Category: Grand Adventure

A few short days after I returned from New York in February, I learned that our former neighbor, and an old friend of George's, had passed away.  I had hoped to see Jim when I was in Sarasota in December, but I still had bronchitis and Jim's health was far too fragile. I had hoped to go back but alas, I was too late.

Still, I knew I had to go.  My presence was not required.  I was not expected even, but that made no difference.  I knew I needed to go, if only just for myself, if only to pay honor to a good man, a good man who had been a good friend to George.  As George's dementia progressed his contact with friends dropped off.  This is not surprising in some ways; it is difficult to know what to say, to know how to relate to someone who can't really maintain a conversation.  But Jim took time.  When George could no longer drive but could still get around a bit, Jim would stop by and take George with him to the gym.  They would work out and go have coffee and doughnuts.  These meetings were often the high point of George's week, and they gave him a chance to once again just be "one of the guys".  Later, when George wasn't really up for going out anymore, Jim would occasionally come by to have a glass of scotch and talk.  They would talk about old times, about the military, about the Korean War. 

I needed to go to Florida, perhaps as an act of honoring George's friend, perhaps as an act of closure of sorts on a life that is now gone, but also to share this thoughtful side of Jim with his family.  Going to Florida proved to be a good thing.

Tikka and I drove down slowly.  I wasn't ready to abandon her again; it is true she is an important part of my family now.  We had a day together to explore Sarasota, and then there was another day that revolved around the funeral.  Too soon, after two short days, we were heading home.

But I have to admit that I enjoyed Sarasota more in February than I had in December.  Perhaps that it was simply that I was not sick.  Perhaps the fact that it was cooler helped.  Perhaps it was just that we stayed closer in to town, at the Hotel Indigo in the Rosemary District.  Tikka and I could walk around town, walk to the old downtown, walk to the harbor.  We walked a lot.  We looked at the water.  I ate a lot of fresh local seafood. Our first afternoon in town we walked around our neighborhood and went to the Arts Center, where we explored the sculpture garden.  Tikka wanted to make friends with this gentleman sitting on a bench.  She couldn't figure out why he didn't pet her.   I wish I could have captured the expression in her eyes when she realized he wasn't a person at all.

We also went out to St. Armand's and had lunch on the circle.  Dogs aren't allowed on the beaches in Sarasota, but we stopped at Bird Key Park and wandered.  Tikka got her feet wet, but she really isn't that interested in swimming either in salt or fresh water.  At one point, as I sat on a rock and she wandered in and out of the edges of the water, sniffing and exploring, Tikka sniffed at what I thought was a shiny rock.  As the surf came in, I saw that the sand was gradually washing away and the rock was being uncovered.  Then I noticed it breathing.  It wasn't a rock, it was a jellyfish.  I don't believe I had ever watched a jellyfish breathe before.  Truthfully, I probably was always trying to avoid the jellyfish.  Tikka came and sat in my lap and we watched the jellyfish, slowly being revealed by the water, slowly being freed from the sand, its breathing steady and strong.  Eventually the jellyfish was free, and it floated into the water and began to move away.  I never knew I could be so happy for a jellyfish, returned to life, able to swim another day.

During my blog break, I went to New York.  In fact, although it was not a part of the original plan, I started the blog break with a trip to New York and ended with a trip to Florida, but more about that later.  In short I was busier than I anticipated and I am still catching up.

I was meeting my friend Liana, who was flying in from Nebraska.  We had managed to schedule our flights so we would arrive at LGA at approximately the same time.  But the weather intervened.  We were both delayed by 3 hours or more; in fact Liana's flight was cancelled and she ended up on another flight, bound for Newark instead of LGA.  I thought I had been so clever:  I didn't fly at the crack of dawn, and I was originally scheduled to arrive well before rush hour.  HA!  Mother Nature intervened.

By the time I did land I was simply tired and ready to get to the hotel.  It had been raining.  The sky was mostly gray but shaded with the rosy hues of the approaching sunset as we headed west into Manhattan.  The photo was snapped quickly through my cab window and is none to clear, but somehow it perfectly captured my mood at my reintroduction to New York.

We stayed in the garment district, at the Archer Hotel, which was perfectly lovely.  The room was small, it was NYC after all, but really rather cleverly and furnished and decorated to the effect that I found it more comfortable and efficient than many larger hotels.

We had hoped to go to the Met that night, but we landed late, and were tired.  We opted for a drink at the bar instead, where there was a lovely view of the Empire State Building, just one of the lovely features of this small hotel, to which I would happily return.

Although we had planned to go out to dinner, we ended up staying in, moving ourselves downstairs to the restaurant.  Even then we opted for nibbling and noshing while we talked and laughed and generally unwound.  It proved to be a good start to a lovely short visit.  A few events never materialized.  A friend we hoped to meet was stuck in another city, unable to return home, probably due to the same weather systems that delayed our arrival.  We never made it to the Met, the one performance we both wanted to see was sold out, with no last minute seating options, and I had managed to talk Liana out of trying for tickets the previous night. 

But we wandered around the garment district, explored fabric stores, and yes, went back for fabric.  We walked and talked and laughed a lot.  It was good to spend time with someone I can talk about clothes and fashion and fabric, with a friend who appreciates my rather frivolous and shallow side.  In fact it was good to just be lighthearted and silly.  We went down to Chinatown, and up to the Upper East Side.  We ate and drank and flirted with waiters.  In fact, I was rather surprised to find myself being engaged, and engaging in, lighthearted flirtation on a few occasions.  It is quite nice to have found joy again, to release that flighty self from the closet she was locked away in during those years when I became too serious for my own good. A little bubble and sparkle is always a good thing. 

I've been home a few days now and am mostly unpacked with the exception of needlework supplies.  A bit of organization and planning is required here, and I have been mostly tired, and attentive to my very clingy furry family.

The trip home was less relaxed than the trip out.  This was partially because it was the end of a long trip and I much as I enjoy seeing new things and traveling, I am always happy to be home.  It was also partly because I missed my Tikka and wanted to get home to see her, and Moisés, as well.  It is possible that I must amend my original statement about road trips.  Yes a solo road trip can be a joy, but my basic preference would still be for companionable travel, and there were times when I definitely missed that sense of discovery and good times in good company. Perhaps solo trips are best when they are shorter.  Perhaps this is something I still need to figure out, and my feelings will evolve over time.  I am not convinced however, that I will take another solo Texas road trip without my Tikka-Dikka-Do. 

I did make one short detour on my way home, and enjoyable as it was, it perhaps contributed to my sense of melancholy, although I haven't actually sorted those feelings out yet.  I went to Lake Catherine State Park, outside of Malvern, Arkansas, a place where my family went camping frequently when I was young.  I enjoyed the brief diversion, and the park looks very much the way I remember it. It is a fairly small park, although I seem to remember thinking its was endless then.  I can see that, see how running around from the area where my family usually camped, across the campgrounds and over to the picnic area with its big stone fireplace and back, allowed for much exploration and hours of imaginative play.  I can see how it was and remains a perfect family-sized park. 

Lake Catherine is a long, narrow lake, and as I walked and looked out at the lake I fondly remembered explorations and games, fishing solo and with my brothers, and the joys of being out on the lake.  I also remembered being fascinated by the power plant across the lake from our camping spot, and I stopped to take a picture of it from my favorite small glade, a little nook very close to where we usually camped, a quiet spot where I would often curl up with a book or fleeting whips of imagination.

I had intended to hike at least one of the trails, but realized I didn't really have time.  The shorter trail claimed it required 2 hours on the trail map, and given my propensity to stop and reflect, an inclination that is far more pronounced upon solo excursions, it was probably true.  I really wanted to take the longer hike up to the ridge and back, but I obviously didn't have the time for either.  Nor was I inclined toward a few hours of solo hiking, truth be told, although I probably would have gone on at least the shorter trail had I had Tikka with me.  Admittedly, my back is not up for 4 hours of steep uneven terrain, so the longer trail would have been out of the question.  Being at the trailhead reminded me that I do want to do more hiking however, and I had temporarily abandoned my plan to get myself hiking and biking.  I set myself back by pushing too hard last fall, and again in the spring, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't move forward, perhaps just learn to temper my hard-headed German stubbornness.

Today we are driving from San Antonio to Dallas.  I am working on a blog post or posts about the trip and what I have learned but it seems to take me a while to process my own meandering thoughts, and I need to pack and get the car loaded for departure.

To tide you over, or perhaps offer a bit of a relief from the onslaught of words to come, I thought I'd share a a couple of pictures from the trip so far:

A wall mural in Arkadelphia Arkansas, taken on a rainy day.

Stopping at a rest stop off IH-35 in Texas.  I was taken by the creative use of regional culture and history  to avoid the universal sameness of American highway rest-area architecture.

Ceviche and guacamole for lunch.

I love road trips.  There I've admitted it.  For all that I argue that flying is better and more efficient, and certainly preferable if I'm just going to zoom there and zoom back, a road trip, especially if there is time to stop and rest, perhaps meander a bit is a joy.  Although a road trip with good company is a treat, I have only recently learned that solo road-tripping can be equally enjoyable, if different.

Saturday morning I took off for Texas, not as early as I had hoped, but then Thursday and Friday had been busy and I was exhausted Friday evening.  I had easily realized that I had the choice of packing or attending a concert and, of course I opted for the concert. I had everything washed and sorted and ready to go, so the actual packing didn't really take that long on Saturday, and I was out the door by 9:30.

The first part of my drive, through the mountains toward Nashville was absolutely beautiful.  I didn't really take any detours from the Interstate, but traffic was fairly light, and the sky was softly gray, with layers of light and texture that hinted at light without really revealing it.  It was a sky that promised rain to come, but it was also a sky of mystery and potential, not really a sky of threat, a sky that said yes, but not yet. 

And of course, the trees were glorious, with reds ranging from shockingly electric to rich muted maroons, and a range of yellows and oranges that wove a gorgeous tapestry of fall color.  I love fall anyway, and the leaf season always takes my breath away, especially on a cloudy day. I love the way the softened light brings a depth and richness to the color, and reminds me that this may be an end, but more importantly it is a dénouement, and a glorious preparation for rest and regeneration.  Perhaps I love fall because I don't really distinguish between beginnings and endings.  Each end is a beginning, and each beginning is the end of something. We all need rest and rebirth.

I rolled into Nashville happy to be heading south to Textile Fabrics as I40 was closed ahead and I'd have to detour anyway.  I had no trouble finding the store, and they have a very nice selection.  I arrived just in time for a cake walk, in which I did not participate, as I can't eat cake anyway.  But I did take time to peruse the store and yes, some fabric came home with me despite the overabundance of fabric waiting at home.   I found three pieces of linen in various shades of greens and greenish blues which will be perfect for my summer wardrobe.  Even though it is not linen season now, such time will come again, and there is actually little linen in my wall of fabrics, transplants from New York that most of them are.  I also picked up a pretty pinkish coral piece, which you can just see peeking out at the bottom of the stack.

Leaving the store I asked for lunch recommendations and headed off, only to find myself caught up in some kind of bottleneck for some event that was going on at the fairgrounds.  I kept getting stopped and turned away, and the GPS on my car kept telling me to take routes that only proved to lead deeper into the knot of people and cars.  I eventually wended my way out and found myself in a deeply Hispanic neighborhood.  There was a restaurant packed with cars overflowing the lot, another, albeit smaller, tangle of vehicles, and thought it might be a good spot for lunch, so I stopped.   The place was filled with an interesting mix of laborers and families and I was the only gringa in the place, which bothered me not a whit.    I had a plate of tender flavorful carnitas with soft freshly made corn tortillas, and a salad of nopalitas, sitting contentedly watching small children play around me.  It may not have been the most adventurous meal, but it was delicious nonetheless, and I left sated and ready to hit the road.

The colors changed west of Nashville, mostly yellow with very few oranges and reds.  In fact the few reds stood out in sharp contrast to the myriad shades ranging from an almost acid yellow-green to school-bus yellow, to varying depths and shades of ochre.  Also the further west I traveled, the more brown crept into the landscape and the more bare trees I saw scattered among the yellow leaves.  I am not sure that I had ever driven west at this time of year, or if I had, I had not noticed the change in the leaf season from east to west.

I stopped somewhere along the road, having seen a sign for gas and Starbucks.  My quest was not as direct as I might have hoped.  I found the gas easily enough but mission caffeine was a little more complicated, much to my benefit.  While searching for Starbucks, I passed a small park on a river's edge and I returned to this, coffee in hand for a stroll before hitting the road again.   There was a short meandering trail, about a mile and a half, with lovely views of a river, and the edges of town and farm country, and it made for a most relaxing break from the road.  The trees here were a very light yllow, tinged with acid green, and they virtually glowed with the glimpses of light which were, at this point sneaking through small breaks in the clouds, the yellow of the streaky sunlight echoing the yellows in the trees.   Hidden behind avenues of commerce that line the interstate and major highways, I found this small gem, that offered a few moments for movement and reflection.  Sorry.  I left my phone in the car.  No photos. But then, with my attention on photos, there would be little room for reflection.

I spent the night in Memphis.  I was not yet half-way and it was not yet dark when I stopped, but I was still tired and knew it was better to stop early and rest. Tiredness, darkness, construction and rain are not a good combination, and I do know my limits.  Besides this gave me time to take a short walk.  The rain started before the end of my walk, but I was near the hotel, and I stopped at a little café for a burger and fries before returning to the hotel.   I was greeted by a lovely and cheerful young lady, somewhere on the special needs spectrum, who showed me to a seat and took my order.  Turns out she is the daughter of the proprietor and cook.  Later I was rewarded, as I ate my burger, by the lovely sound of this young woman's rich mezzo, as she sang to herself while wiping tables behind me in preparation for the evening crowd. The words were indistinguishable, but the music was a gift to my weary ears and brain, and the perfect close to a lovely day.

 I went to Lincoln, Nebraska for 4 days.  When I left it was summer; when I returned, the light had changed. Hot or not, it is fall.  Truthfully the sunrise was lengthening and softening, and I was aware the change was coming, but the mid-day light still had that summer quality before I left.  Or I was just too tired and in need of a break to notice, although I don't think that is the case, and now that I have been refreshed and restored I am more aware of the subtle changes in my environment.

I didn't notice any changes into the light in Lincoln, but I am not familiar with Nebraska light or weather, and since it is both north and west of me, the light may have already changed.  Summer or Autumn, however, my trip was delightful.

The trip was prompted by a fabulous Arashi-Shibori dyeing workshop, which I attended with my friend Liana, who was kind enough to put me up.  That first day, we basically learned the basics about mixing dye and dyeing fabric in the morning, and in the afternoon we started working on folding and wrapping fabric for the Shibori technique. 

It was a fun day, but also exhausting, and we really had nothing to show for our efforts yet, just some pieces of solid color fabric, and several other projects in various states of transition, waiting for the next day's experiments. Liana and I dyed the aqua blue/green fabric shown above.

We went out to dinner and pretty cocktails; these were called "Hungry Like a Wolf".  I, for one, was in bed early.

Friday was the second and final day of the workshop and it was pretty intense, with twelve students and our instructor working furiously trying to accomplish as possible in our very limited time.  We went home with wet pieces of fabric wrapped in plastic, leaving them to either cure or dry overnight in Liana's sewing room, while we went out to dinner and a concert by the Nebraska Jazz Orchestra.  I liked the way the concert was set up, with the audience seated at large round tables, which created a relaxed setting conducive to socializing.  I think I preferred this to the concert-hall settings I have more recently attended for jazz concerts, but then, although I enjoy jazz, I am no connoisseur.

Saturday was more informal.  There were two tailgates that Liana had been invited to attend, and I got to tag along for wonderful food and small glimpse of pre-game Lincoln.  Small pleasures included teal M&M's at one tailgate and caramel popcorn at the other.  I marveled because it simply never occurred to me that M&M's could be branded and ordered in special colors.  I guess I do live in a bit of a haze sometimes.  Anyway they thrilled me so much I took a bag home, even though I can't eat them.

Downtown didn't seem quite as crowded as Knoxville, but I suspect this is deceiving.  Lincoln has a bit of the spaciousness and openness that I remember from my childhood in Texas, although of course the landscape is different, and downtown Knoxville is a much smaller and more compact.  We did drive around Lincoln a bit, and I enjoyed seeing parts of the city. 

We had more pretty drinks Saturday night.  Mine was made with beet-infused gin, and Liana's with cucumber-infused vodka.  I see that I am going to be playing with mason jars in the kitchen, attempting to make infused gins and vodkas, while I have pots of dye in the upstairs bathroom.

And yes, I will share what I made (mostly samples) but I need a little time yet to pull that post or posts together.