Perry, Iowa (Hotel Pattee!)

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!

Searching for Christmas. Day 4

Stop and think for a minute about the noise of Christmas morning. Packages being ripped open. Squeals of excitement over what’s inside. Dad’s pleas to put all the paper and ribbons right into the trash. Mom’s pleas for another cup of coffee. The oven timer announcing fresh cinnamon rolls. Various noises from new toys. Dings, and clangs and clatter. It would be hard to describe a scene more representative of Christmas and what it means to everyone. I’m looking forward to just such a moment this year. Two grandsons. Hopefully a sister. My sweet husband. God willing it will happen. But, I’ve been on this earth long enough to have learned it’s the quiet moments that come before that noisy, joy filled one that really give Christmas its’ weight and depth. Its’ true sweetness. Ever been to a Christmas Eve service at church when the whole congregation falls silent while the candles are lit? One person sharing the dancing flame to the next and the only sounds are jacket sleeves brushing together and an escaped cough in the back. Ever gotten up early and walked outside in the snow? Your breath goes ahead of you and your shoes make that delicious slushy, crunching sound that means you beat the crowd. Your footprints are first. Ever been the first one to your dad’s table to have coffee with him? It’s the first day of vacation and you have no where to be. You and your dad drink coffee and talk just enough to not be awkward. He gets up and brings a paper towel folded into a square for your cup. You place it there and steady it with your hands so it doesn’t lurch. You want him to think his folded square is perfect. Ever been asked to watch your baby grandson on a quiet December morning? You drag his bassinet into the family room and rock him to sleep in front of the Christmas tree. It is so quiet and all you hear is his steady little breathing. Later, when he wakes up, you can see the tree lights reflecting in his eyes and when he smiles at you it’s Christmas. Weeks until the official day. The cinnamon rolls, package opening day but still Christmas. I wonder what quiet moment happened in all of your lives today that gave you that Christmas feeling? I wish I knew them all and I hope none of us miss them when they come. It’s a noisy world. Dings and clangs and clatter everywhere.

A day at the County Fair

You’ve been. The County Fair. That dusty, hot, smelly slice of life. You’ve jumped over the puddles where a hose leaked. You’ve stepped in various varieties of colored poop. You’ve seen the proud 4-H kids leading their steers, goats, pigs around. All of them with a checked shirt and a big number tacked to their chest. Behind them, you’ve seen their moms carrying all of the brushes and spray bottles and hair spray with hope splayed across their faces that this whole venture will turn out well for their kid. A blue ribbon. Maybe their picture in the paper. You’ve been in the exhibit hall to see all of the projects. The oil paintings of Pac-man and wolves and hummingbirds. The draw bridges built out of craft sticks. The jars of jelly and the purple and blue quilts. You’ve eaten the funnel cakes with powdered sugar that turns into a sweet silkiness that makes your napkin stick to your fingers. Just try and shake it loose. The long ears of corn dripping with butter and not quite shucked. The homemade lemonade with the little lemon wedges and, most times, an insect or two floating alongside them. You’ve seen the kids looking to spend their spending money. Meet boys. Feel grown up. They travel in packs and stand awkwardly at corners. They laugh too loud and yell across the clearings at friends to be noticed. They are defiant and needy and young. You’ve seen the super important guy running around with a clip board and a badge. This thing ain’t happening without him. He’ll guarantee you of that if you ask. Don’t. It will take a minute. But, he’ll also tell you where to go to watch the costume contest for goats or where the first aid tent is if your kid gets bitten by a bee or a rabbit or anything else. So, maybe he’s right. You’ve seen that family that looks a little down on their luck. Three or four kids. One of them named Blaze or Chance and a troublemaker. “Blaze stop it.” “Blaze get down from there.” “Blaze leave your damn sister alone.” You’ve seen them all share the same turkey leg and oversized soda. You’ve had a fleeting thought to buy each of those children their own ice cream cone but then didn’t. You don’t want to come off weird. You’ve ran into old friends and shook their hands and hugged their necks and felt the sweat on the back of their t-shirts. You’ve talked about mutual friends and how much the kids are growing. How much things cost and the weather. One of you ended the conversation by saying you need to get to the exhibit hall to see someone’s prize winning pumpkin or squash or batch of cookies. You’ve reached the end of your desire to see anything else and had someone in your group beg to go to the carnival. Books of tickets and cheap stuffed animals and an old peeling ferris wheel that looks magic in the dusk when the lights come on. You’ve stood there looking up at the laughing couples with their faces a blur against the twilight sky and felt lucky. Lucky to be a human. Lucky that you knew enough about life to be there. Lucky. Lucky. You’ve turned in a slow circle to take it all in. You’ve searched the crowd for those you’ve been to the fair with in the past. Your parents when they were still alive. Your children when they were toddlers holding your hand with an intensity you miss in your deepest heart. Your best friend from high school who always shared her lip gloss. You’ve gone home with a little bit of a sunburn, dirty tennis shoes and a restored heart. Lucky. Lucky.