Addiction

I can picture myself at the meeting. It would go something like this.

Me: Hi, I'm Lisa and I'm a....bookaholic.

Everyone: Hi Lisa.

It's true. As with most addictions I choose to ignore it, just hope it will go away and then the desire hits me again; like yesterday when I was driving through a county seat, a small town of an adjacent county...you know...the kind with a court house square, charming, to have lunch with a friend. It was only a small storefront, but they had one of those easel type sidewalk signs, plus the windows were painted advertising a sale...20% off all children's. That did it.

Yes, I did it. I bought books. At least I only spent around $6.00, and they weren't even children's, and they were paperbacks, and they weren't antiquarian (love that word) or rare.

No. 1: 84 Charring Cross Road (didn't even know it was a book and didn't know it was true)...wonderful. The movie is great. See it if you haven't. I happened upon it because I love Anthony Hopkins, and of course Ann Bancroft is fabulous......and OF COURSE.....it's a sort of love story between a writer and someone who.....I won't tell you....just see it and you'll understand why. I can't say more. The thought of it is making me have the urge again.

No. 2: Boy. This one is a memoir written by Roald Dahl.

I'm worried. Not only does this addiction continue, but lately I've been buying books about books and books about writing books, and books about bookstores and books about libraries.

As I wrote my check, I asked the owner if he wanted my driver's license. His reply was "No thanks, I already have one." Then he asked me if I had seen the movie (84 Charring Cross Road) and purged all sorts of information about it; followed by more information about Roald Dahl which was that he died not long ago (I knew that) and that he had been married (at least at one time) to the actress Patricia Neal (I didn't know that). In my mind I gasped..."He's an addict too. And he WORKS here...how can he manage?" At one time while browsing I realized I didn't have cash, only a credit/debit card or a checkbook, so I asked what they took, and all he said was "We'll do just about anything to sell a book." and left it at that. I didn't know exactly what that meant...would he trade for my watch, some earrings, some velamints?

Just for today........

DePaul Family Weekend

Ed and I visited Mary, our youngest, at DePaul University for family weekend last weekend. One of the events was a double decker bus tour from DePaul to center city and back northward again. Here is the back of Ed's head as we are trying to avoid decapitation when departing from the Lincoln Park area. It was a great weekend, except for one thing. I didn't get one single bite of Chicago Pizza. When your daughter lives there, pizza becomes commonplace and she didn't want it....guess I'm going to have to make a secret trip to Chicago to get my pizza fix!

Saturday Morning Excursion

Although it would have been easy for me to lounge in bed a bit longer this morning (the first Saturday following the beginning of school) I didn't. Instead I invited my husband to go with me to the Zionsville Farmers Market (thanks to my friend Janet who wrote about this in one of her blog entries). Ed isn't one to stroll and just enjoy the moment sometimes, but it was good for us to do something together and to get out of the house.

We did a walk through of the market first and went around a couple of more times to buy what we thought was the most and best for the money. We picked up a cantaloupe (which is called in Indiana a muskmelon and is somewhat different looking and better tasting than a plain cantaloupe), tomatoes, green peppers, hot peppers, peaches, chili sauce, sausage (his pick), rosemary/olive oil bread, and lastly (with all the cash we had left) this beautiful bouquet of flowers.

He seemed to enjoy it, although I did have to encourage him to relax and stroll, and not become his "efficiency expert" self. We should have brought the dogs. There were dogs everywhere...next time.

I think we have to learn to do these sorts of things together more frequently and rediscover ourselves. When you are raising children you are going every which way and are so busy all the time. It is hard to learn to spend one-on-one time together again. We are entering a new phase.

Of course on the way home, he fell into one of his favorite things to do...explore...go a different way...get lost sort of (but not admit it). He's never really had a hobby other than that he reads a lot....maybe something to do with cartography, not that there are any places in the world left unexplored. I know...he could be the person who creates better directions for online services, since they never give you the most efficient route.

Learning to Retreat

It is officially the half way mark of our vacation, and I can see why Anne Lindbergh says in Gift from the Sea that you really don't start letting go, calming your soul, finding peace until the second week. While I am loving this place I am in, both geographically and spiritually, I can see why another week or more would bring even more of this feeling of calmness.

I think it takes a week to rid oneself of bills, laundry, work, housekeeping, and all the things that are burdensome. I do feel relaxed and calm but I can see becoming more so if there were more time to retreat.

To truly retreat I would perhaps come on my own, not blog, not check mail, not make plans. It was hard for Anne Lindbergh to let go of the same things that burden us as women especially, even in 1953. As I revisit Gift I am reminded how its wisdom crosses all generations. Decades have not changed its message and I doubt four or five more decades will either. In a way I believe it is even more difficult for us to retreat from the world, is easier to be lonely if alone, and to be challenged when withdrawing from the technology that constantly keeps us connected.

I've peeked into Gift just a bit while here. I couldn't remember if Anne used scallops as an example of one of the shells she used to inspire her writing. She did not. Scallops are everywhere on the beach and although I've picked up dozens, they continue to attract me. They are common but unique, like snowflakes I guess, or people. I find myself glancing down attracted by the variety of colors, a pale pink, orange, white, gray, or brown. I wonder where they've been, what they've experienced, how they've become who they are. Even the ones with barnacles attached are beautiful.

Most of the shell seekers on the beach are after that one prized shell, perfect and rare; I think I'd rather stick with that which is not fleeting, that which is still special no matter how common, that which has a story to tell.

Mam-maw and Pap-paw

My parents... there they are.. they are so happy to be here and we are so happy to have them. They are wonderful people. And they are hysterical.

My dad doesn't get around so well and absolutely does need some help, but he is spoiled rotten. I don't know what he would do without my mother. I can't even tell you some of the things she does for him. You don't want to know. I can't imagine ever doing some of them for Ed. My mother is so used to doing everything for him that it has just become her culture. To some extent it has always been their culture, their norm.

The woman puts his food on his plate! He can't stand up and act like he is going somewhere without her immediately responding "What are you doing? Where are you going?" He sometimes acts half annoyed by it, but you can tell he is just pretending and that he actually enjoys every second of it. I think once in awhile she actually ought to ignore the fact that he is moving and see what he says. He'd probably be moving along with his cane or walker but looking behind him wondering why she wasn't saying anything. She follows him into the bathroom. You don't want to know...I don't want to know.

This morning he got off the couch to go sit outside on the screened porch and she immediately stood up behind him and asked the inevitable questions as mentioned above. Then she went to the sliding door before him and started asking him which chair he wanted to sit in. That one? This one? He pointed to "that one" and she proceeded to pull it out for him.

Oh, and this conversation just now took place while I was blogging:

Mom (standing next to him as he sat on the couch): I think I'll go down to the beach for a bit and look for some shells.

Dad: Ok.

Mom: Is that ok with you? It had better be...I did get your ice cream for you.

Dad: Yeah....uh....no, I don't think I want you to do that (joking).

Mom: Well you'd better. I'm going anyway.

So you see, half of this way of relating comes from her. Maybe more. I honestly don't hear him make demands upon her. She has just done everything for him for so long, it's her norm. It is way outside of my norm. You will rarely if ever find me putting food on a plate for Ed (although I did puncture and drain the blisters on the bottom of his foot this morning), and you will never find him asking me to do so. It would annoy the hell out of him. So while it is amusing, it also worries me. I can't imagine one of them functioning without the other.

I remember a time he used to make fun of her for being so addicted to soaps. Now he himself is an addictee. I know this because when they travel with us I get a sneaky peak into the lives they live at home on a day-to-day basis. When they aren't looking for their soaps, they are looking to see what "judge" shows are on TV. I heard dad whine this morning because he couldn't find Judge Matheson (whoever that is...so I don't know if I'm spelling it correctly).

Although Mom and Dad sit on the couch and watch soaps and judge shows, we do manage to make them get up and go. Ed took Dad this morning to rent a wheel chair so we could get him to some places which are difficult for him to reach...the beach, the pool, and whatever else we find on the island that might be a little on the inaccessible side for him.

They are so fun. Dad is ornery and likes to spend a lot of time teasing the girls, teasing Jon, and making up lies about me (or at least exaggerating the truth) when I was a child. And each and every night we are together, Mom and Dad (but especially Dad) want us all to line up and give them a hug and kiss goodnight. Dad hugs me, kisses me, tells me how much he loves me, and says thank you for the hundredth time for including them in our adventures.

As far as I am concerned they have been the best parents ever and they deserve to spend their time doing whatever they want.

What Day Is It?

You know you are on vacation when you don't know what day it is. For that matter you often don't know and don't care what time it is either.

It is evening, it is dark. Ed just came in from the pool, sighed and said "What a great day." He got up early (I didn't) and walked on the beach. He learned that only locals can fitness walk on the beach barefoot because their feet have toughened up. He realized this when his feet started really hurting. He was getting blisters. The problem is that he had to turn around and come back...a long way back. He made it eventually and had to treat his blisters. Other than that, poor guy (the feet seem fine now), it has been a perfect day.

I was up late so I slept in a bit. The girls, Jon, and I left to see some of the island by car. We ate lunch at one of my favorite Sanibel spots, The Lazy Flamingo, where I of course had my first (and definitely not last) taste of grouper. We did a bit of shopping, returned to the condo and headed for the beach.

In the early evening the sky darkened a bit with clouds and a small (typical of Florida's gulf coast) storm moved through. The darkened sky made the water seem translucent and the color was an amazing cerulean blue. We watched from our balcony, took naps, and then returned to the beach for the sunset, shelling (it was low tide), and just strolling along an almost deserted stretch of sand. So peaceful.

After dark we moved to the pool which is as warm as a bath, finally came in, and had some pizza delivered for dinner. We are getting ready to begin our week long Skip-Bo tournament, of which I intend to be champion. Jon tells me otherwise. We'll see about that.

We Arrived...Vacation Blog

Our travels from Indiana to the Gulf Coast were uneventful, meaning no car problems, no arguing (it helps to travel in two vehicles), just a normal, but long (worth it!) drive. Our condo is roomy and nice, looking out onto the beach.

After unpacking we walked on the boardwalk out to the beach. Mom and I strolled along the water's edge, already doing the "Sanibel stoop" to search for shells. Kelly, Erin, Mary and Jon donned their suits and jumped in that delicious warm water...not delicious tasting, but delicious feeling. It's warm, not cold like Lake Michigan, which is why I prefer the sea although it is salty.

It was early evening and a good time to spot dolphins, which we immediately did (Erin came to the shore line because she first thought that she imagined seeing a fin, and then she worried it was a shark rather than a dolphin). No worries of course. There were at least two of them, and they came in very close. They even jumped and played in the water a bit, splashing around.

The weather was unseasonably cool while traveling and only when we reached the Ft. Myers area and stopped for a break did we feel the typical Florida heat. It was actually quite pleasant this evening. Mom and I headed

to the grocery story for a few basics...you know....beer, vodka, tequila. It was late so we made a quick dinner of spaghetti and relaxed after two days of driving.

More to come...should I feel like it.

It is heaven.

Betweener

I'm a boomer, but mostly I consider myself a betweener. I'm somewhere between my children and my parents. Right now it is a blessed time and a time to enjoy each and every moment at both ends of this strange spectrum.

My youngest of four will be leaving for college soon enough, and I suppose, as difficult as it is to say, I don't know how many more years my parents will have with us.

Last year we took an extended weekend trip with my parents because my father in particular cannot travel on his own. My mother has a driver's license but really doesn't drive much, and he can't do it on his own. It would be risky at this point for them to take off anywhere for long on their own. So my dad noticed in the AAA magazine a driving tour through a section of West Virginia. Ed and I decided to find a long weekend and made it happen. We had a great time.

That prompted us to invite them to travel to the gulf coast of Florida with us last year at the beginning of summer. As a child, my parents and some friends of theirs vacationed at a small family-owned motel on Madeira Beach. We went for years each summer. They became friends with the owners of the motel which turned into a years-long friendship. Their friends are retired now, my parents had not seen them in a very long time, and I know they just never thought they would return to Florida ever again. They were a little nervous about all the work it takes to prepare and withstanding the heat, but it worked and we had a wonderful time. Again, they (and Ed and I) really didn't know if it could happen again.

It is happening again. I am writing from somewhere near Macon, Georgia, on our way to Sanibel Island, Florida, a spot my parents actually have never visited although it is within two hours of the area where we used to vacation. I will try to report on our fun over the next few days. There are eight of us...three of our girls and a boyfriend. There should be lots to share.

I am so blessed and thankful to God to have my parents with me, particularly my father, since staying healthy has been a challenge for him for the past 27 years, when he suffered a heart attack shortly before Ed and I were married and in fact could not attend our wedding. That is another story for another time perhaps, but I am so grateful that he has been around to see the birth of all four of my children, seen them through grade school, high school, and into college.

My parents ask me why in the world I would want to drag them along, and all I can do is assure them that we truly want to do this with them and for them. It is giving us a great deal of pleasure to see them happy and enjoying themselves.

An-ti-ci-PA-A-tion, It's Keepn' Me Wa-a-tin'

The lyrics of that song have more to do with the anticipation of being with a lover than going on vacation, but I am suddenly feeling that great feeling of looking forward to something, our family vacation to Sanibel/Captiva Island, Florida. We took a trip to the Tampa/Clearwater area last year and it was great, but Sanibel is one of my favorite places.

One of my favorite books, Gift from the Sea, published in 1955 (my birth year), was written by Anne Morrow Lindbergh on Captiva Island. I discovered it around ten years ago and wish I had found it much sooner.

Gift can stand alone, but if you are interested in its background, I recommend Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Her Life by Susan Hertog, published in 1999. There may well be other books about her life out there, but I sense most of the material is focused on Charles Lindbergh. I loved reading about the way Anne was raised. Her mother was consistent at reading aloud to her and three siblings. (I have three siblings and my mother also read aloud to us regularly; I likewise have four children and reading aloud was extremely important in our home. Was I not meant to learn about Anne Lindbergh?) Once they outgrew being read to, the habit of reading to themselves and also writing on a regular basis came naturally. Anne's father was a lawyer (my husband is a lawyer). They obviously grew up in a household which placed value on education and held high standards of achievement. Anne's mother was active in promoting women's education. When I discovered Gift and also read her biography, I related so much to Anne, her life, and also her struggles. Any woman friend I know who has read the book relates to it, no matter what stage of life.

The flap of the biography states that Anne was "shy and sensitive, yet rebellious and ambitious." She had her own ambition, yet struggled with being caught up in her role as wife and mother, and what was expected of her. I didn't get the feeling she resented those responsibilities, but they are labor intensive, and we all know how easy it is to set ourselves aside. Of course Charles was in the limelight and I'm sure this made it even more difficult for her. It seems not many people know that she was a writer and also an aviator. Most only know of Charles' aviation record and of course the horrible events surrounding the kidnapping and murder of their infant son.

Gift from the Sea is poetic, simple yet deep, wise; it crosses time and space.

So I think I'll pull it out to take with me, knowing that when I search for shells on the beach, Anne Morrow Lindbergh might have walked the same path. I might even find time to reread her biography.

The area is governed well. It isn't Panama City. There are building restrictions on height, so you won't find high rises. There are restrictions on shelling. No live shells may be taken, yet there are piles of shells on the beach at low tide. Being a barrier island, the area is known for shells and you'll see people in a stance (bent over looking at the ground) called the Sanibel stoop. When in the water you can find many live starfish, sanddollars, and other shells to enjoy even if you can't (and shouldn't) take them. The area is also populated by sea turtles whose nests are marked and protected by law. The fauna and foliage are interesting and beautiful. The J.N. "Ding" Darling National Wildlife Reserve is located there as well and is part of one of the largest undeveloped mangrove ecosystems in the country.

There will be eight of us. Regretfully our oldest daughter, Caitlin, is out of the country and can't join us this year; but there will be other years. My parents, who can no longer travel easily on their own, will join us (a road trip with two vehicles). We plan on relaxing, enjoying the quiet and beauty, eating good seafood, reading, writing (I intend to) and playing some Skip Bo, Scrabble, and Phase Ten....and I mustn't forget the Bloody Mary's and Margaritas.

Ahhhh....an-ti-ci-PA-A-tion......

An Adventure of Sorts, Part 1 and 2

Part 1

This morning I left with Mary for a drive to CYO Camp Rancho Framasa in Brown County. We had received an email from the camp notifying us that a bridge on the road that takes us to camp was under construction and we would have to follow an alternative route. A map was attached and it it looked simple enough. When driving toward Nashville from Columbus, all we had to do was take Salt Creek Road instead of Clay Lick Road. The Salt Creek Road turn off and following it to come into camp from the opposite direction was clearly marked on the map you see here.



Looks simple huh? Well I turned off of State Road 46 onto Salt Creek Road and I drove and I drove and I drove. Not only did I drive, but I sure didn't drive in the way the dashed line indicates. I kept heading further north and further back east and I knew I was driving away from the camp, not toward it. By now we were a half hour or so late. I turned around. On the way back we didn't see the intersection of Salt Creek Road with Gatesville Road either.

I next pulled into the Shell Station (called Circle K on the map). The gal behind the counter told me she had no clue why they were sending campers "that away." She told me to get back out on S.R. 46 and keep going west toward Nashville. I'd turn right at Seasons (an inn), follow that road up a hill past the fairgrounds until I come to a T (I'm already getting worried). That T would be Greasy Creek Road...take a right onto Greasy Creek Road (really? Greasy Creek Road? See Part 2) until you come to a Y (first a T and now a Y), and veer to the right. That road should take me to camp (coming in from behind on the correct road, Clay Lick Road).

I asked her to repeat the directions to me again, and then I got a pen and paper and wrote them down (after she repeated them a third time). The directions actually worked and I didn't spend nearly as much time trying to get there via Greasy Creek Road as I did on Salt Creek Road. Now that I'm back, I wanted to show you what Salt Creek Road was really like; but first, scroll back up and look at that nice straight Salt Creek Road. Now check out my approximation of Salt Creek Road below.

Salt Creek Road (the one they told me to take) looks more like the road I've marked with dashes here. It winds and winds and winds. I felt like I was on the coast of Maine. Look along SR 46 to the west and you'll see my actual route (marked with circles).

When I got to camp (now more than an hour late) of course no one was around (except Angie the director) because it seemed I was the only idiot who couldn't find my way there. I apologized and left asap because of course, Mary was embarassed and I think wanted me out of there fast. I decided I was going to go BACK the way they told me to come IN and find this intersection of Salt Creek Road and Gatesville Road. I found it...no problem. If you'll look at the place I starred on the map....yep...uh huh...that's about the time I turned around and went all the way back to SR 46. I watched the odometer. It's about 6 miles from SR46 to Gatesville Road following Salt Creek Road. Yeah..yep...uh huh...I was about 5.5 or 5.75 miles north on Salt Creek Road. Sure 'nuff...if I had held out just another quarter of a mile or so, I would have come to the T.

After I took a second look at the map, I realized I should have known all along because whoever drew it, also shows Clay Lick Road (the normal route to camp) as a straight shot...NOT! Oh, by the way, when I finally did pull into camp from the north, the bridge that is right in the middle of camp is the one they are repairing, yes, but there was plenty of room on the other side to pull off and let Mary out. I could have taken the regular route anyway.

The story doesn't end here. Once I got back to SR 46 to head back east to Columbus, I got stuck in a long line of traffic...a complete stand still. I couldn't see far enough ahead to see what the hold up was, so I turned around and headed back toward Nashville and yep.....I WENT SHOPPING!!!! I got home around 6 p.m. this evening.

Part 2

To amuse myself through all of this, I just started being observant in and around Nashville and on my way home. I like to people watch, listen to conversations, and notice whatever I can for my writer's notebook. I just got to thinking about some of the names of things in southern Indiana. They really don't fit with the beauty of the surroundings. Between Columbus and Nashville you go through a place (which is a town I guess) called Gnaw Bone. Really...Gnaw Bone? What would it feel like saying on Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune..."Yes, Alex (or Pat), I'm from Gnaw Bone, Indiana." There are also a lot of flea markets along the way, one of which is called Western 'Ho'.....no kidding, that's what it's called...Western 'Ho'....I don't even want to know.