tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38559692308028985232024-02-20T17:40:35.437-06:00The noMadsons Follow That Dream TourOur journey, haps and mishaps, across America, one handsome adventurous rabid-Gator-fan husband, one pampered hippie-chic wife, four kooky dogs and one selectively temperamental cat living aboard a 43 foot motorhome for one year. Follow us as we follow our dream.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-77795449870465212602011-03-31T16:14:00.008-05:002011-04-01T10:51:46.928-05:00Sweet Savannah<div>
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<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6XtgGLxf3t-VlWrbXPR1rRZfyxgznEa97QX8lQjii84wb-OwfI6dr4jbHiHCURZ65SvhY3Bjm1pzfsTzbc-hUg4MokuCpYxPewRfaKc61VI7EECirERPMBGBWbZI-DdNjRL5jF3OYQk/s1600/015.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590634100724001858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6XtgGLxf3t-VlWrbXPR1rRZfyxgznEa97QX8lQjii84wb-OwfI6dr4jbHiHCURZ65SvhY3Bjm1pzfsTzbc-hUg4MokuCpYxPewRfaKc61VI7EECirERPMBGBWbZI-DdNjRL5jF3OYQk/s200/015.JPG" /></a>
<div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><em>Savannah</em>. Even the name evokes a romantic image of a moss laden canopy draping from the outstretched limbs of ancient oak trees. I love this town. I fell in love the first time I stumbled aimlessly down the uneven brick sidewalks and peered through private gates into lush courtyards of horticultural oasis. Spring time in Savannah is particularly magical. The dogwoods and azaleas paint the landscape of every street, park and corner, making the historical town cascade with even more charm (if that’s possible). </span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Savannah was the first planned city in Georgia. (Its history is so deep and significant; I won’t even try to paraphrase. Please, do yourself a favor and explore it, you won’t be disappointed.) </span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">The city is nestled against the marshy coast and within its boundaries lays a meticulously planned grid in (near) perfect balance of nature, residential living and commercial enterprise. British General Ogelthorpe conceived of this city wherein an equal number of houses line the streets and perpendicularly the shops, restaurants and churches complete a grid pattern. In the center of each square - a beautifully landscaped park, with gloriously mature oak trees whose limbs seem to skirt the sidewalk and ascend heavenward.</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 155px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590639358963363138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXnb0qcuDVToa1g4URLR4glX__NM_eSj2bRoI3e5weuFz5RQg1Z7tpKMSnYG_MaB6fIfAZ9r7YCmFH-yZxmO5RnAtD7cGjdxWmAHlt9UjACxEB1i3GAxnIKtnWGMIeDeC2czU-zNSkn-s/s200/014.JPG" />This allows a wanderer to meander leisurely in any direction without feeling too far removed from the greenery of Mother Nature, the delight of window shopping, nor the comfort of home. The romanticism of the city is present in 360 degrees, and in how ever many dimensions you believe exist. Ghost tales of mystery and tragedy cloak the streets like a dark cape on a cold damp evening. Beautifully restored mansions glow with impressive luster and lighting, but hardly compare to the hallowed and eerie houses that they neighbor. Vines grow up and around trees, wrought iron fences, and through broken window panes. High society, antiques and art of every form is appreciated here. So to, is the history that lies beneath its tabby houses and stone streets. The cemeteries are truly some of the most alluring I have ever seen. Exploring them is like stepping into a page of ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’.</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 136px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590635561307894834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgxXETgxhvUXQNo3UOM0XD2eYL1P9bb2syLHrB8Q6dmpu7G9RjgCOMMoBniOu7JFJhFjl48kuCGD5CHY-30EIDoolz3tSmB8qRFrVw9d1ntpj34wpfbD6h0k66K1fl9UkpdlHuwjBV6k/s200/038.JPG" />We had planned to spend most of the winter here. Well, as you know, our best laid plans rarely come to fruition, but alas, we arrived. Just in time for the Savannah Music Festival. Let me set the stage for you: the venue is just the right size to accommodate a few hundred appreciative guests, while still capturing the intimate feel of a small music club. There were candlelit high top tables lining the room and the only décor were a few sashes of black curtains that draped down the brick walls behind the stage. The lighting was subdued and cast hues of blue in the shadows. The prefect stage for some blues…or jazz…or bluegrass, whatever your pleasure, this festival has it all. We heard men with voices that boomed like thunder and others whisper tunes as smooth as silk. There is a place in many a hearts that talking cannot reach. Thank you, God, for music.</span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">The wail of the guitar against the sob of the bass was sweetly seductive and we found ourselves swaying without intention. We heard a banjo blend harmoniously with a piano and got carried along by a steady jiving drum beat. Every cell in our bodies came alive as we felt the musicians swell in their energy. One concert ended with a version of ‘Oh Happy Day’ that had every foot in the place stomping, every hand clapping and every soul shouting for redemption. Oh happy day, indeed.</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 192px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590640427915003074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhLgzLOqRHn7Wxp1L_Xeo0bd-o01LF-EDxN8mZPk5vWU2n8jwhHBwz1nR1Y80tEK6ocsZxMbLwnEb2e-tT-syyF2dL6qqEuoXJdtCPnUw77Lqil606AhhKqWGW8fzUeWZFCrWa3cpnGQo/s200/054.JPG" />We received the welcome of southern hospitality that can only be offered by….Midwesterners? (Of course.) We struck up a conversation with a couple of retired teachers from Chicago who now live in the heart of historic downtown Savannah. Fred and Susan Johnson invited us over after we shared a table at one of the performances…….. The universal laws of attraction were well at work that evening. The Johnsons are as adventurous as Torben and I, perhaps more - instead of driving across the country, they opted to sail across the Atlantic and live aboard their sailboat. We instantly hit it off and could hardly absorb enough of their traveling talks. Did I mention Susan is a writer?! She was the first to be simultaneously nominated for best fiction and non-fiction writer of the year in Georgia…but as she claims, she was the first to lose the nomination in both categories. Humble humility.</span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">She belongs to a writer’s group that includes such well known authors as John Berendt and yes, Pat Conroy has sat in her living room. It was hard for me to keep from gushing all over the place. She told of a time when she first moved into the home and looked out her front window and thought about other women who had looked out the very same window two hundred years ago. Their house is one of ten antebellum homes remaining in the city. Built in 1790 it oozes with historical charm. She started researching the history of her house as well as the others and just knew there was a book waiting to be written. (I have already ordered a copy of her book and cannot wait to delve into it, check out <a href="http://www.susanbjohnson.com/">www.susanbjohnson.com</a> if it tickles your fancy.) Their home is to be on display as part of the Home and Garden Tour next month. We sipped gimlets in the garden (watching no less than six species of birds come to feed) and enjoyed the true art of conversation. Susan even loaned us copies of the articles she wrote regarding their sailing expedition. (If you think I’ve got it bad with an occasional broken sewer hose, imagine being hoisted up the mast, in the face of an oncoming storm, to unravel a tangled sail - and spotting a dark fin circling in the water!) To say I was inspired is to say the sun is a little star. Our meeting felt ethereal, like uncorking a bottle of Chianti…and the promise that its aroma offers. From the first drop to your tongue that does not disappoint…down to the last sip from the glass that lingers with sweet intoxication. Our whole experience in Savannah was pure bliss.</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 176px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590634720714139282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnSlWgGLhRKNZkkvTs4DnpzVTmTTG5a3zaawiNUkZMUnqkpQnPFlcq1lYF_HL_MKs4R4_VYvabnuMF3kwPsdnX2Niv_BKxziChjfO2vYDLEBwKXKMWy9TizHjb5_Bm8HirSGqmT429Nfg/s200/046.JPG" />Regretfully we are headed back to Florida. Mary Jean, Torben’s aunt, passed away after having a stroke. It was unexpected and the family is understandably shaken. We will return to the family’s homestead in Largo, Florida for a memorial service. </span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">We wish you all well and hope you are beginning to feel the blossom of spring, where ever your feet may be planted. Namaste good friends. </span></div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-34904407086562411712011-03-13T16:06:00.010-05:002011-03-13T17:20:47.630-05:00Mardi Gras!!<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583678520271311346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWrFbMPAgFCVj7d4gGE8eTKZWdRXn5U6F49e76YVuOWA52Y-mGrvq2tIorOJOBZTeFtkcuZVr_faOkNbtGWP-tNdB0kglTP6QuYizh4JkrFyIjQbHByjNjhyg26lJdkEJV-RilGmKTPm0/s200/034.JPG" /> Wow, in light of the tragedy in Japan it feels a little superfluous to be gleefully describing our recent merriment. But, maybe in the face of such worldly sorrow some lighthearted entertainment is exactly what is needed. In any case, that’s all I have to offer, so let's get on with it…
I feel like we have just run a marathon. We have engaged in a journey of celebration though a time honored tradition shrouded in mysticism, merriment and mayhem. I can only explain this experience by naming it so: Mardi Gras. And I think Andrew Lloyd Webber might say it best:
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<span style="font-size:85%;">Masquerade!
Every face a different shade…
Masquerade!
Hide your face so the world
Will never find you!
Masquerade!
Every face a different shade…
Masquerade!
Look around-
There’s another mask behind you!
</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583689561532631458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbJ3Qjaz5vm6bxVtEe3Tq-pAMVeNAV9tZAzr5WSHCkg1UApLvQCyO9p20gDe4AzCu1dGr1SY-wPwkjNDyhWl0H2h9lN_OSj6hkb5peenqXU9vhT0k_FViOm_gZfcrWAe1nHC5P-4qwag/s200/042.JPG" />
Masquerade!
Burning glances, turning heads…
Masquerade!
Stop and stare
At the sea of smiles around you!
Masquerade!
Grinning yellows, spinning reds…
Masquerade!
Take your fill-
Let the spectacle astound you!
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583686675500120114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-1gp8fWlWKcqK5RKZjxMBeYhynnh1o1JmXd7cBuAIFUQhyphenhyphenZB2eG391P2VSxNKfUsk8GAIqDSq0nV2Aw-ikAJXKxVl1MW5IlYvrPr8V92Dpx5DLp5Gq09dCxIkD8SxYH1Sv_jZZa82dI/s200/040.JPG" />
</span>I’ve had the blessed fortune of going to Carnivale in Italy and now Mardi Gras here in the states. The two are comparable, right down to the bright costumes, feathery head décor and eye masks disguise the common face. The pageantry is spectacular. The floats are surreal. Some slither like dragons, winding down the street, swaying to and fro, breathing smoke into the cool night air while children of all ages delight in its passing. Others advertise satirical banners with over the top cartoon characters portraying the backside of modern political circumstances. The crowd is hungry with shock, horror and disgust, but cries loudly for more. A Joker dances around a pole and bashing large golden balls against the float, tries to thwart of death for another year. The balls are suspended by a short rope and eventually fall into the crowd, who eagerly converge to consume these precious gifts. Masked men and women become as revered as Santa Claus and the tooth fairy as they toss treasures and trinkets to the masses.</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583689568261253954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhECw9tXwN9msyUB87ag_XZJftlVZyyxRfC49sa6gnzEM04m56x4KeycKnAM4lYIwdHkIcwV6y90B3xMqIUkW25v_yo5iZLN6fP0bEcawDRddC9baEVeIhZrI51uKu6ung_MUz0ZEfUQJ4/s200/021.JPG" /> As a stander-by I too delighted in the experience of raising my arms high in anticipation and feeling the blanketed satisfaction that came when treats fell from the sky and landed in my outreached fingers. The beat of drums kept the pulse of the parade on high. The blare of the horns infused a lightness into the air, while the shimmer of beads flying through the air became as mesmerizing as fireworks on the Fourth of July. Every color in the rainbow, every sound in the world, all in one moment, all in this party.</p><p>
</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583686659421039954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSjBZLhyuCS5HCNOiEOqE-bW3vbbTjlXNC7EkE9PFr-h_nNZrUwvkK1kmVxnlcJzGpiMqPoPXOmj4ze2W-aZrAag1YOzGZTO8w7TDyh-O_DeFivoR9wOFvd9kpuZaoyBc8snrsFRglqI/s200/010.JPG" />It’s overwhelming to say the least. One parade would have your senses buzzing for hours. We did it in pro fashion. Twenty parades. No joke. They are a seemingly endless trail of music and mayhem, one quickly followed by the next. Sure there were several themes, but ask me if I could tell the difference. . It culminates on Fat Tuesday (the literal translation of Mardi Gras), the day before Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the season of Lent. The tradition of Carnivale, or Mardi Gras as it is known in this country, is as ancient as the Catholic religion it was founded in. It is the last unrestricted hurrah before religious devotees forgo something of significant value for 40 days until Easter. We learned that the entire Gulf coast shuts down businesses and schools for days to accommodate this annual festival. In other words it is a church sanctioned, government approved party to shed inhibitions and partake in mass gluttony. I never knew such a thing existed with such flare and (seemingly) moral support in this country.</p><p>
I was astounded, by several facets of the experience. First, and most impressive is my husband’s rejuvenation and stamina for eagerly dragging me back to parade after parade. Without his persistence I would have given up the goal way before the finish line. But we finished, tired and bruised, but remarkably we finished. Second, if you believe there is an economic crisis or national slump…come to Mardi Gras; the sheer quantity of STUFF is enough to sink a small island in the Pacific. Third, the pleasantry of southern hospitality is a current that flows through Mobile; people are courteous and there is always enough food and drink to go around, so long as you don’t mind the wait. </p><p>We have all heard Mardi Gras stories of women showing boobs for beads and mass chaos exploding in the crowd as some yahoo brandishes a weapon, so I was expecting to be confronted with these scenes. But surprisingly, I wasn’t. It is actually a $500 fine to expose the ya-ya sisters for beads, not that a few guys didn’t try. And the motorcycle cops and sheriff’s mounted posse kept the crowds from getting too out of control. I could not even begin to count the number of law enforcement officials present. Their lights preceded every parade and made the streets flash like rays from a disco ball. Parades lasted 16 long days and nights. SIXTEEN. They don’t take this stuff lightly. Over the years the party has morphed some and each little neighborhood or association has their own spin on it. We saw elegant men and women dressed like Lord and Ladies in white tuxedos and hats that stretched the length of the block. We saw kids parades with little children fiercely throwing candy that barely made it off the edge of the float. </p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583681990749214498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpG1e2ghDGJc6fuUaU55F-4rAbJP9uQburfhIWLk7te7wKJbV82Q-dGfFFVnsHaQlhOf4k7aB0n11v9yyk32WlTQQlicG9g0V6dvrlg_8TiDNpNCS0b-e7F0AWHZ0RdolwL14TfuC7Zk/s200/053.JPG" /> <div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div align="left">At this party, anything is a delicacy and everything is desirable. At first I was content to observe the festivities, taking a few pictures from the sideline. Then the infection set in, and there I was, shouting with the rest of them, hanging over fences, wearing a silly hat and begging for beads. Shameless. The moment I knew I totally sold out was when Torben tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the nearby T.V. camera crew who had focused in on my hooting and hollering, or the three pronged light-up jester hat I was hearing, in either case I had succumbed to the greed of the masses. I was addicted: Beads! Beads! Beads! I wanted more beads! We toted backpacks to carry home our spoils. Spilling over sweet tarts, oatmeal cookie pies, light up swords, Frisbees, t-shirts, cups into the streets as our bags couldn’t carry it all and our pockets were filled to the brim. Truthfully, it put Gasparilla and all of the other Tampa Bay parades to shame (sorry guys!).</div><div align="left">
</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583681980035470418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs71_mVWq0WIGqqDHZcRUNjOvg8JyMamcBOZXkFdq5ltMjUsZR80t9JaRmTu1uCYu0NUBboxxUSQY8EnEzzloa0u6og5mHiM6iiDMkfAab7-_HkCMHIku0wB3HBYxlqMIab4YxTA0uYyA/s200/004.JPG" /> </div><div>We even attended the MLK parade, despite recommendations that we wouldn’t “fit in”. And we didn’t. But Torben and I learned some critical parade skills that helped us assimilate into any parade crowd: make friends with your neighbors; only after you know their name can you then proceed to throw elbows in their faces as you grab for beads and be assured a riot will not break out. Worked every time. Ironically, it was the MLK parade where we made the most friends, had the most fun and brought home the most beads!</div><div>
</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583686667077090002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyHorHd8zpwd7kmStA-8JZyHR4Vkao_1A3U7eichIrDjTP_CCxD8Vvso2fyHCpJkbHFr7UVQCxgo06IzG8F83QlvhRFY-mvJckXpV9cjJ5qN4wCvboG9WIaWEXWPU7qLiAN_msm2l-NA/s200/036.JPG" /> As we left I felt a little ball of guilt bounce in my stomach…I hadn’t done anything illegal or sinister, but looking around at all of the carnage made one feel, well, a little dirty (literally and figuratively). The streets and sidewalks were littered from two weeks of constant spillage. Broken bead strands hung from tree limbs, feathers floated in fountains and a river of God knows what flowed steadily down both sides of the road. The store fronts looked like a bomb went off. Squashed moon pies were indistinguishable from the mounted patrol’s droppings. Port-o-potty’s were filled and in many cases spilling over. Cars were parked on every median, in every direction…their owners lost somewhere in the crowd. One street became a parking lot, with cars parked three wide and forty deep. Nothing in my view escaped the wrath of Mardi Gras. Well, I guess I now better understand this holiday’s place in the calendar. Clearly after a celebration of this careless magnitude some time of good old structured abstinence is warranted, even welcomed. I have no earthly idea how long it will take the city to clean up the mess or for that matter to return to a state of normal (whatever that is).</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583681973367730386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7pBSIan-drcPfJUgp6CaFmMW0LDSA0gGZXK2BHv837l-Z6sblIxW2rP8AfpVZM6Z-3n2XaabAmvo5bfSHCxRElCuQUvX05HqT5-kD0lQviAaL_qX20DaIOrkPnastfwVp_iE5OqrnCqw/s200/055.JPG" /> On another note, we experienced a miracle. I still feel like I am dreaming and want someone to pinch me. Three days, that’s all, three days. I feel like we’ve won the lottery! We took a break in the middle of Mardi Gras (who wouldn’t?) and headed back to northern Alabama. We made what we have come to call our “annual pilgrimage” back to Red Bay. For those of you who were along for the ride during our first introduction, no second introduction need be necessary. For the rest of you who’ve hopped on somewhere mid-journey Red Bay is the comical vortex that held us prisoners for five agonizing weeks. It was ground zero, a place from which we could not escape. When we courageously tried, something in that two light town kept pulling us back in. After 11 months and half the country, it was time for a visit back to the red dust of Red Bay. Can you pick out our motor home in this picture?</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583681969098609730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yOBaXhfc7DaGSGdQAt_6pcVJYufGC0cajWOvb_gs4SQ8mCEFz68v6DZLgBTvOB3BUiF5yD7TeVKNcUE-EpjHxL5njb8gGFqZURcHuK6hevr_4ax3W-PSfOX3mxDHCVq1X_pcrPDuJIY/s200/002.JPG" />Neither could my husband. He almost came home to a new wife and quickly learned to look for the Gator license plates before walking in the door. No major breakdowns this time, (thankfully) just annual maintenance and some small repairs (like where I broke the screen door & where the laundry drawer took a derailment from its track). We also replaced an a/c filter and cover that I managed to lose while washing them in my parents’ driveway (yea, I’ve got skills). At arrival our list included 31 items, but we had a little something that we didn’t have before: friends. Torben has a gift for putting people at ease. He remembered almost everyone’s name and with a casual greeting and some good ol’boy camaraderie the garage doors opened and we were in. This time around there was no f*-ing around. I have to give the town credit. Perhaps after traveling for a year and learning a bit more how this business goes we have wider eyes and more appreciative hearts. The town goes to work at 7:00. The whole town, every business, now granted they close up at 3:30, but most days I couldn’t even recite the ABC’s at 7:00 am. And in an effort to get us in/out/on with life – they came in at 6:00. Yup, that’s right, 6:00. That’s not the only amazing thing…they stayed later, allotted us a few extra hours in the express bay (limit is three, we took 6). Seriously? And they did it with a smile on their face and a cute little “yes ma’am” in their adorable southern drawl. One guy even took us to his house to wash/wax our RV after his day shift. He completed the task under the moonlight (and a spotlight). Perhaps in my maiden voyage to this town I was overrun by my own impatience, because this beautiful work ethic was previously lost on me. This time was a night and day difference. These skilled workers could pull our RV in and park it in the tightest of spaces, do their thing, back us out and to the next bay we went. Torben exclaimed that our home is in better condition now than when we bought it! </div><div>
We had some bodywork done (courtesy of a picnic table that hitched a ride in San Francisco) and had to spend one night parked inside the garage to let the paint dry. It was a weird feeling at first, I’m used to big open spaces and this was a little claustrophobic, even in the daytime it was as dark as a moonless night. But they plugged us in and we at least had power. Satellite coverage was not an option. But did we care? Of course not! We just turned up the music, busted out the drums and sang/danced our hearts out. Even the dogs got in on the play and chased us around in circles, taking turns harmonizing their howls. I swear a living room dance party should be on everybody’s agenda. Not only is it a great workout, but it is so much fun to open yourself up, shed your inhibitions, lift your heart and spin yourself in circles. My best advice this week: Lose the T.V. for a night – it’s amazing what fun you can create. </div><div>
The best part about our second visit to Red Bay? You’re not gonna believe this – I’m still having difficulties believing it - besides that it only took THREE days and we were actually able to leave without being pulled back in – we were just outside of our warranty –and they honored it! The noMadsons final bill at the Tiffin Allegro Service Campground = $0.00! I wish I knew what the actual amount would have been, I feel like I need to donate that much to charity. What a blessing!! We did pay for some private maintenance services, but the repairs were a whopping zilch, zero, nada. I reaffirm our decision that this is the best brand of motor homes on the market!
Next we’re headed to the East.</div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583678510137924898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1djgZAvL63O9qaTaAWpow1jTa6LjahTBjeC8i4z_cfvOYsHbbnobQvdt8WCsEWw1Q91Ex1ItsIoPl9F33fR46Hd3UHjf_zsvcHI6Nn_Tuq9s6cVQWXz2c_6LUM0iLTALjw14m7PDZRBY/s200/075.JPG" /> We've stopped in to see Ericka and Momma Madson, just long enough to pick up our mail (undoubtably the trickiest thing about life on the road)</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583678514266051090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YEPafhZPIqc5ZHlzjajGmoY9zZYWlvNj5-Cn0BqQsQwrlteMbDLqcy_kgyBxk0M-woitARonzoHRB7OBVMlNuG84jNbRyBO1ySMRFEavp3RCyHc-w-rW8f3fIsk9mOMzfjyvZFm1tos/s200/069.JPG" /> and long enough for me to spill a full banana milkshake in my mother-in-law's lap. (I am nothing if not predictable.) We have tickets to the Savannah Music Festival and I cannot wait!!</div><div>
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583678506448620114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMEC56sCJ0GjLvJpY9VG_HkIxTVO_j4X6C_LoRZfHos-hf4iRJUOBUejSPut0ZI7lbUJVDEf07_KxajQJ7Dre69yOzCKniLHmjD_qNSx6BPrm85r-35eaBXrlKHdm4_GchyvYIadG_uh4/s200/058.JPG" />Sending lots of love and hugs to everyone. Remember: living room dance party! Get your boogie on!</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-88697281314651261282011-02-28T14:53:00.011-06:002011-02-28T16:05:06.605-06:00From the beaches of Pensacola...to the streets of Mardi Gras!<div><div><div><div><div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578860923852915410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gL5HXtKMnkJpY6KbbdAFh_VtvKkH1yeqkbz30t3cVehbrEWa3sDV1g2Gj6kzdVE0N3CcnQQS9YLvMY0trM9z-Ov9S_1MzVJB3FMp81ucLn43vPR9kqmBZIvW_w_YMOkaXgdS0B9_zjk/s200/044.JPG" />
<div><div><div>We’re spending a little time in the city that gave rise to the first American Mardi Gras. Mobile, Alabama. Yes, New Orleans has the edge on this market, but it all began in Mobile. While New Orleans promises celebratory drinking feasting and other temptations, Mobile has kept the celebration high energy, but family friendly. We only saw one person show skin for beads—and HE was not that impressive. Here's a picture with all the loot we scored in one parade. Pirate booty. I have no idea who started the tradition of throwing moon pies, but they do. Torben got knocked upside the head with a flying banana moon pie. That doesn't happen everyday. And I am not sure why the bead phenomenon is such a universal hit, but it is. I had to wrestle my prizes away from a some elbow-throwing grannies. Meanwhile Torben is so tall he just stuck his hand in the air and laso-ed in several strands. Good times.</div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578863200140726082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6Jy0Me-GA2L9u3AfXB1gnX_IY1LGBFsYOrj3IpLn9yZ_s_NceaJI84pghcm-HC7hlZk8epoDx-g3eIhoiMQ-QJdBLMoatlpD6CZ6t-ICUhSj8wivD-mGFmVlF2Rbrbe690SkzA_5iWk/s200/DSC03743.JPG" />
Mobile is a city that is laden with history. It showcases architecture from its prior French occupancy next to modern day skyscrapers and art museums. I was impressed with the quaintness that I felt while walking downtown in such a large port city. It’s a little softer than New Orleans, but still filled with splendid French influence. And wrapped in Southern tradition, much like Savannah.
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578860936307594546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2MtdRIvAeInTIDTv2WnuD65nBwxfUuTp5-TsJhE8wo71BvUpDGtlUd81Wi0NOemVwUqKi93HqDshfs7YsFyNwivQueXSM5UE8cPIzzNulzi2fZP8xOD_Ez_0pD_EbJDSOfzfgFd9jLP4/s200/078.JPG" />The sea, despite bringing the goods which sustain commerce, has not been kind to Mobile. Over the years there has been devastated by hurricane after hurricane…with deathly plagues of yellow fever in between. Somehow, the city seems to come back, but only barely, and the sea splashing across roadside barriers and hallow remnants of houses, hotels and restaurants serve as a constant reminder that the darker side of Mother Nature is always lurking close by.
We toured the City museum and learned about the six million slaves that were brought over from Africa to the port of Mobile. Six million. One wonders how so many people could have been displaced against their will. I learned that Africans – often rival tribes – coerced their fellow Africans and sold their own people to slavery. Once captured people spent up to seven months aboard ships, in the most horrific conditions. Imagine being chained to a dirty wooden floor for nearly a year, you slept, ate (if there was any food) and defecated in an area smaller than a telephone booth. Sunshine? Forget about it. The museum had a recreation of a slave ship and it gave all of us a depressing and eerie feeling to walk through it.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578860931624289394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvbm1OPSAqU9fd32OnhA_uml7nAuvC2x-7ilV6YPRLonBYsyPL50TsRqbK_53cfX8ZEapsaNt7PzCCCvfWkLlAtm1mX4Syry4DHKbCPkhiMm7dV9lPOhkt2JUCBdEeWmNNkyTCNAf-2TY/s200/061.JPG" />These are feet lined up, men packed like sardines. I am always sadly astonished when I am reminded that humans can create mortal hell. My grief for the horror those African slaves endured is deeper than I can find words to express. May their souls find comfort in the afterlife, for they certainly suffered enough here on earth.
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578860920229715330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglmLzp7lT9HUggSNYz1pkQTLIcauXeTdAV7h7jB3mkybY4Fs4vIAbm1_yzKmo0Rheq1w8rJfAeyFPTK5iFDBslT_ECW_2cg1XFqml9hI_jRtRpJR2fh0hmvIsCAfxl0waZARVvG_62mZ4/s200/024.JPG" />
On a much brighter note, we spent several days camped out at what is undoubtedly one of the most serene beaches in all of the good-ol U. S. of A. Fort Pickens, off the coast of Pensacola. A kind camper we met at a previous park suggested it and I am sooooo glad we listened. Imagine: soft powder white sands, so bright reflecting the sun that it almost blinds you, small sand drifts, seagulls, pelicans, oh and gorgeous aqua waves lapping the shore. Mmmmm, sounds like heaven right? Did I mention – no condos to obstruct the view? It is part of the Gulf Islands National Seashore, and it belongs to you as much as it belongs to me.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578859087105652610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTphKh2Eoa1YiT5zVkt_zARerCpxpWsb4IHBSR23ClHYzL0dwGKuaviMZ9ICT5rdFy-gfzjsUnu9xy_SNv4I4GuQEtjWI-khqUyr3xy5CyOFqwoI4Z0SB5opk9fxyVWKvbCEW-6NaUOkQ/s200/018.JPG" />Our national park system is amazing. The only thing left out on this pristine stretch of beach is the remains of old Fort Pickens. I love exploring the remains of old buildings. I love history with a little mystery. This place did not disappoint. The actual park is closed at dusk, but people camping on the peninsula can access the site whenever. So, the crazy noMadsons decided to venture into the fort (complete with moat and the belches of gators hiding in the marshes) at night, on a full moon. Remember, I said I like a little mystery, I apparently forgot to stress the “little” part to my husband. Not willing to be labeled a pansy, I tiptoed through the remains of the brick walls inside the fortress walls and stone halls, on the edge of crying and peeing my pants the entire time. All I could do was imagine the ghost of some ticked-off prisoner (by the way, Geronimo was held here) haunting the corridors. It was creepy. Here is a picture of it during the daytime…now imagine this hall with the only light streaming through being the glow of the moon. The spook factor was off the charts!</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578859090472430178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVtlX9SqUi-n8_Mslo319Fpw1SjXkb7PSU3iZk0ELt_kMYOOUm4goC5m0Sn7mZMZfMpMbN1EExQ6ALlxm6VvPuq6ttJhd4IjxCMBHDNOdoHx4kS7HoNYDtKR6HqxFbgKDPaPMJks1ti0/s200/013.JPG" />
Thankfully, to calm my poor panicked heart we walked back along the shore. Watching the moon light flicker like diamonds on the top of the waves as they crested was visual euphoria. The rushing sound as they washed the shore transported me and tranquility soon returned (thankfully!)
Torben was eager to explore the Naval Air Museum on the military base in Pensacola. It was filled with military history, old stuff and it was free, the trifecta of cool for Torben.
<div></div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578860927577177410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgYsKOGS-KpbWBWQHYbT_O18ygE1tIJNWtWsbXpdXixS_fcJCVWMSUZDi31zTWip9EhXJUoDfboZiHtR7av4SNVBEt2ylecDhw95j9KPdfdCYXEEDdQ1rQuDgjsMRy8iJnR_2y2uqz0Qg/s200/011.JPG" /> He was endlessly entertained while wondering wide eyed and mouth agape from one plane to the next, amazed by the technology and the engineering as it has changed over time. I followed, smiled, nodded and learned a few things, but one air museum looks like all the other air museums, and I’ve lost count on how many we’ve been seen. I mean no disrespect the good men and women who have defended this country, so for their, and my husband’s sakes, I will continue to feign interest when our bus rolls by another one, but deep down I will likely be thinking: There goes two hours of my life I won’t ever get back.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578856792531352578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfXKjNKnlO49uogGA4gsAroVccoJ0u1fCOPOKmtIcFpgyYfLXdvpuWv-d1AzBYpxbSFiKm5pND7TiDJwoiRaKJ6O9JWjkFAH92Lcb_ayOIVTyJc2dYwP4DZ7GcbysaCvmiWnjbodkMmA/s200/006.JPG" /> Ooooh-weeee! I just love being in the right place at the right time, don’t you? Kinda makes me want to dance a silly jig. We were blessed to help celebrate an old friend’s birthday. I use the word old with double meaning. Yes, he is 50, so clearly that qualifies (ha!) but Jack Onkka has been one of Torben’s treasured friends for four decades! We helped shock Jack with a surprise party at a funky new blues club in town and were able to steal him away for a more intimate birthday dinner and catch-up session on his actual birthday. How awesome. Jack is an honorable man, the kind that restores your faith in humanity. He has been serving the Santa Rosa County Sherriff’s Department for over 20 years and when he plans to retire he hopes to be ordained. Seriously, 20 years of seeing the worst man-kind can dish out and STILL believing in the inherent good in people, not to mention a willingness to continue to give back, WOW! Torben has always spoken so highly of his childhood friend, after spending a little time with Jack and his beautiful wife Amy, I am in total agreement; the world is a better place with him in it.
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</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 129px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578856780079800738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzkUAA2h31GJQ2ajZYOvPhmbhed7rOwGGQt9pkhT4xSb0z6G7MSVIDZiRVqzKv-f9x06dahkUaKGHzeI7JvffDxBqhS15BoZVfakWvUZ5BHtIkZVclOJjGn-I_O7AJlgSnjIny3_-lTZM/s200/019.JPG" />
The kids want me to report that Pensacola has the mother of all dog parks. We’ve seen some good ones, some cleared fields, some mudded fenced in lots, some with wading pools. But the coolness factor for this one is hardly rivaled. Bayview Park has not one, not two, but three parks for dogs, along with traditional playgrounds, tennis courts and fishing piers for the two legged kind. The dog beach, yea, that’s right, DOG BEACH, was like heaven for our kids.</div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578856782033636866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdDt0Y1VWi5K-X9G79_ZsNqQl4NVgiR_douMjGjVdxZqmw7ofFOHF3jOcqR26zflF_aVIswCnzBpJktQc7nQZE3-q8WLO3p7j_eY9-Bc_juIiDD60oeAdeAHubfGqWIU5nyDbyRd5UOY/s200/088.JPG" />They ran in circles in the sand, chased their new friends, and swam like guppies out in the water. Lily was spastic, she jumped in the water, got soaking wet, then bounced out onto the sand and flopped down like a fish out of water to “dry” herself on the sand. It is a silly little trick she used to do all the time when we lived on the lake in Belle Isle. She hasn’t had a good wet flop since and it was heartwarming to see her enthusiasm return. Actually, there were several dogs there who perfected the splash-and-roll technique. It was pretty adorable. Dog parks are a hoot. I love getting to play with tiny puppies like the four month old beagle who chewed on my face or the sweet giant Newfoundland who flounced happily and blissfully unaware of the delicate flowers she trampled beneath her enormous paws. Blaze has taken to be the “greeter” at any park we stop. He is the official “welcome to the park, let me offer you a complimentary butt sniff” character that looms at the entry gate. He makes friends quickly with other dogs; even adopting their tag along human companions as new family. Rodeo is a perimeter sniffer. She hangs out down the fence line, nose to the ground, sniffing. I think sniffing for a dog is a past time like knitting. You can accomplish a lot without having to exert yourself. It’s the quiet dog’s sport. And she’s breaking records.
<div></div><div> </div><div> Bela could care less about the other dogs, she’s way more interested in squirrels. Obsessively interested, I might add. When she spots one she barks incessantly and gives the rest of us a headache. She probably would have loved to have been adopted by a family that loves to hunt as much as she does. Unfortunately for her the only things she can hunt in this family is food from the from the kitchen counter. Yesterday she caught a box of cookies.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 142px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578856786258966066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6SMzzGPpu3-JM1IYVGbVz8h1f2jvJ6hNVioZw82tWsU6JoX5Y68fyUuNbw6yyrylcMIvrDIt40vbC99j9cuz7kARk01R9uYvquNn3uNvgGxelJKVhrTYLV9gYyXYsotlc6lFvcvxAvIc/s200/083.JPG" />
We went to a Renaissance faire! Have you ever been? It’s a place where ordinary men and women are transformed into Lords and Ladies. Where the words hello and goodbye are articulated with such royal emphasis one feels as if they have stepped off the page into a fantasy kingdom. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578851102258579762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwU_4AJvhcOu9mY4nk9UW3kBHnhJSCMnaxJrKe0qYtwIpTn-pOw3aTl9mt8XC74BeFJyDYTNnOXXG-V9MpT3XudfbxGsSea-wwwbSPetnV1-d22oks880aUkYeo6K8vdsUGMS8XMY6wQs/s200/028.JPG" />We saw knights jousting from atop horses, both adorned with metal of armor. There were Arabian women belly dancing with fire in slow tantalizing movements. I swear Attila the Hun appeared in one sword fighting expose. All around were the sounds “Here Ye-Here Ye” and the merchants displayed their wares undersigns reading “Ye Olde….(blacksmith/clothier/bar). We tried on hats and capes of period costumes.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 161px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578851094269677794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0IyG20YCRTw7CM1RMSLYwQfy0ezVSDZgW2GdQ4LUjIH-Mcs_0LgQ7u9ECq5NvaVkSeanWaldDeL7gF3Vn3feGUyLjv7K2T8CchqWV5HvGGlGT8w9BYMAcz97DHt0fY3NV6zAMxl87VwE/s200/021.JPG" />I succumbed to temptation and adorned myself with a braided metal headpiece (I love it so much I am still wearing it!) Children rode camels and we each took a shot at throwing axes. My strength wasn’t so impressive, but Torben and Jack landed a few. And to top off a perfectly splendid afternoon- I finally made it to the top of a rock wall. (I try to climb these things at every carnival and usually make it only half way due to my forearm cramping.) Alas, my goal was accomplished.</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 94px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578851091747622530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxvq_YP9FuHm2ZqfvblEqu806TH9i6XGiVlaZJk2hEoGNO3AKd5MkdEfsUk2U7_P_Ce1KElLDtou_zq9yuFwL8ykbOelaV5AJDD6-9KFvq_qYuBVleyHGHdarGox12iZkZfQ20utoafeg/s200/050.JPG" /> It was a great escape and another miracle day spent with good friends.</div><div>
</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 132px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578851095153227058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXLLjFM9sVo5RUIRpX3dDTWLxiWr9Xby5xrOdhrR69A-Ru_lIozUE1ypQLQJOgm2OZhRU5m5DZ87JS8NRIpAa9OH9E55vsXTRGT10CyYC4pFZwcd1IWNR9TYtCrrIh0BTuGK4PBbyPwlo/s200/047.JPG" />
Speaking of miracles, thank you to everyone who responded to my last blog. The fact that someone beyond my immediate family is reading them is a miracle. Just kidding. As one friend put it – every day miracles are like God winks. Coincidence is really just God winking down at us and reminding us that we matter. I love it! (Thanks Sally!) I found it interesting to learn that several friends are also exploring their spiritual selves and it seems to me that we are all on the cusp of discovering something wonderful, about ourselves and our greater role in this magnificent universe we occupy.
May your lives be touched by an abundance of love and God winks.
Namaste everyone.</div><div>
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578851087950427586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilViLX1vN4PDVcyrEfEI_Lj0jB7DVUPooQiXTCRkN7Z4idu3mrwC5cgt7oTUCCVQqapIOgVOqVCb4amB0W9px_DKkmrk6SWZSKS71s5FqC_PmkhFp1Gpt-NKo5NLmXzuVh2s5Mm44YGjI/s200/076.JPG" />Stay tuned next time...you'll never guess where we are headed back to! (Do I hear a banjo playing?)</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-67978195624778028762011-02-15T21:27:00.006-06:002011-02-16T12:41:10.502-06:00There's a new holiday on the calendar...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptDfEBogHLiDD6sVZEJ3-V2lizFOV8xS9EDzvFPuPexoGlvj7NVf7Aum58YXxu_F345e8a8XnyOGKNxkq-nzRoilw4XrK59ZXXeMIpnhl3cn6b2NHZQ7Q6zJHv9ovAtdonY0BnhyphenhyphenFamA/s1600/006.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574356194642420002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptDfEBogHLiDD6sVZEJ3-V2lizFOV8xS9EDzvFPuPexoGlvj7NVf7Aum58YXxu_F345e8a8XnyOGKNxkq-nzRoilw4XrK59ZXXeMIpnhl3cn6b2NHZQ7Q6zJHv9ovAtdonY0BnhyphenhyphenFamA/s200/006.JPG" /></a>
<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Saturday was Elvis Day, Ericka proclaimed it so. She is always the peacemaker in the family, especially if one of us gets carried away being ornery or jokingly picking on another member of the family. She devises a logical reason why we need to stop razzing someone and be nicer to them. It usually sounds something like this: “Guys, come on it is Christmas, let’s be nice.” No argument there. But sometimes it morphs into something a little more comical. We had our motor home parked in Inglis, Florida (which is pretty awesome) and my mother- and sister-in-laws were riding around with us as we explored the area. Torben was eager to show the family where Elvis Presley had filmed the movie Follow That Dream, and incidentally where our trip first began. Not surprisingly, Torben was feeling playful and I said something or another that gave him good fodder for a few jokes. Ericka couldn’t take it and laughingly jumped in and proclaimed, “Guys, be nice, it’s Elvis Day.” We laughed so hard tears rolled down our cheeks. What a way to keep things in perspective. I envy the ease with which she logically senses that if we have something to celebrate there is no reason to be less than enthusiastically grateful….all day long.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 131px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574352997279379890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXECfAEDHmcSuIQEtCfE8w-uSwD7rX2GaaXB0YOn-Ye47SNHxDrp32DQiLnrGjd8Euhy9RVXpNlJmzO-xBJuWIElqm5-pIEcGbNPwYAWXgCAVUYXvtsYBFT2o3kvZHCMbKL_FCLg_sgmU/s200/235.JPG" />
We had so much fun hanging out with Doris and Ericka. As part of our weekend we toured Homosassa Springs State Park which included a chilly, yet majestic pontoon ride down the spring fed river, under the canopy of palms, pines and moss and into the entrance of the park. Kind of like Disney, but without the lights, lines and price of admission. When Torben was a little boy he used to go there with his beloved grandfather who had a cabin on the river. Torben described the area as being an amazing jungle, loaded with wildlife, undeveloped and free of Yankees. He even told the story of how his grandmother had a heart attack at the park and was saved by his father. How’s that for family history?</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> The state park is a respite for disabled wildlife. It houses animals with little chance of survival elsewhere. Some of the animals there were actually rescued by the Central Florida Wildlife Rehabilitation Center, which Torben used to volunteer with. (If any of you made donations at our wedding, this is your heartfelt gift at work!) I fell in love with the cutest one-eyed owl. There were also bobcats and panthers. Even though they are behind some serious barbed wire, their eyes followed us like predators tracking their prey. I have a healthy respect for big cats. I have a ten pound domestic cat that has nearly clawed my arm off on multiple occasions. I can only imagine the damage her colossal cousins could bring. There were several manatees and every variation of bird you can imagine. One island sparkled with glittering pink flamingos and intensely stunning wood ducks swam everywhere with ease.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 139px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574347841552341858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTFT7m44JNRq0G9PwKcdmnRQ2KY8EWuJMVGqslxgXl9WwvOec8TuXv1O3h214q2nZGnubevciFOi7bD2O2fpNa1KIsObln82gEyYEe5bwN0cLLWali_0vIJttPlJemqzVrXDn1pF7Ffmk/s200/216.JPG" />We also heard a heart breaking story of the separation of a whopping crane pair. These rare beautiful birds mate for life. Unfortunately the mating ritual requires not only a swanky dance of fluttering wings and tail feathers, but also a song to swoon the female. Ladies, you get it, we all need a little sweet talking. Rusty, the original male had no problems with the dance, but he had no voice. The years passed and he and his female friend never made little whopping crane babies. So another whopping crane male flew into the park and the staff now has the new male sharing space with the female in hopes to increase the whopping crane population. Poor Rusty is in the next area over and keeps craning his neck through the fencing to catch a glimpse of his beloved being swooned by a crane with a voice. Poor Rusty, it was truly heartbreaking to see. Ericka said a little prayer for him as we passed. The whole situation struck me as profoundly sad. On one hand, it is scientifically responsible to help a near extinct species procreate to sustain its existence on this earth. On the other hand, Rusty was clearly suffering. I wonder if all that suffering caused to one sensate being is worth the possible creation of another? Not sure I have the answer, just a place in my heart that melted for Rusty.
</div><div>Torben and I have thoroughly been enjoying this coast of natural wonders.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574347844668335858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhMKIcwlZ4wFHb9X4iT8LKo_DUQXtCWUyXah2LcNhg9Q7BkYkHoMXgcPKCximidQQjJmnLQ3XYwMCnlT6yg9jS4aFfDKacy8ajPlm_8yY8iyy_7vyAgyEqBglHbT3d6SLCZ67vnIYbxXY/s200/187.JPG" />Here the ocean seems to seep into the land like a slow winding river that narrows into a creek, then trickles through the underbrush. The trees grow out of the water leaving their vast root system exposed. And the ginormous nuclear power plant keeps the waters warm, attracting a plethora of mammals and reptiles. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574347852460086402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf0FNa08HTFEflCcT3-vFSJuwxp69Nbk70xPmZzdD1E5hKUKcettiIL3jiL1A_PkYCjbMz1PAMU31n7_qP_aCQLZEx2mTKTULoIty2pcv1HkNUn0AQPkoEwvKMHRp8fpYAb8vxOwvwpGE/s200/241.JPG" />The manatee population is impressive here. Torben and I took a scenic kayak ride to the Three Sisters Springs, which was out of this world. Lots of boating tours descend on this area to offer a view of manatees, but unfortunately this usually leads to increased water traffic and danger to the manatees by swiftly rotating props. There was a special area, blocked off to motor boats, that was a safe haven for the manatees. We were permitted to gently kayak into the springs and even swim in the clear turquoise water (though it was a little chilly). There were several professional photographers with their special underwater cameras (which actually looked more like bizarre alien equipment than cameras). Everyone was vying for an up close picture of a manatee and no one seemed to be getting the perfect shot. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>I am forever amazed by the gift my husband has for communicating with animals. Manatees were swimming to avoid all the photographers and in fact we even heard a fish and wildlife ranger tell some of the photographers to cool it because they were threatening the blubbery mammals. Torben, the only guy not in a wet suit, just hangs out in his corner and begins mimicking the body language of the manatees. Soon, one came over to him and curiously nudged him nose to nose. They rocked back and forth, twisted upside-down and bobbed at the surface together. They continued in this dance for at least twenty minutes, each mirroring the other. It was magnificent. I watched in silent awe from the kayak, reluctant to move for fear of disrupting this delicate interaction. It was beautiful.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574347856563867634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKwVIvLpXNh2cqiwVul_7y5DE3Mxe3-qlEh-rxgGPiNZEtkb0cI7-EIJoKMi2Q6vhVR-BDeNlNQ_HgxlJMT-OZMy01xlrTnWs-ZIfjdaJlYGNeSN4j28S77m77BFrkahxxm08N0XI3SE/s200/276.JPG" />
Aside from that day being so incredibly moving there was also a typical Sarah shining moment. Before we left for the trip we stopped into the kayak shop to get our supplies. I was immediately taken with a new waterproof box that not only keeps you stuff dry, but floats. We have had a few “waterproof” bags that didn’t really seal out the moisture so I was eager to try this nifty little box out. I convinced my husband that $15 was a good investment instead of replacing the cost of a phone. Well, the box works great…but when you take something out of the box, say your phone to take a picture, it now renders the waterproof part, useless. Just as I took the picture I felt is slipping from my cold wet fingers into the spring below. Son of a…. Good thing Verizon has an insurance plan. By the way, Droid rocks, all my data was backed up on Google and when I signed on with my new phone…everything was there – including the picture I had taken just before I lost my grip! Technology is amazing. Not as amazing as watching Torben with the manatees, or my uncanny ability to drop, spill, or break things, but still pretty amazing.</div><div>
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 173px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574352988896546994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDEcQRgwTlV4UX3XCo837I-g3aDZGoeA1E94ofh2wZhbGRUXZgDk_ntmPzUEPrDPdg7gULjotYac5eGxiCAwaauRn9HzQYZrmG_SAEOaN9wPbbkmdcHH2Kc9GOu5zQ_1QpQl1_BWdVoA/s200/005.JPG" />We continued our journey up the “Forgotten Coast” of Florida and found a beautiful state park where we took the kids on a 5 mile hike through St. George Island State Park. Walking two and a half miles anywhere is pretty tough for some of our kids so we loaded up Rodeo in her stroller/chariot while everyone else got to walk two and a half miles in the sand to get to the beach. We opted for the “easier” route on the way home. Although dodging trucks on the road while trying to direct four unruly dogs is hardly “easy”. Rodeo posed in her Cleopatra chariot and barked encouragement at everyone else. Either that or she was warning off any bears or gators (these looked like trucks and motorcycles to the rest of us), not sure, but in either case – it worked. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>We’ve since continued along the “Emerald Coast,” which is nothing less than spectacular. Yes, it is a bit more populated and there are towering condos on the beach, but the water is green, really really green, and the sand is as white as sugar. Not a bad place to chill for a while. Torben picked up on a small sign on the side of the road leading to a Florida State RV Resort (meaning Full hook-ups!). The only one of its kind I believe. Jackpot again!! The sites are wide and spacious and there is a tad of manicured “natural” landscape between each site that helps create the feeling of peaceful seclusion. We can take a private sandy trail one mile through pine and palms and end up on a (rare) undeveloped beach. This place is amazing. If you’re in need of a vacation from the cold grey skies pack your bags and head here. A pina colada and a sun umberlla is calling your name.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574352991682536466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdc7Is3lxsWwo2HXYZx04Frdm4heNXCHgYfJPFecpI1oQydE4z4bEz1kRZXszkhIyl6YCkzWTnMqXMkpDnqR-5-YXXGNU-jTYFPvdyXZNU05kezl7YXqwJGUd_fesoLNFojau1CkIbHA/s200/299.JPG" />
Several months ago I met the most amazing woman. Her name is Carrie and she is an energy worker. She cleansed my chakras. Yup, that’s right. I was open to the “chakra cleansing”, if nothing else, for the experience, one more thing on my list of “I did that’s”. But as it turned out, the experience was much more. On the outside, same me, but on the inside I felt as if I had been washed by a tidal wave. This woman was incredibly intuitive and having only spent a few minutes talking with me she laid me on a table and I closed my eyes while she did her thing and directed my energy channels. I felt a wave of release, like colors flooding my consciousness, swirling at first, then falling into a gentle rhythm and flowing together as if they have always been flowing that way. A few minutes later she was done and all I had to show for it was a little dizziness. Then we discussed our experiences. She said my energy reminded her of a bohemian gypsy and a pioneer, and that although I was an “old soul” some of my energy points were small and I tended to view things through neophyte eyes. I was shocked silent. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>I have all my life searched for a way to describe how I saw myself, coming up short in 34 (almost) years and yet here was this woman, barely an acquaintance, telling me who I was with words that fit as good as my own skin. Speechless I tell you, speechless. I previously used words like hippy-chic and earthy to describe myself, which I don’t think are too off balance, but certainly not as colorful and exciting as a bohemian and pioneer. I have spent some time feeling my way around in this new self description. I like it. I'm keeping it.</div><div> </div><div>
My husband and I took this sabbatical from our careers to explore our creative, intuitive and spiritual sides. Until recently I have felt this was best done privately.</div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574347835312006722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5nY01QbEbNutga0zS3OPXP3jdFWMaZGLrlN0sHrsIEhDcQFUyziVX5XBE59B737W90bRy3Di3Fjy4zBKtlAqhMZyrPwMbyvmRALXGjEUddskAjAGIg6d90eaI0eB9Mkotn0dxh6UhZQ/s200/131.JPG" /> Now I’m not so sure. My chakra experience has me believing that to truly learn anything I have to open myself up and share this small part of myself with others. Apparently I could do it flat on my back on a stranger’s table, so why not with y’all? You guys have been with me flying over Sedona, running from bears in California and jumping over tarantulas in the Rio Grande. Though somehow sharing this part seems like a much bigger mountain to climb. </div><div>
</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574125768492867474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgxOrLCt29eAGcmwVdSou772ZNf_wm_2vl6l58vmY3KtuU_zqLDlS9rm9dXfhSI_ePejHHMGa7H1D8ATTv7MHpm9Rf1TEhGCf4QRFShCSIH7yGKsqZLRBIQLIMnIhzsbhE_3CBeUg0Fo/s200/011.JPG" />I’m working with the most wonderful life coach. She is helping me to see that my uncertainty about this greater spiritual side is not a deficit in my understanding, but rather a blessing of my own curiosity. In order to explain where I want to go, I think it best if I fill you in on where I have been before you were reading along with me. As a psychologist I was granted a special pass to the inner world of people’s thoughts and emotions and I felt so honored to be escorted through such a private garden of hope. But often I felt restricted by mandates of the profession. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly support the ethical guidelines that preserve our practice. But sometime, well, most of the time, we don’t have all the answers and we are limited to using methods that have been empirically validated (more on that later). <div> </div><div> </div><div>I cannot explain why cognitive restructuring is an insurance approved treatment for depression but giving someone a hug and praying with them isn’t. But truthfully, they both work. There have been so many times sitting in my therapist’s chair that I longed to cross the room and openly embrace a client as he/she struggled with an issue, to hug them lovingly or stroking their hair (the way my Mom used to do to us girls). But there is an invisible boundary we must not cross. I respect the boundary, but I question it. Empirically validated treatment means a manner of reducing symptoms with a technique that has been tested to be effective. The goal of this is to keep people from using quacky treatments (like rolling people up in a rug to symbolize rebirthment - seriously, it was done). So I am in complete agreement with the use of standardization, but I guess my own perspective tends to question who/what decides the scale of measurement on healing a heart? What is a valid indicator for someone may not be for another. This tension between loving what I did and examining the line that measures it was a constant force in my work.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574125764919677922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2v5s0Ui4nKwZhPjV6jV1OVzeoPZcaayDMsxwgE1GcvQgl5mFAyTWkwYisW975UYRJP4OWK0e-79M4x81PO4YftTBnFeyTLUB_zFDpakrVSwdhvvT653HBCrJDTLojU5Zl9jlDAQaBNw/s200/215.JPG" />
Discussing this with my life coach got me thinking of other invisible boundaries. They definitely exist, though I cannot pin point them as easily. But there is something beyond those boundaries that brings color to life. I cannot, with all my academic degrees and postdoctoral certifications, explain what happens when someone prays…I only know that it works. And I do believe in energy fields; when we focus our attention with intention something shifts, grows, expands. Why? Got me. The beauty of science helps us to better understand the mysterious phenomenon of life…how cells multiply and divide…but it cannot offer us an explanation of why.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> This is a big issue for me. Even as a small child I would annoy my parents with this one word question: “Why?” and to their horror I learned to use it in a sentence, “Why does the earth rotate? Why does the heart beat? Why do people get mad? Why? Why? Why? My parents did the best they could to placate the curiosity of this insatiable child, but their answers always prompted more questions. So it came to be that I chose a professional path that encouraged me to question…everything. But happiness, as in my profession, and the essence of what brings color to our lives, seems to defy explanation. Have you ever been in the right place at the right time and felt as if the universe lined up this moment just for you? That’s how I met my husband. Who can explain how Angels walk among us? I know an Angel has been by my side at several times in my life, I have seen her (she was beautiful, by the way). Conversely I have felt the chill of a sinister presence, it was eerie and unmistakable. My best friend has an aura, it precedes her, when she wants to communicate with me she just sends out a universal wish and I feel it. In all our 15 years we have never read it wrong. I don’t know how these things happen, but they seem to, at least for me. On this trip I have experienced foretelling visions, some good, some bad, but all have come true. Déjà vu and outer body experiences fit in this arena, but what else? I have seen at least three things fly across the night sky in a pattern and speed that defy explanation, or at least any explanation I can offer.
</div><div> </div><div>The more I begin to open myself up to these things, the more I feel like the science that supports my profession would question my own judgment or the validity of my experiences. So I am faced with a dilemma…do I admit to these unexplainable mind-blowing phenomenon and risk being ostracized by the academic and medical community? Or do I share my experiences with transparency, knowing they could render some criticism, yet hoping that someone (one of you perhaps?) can help answer some of my questions? Against all scientific logic I am choosing to be transparent because I believe I am not the only one. Who else has experienced these phenomena? While you may not be able to offer a sound explanation as to why these things happen (although I am not giving up hope), perhaps it is only your validation that I seek. If you too have wondered if there is more to life than what we can see with the naked eye and touch with our sturdy hands let me know. Let us collaborate our experiences. Maybe by compiling our curiosities we can make sense of the bigger picture, the one I know exists but cannot yet see. What is really going on in this universe of ours?</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 171px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574125759262566434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHtIb0VMZxEkU10vpoPY-LfUMLqwJwkgwKU7OdMRjEx_8kPI-ien4ktbFT4kD5SZ5rorj7PSTDQB0Gv2qxTiluZAl2flr8d-MtcH3xfhpZ6d2vo8t8cMqrO_1oqm3sgMpjhKp5gGJZqQ/s200/197.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>By the way, did you hear that an entirely NEW solar system has been discovered? Some scientists believe a few of the planets have prime conditions to house LIFE on them. What do you make of that? It excites me! I feel like we are destined to connect with something so much greater than we can wrap our arms or even our conscious little minds around. Our immense ability to love and create was meant for something….I wonder what. </div></div><div>
Please email me your thoughts on this. I am eager to learn more.
So for now, this is your nomadic bohemian gypsy wishing you celestial peace.
Oh, and Happy Elvis Day.</div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574353006130141010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_eM6WLtUHQY7V9buQkFUqodeOdC3aNq1gto5eDPXrkepu_WTA9v-yEpdVbACQlplMwYDoGLbZzZsEuhAS1ziBn8aQOh7qTZNFVINMMXUosHOoplGK7izT4F-0rEehoYVwiFgDZ7d2dXs/s200/342.JPG" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-67960861341152375442011-01-19T09:24:00.015-06:002011-01-23T18:03:57.951-06:00Respite in Florida<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWRLaYbhLmmaHJ6CvibDOVkYKHetQaVM5bMg1CGbyzkYnR4XWPHws1AoAZHDZ0Q6CeZmsaWv2kRLv453KCD7X40PC0RaY9UZcpEJtcldBqvuOF89-AEUSKMtsCz8IJeRQvO5ofSvWGNSA/s1600/back+in+florida+new+camera+113.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565455848326291522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWRLaYbhLmmaHJ6CvibDOVkYKHetQaVM5bMg1CGbyzkYnR4XWPHws1AoAZHDZ0Q6CeZmsaWv2kRLv453KCD7X40PC0RaY9UZcpEJtcldBqvuOF89-AEUSKMtsCz8IJeRQvO5ofSvWGNSA/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+113.JPG" /></a> <div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>You're not going to believe it…I still don’t. We drove ALL the way across the country and back only to get stuck…in our own backyard? What a headache on steroids. We pulled into “Happy” Trails RV Park in Tampa. Happy, my ass. There was nothing happy about that place…the closest thing was leaving and yet even that fell short on the contentment scale. Bloody hell. We got stuck in the sand. No, we got buried in the sand. Old guys in RV parks have a thing about standing around watching people get into (and hopefully out of) pickles as they park. They don’t do much except offer contradicting advice, point, stare and shake their heads. We had an Olympic collection of curiously zombiefied old fogies driving up in assorted color golf carts – with popcorn! – decorating the scene of our disaster. Finally someone offered us a board to load under the sinking tires…then another….then another. Twenty-two boards and four concrete slabs later we were still sinking in the Happy freakin Trails RV Park. After watching my husband dig out tires for three endless hours the industrial sized tow-truck finally appeared to wench us out (Yay for Good SAM!). Our poor coach lurched and creaked its way out of a hole in the ground that now lies about four feet below the pavement. In retrospect I want to extend a special finger wave to Sandy the manager, who not only refused to help us, but also refused to honor our request for a refund. Too stingy to refund our $37.50? You're gonna love the whopping bill I send you for the repairs. Great business management skills Sandy, I hope you go far. And the final insult of the day: a broken tag axle tire seal. Bad, but not so bad…it became worse when we learned that the closest place to have it fixed was Lazy Days RV in Tampa. Here’s the thing about Lazy Days: the name is a self fulfilling prophecy. I think they are, well, Lazy. Sometimes when a company is soooo big, the right hand doesn’t have a clue what the left hand is doing and that is clearly the case here. My mother–in-law dropped her coach here in April to get a window fixed…and it is still here. Yup, 10 months and no repair. Groovy. Recently, my husband, on behalf of his poor mother, has taken to using that “southern charm” we all know so well to get the situation resolved. I am sure they have the name Madson on a black list by now and tomorrow I get to go in and plead for an appointment. URGG!! As my sweet loving husband would say, “ain’t that a peach, hon”. </div>
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<div>Since it looks like we'll be here a while I might as well use this time to fill you in on our home journeys. I know, an oxymoron, deal with it, life's full of 'em. We weren’t sure what to expect. Traveling, well, we are accustomed to that by now, but coming home? That’s a totally different story. One, we never really took time to ponder, for no other reason, than, well, we didn’t. So I wasn’t sure what to expect when we crossed paths with our old stomping grounds. One major difference between Orlando and the smaller places we have enjoyed: I went to my dentist… on the 14th floor. As I was riding up the huge mirrored elevator with mahogany doors and marble floors I laughed out loud to myself. I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland.
We made a quick stop into see our friend and salon owner, Ibi. Funny side story, when I first moved to Orlando I searched, as many women do, for just the right hair stylist. It’s not just about the hair, it’s about who you trust to cut your hair. Anyway, Torben kept pressing me to try his stylist and I had visions of a bald barber coming at me with a razor. How come I am so often wrong? I didn’t know then that I was marrying a man who cared as much about his hair as most women do. As it turns out Ibi is one of the best! She is Hungarian by birth, Italian by her first marriage, and is now full blown American! She has lived here for years, runs her own salon downtown and has the most unique accent I have ever heard. Several years back she invited me to her party to celebrate becoming a Naturalized Citizen. I am ashamed to say she probably can recite more facts about this country than I. Anyway, she is wonderful and Torben, I, and our heads of hair have missed her greatly. We made a surprise landing on her salon by barging in on her in the back room where the stylists mix their colors and retreat for a quick bit to eat between clients. She cried and gushed over us and exclaimed that Torben looked so much younger. She did seem to be restraining her hands from grabbing a pair of scissors as she marveled over his wayward locks, but her exclamations of joy were pure and heartwarming. Later, we ran into our neighbor’s daughter while shopping. It was shocking to see a familiar face, then excitement brewed as we tried to shove 10 months of catching up into 15 minutes.
We traveled to our favorite hippy spot for lunch. The Dandelion Café is one of Orlando’s coolest little joints. The menu is all vegetarian/organic and the selection of herbal teas is out of this world. We indulged in some much needed nutrient recharging while soaking up the Florida sunshine on the picnic tables that dot the lawn of this brightly colored house-turned-restaurant. Special moment enhancement: enter, Dee Dee stage left. Dee Dee was my lifesaver in the time before we left Orlando and one of the only people on the planet that can have me laughing so hard my sides ache, and that’s before she’s even finished taking off her coat.</div>
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565447418273732306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOcOy-K-IUX_dtOEuxsWJifE0OCs-hYwktumlF81e282xhhLyJpnlL5Us660-6845YQ0fJEDFwutScoSGfo-WghiByZQnqNkh4yhak50x-wUFdQ1makqum3mIYNww-RqJg4MLoe7zvOU/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+109.JPG" />
When we first left Orlando we knew the thing that we’d be missing most was our little community of Nela Isle. It’s not labeled on most maps of Orlando, but it is truly a hidden gem. Many of the houses are occupied by their original inhabitants who lived there when it was “way out” of down town. Downtown has since spread far and beyond this little island, but it is a place where you can still stop and catch your breath, or an amazing sunset over the glassy lake. Every year Mo and Carolyn host the annual Christmas party. It’s tradition, and oddly enough, there is only one rule: No silverware allowed, everything must be finger food. Hilarious rule right? I remember one year Ed snuck in a fork and giddily bragged about it to someone, who begged to wash and use it, I think twelve people ate off that fork by the time the night ended. Mo recently turned 80, but doesn’t act a bit over 50, maybe younger. He purchased our old pontoon boat when we left and totally revamped her. Beautiful new carpeting, new seats…It was kind of a special moment to see something that we had let go get another lease on life. Mo is also incredibly talented with stained glass and has the most amazing windows, walls and art displays around. He showed us the new wall he had just finished stoning in time for the party. I am in awe of people who are just born with a natural talent for art, Mo is one of those characters. It was so uplifting to see our old friends and catch up. Things are pretty much the same there, which was reassuring. When the party ended we hopped across the street to see a neighbor’s newly remodeled kitchen (with hydraulic lifting cabinets – way cool!) Kim has an attraction to all things tiki-esq. The real tiki, not just torches, but carvings, lanterns, and other assortments she has driven across the country to collect (or had flown in from half way across the globe). She had an additional room added to her house just for her lamp collection. I am not kidding- she had to fight with contractors to install 17 plugs on her ceiling! Undoubtedly the best part of coming home was watching her get so excited to show off her newly installed outdoor shower (it’s unbelievable, by the way). Intoxication may have been a factor because she took an erroneous step backward and fell head over heels, wrapping herself around the outdoor air conditioning unit, wedging herself between it and the wall. One minute she was upright, the next-all we saw were two pointy feet aiming up at the night sky. I know you’re supposed to show sympathy when someone you love is hurt, and believe me; I really wanted to….I just had to stop laughing first. (Even now I get a chuckle when thinking of it) Sorry Kimmie, I hope your bruises are healing well.
We also visited with one of Torben's old law firm Partners...on his farm. Some of you may think it outrageous, but I totally get it, and I loved it! He and his wife bought up a bunch of farm land and have slowly shaped it into an (almost) self-sustaining farm, complete with five miniature dauchsands, four horses, two emus, two egg laying ducks, a gopher tortoise, and a rattlesnake occupying said gopher tortoise’s hole. They even built the barn themselves! And filled it with farm equipment that would make Mr. John Deere jealous! It is demanding physical labor, but they seem to be so at home and in their element, it was truly amazing. I loved meeting all the animals. We took Blaze along, he was super stoked to meet the horses, but preferred to chase after the ducks rather than make their acquaintance the proper way. We were also treated to a Mexican Coca-Cola. Did you know that in Mexico they make it they original way with cane juice as sweetener, not this partially hydrogenated corn syrup stuff (seriously, that’s saying something if Mexico won’t even use it). Apparently you can buy it by the case at Sam’s club and it tastes amazing! We had in interesting discussion; our friend proposed that Coca-Cola used to use cane syrup, then distracted everyone with NEW Coke, that was a total flop, as was expected, then people went back to drinking Coca-Cola “Classic”, which they had reformulated to use corn syrup and no one could tell the difference, because as bad as it was, it was still better than NEW Coke. (I love a good conspiracy theory, no matter how irrelevant.)
Torben and I basically called this last month a respite. We spent as much time as possible with Doris (Mom Madson) and Ericka (my sister-in-law). Only a few days did we venture out with our explorers hats on. We took a beautiful drive down to Rainbow Springs State park (thanks for the suggestion DeeDee!) and I got to play with my amazing new camera that Torben got me for Christmas. This baby is so sweet, it has so many funky options, that I am only now learning to use.</div><div></div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565447422126573666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitCpCzdNwN4lfPavTFoA7WSpKXSouZEtA-mafb_zGjwk1EuXH96OiKEa8FIkiTDJCNQtUiPEZLQ94tgoeykCXvBgtN8em8g05Hv3szYQJEbMxOWx2N0JH9T7cdnvkkNf9hcTkLhnGGd1M/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+176.JPG" /></div><div></div>
<div>There are beautiful waterfalls on the property and the natural springs run an almost turquoise color. The moss covered trees made the setting serene.</div>
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<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565442259724360146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbgAGtXwuQIDZ36CCY0oVA6SkUgwdPhDpauGI_-mERdXGkKIo7d_Ybgc2Ve7efnqjaijzuNk8pxQEKaKpuUow5xcomKeBH8ss0apQNMAnHQG1jQtYyuRlRUn0KA5q1Dc9_DL_LS64IBQ/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+065.JPG" />
<div></div><div>On our way home we found a slightly paved road leading back into a wildlife preserve. We were bedazzled with the armadillo that jumped (I am not kidding, jumped) across the grass and stopped to play with a river otter who was just as curious about us as we were with him. (Secretly I think he loved the camera, he kept posing for us.)
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 114px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565442255523111298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPusV6ljzlVImtjP_-32OUXKnv35z-BVHzQGYWTh32QqlPvX8lZ_VBWgT2mL8R2Nh6rg8GlbzH2NraF-KxRA4tuLFwY4iP5g0txTswbC8jTeiBNGhCz7gQXZEuIKR-6oBwfsSj26AqPcY/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+042.JPG" /></div>
<div></div><div>Somewhere back in the dense ground growth of palms we heard a big rustle, too big to be a rodent. So Torben, who thought that it was either a bobcat or panther, picked up a surveying stick that happened to be close by and carried it like a sword. No, we weren’t smart enough to turn around and leave, this is us, remember?
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 301px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 92px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565442240916748482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5P7uWFnI7AFlWvTYdy40zXlclcPe-ftu682QAjsCE4HnMGF-DUpAck1gaF_R3y-PtRUvxJ5b5cxvqLpusvXV_qoomRql2AEToq3FGYPjHpNZrGP8irMHkw58Y-KlXkQLBoaTYUaoBYZ8/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+049.JPG" />
<div></div><div></div><div>I picked up a long piece of a pine branch with the cones still attached and waved it like a magic wand, begging the forest to protect us. My senses were on high alert when it dawned on me that no one knew where we were. Nor did we bring a backpack with any emergency gear….geesh, you’d have thought this was our first time. But like true idiots, we kept trekking in, the path became narrower, the cabbage palm thicker, and the sun started to make its westerly descent. I lagged behind Torben and bent down to take a close up photo of something that caught my eye when I heard it…the unmistakable snarl of the Florida panther. If I hadn’t just peed 10 minutes ago in the brush I would have totally soaked my pants. Something about panic racing through your veins makes your senses go berzerk, your eyes about pop out of your head, and your legs move at mach speed. We arrived safely at our car, although the adrenaline didn’t leave my system for some 45 minutes or so. Why do we always get ourselves into these situations? Perhaps an even better question: why am I always surprised, while Torben isn't?</div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565442250549015202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji83OrJsEYjXnNu1TMh5zMtDxRwdgUMGnCd1Dwbcv2nMiZMj4OctmNTdcWPppWPBDbCUJhrCLygJRjnpV5A1Z8fqP4VBtQw3UnfOKs0XOMsLVljZPIWY9uWjv83_W_5X0kbNJxbjTuLFA/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+011.JPG" />
One of my favorite things about coming home to Florida: Ericka. Ericka is 37 and severely handicapped with Cerebral Palsy. Life is not easy for her, or for the people taking care of her (my mother-in-law is another person who deserves a sainthood nomination). But there are some things she does well, and I might even say, better, than others.
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565437165706230194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfjs8BQipEiRgzQ9r0VMiYsBmhkqQTMOGGZ959QvdGYTB43JQ0-R7hvRIKokmwoMAjrrkKQE-7WGj-3LYihPbhjcD8doWpwh7uEx7v_sN3LCkd0zhyCRbP06pffy2ZYVzS1msABxMGbm0/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+093.JPG" />
<div>When she dances she gets totally lost in the music. We spent six hours shaking up the dance floor on New Year's Eve. She was without a doubt my favorite dance partner. I loved hearing her squeel in delight as I spun her wheelchair in dizzying circles. More importantly, she loves hugs. Something about Ericka’s love feels like receiving the love of one thousand angels. There is something so pure in her expression of affection. She is in the moment. If you hug her, she is fully present in that hug. It was startling to me at first; then I allowed myself to relax into one of her lengthy embraces and bask in the sensation. It transported me to a full here and now moment. I don’t know why I was shocked. Perhaps my revelation said more about my own barriers than about the loving capacity of a handicapped woman. How often do we hug people? So often it becomes effortless. Maybe therein lies the problem: we are just going through the motions of a common behavior, so common that we have lost touch with the essence of its purpose. To hug someone, really hug someone you have to rest in the embrace and surrender your thoughts to the place your heart is. I shudder to think of the years I have engaged in hugs and yet still maintained a distance, a wall, a non-permeable barrier between myself and this world. Anyway, the beauty of the moment washed over me like the warmth of sunshine. And the clear recognition in my heart acknowledged love that poured forth like an endless spout of water, cleansing away the imperfections, rounding out the rough spots, and filling in the gaps. Yes, my heart did indeed recognize this universal connection. Love as the Creator intended, bonding and bright, transcending one soul to another, breathing as if the heart itself was somehow the only functioning part of the body. Go ahead, hug someone today, I dare you.
I also have loved spending time with my grandparents. I have lived my whole life with the bounty and blessing of 2 sets of healthy grandparents. They set a role model for me for the way marriage should last; I think my mom’s parents just celebrated 62 years this year. Unbelievable! Anyway, as much as I love spending time with them I think I have taken for granted that they would always be there to spend time with. Only recently did life bring the reality of my blessing back into focus. My 84 year-old grandfather, Bob Curran, (his friends call him Curnie) is as cantankerous as they come. He loves fly fishing on the Au Sable River, three minute eggs on Sunday mornings, and watching the T.V. with the sound off and has always, always found a reason to complain about something…except his granddaughters…all 7 of us. He recently took a tumble and as most 84 year old bones do, his ankle broke. Well, he more or less crushed his into powder. I know, I know, a broken foot is not the end of the world, but boy did it throw my family into a panicky tailspin for a few days. Curnie and my G-ma are spending the winter in Florida, as they do every year to escape the wintery wrath that blows upon Indiana this time of year. I was the family member in closest proximity and without a hesitation I broke a few speed limits getting down to Ft. Myers. His stay in the hospital, the confusion that followed the anesthesia, and his resistance to anything that even remotely resembles change made us all hold our breaths. Thankfully it was only his foot that took a beating. His head, heart, and all those essential organs are still intact. But for the first time I saw one of my grandparents as mortal. Sitting in the hospital with him he looked so frail. He was worried about being able to manage the things he has always done and it was damn near impossible to convince him that things would have to be different. He would have to go to a rehab facility because he couldn’t walk and no one at home could take care of him. My G-ma has been partially paralyzed for over 40 years and uses a walker or electric wheelchair to get around. It’s not like she wouldn’t want to take care of him, it is that she can’t. The harsh reality of that was devastating to all of us. The facility tried to make the transition as easy as possible (is it ever easy to admit someone you love into a rehab/nursing home?). When we arrived there was a bazillion stacks of paperwork -F.Y.I. have your medical healthcare representative and durable power of attorney forms completed BEFORE you have an accident, my grandparents did and it made at least this part of the process move seamlessly. The medical transport van arrived just as G-ma and I were finishing with the papers and I waited anxiously to see the emotional state of my grandfather. The doors opened, the ramps folded out and there sat my grandfather in his hospital gown, laughing and giving the transport crew a serious rash of shit. Some things never change, Amen, I felt like I could breathe a little easier now. He thought we had brought him to the Taj Mahal after he learned that the facility offers happy hour once a week! I knew he was starting to feel better when he started complaining a little more. (He called his physical therapy team “the wrecking crew”.) Later, in a quiet moment of honesty he shared with me that it was awful not to be able to get up and go to the bathroom whenever he needed. It is the simplest things in life we take for granted. G-ma and I visited everyday and did our best to make him comfortable. In the evenings enjoyed our time alone together. G-ma is a fierce competitor and we took to engaging in serious battles of rummy and rummykub. She has this keen manner of “remembering” never before known rules every time I was about to win (NOW I know where the gene comes from Torben!). I razzed her about it a little, but I think the score was pretty even in the end. What she is limited by in her physical body, she more than makes up for in her mental strength. My grandmother has a brilliant mind and I was blessed to enjoy her company all to myself for a whole week.</div>
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 179px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565447414155998290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPdioFyUK_YbbdjCAMSeUXFxQjP0M59Q0p0dq4jWyvTjSvdWtAg-0izet7Z5vICTQYgFH1-JbHFnb725P9i4x9qChm0T73CE95MiwiV6s_XvbNG9IaTR21eozXubAYaxjUdnpC8wzxnE/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+112.JPG" /></div><div></div>
<div>When I left I made sure to stop by and see Curnie one last time and tell him that he was my hero. He made googly eyes and tried to laugh it off, but I wanted to make a point of letting him know just how much I was supporting him and his new, albeit unwelcomed, goal of learning to walk again. In my mind it mattered a great deal that he know this. Looking back I think it mattered a great deal more to me to know that he knew. It wasn’t until my drive home, after I left the nursing home and headed north on I-75 that the profundity of my feelings flooded me. I actually had to stop on the side of the road and collect myself. I was overwhelmed with fear, what if it had been something worse? What if the struggle is too much for him and he just gives up? What if…what if….what if….. How many of you have ever played this heart wrenching game? There is no easy or promisable outcome. Life is unexpected. At the end of the day, it's what we make of it that sets our course for tomorrow. I hope and pray that G-pa Curnie can come to a satisfactory agreement with today and that he sets a course for health and healing tomorrow. We’ve got friends and family taking alternate “vacations” to Florida coming stay with G-ma and checking in on G-pa. I am grateful for all of these people, so eternally grateful. (By the way, I hear Beer is returning for an encore performance!- Thanks Dawnie!)
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565437162171379042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnx52PgOxSwWc-kfcNnKf28ePD8xH5Iw6ryrk0zvJcY9ST0hfFe-d8G8RfdILpbnB6ukZc8kTgH0PlERklvoE322lV_Ypv9kc4lmcLu-ueBBGG0fAm9ZVVqTBNXAZyietA_tzIQf_q8w/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+130.JPG" />
<div>We also got to stop in on my other Grandpa (PJ) during one of his Conquistador parades. Funny thing about my grandfather, he is very reserved, but when he learned that he and Torben were each members of a special “krewe” that got to dress up in historical garb (read: kilts and feathered hats) and throw beads to the masses (especially shirtless women) well, he came out of his shell. There was a rainy MLK parade when we were in town and we got a quick picture with Grandpa before hiding back under the shelter.</div>
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565434047941765330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_ogJyejlOHhOeG7Zk4efBlNPvUCB13gliZkRoWPL04qq7bCNasXfwZUsWd5cyHNin5BHhzqe8yNU2qQwRXsYDYqremDwDleLqeLncTwuvHLk_q9mGNUvEaNqVV7W-XV_qGLs9zGzWBc/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+210.JPG" />
<div>Torben got a little misty eyed and wants to pull his pirate gear out of storage for an encore parade next week. I know you are just dying to see my handsome husband in a kilt, so I promise to post pictures if it comes to fruition. </div>
<div></div><div>We also explored the Warm Mineral Springs. Sounds like heaven right? It wasn't so bad, if you don't mind sulphur bubbles enveloping you in a fart filled cloud every two minutes. I was intrigued by a group of older (and wider) women wearing big floppy hats and bright round sunglasses. They were speaking in fast Russian as they slowly swam in circles around the springs. I didn't have my camera ready, but later I gained an up close image that will forever be etched in my mind...as I was changing from my suit into dry clothes one of these said women was parading around the locker room, stark naked, except for the big floppy hat, humming a Russian hymn while she pranced into the shower. I am sure my jaw is still on the floor there somewhere. But now, as I think back, I think: Good for her. I wish I had a little of that shameless self-confidence.
We dry camped at the Tampa RV Supershow (that’s RV slang for camping in a parking lot with no water, electric or sewer hookup) and had a blast exploring all the latest and greatest gadgets. Last year we were feeling a little bit of pressure to pick and purchase a motor home when we attended the show, and by we, I mean me-applying it to the other half of we-he. This year we weren’t in as much of a rush, our kids got to walk around with us (awesome) and we already had a home. So we leisurely examined the new models and I have to admit I kind of felt like an RV snob as I walked around and laughed at some of the new designs that may look cool to begin with, but will likely be an RVer’s nightmare if they actually had to spend any time in them. For example, the outside kitchen - Great if you plan on camping, always in good weather, and never have a midnight case of the munchies. Genius idea gone awry. There is also the double door camper…this one was a hoot, the first door was normal entry/exit, but the second door, and I kid you not it was the selling point, opened right into the shitter. Not the aisle, not the sink, but just door…open…toilet…facing the outside. Someone’s dream I am sure. We were impressed with some of the upgrades that Tiffin made on our model, namely the ease of access to the electrical box in the closet. Ours requires a Russian acrobatic routine to twist and contort ourselves into the side/back/bottom of the closet with a flashlight, whereas in the newer model it sits right up in front, no bending, stooping or cursing required. And a few changes were made to the cockpit, Torben was oogling the new toggle switches for the Jake brake. But other than that, we were relieved that at the end of our inspection we were still more impressed with our coach than any we saw at the show. Yay! So, we bought little dohickeys to upgrade our happy little home. Torben got chrome covers for the stairs (the company rep was embarrased when they were too heavy for our step motor) and we adopted a new wheel covering that makes the driving wheel into a table when you’re parked (nifty). He is currently talking to himself while attempting to install an exhaust pipe extension and a light holder-thingy on the awning. I’m gonna let him go on for a while before I have to go out and show him how it’s done. :)
</div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565437159005903154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGRIb7VIrDe_5T1WH-D8G2AeaAcscTWnwGaD3AZ30PvQN83JUr6xqZ-P7N28Hy2IxyhHMgimBJgd_CSB4QHhX_-DFzv4XZw_mgZilmcif-eBjasIBi0TfyHIGgEhs0N_vdRDY3phn_KM/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+191.JPG" />
<div>We have unanimously decided that this feels like a half way point in our trip. As you can imagine, it was a tough vote. So our year looks to be extended a little. YIPEE!! (If I still had my 17 year-old body I’d throw a back flip.) So, in preparation for our next leg we inspected the coach, inside and out, top to bottom. T checked all the fluids and gave her a well deserved bath, washing away the last 5 states of dirt from our journey. I climbed on top of the roof to inspect and clean the seals, then paused for a small nap (what a place to escape!). We pulled out a ton of stuff from the undercarriage that we had not used and hopefully won't need, and hauled it over to meet the rest of our treasured belongings in the storage facility. Ugh, one day I am really going to hate unpacking that thing. We also got new tires on the Honda and filled both the car and the RV tires up with nitrogen. Have you heard of it? The theory is that nitrogen is less volatile and not subject to temperature variations that causes regular air to change in pressure. We experimented with it in the Honda tires before we took off last April. At last inspection they still held at 35 psi. Pretty darn impressive if you think of everywhere we’ve been this year and not once did we need to refill them. It took about 20 minutes to get the new tires full on the car…and about 6 hours on the coach. (Groan, groan, mumble, mumble. That was another fun lesson in patience.) So as soon as this recent tire seal problem is fixed, we’ll be on the road again! I'm trying to take a few lessons from mother nature on this patience thing, she seems to have perfected it.</div><div>
</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565434043911388610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjig63kIFvxNgXyOtt7KaOJYXMoh1mkxZMRpr-ZLV6KN3QNn165iRxk0a58L7awDzjKbea7UuaT4SxI7jS7Ouj1jfi7glMDIzDjIammYfOa0VB9h7lDzidSQ1DV-s_N1_LUAkkxmEr_7UI/s200/back+in+florida+new+camera+157.JPG" />
Hope you’re all enjoying the blistery January weather, no matter how much snow you may be digging yourselves out of and hope you are all showered in love...no matter where it comes from! Namaste friends!
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<p></p></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-30124349208203313442010-12-10T12:05:00.005-06:002010-12-10T12:51:44.324-06:00Ta-da....finally, right?Well, the sewer hose broke again. It compelled me to finally write y’all an update. Not that I am implying that thinking of you, my treasured friends, makes me think of doodie; but that you have been with me through all the ups and downs of this monumental journey and when this “down” came crashing upon me (literally) I felt the need to reach out to my loyal support network. Thanks for being there, buddies, I feel better already. (Well, that and the shower helped tremendously.)
We have been rolling along through the middle of the country since I last posted. I would love to post some pictures to go along with these stories, but my camera is choosing to be difficult again this week. (If any of you would like to pursuade Torben to buy me a new Nikon for Christmas, I would be eternally in your gratitude). We spent some time in one of our all time favorite campgrounds, and while I am opting not to divulge the specific location, I will tell you that we love the open expanse of nature near the heartland of a beautiful welcoming city. (My only clue: if you want really spectacular camping; check out the Army Corps of Engineers sites). In an effort to keep some of the gems of this country underdeveloped and open to the true wilderness aficionados that lurk among us, my lips are sealed. But it was fabulous. We hiked along wooded trails near a huge river. The dogs chased squirrels to their hearts’ content. (Don’t worry, all the squirrels successfully escaped.)
Torben and his family have held football season tickets at the University of Florida for nearly 30 years (if not longer). (Secretly, I chose to marry him based on this premise- I love, love, love football.) Being away from the intensity of the Swamp was something that I knew would dampen his spirits come fall. It did not, however, squelch any of his emotional intensity for the game. We have often talked of the pageantry of the college games that we miss attending, but have been EVER SO HAPPY not to be in attendance at this year’s catastrophic games. Some of our friends are a little superstitious and are convinced that our empty seats have mojoed the Gator winning streak. We have the satellite TV package that allows us not to miss a game, but still there is a big difference between watching a game on TV and attending one live. The roar of the crowd, the blare of the band, ninety thousand people cheering in unison, it’s all so much fun to get caught up in. So we ventured to Arkansas State University for some tailgating and football. We parked the bus right in their parking lot, and walked the dogs around the track, which certainly turned a few heads. The tailgating was pretty poor, we were told it was due to the fact that it was the opening day of hunting season (boo!) We did meet some lovely people, who had Allegro Buses just like ours! (Although minus the critters, theirs smelled a bit more pleasant). It was great to be welcomed with such enthusiasm and meet people who love RVing and football as much as we do. We must have rubbed some off that Gator mojo on them, because they didn’t win either.
From there we worked our way back up through Kentucky, which I am not ashamed to say always surprises me, it a good way. Being from Indiana I often heard jokes that referenced our southerly neighbors in a non-too-flattering way (think wheat grass poking through the hole in the mouth where the teeth used to be). And, ok, so there is a little of that there, but there is also much more. One of the prettiest state capitol buildings is in Frankfort, Kentucky. The history in this little-big town is overwhelmingly impressive. There is a rather large river that flows (and sometimes floods) through town and an idealic cemetery perched on a bluff overlooking the river and the town. Let me just say, I love cemeteries, some people may find that a bit morbid, but I have always been drawn to the mystery that lies beneath the headstones. Blocks of marble carved with loving sentiments as an ode to the lives once lived, regal names etched in stone that mark the date of their birth and death, and I think, surely that cannot be the synopsis of their lives. What happened in between? Isn’t that the juicy stuff? The things that actually make a LIFE? As a child I was often baffled by this void, so I would make up my own stories about the people whose names I read. I thought that if I audibly spoke their names, that I could somehow evoke an image of their long forgotten lives or in some way pay homage to their everlasting spirit. Childish or not, I loved the connection this gave me to the people of the past. The cemetery in Frankfort is particularly old and all but rolled out the red carpet begging me to explore the dates of the headstones laid across its sloping hills. Guess who we found? In the loveliest of spots, under a blanket fallen leaves and overlooking the westerly river and hills was none other than Daniel Boone and his wife! That was one headstone I didn’t have to make up stories for. No doubt your head is also swirling with images of the rugged and brave frontiersman who helped claim the boundaries of this nation. History is so cool.
We often frequent happy hour a local establishments to chat it up with local folks to learn about the area. We struck it lucky at a bar in downtown Frankfort. My mother always told me “you never know who you’ll meet, so be nice to everyone”. Thanks for that lesson Mom, we scored big! After talking football and history with a guy for nearly an hour his wife walks in and tells us about the family bakery. BAKERY? The music seemed to skip a beat and my husband’s sugar radar went bezerk. Charlie and his family have run Magee’s Bakery for several generations and they make the good stuff, all from scratch, the way it all should be. We were invited to stop by the next day for some mouthwatering and assfattening treats. I still salivate at the thought of one of their donuts fresh from the fryer, or better yet their cheese danish…reason enough to return to Kentucky. I am sooo serious. Good ol’ Charlie also pointed us in the right direction to a small city museum where we learned that Frankfort was the backdrop for many a movie and childhood home to Johnny Depp (step off ladies, he’s mine!). Charlie, how can we ever repay you?
By the way, have I told you how much I love fall? This is the one season that I have truly missed when living in Florida and I had hopes that we would catch a glimpse of its production this trip. Winter, nope, you can have it. Spring, it’s ok. Summer, well everyone loves summer. But fall, oh glorious fall! When the air turns crisp and it seems easier to breath. When the leaves glow with extraordinary splendor. If I were a tree I would want to be a maple. If I have to go into hibernation each year, as many trees do, I would want to go out with a bang, and a maple does. The pointy spread of a five fingered maple leaf turns from green into a tribute to the colors of fire; ever bold deep red and magenta hues with subtle golden glows. It is one of Mother Nature’s finest performances. I found a spectacular leaf that had every color from green in the center to yellow, orange, red, and purple on the tips. I watched it turn brown before I could photograph it to share, and although I wish I had a visual to make the beauty of the leaf last, the experience of being able to actually watch time pass and the leaf fade reminded me that A.) I need to stop procrastinating, and B.)even our finest moments are passing, might as well give it all we got while we’ve got it. You never know who you may inspire. I love the feeling of connection I get to the cycle of life every fall when I behold the changing of the leaves. Although the leaf will decompose, it will one day become nourishment in the ground that the tree will use to live on…and produce more astonishingly beautiful leaves. It’s the compassionate cycle of time passing. I spent an entire yoga session meditating on just that and was ruptured by the enormous sense of love I felt that God was trying to show us in his display of fall. Did you feel it too?
From Kentucky we voyaged on up to Cincinnati, Ohio. I haven’t spent much time in Cincinnati, but I remember it being much more welcoming than it currently is. Sorry, sad but true. It has developed into a strong industrial transportation hub, utilizing its highways, railroads and rivers to disperse goods in mass quantities. We didn’t get the warm fuzzies from Cincinnati. I am sure there has to be something wonderful about it…if any of you know, will you fill me in?
We made a quick stop in Indianapolis where I caught up with an old college friend who invited me to a hot yoga class. Ever done yoga? In the heat? I adore yoga, but the element of heat really pushes me beyond what I perceive my limitations to be. If you’ve never done it, I wholeheartedly recommend sweating yourself silly while twisting yourself into a pretzel on the mat. Genuine detox, nothing like it. I could hardly walk the next day, but if given the choice, I’d go back for seconds. After an hour and half of treating my body right I was ready to fill it back with toxins, so we shared some wine and caught up on each other’s lives. She has recently been inspired to write a musical. Who wakes up one day and thinks “I want to write a musical?” Laura, that’s who, and it’s one of the many reasons I love her. She’s a journalist and asked me lots of intelligent questions about our journey. I explained that throughout the trip I kept waiting to uncover some huge epiphany that would change the world, and that while the trip was incredible, I was somewhat disappointed by my lack of an earth shaking revelation. She just smiled and said, “well, maybe that’s the revelation.” Simple clarity. After I caught my breath I chewed for quite some time, and not just over dinner.
Here’s a good time for a break if you need one, go to the bathroom, stretch your legs, feed your kids, pretend to work so your boss won’t catch you slacking off, whatever….don’t worry, I’ll hold your place.
Here’s my quick and dirty position on the holidays: Christmas is a little too commercialized for my taste (I love the essence, but somehow that seems to be lost in the hubbub of shopping) , Easter is a blessing, but a very subdued blessing. Memorial Day should be somber but ironically we party ourselves into oblivion (to remember or to forget?) The Fourth of July I celebrate as the day I met my husband, not for the independence of our nation (although that’s pretty cool too), Labor Day is under celebrated, Halloween creeps me out, but Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving is by far the best. Think about it, one day dedicated to gratitude for the bounty in our lives, a day to spend surrounded by and actively loving our family and indulging in gluttonous overeating. Add in not having to shop for, buy, or wrap a gift, pure joy I tell you! My family always celebrates this holiday with a passion, well, we eat with a passion, who doesn't? Also my mom’s birthday falls in the same week. This year we planned a week long party to celebrate the queen’s birthday, Thanksgiving, and the third (and final?) of Kelly and Troy’s wedding receptions. (Seriously, how many days does a bride get?)
We were so fortunate that we could pull up into my parent’s driveway and hang out for a week, instead of the usual dine and dash we have to employ to get back to let the dogs out. My parents still live in the huge house my sisters and I grew up in, in Fort Wayne, Indiana. The fact that the city actually has an old fort is one of, it not the coolest, of its marketing points. When I was living there, the people on our side of town were outnumbered but the stalks of corn. (p.s. Indiana sweet corn =nothing like it, yum!) And I was happy, yet somewhat jealous that a gas station, grocery store, liquor store and yoga gym opened up within a few miles of my parent’s home. Where was all that cool stuff when I was a kid? (not that the liquor store would have made my childhood any sweeter, but you know what I mean). My parents were so excited to have us all home that they had a special electrical outlet installed so that we could hook the bus up for the week. How thoughtful!
It was a busy week. Since the family lives all spread out through the country we try to squeeze as much togetherness as possible into our visits. At times it can be a little too much togetherness, but on the whole, I tried to soak up every minute of it. I was able to hold little Beau again and suck in the sweet aroma of baby shampoo (and of course pass him off when the aroma changed to something else). Four year-old Jack and three year-old Bella were in awe of our “house on wheels.” I think to them it was akin to a tree house. They came prancing out early in the morning, still in their footed-pajamas with wild child bed hair to say good morning and set up their toys in our living room. Torben was in heaven playing cowboys and Indians with Jack while Bella made the rounds loving the dogs, terrorizing the cat and curling up in my lap. Every moment I spend with those kids is a miracle. We pack a whole lot of loving and playing into one day. I’m not saying that I love all kids that way, but if you are an aunt or an uncle you know the unconditional love you can shell out for those little munchkins. Somehow the fact that they are an extension of my sister gives them a direct link to the core of my heart, they automatically get to pass Go and collect $200.
Every time we’re home my sister’s and I have a secret tradition. As one of us bids adieu to the rest of the family we sneak up (or down) the back stairs and reclaim them for a special middle of the night celebration, just the three of us. I love my sisters in a way I cannot find the words to explain. I adore their inner beauty, I celebrate their joys, my heart breaks for their pains and even through tears they can make me laugh so hard I nearly pee my pants. This gathering was much like the many from our youth, we laughed, we, cried,…we snuck in and out of the house so Mom and Dad wouldn’t hear us...just like old times.
Thanksgiving was full merriment-isn’t it always? I roasted our traditional Tofurkey. What? That’s not traditional in your family? Oh, well, welcome to vegetarian feasting at its best. That would be a tofu turkey, and although not quite as big as the two birds my carnivorous family fried, it provided Torben and I with a fulfilling feast that didn’t harm another creature. In addition, we welcomed some new vegetarians to their first meat-free Thanksgiving. Hopefully my cooking didn’t scare them off. (If you’ve ever tried my cooking you’ll know that it is entirely too possible.) My new brother in law was (a little too) excited to start cooking that morning and came into the kitchen exclaiming with vigor “let’s cook this S.o.b. turkey!”. The penguins of Antarctica could have heard my sister scream as her precious little son skipped around the kitchen singing about the S.o.b. turkey. Whoops. Ah well, no permanent damage (that’ll come with adolescence). The day ended with 13 adults crammed into a bathroom watching three kids play in the bath. If that’s not Thanksgiving, what is?
The grand finale of the week was the gala reception party for Kelly and Troy and their friends and family that couldn’t join us in Mexico. It was a fun excuse for Kelly to wear her dress again. How many of you brides got to wear your dress twice? (By the way, there is a new wave of “dress” parties in which all the ladies bring their long ago wedding dresses or bridesmaid dresses out for another whoopla – anyone interested? I’ll rent the margarita machine!) Anyway, she looked beautiful, again. She got a little help from Troy’s cousin who expertly airbrushed her make-up. Yup, I said airbrush. I have to admit I was a little nervous about being airbrushed, with the fear that we could look a little like a ripe orange, but thankfully, no fruit were resembled in the outcome. She did a fabulous job on all of us and I would love to post her contact info, but I forgot to get a card! Also, it was a great reminder of how much WORK it takes to look glamorous and why it is such a rarity for me. The party itself was like reading chapter after chapter from the book of our family’s past. From the O.B. doctor who delivered Kelly into this world to our family dentist, all the family friends who inhabited a story of our lives showed up to cast their love and joy upon the marriage. What a beautiful testimony to my sister. And my parents. My parents have amazing friends. At one point I looked around the room and counted no less than four other couples who served as surrogate parents during my youth (you know, the people who disciplined you when you were young and you <em>actually cared</em> what they thought). And of course with that comes the surrogate brothers and sisters that we used to beat up on , or vice versa. My Dad owned that dance floor like nobody’s business. Jimmy can shake it! It was a great band (though my Grandfather would say a little too loud) and everyone boogied the night away. Bella was shy at first, then took to the dance floor like a fish to water. Even after the band had long gone home she twirled in circles and jumped around with the tambourine sashaying across the dance floor. A girl after my own heart! Torben and I crashed after the reception, thankful for the quiet seclusion of our home. The next day I learned that the party continued on well into the wee hours of the morning, my family plotted to hold hands around the motor home and sing kumbaya to wake us up. Ok, now you know where I get my bizarre nature, the apple apparently doesn’t fall far.
When we finally pulled the bus out of the driveway I was so full. The tofurkey leftovers packed in the fridge next to my Mom’s mouthwatering sweet potato casserole, and I was so stuffed with love and an abundance of merriment that I thought I was going to burst. Not only from my own immediate family, but from our old friends and our new in-laws (who are way too cool to ever be called out-laws). It’s funny how when you give love it seems to come back to you, only exponentially greater. It’s one of the great mysteries of the universe, which I hope you too may revel in.
Oh, I forgot to mention that I caught up with a high school friend, Ryan. She is beautiful, yes she. Every time she calls Torben gets a funny look on his face when the caller ID says “Ryan” is calling. She assured me that that was nothing compared to the fiasco her husband had when trying to plan their wedding (“um, I am sorry sir, but we don’t do <em>those kinds</em> of weddings”)! Good thing she has nerves of steel. We were in gymnastics together, she was infinitesimally better than I and can STILL do back flips, handsprings, and a host of other physically impossible tricks. She now coaches our high school team. It is so fun to see what people from your childhood have grow into!
Want another break? You’re half way there (almost).
We stopped for a few days in Louisville, Kentucky. Torben got a huge chuckle out of the way we say Louisville, that sounds something like lulvl (with a gag). Some people call it Lou-wee-ville, that’s ok too, but Lou-is-ville is totally unacceptable. Just so you know. Ironic since the voyage of Lewis and Clark started on the river there that separates Indiana from Kentucky. On the Indiana side there is Clarkville, and over in Kentucky, they’ve got Lulvl. (Well they seemed to have missed the boat just a bit-go back to that image of a wheat eating toothless man for reference). We toured the Lou-wee-ville slugger factory and got to see how they make the famous baseball bats. I had no idea that each player who signed on with them had a specially made bat. Who knew bats could be tailored to the millimeter? We also toured a few museums. Actually we toured the gift shops because we were too damn cheap to pay admission to the museum. One art museum let us peek for free anyway. They had a great toy collection on display, and guess who was gushing like a kid? Do I even have to tell you? I nearly had to drag him out like a protesting little half-pint. There was also a whole floor dedicated to the artwork of children with cancer. Much of it was heartbreaking, but there was a photo collage that one of the nurses made. She asked the kids to make a face at cancer and Torben gloriously pointed out the big middle finger that a hairless young lad waved with a smirk of confidence. Take that cancer.
We had our first experience with the white stuff in Lulvl. Torben has not been privy to the snow since he was six!! That’s right, six. (Go ahead northerners, curse him to your hearts’ content.) We took the dogs for a walk and the flakes started to float among us. I say float, because it did not fall directly down to the ground, it more swirled around and danced for a while in the air before settling gently on the ground. We practiced catching a few flakes on our tongues. The good times lasted only a few minutes before Torben started to panic about driving in it. The next morning I had to climb on top of the bus and sweep off the snow and ice from the awnings before we could bring the slide-outs in. It was by total accident that a big heap fell right on top of my husband. Hehehe.
As if there is any question….we headed further south, stopping to stretch our legs at the Corvette Museum. I am not all that impressed with shiny fast cars, but hey, I gave it a go. The newer cars were just cars to me (sorry, a car is just a car, it gets you from point A to point B) but the older cars were genuine pieces of art. My favorites were from the earliest models in the 50’s. I was surprised to learn that the company hired a team of women to work on the design elements of the car. Not surprised that the women were designers, puh-lease, surprised that in the 1950’s women were given such reverence in the origination of something so iconically American (and actually given credit for their work).
We happily set up camp in Nashville, TN for a few days. As one of my friends called it: Nash-Vegas baby! And it totally is. I have been to Nashville on many occasions to visit my friend Jaime, but we mostly spent our time drinking chai lattes and catching up on each other’s lives. Torben was determined to see the real deal this time. Some of you may remember that when we first pulled through Nashville somewhere at the beginning of our trip the city was flooded. It was a horrible natural disaster, and the city is still only now coming back to life in the most heavily flooded areas. We toured the state capitol (with a private tour courtesy of our friend Wade, who happens to work for the state). Upon hearing of the famous bathroom in the Heritage Hotel we of course had to tour that too. Who knew a bathroom could draw such a crowd? It was the men’s room, and it is still in use, but y’all know I have no couth. ( I have a great picture for this one! Damn!)
Nashville has a pulse. A great current of music and everyone seems to walk to the beat. The vibe is very contagious. We traveled to a groovy little bar where one of Torben’s high school friends was performing. Will Barrow was really good! We had a few drinks and got his CD for later listening. We also managed to score floor tickets to the Grand Old Opry. We were so close that if one of the singers sneezed, it would have sprayed us (thankfully no one did). The Opry is still the longest running radio show on air. It was funny, during the show the performers had to pause for commercials. We saw several older performers whom I am sure were something in their day, unfortunately that day was long, long ago. But some newer artists also made their debut. Newer artists like Bo Bice (I admit it, I am an American Idol junkie) and a jamming family band called Cherryholmes, who are up for a Grammy nomination.
And I was given the gift of being able to fill an entire day with Jaime, drinking chai tea and catching up on each other’s lives, which in my opinion, was by far the best part of Nashville. I am a firm believer that a good friend is worth more than her weight in gold. She’s one of those authentic gems who isn’t afraid to tell me the truth about myself, and love me in spite of it. We’ve been best friends since the first day we met. I love it when our lives overlap for a day or two, even though it never seems long enough. Her daughter Ruby is adorable and undoubtedly the most well behaved three year-old on the planet. I am infinitely amazed at the work and dedication it takes to raise a well rounded child in today’s world. When we talked about all the influences out there and how to teach a child right from wrong it dawned on me that parents have to become super heroes with a larger than life sense of morality, acting twice as good as they ever were in hopes to raise a child that is a least half as good as their highest expectations. It has to be exhausting. I am not sure I could outthink a three year old every waking moment of the day. My hat goes off to all of you Moms and Dads. I was given the trusted (and awesome) job of “tubby time” with Ruby. If you haven’t played with a child in the bath recently, you really ought to (well, get permission from their parents first, otherwise that would be a little weird). Ruby and I splashed and played, tossing her dad’s poker chips into the water for full splashing effect (hey, whatever works). Every time she squealed with glee it made me want that moment to last forever. After we dried off (how do you parents keep from getting soaked too?) we curled up for story time and turned on the most awesome display of nightlight projections I had ever seen. Being a kid today is padded with some really cushy stuff.
The threat of snow moved us out yet again. We happily loaded up our crew and moved further south. With cold snowy weather on the way there is only one place to go: Florida! We held hands as we crossed the border to the great Sunshine State. I was all smiles as we pulled into the Williston Crossings RV Resort and hooked up our rig. The park is complete with tennis courts, a dog park, hiking trails, fire pit, shuffle board and if that's not enough; we plan to have our first line dancing class on Monday morning. Yeah, I feel a bit like the retired gray hairs that descend upon the state every year, but it’s a pretty good life.
We’re headed over to Mama Madson’s house for a happy home cooked southern meal. My stomach can hardly wait. We plan to spend some time cleaning out the car and the bus. Somehow the pizza boxes have piled up and I am pretty sure there is something growing in the back seat since Kentucky. We’re gonna take a respite from our travels for the holidays….maybe. It will be interesting to see how long we can sit still. We'll probably then head up the eastern seaboard and explore the outer islands of Georgia. Wanna come along for the ride?
Love and kisses,
SarahSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-13945833901734854682010-11-07T22:29:00.002-06:002010-11-07T22:35:30.950-06:00Oh Mexico..Just my luck, I lost memory space on my camera 30 minutes after landing in Mexico and haven’t yet got a replacement. If you wanna see some great pics of the wedding try Kelly and Troy’s wedding site or one of the fam’s facebook postings. I know, bummer, but you’ll just have to use your imagination on this one, sorry.
It was fabulous, by the way. Idealic would my word of choice. My whole family (minus my husband who had to stay behind with the bus and kids) converged on a seaside resort in Cabo San Lucas. I realize that we are L.U.C.K.Y. to be able to experience something this incredible. I was admittedly a little confused because where we were looked suspiciously affluent, well taken care of, absent of smog and full of chains like Costco and Home Depot. I have no idea what percentage of tourism dollars actually trickle down to the local economy; but it was nicer, much nicer, than many places I’ve been in the states. I learned the Mexicans can do two things quite well: service and drinks. We were pampered, doted on and after every interaction they replied, “it’s a pleasure.” I don’t care if they were lying through their teeth, do you know how nice that is to hear? (Especially when last night’s tequila is hanging like a cloud on your morning!) For example:
“May I have some orange juice?”
“It’s a pleasure.”
“Can you add some rum to it?”
“It’s a pleasure.”
Can you tell me where the nearest bano is in case I need to puke?”
“Just to the left, it’s a pleasure.”
Where else can you go where they offer gratitude for you losing your lunch in their toilet? Not that it happened, well, I can only speak for myself, my liver was used and slightly abused, but she held in there well. I think we only lost a few soldiers, say 3 people in our 40 person group. Not bad. We’re not amateurs.
Traveling with my family is so different than with my husband. With Torben it’s all about the adventure and finding our own way. We travel like it’s our job. With my family it’s much more relaxed. Some other main differences include eating at restaurants that actually have table cloths, and my favorite: valet parking. In a word: spoiled. Dad, I cannot thank you enough for slaving away for 30 years inside other people’s dirty mouths so that we can enjoy such splendor. Muchas gracias Papa! And now that your last little girl has been married off, perhaps you’ll get to slow down and enjoy the fruits of your labor.
Jen, my other sister, and I never had Bachelorette parties. Me, because I planned a couple weddings before I actually got married (my friends had a hard time determining whether this one was “for real” or not), and Jen because she was already knocked up So we really had some personal making up to do for Kel’s night out. Perhaps it was a little cliché and tacky but I dragged my husband (yeah, right, dragged) to a XXX palace before I left to find the latest and greatest in bachelorette paraphernalia. I was determined to do this thing up right; spare no expense, this was, after all, my last little sister to get married. We practically had to get a line of credit from the bank to cover the expenses of the chocolate and strawberry body paint, two foot penis squirt gun and oodles of other anatomically stretched dohickeys. I carefully wrapped each prize and packed them in my bag. I have learned long ago never to check my luggage on airlines, the fact that I was flying to Mexico doubled that commitment. So I carefully stashed my week’s worth of clothes, the XXX goodies and my sister of the bride dress (I refuse to be called matron of anything) in my backpack. My eagerness to join my family for a week’s worth of playing on the Mexican coast blinded me the morning of my departure. My head was floating in the clouds…until Mr. I’m Too Uptight and Hate My Job Transportation Security Officer brought me back to earth with a little “bag check”. It’s hard not to blush when someone pulls a penis out of your bag. But let’s be real - I had a suitcase full of one eyed soldiers in every shape AND color, blushing is not the word. I think I added a new color to the rainbow. With a lot of unnecessary huffing and puffing he unwrapped, and not delicately mind you, ripped the pretty paper off, held the damn things up to the light, waved them around for all to see. Then with a judgmental eye asked loudly so that passengers boarding ten gates away could hear…if I was a call girl! My mother would be so proud. What’s a girl to do? So I said yes and told him I had a little extra time to kill before my flight and was he interested? I was quickly cleared.
This all made for a good story later at the bachelorette party, especially while donning out semi-wrapped gifts with wrapping paper hanging on by a lone piece of tape. Ok, so perhaps giving my Grandmother a glow in the dark penis ring toss game was a little over the top, but she was a terrific sport (thanks Grandma!) The girls traveled to Cabo-Wabo, an internationally known bar, owned by Sammy Hagar. I felt like a dork that I had to go ask who Sammy Hagar was. If you don’t know, go look it up, you too can share in my embarrassment. Not to worry, alcohol numbs all feeling. We danced like maniacs. Even my Mom, post knee surgery, was able to get out and do a little movin and groovin on the dance floor. (Not that she should have, but she did. She probably shouldn’t have had that punchbowl cocktail that was potent enough to strip paint off the wall, either, but, well, you know.)
We were smart enough to schedule our girls’ night out several days before the actual wedding, so we could recoup. I got to spend lots of time snuggling up to my three month old nephew, Beau. He is the happiest little chunky monkey. And my grandmother (the aforementioned recipient of the glow in the dark ring toss game) was in her prime taking care of him while the rest of us floated in the pool. My grandmother is one of those people who has the “gene” for mothering. I don’t know why some people just exude the confidence and enjoyment of nurturing and some don’t, but she definitely does. Wonder why it skipped me?
The wedding itself was impressively emotional. The ceremony even had the fathers wiping their eyes. My new brother-in-law bawled like a baby when he saw his bride for the first time. It was pretty moving…until he gave her a handshake because he didn’t know what to do.. Classic. I think everyone cried harder because it was so damn funny. Seriously, though, Kelly and Troy are wonderful for each other. As individuals they are incredible people, as a couple, they are even better. It is such a blessing to know your sibling has found a lifelong mate…though Lord knows I probably would never have guessed she’d pick the younger brother of a girl who threatened to beat me up in high school! We can joke about it now, and thankfully neither of us can fully remember the what and why of the issue. But seriously, in high school, I would avoid certain hallways so as not to come face to face with her, and when I first learned Kelly was dating Troy my first words were, “Oh shit.” Sorry Lisa, you’re wonderful!. The entire Shaffer family is awesome and whether they like it or not, in good times and in bad….they’re stuck with us!
Coming home was an experience…I don’t want to even get started on the process of US customs and immigration and why those of us holding a valid passport had to wait twice as long as those who didn’t. Nor why my uncle has the tendency to always get taken to a “special room” for “special questioning” whenever he flies internationally, despite the fact that he is as American as apple pie. Or that some of the customs and immigration officials spoke no English. No, I won’t even jump up on that soapbox today.
When I first moved to Florida I remember smirking as I threw out the window de-icer scraping tool that had been in my trunk since I first got my license. Good riddance, I thought, I won’t be needing that anymore. The moment was long awaited, but my foresight was short…of course. Our pipes froze last night. Ever needed to flush only to find the water isn’t flowing? Good times. Not that a de-icing scraper would have been any help, but it made me wince at the sign of things to come.
We’ve seen some incredible things this trip. Perhaps none will rival the most recent incredibility. The other day we awoke to find stray dogs running through our camp, cute as can be, we thought they were doing a special little booty shaking dance. After a few minutes we looked a little closer…they were stuck together, well, actually they were frozen together, doggy style. I imagine there was a real missed photo op when I scrambled around on all fours behind them trying to warm the necessary parts while Torben poured warm water on the extended appendage and we helped them pry loose. More good times.
The fun continues…guess where we were all last week? You can’t beat an exciting adventure to…the repair shop. Yeah, again. We had to have our engine rebuilt. We’ve been entertained with flashing lights on the dash for several weeks, which we were reassured by the manufacturer was “just faulty wiring” and didn’t mean anything was wrong. Even you know better! We had one monstrous fear before going on this trip; that we would somehow have to leave the motor coach and bear the fun task of finding a hotel that would allow the whole barking shedding lot of us. Ugh. That day came. I couldn’t even find the humor in the situation as I sat day after day in the hotel room smaller than our RV, begging and pleading with my kids not to bark at every noise. There are only so many hours in a day one can hang out at the dog park. Thankfully the Marriott Residence Inn in OKC (that’s city slang for Oklahoma City y’all) not only tolerated us, they hosted a daily happy hour. God bless free beer.
The engine is now running better, but we have a list a mile long of other things they couldn’t fix. The recommendation, you won’t believe it – go back to Red Bay, Alabama. Our home away from home. I nearly shit my pants. So we finally moved back into our big ol’ rig and we try valiantly everyday not to think of her as a rolling disappointment. But sometimes when I open a drawer and the bottom falls out I can’t help it. She looks pretty and cost a fortune, but “lemon” is rolling around back in my head. And if everything went smoothly you wouldn’t have anything to laugh at, right?
Ignoring bad news is a skill I have perfected. So we kept on sightseeing like nothing was wrong. Along the road we passed the ever extra-terrestrial looking Storm Chaser car. It was barricaded with steel and had a few weather antennas peeking out the top. It looked a bit like a robot. We were ever so pleased that it was driving the opposite way.
In Oklahoma we headed out to find the Cherokee Nation Torben’s mother’s lineage was Cherokee and lived in the hills of West Virginia. In the mid 1800”s our swell government made the audacious choice to repeatedly break every treaty they made and brutally remove the Indians from their own land, thank you, President Jackson (please apply heavy sarcasm). The Cherokee tribe was divided, some left with government escorts and walked barefoot through freezing conditions to be relocated to Oklahoma (and those were the lucky ones). Others, like Torben’s family hid in the hills as a final act of self preservation. As a result they were never “formally” registered as belonging to the Tribe, not that it really mattered to that generation: the Eastern Band of Cherokees were not provided US citizenship until 1924. Cherokee Nation does not actually have a reservation like many other tribes. Thanks to their own tribal council disagreement and typical government b.s. they were denied a reservation. What the Cherokee Nation lacks in land, they make up for in spirit. The tribe has a wonderful museum and family history research center. I learned that the Cherokee people were the first Indians to develop written language, which is beautiful by the way thanks to Chief Sequoia, and they built the first missionary school for women west of the Mississippi river. Who knew Indians were pioneers in Women’s equality? Fabulous. We happened to visit during a New Moon festival and besides free admission we got to shoot fake poison darts by blowing sticks through bamboo shoots (come on, admit it, your jealous). Ok, so it was really an education station set up for Cherokee kids to learn about life in the 1600’s, but during their lunch break Torben and I snuck in and played like we were kids. We also got some great souveniers like a CD of tribal music and a book to begin learning the language, not to mention the terrific resources to begin filling in the gaps on Torben’s family history. We’ll keep you posted on what we find.
We’re now back to an old favorite destination of ours: Fayetteville, Arkansas. People used to laugh at us when we told them how much we loved Arkansas (right to our face and they didn’t even try to hide it!). Arkansas is like a favorite pair of jeans, it always fits right! We’ve been to half the states in the country and this one still makes my top 5. There is so much to do outdoors and if you look in the dictionary under ‘friendly’ the entire town of Fayetteville should be listed. We’re enjoying the festive fall season with brisk outdoor hikes in the Ozarks and cozying up in restaurants with warm fires in the evenings. We also made friends with our nightly servers and scored free samples of some fine bourbon – jackpot! Arkansas is where we first discovered caves. Not all of you may wax poetic about crawling on your knees in a dark muddy cave, but I get a little misty eyed when I think of all the caves we’ve stepped foot in. And it all started here… romance comes in many forms my friends.
Tune in next time as we travel back to Alabama (can’t you hear the banjo playing?)!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-45336348214448118052010-10-23T19:12:00.013-05:002010-10-23T21:20:04.913-05:00The Southwest and Four Corners<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6jEY_T3tNDewRJVGyNKWgpw16bwoOhowHuK4MBgrFCkHD3n5M6HoAVEPxMkWCj29QkPiJ2Ed3lLtgLn_dn7skmnqZHoFmOXHChxLm3LrYQfLk1RIlQtTM6PtwkYDzEmGLwoz3FQFHcPQ/s1600/DSC03327.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 207px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531425224698921570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6jEY_T3tNDewRJVGyNKWgpw16bwoOhowHuK4MBgrFCkHD3n5M6HoAVEPxMkWCj29QkPiJ2Ed3lLtgLn_dn7skmnqZHoFmOXHChxLm3LrYQfLk1RIlQtTM6PtwkYDzEmGLwoz3FQFHcPQ/s200/DSC03327.JPG" /></a> <div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Please don’t put out a missing persons report, we’re still alive and accounted for! We’ve been on the most circuitous route through New Mexico, Texas, back to New Mexico, up to Colorado, over to Utah, back to Colorado and back again to New Mexico. If you’ve been trying to plot us on a map you might get a little dizzy. Let’s just say we’ve put some good mileage on this bus. The bus, by the way, is holding up remarkably well for the type of living we’ve been putting her through; zigzagging up and down mountains that should questionably be driven in a car let alone our behemoth bus. But she is scheduled for a little maintenance and tune up in a few weeks. We’ve opted for a place in Oklahoma this time (hoping and prayin to avoid the Alabama Vortex).</div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531423852940616450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHdAn0HATP3anH4iMmlbw2s6NtpCpcXIWXq_XcqIDyxxWidiO-ksiD7jDSXMvsjJJroRWHIL7SBAQpx9k_EJ23g8lt7lhwzUt9Oz0ajUyA8NNkQtxAiSOqFdS6BamJ53NXoa64c0hubE/s200/DSC03432.JPG" /></div>
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If you’ve never been to the Four Corners you should really check out what this part of the country has to offer. Again I have been astonished, awe-struck and bewildered that such beauty exists within the borders of our own country. I have to admit my own short sightedness: I believed that the Grand Canyon was this amazing thing in the Southwest and that was about all there was here, save for a few cactuses and tumble weeds. Wrongo The entire range of mountains, canyons and rivers in this area is spectacular. While I feel we have seen a lot, the truth is we have only scratched the surface of the high desert. Here’s a quick recap:</div><div> </div>
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 284px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 189px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531423843793285426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYERFBQpsBkEYlc1oRzvn2tJtsocpQrOMd5AUj_hzXZB2rtFChReHGr0ppHTZUGwq5iyO8kksGDifGoKMLZljBJtj7cY43XKKYzy2noj5P31bmd1sDrtIiCqdQjS3hcM7iJXm7fg46RoM/s200/DSC03431.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 117px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 216px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531423839383772578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPc8x6ROcefWLVscVPgTUWmeeJTKk6apltDupUfv1fmH_7e7a_wkZX_g2F1leGNcum9Kh3Kbz8KmTEJ4UndyzycFX-0xrpcbEbrLPMP-iuA5ZmFwA2c16oz3ueSLQgySfmn0JiqiYKN_Q/s200/DSC03395.JPG" />
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531423830263886978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJCwaZquD2UP7zeKKnG91RZm5-qMF5xRW21ooSGzjFDS3iH6E9aLhUNVqdD-fF6Xjw4DKZrpaxQ8KlR7mRKSRA0hGm97wpgBLqWHqp0w2EQrQbG0PwDU2DUCiBXsqSzvZHNKi8u1xtTnE/s200/DSC03301.JPG" />
<div>Roswell, New Mexico: place of the ever controversial crash of a UFO. Remember how Torben had us out searching for Bigfoot, well; it’s along those same lines….or so I thought. I can’t even begin to condense the amount of information on the alleged UFO crash that has been accumulated, so I won’t even try. But I will say this: A LOT of high ranking military and government officials have independently sworn to have witnessed or been privy to information relating to the confiscating of the crash material and transportation of evidence. You all know I am the skeptic’s skeptic. It takes an unbelievable amount of evidence to convince me of anything. But here’s the real question I pose to all of you: If life exists on this planet is it not possible that in the scheme of the whole UNIVERSE that life may also exist elsewhere? Even I can’t prove it false. Do your own research, make your own opinions. All I’m saying is…anything is possible. Oh, and the Governor of New Mexico just attended the opening of a new space station in southern New Mexico-the first U.S. station planned to send civilians into outer space…(for the small fee of $200,000.00 you too can fly to the stars!). Coincidental? </div>
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 189px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 235px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531420620738582578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQH8_xolkBmNmHiahF1VZdG2uUuz0oPyIXaywWRu-RSl8XX3qr-82u75C2Aoz3zMmKvNZds3nNyQff8T-Pw6hqgB-9UCka-kkZ1aBlqmCxpRxEQO7Y-cHB-4VspIr438UmbpvZy6hmK50/s200/DSC03253.JPG" /> We also hiked a mile into the earth in southern New Mexico. Carlsbad Caverns is arguably the BIGGEST and most impressive cave system we have seen yet (and I’m pretty sure we’ve seen a most of them). It was absolutely incredible. If you want to see the inside of a cave but have a fear about being enclosed in a small space, worry not my friends, you can fit about three football fields in there. Oh, and they have an elevator (which we learned about after our hike down). And, it had wheelchair friendly paths :)
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 245px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 197px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531420609479813634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgn4BsnVdm3SPSIPXBXpAte6lnA3_nbtxJqAXp3Ua2xb6pAxwAQcasZ5teMSkBAZJI9t-saxGYkQcp10Dbi4sESiRFcdI0-c4sGstHPZ0cnHeLwZuHXgng0l1-8QWso91ENplPWuu_7w/s200/DSC03259.JPG" /> Texas was a preplanned destination for Torben to attend a conference so we hauled ass to San Antonio for a week. The company was delightful; Torben’s speech went well and as it turns out San Antonio has a pretty cool river walk district. Oh yea, and there is also this little thing called the Alamo. I hope most of you have a better history background than yours truly. (Who’s surprised that I couldn’t for the life of me recall what happened at the Alamo?) Well, they died. That’s about the gist of it. Frontiersmen fought for land, and lost, but they did so valiantly so the landmark is a tribute to their honor. (See, I am a pretty good student, just don’t ask me to remember it five years from now.) In a rather classic noMadson moment we decided to take the dogs to a state park that was five miles away and we are totally, I mean totally, reliant upon my GPS. Sometimes I think there is someone on the other end of that thing laughing their ass off at what a joke it is to send us driving through ranches, rivers, and locked gates. Against all odds, we made it, although I think Torben’s favorite part was driving through the river. He felt a little like Indiana Jones. </div><div></div>
<div>We also stumbled into a National Forest that was completely deserted of people. High in the desert mountains in the driest of dry conditions we found this waterfall and swam with joy in its basin. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 255px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 202px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531420602345523106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaAAgVfNXbJ57GnKfJ18HL-7yfd5XlRKzGvvK0Naoi18WS1tOkOSgztOHSsR2CQz_cCFz4dQTASI3dPP7R3S1SzA2WwWQhhVfPypt2bsjmVcAh3j3g8KZxjWfzgl1zaR8r8Qa45PMbkW8/s200/DSC03288.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 232px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531420596567123330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICXkDvZXpTrYZYh_lgNp4Cj-06-RvEcxH5fQA-b8INIQDebo9LiXZyaoD51Wj6lsJ7krQDnJXUy_bXJq0q0qqcWyNtLVCglx87VbmblWLOKOFAZikvAjJkegu_6Mfz3di0briiQy0jbo/s200/DSC03294.JPG" />I got a little carried away and shed my bathing suit for a chance to swim au naturale. I love skinny dipping, it is an awesomely freeing feeling, and I indulged in this outdoor oasis. Torben let me have a little fun then got a little paranoid and convinced me to re-clothe. The next thing I knew the caretaker of the park walked around the corner with his camera, tripod and the biggest zoom lens I have ever seen. Great. If you see any nude pictures of my sailing around the internet do me a favor; photoshop the cellulite out of my thighs.
<div>There was an awesome river that flowed through a small town and the city made a park around it. People tube leisurely down the river until they get spat out through these Tube Shoots that are more like white water rafting than floating. Oh, excuse me, in Texas its toobing, not tubing. Texas is a proud state...of everything, especially Texas, but that's neither here nor there. Back to toobing-of course we did not have a tube, but the water was just too inviting to ignore, so I threw on old clothes I had stuffed in the back of the car and jumped right in. We had a blast...until I got the (not so) bright idea to go through the tube shoot. Why I thought that swimming through a narrow bolder laiden canal seemed like a good idea I'll never know. Why my husband laughed and let me is a whole nother. But I have a history of making ridiculous decisions forgoing my safety in favor of fun. Duh. I should just walk around with a helmet, it would probably reduce my insurance premium. That water was so fast and so strong that it pulled me under, flipped me over and smacked my head on a few rocks. Underwater things sound loud, but I swear that thud was heard around the world. As if that wasn't punishment enough for my stupidity the swirling waters held me under and dragged me down stream as I fought for a breath. I couldn't tell which way was up or where I was headed...and I only have myself to blame. Adventure is fun my friends, but sometimes is pays to think twice before jumping in, trust me.
</div><div>On our next adventure I opted for spectator-only status, I remained dry and on solid ground. Please let it be on the record that I, Sarah Lynn Madson, got out of bed at 5:00 am. (I have a reputation for indulging in sleep, often too much, and short of a natural disaster I’m not getting up for anything.) I figured the Annual Hot Air Balloon Fiesta in Albuquerque was one of those “once in a lifetime, not to be missed” ordeals.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531414453144447410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHuy3rEQW5cUC9fdPqNYH2aZ8UaoKL_A3mES4WTVz-bmHMDFsfhl1KkZFDdMSMI4gVhATUlbkJsgFdrxxWLI_K4CEqxTnWNsx36JG-h89UG5aWWEa1zO-jqQQrliOUITpJIy7MgJGjGE/s200/DSC03371.JPG" /> I was right. In an effort to avoid paying for parking (thank you frugal husband) we parked and walked 4 miles (both ways!) to the festival. Truthfully, I would have walked twice that to see what we saw. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531414441201295890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjprSEwYFlYZH4tFAptNMWVol5XliWNPDq2oA_BqYpkbduAjqYgk19R6mn2KwhZGn-bYPqCgQsGoNPxCXalgnB2835tYvPTLxCltCtdMmaIdcwi8yS8xt7Ih6FzpRE2cDHqHrqBxib293M/s200/DSC03372.JPG" />I loved experiencing the childlike glee light up the faces of thousands as 500, yes that’s 5-0-0 brightly colored and various shaped balloons took flight into the sunrise. Ladies and Gentlemen…Mass Ascension is an event NOT to be missed.
</div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 294px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 205px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531414436885471394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeEs9tHt-pLevnDaMBhlgxhxlSezjqYmakq9fXiQiIUf-shL98Aga2O3c55Rw9gQZy5Xeg2xQxVn50vrldlgKk751OR6uMVO6TKkxZwTysuD3hCIqiFEhiTka7Ba-KughnqXiy_AiMv1s/s200/DSC03366.JPG" />
<div>Did you know that 2,000 years ago people lived on the side of cliffs in the desert? Hard to believe, but true. It took us over an hour to drive up the mountain to reach these remote historical monuments. How in God’s name people walked up this mountain range and hauled their building supplies up there is completely beyond my belief.</div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 254px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 172px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531414428062356258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEjlsjZJ-SeaR3cOa7d7kCE_IYeGUvarMeBjIRoo9fLB2nIv7CHsnExsCBEU6gDBU3FX4tix2DNaRMZa8xy5nOvDGbCy19_oZmQJ_E8BPPNVoZmp9txx7H1HWwwMZaAp2aX55zcaCgns/s200/DSC03400.JPG" />Had I lived there, I probably would have been one of the poor villagers that disappeared never to be heard from again after falling off the thousand foot cliff. No doubt not an easy life. The remains of these villages are right out of National Geographic.</div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 231px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 184px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531414418764199026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFY983JS2UT4lvlbHY6WHeN7m80ipdpr5F3caCkjg5SYhFWtt12A1YzfeqgCJcIoCeG9vW1rYCAMoI_S4avQy_GDEaL3V2IChC3UipZrlA8IuVnzFytcHdod8WK-4NqcE4jn4Wsg-2jRk/s200/DSC03390.JPG" /></div>
<div>Moab, Utah is a rockin good time for the out-door enthusiast. We went there because we both love the name. Moab, it’s just cool to say, right?</div><div></div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 278px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531410748403158930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDo3AHb3qzVTGjrlVivfj8tKzSPYAgwhwzXFeEUi4tou-vo191eOE7sNxCh9oLkUiHdTd_KP5pQGxOT_m0U4rH0RFThwr3_8EawPv-R2J4aqkqPVqYKncoZ5JjVuUZVROwWyDNbelkqI/s200/DSC03459.JPG" /> We hiked through the red rock canyon lands, across streams, through gorges and under natural rock arches and fell in love with Utah. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531410737040460482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-WX24cSrsG-eBaG4qEk0vw-DmIQJ6Rx47UvRH5fkY3uzGBFERCtUc12XOkVp8chdfswErXVkzqwFBANQ5t88BbsIYiGGoipYzUvaGL3lgbQdUxIqcaeDyl-3QSGZVkzflsktMlJ-Jj9k/s200/DSC03471.JPG" />Awesome. Awesome. Awesome. I can’t wait for a return trip. </div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 261px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531410730709453266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkjSA8KPcE1pLYu6FIbAEl_7nHHaylRZb5QByOO18lyiuyYzjiITvQK7xLtyBx4WBPWwJTAgK4woh3_6BvwSqEgPDQ5Aubo5c-GGn6O0b2pruDjlh1z5hTwgsFL6eXe9epokJX5UYp10U/s200/DSC03473.JPG" /></div>
<div>One of the things I love most about my husband is his spontaneity. We were headed west in Utah and he made a u-turn on the highway so that I could catch up with my Mom, visiting with my sister in Denver. Bless his precious heart; he drove across the Rocky Mountains and over the Continental Divide again just to bring me to my mom! He is saintly, or would be if the curse words stopped flying out of his mouth at every turn. I got to hug my mom. We talked, a laughed, and roasted marshmallows. Perhaps the biggest surprise: Kelly and Troy are going to be married in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico next week. But due to some sketchy Mexican laws they had to have a legal ceremony in the US first. Guess who just happened to show up and spoil this secret? You guessed it: the Merry Madsons! <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531410722090833362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfr0SLiqcFtsuRgi4k7AVXEPAhD-ieyR2gNqATHjwQvF9brhYMIfb2v2vKqqG9tl82BBAf9he9V1qht9wrGiplb5QWkjied3UFslrapvnr0Kzf_DES3B2xj_fnaxb_JAPeLXMBki2kIBk/s200/DSC03491.JPG" />Torben was the best man at a wedding he feared he wouldn’t be able to attend (driving the bus through Mexico is not high on our list of must do’s). It was a special day and despite being delayed due to a 5k race blocking off downtown, locked doors to the courthouse and a tardy judge…my sister was a blushing bride... and I had the perfect excuse to indulge in cupcakes and champagne!</div><div>
</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 228px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 177px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531410712905571138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQMZqC-mIHjcbk5nej72Vb2Mc5k0m3IszaxIJMQYW6uncs-J2gigLmGF_0blxSHS3Vz41fXuOLF5fSXBzlqrOk5YyZ_Rqkmp_imewkaEaARKVEEtASOBsSIRUlrG0RKw1cISrXJcQ5ag/s200/DSC03495.JPG" /> We had to make a beeline south because Denver was expecting snow!</div><div> </div><div>We have met up with some incredible people, old friends and new on this trip and beyond all of the sights we have seen, it has been those shared moments that have really made the trip. Thank you to Aunt Deanna and Uncle Tom for their love and support and one knock-out game of shuffleboard that left me questionably sore the next day.
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 195px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531405414003059362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiNiTDXREde_2HgEHuqI6z3qs2C7cr4rmtccECG0_ZSixc7jPS9__mJsWvt1niJqhR8G3xINA9-5-vVk5sEteYumIMWaKRCE6ttCoKCsS8xFL9dDeLcuITcXx64YxmCwPDxJnFxMe4cg/s200/DSC03356.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>Also, to soothe our Gator football season separation we have watched some of the games with Gator clubs across the country. The clubs are great (the games not so much). Thank you to the Florida Alum in San Antonio and Denver who extended such a welcome courtesy. My favorite part: my two new best friends, twins Claire & Elizabeth (who happen to be black belts!). The girls refreshed my memory of why I loved my childhood; silly pranks, glow in the dark nail polish, and happy singing hand clapping games…everybody should let out their inner eight year old again.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 253px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 196px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531405410234768178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqB-WJgQ_ACIx1aXvrBXWeQ7HFFxGnZMZvG9adOACI9t30m3J5mY7XiJ-U-M8Woa2bEJo-6mThECpCYoqiKKkathMWGke2BxK045alN3YvLyVJ1YfpHyA__cfXl9NM6thVyQbmjqGWcU/s200/DSC03325.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>Thanks Silberman family! And for icing on the cake I got to catch up with a friend in Denver I have known since I was five (thanks Court!). Good company is like a feather that tickles my soul.
<div>We drove OVER the Rio Grande gorge (yikes!) <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 183px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531405399166810562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlLQFIoXqDhzRQNR6JBcukLkw1teyB0pJVDAuNNGK9yyVpqduEdvtvUD4CK9YvSvvYg-3jNlFA0NMtcFHScEStGhp310l9TRdzCib1Pz54CEYY_oIQs3sOhZMnUghm89Bi6ExXYuo8Es/s200/DSC03543.JPG" />and saw sooooo many tarantulas. I cannot even begin to tell you how creeped out I was…but my husband made it all go away by taking me to Ojo Caliente, a natural hot springs spa in the desert mountains. We soaked in outdoor pools of bubbling water rich with the earth’s natural minerals, while being surrounded with red rock cliffs. It was very memorable. They also had a mud pool, where we slathered ourselves with mud and laid out to dry. Which I am sure would be a great luxury in the nice warm sunshine- but with an overcast sky and a chilly 50 degrees, waiting for the mud to dry was like standing wet in front of the refrigerator. But definitely worth it, my skin is glowing.</div>
<div>Taos, New Mexico is a skiers dream in the winter. Fall isn’t so bad either. We drove out to the National Forest and decided to take an unpaved road (of course). The pay off for bumping up and down on the hole-y-est road was this peaceful seclusion in the fall foliage. After snapping these pictures I laid out a blanket and took a nap while Torben ventured off to explore. </div>
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 279px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 187px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531405391464071378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ00KxbfkHEyhMLUY5aZAYEjcZawh89lCNmdEuwmvOoDdi82BOf3bW20E2oPh_HM2VNDyBNhQDGoyHpnh4i-Uw1FSc2f7kjTpEkVYKKqbgQJxC2KwOyzlfZyWlUlCpklUwH7QInn2lbKs/s200/DSC03536.JPG" /> We’re now posted in Santa Fe, which is a town that totally surprised me. I guess I expected the desert to be, well, deserted. Santa Fe is a unique town bustling with brightly colored art and activity, very trendy, quirky and lively. If you want to explore a new city that is rich in Native American and Spanish culture and offers something for everyone this is a getaway destination.
<div>Well folks, that's all she wrote...for now. I'm off to Mexico for the "real" wedding and some tequila damage to my liver. Hugs and kisses to all!</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-35495265489142561202010-09-19T08:57:00.010-05:002010-09-19T10:51:20.604-05:00Torben's Bucket List<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>
Lily says "Hi." She's having a great time sticking her head out the window absorbing all the new smells. She likes to think of herself as the co-pilot's co-pilot. In other words, when the bus is moving she has claimed her place on the passenger front seat...regardless of whether or not I happen to be sitting there. To say we compromise is a joke. She won. My lap is her domain for an unparalleled view of what's to come.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518626127783719522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRuB2Yr81PVJnayA4scoona6KGtVjc5yuyLpCwWW4Mnolv5J8NYK3LZVnW83PUD-V6DqHERXQd5-WgB2j9TrlyUNKTpM3J5p4I5DRISqtkvrFoz8ow2as9gqQnCpKLrf0dNX5ORsRzOlM/s200/DSC03231.JPG" /></div><div>
</div><div>Torben wanted to make sure that I mentioned that we drove through Bakersfield, CA and through the intersection where James Dean was killed. There, mentioned. We drove through it on our way to Vegas. </div><div>
Vegas. The city I have long resisted. I don’t know why. It scares the shit out of me. Maybe, as a woman who opted for a profession which promotes health and balance the idea of being swarmed within a society that thrives on gambling, prostitution, excessive drinking and a host of other lovely addictions didn’t really tickle my fancy. And as we travel, I am becoming more and more drawn to small towns with a more subdued outlook on commercialism. Ah well, Vegas was a perfectly timed pit stop on our route through the desert, and in the spirit of keeping an open mind, I wagered a gamble and stepped inside “Sin City”. </div><div> </div></div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518643149583946162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyiFKbNf1yoPC4KHXtXD83YepXUHmvrP7fEq5joKiVsYTeCHQU90rlJG6cxCr0T4QijioN3qnSYhZZo8F_woLpKzZQSrNKNpz3V0Zld5qkpD7Fys1jHkWrnHD185MUBu5IEeDL4fvHuU/s200/DSC03111.JPG" /> <div> </div><div>Whoa! The first thing I noticed while driving into the city was the raging assault on my senses. Music of conflicting genres was blaring from every direction vying for our attention, competing with a plethora of erratically blinking and blinding lights, some of which were so bright they left tracer spots on my retinas, and people of all different color, size and shape aimlessly amusing one another through the never-ending pavement which stretches between giant casino playgrounds. I was surprised to see only a small handful of unlucky degenerates humiliatingly getting handcuffed in front of forty-thousand onlookers. I don’t know why, but I expected more. There wasn’t as much sex as I expected either. I guess I had Hollywood enticed visions of hookers prowling the streets and strip joints displaying their wares every 500 feet. The exposure was minimal…just a few hundred non-English speaking folks- flipping their naked promo fliers and stuffing them under my nose every three feet - annoying, but survivable. For any of you who have not been, the casinos really are impressive. They are so grand in scale that it is hard to fathom the enormity of their size, until you try to walk from one end of the strip to the other. By the way, don’t do it…and ladies, those sexy five inch heels? Do yourself a favor and leave them at home. Dr. Scholls would make a fortune if he set up a merchandise stand on every corner. Anyway, each casino has a theme, so to speak, and even when you are outside approaching one you feel as if you have been transported to a different time or place. From an Egyptian pyramid, to a Parisian stroll, or from a knight’s castle to the liquid streets of Venice. Every fantasy is there and it is hard not to get swept away in the grandeur. It is as if time has become suspended. Life is just as active at 2:00 am as it is 2:00 pm. In fact, I believe the advantage the casinos have is that once inside you have no earthly idea what time it is…thus keeping you, and more importantly, your $ rolling through their slots, tables, restaurants and shops. I’m not really a slot playing kind of girl. I can’t quite catch the thrill of throwing my money away at the slim (1 in 11,000,000) odds that I could make a few bucks. The lottery for that matter is another great mystery to me….but clearly I am in the minority here. And in the spirit of “when in Rome”… I dropped five bucks in a slot machine, won $30, and quickly cashed out. Yipee. Mission accomplished. All total, less than three minutes. But for the truly addicted, fear not about losing your streak…you can continue your obsession whilst seated on your throne in el bano. (Seriously. This interactive gaming thing has gone a bit too far.) If you should come out ahead and want to flaunt that new fortune there are no shortages of high end jewelry shops, clothing boutiques and posh trendy clubs to spend your spoils. The ever thrifty Mr. Madson kept a close eye on me and maneuvered my gaze away from several unneeded but curiously enticing and sparkly splendors. Thankfully, there is more than enough free entertainment to keep one endlessly amused. We walked through the Bellagio and felt a little like Alice in Wonderland with this larger than life display. </div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518643131323165698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pO-oqNEinvT2C49hQXtTcjgOEfa9ve0PnI4ovQgDbBZy-knuiPpXmnNUDJVnjCCaQ9bXQT0ZWHFz04Jh6wL-D68405T66N4hFklwCHE8dcjWwBJZiwYrYJFazeRUTBLX3w0PEnLrtVw/s200/DSC03117.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518643139739187842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYjFcTqEypl9aCkJXu43j34rF6Co0iKWYizz0ECFwYlDCpN461Q5BrV92fx8a3NslxtBOIAH9n7B66XbryAMNQhdIoVpy-t_BCdG2h8DNgdyTonmSkabzrAWXZunMFXY_6Gmdb25Ita5Y/s200/DSC03114.JPG" />
<div>We were treated to a great dinner by our friends, the Orlando/Vegas transplants, Tom & Michelle Conroy. It was so refreshing to spend time with a couple who are as compassionate about animals as Torben and I are, maybe more (suckers). I had so much fun I forgot to take pictures. Michelle is a hoot and kept me rolling in stitches all night. As it turns out, we had quite a bit in common. Maybe it’s because we both married older men. Maybe it’s because we both saw the writing on the wall and opted to support said men in leaving the corporate grind and opting for a healthier, happier lifestyle that will keep said men around a lot longer. Cheers to a life well lived and the road less traveled! </div>
<div>We lucked out and stayed in a fabulous park in Vegas. It was as ritzy as any hotel. We were a little spoiled with the gated entry and escort to our site, and I luxuryiated (yes, I did just make up that word, and I ought to copyright it) in a private pool for hours while Torben caught up on some lawyerly work. Ahhhh, I guess Vegas isn’t so bad after all. Did I mention Torben won at the craps table?! Enough to pay for our little stay there, not too shabby. We both extend our sincere gratitude to the cute girl from Chicago who threw great dice for an hour and fattened our wallets! Blessings abound little beauty! </div>
<div>Our next port of stay was Flagstaff, Arizona. I was expecting the dull dry desert. I got dry and desert all right, but it was anything but dull. Holy Cow, I was shocked to learn the plethora of things to explore in this area of the country. The Grand Canyon is close (relatively speaking) and I know it may be sac religious to take a trip of this proportion and not go there, but we didn’t, so sue us. We did explore a cliff dwelling town that was inhabited 800 years ago.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518643122259072290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjy-7n9sv4LjlTHFs96RucSgdhJ9Y_pQGgwvZbg-IG4NGqJUl9gQlT9g6pas4TnOfnM-79OrM5pnTQOEeTy4kILGST9b1dVfpRM9bjSIvvgDM74rxXd6tOLL92rxk24Irc0HsrqSrpgQ/s200/DSC03125.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>We were able to climb inside the dwellings and see what they would have seen from their front door. Pretty awesome I must say.</div><div></div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518635417191569586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0YLjoClYAyrOk4Fygs3BMoGHBSJdETSc9xFL_u1E9PKZn2OSL2bpVlPB4r98xpWnqw2vxI0hf36y4rSV9mFDwIEjmplQFY9uYCgcuhhz_oNsv1Jjcce57JpXAq6il3ExbAqx9ZaQcr3g/s200/DSC03127.JPG" /> </div><div> </div><div>The lifestyle must have been excruciating. More than half of the year was spent in a drought – so all water had to preserved and protected. Not to mention, they lived on a cliff! Not a hillside, a true honest to goodness-take a wrong step and plummet to your death – cliff! Yet they surprisingly found a way to survive in the heat and make the most of the sparse plants that grew from the rocky soil. Amazing.
</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518635410343836898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8LYRcKmkZTyNtbKPwynCS9il-B08arHTSqCFi33MpeEidPRnL_b6KeVqG2IE0vanCfEAxa1v72Lbdd-AEbqlCTlLIJSuHIBuQGe_XnyS8i4HKOa8C3w6FRDBnWwdaXRBMNeEKm96CIc/s200/DSC03138.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>We also explored a volcanic lava field and a meteorite crater. I was transfixed by the colors of the lava field and the delicate flowers that grew in the harsh conditions.
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<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 196px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518635389333337922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjRbeY3uXBSi0uvBqDD65uVimY6Vj3d1HrkwJP-Zpt9e_YofBWh-p9fl0Vdk7xAqRE1m8M9AZmoOmHzsAmJ8_LutF6SxiA6BCLvduPI_9gk5v0xPWfgqREH4wUZOJEZLY9Sd2dpdSVOM/s200/DSC03150.JPG" />
<div>The meteorite crater was over 2 ½ miles wide, though interestingly, not much of the initial meteorite was found after the impact, as most of it burnt up on impact. 25 football fields can fit within its basin. To say it is big is a gross underestimation, hard to fathom something that humongous.
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518635380578339874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPy5Dtzzh5oy3ocZ88kYhDzso10c1zGLBEGLi5jEDBHCp6WyMjqhZR4RL7dbEy8Xyc6lAnUDjAUwCUtT1RE-YlHhXDFlL5Zn-Q6awOkDyqyj6fVMbxvexUK0iGHfSUwTk2GOXZkdO48aY/s200/DSC03215.JPG" /> </div><div> </div><div>It was cool to see, but hot, and dry... and hot... and dry. By the end of the day I felt like one of those stale cracker crumb fallen and neglected under the seat of the car. </div><div>
Everyone has a bucket list. You know, those things that you say, “someday I’d like to __ “(fill in the blank). A word to the wise: <strong>be careful what you wish for</strong>, be very very careful. Sunday was Torben’s birthday, and too bad for him; I had actually been listening. Torben has wistfully, and frequently, imagined the sensation of flying like the Red Barron high above the earth in a biplane. (By the way, one very important detail about biplane: it has no roof.) You can see the irony right? A great match for a man with a fear of heights and a woman who has puked on moving rides in every major theme park and transcontinental flight (sorry about the trajectory on last one Mom). I make no qualms about expressing these concerns, but somehow in all my “birthday celebration genius” I chose to ignore these significantly relevant little facts. My thoughts were, “hey, we’re on this once and a lifetime vacation, why not celebrate with a once in a lifetime experience.” I never cease to amaze myself. If I did not know how to laugh with myself, by myself and for myself I would have probably soiled myself when we drove from Flagstaff to Sedona. I was expecting, umm…flat or moderately flat desert like Phoenix, where my sisters have lived and I have s visited on several occasions. Wrongo. My stomach did its summersault when we began this descent:</div>
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518630344979701026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-32ehsWik4WUhgfn-7-dP3Cec2F4RK8-B9XNgWUZCq6zX60c9v46yS8OSVDE1CqhqONEPn1etoidKSt6F2fcwHEHH4zE_TItpVctXlUMsJbAZVybyJDh3qG8scguHLe989Kg1MqFgzpc/s200/DSC03176.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518630339305223362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_0584Wmy7JzKpmwySM2bV8DVfsTu7VeDDIBrOACYbplHUs0NL41OWJ7-KemocTRqD_C2Z3_tkAypys8rBfHWfrP5qF4bRHnihLnpOZssLDta1QxxRrDpw_qcsNDKYOb9ip3S8NGqXwA/s200/DSC03174.JPG" /></div>
<div>At the time T still did not know where we were going. He kept guessing and my anxiety kept rising. The second back-flip in my stomach came when we re- ascended to the airport on top of the mountain. By the time we actually made it to the cockpit I was having a totally out of body experience. I think I was actually laughing so hard when we strapped on our shared little seatbelt (<em>is that really supposed to help</em>?) and fashioned our heads into the flight helmets that I had lost all sensation in my legs. That too could have been that the both of us were squeezed into a single seat and told not to touch any of the pedals or the stick waving between our legs as we could inadvertently send ourselves crashing to the ground. Let the nightmare begin.
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<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 196px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 151px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518626121421701010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddymZ6if7Q2qqdVHIzJK5AXanMRe3q2AcqcvjWwBkLcUrr59HTtg8L_n8g_6Y_ZuvUbM6NPklEvAZGw26_Cg38ETqzXLcpztlg0DzPkH8qzRrCSKTQgHJbaCBHmNnHg2_ZhI9ceQFK1c/s200/DSC03250.JPG" /> </div><div> </div><div>So much for being a good wife…under the disguise of a birthday gift, I was escorting my husband down the red carpet to our demise. I remember thinking regretfully that our wills were not up to date. It was the death grip on my knee that brought me back to focus. We were airborne and Torben was clinging to me like a wet leaf. After a few minutes we both calmed down and looked around, agape at what we saw. Never, never, never, in all my life have I imagined or witnessed anything so, soo, sooooo…, that I still don’t have the word. Please let these pictures do the talking.</div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518630355692685730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInUEoLNzhvMQ7VfOu3BfBpSqIigqwVdvY8920NGmofUZx0neCotWUlHRRlU_Zx3WZP-4Y20TWP_U9JmlwAPHvZgWRO7Ejef0KpBbXwXkAMiBJZjMjelh9RkLy8en-Btr3U3o3OfKdTeY/s200/DSC03195.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518630368113937106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8QJvvbvJzvwse-sC21P14Ls4XQdBe3oeTGp92wp4Bg96Y50A7H858xlsNLz2vP4v1Pkw84CxnbC-T-YAXBtod_gY3s8Q2S0fjZX6qEBYFragMJBAcZvGYF-r0OXk8Jc56bYe9Lk6Odo/s200/DSC03184.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518626101646242274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0XI1ZXojuyQWtVxMljLzKVZv8NA8AqEKWiEtdhDN6eIFcIe88GkpLhCu4RyiNeriiHPZywYQ3Z-exsoUSIMHTZb8hAdcd_6sjlaa882fYroQ_FYBd5eKg8ZHn3cUd-zq1gdY7gt_sFCM/s200/DSC03178.JPG" />
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518626092247813218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKecmi7y-wTJg6nb6xLAjeOOZc91_FwSE4OYG08OoClrE7f_hAUM9HMGP8aJrRxU9XRihyphenhyphen76wj9gX3oifwTvIzjXYRSwm0Gl5tNA53hARR_MdSVTWJv9p4iljBP6jfcdeNEgJGkgI4Esc/s200/DSC03188.JPG" /> It is loudly quiet up there. Let me explain, the hum of the engine and the rush of passing wind is deafening, but not distracting, so it makes kind of a white noise effect that your brain kind of drowns out, but it there is no way to talk to one another, so the thoughts in your head predominate. We tried a few comical attempts at arm gestures in our miniature cockpit, but even my theatrical interpretation of needing a barf bag after a particularly strong thermal wind pocket lifted and dropped us wasn’t understood by my copilot. And anything more than a subtle arm wave threatened to flip over the contents of the plane. A strange sensation developed: solitude. I didn’t recognize it at first, but it came on like a wave and spread like a smile. Alone, soaring above the earth, with a view only the eagles know, it moved me, and not just in my stomach. The views on the horizon were legendary. Apart from what I saw, I had absolutely no connection with the world down below and for that small moment, I ceased to care. When the pilot circled the peaks and dove between the canyon pass walls I felt so free from myself and from everything in life that is both constraining and restraining. It was a moment of spiritual surrender, one that warrants the savoring of a long deep breath: AUM, as they say in yoga, is the deepest form of gratitude and connection to our creator. (I offer this breath in retrospect, because at that time my breath was nowhere to be found.) It was a once in a lifetime, and I am glad my earth-bound husband dreamed it and so glad my pepcid-eating self actually listened.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518626083989528082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja4s5JVICP6TDCl2n3eJdooB3kVTfpF-w9OSs94vJi7wfVCxsjj8l9xol1bJLLH1bgFRUZGI8stErChNbr0c9Br-RL_IXwSA5WfIufw4qCNdCBVfMv0k3ZMySAAIFa5oSCdj6sLQ-8XqM/s200/DSC03251.JPG" /> </div><div> </div><div>While in Flagstaff we tried another first: Himalayan food. Not too bad actually, with a little Indian flare. To top off the night we visited the Lowell Observatory, which was famous for discovering…(wait for it…) PLUTO! There were several mega-sized telescopes set up and we were encouraged to look at a galaxy-an entire galaxy, some billion light years away. (Billion light years away? I have trouble grasping this, but let’s just say it’s really, really far.) In addition the brightest star in the sky was actually not a star, but rather, Jupiter. And we were able to view four of her moons. Awesome! My personal favorite was the center of a star. Imagine Disney 3D fireworks on steroids: the center of a star is so multidimensional with sparking bursts of light in every direction and depth-cosmically cool! I felt as if our world was as big as a pin head. Relevance is entirely based on perspective, and I LOVE getting mine altered! </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-83595209451901751502010-09-07T16:20:00.005-05:002010-09-07T16:40:32.775-05:00A Short lived trip through Cali<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBY5dD8kdVSG8WBWtebhyZaT2M_3mKGEbfrQOWj24qPGdI4uRpO4d7alBsQ6jSjNSdJuxTuwkGcjPlVoO2QEQaBUVAuLHQ3AxOmFLTokqVFQyq3n5aHX6O0hAPMDXFBhTD2v_Ff6YUyIY/s1600/DSC03100.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514286923679442338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBY5dD8kdVSG8WBWtebhyZaT2M_3mKGEbfrQOWj24qPGdI4uRpO4d7alBsQ6jSjNSdJuxTuwkGcjPlVoO2QEQaBUVAuLHQ3AxOmFLTokqVFQyq3n5aHX6O0hAPMDXFBhTD2v_Ff6YUyIY/s200/DSC03100.JPG" /></a> <div><div><div>
<div><div>Ok, I knew all that gloating about our cool weather escapades would come back to bite me, and it has. We are working our way through the scalding heat of the desert. Is that the sweet sound of satisfaction I hear in your laugh? I feel like my feet are frying inside my shoes. My poor dogs are tap dancing across the dusty rocks, in an effort to avoid sizzling their paws and are taking the quickest potty stops in history. I used to be worried they could get loose and run off. Now it’s a mad race back to the cool A/C of the motor home, they beat me every time.
</div><div></div><div>Since our journey was a little delayed by our extended “vacation” in Alabama at the outset of the trip we knew that somewhere we would have to cut the journey a little short. We fell in love with South Dakota, Montana & Oregon, and on those I can confidently say we did not skimp. But, the land of Cali got passed over like a platter of brussel sprouts at a Thanksgiving dinner. Our search for Bigfoot came up empty handed, much to my prediction, my husband’s dissatisfaction. We attempted to stay for a while north of San Francisco – which I have always wanted to visit. But it was not meant to be. </div>
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514286912191668434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizf0HiblsJZujVIbVgaoagyXAlr0_I1Icm-jFlmwbtbxkD2D9938ehjwPF0jAHV6WuLFaFveLsSsRX5z_ECKmTloe2cC8qybwM2-6xRR0FuLh2niJ9EZqpAnHAl-0_PFKnA99YsxkR5N0/s200/DSC03060.JPG" />
<div>Ever have those days where more things go sour than sweet? That was our San Francisco adventure. The RV park claimed to be “Big Rig friendly”, in truth it was more like a sardine box for Mini Coopers. I stood in the road waving my arms like I was landing a plan as Torben attempted to maneuver the rolling mother ship down the narrow and unforgiving streets. We hooked a picnic table and oh so unpleasantly scratched/dented/fubared a side panel. You can practically hear my husband cursing can’t you? </div>
<div>For those of you who know about his frustration scale; he was at a full F.F.S. For the rest of you, over the years myself and others have charted Torben’s irritability by the level of words he chooses to use and put together. (Forewarning: Adult language ahead!) A mild annoyance, like a mosquito bite you can’t reach, will warrant an eye roll and a single curse word [shit]. Waiting in a long unpleasant line earns a more extended phrase [It’s not rocket science you stupid bastard], while Gator games really torque it up a notch [stupid cock-sucker & crazy son-of-a-bitch]. The winner of the prize cursing competition is always traffic. It helps my husband profess the most provocative combination of words that would make even the most die hard Harley rider suck in a breath. I don’t believe he coined the phrase, but believe me, he has made it his own [Oh, For Fuck’s Sake!]. He’s not a rude or offensive person by nature, but when the limits of his patience are within sight it is best to have a set of ear plugs handy. So as you can imagine I was cringing and thinking of what to tell him as I was the first to survey the damage done to the motor home. The people in the park were watching like a receiving line and got great humor out of watching me mouth the words I thought he would use and hearing his rants on cue. Shining moment for the Madsons, we represent well. </div>
<div>The day continued to improve as we bid adieu to that park and searched for another,not that easy to find a place to park our home, unfortunately. We actually drove the bus over the Golden Gate Bridge, got a glimpse at Alcatraz and San Quentin in the Bay, drove through a white-out of fog, then learned we needed to pay a toll. No problem, if you’re a car. If you happen to be a bus, they charge you per axle, we have five, and we usually don’t carry much cash. I send a heart-felt apology to the poor cars behind us who had to wait 20 minutes until I searched and scrounged up enough change to pay that toll. Patience still thinning, but the day’s not over yet…. </div>
<div>Into downtown San Francisco…was this our planned route? I didn’t think so, given the large sum of traffic, ill-timed stop lights, hilly streets and pedestrians. Driving this bus isn’t the most difficult thing, stopping it is. And there was one stubborn bicyclist who almost became road putty. He refused to leave the street. He wasn’t riding, just straddling his bike and defiantly shaking his head as we barreled through the intersection. I’m convinced he had a suicide wish. Marvelously, Torben shifted lanes without taking out any other cars and the stupid bastard (*see above) survived. So, that was about the extent of our trip in California. We’re about 60 miles outside of Nevada. </div>
We actually did do a little sightseeing in between cursings. We took an obligatory drive out to Pebble Beach, a place my father and all fellow golf enthusiasts refer to as “sacred ground”, and drove down Highway 1, through Monterey, Carmel and Big Sur. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Scary roads on peaks that plummet into the sea. Sea lions that bark and stink to high heaven. Lovely. Glad we did it. Totally could have skipped the traffic en route.
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514286901789133730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLlOOMpJM8R579hbA7U9WVHTQocRLV_6nR1mjEc2pf3Qax2dQQ9fM-GKgs4XBdeljo8w5p97QbbfzbBt26_9d04pQuxfvkWiNVRhFRqNRyGVblr8vrybAF9DL2rqwedMSUEcnVt6aKSlw/s200/DSC03097.JPG" />
Torben is my connoisseur of quirky things and has a book on haunted hikes/places to visit (have I mentioned it?). We were advised to tour the Winchester Mystery House. Weird does not begin to describe it. Sarah Winchester, widow to the rifle company giant and sole recipient of his estate built her house on over 160 acres of land, that’s about 80,000 square feet. She was apparently haunted by the unhappy ghosts of the people who died facing down the barrels of the lethal Winchester rifles. Her psychic told her the only way to have peace was to build a house that confused the spirits. So she did, for 30-some years, non-stop, 24 hours a day. There are over 100 rooms, three elevators, 42 fireplaces, and of course, 13 bathrooms. Thirteen was her magic number and can be seen in the number of candelabras on the chandeliers, in stained glass gems, etc., 13 is everywhere. Records state that the moment she finished one room, she would tear it down only to rebuild so that it would unknown to the spirits. She slept in a different room every night, much to the confusion of her servants. There are staircases that go to the ceiling, windows on the floor, closet doors that open to brick walls, secret passages, doors with knobs only on one side and a host of other oddities. There is also a room to nowhere that literally drops thirty feet out into the garden. She was very meticulous about the work and money was not a problem for her, so the wood work carvings, the stained glass, the molding on the ceilings were exquisite. Theodore Roosevelt heard of her construction and attempted to visit her estate, but he “did not have an appointment” <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514286893393099362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_N3XWPMding7hGKu4dE1BMToaCCZ3zjAcOaaIDcZKoZMhAnNBBvn9s7eN8pWtWzpXEwd9yKMzaz6wox5SJ67jbEuIkcccu0nOWxCTZkepZw7IunMyWxl64eqVvGBFsQZ0vNRIKbgJhQ/s200/DSC03099.JPG" />and she refused to let him in the front door, instead she scolded him and told him to use the rear door, like all of her servants. Not surprisingly, he was a little offended and left without ever stepping foot inside. Aside from being more than a little disturbed, she was also brilliant and engineered running water and irrigation, electricity and an indoor buggy wash, which was unheard of at the turn of the century. The next time you go to wash your car and use the sprayer/wand that rotates from the ceiling, say a word of gratitude toward Sarah Winchester and her ingenuity, and perhaps a prayer that her soul may finally rest in peace, clearly she found none while living. </div><div></div><div>
Well, that’s all she wrote folks. A little gift of brevity in contrast to the last enduring epic I posted…. Until next time….We’re headed to VEGAS baby! I’ll write again when we hit the jackpot or lose all our money, whichever comes first. Any bets?</div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514286882851698018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-23S7iZVfRr8ophOvc9M6kEMo5JWY-zPAb50uiD5vZ11gSHuNBHJpxpRcro-e1KOn24KR2Xbv4_t0dFno-s_sHnmnmPQ0sTToaOxuvQt4cg4nTOCDAo__8iIFMoA6W3oTiRW542-s4bQ/s200/DSC03093.JPG" /></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-16454226700507477152010-08-22T22:39:00.025-05:002010-08-29T20:16:26.294-05:00Well, despite my honest intentions, I've slacked off again and waited entirely too long to post. Now, for punishment you will have to endure this tragically long winded blog post. Feel free to take a few intermissions, I would.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglh_ELriK54wz4Rdy_qZIIT4fdPv50qYv96B4uoO2_3lajBQ_Z_2iZK_MX8pVnUg2Zn7O1WgPvS167Rqi4dAdqwYHk5ZWNKijva9FuwkZybAdFQxawSr__uo8pYxGxYIiujGljzZ1BgDk/s1600/DSC02886.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509606607435604354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglh_ELriK54wz4Rdy_qZIIT4fdPv50qYv96B4uoO2_3lajBQ_Z_2iZK_MX8pVnUg2Zn7O1WgPvS167Rqi4dAdqwYHk5ZWNKijva9FuwkZybAdFQxawSr__uo8pYxGxYIiujGljzZ1BgDk/s200/DSC02886.JPG" /></a>
For starters, let's talk about berries. I heard a catchy little ditty, a hiker’s motto, if you will: If you don't know and take a chance-watch out! You may s**t your pants! See, catchy right? Apparently I don’t even listen to my own best advice. Torben and I were doing our usual throw away the map-get lost on purpose game near Mt. Adams on the northern side of the Columbia River Gorge and we kept seeing people hunched over on the side of the road. If I hadn't known better I'd have said it was a receiving line of butts. The only thing we could gather was that there was something of value to be had there. Not to be left out we found a deserted gravel road half way up the mountain and began to look for ourselves. Eureka! Hmmm, to eat or not to eat? I was had with the first mouth watering berry that I gingerly sampled (yup, I said it: gingerly, thank you future brother-in-law). Thankfully, no adverse effects. Though the law of averages suggests I won't next time be so lucky. Huckleberries, these little bits of deep magenta candy tarts, are everywhere this time of year and much of the mountain was well picked over. But with our eyes on the prize we secured a healthy helping (all we had was an unused dog poo bag-ah, what ever works) and even Torben reported that he enjoyed the simplicity and joy of berry picking. So much so, that in fact we keep stopping every time we see a new patch. In addition to huckleberries, blackberries are EVERYWHERE, I mean like weeds people. I pluck & eat at least a dozen every time we take the dogs out for a walk. MMmmmmm. I don’t even mind that my fingers from the nails to the knuckles are stained a deep purple. It’s my new summer tan line.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509599666481440530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnNOAWtME5tZv5ZUoCBKmX_NKjWQpn073fTFPU0vZesgsrLvPeBZft0bqWUXPGF3UgeAu7NfJ6ajG3_52ybIRAuvLAoNQD7ohSQVFds7gdLUSJxquvIXOpPXbGb2LW6OjS6LYouwi9_o/s200/2010-08-08+14.03.20.jpg" />
We are inexplicably drawn to caves. My fascination with them has grown, bewildering even me. Something about the damp stillness in the dark air is mysterious and invites adventure. If there is one mentioned on a map, we’ll find a way to wiggle a little headlamp exploration into our day. We have seen some amazing ones and I thought we had seen it all. I love being wrong. Ice caves. These volcanic caves maintain a constant freezing temperature and before modern refrigeration local communities would trek up the hill to chip out their ice blocks. This is a real marvel, especially since above ground it was 70-something degrees. We have a super cool flashlight that shines green, so for effect we found this to be the perfect place to use it. Behold!
<div><div><div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509599655071256754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinu5PNSJBFHj-SU-FNMrWjzU0Q3TRmzDbt7OJf4Z2G6NzOJb45L4gMWmRtRV2nzEINQgEUY6hj3TAYM6C0CSrqWC9zhd4I42zJ0b2qBEtqUtiBrZuOvWd5zmCHevNt-Us0a-aHHh0SrMI/s200/2010-08-07+14.23.50.jpg" />One thing I forgot about ice…it is slippery. My feet did not forget this little fact. For a moment I felt like I was playing a role in an action-packed adventure mishap movie (oh wait, that is my life). A very ungraceful slip had me sliding on my ass through a narrow passage which swiftly carried me from the main tunnel to a more hidden room. Another thing I forgot about ice (living in Florida has spoiled me)...it's cold. Duh. After overcoming the shock of frozen ass-syndrome I laughed with glee and had a blast. Although I was mildly envious; we passed people deep in the cave bundled up in snow pants, gloves, boots, etc. That would have been nice. Somehow we managed to survive in shorts and sandals, but just barely. We surfaced just before the hypothermia set in.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509599626306595442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd_fPB9zR2SCko5tnSO_IkG7liAovyoV2xK6OAWJzS9lr6yUjFQyJk0wPJhlqwrN1gfXUmNTOgC0Fjtzw3JYtDxihe9gKw_nzMZ_WzDS00DeXRH_YAhPDYxJ7ECzGTK8MjtvbZ-dRvFMI/s200/2010-08-06+16.12.35.jpg" />
The Columbia River Gorge is another must see for those of you contemplating travel to the North West. It's a stretch of land between southern Washington and Norther Oregon, and it has it all. Where else can you see the ocean embrace the rivers, the mountains converge in the valleys, and the lakes reflect the glistening snow on a sunny day? Its 360 degrees views of natural splendor.This is has hit every “oh and ah” button we have. There are about a dozen waterfalls in a 15 mile span. We visited the most obvious choices and enjoyed the view.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509599606671572786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXCoi0H_S1vxuGlZ7hKF9-Z5LKrwUIJITsXXn6aUDfF2VfWXdjpxn_qKYD0SaLglcRpyrD1nIPeZYeigx9RpkwbaeijLVTYlOpZPGAGkUe6XwPeZG1h665Mifyy5CQvEMEom3ziTzxH0/s200/2010-08-06+14.53.08.jpg" />But the real sight was the one we had to work for. Work, yes I did say work. We had to climb over a true log jam about 20 feet high and 30 feet wide that had blocked the river a decade ago. Then we waded through ankle high water while dancing across the large rocks up the river bed, through the gorge which had to be several hundred feet tall between the mountains. It was at this point when we were already committed that we came upon the final challenge before reaching this promised waterfall…a swim through glacier stream water. Being unprepared for this leg of the journey we shed a few layers to keep some dry for the return. Ten guesses as to what my husband is fashioning as his new hat.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509599581874465218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn1xCbStH4TjcG53QTSaKQbu2N0amayhuZbildQ730pqd6EsAShp1Lu0TbE5Fh7-1MYEPXMm9UwFGbsbJepE6bfLR2ACDl0mZcFEKkw95Y06HJT-ZDmdI9hqulLHYwS_xlOdOBj1jgtns/s200/2010-08-06+15.48.41.jpg" />But ohhhhh, what a sight awaited us! Somehow the view is so much better when you’ve really earned it. It was exceptional. With no one around to explain we were left to marvel in our own imagination when gazing upon this pyramid of stones created at the basin of the falls. I have no idea who or when, but I send a prayer of gratitude to its creator for providing me with such a quirky pleasure in God’s garden.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509596917674449906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxquCVHEKcBOU5GzOeS771sbhpLyhCtheRdYmgb8HoM_sOI9XGfpHp5RKqxclytTtVLjOANmcU0NOlhPM56dRP6DZ2aYxwCiXpb2f7uVQrkakNjq2YAikl2ie_Fl3_5NlpJURXsYd-zmE/s200/2010-08-06+15.38.00.jpg" />
My husband remains firm in his belief that we will see Bigfoot on this journey. I humor him. As it turns out Skamania County has the highest number of reports of Bigfoot sightings. So we did a little hiking and searching. With so many mossy covered trees and old tree stumps that sprout ferns it is easy to see how people could “see” the image of a big hairy beast. Torben nags that I am a skeptic, but at least I am an open minded skeptic. While climbing over a large downed tree he suddenly turned to me and asked “Why do you think they call him Bigfoot? Shouldn’t we say Bigfeet? It’s not like he’s a mono-ped.” I laughed so hard I damn near fell off the tree and I am sure my hooting was loud enough to scare away every animal in range. I think this is the closest he will get.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 149px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509596902452296834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJ0BabWU1zNRNnUvCdXRsub8zQIDBN0Y2cxUtbbW9TuXPJIDynDT3LUu7hvADjBZxtbR0rOKa0awDBPUHSyIV0wh33mq-Ynw2i1zPGhWagNZWf27nKt42-aLql0-VxiPUxN4DYqpBpCM/s200/1281300844622.jpg" />
If you get bored with majestic waterfalls and cascade mountain hikes aren’t your thing, the Columbia River Gorge also offers another one of my guilty pleasures…vino. As they say in Italy, the nectar of the gods. There are so many wineries, you can literally walk, or ride your bike, but I suggest walk, as riding can be kind of tough after the first few, from one to the next. There is a Fruit Loop trail. I swear, I am not joking, a Fruit Loop trail that leads you from winery to orchard where you can literally drink, eat and pick your way into merriness. The hills beneath the mountain are dotted with farms of brightly colored fruit and flowers. It is almost like looking at a patchwork quilt laid out across the earth. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 174px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509596928610170546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypvMIufJz_1HLaftBa-42ObkEu_qQbVOvDbiLTFzyvlRsRJrmLJoeHfyxlzKMYOwtnwyPBzHYqMOfpVwvJ-on7SFEXcT2qQQZHL-QsnA8usZK22oWgqzMH8bvbLFLVTxEum4rqMvBYSw/s200/2010-08-08+11.59.08.jpg" />I have always loved sunflowers. I find them cheery in a non-pretentious pure sunshine sort of way. I had not a clue that there we so many varieties.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509596900046367650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52eQg6NXwkMMADxdqNhcI9c50vw7bn7WF_EVWtFG_ES3_2MSQTmSidx6kC9X_fXuQCyaFtDu2R6NTByDyL6AxkQOuT_OB-BgpBjN2Y6xCq4Tu0NSBzJDM_JYrlRkTPukSHTD5EsH99xs/s200/2010-08-08+12.01.06.jpg" /> I ran through the crop, hands greeting every flower with tears streaming silently down my cheeks. It was as if God said “Enjoy this merry happy moment.” I hope you are all greeted with a similar blessing, whatever your love may be. The feeling of being so connected to life around you, beneath you and above you is inner JOY. Simple, true and blessed.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509596886651899794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB5eTtSLa_Lv4cA2CGw9ySpRkqSp_T1LYKJEIEdaKeLUcuWutZ-bwl-06QB1qlOASMu1PuWBX8ZDQ0kvOFbYByTecGmMXNdoU80fiB0dRP0tbKwv3NurfanGuOj75iqkpjNcVufno4P-8/s200/2010-08-08+12.03.33.jpg" />
Torben loves cherries. He found his own tender joy sampling four different kinds of cherries, ripe, bursting with flavor and just plucked from the trees. We are both in awe of the magnificence that the natural world offers. Funny, it’s almost as if we are seeing, smelling, and tasting life through new eyes, ears and mouths. We don’t need to do anything fancy, we don’t need to get in the way, just let Mother Nature do as God intended and the result is awesome.
One of the best things about travel is that you never know who you are going to meet. For example, down the way there's a woman living in a tent who just sold her house for beaucoup money. Is this a move up or down? We don't know and certainly we're not the ones to judge. Interesting, nonetheless. Back near Mt. Hood we were invited to join a band of rogue women bonding on a women’s only camping trip. Through cocktails, games and laughs I learned a new phrase to add to my dictionary of totally tasteless words. In addition to fart, winder, pooter, barking spiders and fanny burping I can now include butt clapping to describe the ever comical human flatulence. Thank you to the ladies in the Hood Village campground for sharing that beauty. Rude AND charming, I love it.
My poor sister called, in a yucky pattern of self-torment, she had rear-ended someone oMy poor sister called, in a yucky pattern of self-torment, she had rear-ended someone on the way home from work. Been there, done that, on both accounts. I tried to cheer her up. My attempts at support and sympathy were well intended but fell a little flat. What really worked was when I reminded her things could be worse, and at that very moment I was currently in line at Wal-mart to purchase yet another sewer pipe to replace the one that just broke and leaked all over my new manicure. The crapper tube fiasco was her remedy. Glad I could help Kel.
<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>We send our sympathies to those of you who are enveloped in summer’s stifling heat. I remember the humid sticky days of Florida, and from what I hear, the Midwest is equally as repressing. So I’ll be sensitive when I break this news…WE'VE GOT SNOW!! Woohoo!!
Torben had to fly back to Orlando for the quickest conference presentation in history. We knew about this engagement as we headed out on this trip, but in all fairness, we planned to be a little closer than, well, the farthest point across the country. But, what a small price to pay, considering. Torben can’t get over the fact that he left Orlando’s sweltering sauna and stepped off the plane in cool 60 degree Oregon and an hour later we trekked up Mt. Hood in the snow. It was awesome! My southern bred husband hasn’t seen snow since he was a child, six to be exact. And, clearly he hasn’t grown up much; as soon as I was getting the camera out I felt the first chilly powder ball dust my head. After taking a moment to absorb what had happened, I became smug: Game on. Florida boy went from laughing to shrieking and squealing as he learned why us “Yankees” prefer pants and boots in the winter. I aimed at all exposed skin. Snowball fight over. Score: Yankee girl – 1, Florida boy – 0.
I also took a small vacation from our vacation. A trip within a trip. I went home. Home, that sweet glorious word evokes more deep relaxing sighs and wistful memories than any other word I know. Home to me is Fort Wayne, Indiana. A place I spent all of my life growing up to escape…and now return. Fort Wayne isn’t all that bad, it’s not Oregon, but it’s not all that bad. My youngest sister is getting married. </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509591501727975906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAZ6Sog0RHx7K3FUjnYfVjR01DEn5apgdceNv4lpFp6fPBPTxNek7oVYF_kY7ECuSDeCqETWs68Nudsi5RSGRym89aIlFaE48FEdUj5Iny6-RJEIPjkC9ido8HPw69NmAB-oCNtzXuyU/s200/DSC02805.JPG" />The future Mr. & Mrs. Shaffer, who went to high school together but never dated until they moved like 8000 miles away, were given a lovely “couples shower” [read: kick-ass party by the pool]. My aunt & uncle’s house is like a palace. Seriously, I got lost going to one of their seven bathrooms. Anyway, they were gracious enough to host the extravagant gala and it was a genuine blast. Save for one moment, I had a case of mistaken identity when I thirstily gulped what I thought was my nice citrusy and refreshing lemonade. Note to self, grandpa’s scotch can look a little yellow in the sun. I’m not sure what to do about the chest hairs that have since sprouted. It was supposed to be a surprise that I was flying in for the shower, but I am horrible, I mean absolutely horrible about keeping secrets like this (the good kind). So, I spilled the beans the night before my sister came home. No matter, we still had a fabulous time. The three of us girls stayed up late giggling way into the morning. Sisters are one of God’s greatest blessings. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509591491361594546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4b-bxPkduA2QHC3mTpJuTT3IQCg2Hw4WBQRVCE6z0B9M9sLqoJtkgQcL7-zNftiI8cxkoCX2wIJMm8Z3FsL4qST4L8CifaO_UuPJjb9I1ue8VKfG8CAIa5yo7jUQCM-_KmAWVJZp2V6c/s200/DSC02807.JPG" />I could go on and on about this, but it is likely a chapter all in its own, as it should be. For now, just know that when I am with my sisters, somewhere the angels are laughing and reconsidering our applications for halos. Also, I was able to meet my new little nephew. The yummiest of all yums! Beau is Jen’s third little pickle and I could not get enough of him. I even changed a diaper, a dirty one, and only gagged once. He was like candy being passed around with everyone smooching his pudgy little cheeks or one of his three chins. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509591458033121442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_T3RuDJuiJ2kX5BD2U5UpSR8-xAsf1UWuNM119B6GFtAox-TtEUSkCV4zp9bjms7qahp4mkW4n40FmW7irMOuTjC9o9-S4P96ZMtFKpBeY9DZ1IWh4mEYFhUQNQOgG9fCwCos_eM77N8/s200/DSC02815.JPG" />With a new baby to celebrate and a wedding on the way, the air was ripe with love and affection. And I don’t care how old you are, no one is ever too grown up to forget the childlike glee that comes with getting hugs from Mom. I even let her braid my hair like old times. I may have even let out a purr or two. Family is undeniably the essence of a sweet home coming.
Also, Torben slept in. You have no idea how monumental this is. There was a cool breeze flowing through the morning. The sky was overcast in a lulling way and after letting the dogs perform their early morning duties, we curled back up in bed without feeling guilty, without worrying what needed to be done, without anything other than each other and we slept…finally. I wonder if we are on the verge of something great here my friends. Would I be tempting mojo if I said I feel the forces of my life aligning?</div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509606596495365570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4inUWheZYJ5NDFt_VXCOmGNKCoyvwup8t9ziELr5NfsSKJib6NOsDRzNA6B-x2wA7OLtp14Og_pbkjMOnUoHR77Tmuzua-o85pURv618EcsiwWcETnK0wu2ugWF5zfkz3-TSZgcSK2Y/s200/DSC02823.JPG" />
Sometimes I catch a wayward glance and I hardly know who this man is anymore. Rather, I should say, I hardly know the man he used to be. Gone are the neckties and constraints that lead to rising blood pressure. The new and improved version of TSM goes naked in the forest, sings with the dogs and jumps off cliffs to swim in mountain fed rivers. I love this man, his laughter, and especially his new outlook on sleeping in :).</div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509606614592556434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcA6Sm44qp9PFmrThb-KWfYGZT6Lkq2dGMEuCH10rqmmiuktPEgfbXCXEP_nJpLo7wyF8BkC_6V3H6O8Kl_fwd6vpk1JEdVvFE3Q8qLqcN8y5uCOdXtcFl2guiMlwhU5frfFjVnOn-gdE/s200/DSC02896.JPG" />
We explored Crater Lake as our last voyage in Oregon. Although I know we will some day return, I was a little sad to leave. This last exploration was a beautiful send-off. Crater Lake was formed after the cone of a volcano eroded. There is now an island of the volcano peaking it's head once again. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509585821002059250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY0JkZqtdhzlBnHPGwn8ZrcASUlu0J4sJpR3eQeNL-gPUwSAaMWdtEKkaVK1Toqu3z-SZ8Rsb0R3-b82lHWdkr1B8QKWfMFo1rWdGz94kqtPOxjcBH2oBottAPPxCFmLxyC2XWi0q9XQQ/s200/DSC02880.JPG" />After several hundred thousand years this baby has transformed into a visual masterpiece. The Native Americans who inhabited the area thought the lake to precious to look upon. It's deep blue waters look as if it holds a million secrets. Considering it's explosive history, I am sure it does. Feast your eyes on this lake of many blues 3,000 feet above sea level, and 1,900 feet deep. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509585807415147554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmH7ye3_mpvczIGrkJvcDxaEvFirgc4cirrN6E8wvU0gle51C_GHu7H0W1VHSAYAC8gAmIbbqjwLIOl1ZP_nnAvmBBN_1c5LaBkmf2RyltktDG0NMjzDcOJ8KZ1MHaU6PbDuFAAPhN4D4/s200/DSC02867.JPG" />I had a date with a bear, a blind date. I didn't even know we were being introduced until I accidentally ate some blackberries which just happen to be <em>his</em> blackberries. <em>Excuse me, Mr. Bear</em>. He got a little bent out of shape about and it and threw out a little attitude. He could have just said, "Sarah, those are my berries," and cool, no problem, I would have left his precious little berries alone. But no, he had to get all riled up and growl like the king of the forest. If you ask me, it was a little overkill for berries, but it was his show, I didn't stick around to argue. After I returned to camp and counted all of my fingers, toes and blessings Torben & I collapsed into the picnic table outside of the camper. Beer in hand, we recounted our brush with the wild, and as if on cue, that large black bear waltzed out of the trees and began to help himself to a dinner of salmon, left in a bucket by fellow campers.
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<div>Shock does not being to describe it. As we spoke to other campers, who also had front row seats for the event we learned a very scary thing. The park owners are feeding this bear (could be bears, not really sure!?). Every night they fill the bucket, and come cocktail time its a park wide event to watch the bear have dinner. Our RV is 20 yard away!!!! Does anyone see a problem with this???? It would have been a great little nugget of information at check-in: "Hey, welcome to the park, you're at site #103, the trash cans are to your left, and oh, by the way, our resident bear will be visiting tonight and every night. Keep your dogs and your kids on a short leash." NOOOOOO, they told us to take the trail to the river! That damn trail is a freakin red carpet to their front door. That's where we met the first time! Ok, I will take some small amount responsibility for that encounter, the park did post this sign and I did have to step over a large pile of scat on the trail. I'm a slow learner. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509585779195262946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN-jcKwrnYuflgUbFqRW7FxSnAIPEtqTzTavikK-Xj3us1DIlte7_1-Okjf7OaRW6l0SL_J2lFoqnZ69djV-bH1M-HYaSJ0aO7KUYB8tzMPTiV3i128T1TstqQ6z3b47jFVzT3NF_wCIc/s200/DSC02890.JPG" />
Oh, I shit you not, as I write this passage, he is back again and some stupid lady thinks this is the appropriate time to water the flowers 20 feet away. Good grief. She would not make it in Torben's club. Did I tell you he founded a club? He is the self-appointed President for Coalition of People Who Make Sense. It was created during a rather comical and frustrating leg of the road trip. I nominate this lady for permanent exclusion. Any objections?
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In an effort to return to Zen, I'll focus on earlier today. The day seemed to glide by effortlessly. The morning began with a light hike through the Fern Canyon on California's Northern Coast. They filmed part of Jurassic Park here! It was such a magnificent way to start the day, the air was crisp and fresh and the gully was seductive with the sunlight streaming through highlighting patches of green all up the canyon walls. The ferns hung with five or six fans and the gentle breeze caused them to wave as we walked by. Ever gotten a wave from a forest full of ferns?</div></div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509576521565555250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7alT-GUBNjS9rMIq-pIerUe5hAbDlgmyIBEEhUNqWLuqT5ttDQ4wYmreExgjvAKhkknjKrfoG0utyU7jxrDs7a0I7VZveVXF0cvtlgjV4WTiuz745lcCkL-4YcCGFzvU1-s6I2jt9_yc/s200/DSC02971.JPG" />
<div>It tickled my inner joy spot. The hike ended on Gold Hill Beach. Upon entering the park several cars were turning around and leaving, complaining that "it was packed". Yes, we thought so too. I doubt I will ever see a stretch of shoreline so pristine and untouched by human hands. There were two sets of footprints going in, and we made two more going back out. The only other beings we saw were a few birds flying out to sea, and a family of seals playing in the surf. One was adorably curious, it kept surfing the wave and looking at us. I think he was just showing off. The waves themselves put on quite a show. Their chorus of crashes against the beach was deafening; the overflow of bubbling salt water crested over the natural hill and soaked my shoes. I've never been so happy to have cold wet feet.</div>
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</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509612107022341874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJwy8uJHgqVYc5Qv-VMUmqDkVB5_79rNlmV0cvWJLZtADbdXBnsDkKPlHN5VK7K6eCHiTEvcXaoYGWpKVDwPxyaT9zSSPjGENK0RtE2lYezQlrXcqQZOGDiJnI1UnvprjnzFGl8iiU90/s200/DSC03024.JPG" />We opted for lunch at home and a little playtime with the kids near camp. Although given our experience last night, my Mama bear senses were on high alert. Our guys were so happy to romp in the sun and cool weather. After belly rubs all around we set out for the second half of the day. Which, believe it or not, nearly exceed the first half, by about 1,000 years. Let me introduce you to one of this planet's oldest inhabitants...Redwoods.
<div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 151px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 245px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509576494530701058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlgukisF66c0KOgpr2g2dZOBkpJbk3TSmeSfeHCF6hMboyejtx_SNHmo-LsFzVtnp6BgwBEduaVOyEq21X4yououVC1sjDQBEGouho9_Es8_Rwi2b0CWyh7pOZYiQrb7nfdUL1HHrUyU/s200/DSC02916.JPG" /> Groves and groves of Redwoods are speckled throughout the already lush coastal forest. Redwoods are also known as Sequoia's, named after a Cherokee Indian Chief who first put the language into written form. Not surprisingly, Torben felt right at home.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509576507230357826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_tf9PkprvNiK0BIGb3m_7ySAFmT_lkfGfFy0GjZ19Zis0GnkXqsX_to6P2c2CFX9T_GOAKGuUjcDpRkymXq8n-1Ntaq1S8Lx8ghyphenhyphenvdxxROiU4JpgMaGEOAZC43FmoaTztNZKMrPzzSA/s200/DSC03008.JPG" /> He is after all, Cherokee (on his Mother's side). And the only thing he loves as much as the animals are the trees. I loved watching him wide-eyed like a kid on Christmas morning. It was beautiful. The trees weren't so bad either. Actually, they were sensational. It is hard to fathom that some of these trees established their root system before Christ walked on this earth, and they are still standing today. It felt celestial in a very earthy sort of way. The trunks are so wide it is nearly impossible to photograph one wholly. They stretch so high with their leaves in the clouds. In fact, most of the rain is absorbed through the leaves and the forest floor is pretty dusty, giving the lower plants a ghostly like appearance. There is definitely a feeling that resonates while walking among the hollows of the trunks. Like a calm, steady hum, that invites one to slow down such that a single breath seems like eternity. It was fodder for a lot of pensive activity for my little mind. The trees which die and fall become the base upon which newer trees grow. Often other trees and animals (we saw elk horns, seriously) can become "absorbed" within other trees, and they all kind of melt together and keep growing. The cycle of it all was impressive. As sad as it is to see a mammoth 1,000 year old tree fall, it provides such a beautiful basin for new life to begin. It almost seems as if the new life and the old life are intrinsically tied. After all, the newer trees were bore from the seeds of the older trees. I bet these groves could run their ancestry line back to the beginning of time. That thought just made my reference to old and new obsolete, if you're shaking your head, I am too. What if it all started with just one seed and is the same tree just recycling itself? What if all life is like that, cyclically connected? What if everything that was, is in everything that is? The beginning of existence present in this very moment? Time ceases to be relevant. In it's place blossom new profound possibilities. I'll let you chew on that for a while, I know I will.
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Thank you all who have shared your thoughts in response to these postings. We treasure your comments. Please, keep them coming!! Until next time, be well my friends.
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<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 133px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509576481184236738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgri0TOIALWgVQbVZMfQwH8paw7dwHjpUncQZvxWzgUoUbelrGHnbxr4oR0djsjBLdSR72oC1fx_JGEbWszES9JTezy1vYQKoKEUTkdHujbV8n0bTfwToGjVZzmNNHH6-wLQyrOl8lhm00/s200/DSC03006.JPG" />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-25678919754636959082010-08-04T22:07:00.013-05:002010-08-05T15:38:22.190-05:00At long last...Oregon does not disappoint!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0j3FGUKgb3zyEB-38_PBuKULzNgx-2AmZtC-C-ovoy-cuDxshGPLOapZT5D9_QF0bsm_zWlIkI_XzZfTUxVWAd5nCRr8fv0V7Xfx3OKS9xeKoO6RohN9KAd_hhV57rOSJd09suBB8DuI/s1600/best+of+oregon+coast.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502023744332834178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0j3FGUKgb3zyEB-38_PBuKULzNgx-2AmZtC-C-ovoy-cuDxshGPLOapZT5D9_QF0bsm_zWlIkI_XzZfTUxVWAd5nCRr8fv0V7Xfx3OKS9xeKoO6RohN9KAd_hhV57rOSJd09suBB8DuI/s200/best+of+oregon+coast.bmp" /></a>
<div> Apparently my pre-trip visions of slowly sipping a pina colada and engaging in a little R&R on the beach were far off, very very far off. The dogs wake us up at the crack of dawn eager to explore a new day in a new area and Torben’s run around wanderlust stamina can go for about 12 hours a day. Sleep, rest, relaxation?? Ha, I laugh at my own delusions. Oh, and we ran into a couple who have been living/traveling full-time in their RV since the 90’s and they said they didn’t slow down until the third year…well, at least there’s hope!
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502023729746730914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcSU6cREY6bS2LGG6PLXEiuje6BOqMaG_wtdhAOl_luDKgXD6hb017N2ndR62LSfPB3Fb5zzX1na2pOuj-Mm4ku0vi8ag2oLnLcBl0ujToTxwtZ08gFD-ryXOhCKnWhDT77NSQaqUea0/s200/DSC02687.JPG" />
I have developed a theory: Bruises = battle marks resulting from either sheer stupidity or an <em>almost</em> triumph. I am not sure whether to account for my new body art as a right of off-road passage or a clear sign that I am not as graceful as I'd like to think I am. I earned a good one while following Torben into the woods and through the river to pan for gold. (Yes, I am truly a gold-digger, feel free to joke at your leisure). Only later did we learn that the best place to pan was seriously right under where we parked our car, so that bruise clearly goes in the sheer stupidity pile. But what about the 60 others or so I have acquired with little or no memory of their origin? I am sure they came about during a mighty trek up Mount St. Helen’s or exploring a 500 year old Douglas Fir forest, by not by tripping over a dog, falling into the washing machine and hitting the kitchen table on the way down…no that would never happen. Nor would I smack my head against the slide-outs every (and I do mean EVERY) time I get something out of the cargo area. I haven’t worn makeup in around 3-4 weeks but yesterday Torben lovingly suggested that I put some on my legs and arms - shameful! If you ask my family I have always been a little on the klutzy side, but this trip I am achieving new levels of bringing rainbow body art into fashion. <div><div><div><div>
</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502023727261442130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35oYcPOIo6EWV3DkW9dT4XfMCpWkt-1-T1u2n_eMw4S8v31_TyWk69EQxBdtCjaqkTNIGqfJ-XI1UJsYD7v6zDKCdA5s3qJSI3nbUUhY-IukONkIHhFP2dFuwMAOEFV4_mBaRZwj5sA8/s200/DSC02688.JPG" />
The Oregon Coast is spectacular!! We were both speechless when we saw it for the first time, I know, hard to imagine, but truly speechless. The cliffs tower over the beach, the tide explodes over the jagged rocks, the seals and sea lions bark (and stink) in chorus…it is simply breathtaking (figuratively and literally). This coast is where the famous Goonies movie was filmed. Incidently, we are now staying in Eugene (yes Laura, all cool things are made in Eugene) and the town south, Cottage Grove, is where the movie Animal House was filmed. Torben was testosterone bonding with some guys about it, apparently since half the town was in the movie (the parade scene), the town holds a festival in its honor. The beer cans still float down the river as a memento. We loved the port town of Florence and were able to park our RV right up against the river. It was pretty awesome to wake up to the water flowing 10 feet from our door. A local band played excellent blues and I joined a handful of drunk locals and danced my tail off. I love the phrase “dance like nobody is watching”, don’t know who coined it and it can be tough to do, but if you really let go it is one of the most liberating experiences. <div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502023717318457410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCRrMrlqkVJH9P-keZE5rr7u1GpsgjOVVsiVuG6_2rUD4jCEywhnxkaO99jzdl5zVyr9R1JEGlQ2kfoQ9_32ITyKVT6Ss3I08ZX3ndw1GlH8pu3garhESEtMnqtPF9KdPoKs56n-WhUec/s200/DSC02677.JPG" />
One of the unique things about the southern coast is the dunes, which really put all other dunes to shame (sorry Lake Michigan). We strapped on our redneck helmets and went for a wild ride in a dune buggy. We were instructed to avoid the 80 foot drop-offs, which they loving refer to as “widow makers.” No problem, we barely made it up the first dune before lodging ourselves 3 feet deep in sand. The wind enhanced the experience as it pelted clouds of sand in our hair and mouths. I think I mooned about three families passing by as we hunched over digging ourselves out. Good thing I left modesty back in about Arkansas. When we finally got rolling we cruised up and down the dunes screaming like kids on a rollercoaster. Good times. Even after a good shower I found sand on my pillow the next morning! <div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502023710441732466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pslG2sd07f047PYE3A0_QAEtgE9opS0hhjD2E2S7fTsDqe5YAiqP1B2UqswXu5Q-imehq9Jeuc-UwraTLtgqoS7GohVrl5RZiltdHykngD9R5awk1PVZJrwQ0vvMrxN0GOehtsJ68RI/s200/DSC02777.JPG" />
We have an annual pass for all of the national parks, which has totally paid for itself. Since my last posting we have been to Glacier National Park (Montana). I almost cried to see such beauty (you had it right Aunt Linda!)
<p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501770463320777762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKQ7Yk54Hp2DNdJmZOybSnvWjgoIbhCfqXKZY-YOVmzCTaQeo5QZ1FluiZlRLtgG45GxsxwoD2UleoTvHcn8HYPUe8_m4lb5Y3IVwa3PKanVgltzYQdStc8NhzEPZ9Y0SDBKdu6HTU7E/s200/DSC02526.JPG" />
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501770457692105378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITQLcmNHswn6J621DIx5trIhlp7kO9hq-ba_JAyKjNnFI0L4m1ZlUbm7tkaiWCslLlBXo_Ak_zF_lhZ_FAVNBxa7SsPnBZzv-bvQDr-5qdsl4MmD5Pq6x_GhW_iKN_Y7x9PzucNBMOpU/s200/DSC02514.JPG" />
It was surprisingly crowded and 1/3 of the park suffered damages from fire in 2003. Things in nature are cyclical and Mother Nature has a way of taking care of herself; the flora and fauna that were chased away with the flames are now returning to feast on the new growth in the forest floor. We loved exploring this lake, a little off the beaten path. We came across this huge tree which had fallen into the lake. Torben woo-ed me with his balancing skills as he walked out on it. Not one to back away from a challenge, I promptly waltzed out there strutting my skills learned from my youth on a balance beam and proceeded to fall into the ICY COLD water. Did I mention it was ICY COLD?! Torben’s howl could be heard all the way in Canada!</p><p>
</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501770449144557314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_dBKlJFJ79Ap_32YTgCKxim0nUPwrsAZN86xVDFFCyDun_qf68y4XwHq3Q5pskOCCT-7Dlwmk0iJfZMnooQt-cVn5HBkgFQ_2ZhWCMQQKkxqD1EQlrkoZGaIDnEXvSPUfLO21CY818Ww/s200/DSC02564.JPG" />
Speaking of Canada….I have learned that pepper spray is grounds for a swift escort out of the country. We spent all of five minutes crossing the border, admiring the lovely landscape before returning to the 'Welcome to America' sign. Border patrol was so kind and courteous I thought it best not to mention the guns, drugs and illegal aliens we were smuggling in our trunk. As is turns out, brass knuckles, numchuks, and stun guns are also illegal, if any of you are planning a visit, please be advised.
Cascade National Park, is in my opinion, one of the most awe inspiring scenes to behold. Its like Glacier but on steroids. I didn’t think it was possible, but the water is even more blue, electric blue to be precise and there is a stillness in the air that is magnificent. The whole family enjoyed a day of exploration. I really wish we could have stayed here longer, but the journey calls...</div><div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcIzdzYzjkGdNBGfIKGVaouCe4kIFrVw9IvnHCquis9K5GmuHG97WnPPV2JVxLoB5aSMhgZfxN4ftvh6zCZ9TZ344oLf0kcDWr70rnZ4W06sRMyXffQh4O2XwsSSeKt7sqh3h0AdgFQ4/s1600/DSC02589.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501763423352158098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcIzdzYzjkGdNBGfIKGVaouCe4kIFrVw9IvnHCquis9K5GmuHG97WnPPV2JVxLoB5aSMhgZfxN4ftvh6zCZ9TZ344oLf0kcDWr70rnZ4W06sRMyXffQh4O2XwsSSeKt7sqh3h0AdgFQ4/s200/DSC02589.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMA2RXDtJ0F3Pd4f9myVP73OUiXP64Ql1hJiTLHBwPtNSnWGvzn9ALcwrxvrUdY-v255M0Ti_5i9JJZIGsAPJkYpzpVPegNZ0mexYvN_Mt2bGTG7lcRhDPJ6a6YNmee5Dkt0ipCl-jLU/s1600/DSC02593.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501763413531518082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMA2RXDtJ0F3Pd4f9myVP73OUiXP64Ql1hJiTLHBwPtNSnWGvzn9ALcwrxvrUdY-v255M0Ti_5i9JJZIGsAPJkYpzpVPegNZ0mexYvN_Mt2bGTG7lcRhDPJ6a6YNmee5Dkt0ipCl-jLU/s200/DSC02593.JPG" /></a>
<div><div>Torben and I had this funny (albeit misinformed) conception that the places we were exploring are as undiscovered to everyone else as they are to us. Um, you see the HUGE flaw in our logic right? Well, you can imagine our surprise when coming into Seattle traffic that could make Miami traffic look sparse and enjoyable.</div>
<div></div><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501760937984219330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7mlmbTvosPWlr0nPfZkb-YhECCHn0rPmagN1bSu_13wREFoRmRbTYFdJ3Vcw5Iiir57-U2KEQaPpa3PsW-tj0A1KygwrrYvW69uC6Vu9fKEAWSevNdw4S6v_KdkGhjzov2Z6WwMIfrw/s200/DSC02638.JPG" /></p><p> </p><p>Seattle has a beat all its own, a vibe if you will. We were lucky enough to get a behind the scenes tour from Torben’s high school friend Sheryl. The house boats are an imagination’s playground. So many bright colors, tall skinny homes, short wide floating homes, all with various porthole windows, and plants sprouting out from decks and stairs. I don’t think half of them will ever actually set sail, but it is delightful to see. I would love to rent one for a week or so, I imagine the lull of the waves to be so calming at night (but knowing my luck I would probably get the worst case of sea-sickness).</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501760931345123154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfL3f-fGnR7FNa4XZrNsYm-LG5LFHcZ_DTdEP4R5R5kkwRNOtNGRMI8ahIAMnZIfuKEOSuTpos_23U1Bv0PTjeRb1K9pNdZcdKI2uZYmbId7XTbi_FnifkZ7ckf6EiqAyQGaFsXe098l4/s200/DSC02627.JPG" /></p>
<p>Sheryl is impressively remodeling her house with her own two hands. I like to lift a hammer every now and again, but she is Bob Villa in a dress (though you would rarely catch her in one!). She has done all her own plumbing and was excited to report that she now has hot water and is almost through installing the bathtub. Until then, much to the joy of her peeping neighbors, she is a naturalist in this outdoor shower! </p>
<p> </p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501760919231824626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJo8ZkB6TiDHJPr1Uh8HfSlgBwI0CufQkvFejjr3eVGtkJB5SRHhyphenhyphenxNDCBOI7KRj2e-0IfeprzljffMZ4IvoSWB7Yrkqe_x0Qj_DGLjl15hrELjCQswYsjzqCZaMpQvOsotJGnU44_mWA/s200/DSC02626.JPG" /></p><p>Livin’s the life Sheryl, livin’ the life! Seriously though, we sampled raspberries and plums from her garden and OMG!! My fingers were stained a little red but my mouth was all grins as the sweet juices dripped off my chin. I had forgotten that food could taste this good naturally. (Thank you pesticides for denying my this pleasure over the years.)</p>
<p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501763405677366322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_64pH4QMhMvbft5wZot19gS586I7EvfxXifvlmpN1RlX6oRD02xF7tkXRpwLr67rdsQaxjiCB61qAcH0P8U9jb43Uh9Nk8kSSsJynXANMONt8k_kx6Y4ycN1bDAopwrebVyPQ-i91_c/s200/DSC02630.JPG" />
</p><div><div>Torben and Sheryl are celebrating their 30 year high school reunion this summer. I have a lot to say on that matter, but first I will pause for you slow folks to do the math….yes, I was 3 when he graduated. Funny right? Moving on… Torben was asked to submit a few photos and a five minute video clip of where he is/what he’s been up to in the last three decades. If you have ever seen a Torben speech, you can guess that this was a hilarious production. He played King Tut in a high school rally, which was a knock-off from Steve Martin on SNL, so in our high budget production we printed pictures of Steve Martin and cut out clips of Torben’s head and taped them on, the comedy was gut busting. I was the camera-lady and could hardly make it through the script without cracking up. The crème de la crème was his ending: We filmed his speech from only the head up. He had a towel wrapped around his waist with the words “THE END” painted on the back by your truly. At the end of the video he walked away from the camera revealing the towel, then my harmonica playing crescendo was timed with his towel falling away to reveal his cute little hiney. Thus, the title of our production: <em>Moon over Mount St. Helen</em>. We must have filmed this a hundred times. We spent four hours at a Mount St. Helen’s lookout point and every time we came to this scene a tour bus of kids would pull up, or a family of people who spoke no English, or poor little old ladies who shouldn’t have been subjected to this. So here’s Torben hiding behind a rock wall with no pants on while people ooh’d and ahh’d for hours over Mount St. Helen. I wish I could emote to you the unending humor that ensued during this video. The sun finally set and we lost our lighting, the next day during taping we lost battery power, the next day we lost memory space on the tape. The final day a Park Ranger passed as Torben was seconds away from his big drop. The outtakes of his cursing and scrambling to find his pants are priceless. Out of respect for his wishes I am not posting it now, but stay tuned, I may talk him into it. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPuHLkX6BxAnrT3zZOxDpECkbWjeJJUKT9mHHNDLr3tbYUBMFjUVg1unC17ptzYOzVAEtJZ1Dt4ZZad2LKsioW6DC_wEQ8s5xyZNJsMebzLn1rKeqPA_lqcwdv_i2syhDFhRp3dOS5iLQ/s1600/DSC02735.JPG"></a>
<div><div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501759124717237858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-QlPvsXUzIIh-caLIm-Fl97djxEKnIBbrDhrial_BV0YZVK44OuoVFAGJhzritxWHONGtE26HoaxDwMxWFXFUKkeh5R9pP4DGc4SCWlFEoeqzQe7pTlLyE9KU9meexcIaztW2ATW89rA/s200/DSC02768.JPG" /> </div>
<div>On a sad note, one of Torben's former legal assistants passed away unexpectedly. Michelle Elliot was a wonderful woman with a huge heart and she will be dearly missed.</div>
<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501759133069382514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMEao0JPl_jRULDWZRnuFKy9K6zR-Tnb9kNcZVeUEwmShKJrLewcy8sb4MrAJY84uB49Ow2oJGQn8yYW3P6pAd2vUugg1bGYT_tVyiI3isb3A__T8Fa5Gg6QFWBxSoRxzSvlQNRa8UANg/s200/DSC02752.JPG" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-66041129785410041292010-07-13T20:37:00.010-05:002010-07-13T21:31:10.496-05:00Yellowstone & Bozeman<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgctCoYwtQaVlOCRCJEgh2_aEjIPOL0osuReBUqOX0pAlZo5hNHM5xbmmkiS7-jxI_NTcf6uQqWdX9_DQKThxcnldEhY5Ffzt9Syy7dgivcpXyy_h4gp2QiS6W8B9nhHZc0ZwLIWvUWuuI/s1600/DSC02366.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 136px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493581522243383122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgctCoYwtQaVlOCRCJEgh2_aEjIPOL0osuReBUqOX0pAlZo5hNHM5xbmmkiS7-jxI_NTcf6uQqWdX9_DQKThxcnldEhY5Ffzt9Syy7dgivcpXyy_h4gp2QiS6W8B9nhHZc0ZwLIWvUWuuI/s200/DSC02366.JPG" /></a> If it weren't for the winter, I could live in Montana for a lifetime.
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</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8kKsuzXHpHM4BYPRzfQ6_WakpRu4bGzMIwrb8lO5pKkXan3IPNOVvtvszLmBMgXGlh_3OZ725HxD3kvQfuA9pDvrBJwALW4RbqVI1veSUizqxAikMxtdBitkRmeDqRKtD8CYNhcTvNIg/s1600/DSC02336.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 151px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493571982899437458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8kKsuzXHpHM4BYPRzfQ6_WakpRu4bGzMIwrb8lO5pKkXan3IPNOVvtvszLmBMgXGlh_3OZ725HxD3kvQfuA9pDvrBJwALW4RbqVI1veSUizqxAikMxtdBitkRmeDqRKtD8CYNhcTvNIg/s200/DSC02336.JPG" /></a>
Where to begin?....
We’ve done sooooo much it’s hard to believe there is still more to see and that we’ll be able to muster up enough energy to see it. Yesterday our house crossed the Continental Divide. No small task for a man of the swamps to maneuver a bus over the tallest mountain range in the country. There were some white knuckles and a few “Holy *&%#”, but we made it. Rather, Torben made it; I was just the ancillary cheerleader (I think I actually gave a few spirit fingers on the way down). </div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493575837652579106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75DD7F7NV80R3KwkNyMwY6EXf_tlnFGnLIMZeUI3adykF3orjaEkFdcTSi5FvLMhTRD76b2QuPL56_URxoas7K8f5AtYmZuTsNz0V_zJe9T7xl1ndKeDIt_E51Sy3u1ZCCbQD5uD0BOU/s200/DSC02352.JPG" />
We spent the last week and a half in Bozeman, Montana. Bozeman has to be one of the most livable cities in the country, at least by our standards. Home to 10,000 hippies and 20,000 dogs, it was awesome! It is truly the only town that hosts as many dog parks as kiddie parks. HEAVEN! We spent our days roaming around with our heads looking up and our mouths agape just in awe of the mountains. The first day we pulled into our site a fellow camper showed us through binoculars a herd of 90 elk roaming over the hills. Can you say AWESOME?! This was the view from our campground:</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 144px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493581515801129954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy1EPMIWir2tV9giA_qdN5artOfbK5lMtfQVCERARVM2FWLrzKH9_0E7IglvbSsdl7tStx0g18IH5o17S-0e_qwuyAyBHBSP43vvgoAb32mp1hYT3Nrr7zYgLTX3fv6zI6-DLqUGTmnKM/s200/DSC02293.JPG" /></div><div> (Gosh, doncha just feel so sorry for us?)
</div><div>They are so friendly and accommodating in Bozeman that Wal-Mart has the first five rows of parking behind the handicapped spaces dedicated to “senior parking”. If you know Torben and his driving/parking quirks, you know he will search for 20 minutes for the” best” (closest) spot. As we pulled in he did the usual drive-by scout-out and eventually succumbed to a space further out. “I guess this is middle age parking,” he jested. I thought that was totally funny until I realized he was including me in that! (OH, the horror!)</div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 142px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493575854116920706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3YvAItIayDZTgu379zM5N1OCc9N1GeOCShCLcoCpFhcVpH72xwjT1x0-ctUpVi0dHSkToieG6eHDHQNTW5LEoph_VTPwnHhxGDF8dBgR_Ad6UphGh6HSKDkAViqJvyfueNOv9w-kCX4/s200/DSC02322.JPG" />
Life has really changed for us. We were driving down the road the other day and Torben laughed out loud, catching himself doing 45 miles per hour, on the highway, not in the RV, in the Honda! I know, hard to believe. I’ve actually been able to relax my grip of the O.S. handle </div><div>(I said relax, not remove). </div><div>
I’d like to thank our dear friend Carson Robinson for some valuable pre-trip advice. He said “Remember, the people you meet today won’t know what you wore yesterday.” God bless you Carson for totally getting it. It is true that life on the road allows for a little more, shall we say, leniency in our grooming and presentation. Many of you may have noticed by the pictures that Torben is freeing himself by letting the 20 years of lawyer in his hair grow out. It’s a little unruly, but it keeps us entertained trying to find a way to style it (we are taking suggestions). Just now he scratched is head and pulled out some leaves and a twig. Souvenirs? We’ve also been experimenting with how long one can stretch out a shower. I won’t freak you city folks out, but let’s just say, it’s impressive and probably not in a good way. Thus, Carson’s advice is well played in our lifestyle. Long live febreeze. Torben is a little fearful that we will end up in one of those Wal-Mart emails full of freaky dressed (and undressed) individuals.</div><div> I told him there is a possibility we already are!</div><div>
Keeping ourselves entertained is not hard. </div><div>HELLO, we’ve been living with Yellowstone National Park in our backyard! </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493578969323974114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJwP8tThr8KR0F1gF-67h9wywa4XBmZqbtg4fIN7ecthnKdVy9gVBCrBM7oPAH2oZvJfjbng0JOverIANOYmncIm6Z-2rYAOLY3yQia50IhDdXVXBApn2fMGh8-Bw2aWqwppZxwjujb0w/s200/DSC02435.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 138px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493578980093455202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5VZ4iPMIGmADHYo1ZfxRuwdQE_aQsinStojp97vKMEHqofYDyj-o_Z4JCco0bpgFoVJThOBdxCTu6agyavedWJzNXb0Ubch0HNFgmcNDu_4NRfCw0hl2zKmvz_rk5kyDOlzobRj4I0E/s200/DSC02479.JPG" />Seriously guys, if you have never been, this is a Must See on your bucket list. For Torben and me it was like a trip to wildlife Mecca. Unfortunately in my eagerness to go, I forgot to pack the camera. Don’t ask. Anyway, it served a great purpose in forcing a repeat trip to capture some of the world’s greatest scenery. The geothermals are incredible and the colors are so striking it is almost as if someone painted the earth.</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 116px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493578958756940914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwx0-J2u30cnk_LzI2Q9LGU-jMND8R4LH7O2H-a72Jf605H1MEKIgh-PtJj_x6qbU9n8cLAwZYYpLiRmZWOcHuUzdUEZWIQPMlKWS9Li5KJzKLP607r6dfu0fwUh0Bk9ItQnc2jiahJY/s200/DSC02382.JPG" /> </div><div> </div><div>We attended the obligatory rising of Old Faithful, along with all the other park attendees.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 201px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 88px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493578964553178562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7NqPcZ1GHZ-gF4P_TRdTIb-WkUOQvV7FclbtiQoASnKGjfFyldUmW7KQwkWICTnzOHGBuLLRYoAHGfJRHuOpaDo7Hdo6TkIbImRzUK8xv7wpR576kJjtbm3ANGLj5AfhP2iTtSVJoPU/s200/DSC02394.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>That was really the only time we felt crowded in the park. We searched and searched for grizzly bears, found scat of all shapes and sizes, spotted more elk, boson after bison,
</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493578947612992450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGlCK8cp8ET7awgi-wrviCB0dhYOFvHFMXl4yYcIiipP_vpa8HKUfqnOdh3D17KUGMMC05W9A-pIXA1IUBSUoN0dc0NkAh_G92Ii-kQDWmM-DmFfcP-NzSlwmfqCtaNoo9F0vMFZZl4g/s200/DSC02482.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>but no grizzly. Alas, on our last day of touring the park, as we headed for home, when we had given up hope of seeing the elusive bear, she graced us with her presence by foraging in a valley near the road. She caused quite a traffic jam, but it was totally worth the delay. Unfortunately, the pics were too distant for a good focus.</div><div>
Yellowstone is not the only treasure in the Bozeman area.</div><div> We spent several days hiking Hyalite state park. </div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 130px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493575846656384274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjdelPcr2Aj8yVmSxeBDxomMF52AVKQRlSQVVqBAWHHFNETle0L8ZIvYHULGsAD3IFqXebTmO2F6EM0qC4GOwevysjdvDtdbX75AqfRRLb9xq9yq12mIP74C-KdbtWcGohWPIEbK1dh8/s200/DSC02304.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493571998956796162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV83VHYoQy_H1Q6U-qpHT1O5SsoeGrC_8AzBVy0ULNqcXXI3PvXVORyplUjN4RTKO6KE_LBic3fAvXqk4ayI6fuF218VrPd62HXjfdQ9o5lpp4zEfxOd1DFyDCxLdtIgxcik80N7GG3Ok/s200/DSC02411.JPG" />This really is God’s country. Gorgeous, and so alive, the trees sway and talk loudly with the breeze, the water flows swiftly and echoes through the canyons. The kids enjoyed hiking, swimming and making new friends.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 154px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493575827172349586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJgOHduqwZYf5FTG9th705E6fH9v9TkosWnAPBSnfYhNYrkTvrQMRSs7NR-yQGjGobd7l5JybGsoV5zyup5kIwA0NJynHJXa1D19uErpYtGY-DNtaqwIWDvtHHL1vyhVSH33om5czXUU/s200/DSC02356.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>Blaze’s leg is healing well but he can’t quite keep up as he used to. The little guy gave quite an effort on our hike to the falls, and was rewarded with a lift out from Papa T (much to his liking and Torben’s aching).</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 137px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493572006549288114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UK7ercqu2-wDB-A1sE0EEYgLcCEWqcjzBl6j3XfDCJPlMgGc7PK0McFvg8TiF0_WWUGWNvtNyr2vS0cDHCsn8Rx7ZhcV_6IJTehGNDY3oGb_MiTW9kG9Xi7LhayjTFTzPIm4vh48fKE/s200/DSC02374.JPG" />The next day we got a stroller! I feel like such a sporty mom now! All you ladies with your double wide strollers and twin seats….look out here comes Mama Madson and the senior K-9 clan! The assembly on this sucker required a few good engineers, hence ours is still missing the all essential braking mechanism (but hey, who wants to stop?) Blaze was appreciative of the ride, but Rodeo has advised us that she has changed her name from Rodeo (the cowboy name) to Rod-ay-o (the L.A. name). She stepped inside and it was as if she had found the throne that has been awaiting her all these years. She barked at passersby, held her head out the side, and even draped and crossed her paws out the front window panel. Geesh, the life of luxury. Seriously though, it makes our trekking soo much more enjoyable.</div><div>
We’ve also really enjoyed meeting new people on our travels. Especially the woman parked next to us at our last camp. She was thoughtful enough to open her window and thank us loudly for letting our dogs pee within visual of her motor home. She was kind to us, not once, not twice, but three, maybe even four times. We were so appreciative of her gratitude and the big scene she made that we showed her a little love, noMadson style: good ol’ Papa T waited until she was mid-grill on her steaks to go out and drain the black water, he even went the extra mile and cleaned the sewer tank, the hose and the storage bay within sight and *gag* smell of her grilling du jour. Oh, southern gentlemen play dirty, kind of funny, but dirty.
<div><div><div><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493571988630140882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPjx1GePgL1MqSf8d5a1zpbxzYlr1ucYeLdc7eiBdDhHiyzFkpSkDmilPLOm_niz23ztjJFnj0pxtBcVDkPg74LeNhUwt6D6kd7qKYf-yAN-4iIDhBVxhLg-X0_WCIbr8knDo5NDAVT-c/s200/DSC02329.JPG" />
And, last but certainly not least, I want to welcome little Beau James Sieve to the family. My sister Jen is a hero among heroes. She has done three times what I fear doing even once. But if he is anything like his older sister and brother, he’s already on his way to earning angel wings. In Italian the words for giving birth are “dar a luz”, the literal translation being “to give to the light.” Welcome to the light man. Let me know if you need any sunglasses.</p>
<p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493572018361897026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9zsAPrCvDQ8RDgLBhFTeoEjlkSTKEG6r8ivYOe3AVjbOXbrKZFfUga4X_hpKV5IwXF9dvJhbvPsYG3mPee0cYVVYMRQJooLEY1IVfD3RCUqrgiQ9WzHGVnpxNUOBpade0sad_EIVnhaU/s200/sunset.bmp" /></p></div></div></div></div>
</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-29261016814044927982010-07-01T14:57:00.005-05:002010-07-01T15:43:18.379-05:00The story not told<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXnJPdEH1c8QS0uDIsBLdHbyTFFaBSJ82F3yvak6BVDmiTSLIPeG-8012fmX8ngkFmm8oP0o0WD9TLkc9XEcZWkjQFfCUm-DkfmZP2k33JMMezbBlP0G0lIrlqNwuzFVWKquEhVQcjHY/s1600/DSC02282.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489040477434952354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXnJPdEH1c8QS0uDIsBLdHbyTFFaBSJ82F3yvak6BVDmiTSLIPeG-8012fmX8ngkFmm8oP0o0WD9TLkc9XEcZWkjQFfCUm-DkfmZP2k33JMMezbBlP0G0lIrlqNwuzFVWKquEhVQcjHY/s200/DSC02282.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifBXjiUMNvV3Nx7j3idDgYg01mqrUDdCGbcQ-9eVQfNhTjNC-qmqid_ZojdjSd-ZKdLaQtFb8Ioae16HCVpQveN4Qp7oogx7Sh5dXvMLB1afEDspFMuUwpYzBxk8NI3jyMUko82-_CuFo/s1600/DSC02284.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489040470876286706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifBXjiUMNvV3Nx7j3idDgYg01mqrUDdCGbcQ-9eVQfNhTjNC-qmqid_ZojdjSd-ZKdLaQtFb8Ioae16HCVpQveN4Qp7oogx7Sh5dXvMLB1afEDspFMuUwpYzBxk8NI3jyMUko82-_CuFo/s200/DSC02284.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPBghE-KCXeCejxVyufckPDFO7vj1fbkBcG9zTmg0DJ01Q3RcRTYKT25DCByP2GVSUR31gCEf0y9JXNDXQUNbu7EcJCzvHEZvSyrGk6jdmNcOf6l6r2yw2kPAAynxtxiuUirSalZ1b1Cc/s1600/DSC02283.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489040458639051234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPBghE-KCXeCejxVyufckPDFO7vj1fbkBcG9zTmg0DJ01Q3RcRTYKT25DCByP2GVSUR31gCEf0y9JXNDXQUNbu7EcJCzvHEZvSyrGk6jdmNcOf6l6r2yw2kPAAynxtxiuUirSalZ1b1Cc/s200/DSC02283.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMC2L51_GLRmIB9TQx-z8stP2MeZxn18KktUwlkJ2dssaAkUfshr-aYb9M8e9ps8knthe8XJi1BhRrezL_CTKgMFiyk36zvlNQHbAKdhwdXsIhDsTGyWhwcgD1co8-5R_sh9R8J2rOaj8/s1600/DSC02272.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489040441471121106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMC2L51_GLRmIB9TQx-z8stP2MeZxn18KktUwlkJ2dssaAkUfshr-aYb9M8e9ps8knthe8XJi1BhRrezL_CTKgMFiyk36zvlNQHbAKdhwdXsIhDsTGyWhwcgD1co8-5R_sh9R8J2rOaj8/s200/DSC02272.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtFaQMbgu6vwCgnbioIynd8OSxksXlaxKGWn7391DkWkjRt5bMzLieW_KyqKjRFDf9cM133nf0Fjo__rFI0rMZDldbPlpLJ_fLmQMnl11QQKN0X4H37tQaYiPtjUbIQiDOySkpu08fldM/s1600/DSC02290.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489040432643780802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtFaQMbgu6vwCgnbioIynd8OSxksXlaxKGWn7391DkWkjRt5bMzLieW_KyqKjRFDf9cM133nf0Fjo__rFI0rMZDldbPlpLJ_fLmQMnl11QQKN0X4H37tQaYiPtjUbIQiDOySkpu08fldM/s200/DSC02290.JPG" /></a>
<div>I knew coming on this trip would provide me the opportunity of an education I could gain no where else. I am being educated, but unfortunately I do not always like what I am being taught. Shiloh, Wounded Knee, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tatanka</span>, Little Big Horn...They say the truth is sometimes painful, so I would being doing myself and you, my fellow countrymen, a huge disservice if I did not present this voyage as authentically as I am living it. So, here it goes: I want to wave the B.S flag, high, none of this half-mast stuff, but full sail and flying in the breeze, because that is what I think has been done in so many ways. We have traveled to many historic sites, monuments, battlefields, etc., you name it - we've found it. Time and time again I am more than modestly insulted at the flamboyancy with which the victors have re-written history (or erased some perspectives). Mt. Rushmore, for example, is supposed to be this awe-inspiring creation in tribute to our country's growth and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">perseverance</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ok</span>, I get that, but let's be real, its just a bunch of faces carved into a sacred rock that never belonged to our government in the first place! Twelve million (that's: 12,000,000!) people lived on this land before my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">European</span> ancestors even stepped foot on its soil. In the name of our democracy we invaded land that was not ours, we set up fences to keep the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">original</span> inhabitants out. We killed their food sources as a way of starving them into oblivion, we punished the practice of their <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">ancestral</span> history, forced them into submission and we call ourselves the Land of the Free? My stomach turns when I visit a beautiful State or National Park that is named after a wretched person in wartime history. I debated on writing this entry, being cautious that it may offend some people, then I laughed at my own trepidation. Am I missing something? I have learned, from several credible sources, that the Native Americans lived in symbiotic harmony with the land for hundreds of years before the white man came in and pillaged the land of its resources. Native American tribes, specifically those of the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Lakotas</span>, were <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">cognizant</span> to use only what they needed and protect the rest. They believed in leaving little trace. For all of our modern day glory I cannot help but wonder when I pass a landfill seeping with plastic bottles or turn on the news and hear more about the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">BP</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">disaster</span>, are we really all that advanced? Maybe those people to whom our ancestors turned up their noses actually knew a thing or two about the preservation of life on this earth. Maybe the cognitive <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">myopathy</span> was ours. So this year as I prepare for the festivities related to the Fourth of July, I will also be giving thanks to those that lived on and took care of the land that I now travel. I cannot erase the twinge of guilt or <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">disgust</span> that accompanies my "education" on this trip, but I can use my voice so that you as well will remember that there are ALWAYS multiple sides to the stories that make up history. Just because we have learned one, doesn't mean it is the whole truth, seek out the complete story, then make your own assessment. I will now dismount my horse, thanks for listening.</div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-86271306479933716102010-06-29T23:42:00.004-05:002010-06-30T00:04:40.336-05:00South Dakota Wildlife<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fusgSMp9n6i0kmJ1jr2z-TES7uzljeo0SFbzeVLqHqRC1VQ-y7icChl912aMJjjaHSljiCEIo0MUCFWeJNw6HyPp5OYSBO21Vmn6aaBsUimaZmoWOMsXcw5ksfWxPaHeWPHkyBz1IC0/s1600/DSC02081.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 104px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488425694659650450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fusgSMp9n6i0kmJ1jr2z-TES7uzljeo0SFbzeVLqHqRC1VQ-y7icChl912aMJjjaHSljiCEIo0MUCFWeJNw6HyPp5OYSBO21Vmn6aaBsUimaZmoWOMsXcw5ksfWxPaHeWPHkyBz1IC0/s200/DSC02081.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaNWCI24IfSuLME7e3zVgNqhIrNM-qhjVGaKodCy9P9tLK06ONfSYp_-goO4oyj6uygYf-GJOdcymxMdW2aZE_o3JqsMOZCPJJbfDMU3wBp8si18BGQjVw35mQDXmhMt-YP5fPhAb7Q4/s1600/DSC02118.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 191px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488425690341423810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaNWCI24IfSuLME7e3zVgNqhIrNM-qhjVGaKodCy9P9tLK06ONfSYp_-goO4oyj6uygYf-GJOdcymxMdW2aZE_o3JqsMOZCPJJbfDMU3wBp8si18BGQjVw35mQDXmhMt-YP5fPhAb7Q4/s200/DSC02118.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3M8xIhkdXqf034Wadqoyq0O31IDYh6jH8Dg-dHfYgqcv2FRuojhfogvdaOG8P4nauY3WjvX3ikYQGCcQEOMRqDmOgFT6H9INTM3vJ6s280jters2io04Scl9kxjy9MtLBHK7EQEsEMQ/s1600/DSC02127.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 115px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488425686358126626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3M8xIhkdXqf034Wadqoyq0O31IDYh6jH8Dg-dHfYgqcv2FRuojhfogvdaOG8P4nauY3WjvX3ikYQGCcQEOMRqDmOgFT6H9INTM3vJ6s280jters2io04Scl9kxjy9MtLBHK7EQEsEMQ/s200/DSC02127.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2ogpCs34Kv91zAi4Ot9SiDoc-CcA8n3pZ2zYLCRp9Le6Wy6CRXaX02sBLzo1QlwPmMriAJK52zo13xrrlLqW_upQ9ZHlUKa_lR8bHRgcWVS3kOEZU6Wbm3noh21LRqCU90jqYBjJkzA/s1600/DSC02131.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488425678326434722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2ogpCs34Kv91zAi4Ot9SiDoc-CcA8n3pZ2zYLCRp9Le6Wy6CRXaX02sBLzo1QlwPmMriAJK52zo13xrrlLqW_upQ9ZHlUKa_lR8bHRgcWVS3kOEZU6Wbm3noh21LRqCU90jqYBjJkzA/s200/DSC02131.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvqYR1JnWeCulnlIPhSFNIi_kKqlW7NTHGZ7uwx4Yp-8mCphixgHTQnVQAUPxxAU29cx13DtVyMUcGmYSkwgcR5e1dxCgEjt-9_BSs2AgKC4phLuvwhbUQikB2Obnw0fBrPQxzkmxQ0c/s1600/DSC02197.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 123px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488425671596450194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvqYR1JnWeCulnlIPhSFNIi_kKqlW7NTHGZ7uwx4Yp-8mCphixgHTQnVQAUPxxAU29cx13DtVyMUcGmYSkwgcR5e1dxCgEjt-9_BSs2AgKC4phLuvwhbUQikB2Obnw0fBrPQxzkmxQ0c/s200/DSC02197.JPG" /></a>
<div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-50259771487408970732010-06-29T21:31:00.006-05:002010-06-29T23:42:06.144-05:00Fun with Uncle Dick & Aunt Donna<div>
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488419364934353170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv0KAw8dhN2mGaMD15K2JNBjrRpzWCSVa9G5aBPF0vIk8CL9gTg0litf1h8fXGLr73mjhlwcuY38y0njtcW3-B543fanVfVGUuEJnpIbxzZokeZbKA49PBgTbRRk4LzC1sL2BEbg3VooM/s200/DSC02099.JPG" /> <div><div> <div>Have you ever ventured to a new place and instantly felt at home? I feel this way in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Partly because of the majestic landscape that beckons to be explored but mostly because of the warm welcome we received. They used to say “there’s gold up in them there hills”, and there is…my family. My Great Uncle Dick & Aunt Donna Fisher are two of the spriteliest individuals I know.</div><div>
</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488419383632726738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHDl21lMuslW2gVv-7TytXVBUK1PXJ6BuUZZ87GjxTPTF_wx9KGcDBi4I1EE2vIsS0z2yRAgNYlWq3rYR2p0gcYfZZhql3zD49_CqDt2GxPfewMPMRcPIARWRfBuYyDIyiQ-4LV6QIeA/s200/DSC02208.JPG" /> <p></p>
<p>They chose to get the most out of their retirement by becoming tour guides in the Black Hills. Not only is their combined knowledge enough to publish their own encyclopedia, but they have such a passion for their state and their community that it’s hard not to be infected with their enthusiasm. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488390936234472882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYz-qG0127BWWFrNTPYqS567r8Z768Gf_ANrXh5-JlTWy0XYFBrh1mo__sqX1-m4-18xZ6C0xRSGXqhFtmmBP3MH19zcY6TrNTIPRwcs6wJD2X-a1JjXb6yVTKuFKkomM2L7j4elkuT5c/s200/DSC02226.JPG" />Torben & I were treated to an A+ tour.</p><p> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488419392720871762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8LkXfbVAVEfVYplt59osuBEf-5nEc6JS7JXVG4xheK4UU4hEv8lzIF2KXlq0CT6C8q7xv0PjabZomoYTbiY_B951Oh315Xs9Wbh1pYoyntnYOQA1lEAqSjnM807OySPVP8jrZ03ci0Wk/s200/DSC02106.JPG" /></p><p>We drove the wildlife loop in Custer State Park (pics to follow in next blog), hiked through an incredible array of 200 BILLION year old rock formations. (Truthfully, my finite mind is having a hard time wrapping itself around just how old that is.)</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 135px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488419400260444306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2mtXYqgmXhR5M7CmwGJSpdddArJ8HvGqoXvjoOvJLIqxxzV3ClK3YTixPSeSS2D9I433E48wd2rfnUGa17x7g7V1b3nhp0OHbwjhsVCZ3SJCxoDdcaSmJOZbh5pSyMfMaKfao4hmpLd8/s200/DSC02245.JPG" /></p>(there's a girl free climbing on this "needle")</div><div> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488390930459520882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXF1Lw5BN19BqHF4z3NseEdBDvMHTT9TB_Hg_JxkZwMJNEOocRYhvyOPl1Rlna0vAoKQEvsNQxXs2Uqu9s709Xu0QN2oXV8HDDwwWO9WVgk2bWk_sUYsYbMZCqcgwyesnjk2Y6VWRRVo/s200/DSC02242.JPG" />(yup, that's the road-and traffic goes in both directions!)
<p>We toured a beautiful lodge, sampled Kick-Ass rhubarb wine (seriously, that’s the name), mingled with the artists at a sculpture exhibit, hiked a lake at several thousand feet, and saw the evening light and flag ceremony at Mt. Rushmore (the pictures didn’t turn out so well in the evening light, so you’ll just have to trust me – we were there). Did you know that the faces in the mountain are so large that Abe Lincoln, if he were alive, could stand up in his own eyeball? Nice trivia Aunt Donna!</p>
<p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488390920935770498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbE9iJAwXL_efB-EcJQPi34J8IYiwrQlSUa5PAG6JxaHphk2jyWD_ng_mEHyGWr3hQSs-s2ihkyrIKh4FVPdCi4w4DczqgIDHQlPr7npy-BlChN0ggEq7X5edNgA5Vy5MDP_VLVhwXI3Y/s200/DSC02165.JPG" /></p>
<p>The crème de la crème: a night blast at Crazy Horse. This was a superb treat! It was the anniversary of the Battle of Little Big Horn and the sculptor’s wife’s 84th birthday –what a celebration!! The monument to Crazy Horse is a work in progress and is a beautiful tribute to all Native American Tribes. The entire Mt. Rushmore carvings, all four heads, could fit in Crazy Horse’s head; this thing brings new meaning to HUGE! After the original artist passed, his wife and family took over the project and have expanded it to include a museum celebrating Native American Heritage and plans are underway for a university and medical community on the mountain. To celebrate: there was a laser light show and 84 thundering blasts atop the mountain. Then were all served cake in celebration! (My uncle Dick was first in line!!) It was very memorable and it felt like we were being a part of history. Thanks Uncle Dick & Aunt Donna!! </p><p>P.s. Torben & I though it hysterical that we are taking this trip in the “prime of our lives” and Dick & Donna could have run circles around us – it was tough to keep up with their endless energy, but a heck of a lot of fun trying!
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixB2JvdBwXDiOkvcxX0749H3dMBms92mMO0tW_BUlpL2aAu3rgnKOSXaptvONH8HZRQlyzutuZmkzsmuX3IQefA1czd4Wwe78YtoUDGX7e8nnGHRdPqI4ALrcbL75wMP8VadyD3sr_jTU/s1600/DSC02233.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488390913275763330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixB2JvdBwXDiOkvcxX0749H3dMBms92mMO0tW_BUlpL2aAu3rgnKOSXaptvONH8HZRQlyzutuZmkzsmuX3IQefA1czd4Wwe78YtoUDGX7e8nnGHRdPqI4ALrcbL75wMP8VadyD3sr_jTU/s200/DSC02233.JPG" /></a>
</p><div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-77732855366049231312010-06-29T21:23:00.000-05:002010-06-29T21:31:48.156-05:00More from South Dakota<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXCq90eUFIP55xdAjf0XeGGJ0TpPVYlVGae_HmT3p6ecEi0L-AX5n5I9C75H9zZBCh9BwvNaYJk9Or0XzaEkXzfvjFHw33i3lvHXPuzw-13l67KaVcQaxjQLFDvWdFAH1ZXIPIJnelyc/s1600/DSC02036.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488388585390604082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXCq90eUFIP55xdAjf0XeGGJ0TpPVYlVGae_HmT3p6ecEi0L-AX5n5I9C75H9zZBCh9BwvNaYJk9Or0XzaEkXzfvjFHw33i3lvHXPuzw-13l67KaVcQaxjQLFDvWdFAH1ZXIPIJnelyc/s200/DSC02036.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFA36yCNXVkZnlXmm3sjJyPukZmQWoUdSlR1y-Q7cAh93_lwAxv7CAyphDjhUwBeHi0h-NxXlTDuCxz_GOyRvk_aVxuyLX0voLyLRBhn3HTzywRR15xDhyUgefoK99WgEF9497Ml7QrA/s1600/DSC02049.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488388573379566418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFA36yCNXVkZnlXmm3sjJyPukZmQWoUdSlR1y-Q7cAh93_lwAxv7CAyphDjhUwBeHi0h-NxXlTDuCxz_GOyRvk_aVxuyLX0voLyLRBhn3HTzywRR15xDhyUgefoK99WgEF9497Ml7QrA/s200/DSC02049.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q7EnQ8x0KhAJGD-QaikB49AK6P3cepzciHADzFG9Zel5MxNRj037k8XHiqx8wupY7QCNcg0f4A1bZZ6CD9C3Cp9cxZcmiokk3pUn-QebtZmET4S515Bv-tdwYy84fIz0OrO5SNGEyRA/s1600/DSC02113.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488388561185939234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q7EnQ8x0KhAJGD-QaikB49AK6P3cepzciHADzFG9Zel5MxNRj037k8XHiqx8wupY7QCNcg0f4A1bZZ6CD9C3Cp9cxZcmiokk3pUn-QebtZmET4S515Bv-tdwYy84fIz0OrO5SNGEyRA/s200/DSC02113.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAx7n9zJ4bQHcLhEnYeRV_c7NOSo0MR5hrBlLCTndagLYJvJ8hBEQ4GjS5S-1PT3vHqxAwlmJk2e2MpNkan9GWxFyzBOOx_yFb7tgoDZa24RkSYBDNrt4ZZYSIEnD3Ka5zaYOh_D7LAq8/s1600/DSC02176.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488388551387503794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAx7n9zJ4bQHcLhEnYeRV_c7NOSo0MR5hrBlLCTndagLYJvJ8hBEQ4GjS5S-1PT3vHqxAwlmJk2e2MpNkan9GWxFyzBOOx_yFb7tgoDZa24RkSYBDNrt4ZZYSIEnD3Ka5zaYOh_D7LAq8/s200/DSC02176.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY2PLs1e0RFly0Z2CJ5sDHeXfBgc0BCarW3ZP-a8FZ1-sVTlE2ta36joXYzibA88le1FsiCZWutHHTAxxNLqYXiBUzSfplI5mltW8STLJbF5_xnXdHRQQesWCmjV0A5klEe8xfA0XR85c/s1600/DSC02213.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488388545926452914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY2PLs1e0RFly0Z2CJ5sDHeXfBgc0BCarW3ZP-a8FZ1-sVTlE2ta36joXYzibA88le1FsiCZWutHHTAxxNLqYXiBUzSfplI5mltW8STLJbF5_xnXdHRQQesWCmjV0A5klEe8xfA0XR85c/s200/DSC02213.JPG" /></a>
<div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-89154449487074775562010-06-24T17:28:00.002-05:002010-06-24T17:37:21.942-05:00More badlands pics<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjukbBqyDxBTGk_NFceMpZ_hkIrmUzNo82vtgfp-OmUzXHo1hlCwyR3XT52vL668TXY2EWL0Ymyf40OxUV1fLzmQPGHd91aeRnlBuzr2d4Cj5OpXm1SiO1PEFxwCiR3305NShuX4hfU2m8/s1600/DSC02019.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486472488837194258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjukbBqyDxBTGk_NFceMpZ_hkIrmUzNo82vtgfp-OmUzXHo1hlCwyR3XT52vL668TXY2EWL0Ymyf40OxUV1fLzmQPGHd91aeRnlBuzr2d4Cj5OpXm1SiO1PEFxwCiR3305NShuX4hfU2m8/s200/DSC02019.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGF0Efj2YZIxTTfjGn-yKV2ZEuZqr8UM4RuSbT8hjE01kr2qO9DFdPhyesFfmGdCus5jk2BP1XZshLuXVZM6uZkjyESTPz3K5Mmja6E4n9RpOfcxvp9JZTDdCzNLBmu7ioiToTeckhyYk/s1600/DSC02043.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486472477578305714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGF0Efj2YZIxTTfjGn-yKV2ZEuZqr8UM4RuSbT8hjE01kr2qO9DFdPhyesFfmGdCus5jk2BP1XZshLuXVZM6uZkjyESTPz3K5Mmja6E4n9RpOfcxvp9JZTDdCzNLBmu7ioiToTeckhyYk/s200/DSC02043.JPG" /></a>
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<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKyGGxLkpRnmOgHHz42pf7TaLqrJqma4TEFomnMiCCPeZQZtQioyKefaNGnKR-Qs_HLoO3uoZJiAE9-oCtKtLC3-NGgDLf3TxHe4PlSNxFWiXtSPOf7Xh7yqBIJ5J8R73VE-4a4fh5Ak/s1600/DSC02028.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486472462098372210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKyGGxLkpRnmOgHHz42pf7TaLqrJqma4TEFomnMiCCPeZQZtQioyKefaNGnKR-Qs_HLoO3uoZJiAE9-oCtKtLC3-NGgDLf3TxHe4PlSNxFWiXtSPOf7Xh7yqBIJ5J8R73VE-4a4fh5Ak/s200/DSC02028.JPG" /></a>
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kpgSFgJ0nzFlw6_m2G1JtGcDcBPT1q7pJMykZLCpaOmcPPlxPPsTxUwfP76NHVoRM80UlbyoSCmWpdRqvGxtY7t7SAq7sOS-K9n1uaOP24Emc2QtnRDV8LkHHmiYFwp7tG-QQqzjPec/s1600/DSC02010.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486472452108505266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kpgSFgJ0nzFlw6_m2G1JtGcDcBPT1q7pJMykZLCpaOmcPPlxPPsTxUwfP76NHVoRM80UlbyoSCmWpdRqvGxtY7t7SAq7sOS-K9n1uaOP24Emc2QtnRDV8LkHHmiYFwp7tG-QQqzjPec/s200/DSC02010.JPG" /></a>
<div></div></div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-49226216159576351642010-06-24T17:05:00.002-05:002010-06-24T17:28:44.593-05:00Wounded Knee Massacre<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs4cCO-ljIPdw1c0EymJuyEbu95Hy99napNeCbWuJ0Bt4Waa0l7YG9jg6-QixJIVWPv-budVnOF-2GaebGz1B9LMgRbwKJ_5cCZAOqf932PUCDp-APYYrY6AdulUumS5lyPJ1Gkuj7nU8/s1600/DSC02080.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486466458061180914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs4cCO-ljIPdw1c0EymJuyEbu95Hy99napNeCbWuJ0Bt4Waa0l7YG9jg6-QixJIVWPv-budVnOF-2GaebGz1B9LMgRbwKJ_5cCZAOqf932PUCDp-APYYrY6AdulUumS5lyPJ1Gkuj7nU8/s200/DSC02080.JPG" /></a>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4u0jlSmK_p6CYdfZdAkJEH7Vq0Sutz6kK-3hYgqTvob3d7CCkDKyMEr4X0yhu_SBN894PRRW7OcOSOaBDPVxyH07td35nvh80hAAlXG3X4VRePSqd8bI6Eyc9x2BHhm4ls-BxjvPC9Qw/s1600/DSC02079.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486466440834715826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4u0jlSmK_p6CYdfZdAkJEH7Vq0Sutz6kK-3hYgqTvob3d7CCkDKyMEr4X0yhu_SBN894PRRW7OcOSOaBDPVxyH07td35nvh80hAAlXG3X4VRePSqd8bI6Eyc9x2BHhm4ls-BxjvPC9Qw/s200/DSC02079.JPG" /></a>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSmz1kpLSJWo0kc9vGxz0woh0zgXIcLk811GHT98mA6dBvicEqu62q9ytB31fKPnRvIoSuRVEjcS5R_RDAR65uA5gkhyphenhyphenGWHdSwW7vRUqGOjlt8dmJvIhmFZBCo07hvlZmt1YQRyueJDQ/s1600/DSC02076.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486466429050634210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSmz1kpLSJWo0kc9vGxz0woh0zgXIcLk811GHT98mA6dBvicEqu62q9ytB31fKPnRvIoSuRVEjcS5R_RDAR65uA5gkhyphenhyphenGWHdSwW7vRUqGOjlt8dmJvIhmFZBCo07hvlZmt1YQRyueJDQ/s200/DSC02076.JPG" /></a>
On the way back we took a short detour to the site of the Wounded Knee Massacre. It was a brutal, and in my opinion, unforgivable act. Again another of this country’s not-so-shining moments. Several hundred Native Americans, including Sioux, Oglala and Lakota tribes, Chief Sitting Bull, Chief Big Foot and many women and children were gathered and shot…for dancing. What a disgrace! No matter what day and age, people can be so hostile and ignorant. Some of the captives escaped and were hunted down, up to two miles away. And today there is but a small collection of gravestones atop a hill in memorial. Several of the modern day descendents of Native American tribes still live in barren and depressing adobes with little provisions, few resources and almost no contact with the outside world, save the tourists who visit this town with unpaved roads and no stop signs. The next time someone dares to complain or make a smart remark of entitlement about their “lack of privileges” in this country, they will definitively get an ear full from me.
Torben finally got the chocolate covered cake donut he has been craving since Tennessee! Wall Drug is a totally unique and bizarre tourist trap, but one that is well worth a look-see, and is famous for its donuts. If you’re unfamiliar, picture a pharmacy with several cafes, shops filled with more taxidermy than is necessary and the most amazing collection of Old West Art that dons every wall. The collection is one of the best I have seen, truly.
Setting up home in the Black Hills for a few days, should be more adventure filled with ooohhhh’s and aaaahhhhh’s. Can’t wait!!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-26191542483210290992010-06-24T16:44:00.003-05:002010-06-24T17:05:48.045-05:00BadlandsBadlands are BAD, baby, BAD!! In a good way! The first night we camped we were treated to a storm, Badlands style, and it was a whopper. The entire sky turned from dusk to black in a matter of minutes. Out here, they sky goes on for miles and miles and to watch a mammoth wall of rumbling storm roll your way is a pretty awesome experience. We made it to the top of the hill for a little sightseeing when Torben yelled “RUN!” and estimated that we had approximately 30 seconds before being pelted with rain. He was right. 70 mile an hour gusts damn near blew us off the road. As if staying on the road wasn’t challenge enough, he had to navigate down a 7% grade in construction with like 2 feet of visibility. He’s good. The next day we learned that one of the campers in our park actually turned over from the force of the wind. Wooooooaaahhh! (Thankfully everyone was ok)
<p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486463072798042466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfA91JodwU6f4gvJCSPznJ8xIxLNV2-5TJJQA8-4yyM9eA4qs7tT2PN1HlPIrzRy2auO2bGP3GmIJUeMt-GAB_umGTrqYhd1DTvN2ilWjW5vkXvjk1jd3gkaQtbkiu8G4pjFEOfLzBbik/s200/DSC02061.JPG" />This is what we awoke to the next day, ROCK ON! (literally-ha!) <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486463120385143570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpj1Ydxl4OXZ9LHl76n_C12vqHr3Blcsj0T-TfywX6kn3LYoJLI2fb4PrqYZ5n1TehE9k9Ho7Oj6IgPT0G3hIPXvnA-1G8cD2ICVOTcf-6G8ivJcA9gphrtqQcz5d-d5pNdl3GBOMjOYU/s200/DSC02040.JPG" />I climbed this bad boy all the way to the tippy top. (Jen, Kel: it put Camel back to shame!)</p><p> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486463107106889506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgimutgs2NAs7YSUdmsDHE49mM0_mqhHD4BjLbG9YbmZ9udO4Efg4990kCK3tpfDJgqPeidDsJGVUYiy220U4TwJQEyG6WiMsSb2r5p4BQU4oxs0_8jAnSAY_yjxm7qpdwduKKiYOolFE/s200/DSC02039.JPG" />It was a strain but totally worth it. I was expecting a little nervousness as I approached the summit, but honestly, I felt calmer and more stable the higher I climbed. A rattlesnake was rumored to make his home at the summit as well so I gave him plenty of room, no need to make friends. I don’t have words for the view that was beholden to me, and the pictures are amazing, but only give it a half justice. If you have any inclination to go here, GO! It will be an experience that will impress your memory, it certainly did mine. Enjoy (keep scrolling, I can only add 5 pics per post, so there are several posts that follow).
We traveled south a few hours to Merriman, Nebraska. Why? Good question. It is the birthplace of Torben’s namesake, his grandfather Torben S. Madson, the first. Who, from what I understand, was a noble and righteous man. He went on to become the Mayor of Largo. The Madson family has fond memories of him and says that he was a kind, gentle, patient man. The original TSM’s parents came over from Denmark as Madsen and, like all Ellis Island immigrants got a name change, hence: Madson.</p><p> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486463096048572514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPI2yI09QQl0alKNRFcY18Hmx_1mTLVzMhiDCF9JwrQQj99eHy5FU0A3L7dy8vlJRfylyZ5EXa7j-kkEJUHUD9vgz0p4ykAsRZodI_RAxmEpvXODudDKAKpDp8SDsD3Jm4y-TFEyrij8Y/s200/DSC02065.JPG" /></p><p>The family lived in a sod home in Merriman. When the original TSM was 7-8 years old his father had the courage and wherewithal to move his family (wife, son and two daughters) yet again across the country, this time south to Largo, Florida. After having seen Merriman there is little doubt as to why the family left. Sadly, this is about all that remains and it is clear even this has been gone for some time.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486463082190572674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMWhdbOO_7eela8XDXsUzJTSoY4kTKYJp5HEnHB5l4W5tGvpY6EIGSZWr_7phOJiQ-XbyYAStFotwWLCCS86KULYFGQwZZMMq1BVjkXhEsVYNKPQWCUpXcwd7G90kAP3kc3xEMXeyGLEE/s200/DSC02067.JPG" /></p><p> We took a stroll through the cemetery on the hilltop. I love old cemeteries – and this did not disappoint! There were several family plots, all worn with time, some newly added headstones since the 1950’s, but the real gems were the 1880 headstones! Talk about history! Imagine what these people would have seen!! Real Cowboys and Indians! Interestingly, I learned from my Aunt Donna that my Great (Great?) Grandfather also homesteaded in this area (Kadoka, SD) in the early 1900’s. Pretty cool that about 100 years ago our families once lived in the same area.
</p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-88565752593987013502010-06-22T15:52:00.003-05:002010-06-22T16:03:43.969-05:00Driving through eastern South DakotaI am so excited! I have started typing to keep myself busy, as I am so amped I can hardly contain myself: WE ARE FINALLY IN SOUTH DAKOTA!! This is one of our pinnacle goals of the trip. It is a land I have only seen in old movies and heard about in history class. I talked to my Uncle Dick Fisher (Grandpa P.J.’s brother), he and my Aunt Donna live in the Black Hills and we hope to meet up with them for a visit along the way. But first….I am awaiting my first glimpse of the Badlands….um, nothing yet….but of course I’ll keep you posted.
Last night we arrived in Sioux Falls, SD and enjoyed a lovely dinner downtown at a sidewalk café. Our campgrounds had a huge playground, complete with this awesome “pillow jump” (think trampoline built into the ground).
<p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485705532297347586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4YlTAb9IgygOBUL3eARA9KMCqR9lrn3rSPYoa05YOA0QCoFuLLq2lckiQbSQHZXTCL0cyDU2I11dd-cQ3XgTnUXRm-HwbkiCrdUCiab7ntOG40FfcZXlCsir3KTpzfrPcfkZJ19R0zP8/s200/DSC01994.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485705536862547442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfRt-3s0QEIr9taFfI_P29HIU1MVIjg5MRKHBCzxA2pqkhujIis0z33s3BQa-swKgZ546Xy0q-eTW3BGzkY8cp5fuS12CyYuvxUlX7s30mZyAngHA4vEQsHPfv3eDWzvg0SeVUE3N_JM/s200/DSC01992.JPG" />
The east of South Dakota is pretty barren. There are some gentle rolling hills, A LOT of corn and some cows. We saw our first herd of buffalo, big hairy beasts, they actually look kind of menacing from a distance. Of course, I didn’t get close enough to get more focused perspective, but I imaging their presence grows the closer you get. The population of South Dakota is 750,000, the whole state has less people than the city of Orlando! Pheasants outnumber people at a ratio of 10:1 – seriously, they printed it in a travel brochure.</p><p> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485705549312778322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMvKnAQ9ns-Aqk7AIT6H9Jh4cRYv1fLJ_-abpj2b7_0QGJMvHLY8yzPNTr5BrXAHKLRvA0a6FKBjloN6hGARJM6AhPgZyQ3j_9UxE56yUwfcyvLEoMCDI0CMt2nsaCIZ0lSPYrWW5XVY/s200/DSC02009.JPG" /></p>
The topography is changing quickly as I write this. Hills are starting to pop up all over the place and we just took our first steep grade in the mighty bus. A 5% grade doesn’t sound like much, but truthfully, I just about lost my lunch (partially the hill, partially my husband’s driving).
We stopped a few towns back in Mitchell and took a quick tour of their Corn Palace. It’s actually an arena/performing arts center that is, you guessed it, decorated in corn. I know, it sounds cheesy, but it has been in existence for over 100 years. And the designs are actually impressive and greater than my imaginative mind could have fostered.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485705525488713106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvr9e44elXW-rcz9NAd37FEolQu2DaFdmtMHDYwr0rOH24demCelE7VqsIu0HhVx2YZP4YKGdS0QDHbZ8D37JJmVqkdNc9auTAu82ZTri2xQj7p42o1AIa7j8lkeC8FiHY8sZI6gEGkI/s200/DSC02005.JPG" />Each year they change the designs and replace every ear of corn at the cost of $400,000. In a much appreciated twist, admission is: FREE!
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485705514070326978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjyK-zgbyhPvfs-ZRJ9rqBIVfmlql8LOYIHxUZmI9wVHzeJ7u78osIcLl1esS3K5F4m44EiBZ2PPtSoS-LqdFP_w8uESO1RKDOucT_2FnIu9DEGMM36s2y2h8Kl7Fpj6smE2BDXhqDXHc/s200/DSC02004.JPG" />
Also, on our way out of Nebraska the other day we went to the Horseshoe Casino (actually, we “camped” in their concrete RV Park, but that’s irrelevant). Torben was thrilled to have spent a few hours playing the craps table and won enough money to buy himself a souvenir t-shirt. On the way out we stopped to socialize with some of the shooters at our table. They thought Torben was my DAD!! Heeheehee!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-37704299790559255802010-06-20T15:35:00.005-05:002010-06-20T15:59:50.958-05:00We're in Nebraska...seriously.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipnjAaejcaUkVDCRxAPng3GvWdvsXAlEn0XmCs1VQzkUsNIthknNDI6HeL9C3kfrqjBDTDzIYA-kpRKen82kwUHVhStsPXBdyKPc5v7jQgwMG-JWdYSC01A9DmHjBhVJWLG_1fIRruin8/s1600/DSC01949.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484959061664540338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipnjAaejcaUkVDCRxAPng3GvWdvsXAlEn0XmCs1VQzkUsNIthknNDI6HeL9C3kfrqjBDTDzIYA-kpRKen82kwUHVhStsPXBdyKPc5v7jQgwMG-JWdYSC01A9DmHjBhVJWLG_1fIRruin8/s200/DSC01949.JPG" /></a>
I enjoyed the ride south of Topeka. We ventured into a Prairie Grass Preserve. From afar the grass appears to be a blanket offering not more than a few inches of greenery. Looking out across the swaying landscape there is open space as far as the eye can see. The wind blows constant and generates a comforting shushing or hum between the grass, almost a soothing vibration. In every direction all I saw was grass. It was kind of a surreal moment. Far in the distance I could almost make out the towers of some electric cables, but they appeared totally out of place, so my mind’s eye just erased them and the vision was superb. I began dreaming of what the prairie might have looked like hundreds of years ago when the Native Americans inhabited the land. The phenomena of bison stampeding over the rolling hills must have been an awesome sight to behold. I also pondered how difficult life must have been for the first settlers to live in such a harsh climate, the wind is unrelenting, the grasses can grow up to six feet tall! A plethora of ferrets, birds, snakes, and rodents could (and still do) hide anywhere, and bison are notoriously territorial. Under the grass is rock, not conducive to farming and the land is prone to flooding. It would have been a difficult undertaking to sustain one’s self and one’s family with little or no resources. Back at the Capitol Building in Topeka there is an impressive bronze statue honoring the women of the frontier. It shows a woman with a bonnet sitting erect with a babe wrapped under her arm, a musket across her lap, a dog by her feet and her spare arm draped over the shoulder of a boy. She wears a bold look of courage and physical strength. Women back then were tough. I doubt dainty got them very far. It was a nice reminder that characteristics like fortitude, discipline and stamina were both necessary and admired. All too often the strength of a woman’s character is either unnoticed because of the outer package or dismissed as an unbecoming. This statue was a nice reminder that the backbone of this country was built on the resolve of women, who worked just as hard as the men they tended. While I bare no children, I do tend to favor the strength of my character, which has been the paramount of my accomplishments. I felt a kinship with this statue. Thank you, Topeka, for this striking tribute.
(Oh, and along the way we visited the birthplace of Amelia Earhart-talk about strong women!)
We landed in Omaha two days ago. Many of you know I have a strong aversion to all things Nebraska related. I did a clinical rotation up here during the dead of winter, the experience left a dull flakey taste in my mouth. I remember being so cold that my feet felt frostbitten, and that was before I even got out of bed. Wind is one thing, wind and ZERO degree temperatures are hell. I used to call Torben in Florida when I was shivering and barely able to see through the dark sleet. He would joyously tell me about the beautiful sunny day he was enjoying at the lake, meanwhile I could hear birds chirping happily in the background. Ugh. I was so envious I used to just hang up on him. (Good thing he gets me.) Needless to say, I was not that enthusiastic to return to this state, and would have been completely happy to have avoided it, save for one thing. Torben loves his Gators, and I have to admit I have willingly adopted rooting for the team. Well, they made it to the College World Series in Omaha. Hello Nebraska.
Omaha is the birthplace of President Ford. Torben was thrilled to visit the home/memorial, as he campaigned for him and the Republican Party (I know, shocking, Republican, right?) when he was only 14 years old! My baby has done some cool stuff. He said he was so excited when his parents let him go; he piled into a bus with a bunch of Florida college kids and traversed the south. To this day it is one of his cherished memories.
<p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484959016155929074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUME9k7mij3kZocDdrvWLowGz8jv_UW8nU8Vz0prXZmSQtmeqNX-lZboRJSGd7QDQ7dHQcS_gxafLKbJ2__63ryGbnFjbA2-ddmGsArjwTAgcRz9XB2mpcyw1pYhLa-R-oa-QizrAd_jM/s200/DSC01976.JPG" /></p><p>The home/monument is beautiful and there is of course, a rose garden donated by his wife. We also had a moment there amidst our appreciation where we looked at each other and couldn’t help but laugh scornfully, for obvious reasons. There are several marble constructs with the names of each President etched with care. I think this picture says it better than I ever could: </p>
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484959007059302994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZ_bmVssNSJRYbQnGfeOtaOh91bZnzEJAkiIfhLZLW7cK0um-QQNfjOB2pBLUdF-D5k768qX_Su2QpbMF3sQw-JVHEhKEF3-c6l5_U-OyTJojSY2NltoJ4xpcLSnDrMj7MtseTOSViSg/s200/DSC01978.JPG" />
"Obamaha" is a bustling metropolis and I am pleased to report that once again my expectations have been shattered and I am grateful. It is complete with beautiful and well manicured parks, venues for large scale performances and the most enthusiastic baseball fans I have ever seen. Tens of thousands of people from all over the city and neighboring states have descended on Rosenblatt Stadium.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484958998052007842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-ow3k0m3FNrXCa3be3x7y3Xgd3pPFJxi8Jgx4Decr-mJs_b2yt4j2vU461wPw14GAU5U9cJau6YThfl1N3KqAsF_YrsVgWiv3ifTShXBI_vYXwbTuvaXJc5aiAxUNMZXXEin7fJP_Bo/s200/DSC01984.JPG" /> This stadium has been hosting these championship games for over 60 years and the locals have season tickets to these games alone. In true Madson fashion, we arrived late on the scene and the party was well underway. We are accustomed to tailgating in the football season, but I have to say, these guys rivaled any we’ve seen. The nice thing is that fans and teams from all over the country were gathered together in good spirit. Of course we didn’t have tickets, but we lucked out with rock star parking near the stadium and something told us it was going to be a good day. Torben, who never knows a stranger, made friends with everyone strutting Gator orange and blue and in no time we had tickets on the third base line. I jumped for joy and appreciation, as we were NOT looking forward to joining the 2 mile long line waiting for general admission (Seriously, 2 miles and well over 20,000 people for 5,000 seats…um, no thank you.). For anyone who appreciates sports tradition, the Rosenblatt Stadium is a wonder, with incredible views of Omaha. This is the last year it will be in use, as construction for a newer, bigger (read: more expensive) stadium is already underway. When talking to the locals, most were sad that tradition of the stadium was ending. There were some die-hard baseball fans, and they likened it to losing Wrigley or Fenway, which I imagine would just devastate the community. As with most urban progress build, build, build and they will come. Omaha has a great riverfront district and the new baseball field will house nicely amidst extended parking, a mega-dome, etc. Anyway, we lucked out sitting next to some terrific people. I love hecklers and we had two of the best sitting right behind us. They knew each player’s name and stats and took great joy out at calling out every player on his follies. It was really entertaining, too bad the Gators made most of them. Oh well, the Gators lost, but no big deal, we didn’t want to make every other team in the nation fear us in this sport too :)
<div align="center"> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484958971383069346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisIt3kSJVI5nbB59IFH4R0GW4BkUl6us_QaWR1bgjLeHgk44XC_umQYcil_mkl-K7lgSKWlUvUnC-IqgU8FCKtgD7M6XMUsGJhTnsDjy3-r_SsNAJvozqfRtmKnnn_MSXgJBiH8FFVzpE/s200/DSC01988.JPG" />
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!
</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-31582507920260155512010-06-16T22:26:00.005-05:002010-06-16T22:59:15.722-05:00We're ba-ack!!<span style="font-size:180%;">Hello again!!</span>
I would be remiss if I did not begin this blog with an apology for those of you who regularly follow our postings: Sorry for the dead air. I (Sarah) had to do a major revamping of my attitude since my last post. Here’s the quick fill in: Another trip to Red Bay. I won’t go into the horrible details, but let’s just say there were tears, curse words and a lot of pouting. I actually avoided blogging to spare you from sharing in my misery. Well, that and a little bit of laziness (I'm on vacation people!). But, you can’t keep a good man/woman down long right? I am happy to report that the noMadsons are once again gaining momentum. Blaze’s follow up appointment went well; he is hobbling along slowly, thanks to everyone who shared their concerns.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 170px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483581594800158610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXME75hV7DmXIkD7ElWTkvs4e8o12QQwK_5S2EDOdbTT70V37q4CooDJSR4jBvhfKv7hyzigAmcOaWm_Eply2WbCAuWo3id0yRjQb6RTyhzL7n9GOlPnQj_XUFbA5XKWUuLFk752uSoTY/s200/DSC01929.JPG" />
So now the good stuff…We spent a few days (before and after Red Bay) in Arkansas. Torben and I have taken previous trips to this part of the country and LOVED it. (Of course, this was the vacation following our mess in Nicaragua, so it’s not hard to appreciate improvement!) Arkansas is called the Natural State, and it is. Beautiful rolling Ozark Mountains, lush green forests, awesome caves, clean rivers, basically anything to tease an outdoorsman’s liking at your fingertips.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483581584843125938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLKl9Pp5LxIXWtFPY_E2LmnmlplaW5zt_8TBbwwVqigfxcA0CqDx-nASWRvvrK_Uf7Gjvb3DugVWQrZSoSU0GmTbBeA-60L8ttn3D4ZFfHOTmk7KVX_rG56dwjGcmHJODczK7ZGoHovew/s200/DSC01920.JPG" />
But while we adore this state, we didn’t stay too long, our eagerness to explore NEW places won out. We drove north into Missouri, past a little town that I did one of my grad school clinical rotations, Joplin. Blazing through we noticed a storm to our west. Most people would pull over, seek shelter, or head the opposite way. Not the Madsons! We put on our game faces and decided to play storm chasers for the day…all the way into Kansas. Ok, perhaps not the best decision in a gigantic bus, but hey what’s life if not for a little hairy adventure? Truthfully all we got was a little rain, but pretended that we were in the scene of Twister: “we have hail, we have debris…was that a cow?” Ironically, my sister and her family live here but are gone home to visit family at this time (figures) so we didn’t have a doorstep to pull up on or a family to invade (bummer).
We did find a great campsite out in the middle of the fields. It was awesome, the stars were so bright, our dogs ran loose and we could spread out our arms and not even come close to hitting a neighbor. The great expanse felt good, like a deep breath of fresh air. We ventured into Fort Scott, a lovely historic town that has an old timey dinner theater house with wild west frescos on the wall and huge drop curtains. Unfortunately the downturn of our economy is really hitting hard in the heart of this country where people rely on sweat and a hard day’s work to make it. It is incredibly sad to see all of the unique shops, restaurants and specialty stores go out of business because a new Wal-Mart Supercenter went in 30 miles down the highway. Another eye opening experience that has made me re-evaluate the cost of convenience. The people of Kansas are lovely. We got terrific recommendations for chiropractic adjustments for Torben and the kids (yes, we give our dogs chiropractic visits when they need them – they really work surprisingly well), even if we did have to drive 60 miles to a town that barely made the map.
<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483581576806779410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxN-xJW01jAmSz1V2rgGDpWGxLqq6JRb4OLr4ZjyTudv7tQhUbN4f0WI5LJJCqcEM2EiDc1nel0vRQKB1vcJusgn_j0YJFvY0chyphenhyphenxOPCxCu0RWtKPBGUsaqmhozQ6cGNj7mPUtab541L4/s200/DSC01890.JPG" />
<div align="left">Today we landed in Topeka and I have to say, Kansas is pretty cool so far. I surprise myself by saying that, but it is. I guess I can’t make fun of my sister for living here anymore. Sorry Sieve family, I stand corrected. The capitol of this state is beautiful and rich in history and architecture. Kansas was founded on the land of the Kansa people, whose name means People of the Wind, pretty great huh? And believe me, the wind does blow here. The state motto is Ad Astra Per Aspera, which translates as “to the stars through difficulties”. How awesome is that? I think I will adopt this as my new motto; it definitely fits our trip so far.</div><div align="left"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 124px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483581599959195602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEC3LQQxkv4aVmew03y0SLNnpUHXeBhUTbZ_qvAeD4e5vpRdzzJuWj5RkvDxVyZvMVNt6Gv5rvtHqlhbmrnS9Yb6b7qGVWCfiFPp2VSm9D7_89QOEPu_n1-N-Oo4QEpsgDUOC69Z8LSFQ/s200/DSC01938.JPG" />(Bela & Lily discover a turtle)
*Oh, the noMadson (no-so-)funny moment of the day: As a previous smoker I am now especially sensitive to the stinkiness of cigarettes. We were sightseeing through town with our windows down, enjoying the aforementioned breeze of Kansas when we pulled to a stoplight and the smell was so overpowering I scrunched my nose and started complaining that someone was smoking. At the same time Torben and I looked to our left and noticed we were parked next to a crematory. Unfortunately, someone was smoking, literally. I know my parent's mouths are agap and heads slowly shaking...Sorry guys, my humor was very unintended, well timed, but unintended. That's it for now folks. Promise to be more punctual in my postings, lest you forget about us and</div><div align="center">WE MISS YOU!<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483581571059520738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfj188IQegsZHMCF23CXRpDkh-W7ryyRgnWcU8yn3vZa3xnUE1VNTEwuYv4yiUPTwgMvYZ2YD6AK2LMml1kaIoxdyby83iW1R9pH1zEEmv7UjBaa9jVchUMaGgraTPbMc4nA6ajwSv4i0/s200/DSC01872.JPG" />! </div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-36622119184501360532010-06-04T20:56:00.005-05:002010-06-04T21:28:30.314-05:00I don’t have a picture for this blog, but if I did it would be the image of my middle finger waving stoutly to some mythical karmic being that I have apparently pissed off. Seriously, <em>seriously?</em> No, SERIOUSLY!! (I feel like the trailer for Grey’s Anatomy.)
Part I: Let me just recap the events of this “trip of a lifetime”: 2 funerals, and an emergency trip to the dentist on my birthday. Not to mention five weeks in the town of Red Bay, Alabama getting our coach worked on. Don’t get me wrong, the people of Red Bay are wonderful; but it only has four stoplights, two of them are in front of the motor home plant. The best cuisine offered is fried catfish and the nearest Walmart is 35 minutes away. Also, it’s a DRY county. Ok, lesson in patience. Then we endured the tow-car fiasco. On our third attempt to leave Alabama Blaze broke his leg. Recently, in Tennessee we lost all power to the coach. Yup, the whole shebang went kaput. The joy of a motor home is that everything runs on power, even the toilets and the door locks, but especially the leveling jacks, the air compressor brakes and the slide outs. Luckily we were staying near our dear friends the Dyes again – who graciously took us in, cat, dogs, whining husband and all. Guess what? Back to Red Bay. We felt “lucky” on this return as we only had to stay two nights to repair broken wiring and a failed water pump (by the way, there are critical moments when you don’t want to find out your water pump has failed, I happened to find one of them! Thank God we have 2 bathrooms.). We were once again giddy this morning as we took off from Red Bay headed West, finally WEST!! Then the damn air conditioner broke. U-turn. So I say again…SERIOUSLY? I called my mother as I fought back the hysteria that threatened to boil in my blood. My mom can make anything better. She’s helped me through umpteen different disasters –cancelled weddings, expired passports and dysentery in a foreign country just to make a few, but I’ll save those for another chapter. Anyway, I dialed my mom, whom I lovingly refer to as Cath, and by her deafening moment of silence I couldn’t tell if she wanted to laugh or cry for us, probably both! She sympathized with my gripes and brightly reminded me that everything was still under warranty. Everything that is, except my patience. She estimated that ran out about 600 miles ago!! Sometimes it's great just to be understood - Thanks Mom!
Part II: After watching our home ride the jacks up and down several times today we finally (gulp) left Red Bay, crossed the state line into Mississippi and kept on driving, ignoring every image we saw in the rear view mirror. HA! No need for vision when you can have sound! We were treated to a beautiful new noise in our motor home. It was small and wheezing at first, then it grew louder like a train horn continuously blaring. How long can you pretend you don't hear your home wailing like a freight train? We can probably go longer than most people. So, we barrelled down the road leaving Mississippi, blazing past Tennessee and alas into Arkansas. We crossed a HUGE freaky suspension bridge on the west side of Memphis and held our breaths as we stared wide eyed at the mighty Mississip flowing beneath us. This river never ceases to amaze me, for both its history and its sheer magnitude of strength. A six foot tree floating down river is merely a piece of lint being carried effortlessly out to the ocean. The sound continued though our amazement of this natural wonder. We found a campground called Tom Sawyer’s Riverfront RV, cool huh? We pulled in our site and cut the engine – the noise sounded like a 757 engine on a runway. It was so darn loud campers were coming out of their rigs to find out what had landed next to them. But it wasn’t a plane, it wasn’t even a barge horn, it was just the Madsons and their piece of shit motor home. Ok, so we like to make an entrance, <em>but really?</em> Good grief. There is nothing we can do about it today. So we just hooked up to our fabulous site right on the water and got to watch a larger-than-life barge pushing its load down the river. We enjoyed an hour of strolling along the bank and weaving in and out of a kudzu ivy covered swamp. It was replenishing. I think God gave us these moments of recollection to make up for the crap storm we’ve endured. He must have seen we were at our edge and gave us a lifeline to pull us back in. So from the banks of the Mississippi I bid you goodnight…until tomorrow’s fiasco begins.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3855969230802898523.post-18235517646198131332010-05-27T21:29:00.004-05:002010-05-27T22:11:28.101-05:00My liver hates me!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxdHx85J-jjPnJ1_c5217l_p6gTA3-fQh0hrW2ET1i6F1u8O8bsHasJXoOv3V1eXii6h8MDmUCsFF4CzNUx7YwhZEh6YaQ-fue4OfZoDNht64T6mKECBfINngGdYGCR1b49QfVUHxS5w/s1600/DSC01842.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476144395511923538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxdHx85J-jjPnJ1_c5217l_p6gTA3-fQh0hrW2ET1i6F1u8O8bsHasJXoOv3V1eXii6h8MDmUCsFF4CzNUx7YwhZEh6YaQ-fue4OfZoDNht64T6mKECBfINngGdYGCR1b49QfVUHxS5w/s200/DSC01842.JPG" /></a> <div><div><div><div>Ohhh, my (bitter) sweet friend Jim Beam. We have arrived in Bardstown, KY - the Bourbon capital of the world! Today we toured the one and only Jim Beam disterillry! No tour is complete without some sampling - better yet - it was FREE!!<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476144384191008098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEDYwz7stZoIn4MxX8rxvqJQbf8ZOjhleMArN6dn3yagNvriPp2EcPg5TbQzBMxnMAPaH1w33ztl9gF__K86Rl9Spkgsur7lwj6uSCkLsXvx0MSvaz_EwBoZYUTmOY7oUY6D-c2bP9tY/s200/DSC01839.JPG" /> It was fabulous, and I learned that the Beam label actually makes several brands of bourbon I have never heard of before. Of course we had to bring a few home to add to our collection. Next, we went to Havenly Hill distributors and had an even more fabulous tour through their rick houses which store the bourbon in charred white oak barrels.</div><div> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476144377494405458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjF7mtos1JWVzvuT4yY5FVC-LVS3jP9HJs4mYgt-4cvVt2I534kX0dUD7Bp5uIC_755cowPO_Ik04jGWoFizTaG8wNe2M-cWFT7h9-IBS-dMMjBT6gD8zfr0kq-vnek86ZrRrrLywcFCU/s200/DSC01848.JPG" /> The fermentation smell that wafted through the creaky wooden structure was pungent! It reminded me of the everpresent stench of alcohol that lingered in the halls of the [insert name of favorite greek fraternity] Lamda Chi house at Butler. To commemorate my recollection of college memories, I celebrated like I still had a college liver, hence the title of this post. Truthfully I am surprised that I am currently coherent enough to write this. After the tours and samples we dined at Talbotts Tavern, which has housed the likes of President Lincoln, Daniel Boone, Jesse James, & George Washington Irving. Pretty impressive. It is an old stone building with dark wood rafters and candlelight everywhere. Probably would have been romantic if it had not been for the bourbon sampler. Started out as a good Sarah idea (much to Torben's staunch objection). Well, let's just say I am not as young as I once was and five shots of anything is four shots too many. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476144368215260178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZbiopWI9RrnHzDMY5WwG__hGejOzU16lvwEFAPniykLXDblCAPUgxfNzIV36I1ft0-ujtJs8-yZsT51gTF5MgLY2Z-BufzGihfqHoMvzV6MAjHWDAx-Mi9LFQT3pQuOKM_EOGjU_phyphenhyphenk/s200/DSC01850.JPG" />Torben is notoriously frugal and won't let me waste anything. I felt like I was six years old being forced to sit at the dinner table until I finished my plate. He just smiled while savoring that "I told you so" moment. In a last ditch effort to avoid hurling up my dinner I offered the remainder up the to table behind us and ended up making friends with a couple who had lived for three years on a sailboat and were once boarded by pirates! I love meeting colorful people. Last, on our way home this evening we were shocked to learn that we have traveled all this far to run into...our next door neighbor! Torben spoke with Patty Shenefelt and it turns out her uber-talented son is performing as Stephen Foster in this year's summer play series in Bardstown. Crazy? Unfortunately, poor Michael is laid up and not feeling so well, so say a prayer for his quick return to health. Tomorrow we plan to check in on him and make sure he's doing ok. Then, we're off for more bourbon touring (if you want to throw in another prayer for my liver feel free to do so). </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476144359160577858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKAbUSF4JGEAKuJM8wxCQBi-aWvTz66cocc_3ep52FXVwbZzFJ6jxm0e2VG2zHKikt0Mc65PzjewQHnWxhA7HNmd2E9vDC7y6Hms5KDRIxSP_a4Mx48yZWjDXdk6JlKjel75AVFmDltY/s200/DSC01849.JPG" /></div><div align="center">Oh yeah, this was <em>following </em>the tour. Fun times.</div></div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06388127644748019074noreply@blogger.com0