Vacation Notes from New Normal

We did it!

We managed our annual three night/four days vacation at Presque Isle.

If anyone had told me back in February (or March, April, or perhaps even May) that I would make it on this year's trip, I would have said there wasn't any way. That I was able to makes me feel grateful beyond imagining.

It was a lovely trip, though very tiring. Since I now dwell in the land of "new normal," there were things about the trip that were harder than I expected, or just plain different.  A sampling:

* We couldn't stay at our usual campgrounds, both because they were booked pretty solid by the time we realized we could attempt the trip, and because we weren't sure I could handle the beds and cramped accommodations of our usual trailer. We missed the rustic camp, especially the starry nights outside and the campfire we usually lit each night to roast marshmallows. I didn't have to don a long-sleeved jacket once while we were there, and nobody came home smelling like smoke.

* We stayed in a very moderate priced hotel not far from our campgrounds. While it wasn't rustic (we had wi-fi and cable, for goodness' sake) the beds turned out to be an adventure for me anyway. They were incredibly high off the ground, high enough that I had a very hard time climbing into them without leg pain. I felt like I should get a pole and vault into bed (an idea borne of the fact that we spent most of our late nights watching the Olympics on the aforementioned cable). I devised a kind of leap-into-bed-drag-your-bad-leg-behind-you style that probably would not win me many points for athletic form, but which amused my husband and daughter (and me) no end.

* Speaking of the bad leg (and I feel badly calling one leg "bad" when it's trying just as hard as the other leg that doesn't have bone cancer) the hotel had only two floors...and no elevator. And non-smoking rooms were on the second floor. Whoops. I had stairs to manage up and down whenever we left or arrived or when we went to breakfast. I got used to standing aside to let other people go ahead of me on stairs so I wouldn't hold them up. The first morning we were there, I was going down a short flight of steps toward the dining area, holding onto the railing and carefully bringing my right leg (that's the "bad" one) down to the step where I'd already placed my left leg. It's a very halting way to walk, but it's the only way for me to tackle steps responsibly right now, especially with my feet so numb from neuropathy. An elderly gentleman coming my way saw me managing the steps and called out cheerfully, "That's the way I have to do stairs! Bad knee, eh?" I just smiled and said, "Well, bad leg, anyway."

* No campfires meant no s'mores. We compensated by heading to Sara's (the beach themed hamburger/hot dog joint we love to frequent while there) for ice cream cones. More than once. Oh, okay. Pretty much every day. It was HOT, and ice cream hit the spot.

* The car wasn't as bad as I'd feared. Once upon a time, riding in a car meant pain for my hip. Now it's mostly just achey and uncomfortable but bearable. It was worse for my feet than my hip. I should have followed a friend's suggestion and taken my weight balls so I could have something to roll my feet against and keep them moving.

* Speaking of moving, movement in the car makes me really drowsy. I am more drowsy than usual because of medications, I think, but I wasn't aware how long stretches of time in the car would affect me. I basically couldn't keep my eyes open. I struggle with that at other times too -- including sometimes while I'm typing (which can make for some comical spelling errors, especially if I'm typing on the Kindle keyboard). I think the combination of medicines and deep down physical tiredness, which seemed deeper than I expected once I "let down" for vacation, kept me really sleepy much of the time we were away. I slept a lot on the beach.

* The beach! So beautiful on the peninsula, as always. So lovely to hear the waves and feel the wind and chuckle over the antics of the gulls and pick up rocks worn smooth by the lake water. I did all of those usual things, but I didn't walk much. The hot, gritty sand hurt my feet, and when I attempted to get near the water, just the waves coming in made me very unsteady. So I kept to my chair and read a lot (a reading round-up of my beach fluff probably coming soon). I slept a good deal in the sun, which made me feel a bit like a cat.

* I did have one wonderful beach walk with my dear daughter, who woke me up for the express purpose of meandering over to "our dune" -- the sand dune we have always explored together since she was very little. I'm so glad it meant enough to her to ask me to do that with her. She patiently took my arm and helped me manage the walk. I even made it up the incline to the top of the dune, where S bent down and unstrapped my sandals so I could feel the softer sand of the dune as well as I was able (not terribly well, but it was such a sweet gesture, I couldn't refuse, and I could tell, even with my neuropathied feet, that it was softer -- or perhaps my brain supplied the softer sand memory).

* I wasn't the only one who "let down" my emotions while we were there. The sweet girl discovered that trying to relax after this long, hard year meant some tears. They came at odd times (perhaps because she fights so hard to keep them in at other times, bless her heart). But they came, and I think it was good. 

* Time with friends was also lovely....it was just so good to see them and to spend time in their presence. Some parts of New Normal, thankfully, look and feel a lot like Old Normal. I'm glad, or otherwise I'm afraid I'd get lost a lot more often!

Of Cottonwoods and Mallorn Trees

We had a beautiful long weekend in Erie. We spent almost every moment we could outdoors, from drives on the peninsula to shore time by the lake to playtime on the sweet girl's favorite sandy playground to s'mores around our trailer-side firepit at the campgrounds in the evening. We also got to see wonderful friends for dinner on two successive nights. Despite some stressed moments (we continue to be very concerned about D's mom's deteriorating health and will be making another trip soon to see her) and our usual sparse accommodations in the trailer (made even more rustic this year since they'd opted to improve the bathroom facilities but take out the shower) we really had a lovely time.

One of my favorite parts of the beautiful flora and fauna on Presque Isle are the cottonwood trees that seem to grow everywhere. These are tall, beautiful trees that rustle with a hushed music in the frequently strong winds. It was the sweet girl who pointed out that the back of the green leaves seemed to shimmer with silver -- the leaves are a kind of greenish-gray. Coupled with the few eager leaves already turning yellow in anticipation of the autumn, there was a lovely silver-gold quality to some of the trees. It made us think of the Mallorn trees of Lothlorien, and S. and I ended up calling them Lothlorien trees every time we traipsed under another stand of them near the beach.

I love seeing S. learn to love Tolkien. We're nearing the end of The Two Towers, and every time Tolkien stops to describe the phase of the moon and the quality/timing of its light, she practically shivers with delight. I love that our daughter, so like us and yet so uniquely her own self, loves him as much for his scientific accuracy as she does for his poetry. She is so impressed that here, at last, is an author who cares about those kinds of details!

Reviews of Bad Motels

So we're contemplating taking a brief family trip in honor of Easter, our upcoming 19th anniversary, and my husband's upcoming 50th birthday. We're feeling worn out (to put it mildly) and in need of a definite break. The only problem, of course, is that we really can't afford to swing for a hotel. The more we've looked, the more we've been appalled by prices, and by the fact that so many places don't even serve breakfast anymore even though prices are so high.

So we began looking for "motels" within a certain area, and found one that seemed very reasonably priced. Anything is too high for our budget, but this seemed at least somewhere in the realm of doable. Until my husband said, "why don't you check out some reviews of the place?" I found 38 reviews and we started reading...

And suddenly found ourselves laughing so hard I thought I might fall off my chair. It's a good thing I wasn't drinking milk!

Reading bad motel reviews could become something of a new favorite past-time, I think. Or perhaps I should say reading reviews of bad motels, which is a nicer and more accurate description (the reviews themselves were written just fine). The reviews on this particular motel (I will spare the chain by not saying its name, or the town this particular motel was located in...I think they've got enough trouble with these 38 reviews!) were just hysterical. The more we read, the harder we laughed. You might expect a handful of reviews to note a handful of problems. But these reviews read "worst place I've ever stayed in my whole life!" and "never again!" and the problems piled on so high that we were practically gasping and clutching our sides.

Bed bugs. Roaches. Ill-fitting sheets. No stoppers in the bath-tub. No fridge or microwave as promised. Fleas! Traffic noise. And...I kid you not...and this one made me howl (not that it's really funny, but it was just like one more thing on top of this tottering mountain of awfulness) one review said someone on the hotel staff had stolen their iPod!

I don't think you could invent this much misery if you tried! I think my favorite was the line "all the rotten reviews you read here are real..."

Anyway, we needed the laugh. Who needs a vacation? Reading reviews of bad motels is a wonderful stress-buster!

Patchwork Post as Summer Winds Down...

I didn't mean to disappear entirely, but the past couple of weeks have been busy! Last week we helped our church put on our (mostly) annual Vacation Bible School. This year we went off-site and did it at the rec center of the housing projects up the hill. The result was challenging, exciting, wonderful and exhausting. Over the course of the week, we had well over 50 kids come through the program, though I don't think we ever topped 45 on any given night. Still, that's a lot of children in a very small (and hot and humid) space.

It was a privilege to be able to help feed these children: food for their physical bodies, but most of all food for their hungry hearts. We used the curriculum my husband wrote/developed three years ago, called "Pirates in Paradise." The nightly skits included a band of awful pirates who at first are focused on finding treasure, only to discover the truth that earthly treasure rots and decays, and only heavenly treasure really lasts. In the end, all of the pirates, except for the villainous Captain Harry DuPillage, come to accept "the royal pardon" and find their lives and hearts totally changed.

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We were so tired on Saturday, following the VBS week, that we took the whole day off. That probably doesn't sound like a big deal for a Saturday, but with my husband's two-job schedule, it's a rarity. We all slept in, and after a leisurely breakfast did our weekly library visit. Then in the afternoon we went to a local park to play on the playground and feed the ducks.

It turned out the ducks weren't very hungry -- most of them had congregated on a small island in the middle of the lake, taking naps in the heat of the day -- but we found a few stalwarts near the left-hand bank and fed them. Or at least we tried. Two of them, one white, one black and white, kept patrolling the territory and pushing back a slightly smaller brown duck that wanted food too. We did our best to lob small pieces of bread over the heads of the bullying ducks so that Mr. Brown could also eat, but after a while he gave it up and so did we.

We stopped for ice cream on the way home and made friends with a small, bright-eyed wren in the parking lot begging for crumbs from our cones. We obliged him with a few pieces and watched in fascination as he would pick up the crumb and fly off, every time in the same exact flight pattern, across the busy road and into the parking lot of a shopping area across the street. He'd swoop up high over the roof of the pizza restaurant and zoom into the thicket of a tall green tree. Clearly he was taking food home to the family, for just as soon as you could blink, he'd zoom back out, fly back across the road (same flight pattern) and land just a few feet in front of us, looking at us with bright expectancy. It was my hubby who suddenly remembered we still had bread in the car, leftover from the ducks. So we sprinkled a liberal amount of crumbs all over the parking lot and watched our wren friend, along with some other birds, have a feast. They all seemed to enjoy it, but none more than that hard-working little bird who kept up his trek to the tree behind Pizza Joe's, over and over. What faithfulness!

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We're heading out soon for our two-day mini-vacation in Erie. We realized simultaneously that we couldn't afford it and that we desperately needed it. The Lord blessed us in that we were able to find a good spot at a local campgrounds (the one we stayed at last year, very reasonably priced, had closed). I can't tell you how much we're looking forward to two and a half days of sun, wind, sand, waves, trees, birds, clouds....the peninsula has become such a refreshing oasis in our busy city lives. I always come back renewed, after lots of time to rest, pray, read, and just soak in the goodness of creation. Hopefully by the time we get back, I'll be in a better writing rhythm here. Here's hoping our computer will also be functioning better after some time off!

Like Mother, Like Daughter: The Colonial Mob Cap Craze

I grew up about an hour and a half from colonial Williamsburg, which made it prime territory for elementary school field trips and family vacations. I have happy memories of traipsing through the many buildings in the historic area, marveling over the ways people used to make candles and soap, playing on the green, and goofing off with my sister around the "stocks," where colonial miscreants were put in irons if they broke the law.

Seven years ago, my husband and I went to colonial Williamsburg for what we fondly termed our last "couple vacation." We stayed in a quaint, old-fashioned lodge where each room was basically a tiny cottage that felt like your own postage-stamp sized house (with the tiniest shower imaginable). I was about seven months pregnant at the time, struggling with terrible congestion in my ears (the beginning of my ongoing ear problems) but we had a wonderful time. While we were there, we bought three hats: a black tri-cornered hat for D., and white, lacy "mob caps" for me and our baby-on-the-way. We couldn't resist the hats: I still fondly recalled loving the little "mob cap" I'd gotten on one of those long-ago family trips.


The sweet girl loved Williamsburg, even in utero. As we walked up and down the historic streets, me clad in good walking shoes and sitting down whenever my back protested, she kicked more often than was her usual habit (at least during the day...she was an active night-time baby!). D. and I laugh to remember how she always seemed to kick really hard when we paused near a particular restaurant, whose food smelled delicious (you could catch the scent on the sidewalk, as some diners dined outdoors) but whose menu prices were sky-high (way past our budget)!

I have no idea where the tri-cornered hat and grown-up mob cap went to -- likely relegated to a closet shelf. But the little girl mob cap is still around, and the sweet girl recently rediscovered it. We've told her about Williamsburg and we're hoping to make a family field trip there sometime near or during her third grade year. She's fascinated by the little lacy cap. Watching her wear it is almost like watching myself as an enthusiastic grade schooler all over again.

Yesterday she decided to wear it to church! I'm pretty sure it was the first time anyone had ever worn a colonial mob cab into our urban parish. What I loved was the double-takes and then the delighted grins as people saw her in it. Sometimes people flashed the smiles right at her, and sometimes they twisted around and grinned at us. I also deeply appreciated the cool junior high girl who made sure to tell her how much she liked it.

Blissful Feet at the Beach

Yes, we really did go to the beach last week. And I can prove it!

I'm not sure when I started taking pictures of feet, especially feet at happy moments. But from time to time, I just do. And my feet, feeling warm sand for the first time in a decade (I kid you not) were completely blissful.

We finally got a mini-vacation...our first family time away of the entire summer. We had two nights and most of three days. And we finally got to Lake Erie, which is something we'd wanted to do for years. The peninsula was gorgeous. I loved the combination of woods and beach...this was my first ever visit to any of the Great Lakes. And it was the sweet girl's first ever visit to the beach.

I don't know why it took us so long. Life in the past decade, here in the post-industrial town that time forgot, has not always been easy. I am feeling a bit nostalgic as I write this because today, August 20th (it's just past midnight right now) marks exactly 10 years since we moved here. 10 years. If you had told me then that we would still be here, I would have laughed in disbelief. This was supposed to be a waystation, a testing ground, a little bit of wilderness, preparation time, a stepping stone, a bridge moment, a season. And it has been all those things. Just in a much more prolonged and profound way than D. and I could ever have guessed when we pulled onto this very street a decade ago and began unpacking boxes.

So...tired as I am, feeling grateful for lots of things. For persevering love in hard places. For knowing the faithful words and kind works of God in a "besieged city." For my sister who drove through a pouring rain to help us unpack boxes that first night, who flew here in the middle of the night/early morning five years later to be here for the birth of the sweet girl, and who has visited us here countless other times. For friends who know how blessed but exhausting life and ministry and work in this town can be, and who sent us a check so we could take that vacation to the beach this past week. For a relatively new friend, Erin (who so faithfully reads this blog, and who has blessed my life with poetry and great conversation in the past almost-two years) whom I was delighted to finally have a chance to meet during our time in Erie.

And oh yes, I'm feeling grateful for rested, blissful feet at the beach.