Thursday, July 7, 2011
Route 66, Atlanta, Illinois
Route 66. I wonder if anyone under the age of 20 even knows this highway much less the cultural impact it had on our country. I know there are many of us 60 and older who travelled sections of this highway, saw the TV show, and enjoy the song. And of those, there are some who continue to seek out the stretches of the original highway that still exist and visit various sites along the way. One stretch we recently travelled is found in Illinois. The pictures below are of Atlanta, Illinois, a small village off the interstate but once a stopover for those travelling Route 66.
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The library is significant because it is responsible for some of the restoration that has taken place in the city, especially the Palms Grill Cafe.
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We like to stop here to eat, if our time is right. It opens a bit later than we like for breakfast and closes earlier than we like for dinner but the food, especially the pies, are worth eating off our regular schedule. You won't find any billboards on the highway advertising its existence. In fact, you might be tempted to stop at the restaurant you pass as you drive into Atlanta. Don't. While I'm sure the food there is good, the Palms has to be better and the ambience is pure Route 66.
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The town is small, as I said above, but they've done a nice job of recreating the painted signs on the side of their buildings. They are worth seeing.
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So, if you are on your way to Chicago and you see the turnoff for Atlanta. Take a break. Drive into the town. Enjoy a step back in history and a great piece of pie!
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Celebrations
Since this is July 2nd, you might think my title refers to the Fourth of July but it does not. Rather it refers to how my husband and I celebrated our 63rd and 62nd birthdays, respectively, as well as our 39th anniversary. In short, we didn't. Now that probably sounds pretty negative to you but on the contrary, for us and to me, it is a strong positive. Since before we retired and even more so after, we've been leading a very satisfying life. We travel. We buy the things we want and need (fortunately, our wants and needs are few and not extravagant). We enjoy our home and our hometown. We have good friends and family. We are healthy and happy and pursuing our individual and shared interests. It took us years to reach this level. During those years marking birthdays and anniversaries were excuses to indulge, to take a break and acknowledge each other and our love. They were also times we worked to find gifts for each other than were meaningful and wanted. And as I look back on it, they were stressful times. Did I get the right present for him? Did we manage to make the occasion special for each other? Did it convey what we truly felt? Was he disappointed and more importantly, was I? We no longer need that annual excuse or experience the stress. Celebrations for birthdays and anniversaries are no longer set by a date on the calendar nor do they occur once a year.
On our birthdays this year, we went out to eat and listened to great jazz in a cozy restaurant that never disappoints. It happened that on one of these days, we entertained a nephew who was in town for a conference. On our anniversary we were at that same cozy restuarant listening to more great music and eating more great food while drinking some very fine wine. The thing is we do this regularly. It's not special because we do it rarely; it's special because we do what we love as often as we want and can. We did not exchange gifts. When either of us finds something we think the other will really love, we buy it and give it to them, no matter the date on the calendar. More importantly, we are comfortable buying for ourselves these kinds of things when we find them. Neither of us are shopaholics. I am not talking of superfluous spending here. I'm talking about items, large or small, that fit into our collections or add to our enjoyment of our home or yard. We have a kind of list of places we want to see before we are no longer able to travel. These will not be put off to fit a birthday/anniversary schedule but rather, will be fit into our calendar and budget when possible. The irony is that there is so much we want to do and so little time. There are conflicting variables and other schedules to consider. We find ourselves debating which events or places are of the greater importance to us and planning our calendar months in advance.
Now I'm not saying this is how everyone should celebrate the special birthday and anniversary occasions in their lives. I'm just saying this is how we are doing it now and that it works for us. As I think about it, I see it as a testimony to how well we get along, how much we share in common, how much we've grown as a couple, and how much we respect and love each other, expressed not only at the prescribed times of the year but rather enjoyed year round.
On our birthdays this year, we went out to eat and listened to great jazz in a cozy restaurant that never disappoints. It happened that on one of these days, we entertained a nephew who was in town for a conference. On our anniversary we were at that same cozy restuarant listening to more great music and eating more great food while drinking some very fine wine. The thing is we do this regularly. It's not special because we do it rarely; it's special because we do what we love as often as we want and can. We did not exchange gifts. When either of us finds something we think the other will really love, we buy it and give it to them, no matter the date on the calendar. More importantly, we are comfortable buying for ourselves these kinds of things when we find them. Neither of us are shopaholics. I am not talking of superfluous spending here. I'm talking about items, large or small, that fit into our collections or add to our enjoyment of our home or yard. We have a kind of list of places we want to see before we are no longer able to travel. These will not be put off to fit a birthday/anniversary schedule but rather, will be fit into our calendar and budget when possible. The irony is that there is so much we want to do and so little time. There are conflicting variables and other schedules to consider. We find ourselves debating which events or places are of the greater importance to us and planning our calendar months in advance.
Now I'm not saying this is how everyone should celebrate the special birthday and anniversary occasions in their lives. I'm just saying this is how we are doing it now and that it works for us. As I think about it, I see it as a testimony to how well we get along, how much we share in common, how much we've grown as a couple, and how much we respect and love each other, expressed not only at the prescribed times of the year but rather enjoyed year round.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Morning Thoughts on the Road to Working Out
Yesterday on the road heading to my early morning workout, random thoughts cascaded through my mind, as is often the case when I am driving. At first I was simply enjoying the wonder of the western morning sky --pure pale blue with a few faint streaks of high wind-wisped clouds reflecting the morning sun. I wondered if we tend to notice the finer details of our environment the older we get? Do we spend a large portion of our lives in a hurry to get from one point to another until we reach some stage, as we age, where we slow down hoping to stretch time out, to extend what time we've got left, and in the process notice more, appreciate more?
From that thought, my mind moved on to remembering how much I enjoyed teaching Language Arts and thirteen year olds. Language Arts. I even loved the title. Language ... "the words, their pronunciation, and the methods of combining them used and understood by a community" (Webster). Art ... "the use of skill and imagination in the production of things of beauty". I don't know for sure but I like to think it's this definition of "art" the originators of this title had in mind. Words, sentences, paragraphs, poems, novels, plays. I loved them all. A finely turned phrase. A word that better than any other names or describes a feeling, an experience, an event, a thing. A phrase or sentence that sums up the exact moment, the exact thought. A bit of prose or poem that causes me to feel with my mind and my body and my soul. These are precious treasures to savor. I also think that thirteen year olds are pretty precious treasures though I'm sure not everyone would agree with me. Together -- language arts, thirteen year olds, and me -- we explored literature, our way of expressing ourselves, and in the process, learned about ourselves, too. I loved it all and found myself wondering, would I feel the same if I had continued to teach rather than move into administration.
My last random thought on that fifteen minute drive dealt with the word "strong". Relying on Webster again, "strong" is defined as "powerful, vigorous, healthy, robust, not mild or weak, not easily broken, firm, solid". There are strong odors, strong beats in a song, strong flavors, strong commitments, strong ties, strong emotions, strong people. And as I contemplated all that, I realized all my random thoughts this morning were an outgrowth of the phone conversation I had had with my lifelong friend and former student the night before. Strong is a word she used as she spoke of herself and her determination to overcome the residual effects of a recent illness. I realized that all the definitions apply to her, to her spirit.
From that thought, my mind moved on to remembering how much I enjoyed teaching Language Arts and thirteen year olds. Language Arts. I even loved the title. Language ... "the words, their pronunciation, and the methods of combining them used and understood by a community" (Webster). Art ... "the use of skill and imagination in the production of things of beauty". I don't know for sure but I like to think it's this definition of "art" the originators of this title had in mind. Words, sentences, paragraphs, poems, novels, plays. I loved them all. A finely turned phrase. A word that better than any other names or describes a feeling, an experience, an event, a thing. A phrase or sentence that sums up the exact moment, the exact thought. A bit of prose or poem that causes me to feel with my mind and my body and my soul. These are precious treasures to savor. I also think that thirteen year olds are pretty precious treasures though I'm sure not everyone would agree with me. Together -- language arts, thirteen year olds, and me -- we explored literature, our way of expressing ourselves, and in the process, learned about ourselves, too. I loved it all and found myself wondering, would I feel the same if I had continued to teach rather than move into administration.
My last random thought on that fifteen minute drive dealt with the word "strong". Relying on Webster again, "strong" is defined as "powerful, vigorous, healthy, robust, not mild or weak, not easily broken, firm, solid". There are strong odors, strong beats in a song, strong flavors, strong commitments, strong ties, strong emotions, strong people. And as I contemplated all that, I realized all my random thoughts this morning were an outgrowth of the phone conversation I had had with my lifelong friend and former student the night before. Strong is a word she used as she spoke of herself and her determination to overcome the residual effects of a recent illness. I realized that all the definitions apply to her, to her spirit.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Scars
Got to thinking about scars this morning as I was driving home from a shopping trip. In part it has to be due to seeing my back side in the dressing room mirror. It's something I rarely look at and I saw a small scar I had forgotten I had. And in part, it has to be due to my thinking about my mother-in-law. One time, a long time ago, she kinda conducted a group therapy session with family, asking us to share a story about a scar we have. I think she was introduced to this tactic during therapy she was undergoing at the time. I think she was using it to reconnect with her children.
So what are scars? The dictionary says a scar is "a mark left after injured tissue has healed". The key word here is "healed". Scars are positive things. Whatever caused the damage has long ago ended and while the scar is evidence of a trauma, that trauma is over. Wounds are different. They have yet to heal. Some are slight and some can be gapping. If neglected or worried, a wound can fester and worsen. I'd much rather see a scar than a festering wound.
Anyway, I got to thinking about scars and wounds. There are two kind -- physical and emotional. Starting from bottom and moving up... I've a scar on one of my knees. It's really a kind of cyst. Pencil lead. I was in middle school and had a crush on a young man, I think his name was Bobby. Somehow the boy I was sitting behind had this information. Maybe I told him but that's unlikely. Maybe he saw me writing his name on my notebook. That's possible. Anyway, I vaguely remember him starting to share this information with the class. I hit him and he hit me back. I hit him in the face with open hand. He hit me in the knee with a very sharp pencil. The lead broke off and has remained there, encased in scar tissue and flesh, for my lifetime, a reminder to be discreet and to be less physically reactive. On both legs from above my knees to my upper thighs, there are faint lines that start with an round indentation. These are the leftovers of my one and only college kegger. You need to remember that was back in 1967, alcohol and privacy were less available to underage college freshmen. I was out with a guy named Norm in the middle of a corn field, bonfire blazing, and alcohol being passed around. Before the party really got going we saw headlights heading our way. Norm panicked. Well, maybe we all panicked. But anyway, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the standing corn. Unfortunately, that particular field was fenced with barbed wire. Norm missed it. I didn't. I must have run right into barbs on both legs and as I fell over, the barb scraped up my leg. Thus ended my night out with Norm. I spent the rest of the evening in the health clinic getting tetanus shots and mourning my now scar adorned legs.
My torso is pretty much absent scars other than the mark I mentioned earlier. I've had it as long as I can remember and have no idea how it got there. On one elbow there is a semicircle scar. It's one I got while cleaning out my oven. I got oven cleaner on my elbow and didn't realize it until it had eaten through my skin and into my flesh. I now have a self-cleaning oven. On my right ear there is a bump midway between the bottom of the lobe and the top of my ear. My mom was stepping on the scales. I was probably in high school and full of myself. I made a big show of getting down to see how much she weighed. She backhanded me, sending me into the edge of the kitchen cabinet, hitting my ear. A person's weight is private information. I know, and understand, that now. On my left upper lip, in the corner, there is a small bump, the result of a couple of stitches. When I was in sixth grade or so, I was playing with a neighborhood guy. I've always found boys easier to get along with than girls. We were on our bikes and riding down a steep incline. I don't know how many times I made it without falling but the last time, I managed to not only fall but to hit my face on a rock which went clean through my lip. Of all my scars, that's one that I remember as a badge of honor. The last known scar I have to mention runs from my left temple to behind my ear in a half moon. It is the surgical incision made to clip the brain aneurysm I suffered when I was 35. It is a constant reminder of how fragile life is and how lucky I am to be here.
I guess life is a kind of battle. I doubt anyone gets through it without scars of one kind or another. The key here is that each and every scar I mentioned has healed and has not kept me from living a full and happy life. I've tried to learn from them, to see them as markers of experience. Wounds yet to heal -- the emotional ones, the self-inflicted ones, those of the heart and soul -- are far more serious. Perhaps I'll discuss those in some future blog entry.
So what are scars? The dictionary says a scar is "a mark left after injured tissue has healed". The key word here is "healed". Scars are positive things. Whatever caused the damage has long ago ended and while the scar is evidence of a trauma, that trauma is over. Wounds are different. They have yet to heal. Some are slight and some can be gapping. If neglected or worried, a wound can fester and worsen. I'd much rather see a scar than a festering wound.
Anyway, I got to thinking about scars and wounds. There are two kind -- physical and emotional. Starting from bottom and moving up... I've a scar on one of my knees. It's really a kind of cyst. Pencil lead. I was in middle school and had a crush on a young man, I think his name was Bobby. Somehow the boy I was sitting behind had this information. Maybe I told him but that's unlikely. Maybe he saw me writing his name on my notebook. That's possible. Anyway, I vaguely remember him starting to share this information with the class. I hit him and he hit me back. I hit him in the face with open hand. He hit me in the knee with a very sharp pencil. The lead broke off and has remained there, encased in scar tissue and flesh, for my lifetime, a reminder to be discreet and to be less physically reactive. On both legs from above my knees to my upper thighs, there are faint lines that start with an round indentation. These are the leftovers of my one and only college kegger. You need to remember that was back in 1967, alcohol and privacy were less available to underage college freshmen. I was out with a guy named Norm in the middle of a corn field, bonfire blazing, and alcohol being passed around. Before the party really got going we saw headlights heading our way. Norm panicked. Well, maybe we all panicked. But anyway, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the standing corn. Unfortunately, that particular field was fenced with barbed wire. Norm missed it. I didn't. I must have run right into barbs on both legs and as I fell over, the barb scraped up my leg. Thus ended my night out with Norm. I spent the rest of the evening in the health clinic getting tetanus shots and mourning my now scar adorned legs.
My torso is pretty much absent scars other than the mark I mentioned earlier. I've had it as long as I can remember and have no idea how it got there. On one elbow there is a semicircle scar. It's one I got while cleaning out my oven. I got oven cleaner on my elbow and didn't realize it until it had eaten through my skin and into my flesh. I now have a self-cleaning oven. On my right ear there is a bump midway between the bottom of the lobe and the top of my ear. My mom was stepping on the scales. I was probably in high school and full of myself. I made a big show of getting down to see how much she weighed. She backhanded me, sending me into the edge of the kitchen cabinet, hitting my ear. A person's weight is private information. I know, and understand, that now. On my left upper lip, in the corner, there is a small bump, the result of a couple of stitches. When I was in sixth grade or so, I was playing with a neighborhood guy. I've always found boys easier to get along with than girls. We were on our bikes and riding down a steep incline. I don't know how many times I made it without falling but the last time, I managed to not only fall but to hit my face on a rock which went clean through my lip. Of all my scars, that's one that I remember as a badge of honor. The last known scar I have to mention runs from my left temple to behind my ear in a half moon. It is the surgical incision made to clip the brain aneurysm I suffered when I was 35. It is a constant reminder of how fragile life is and how lucky I am to be here.
I guess life is a kind of battle. I doubt anyone gets through it without scars of one kind or another. The key here is that each and every scar I mentioned has healed and has not kept me from living a full and happy life. I've tried to learn from them, to see them as markers of experience. Wounds yet to heal -- the emotional ones, the self-inflicted ones, those of the heart and soul -- are far more serious. Perhaps I'll discuss those in some future blog entry.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Just Another On the Road Drama
This morning as I drove to the nursery to pick up a few more flowers for my garden, I spied a truck pulled off to the side of the road. As I got closer, I saw the driver's door open and glimpsed a pair of feet splayed out on the ground with a man squatting down facing them. Once I was directly in front of them and beginning to pass, I could see that the feet belonged to a woman. She was seated on the ground, elbows resting on her knees, head in her hands. The man, as I said, was squatting in front of her, his arms extended, hands on each shoulder. She looked despondent; he looked concerned. I know, I know. How can I come to that conclusion with only a passing glance? All I can say is, the body language spoke loudly.
So, the rest of my drive and part of my day has been spent wondering about them. What happened? What brought them to a stop mid-trip? Are they lovers? Father/daughter? Brother/sister? Or just friends? Were they even in the truck together? Maybe she was on the ground and seeing her, he pulled over to see what was wrong? Had they quarreled? Did she just receive bad news? A death in the family, a foreclosure, loss of a job... Maybe she had too much to drink last night and in her hangover, needed to get grounded before getting sick. Maybe they had just hit someone's pet. Maybe he had just shared that he was breaking up with her, leaving her, having an affair... Maybe she had just learned that he had testicular cancer... The story possibilities are endless.
Just another drama while on the road...
So, the rest of my drive and part of my day has been spent wondering about them. What happened? What brought them to a stop mid-trip? Are they lovers? Father/daughter? Brother/sister? Or just friends? Were they even in the truck together? Maybe she was on the ground and seeing her, he pulled over to see what was wrong? Had they quarreled? Did she just receive bad news? A death in the family, a foreclosure, loss of a job... Maybe she had too much to drink last night and in her hangover, needed to get grounded before getting sick. Maybe they had just hit someone's pet. Maybe he had just shared that he was breaking up with her, leaving her, having an affair... Maybe she had just learned that he had testicular cancer... The story possibilities are endless.
Just another drama while on the road...
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Spring at Home
Spring arrived in Ann Arbor, late but glorious nonetheless. What I've noticed, however, is that it came and went in the blink of an eye. The tree below moved slowly into bloom and began dropping petals almost as soon. Looking out my window now, it has very few blooms left, lots of brown petals drooping, and yellow green leaves taking their place.
The rhododendrons below lasted a bit longer than the tree blooms but not as long as the daffodils. All the petals are gone now and new growth is taking their place.
The pear tree below is a new addition to the yard. It, as you can see, did very well this spring. Blooming late, as with everything else, it lasted about a week before starting to lose petals and move into spring green foliage.
The tulips, as with everything else, bloomed late and didn't last long. They, however, had another reason for disappearing fast. We have a couple local groundhogs and several squirrels that seen to enjoy eating the blooms.
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