americana

Dyersville, Iowa

~ yellowlamplight ~ Leave a comment

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.

Mitzi used points.

~ yellowlamplight ~ Leave a comment

I had the occasion to be having lunch in a Thai restaurant not long ago. One of those places with gleaming dark tables that are placed entirely too close to each other. Fine if the place is empty. A problem if it’s not. Well, it’s a problem for me. I mostly don’t enjoy strangers listening to my conversations. The folks who made my phone notwithstanding. You know how that goes.

Anyway, back to my lunch. I was there with my husband. He’s mostly quiet. Mostly always. We work it out by me talking and him grunting. That’s all I need. I have more than enough words for both of us. This particular day I was glad he was quiet for another reason. I was in heaven. The closeness of the tables were yielding rich, rich fodder for my writer’s heart. The lunching ladies at the table next to us appeared to be operating under the belief they were enclosed in a force field created just for them that kept the rest of the restaurant from hearing their conversation. They were not. I assure you. I could hear everything. And I was listening. Oh boy was I.

Before you judge please understand they were talking about really personal things. Things I shut my bedroom door and hide in my closet to talk to my sister about! Seriously.

I’m just going to say the one with flashy diamond rings is married to a man who should be checking his credit card bills a little closer. His wife isn’t traveling solo. The one in the pink sweater set has finally found a girl named Veronica who waxes her in the manner she grew accustomed to the three years she lived in New York. A perfectly precious apartment across the street from Central Park and nether regions waxed as smooth as a new born baby. She shared the number with the girls in case they wanted to switch from that perfectly horrid Angela at the other place. She promised them they would be pleased and reapplied her red lipstick. It matched my cheeks. The one who kept checking her watch and who ate all of her lunch, even though she wasn’t remotely hungry, has decided not to invite April to her next luncheon. I guess I understand. April did blow her nose on one of her host’s beautiful napkins at the table while people were still eating. And she understands they were paper napkins but they were expensive and they were on theme. Who does that? At this point in her story, per my peripheral vision, she rested her forehead onto her open hand while the lady next to her patted her shoulder. Tragedy. In the Thai restaurant. I used my own napkin to wipe a tear before it landed in my food. I felt her trauma.

Sometimes, as a writer, I have to work hard to hear someone’s conversation. I guess I really shouldn’t listen, but y’all are interesting. You give me great ideas that I use to my advantage. But not with these ladies. They did me the favor of talking at full volume. In a loud restaurant. I didn’t miss a word. Not one. Well that is until the topic of a friend’s upcoming wedding came up. It’s going to be in Vail. In the summer. They hate the color palette. Champagne and gold. So dated. Shrimp for dinner sounds good. They are all flying together. It will be so fun to get drunk on the plane together. (Bet that will generate a headline somewhere!) And the condos they rented are walking distance from the shops. One of them is looking for a perfect carving to hang over the new fireplace at the lake house.

But then, something incredible happened. A topic was introduced these ladies didn’t feel was polite to discuss in public. I’m not even kidding. I mean at this point any patron of the restaurant could have blackmailed any of the three with a pretty fair chance of scoring some cash. But, apparently there are some things that are just not to be shared. Mitzy, their dear friend, was taking a different flight than the rest of them because, pink sweater set whispered quietly and emphatically, she bought her ticket with points. “Points!” she repeated fiercely.

Granted, I almost missed that part but, thankfully, I had accidentally dropped my napkin and had to bend over to retrieve it. What? You’ve never dropped your napkin? At least I’m not April. Anyway, back to the ladies, their friend had not used cash and purchased the best seat available to anyone on earth. Instead, she had taken a lesser seat to save money. Three heads landed in three palms and they were all patting each other’s back. A commiserative circle for the ages.

It was at this point that I choked on my soup and my husband looked up at me, grinned and asked if I was ready to leave. I grinned back and said, “No way am I leaving this chair. Ever.” He grinned again and went back to his rice. Turns out he’s learned a few things from me.

There would be a long conversation later. The miles in our truck spent relaying the conversation to each other and laughing until our sides hurt. Taking comfort in the fact that our credit card bills hold no secrets. That we use plain ole’ Bounty napkins and can withstand table nose blowing. That we would never discuss waxing to each other much less in public.

And that we have a heart for Mitzi and her points. She could be one of us. Granted probably much better dressed, but I bet she wouldn’t turn down the free peanuts. Mitzi seems like a practical gal. And she has my eternal respect and gratitude.

She made those three lower their voices and that fact is still making me giggle. A lot. I like giggling and I like stranger’s conversations. Sue me. I’m a writer.