothing to wear at home. I could be like the "pajama girl" from the last time I was there, but you know, that is when I will run into someone I know. I would be mortified.

So, until I set off on vacation or until I finish all of the laundry when we get back, I am left with butt-ugly clothes to wear. I hope the neighbors don't see that we are home and stop by to say "hi" and return my house key. I hope that noboby sees me unpacking the car in a baseball t-shirt and shorts. And I certainly hope nobody looks at what I am wearing. It's going to take some mighty strong lipstick to distract from that.

I think it is just me going through the Before/After Vacation Clothes Blues, when I notice that Joe is wearing a Cleveland Indians shirt. Poor guy, I know his drawer is empty too.

Dupont Lodge and a Handful of Memories

My father died when I was seven years old and painful as it may be, I only have a handful of memories of him. Sure, there are pictures and old family movies, but those honest-to-goodness memories of being with him are very few. I think I literally have five--my handful of memories I call them. Dupont Lodge is one of them.

Dupont Lodge is on the premises of Cumberland Falls State Park and a lovely old lodge from the early days. It was built in the 1930's by the Civilian Conservation Corp. and still has much of its rustic charm. I love this old building, its hand-hewn beams, and its wooden floors. There is a great room in the one end that has a giant stone fireplace and many very comfy couches and chairs to plop down on. This is the place to be, as this is where everyone checks in for their cabins and lodge rooms and the restaurant is right downstairs. If you are looking for someone, this is the place to look.

We came here often growing up. This was a great stop-over place when we were heading out to places down south or out east. It was a good eight hours down the road, and it was a lovely place to stop and rest for the night. As we got older, we would meet other kids and their families, and ended up spending a week here just hanging out. Now, we meet up with those same families and their children to re-live our good times. It's funny how we all love to still come here.

The park boasts the Falls for the touristy crowd and a typical tacky gift shop and snack bar. The Lodge offers a restaurant, hotel-like rooms, the great room, and a patio off the back with a to-die-for view of the river. The restaurant has large windows on one side that offer the same view as the patio, but with a close-up look at the raccoons, skunks, chipmunks, and birds that come to eat at the strategically placed feeders. It is pure heaven to get down there early in the morning to eat biscuits and gravy and watch the birds hop about. I dream about this often on cold snowy winter mornings.

Every single time I walk up to Dupont Lodge and its large welcoming lawn and canopy, I think of my dad. Our very last vacation with him took us on an excursion to Washington DC and the east coast. We piled into the family station wagon, hooked up the camper and headed for the Falls--our first layover on a long trip.

It was pouring rain and my dad dropped me, my mother, and my brother off in front of the lodge. We scrambled under the canopy so we wouldn't get soaked, and then headed inside the lodge to wait for him. I remember watching out the window, afraid for my dad, hoping he would make it inside safely. Then I see him, a big man, running across the green lawn heading into the safety of Dupont Lodge where we were waiting for him.

That's it--my big memory. Watching my dad run across that lawn. Kind of small, I know, but it is one I cling too. And it is replayed every single time I see that lodge.

So, I pack my kids in the car and head off for Kentucky like my family did so many years ago. We are excited to meet up with my old friends and the kids can't wait to see their friends again. We hang out, laugh, drink a few cocktails, squaredance, and reminisce about old days. It is like coming home. I wonder if my dad is there.

It Ain't Easy Being Green

The pond is clear and the world is, once again, good. Strange how that happens, but it does, and it is very annoying.

Earlier in the summer, my pond went green. Pea soup green. It was thick and neon-colored. The fish were invisible to me, but they were down deep, secretly relishing the yummy algae that overcame the water. I threw food in to them, basically to make myself feel better, but they didn't need it. The minnows were growing fat in the darkness too, and of course, I didn't see them either. The frog (yes, only one now) sat with his face halfway in the water and his smile growing greener by the day. The lilies were not happy, as the sunshine couldn't reach the tender flower buds that reached for the water's surface. It was not lovely to look at. It was rather depressing, actually.

When this happens, you just have to wait it out. I keep cleaning the filter and checking the water. You hope the water hyacinths grow to block out the algae-causing sun, but the more you mess with it, the worse it gets. You just have to leave it be. Hard thing for a mom to do--we have to make things better, you know.

I had finally reached my end when I opened the skimmer and found one of the new tadpoles dead. Poor thing. Okay--I'm done. I tired of all of this death. I'm tired of losing all of my frogs this year. I'm sick of green water. And I'm tired of not enjoying the pond. I was frustrated and Joe kept being positive in spite of me. "It will get better" he says, but I don't believe him.

I think it was that next day that I noticed the water wasn't quite so neon anymore. More of a dull brown green cast fell on the cesspool. There was some decent rain lately and that always seems to change the water make-up. I could actually see a rock or two emerging just underneath the surface. Does that frog actually have legs? Was that Freddy that just went by? Was that an orange blob under the lily? Yes! I'm turning the corner here. Things were looking up!

The morning Emma left for camp, the pond was a whole new world. It was clear and you could actually see the fish. There were about a dozen fat orange minnows chasing each other around the deep water. I could spot a huge black minnow camping out in the fold of the liner, darting out to chase anyone who dared near his spot. A snail was munching along the side of a pot in the water. I can see them all! My Baby Huey-like tadpole was now a froglet--sprouting some lovely long legs and snappy arms while in the goo. Another skinny tadpole looks as if he ate New York and is just now sprouting some lame excuse for back legs. Ahh, life returns! I smile when I look at it now. It is pure joy and I visit my pond about a hundred times a day, just to see what is going on. This is what it is all about and this is why I dug the pond 5 years ago. Life in all of it's loveliness--green water and all.

Uncle Fain

The only person, other than my kids, who calls me on my cell phone is Fain. It rarely rings and when it does, I know it is important. Or it is Fain. In either case, I drop everything and answer it.

We are going to Kentucky next week to connect with my favorite part of the world and the sweetest people I know. I love Kentucky and the quiet hills of the south. I love the twang in their accent and the slower pace. I love biscuits and gravy and grits. I love the way the clouds hang in the hills extra long in the morning, making the morning start real slow-like. I love how they say "y'all" instead of "you guys". I love the sweet smell of mountain flowers and dew mixed together. I love the friends that I have made over 25 years ago that still remain. But, best of all, I love Fain.

Diana Fain is her name, but I don't think anyone calls her Diana. Not in our circle anyway. Maybe Tammy sometimes, or the "adults", but that's about it. Fain was the director of activities down at Cumberland Falls when I was a teenager and she wasn't much older. She ran puppetshows, "Password" at the lodge, big splash contests at the pool, crafts too numerous to mention, and best of all--squaredancing. She worked all day, everyday, making vacations for families like a cruise--non-stop action and tons of fun. She was the glue that brought all of our families and friends together. She introduced the new kid to everyone else. She let the loner hang out with her until they felt comfortable in the crowd. She may even have been a matchmaker once or twice. She got everyone on the dance floor and didn't yell at us when we messed up a square. She was, and is, why we all go to the Falls year after year.

Everyone loves Fain, with her gentle voice and wicked sense of humor. She is patient and kind. She is full of stories and half of them I can't understand. She loves a good looking man and vodka with Mountain Dew. She likes old people, but I think she just likes their circus peanuts. She used to like high-top gym shoes, but we ended that one pretty quick. We all push and shove like a bunch of kids to be around her. Her cabin is always full of people because everyone wants to see Fain. Fain is universal too--even on a trip to New York, girlfriend chatted away with deli waitresses and sailors like old friends. If she ran for president, she would win--the only problem being that she talks wayyyy too slow for anything to get done in a timely manner in this country.

Fain came to stay with us for a few days last year. We had her to ourselves for four whole days, and Colin and Emma followed her around like a puppy dog. We took her for Chicago style hot dogs, to visit Millenium Park, and to Arlington Race Track--it was Derby Day and you don't make a Kentuckian miss the Derby! We just kind of hung out and ate pulled cremes for the weekend trying to figure out what the heck she was saying. I finally figured out that if I talked like her in the same accent, I could understand her. Joe had no clue what was being said. Here is his wife with a faux Appalachian accent and Fain with her terminology talking away--homeboy was thoroughly confused. But happy. Fain was here.

Talking with Fain ends up cracking me up most of the time. There is always the accent/slang/demographic thinking to overcome in talking to her and it leads to some very interesting conversations. This weekend's phone call was no exception.

I asked about the pool project at the Methodist Home, a place for troubled teens where she works. Last year there was some talk and collaboration amongst the fellow Falls friends about getting some donations together to build a new pool. In asking about the progress, Fain mentioned the funds aren't there yet, but they are talking about uses for the old pool. "They are thinking of turning it into a tennis court." she informs. Now, I've got this silly image in my mind. "Would they have to jump in to play?" is my question. It was quiet for a moment. "And the ball wouldn't roll away." I'm trying to figure out how they could turn a pool into a tennis court. She replies, real serious like "Well, " (add a southern pause), "we'd have to put the tall kids in the deep end and the short ones in the shallow to make it even." To this, I'm dying. Now I know I'm missing something. She's kinda miffed that I don't get it, to which she adds "They would fill it in, Lin, and put the courts on top." Oh.

She earned the name "Uncle Fain" in an innocent card game at the lodge that included some smuggled in cocktails. Pat, an experienced card shark, decided to accommodate the rest of us rookies by playing 31, and easy to understand, easy to win kind of card game. The kids were off being silly somewhere and it was left to Joe, me, Tammy, Fain, and Pat to play. Somehow, Fain, Tammy, and I were starting to win. And win often. The alcohol was making us giddy and we were giggling at even dime lost by Pat. Pat, very serious in his card gaming, was not happy and was convinced we were cheating. We weren't cheating, we weren't suave enough to pull that off, but we couldn't help giggling at poor Pat who was ready to kill us. In the midst of the game, the kids came to watch and someone started calling Fain "Aunt Fain" and she wasn't having any of it. Finally, she let out a loud voice proclaiming "Don't call me Aunt Fain! It reminds me of my aunt......." and she went on to some story about some relative and we all tuned it out. I don't remember who said it, but some smarty-aleck says "So, we can call you Uncle Fain?". Pat was done. Put the cards down and quit. He'd had enough.

I love my phone calls from Fain. I know that it is all good and we share a few laughs. It transports me to a different place--one of acceptance and peace. There is no drama or gossip. There is no sad news or crabbiness. Uncle Fain is pure fun. She is Cumberland Falls. She is Appalachia. She is what is good in this world.

Off The Beaten Path

After dropping Emma off at band camp successfully, we stopped at the local Dog & Suds, filled our bellies with hamburgers and root beer from frosted mugs. We were satisfied, both physically from the burgers, and emotionally, from knowing that Em had a good roommate and was already off having a blast. We settled in for the nearly 3 hour drive back home chatting about what a good day it was.

The sky was blue and the clouds were white and puffy. Farmland and open fields greeted us warmly and the earth was smiling after recent rains and cool air. It could not have been a lovelier day in the countryside. We were reading road signs and counting all of the towns that my brother had lived in, when we noticed a sign for Arthur, Illinois. Oooh, Arthur! Home to numerous Amish and lots of furniture and cabinet makers. Home of my lovely china cabinet that we were given for a wedding present. Home of apple butter and fudge. "Let's go!" that's me yelling from the back seat. (I am relegated to the back seat now that Colin is a teen.) I don't think Colin has ever seen an Amish buggy clip-clapping down the road or an Amish family in their plain dark colored clothing, so I'm all pumped to show him something he's never seen.

As we head into town, I'm pointing out all of the Amish farms to the boys, and Joe is confused on how I know they are Amish. "No power lines." I'm so proud of me pointing this out. "And the six buggies parked outside the barn" was the biggest clue. I saved that one for last. We also noticed the large number of horses, mainly large Belgium work horses, that were in their field. Lots of cows too. It was amazing the amount of large animals these farms had--mostly for working their fields. You don't usually see horses in those numbers because they are luxuries that most farms can't have anymore. Who needs animals that eat up the slim profits the farm yields these days? Unless they are useful, most farms don't keep extra animals anymore. I learned that on my Ostler Farm trip back in May.

As we travel through Arcola, another Amish community, we noticed that all of the stores are closed on the main drag. Ugh, Sunday. I completely forgot. These small towns, and especially the ultra-religious Amish towns, are completely shut down for the day of rest. Imagine that here in suburbia. You tend to forget these things when you live in big cities. I'm bumming because I wanted to stop and check out the furniture stores. So, we just drive through, imagining the lovely things behind those curtained windows of the stores.

At the far edge of town, we pass a barn-like building with Amish buggies parked outside. There were maybe 30 of them all lined up--empty shiny black carriages with a single safety triangle on their backs. The horses were tethered and fed, happily munching and drinking while waiting for their owners and the trot home. Like the church meeting inside the barn, these equine pals were having their own meeting outside--probably chatting about horse things like stable conditions and owner treatments. I can only imagine.

Sunday. Church day. Meeting day. The whole community shuts down and congregates at one home for the day-long service and visitation. We passed slowly, I'm sure our mouths are open from seeing such a beautiful sight. In the distance, there were more and more buggies heading in our direction. It was really something to see. Our bad luck in hitting town on their "off" day turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

We headed out to nowhere really, after passing through 2 desolate downtowns of both Arthur and Arcola. We wanted to enjoy the beautiful day and the Amish sights, so we kept driving. We passed I-don't-know-how-many buggies and were greeted head-on by even more. There were tons on the road yesterday and I have never seen anything like it. We were the odd ones in our shiny metal buggy, and I almost felt out of place. Joe drove slowly, and I was silently relieved that it wasn't Colin who was driving, because I would have been terrified that he would have run every one of them over.

We went slow enough to actually look these people in the eye as we went by, and Colin and I noticed that the very first man waved at us. Joe, somewhat nervous by the onslaught, kept his eye on the road and completely snubbed our Amish pal. Colin and I are screaming at Joe that he dogged the Amish guy. Number two buggy is approaching and this driver gives us a nod. Again, Joe is completely oblivious and we are mortified. "You dogged the dude, Dad!" Colin is yelling. "You've got to wave, Joe!" I'm yelling from the back. "I didn't see anything!" Joe is defending his rude self. Now he was really thrown. Poor Joe has to manuever around these slow-moving buggies, try not to go too fast as to scare the horses, listen to us oohing and ahhing over the sights, and wave at our new-found Amish buddies. It was a hoot. Colin and I were laughing ourselves silly over the whole adventure.

I had the camera in the back, but I have to say, I could not take a photo. The Amish do not want, nor like, to be photographed. Once again, I felt this deep struggle within about sneaking a photo in, but I knew in my heart it was not the right thing for me to do. Oh, I wanted too, and my eyes were taking it all in. There was an open wagon with a large family of capped children in the back all sitting in a row. There was a buggy with the parents in front, the girls in the back, and their brothers following on their bikes. There was a young couple alone in a small buggy, and I wondered if they were courting. I ached for the pictures I could have captured, but it was not meant to be.

There were outside congregations along the way, and of all things, they were in the yard playing volleyball. I thought this was an odd sport choice, but apparently it is very popular with the Amish set, as we passed numerous volleyball games in progress. Looked a little warm to me with all of those long dresses, pants, hats, and caps. I thought of the beach volleyball tournaments on the lakefront this weekend, and chuckled at the similarities and the differences between the two events.

The farms faded, the number of buggies got fewer, and we were heading back towards the highway. Our little side trip was incredible. Blue highways they are called, and they beckon us to simple adventures and sights we don't usually see. It was an escape, albeit a short one, from our routine and everyday lives. It made us slow down, both physically and emotionally for a short while while we were careful in passing the buggies. In slowing down, we were able to look a stranger in the eye and wave.

Off to Camp

We're packing today, Em is going to band camp for the week. I have mixed feelings knowing that she will have the time of her life, but yet, I will miss her like the dickens.

Colin went a few years ago to the same camp, and came home exhausted and full of stories. There is nothing like going away for a week to camp to fill you with independence and the taste of something more is out there. It is a college campus with band and choir students from across the state, and it is a great opportunity to meet new kids and to escape your family for a week. Em can't wait.

Check-in is tomorrow and it is long lines of anxious teens and even more anxious parents. Most are excited to get rid of junior for the week. Not me--I'm clinging to my "pally" and I don't want to think about her empty bedroom. I'm sending her anyway, excited for her to have fun. We'll set her up with a roommate, her own room key, and put all of her belongings in an honest-to-goodness dorm room. Taste of College I call it. She'll learn to set the alarm, go to the cafeteria for breakfast, and get to class all on her own. She'll meet different kids from all over--nice ones, not-so-nice ones, kids who crack you up, kids to avoid, and maybe make a new friend in the process.

The whole roommate thing was, and possibly still is an issue, as there are three friends going together to camp. There are only two to a room, so there has been many discussions as to the combos. From the start, I encouraged Em to room with someone she didn't know. Meet someone. Hang with the friends from home somewhat, but go out there and meet new people. You have so much to gain from that. Okay, so the new roommate could be a loser--you pretty much are just sleeping in the same room. But maybe, it is someone you can laugh with, learn something about, or be silly with. It is one week and like Joe says, "I can stand anyone for a week". I think there was some sort of an agreement with the friends to all stay with a stranger, but who knows what will happen in that room assignment line. I prepare Em for the betrayal, not wanting her feelings to be hurt on the first day at camp. I pump her full of the excitement of newness.

My week will be quiet, as Col and I don't spend a lot of time chatting these days. Maybe this will be different. Maybe he'll be my bud this week and we can do some couch-sitting tv-watching together. I doubt it, but I will try. He is quite fond of "the cave" otherwise known as his room, but maybe grouchy bear will appear once in awhile if the house remains quiet. Maybe I can persuade him out with tempts of ice cream or a movie. Imagine sitting very still for the chipmunk to take the nut from your hand--that's going to be me this week. Don't tell Colin of my plan.

So, I'll drive her there tomorrow with all kinds of encouraging words. I know what awaits her, and I know that this will be the week of her life. Camp is so cool and so important in a child's life. It is only a week, and I know we will both survive. She having a blast. Me, well.....I pick her up on Saturday.

The "L" Word

I'm cheating big time on Frank's assignment for this week. Writing class decided to pick the topic "The L Word" for their challenge this week and I'm struggling with thoughts, and only one thing comes to mind: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfCq1fqarJE.

I think I'm losing it when I refer to Bert for inspiration more than once in the past 2 months. If so, at least I'm going down cracking up! Linoleum--hee! hee!

It's a Big Enough Umbrella...........

Lots of colorful food, objects, and people at the Taste of Chicago. Em loved these umbrellas and ended up taking one home.

Tastes Like Chicken

Ugh. Another bird-eating frog in the pond. I tell the story of Jaws, my first frog to do this and nobody ever believes me.

I was looking out my window at the pond when I saw a baby bird hopping around the perimeter. He had this I'm-gonna-die look about him, when the frog lept out of the water and grabbed the poor thing! I went running to save the little life, and by the time I got to the pond, it was all over. Jaws hopped into the water, bird and all, not to be seen for several very long minutes. By the time he re-appeared, baby bird was dead, and we all stood there mortified. Jaws earned his name that day, as I usually do not name frogs. From that day forward, we never stood too close to the pond.

Last year we had a really sweet, friendly frog that had a penchant for birds as well. I loved this frog, as it would sit idly in the plants and rocks of the pond, never budging when we came by. He would sit next to me as I puttered about cleaning the filter or moving plants. He was great company and I swear he enjoyed it as much as I did. At night, I would fall asleep to his deep croaking outside my bedroom window. I came to really love this guy and talked to him often. "Good morning, frog." was the standard start to each day. He grew large and fat over the course of the summer.

Soon, dead sparrows started appearing on the water's surface. I told Big Frog (I know, it goes against my no-naming policy) that if he has friends over, they have to be able to swim. Little did I know that they weren't over for friendship as much as for lunch. I caught the big guy with a friend in his mouth, with only a wing sticking out. At least he was downing the darn thing, I couldn't be mad at him for that. Over time, he became larger and larger and you could visibly see that he was making a dent in the bird world. I only had a problem with this when I had to fish out birds remnants out of the water. I drew the line at scooping out bird feet--we had to do something before winter came.

It was a heart-rendering decision to re-locate Big Frog, but I knew it was best for his survival. Frogs need to hibernate in order to live a long life, and I couldn't provide the deep mucky pond bottom that he needed. We searched for just the right pond--not a lot of people, lots of shallow, protected water, and tons of other bullfrogs to hang with.

Tummy bloated with the day's catch, we packed him up and drove him to frog freedom. I shook his frog hand and told him to "go forth and multiply" and gently set his muscular self down in the mud. We released him, although I don't think he wanted to go because he didn't hop away from us. I literally had to shoo him away into the water, and the pangs of guilt flooded me. Was it the right thing to do? Yes. Will I miss his sweet smile and deep croaking? Yes, terribly. Will he be better off? Yes. Does it hurt? Yes. And it still does. But isn't that what motherhood is--raising your children to set them out into the world? So, my child is green and eats birds--it is no less painful.

Now I have another "normal" bullfrog doing bullfrog things and eating bullfrog food, which includes sparrows. Em caught this guy in action and and rose above her squeamishness and grabbed the camera. He dropped the bird, but I have no doubt that he will try again. Joe wants to re-locate, but I cannot. Not yet.

A Chorus Line

I went back and forth about whether to drag the camera on Saturday or not. It isn't the camera that is the pain, it is the bag. The one I have is cumbersome and not very comfortable. I kind of swung it criss-cross like over my bod and pushed the bag behind me so as to not bump into every person I passed at the Taste. Instead, Em and I bumped into each other like two bumper cars at Kiddieland.

"Oooowwwwww." came the very whiny voice behind me. Em's at it again. Teenage girls do this a lot, in case you didn't know. And even more so if the offending party is their mother. After about 5 of these encounters, I finally lost my cool and yelled "Get away from me!", you know, like a really good mother would. Looked good, I'm sure. But, heck, it was driving me nuts! We parted and stayed a good 10 feet from each other until we compensated for the black nylon tumor on my backside. Then it was a good photo day.

There was lots to see, and lots of really weird folks in which to photograph, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't cross that personal boundary of encroaching on their space or privacy. I guess I could ask for permission, but then I feel like I am no longer a witness to the sight, but a participant. Not what I want. Then it would be too staged, too portrait like. Besides, I couldn't laugh inconspicuously, they would know I was laughing at them--which is rude. I could always play the giggles off as something else otherwise. Tell me you don't do that.

So, I stuck to the scenery and photos of us. I found lots of colors and interesting lights/shadows to photograph instead. These metal kitties were one of the sights I wanted to capture. Loved these guys all lined up. I could have grabbed all of them, but not only were they going to add up, they were heavy! I asked Joe to get one and haul it all day for me, but he wasn't having any part of that. Darn! It was a good try though. Can't you just imagine Poor Joe hauling a hot metal cat around all day?! I was left to just enjoying their picture instead.

My creative self has found a new outlet this year. Both my new friend Bev and my writing hero Jon Katz have encouraged me to try this new art form, and I have found such joy in it. It has helped my writing immensely to take a picture to capture a moment and then write about it. Something new. Something to help stir the senses. I am sending my signal to the world.

Darling, I love you, but give me Park Avenue!

Wasn't it me who just touted the joys of rural life? Fickle me. We went to the Taste of Chicago this weekend. Warm, crowded, spend-some-cash Taste of Chicago. Downtown, hustle and bustle, find-a-piece-of-grass-to-sit-down kind of day. It was great!

I'm not usually a crowd kinda gal, but we were looking for an adventure and this was it. Joe and the kids have never been to the Taste, and I was there eons ago, so we grabbed Laura and went. We were running from the Hood and its Beirut-style fireworks assault on quiet and Laura was running from her household of about 75 inhabitants. It's funny that we ran to even larger, noiser crowd, but we did, and it was a blast. Maybe it made Weirdville look a little saner for the moment. Maybe we wanted a taste of big city life. Maybe we just wanted some really really good food. Either way, the City of Chicago knows how to party.

We took the train into the city, which is always an adventure. We start out at the Blue Island station, and stand there gaping as a SUV pulls up with Mexican music blaring out the windows. Like a clown car, 13 hispanic folks of every age and size crawls out of every orafice of the vehicle. There are old folks from the front, pint-sized peanuts come flying out the back window, and arms and legs are a-flurry and the rest scramble out from god knows where. We were all thinking "It's gonna be a long day" at the sight of this bunch. We were preparing ourselves for crowds and sights galore.

The train was crowded, the station was crowded and the streets of Chicago were even more so. We got there early, so the Taste wasn't a mass of humanity--yet. There were tons of colorful tents and smells of delicious food cooking everywhere. Live music was cranking somewhere in the distance and we started munching. Like 5 hungry catepillars, we moved slowly, stopping here and there, munching all the way. We people watched and laughed. We cracked up at the woman in her dress that looked like a hospital gown. (Laura and I actually went around to see if she had the back openings.) We were grossed out by "Turkey Leg Guy", who actually dug a BBQ turkey leg out of the garbage and ate it. We got "tatoos" at the Budweiser Booth, although Laura bailed at the last minute. We took pictures at Buckingham Fountain and marveled at how clean the fest was.

We ate. Boy, did we eat! We had Pad Thai that was great. Laura and I split a lobster tail and garlic potato. We had some "just okay" ribs, although the sign boasted that they were the "best". We had steamed dumplings and Harry Carry's potato chips that were stacked a mile high. Laura had tempura vegatables and Em had chips and salsa. Joe loved his chicken tamale and Colin was digging the deep dish pizza. Hands down favorite? Key lime pie and chocolate covered frozen cheesecake--we could have sat at that booth for the rest of the day!

It is amazing for such a large city to find such nice people. We were crammed into the fest, but never once was it a bad experience. Bumping into others, everyone was polite and apologized. We shared a few laughs over shady grass spots that we were all charging over to. Laura cracked up over the salt-on-a-rope at Harry Carry's that we were all sharing. The vendors were nice, the crowd was nice, even the mounted policeman was allowing the wee folk to rub the nose of his chestnut mount. Even the porta-potties were nice--if there is such a thing. Clean, non-smelly, and positioned in the shade so they weren't hot and stinky. Garbage cans were never overflowing or disgusting. It was a feat well-accomplished by this great city of ours and we loved it.

I guess that is why I live here. On those days when I question why we stay, I remember that we are able to access it all. We can hop on the train or drive into the city and tap all of it's crazy glory--theater, ball games, good restaurants, cabs, honking cars, and crowded sidewalks. When we've had enough of congestion and polluted air, we hop onto the highway and head out into the greener pastures of country life. We can watch cows in the field, count little pig houses, and wonder at the open sky. I've found that there are good people everywhere, and we can find them easily. I am constantly amazed at the good that surrounds me, and how lucky we truly are.

Don't Look Now!

Colin is turning sixteen today. Sixteen! If I was half of the good mother I claim to be, I'd take him for his driver's license today--but, alas, no way. The thought of my first born taking the vehicle out on his own is not happening. Not yet anyway. I love my Loser Mobile way too much, and much to his dismay, I love him way too much too. Not ready. Not yet. But soon.

I'll do the redundant "Where have all the years gone?" and "Oh, my baby." sayings that every mom says. But, it's true. I can remember sitting in a closet sixteen years ago. There was a tornado in the far western suburbs and the barometric pressure dropped like a penny from a highrise. I learned the hard way that is the reason women in their ninth month of pregnancy shouldn't fly in airplanes--barometric pressure wrecs havoc with the womb. So, there I sat, barely fitting between the vacuum cleaner and the sewing machine, crammed in there for safety. I must have been a sight.

The next day, twenty-two other women and me had our babies in the same hospital. (See! I'm not lying about the pressure thing!) We were stuffed into every room possible, crying babies and sore bottoms everywhere. It was pretty funny. It seems all a blur now.

I didn't know what the heck I was doing with a baby. God knows, I made tons of mistakes on this kid and he's survived my attempts at parenthood. He's a great kid with a great future. He makes me laugh and want to pull my hair out--all in a 30 second span. He is witty and rude. He is sweet and kind--when he wants to be. He is growing and changing everyday, and I'm not sure who he is half of the time. But then again, neither does he. What a wonderful thing to have a son and I am so very blessed to have him in my life.

Happy Birthday, Ky Ky!

Inspiration in Oatmeal

It's early, getting muggy already, and I'm searching for an inspiration for today's blog. Some days it comes easy and other days, well, it just doesn't come. I turn to pictures, friend's blogs, the newspaper, Jon Katz, and just about anything on the net to help crank the wheels on the summertime brain. I'm not very creative when it is warm and the kids are home from school. Even coffee isn't helping today.

I sat there looking at the blank screen and commented to Em, who just crawled out of bed.

"I need inspiration." to which there is no reply, just munching on cereal in the background.

"I need breakfast." I then said to no one, only myself.

"You're looking for inspiration in your oatmeal?" was Em's reply. It was a kind of half wondering, half smarty-aleck thought that she typically does, and it cracks me up.

Wouldn't that be easy if inspiration came in those little cardboard tubs of oatmeal?! No wonder that darn Quaker guy is always smiling at me--and here I thought he was just a smiling face to start the day with! Hmmm. Now I'm wondering if he is just smirking at me. Laughing to himself silently that I need help putting thoughts together. Thinking I'm a loser for turning to oats in desperation. I tune him out and make the darned oatmeal anyway.

It doesn't help and I've got nothing. Absolutely nothing to post today. I found a cute picture of Hen, but that's too easy. Maybe that's my inspiration--don't do anything today. Relax. Breathe deep. Read your book that is collecting dust on the nightstand. Watch the laundry dry on the line. I'm going with it.

Til' tomorrow.....

Wee Man

Isn't he (?) just the cutest thing?! It's the first tadpole of the season to turn into an official frog. What wonder in the ability to sprout arms and have your eyeballs move to the top of your head! How miraculous to absorb your tail! Isn't nature a hoot?

He is very tiny--maybe 1 1/2 inches long without counting the leg span. He is very cute and hard to spot. You have to look mighty carefully to find the tiny eyeballs breaking the water's surface.

Even in the greenness, there is joy.