Author: yellowlamplight

Bavarian Inn, Black Hills

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We got home from vacation and I got busy. Then, I got sick. Probably the same thing all of you have had. Sneezing, coughing, I want my mom kind of sick. I would blame the man from Wall Drug, but there was enough of a delay that I am giving him the benefit of the doubt. All of this is to explain why my entries about our road trip suddenly stopped. However, today, I am feeling well enough that I don’t want to be sick, but still too sick to really do anything. So, here I am. I hope it goes well. I want to do our last few stops justice, but my mood is different. I’m crankier and less relaxed. Less able to remember the little details of those days. Thankfully, as I’ve mentioned, I am a prolific picture taker. And, in with the fence post and random gas pump pictures, there are some that take me right back to where I was. Thank God. Because, where I was in these pictures was really, really good. In the first one, there were storm clouds gathering and thunder rumbling. Our suitcases were in the room behind us and it was bright and cheerful and ours for a few days. The sweet girl who had just checked us in spoke with a delightful accent and loved our puppy. We didn’t know it then, but we would see her again the next morning at breakfast and again, a couple of days later, at a pizza joint downtown. Each time, she would be wearing the same high wasted jeans and sweet smile. At the pizza place, we would find out that it was her last night in America. The next day she would catch a flight back home to Ukraine. If she had uncertainty about what was waiting we never saw it. All we saw was her joy. All we heard was how much she enjoyed her summer in the states. How excited she was to start university. We asked if she would ever come back and she shrugged her shoulders. With sparkling eyes she told us she didn’t know, but she waved away our immediate frowns. “It is good I’m here now. You are all in my heart when I go home.” she told us. “Your cute puppy, the beautiful waters and all the nice customers.” We loved her all we could with our smiles and jokes and warm waves goodbye. She was balancing several empty plates and laughing with a coworker as we left. Joyful still. I confirmed with my husband that he had way overtipped her and went home thinking how the news headlines never capture the humanity of anything. Stories about Ukraine hit different when you’re thinking about a precious girl with worn out high wasted jeans and a love for America so big it hurts your heart. That’s why I love this picture so much. At the moment I took each of these pictures she was right there. Waving up to us from the parking lot. Smiling at how pleased we were with our lovely breakfast. Just a kid working her summer job and saving every penny for the future. Could have been my kid. Or yours.

Wall Drug

~ yellowlamplight ~ 2 Comments

The zoo in Colorado Springs is my favorite. It’s bullt on the side of a mountain and the views are incredible. Albuquerque Zoo is a close second. There’s something about the air there and they used to have an orangutan that pretended to smoke cigarettes. He was funny. My sister, however, swears by San Diego’s zoo. She says there’s no competition and I believe her. She’s the zoo lover extraordinaire! Myself? I’m more a fan of a good people zoo. I love going to the mall and sitting in the food court and just watching folks. Y’all are funny. The skinny teenagers giggling behind their hands. The way too patient mama who might need to give her kid a little pat on the behind. The beleaguered dad sucking down an Orange Julius and questioning his life choices while his family shops. But nothing, and I mean nothing, prepared me for Wall Drug in Wall, South Dakota. Not even Vegas where I once saw a guy dressed up as Elvis wearing a wedding dress in a wheel chair. Take a minute to picture that. I’ll wait. Back to Wall Drug. That place was the mother lode of people watching. Mostly because there were hundreds, felt like thousands, of them crammed onto its’ property. Ever been there? It’s more than a little crazy and pure American. First of all, they sell everything you could imagine. Need neon dice that flash? They got ’em. A full barbecue meal. It’s there. Brontosaurus sculpture? You know it. They also have an entire boot store! A huge one. And, wouldn’t you know, in that crowded place in the middle of nowhere my husband was suddenly in the market for boots. Not a joke. My husband is a very thorough shopper. He has looked at me aghast many, many times in our long marriage because I tend to walk in a store and buy the first thing I like. This makes sense to me. I like it. It’s for sale. I’m good. Not him. He has to try it on and think about it and debate it–it’s a whole thing. To keep us married, I have learned to remove myself from those situations and find something else to do. Hence, I sat on a bench for almost an hour just watching people. Wow. I’ll say it again. Y’all are funny. Mr. Man with the big tummy who dropped ice cream on himself and got a chewing out from his wife I see you. All the people with dogs, the puppy says hello–again. Way too skinny lady with spangled back pockets and blue eye shadow debating the sparkly pink boots– you have been noted. Scary looking biker dude wearing no shirt and a leather vest with an even scarier skull looking thing on the back–I averted my eyes, but I totally saw you too. To be honest, you kinda intimidated me. You need to take it down a notch. Go have some ice cream or something. Ask big tummy guy where to get it. Mom with the leather purse suffering through your own version of hell in the gift shop while waiting for your four(!) kids to pick a souvenir I totally see you. Where on earth was your husband? Probably trying on boots with mine. Some people. I decided, that day, we should stop taking foreign tourists to places like the Statue of Liberty or the White House and instead drop them in the middle of South Dakota at Wall Drug. This is where they can really experience America. In fact, I think half the country was there the day I visited. It’s hard to find a square inch in that place not occupied by someone! Even the giant jackalope wearing a saddle is crawling with people looking for a photo op. And, by the way, you guys cough and sneeze and touch things a lot. And some of your coughs sound a little serious. Tall man in the plaid shirt I’m talking to you. Turns out there is a limit to my love of people watching and it centers around the fear of tuberculosis. So, when I had finished my 32 oz. weird tasting pineapple drink and there was still no sign of my husband, I went and told him politely it was time to go. Well, pretty politely. I did snap my fingers at him and the lady chewing out her husband for spilling his ice cream gave me a little nod of admiration. As we made our way through the throng of people trying to get to the front door and back to our car, I made sure to soak the moment in. To really notice all that Wall Drug is. I did this because I have no intention of ever going back. Been there, done that and yes, I bought a t-shirt–the very first one I saw. My husband, however, did not buy boots. Some people.

Perry, Iowa (Hotel Pattee!)

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I suppose we all get mired down in our individual lives. Bills to pay. Strawberries to buy. Soccer games to attend. We go busily about our days and, sometimes, forget that there is a group of people in the world who remember that it is important to protect beauty for the sake of beauty. On our road trip, we found just such a group of people in Perry, Iowa. I wish I could tell you more about the town itself, but I can’t. Instead, I can tell you about the Hotel Pattee and tell you to make it a goal to spend a night there. I did. In the Telital room. It’s a room based around a man who loved journalism. There are old newspapers on the walls and a beautiful old roll top desk that I spent quite a bit of time with while I was there. Yes, I opened every drawer. Yes, I thought about leaving a secret note for whomever came next. Yes, I pretended I was a newspaper reporter from bygone ages with important copy to get out. I loved that room. You can go to their website and see it for yourself. Or, better yet, you can go yourself. You could book the Circus room or the Louis Armstrong suite. Their rooms all have a theme and they are beyond delightful. There is a coffee table book down on the front counter you can buy so you can peruse them long after you’re home. I’d highly recommend that. I’d also recommend petting the three legged dog that wanders the property and has his own bed just inside the back door. I’d definitely have a delicious dinner in their cafe. Enjoy the heavy glasses and the wood work and the carpet your feet sinks into. Take time to admire the intricate wood carvings on the back of each booth and the train that runs the perimeter of the dining room. Marvel at the breathtaking chandeliers and go down in the basement to look at the gorgeous tile work on the spa area and peek through the doors at the old fashioned bowling alley that you can still play on. Exhaust your husband with proclamations like, “Can you believe this?” and “They just don’t make things like they used to.” and “We have to bring the kids here. Can you imagine what the boys would think?” Go outside into the beautiful courtyard and beat your husband soundly at corn hole and wander through their sculpture garden. Take your makeup off in a beautiful black and white tiled bathroom that makes you feel like a fancy starlet and go to bed thanking God that there are still people who understand it’s important to protect beauty for the sake of beauty itself. I did and I also told the ladies thank you before we left the next morning. “You guys are important,” I told them. “We all need you. Especially lately.” They smiled and were gracious and told us to drive careful. Probably thought I was a little strange. Probably, I am. Especially since, I must admit, I shed a few tears as we maneuvered our way out of their tiny parking lot. Why? I’m not sure. I guess I am afraid we are getting too far away from that place that will make us drive an extra couple of hours to see a place like Hotel Pattee. There’s no mall there. No big sporting events or tourist attractions. It’s just a hotel in a small town in Iowa. Somewhere nobody would go without an intention to do so. I owe it to my parents that I did. They taught me to appreciate places like Hotel Pattee and I am so thankful they did. I’ve tried to do the same with my own children, but I’m not sure I have succeeded. Competition is fierce. But, I will keep trying. Because it is a valuable thing when wood gleams and windows have diamond inserts that make rainbows on plush carpet in the afternoon. Fresh flowers on every table. Amazing rooms that let you live a different moment in another place. All of it. Hotel Pattee holding the line against mundane and cookie cutter nights spent in chain hotels. I hope her doors are always open and I hope I’ve made you want to do your part to make that happen. If you take some good pictures please share! My husband drew the line at me asking to visit every room and I feel like I missed out!

Two Rivers, Wisconsin

~ yellowlamplight ~ 2 Comments

When I am an old lady (way sooner that I’m comfortable with!) and I think back on Wisconsin I will remember flowers and lighthouses and nice people. A different flavor of nice, but nice all the same. I say that because they are not walking towards you friendly in Wisconsin. They are more two steps back and then a smile kind of nice. I noticed this, first, with the young man who checked us into our room. Our motel was the kind of place where your room door opens onto the parking lot and a decorator was not consulted about anything. There’s a microwave that looks like somebody might have used it at college first. The beds are the old-fashioned kind you better check under for puppies and socks before you leave–we found both. The shower squeaks and bangs before it starts and none of that matters because once you cross the parking lot and a small street you are on the shores of Lake Michigan. That is a sight you won’t soon forget. I couldn’t get over folks talking about going down to the beach of a lake. But it’s there. Anyway, I digress. Back to the young man who checked us in. It was pouring rain when we arrived and tumbled into his lobby dripping and exhausted. Darkness had long since settled and it was that time of night when hotel lobby folks are in the back room watching tv or doing their homework. This one wasn’t. He was clicking clacking on a computer. Took way longer than i expected to look up and then didn’t smile. He kinda looked like a chubby version of that famous character Spicoli from Fast Times.(If you don’t get that reference you won’t be old as fast as me!) Looked like him but with none of the natural bounce of Spicoli. Nope. This kid found nothing amusing about two wet Texans in his lobby. Polite, but not amused. Or friendly. That never stops me. I told him we were first time visitors to Wisconsin and asked him what we should do in the area. What he recommended. He stared at me for a minute and then lumbered over to the wooden display rack and gathered up several flyers. He shoved them into my hands, gave my husband our room key and informed us it was too late to get any food close. Ten minutes later, when I was back to buy some microwave popcorn and a candy bar from his little store, the computer was once again click-clacking. I tried to start a conversation again to no avail. Back to my room in the rain to eat my nutritious meal and listen to the shower screech. Fished the puppy out from under the bed and was already asleep when my husband got out of the shower and informed me there was only one towel. “One of us is going to have to go to the office and get more.” he informed me. Not gonna be me I thought and then fell asleep again– exhausted I’ve been in the car for days kind of sleep. Didn’t wake up until I smelled coffee the next morning. My husband had already been down to the office where, he informed me, there was now a lady working and he had gotten a stack of towels. “Was she nice?” I asked without opening my eyes. This was one of those questions I ask my husband that he never understands. He honestly doesn’t care if people are nice. If they have a family. How long they’ve worked at a place. He just cares if they are doing their job. “She gave me coffee and towels.” was his reply. I stuck out my hand, took the coffee and the first of our three days in Wisconsin began. It was a blur of one beautiful place after another. We had coffee at a charming coffee house around a fire that was completely necessary. (You probably didn’t appreciate that sentence enough if you’re not from Texas!) We walked along the beach of Lake Michigan and the puppy barked at water. We got ice cream late one night at a wonderful old-fashioned ice cream parlor called Beernsten’s the was something from a kid’s best dream. Glass jars of different chocolates lined every counter. We saw red lighthouses and gorgeous hydrangeas casually growing beside the road like they wouldn’t cost me a fortune back home. We wore light jackets and shivered and talked, mildly seriously, about whether we would want to live in Wisconsin. (No, because of the winters!) Stopped one night to watch a full moon rise over Lake Michigan and felt our throats catch at the peaceful beauty. Smiled at the other folks watching the same thing and pleasantly frittered time away as vacationers do. So much so that, suddenly, it was our last night in our homely room that had started to feel like home. I packed and then, to celebrate, I told my husband I was going to get popcorn. I hadn’t been back to the office since that first night and I wondered on my way over if our friend Spicoli would be there. He was. Click-clack. But this time, when I walked in, he stopped typing and looked up at me. And, he talked. “Sooo, what did you guys do?” He said with a real interest. I stared at him for a moment and then answered, “We ate cheese curds.” All the wonderful things we had done and seen and that’s all I could come up with. “We ate cheese curds.” He nodded his head and that was that. Click-clack. I gathered up my popcorn and another candy bar (We were on vacation!) and asked him to charge them to my room. He told me, “I got you.” And then, just as I was about to go outside, he added, “Wisconsin is cool. Come back.” But he smiled. A real smile. I smiled back. A happy Texan and a quiet kid from Wisconsin. I couldn’t wait to tell my husband about the interaction even though I knew he wouldn’t care.

Dyersville, Iowa

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Our next stop started with a search for a good half way point to stretch our legs and get some lunch. Dyersville, Iowa and the movie set for the Field of Dreams seemed like a perfect place to do that. I know, I know another movie set. But, to be honest, I was still feeling a little bit guilty for making my husband trek all over the place looking for those bridges. So, when I discovered we could stop and see the house and, even better, the baseball field they used in the movie I couldn’t pass it up. I didn’t tell him where we were going but promised him there would be food and a place to walk the puppy. About halfway there, I got tired of reassuring him that he would like the place and just told him where we were headed. (I think there was some lingering distrust from the storm situation.) He asked the usual husband questions. Are you sure it’s open? Are we allowed to be there? How much does it cost? I answered every question and crossed my fingers. It could have gone either way. A $45 dollar entry fee and a lame Field of Dreams sign in front of a corn field could have awaited us. That, actually, would have been just my luck. Especially since it was twenty-five miles off our route! If you have a husband, you know that that is fifty miles total and better be worth it. It was. It so, so was. The first lady we met looked exactly as you would hope she would. Hair on top of her head and eyeglasses with the points out to the side. She greeted us and told us we could make a donation if we wanted or just drive on in. I got out the suggested twenty dollars, but when she told us the next man we met would be her husband and he was better than Jimmy Stewart I added another twenty. I like women who like their husbands. We drove out into a dirt field with lots and lots of other cars and I started to get excited. Surely, this many people wouldn’t be here to see a lame sign. We met the man who was better than Jimmy Stewart and he was, indeed, very enjoyable. We followed the crowd to a red barn that seemed to be a good starting point. Turned out it was a gift shop. I bought my ubiquitous t-shirt ( I have a weakness!) and then we made our way outside. The house from the movie is there. You can take a tour. I’m sure it’s very cool, but we did not participate. We did not participate because my husband realized there is a perpetual game of baseball going on. Seriously! There are bags with mitts if you didn’t bring yours–although a lot of folks did. There are bats of different sizes and people take turns pitching and batting and playing outfield. My husband did his due diligence and watched for a while to make sure anyone could walk on. Took a break to take a picture on the famous bleachers from the movie with me. Joined in clapping for the guys who got a piece of the ball and then, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, turned to me with a grin that said, “I’m going in coach.” I smiled back and got my camera ready to photograph and film everything. It was epic. Just so, so cool. He was out there for a long time and I didn’t care a bit. I visited with the other folks lining the field waiting for their loved ones. Visited with a local couple watching a son who loves baseball. They told me they brought him out most Saturdays. It was free and he got to play with all kinds of people from all over the place. Visited with a family from Michigan who had driven down for the dad in their family. He was on the field pitching to my husband and doing a fantastic job. There was a lady with red hair who wanted a turn. She swung and missed the first two times, but got a hit on her third pitch and the whole crowd cheered. She stood there grinning and saying, “I can’t believe I hit it!” My husband repeated that phrase when he finally came in from playing outfield. “Did you see me?” he asked. “I got a couple of good hits. Not into the corn field, but good hits. Do you mind if I play a little bit longer?” I did not mind. I settled back in to continue my visit with the lady whose dog was rough housing with mine. The sound of the bat cracking and people visiting and kids playing made a pleasant background for our conversation. The corn fields surrounding the field were lush green sentries keeping us all in their sights and all the faces around me were smiling. It was quite the moment. When my husband came off the field I winked at him and said, ” Is this heaven?” He looked back at the field and then answered, “It is for me.” Good answer honey. Good answer. After that, we gathered up our belongings and said goodbye to our new friends and headed back to our truck. Had to take time to look at the videos of all the at-bats and outfield catches and talk about how exciting it would be to show it all to my father in law. And there he was. My husband as he must have been when he was a kid playing baseball. Loving the game and excited to tell his dad. I grinned at this man I love dearly and sent a silent thank you to the people who run this place. It’s true. If you build it they will come. There will be families, and hot dogs and pleasant afternoons. Home run hits and new t-shirts. Tired puppies and happy husbands. No entrance fee. Nobody saying you get three hits for ten dollars. Just a feeling of community. Of togetherness. Of America. As we left the corn field and baseball field behind us, I tried again for my movie moment and asked my husband, “Is this heaven?” He caught on, grinned his little boy grin and answered, “No, it’s Iowa.” We high-fived, rolled the windows down and routed back to the interstate.

Winterset, Iowa

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A cozy day watching movies is pretty much my idea of a dream scenario. It was on just one of those days that I first watched Bridges of Madison County. My kids were young and I was sick on a day they weren’t. If you’re a mom you know that never happens. They always give it to us. Always. So, we take off work for their illness and then suffer through ours at work. Meetings, and hallways and blowing our noses in bathrooms. Miserable. But that day I had achieved a kid’s version of a snow day. I was home on the couch with the entire afternoon stretching out in front of me. So, I watched Bridges of Madison County. We could probably do entire societal studies on why that movie hits us girls so hard. It’s right up there with The Notebook. La La Land. You pick. I remember blubbering as the movie ended. Pulling another box of tissue out of the laundry room and burying my face in my daughter’s Blue’s Clues pillow while I cried some more. It was a definite core memory for me–to reference another great movie. (Inside Out!) I was just so proud of Francesca for choosing her family over the handsome photographer. The last scene where they are driving through town made me yell at the TV. “Don’t do it. It’s not worth it!” An hour later and after another dose of cold medicine I cried because I felt sorry for her. She had let her true love go and strapped on all the weight of being a mom and wife. I was feeling that very deeply. Dinner needed to be made and it would be me making it. I couldn’t smell and my eyes were swollen shut. I pictured myself leaving town sitting in a truck with Clint Eastwood and cried some more. All of this to say, I have been obsessed with the covered bridges ever since then. I love to take pictures and I couldn’t wait to take pictures of them. Didn’t think I ever would because when would I be in Winterset, Iowa? It’s not exactly on the way anywhere. Unless, of course, you embark on an epic road trip with your husband who hated the movie, but loves you. If that happens, you drive out of your way to make the small town a stop. To spend the night there. To follow road signs and local’s directions to find all of the bridges. To drive down country roads and walk through prickly grass. To take too many pictures that, in latter years, would end up in a box under the bed but now live on my phone. What will today’s kids do with all of the pictures saved on the cloud? What is the computer equivalent of a cardboard box? Where would Francesca have hidden her secrets today? I don’t know, but I know I’m glad I have 96 pictures of those bridges on my phone (I counted) and I’m glad I had the chance to see Winterset, Iowa! We discovered the John Wayne museum is there also. No dogs are allowed, but on a hot day the nice ladies working there will let you carry your puppy through the exhibits. They will scruff her behind the ears and point you to the best bowl of french onion soup you’ll probably ever have. Your husband will enjoy the museum and the delicious dinner. You will both make faces at the beer that tastes like a Christmas tree and you will fall in love with Iowa a little bit. Have a not serious conversation about moving there and take forty-five more pictures ( I counted again) of their charming downtown and courthouse. You will go to sleep happy and tired and wondering how you could have waited so long to visit Winterset, Iowa. The next day, as you leave, you will wave goodbye at the town and blow the city limit sign a little kiss. Your husband will roll his eyes at you and you will get out your phone to see how far it is to the next stop. At least that’s what I hope happens because it was a really good day.

Emporia, Kansas

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We left on a Thursday after work. Late afternoon and already tired. Forgot to check the weather and hit a storm in Oklahoma City that was truly impressive. One of those Lieutenant Dan, “God showed up!” storms. It was tense to say the least. There might have been some “being married conversations” about who, exactly, should have checked the radars before we left. A few about why we had stopped to eat losing our chance to stay ahead of the storm. (I was starving!) Facts are not always celebrated in those conversations and the particular fact that we hadn’t known about the storm when we stopped was not received with any measure of warmth. Neither was the whimpering coming from the back seat that said our puppy needed to stop. Rain pounding, lightning flashing and hazard lights blinking and another stop was necessary. Thankfully, my husband wears a ball cap everywhere and I always forget an umbrella so we didn’t have to struggle too much with the decision about who would get out with the dog. It just made sense. Don’t shoot the messenger. Twenty soaking minutes later the puppy was curled up in the back seat having not done what she assured us she needed to, I was turned in my seat so I wouldn’t have to see my husband’s particularly cranky profile and we were on our way again. Miles of dark highway and stars peeking through clouds. No conversation. No music. Just the need to get there. A place we had no connection to or desire to visit. Just a stop with a hotel. Somewhere to lay down. A pause before morning and the rest of our trip. And finally we were. There. Trying to gather things in the darkened parking lot. Checking in and dealing with the puppy. Hungry again and not home. Questioning our intelligence and, frankly, our fealty to this whole idea of a road trip. Maybe even to each other. The morning dawned cloudy and grumpy. Nobody had really slept. The puppy, in her own show of disloyalty, barked way louder than was necessary. Two or three times. This caused another married conversation about why we had not left her with her big sister at the kennel. She picked this particular moment to tilt her head at us like she understood we were talking about her. Normally, this would have caused hearts to melt. She’s a really cute puppy. That morning? Zero warmth. Things were not looking good for the road trip. I snuck in the bathroom to see how far it was back home and if there were any storms on the horizon. Like anyone needed Weather Bug to figure that out. We went down to breakfast grumpy and disgruntled and pissed off. On the way down, my husband made sure to comment about how lousy hotel breakfasts always are. Stupid powdered eggs and stale bagels. Old raisin bran and leftover melon. I reminded him, legally, we were not required to eat every free breakfast offered. He looked at me like I was someone who would forget to check the radar before leaving on a trip and we entered the breakfast room in a full-on spiral. But there, in all of her warmth and glory, was Annette. Annette with her name tag and big smile. She took my husband immediatley and showed him how to work the waffle maker. Pointed out the little dishes of chocolate chips and nuts and cherries that he could add to the batter. Pointed to a fresh pot of coffee that he could start on while he waited for the timer to go off. Told me I looked well rested (!) and asked if I would like an everything bagel with cream cheese or some fresh fruit. It was at about that moment that my husband and I both looked at each other to say, “Why can’t you be more like Annette?” But then, just like the night before, the clouds finally parted and we started to grin. I found the silverware for him and he made my coffee just like I like it. We found a table in the sun and Annette sat down to visit with us. Wanted to know where we were headed and told us how much she loved her job. She’d been there for years and wasn’t going anywhere. She told us she liked people and her bosses took good care of her. Told us we should have a good day. We ducked our heads and said we would. Had another cup of coffee and headed up to gather our bags for the next leg of our journey. As we left, I could hear Annette greeting other guests. Gracious, friendly and kind. Each person as important as the last. Day after day. Breakfast after breakfast. Later, in the truck and headed into a sunny day, I checked the Yelp ratings for the hotel. I was thrilled to tell my husband Anette was Yelp famous. Almost every review started with praise for her and how she made people feel. I was so glad we had ended up there with her for that night. Just a happy lady doing her job well and loving freely on all the free breakfast folks. Even curmudgeons like us. Probably, especially curmudgeons like us.

Road Trip

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Recently, I had the occasion to go on a road trip. I type that and wonder what flits through your mind? Long stretches of highway? Your favorite music? Empty cheetos bags and candy wrappers stuffed in the side pockets of doors? Someone special next to you or kids in the back seat fighting? Or just you? Alone and cataloging thoughts as the mile markers fly by. My daughter hates traveling by car and I have to admit it makes me a little suspicious of her. If you fall into that category, maybe this series of posts will change your mind. There’s something of the magic that makes this world work in a road trip. That magic is getting harder and harder to find and I look for it greedily. And, I will readily admit, I found it on this most recent trip. Found it in aces and spades with more to spare. I’m happy about that. Wishing, already, for more. I have maps and guide books in the secret places of my mind. I’m planning and hoping that another day will find me with suitcases and a tiny puppy in the back seat and headed to go see. Go see people and places, moments and, most important, some more of that magic. It’s powerful stuff. It’s making me sit down to write today. To try and catch it before it flees from my memory. It would be a shame to forget the couple walking their dog, or the flowers growing from the side of the mountain or the way the mist felt on the banks of Lake Michigan. Grab your favorite snack and come along. You’ll save a fortune in gas and at least you won’t be sitting in my darkened living room looking at all six hundred pictures I took. Can you imagine? Six hundred. I might have a problem.

The New Kid

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You arrived on a hot July day in Lubbock Texas. That’s a different kind of hot. The cement shimmers and seatbelts burn. Everyone is cranky and people cope by dreaming about Colorado. Snow banks and frosty mornings become everyone’s secret wish. But there we were. A green and tan hospital. Nice lady with red eyeglasses and name tags. An elevator ride and your brother clutching a purple gift bag with a green dinosaur peeking out the top. So excited to meet you. Gripping my hand with his. Me gripping back. A walk down a hall and a door with a chart. Your beautiful mommy in the bed, exhausted, and you. A tiny body in a too big bed. Soft white fabric and a striped blue hat. I swaggered over feeling like a pro. Took you confidently. So sure I knew. Knew what it would be like to fall in love with a little boy again. Knew what it would feel like to have my heart grow. To make room for you there. And discovered I was wrong. You took my breath away. My heart wouldn’t cooperate. The world stopped. In that room with beepers beeping and buzzers buzzing and family hugging I was alone with you. Just us two. With your wise little eyes looking at me and that smirk that said you already knew too. Your swagger outdid mine. Your heart already had me settled in. Change of address forms submitted. I was late to the whole affair. Playing catch up. I curled my fingers around yours and accepted the org chart. You at the top. Me at the bottom. Forever. And what a place to be.

Need a hug?

~ yellowlamplight ~ Leave a comment

I was at Walmart the other day. Cart full of groceries and in a hurry. Aggravated because there was only one check out open. I don’t enjoy the self check out. It takes me forever. People huff. Anyway, I was standing there perusing the cover of a People magazine and waiting my time when I realized there was a small drama playing out ahead of me. The lady in front of the couple in front of me didn’t have enough money to buy everything in her cart. She was taking things back from the conveyer belt and handing them to her son. He was probably twelve with huge glasses and a nintendo t-shirt. Skinny arms full of laundry soap and baked beans and toothpaste. My brain immediately started cataloging the cash in my wallet. But, before I could make a move, the man in front of me had his wallet out. “Let me pay,” he said taking a step toward her. She turned and put a hand out towards him. Not to accept, but to stop him. Because he was stepping toward her, her hand ended up in the middle of his chest. Splayed there and stayed. They spent a minute staring into each other’s eyes and then he stepped back in place. Behind him, I quickly stared at my feet. I didn’t want her to see that I saw. Saw the pain and confusion. The resignation. The fear that somehow she might become someone she never intended to be. She paid for what she could, her son handed the rest to the cashier, and me and the man finished our purchases.

When I got to my car, tears started to fall. I wished I knew the lady. Had her phone number. I wanted to call her and tell her I understood. Understood that sometimes things hurt too much for even help to land right.

I understood because the day before, I was at the vet saying goodbye to our dog we loved for ten years. She was the best. Tiny, tough and funny, but completely incapable of beating cancer. In the examination room, I held her until the vet said she was gone and then stood up and froze. Our sweet young vet came around the table offering me a hug. Compassion was written all over her face and I knew she meant well, but I said no and backed away holding out my hand just like the Walmart lady. A physical representation of how much I didn’t want her to hug me. I saw the surprise on her face and felt bad. I wasn’t trying to be mean, but I was completely incapable of accepting a hug in that moment. Too many things were too close to the surface. I needed my shell to get out of there. My shell and my sunglasses.

I didn’t want to accept that hug and start ugly crying and not even really know what I was crying about. The loss of my sweet dog? Sure. My sister’s long wait for scan results? Absolutely. The news headlines? Without a doubt. All of that and more. It was easier to just refuse the hug and make my escape. No reason to upset the poor folks in the lobby.

Thinking about it later, I wondered if Americans aren’t mostly feeling the same way as me and the lady in Walmart. A whole nation of people fragile and hurting and just trying to keep it together. Life certainly seems weird lately. Friends in my circle talk about it a lot. Everyone just seems off. Out of kilter. Worried. It’s like the pandemic happened and we never righted ourselves afterwards. We seem to be a whole nation of little kids waiting and trying to act tough until the grownups show up and fix things. Our bottom lips quivering while we stand in a corner with our arms crossed. Waiting for grocery prices to go back to reasonable, waiting for headlines to be less terrifying and waiting for some sign that things will be better this time next year. Will they?

I read a story about a bunch of college kids the other day at a church service that wanted to be baptized so badly they did it in the beds of pickup trucks. Filled them up with water hoses and got it done. The Walmart man was going to buy the groceries. The vet offered a hug. An election is coming. Some opportunity to choose.

Little signs, but signs I hold onto all the same.

I love you America.