by jphilo | Feb 28, 2012 | Out and About
After a long day of travel to points south, I’ve come to the following conclusions:
- Nothing beats leaving your coat in the car when your nephew drops you off at the Minneapolis airport as the first flakes of an oncoming snowstorm fall around you.
- When your seat is behind four midwestern, middle-aged women waaay pumped about flying to Florida in February, their enthusiasm is not contagious. Not to you or to the lone, long suffering, elderly man sitting in their row.
- Traveling with your sister, brother-in-law and husband means you never have to freshen up alone, but there’s always someone to watch the luggage while you do.
- If airplane seats get much smaller, average-sized Americans will need to double book to fit in them.
- Yes, I am the woman from the Atlanta airport who plunged through the subway doors as they were closing. But only for the good of our entire party. What would they have done if we’d gotten separated? Who would have gotten them lost then?
- Savannah, Georgia is lovely, even when you arrive after dark. Especially when you don’t need a jacket.
- After a day of travel, I’m a blithering idiot. Time to sign off. Good night, y’all.
by jphilo | Nov 18, 2011 | Out and About
Hiram and I are back from a quick trip to Kansas City where I spoke at a women’s brunch. The wind picked up as we drove north and the temperature dropped, but nothing could touch the warm glow inside us.
The glow was not the result of too much KC hot barbecue sauce, though our meal at Jack Stack BBQ on Wednesday night was delicious. And it wasn’t from the cordial reception we received at the speaking engagement. The warm glow was from a quick side trip on the way home.
We stopped at Children’s Mercy Hospital in Kansas City and the Ronald McDonald House next to it. The staff at Children’s Mercy cared for Allen in December of 1996 during his surgery and recovery from the removal of 2/3 of his lower esophagus. The Ronald McDonald House provided an inexpensive, clean, comfortable, and welcoming place for us to stay for the 9-10 days Allen was hospitalized.
So I wanted to drop off copies of both my books at the two establishments as a way of saying thank you. Alan Lubert and Gina Dennis were so grateful for the gift. And they were excited to tell us about the changes to and expansion of the Ronald McDonald House services since we were there in the mid-90s. They are way proud, as they should be, of their first-in-the-nation Family Room inside Children’s Mercy. It’s become a model followed by over 100 RMHs Family Rooms around the country. Way to go, RMHKC!
At Children’s Mercy, we were met by Sheryl Chadwick (on the left in the photo) and DeeJo Miller (on the right) who are both coordinators for their Family Centered Care Program. Sheryl and DeeJo are also parents of children who received cancer treatment at Children’s Mercy. (Both children are doing well, by the way.) In about two minutes, the four of us were sharing stories about parenting kids with special needs, comparing resources we’ve discovered, and talking about how hard it is to allow formerly ill children to become independent adults. After less than a half hour together, it was hard to say good-bye to Sheryl and DeeJo because we were connected by a bond as deep and strong as that of soldiers who survive battle together.
Hiram and I left Kansas City warmed by the knowledge that parents and kids at Children’s Mercy were being cared for by compassionate people like Alan and Gina, Sheryl and DeeJo. The warmth lasted all the way to Iowa and lingers today. Who knew that in giving away a few books we would receive so much in return?
by jphilo | Nov 15, 2011 | Out and About
Four years ago this week, Hiram’s workplace sent him to a training conference in Philadelphia. I tagged along, and after the conference was over, we stayed in the city a few extra days. As today’s recycled post shows, we had a wonderful time.
Just Around the Corner – Recycled
The time has come to leave Philadelphia behind. But I have to share one more story. This will be the last one, I promise.
We stayed at a B & B called The Mosaic. The literature said it was named after the Mosaic Gardens, just around the corner from our B & B. The gardens were created by famous South Philadelphia artist Isaiah Zager. It took a while for us to believe that just around the corner meant what it said – just around the corner. We thought it was advertising hype.
We discovered that Isaiah lived across the street from us when he stood at his front door and dickered with a junk peddler one morning. The scene prompted us to go around the corner to the Mosaic Garden and pay our $3 admission fee and enter a different world.
The garden covers the area of three row houses, with one building and two outdoor lots. Every inch – floors, ceilings, interior and exterior walls, steps, garden paths – is covered with mosaics made of junk. Broken bits of mirrors, crockery and china. Rows of colored glass bottles. Layers of ceramic tiles. Bicycle wheels embedded in mortar. The colors and textures overwhelmed our senses. The amount of time required to create it boggled our minds. Our sense of wonder grew as we walked around the city and found many other buildings, alleys and retaining walls covered with Isaiah’s junk art. Bits of garbage, which in the hands of a creator, became things of intricate beauty.
From now on, when I feel broken and worthless, I’m going to look at my pictures of the Mosaic Garden. And I’m going to think about my Creator and step out in faith. I don’t know His plans, but I do know His ways. I know that just around the corner, He’s prepared something beautiful.
by jphilo | Sep 22, 2011 | Out and About
The popularity of the recent My Cow-Hating Man post made clear that numerous readers wouldn’t sleep at night until the final chapter in Hiram’s working-cows-with Donnie saga has been told.
And we can’t have that, now can we?
First of all, Hiram chose to not document his day on a horse with a cell phone photo, so my quick pic of the horse trailer galloping into the distance is the only pictorial record available. That and Hiram’s rather sunburned neck. But the reluctant cowboy wasn’t too keen on having that exhibit on record either.
All in all, Hiram survived the day very well, even enjoyed part of it, he says. The sky was a clear blue, the breeze mild, the temperatures in the 70s, and the scenery spectacular. A perfect day for riding a horse and working cows, even for a man who’s not real hep on either prospect.
Also, the horse was well-trained and responsive. Donnie’s horses always are. And the cowboys and cowgirls watched out for Hiram, giving him jobs like opening the gate and guarding an escape hole in a cattle chute.
Kinda cowboy-in-training jobs, as opposed to Donnie’s job of heading contrary cows in the right direction by grabbing and twisting their tails. “They don’t like that,” Donnie explained. “They turn the right direction in a hurry.”
“I did not grab a cow’s tail,” Hiram clarified. “Those tails are covered with cow poop.”
No wonder we’ve stayed married for almost 35 years.
He’s a cow-hating man with a whole lot of horse sense.
Who could ask for anything more?
by jphilo | Sep 21, 2011 | Out and About
When I spoke at a women’s gathering in Aurora, Nebraska last night, I had no idea of what was in store for everyone attending. The lovely surprise went way beyond the rosy glow cast by the cold sore beneath my nose. That’s a special feature not often part of the speaking package. The real treat was the little known pastry served for dessert .
Apple preshka. Ever heard of it?
I hadn’t, and apparently, neither has google. Lack of internet presence withstanding, one bite of the delicacy – imagine the perfect combination of the best attributes of apple dumplings, apple turnovers, and apple pie – and I was in love.
Seriously in love.
So madly, obsessively in love, I asked the table hostess if an extra apple preshka was averrable for me to take home to photograph and blog about. And to slowly taste test and analyze with a good cup of coffee , once the photo shoot was finished. All with the objective of concocting my own apple preshka recipe, as part of my bigger goal to make the world a better place.
Something apple preshka has the potential to do.
Of course, I may not have the potential to recreate this little known traditional German pastry. Our table hostess said a Mennonite woman from near Henderson, Nebraska made the last night’s dessert. Not only that, she makes the best apple preshka anywhere.
And I believe her.
So the challenge could be insurmountable. But, apple season around the corner, and with the memory of sweet-tart, cinnamony apple filling surrounded by thin, flaky pastry rendered crisp and crunchy with an almost imperceptible drizzle of sugar syrup still tingling my pallet, I’m ready to give it a try. And if I fail, oh well. Hiram and I will have a whole lot of fun taste-testing my efforts!
Apple preshka, I’m in love.
by jphilo | Sep 20, 2011 | Out and About
Hiram and I have been living the west central Nebraska cowboy life since Sunday afternoon. Limited internet availability is as common to the out west experience as beyond-our-comfort-zone proximity to cattle. Hence no blog post yesterday, though I promise to tell you more about my cow-hating man’s day spent gettin’ along with those little doggies later this week. But for today, you’ll have to make do with this recycled post from two years ago about a golden fall day and the blessings to be savored in autumn.
My Golden Fall Day – Recycled
Fall is not my most favorite season, mostly because I’m the kind of person who’s always looking ahead and planning for the future rather than enjoying the present. So instead of relishing cool nights and pleasant days, the beautiful colors and signs of God’s faithfulness in another bountiful harvest, I view fall as the precursor of winter, my least favorite season.
But a goodly number of people who I love and respect think fall is the best thing since sliced bread. And last week, as I drove through the Iowa countryside on my way to some speaking engagements, I found myself agreeing with them. The corn was firing in the fields. The leaves on the trees displayed the faintest hints of yellow and orange when they waved from the roadsides. The cloudless, brilliant blue sky glimmered from one horizon to the other.
But most eye catching of all were the golden soybeans, halfway through their swift turning from green to brown. Field after field shimmered in the sunlight, a vast pirate’s treasure of glittering doubloons, piled acre upon acre, field upon field. mile upon mile.
Finally, on my way home, I pulled onto a gravel side road and photographed the scene. How could I not recored this annual flash of beauty which would soon tarnish and fade away? For once, I ignored the approach of winter, shoved aside the tasks waiting in my office, and relished the moment.
Then, I climbed into the car slowly and drove onto the highway. Winter grew closer, my tasks multiplied in my head, but nothing could steal the treasure stored in my heart. The dry smell of autumn, the crackle of leaves, the soft breeze and warm sun, the haze in the distance. My golden, fall day.
