News Trend Cloud Gate|Actual

During our summer road trip, we saw more interesting sights that I could squeeze into my real-time posts. Now that I'm back home and have fished all 548 photos off my devices, I have a few more road trip stories to share.

To catch up on the rest of the trip, starthere.

* * * * *

Its proper name isCloud Gate.

But almost immediately upon its construction after the turn of the millennium, Chicago's new stainless steel sculpture was affectionately nicknamed The Bean, in gaji of its undulating kidney bean curves.

I think both names are worthy and accurate descriptors of this amazing sculpture. Not only does the piece reflect the sky in infinite variety, but it also seems oddly familiar and comfortingly organic. Which is no small feat for a gigantic hunk of steel.

I fell in love with it long before I ever saw it in person.

Still, when we stopped by Millennium Park for a quick visit on the eastbound leg of our family road trip, my devotion was doubled. I love everything about this art work - the massive scale, the surprising delicacy of the shape, its contradictory curves in delighted defiance to the square-shouldered skyscrapers that stand at attention in the periphery.

But even more, I marveled at the way my fellow visitors responded to the piece. Like any good outdoor sculpture should, this shiny spectacle drew people in and invited them to explore and experience the artwork up close.

Mostly, everyone stood around and took photos of themselves and their loved ones, reflected and distorted in the mercury-like surface.

And while the outside surfaces provided endless entertainment, the inner archway with its dimpled contours took the photo opportunities up by several notches.

Literally everyone was running around, brandishing cameras and snapping endless shots of this amazing interaction of humans and art.

I was no exception to this phenomenon.

And while I can totally get behind both Cloud Gate and The Bean as sweetly suitable titles for this gem of a sculpture, I would like to propose a new name that most accurately captures its effect on human beings.

The Smile Maker.

News Trend My New Record Player|Actual

It was another of my late-night come-to-Jesus moments.

Suddenly, clear as a bell, an idea burst into my mind not in stages or increments but in a single flash of inspired brilliance.

I needed a record player in my living room.

Not wanted. NEEDED.

I have digital music coming out of my ears, but suddenly I craved records.

The epiphany hit me just before Friday midnight, and all the pieces immediately fell into place.

My first-born owns a turntable - a Christmas gift from several years back - but has never been able to find the right place to set it up in her bedroom. She often loans it to me and I knew if I asked real nice, she would let me take that little gem downstairs and give it a permanent home.

Next, I would need some records.

As a child of the 70s, I collected a goodly number of albums during my formative years. That's what we called them back in the day - albums. Never "vinyl." Despite the successive waves of advancing technologies - cassette tapes, compact discs and digital music - I held on to those old crumbling cardboard covers and scratched black discs.

Believe it or not, the better part of my childhood musical archive has been living in my attic, just where we stashed it when we moved into this house almost three decades ago. At least a hundred albums were up there, still stored in the original moving boxes - oh yes, they were - and all I needed to do was haul those boxes back downstairs for a long-awaited reunion.

Only one important matter remained. This dream required a small piece of furniture to a) support the turntable out of harm's way and b) hold my album inventory. I considered and reconsidered every piece of furniture we own, and concluded that nothing would work.

Oh darn. I would have to buy something new.

Twelve hours and one trip to IKEA later, I was the proud owner of a bitty KALLAX unit and now all that stood between me and my dream was a set of assembly instructions and an alphabetizing project.

Eight p.M. On Saturday evening found me lying alone on the living room floor, listening to one album after the next, as sweet memories flooded my mind and filled my soul.

Music from a turntable is different. Rather than jumping around all ADHD-like between albums and artists, as I often do with digital music, albums coax me to listen through a full side, five songs flowing seamlessly into a single unit. Once I drop that needle, I'm transported and rarely lift the arm until it's bouncing against the inner rings.

I love the creativity of the cardboard covers and paper liners. Double albums, single albums with double covers, notes from the band, lyrics on the inner sleeves. This lovely inconsistency make opening up each album an individual and highly serendipitous experience.

Though I've listened many times to this same music on other formats, nothing compares to what I feel when I listen to my albums. This, for me, is how music is meant to be heard and, thanks to my new record player, my heart - and ears - are completely content.

^ Ranger is a big fan of my new record player too.

News Trend Napping With The Prince|Actual

The golden days of summer are fading, sliding down toward the cool chill of autumn, and change is afoot at my house.

My kittens, who have spent nearly every afternoon of these past few months dozing under luxuriously shady bushes in the backyard, are now creeping into the house to take their naps on our cozy beds, draped across the pillows and blankets like little princes.

Cedric has certainly mastered this art form.

The cute factor is enough to make even me - the ultimate summer devotee - toss aside my gardening tools and curl up next to this guy for a little nap of my own.

Happy almost fall!

News Trend Fall Colors|Actual

Fluttering feathers of gold.

Velvety brown.

Cheery yellows.

Deep burgundy reds.

Purplish greens and all the shades of orange.

When I realize that my sweet sunny days of summer are slowly slipping away and fearsome fall is definitely in the air. I have found a remedy. Taking a moment to pause on my way into the grocery store, I drink in the fresh colors of the new season.

And I really must say, I admire their spunk.

News Trend Pennies From Heaven|Actual

Every time it rains, it rains

Pennies from heaven

Don't you know each cloud contains

Pennies from heaven

My drama began just a few hours before we were due to leave town for a two-week road trip.

Scrolling around the internet at 2 a.M, too antsy and keyed up to sleep, I fell in love.

Madly

Deeply

Passionately in love.

With this.

No, not the wooden dresser.

Or the brick wall.

Or the collection of vases.

Adorable as all those things were, it was the tall, dark and handsome teak container on the far right that totally made my heart sing.

I know.

It's a wooden wastebasket, for heaven's sake. Makes a cute and inexpensive planter but perhaps not necessarily worthy of a full-scale obsession.

But my heart was set and my brain, having dealt with these matters before, pragmatically turned to the issue of how to win one for myself.

The blogger handily mentioned that she bought hers at Bed, Bath & Beyond. My heart beat stronger - there's a store nearby, not too far off my beaten path.

But let's be reasonable, my brain countered. The store is most certainly closed at this moment, and won't be open until long after we roll out of town at six a.m.

I had neglected to build a last-minute shopping trip into the road-trip agenda.

Well. Other options?

All I could imagine was begging my eldest daughter, who was not joining our cross-country caravan, to run over to the store and snatch one up for me.

But let's be honest, I told myself, that store is a pain in the neck to get in and out of. I can barely motivate myself to deal with the traffic drama over there; how could I possibly convince my daughter to waste an easy half-hour of her life sitting in traffic in order to fetch me, of all forsaken things, a wastebasket?

I mean, it's the cutest wastebasket ever, and I'd vow to love with with all my heart. But I doubt my daughter would be particularly impressed.

It seemed certain that my wooden wastebasket and I were simply not meant to be.

Sigh

Fast forward. Six a.m. came and went; we spent the next twelve hours careening across the landscape, traveling from Washington to Oregon and east into Idaho. On and off throughout the day, the wooden wastebasket would flicker back into my mind and I tried, regretfully, to push my forbidden love away.

Double sigh

Still reeling with obsession, by late afternoon, I found myself at a Boise-area Target where we had stopped for a few groceries and a box of Band-Aids. Ranger and I strolled and sniffed our way around the parking lot while the rest of the family shopped, my mind still running circles around my dilemma.

When suddenly, I lifted my head to draw a fresh breath.

The clouds parted,

the heavens streamed with light,

and an angel chorus rang out in my ears.

For there, next to the Target, literally right smack dab in front of me, was a Bed, Bath & Beyond store.

Long story short, I bought my beloved wastebasket, gave it a big fat kiss, then stashed it in the back corner of the trunk where it lived for the next two weeks until we got back home.

Now housing a cactus with funky little arms, this handsome guy lives in my bedroom, and every time I glance over to his corner, I am reminded that sometimes, pennies really do fall from heaven.

News Trend Elyria Pattern Co.|Actual

During our summer road trip, we saw more interesting sights that I could squeeze into my real-time posts. Now that I'm back home and have fished all 548 photos off my devices, I have a few more road trip stories to share.

To catch up on the rest of the trip, starthere.

* * * * *

Somber was the mood in the car as we drove out of town, passing by the familiar streets and well-known family landmarks of my husband's Ohio hometown. Now that both of my in-laws have passed on, who knows when - or if - we will next have occasion to come around for a visit.

The people who made us feel at home here are gone now and nothing is left but a place.

Sigh.

We took the usual tour, slowly cruising past the three homes where my husband grew up, our sense of satisfaction that all were in good repair seesawing with that uneasy queasiness one feels when facing with the fact that strangers are now living in your childhood home.

Then my husband suggested that we drive by the shop.

^ My father-in-law, son of a dairy farmer, broke out of the cow business as soon as he came of age. He chose instead to learn the trade of a pattern maker, and set up shop with his colleague and friend,  Leonard. Over the decades, through much hard work, they built themselves a fine business where my husband was offered the opportunity to sweep floors on Saturdays.

For his part, my husband eventually followed the family tradition of finding one's own path and chose to become... A dairy farmer.

Just kidding. That would have been deliciously ironic, but he studied chemical engineering and then became an accountant. No floor-sweeping required.

Anyway, when the time came for Dad to retire, he sold the shop to a young man of promise named Jim.

So as we pulled into the drive of the Elyria Pattern Co. And I predictably hopped out of the car to snap a few photos, it was Jim's sixty-something cousin, Marlene, who saw me climbing through the bushes and stuck her head out the door to ask if there was something she might do to help me.

^ Two minutes later, my husband was striding across the workshop floor to shake hands with Young Jim - Jim's son - who now runs the place. They began talking over the business like they were the ones who'd been partners for forty years, which left me with my first-ever opportunity to explore this place of myth and legend.

^ The various presses, saws, and other intimidating machines are the old originals, dating back to the 1940s, I suppose. Though the staff was mostly working in the back room of the now-expanded workspace, the air thrummed with industry, and my father-in-law's hearing aids suddenly made a lot of sense.

^ I didn't need anyone to tell me who built the worktables that lined the walls. An identical twin to this contoh used to stand in my father-in-law's basement and now lives in my garage. Handmade, sturdy enough to survive the zombie apocalypse, full of secret compartments and hidden drawers, this is a workbench for the ages and I'm glad a half-dozen or so versions exist.

^ More overpowering that the sights and sounds of the shop, it was the delicious fragrance of wood that fulfilled my fantasies of what the shop would be like. Sweet and spicy, filling the air with delicate dusty variations, these lumber piles drew me like nectar to a bee. We brought home a few small samples in a feeble attempt to capture and preserve that incredible aroma, but they are a pale comparison to the real thing.

^ I got a little emotional about these floors. Honestly, I craved nothing more than to sand them down to pure perfection, stain them with loving care, and then buff them to the beauty they so richly deserve. I wanted to rip them up and carry them across the country to my house on my back.

We visited for only ten minutes or so when I heard my husband say to Jim, "Well, I'll let you get back at it." Dang. I wasn't ready to go.

But on our way out the door, as I stopped to give a big thank you to Marlene for her quick-thinking hospitality, I noticed a photograph. Handsomely matted and framed, hanging in a place of gaji in the center of the office wall was a shot taken way back in the day, of my father-in-law (left) and Leonard mulling over one of their masterpieces.

I have to say, that really touched my heart.

And suddenly, the old hometown didn't seem so empty after all.

News Trend Noooo!!!|Actual

On Saturday morning, my adored wooden-wastebasket-turned-planter took a bad turn.

It exploded. There's no other way to say it

I'm assuming that the wooden slats absorbed enough moisture to blow out one of the seams and bust the whole side loose from the base.

Definitely not a pretty sight.

And let's be honest. After going through heaven and earth to,lay my hands on this baby in the first place - go here to read all the twists and turns - it's an understatement to say I grieving this loss.

But I trust that time will heal my wounds.

And now I'm off to find a new home for a certain traumatized cactus. Who knows what pennies from heaven might fall on me this time.

News Trend Naps In The Sunshine|Actual

My boy, Ranger, knows how to enjoy a sunny afternoon. Granted, by five p.M. He will be wound up and anxiously anticipating his daily walk. But more often than not, he is the very picture of relaxation and I admire his ability to make the most out of life on a moment-to-moment basis.

Truth be told, I'm concerned about Ranger these days. At the generous age of twelve years, his good health and youthful energy are gifts that will undoubtedly not last forever, and we are seeing some sad signs that his body is not what it used to be.

He sometimes slips and stumbles on the stairs.

Jumping into the car takes some effort.

Despite a healthy appetite, he is dropping weight.

None of this is good.

But Ranger is oblivious to these downturns. Still as easy-going and eager to please as a sassy little puppy, my good dog continues to live his life with optimism and good cheer. Every moment is an opportunity to celebrate - especially if someone will slip him a dog treat - and each day brings adventure and good fortune even if that's nothing more than a walk around the block.

No matter how many days Ranger has left, he is living each one of them to the fullest. I admire his wisdom and try my best to follow his fine example.

Which means that I am taking naps in the sunshine too.

News Trend A Perfect Autumn Day|Actual

Pumpkins and sandals.

Crisp October mornings where the golden sunlight is still warm enough for bare toes.

This is my idea of a perfect autumn day.

News Trend Badlands National Park|Actual

During our summer road trip, we saw more interesting sights that I could squeeze into my real-time posts. Now that I'm back home and have fished all 548 photos off my devices, I have a few more road trip stories to share.

To catch up on the rest of the trip, starthere.

* * * * *

The story goes that the French fur trappers who wandered through this place bemoaned the lack of water and difficult passage, and deemed these to be "bad lands,"

I fervently disagree.

Granted, I had a cooler full of chilled beverages, Google maps and a team of National Park Rangers to usher me through. But on our half-day tour of Badlands National Park, I found goodness to behold around every corner.

^ Approaching from the east, this canyon land marks the unofficial beginning of the American West, and on those merits alone, fills me with excitement and a spirit of adventure. Take that, you South Dakotan corn fields - here the frontier begins!

^ While the first vistas in the park allow sweeping views of the distant rippling rock formations, the scenic drive soon winds up, in, and among the stone walls. While my family happily took in the sights from within the comfort of the air-conditioned car, my restless spirit demanded that I get out and explore each and every stopping point, at roughly three-minute intervals.

^ Any patch of wilderness tender enough to nurture wildflowers is a softie in my book.

^ I'll admit that the midday sun was scorching, but these picnic shelters went a long way toward providing some comfortable shade. In the interest of full disclosure, I must point out that the seats - made from recycled plastic - bowed in the center, apparently having melted from the heat. Yikes.

^ Continuing our looping westward drive, we noticed storm clouds piling up on the horizon.

^ And sure enough, just a few minutes later, the heavens opened up and the glorious rain poured down. For the rest of our visit, we drove in and out of these squalls, adding to the drama and charm of the landscape.

^ Here and there we discovered areas of soft, flowing table lands, prairie green from summer rain, with just the tips of rocky ranges peeping up far beyond. I just wanted to spread out a blanket in that lush grass and eat my lunch all over again.

^ More rocky ravines. More cloud bursts.

^ More precious clumps of flowers.

^ And a constant wild wind, buffeting my ears and whipping my hair in every direction. It was fierce and lovely.

^ As we edged closer to the western perimeter of the park, the steep, sharply pointed cliffs abruptly gave way to older, rounder formations. Tinged with layers of pink and yellow sediments, these geologic layers date back to the times when this was a sea, and then a jungle, and then a sea once again.

It seems that this land is indeed ever-changing, reinventing itself over the eons, transforming beyond recognition from one age to the next.

So don't let those old fur traders fool you. This may have been a "bad land" in their day and age, but for us, these are very Good Lands indeed.

News Trend Smashing Pumpkins|Actual

Pumpkins, on the outside, are a perfectly pleasing lot.

Geometrically satisfying with their spherical shapes and curious curves, their smooth, vibrant skin is outdone only by their gnarled, knobby stems.

And while each individual pumpkin certainly has its own personality - thus the fun of choosing one - the truth is that every single one of these beauties is more or less as perfect as the next.

But - as anyone who has ever opened up one of these gorgeous gourds can attest - the inside of a pumpkin is a whole 'nother matter.

Pale white flesh lacks the strength and vitality of the outer skin; its fibrous mass quickly breaks down into shapeless shreds.

And the gushy orange guts, cold and stringy, cling defiantly to those fragile fibers to form slippery handfuls of yucky mush.

In comparison to their smooth and sumptuous outer selves, pumpkin innards are messy, complicated and difficult to deal with.

In this way, I suppose that pumpkins are a whole lot like people.

On the outside, we present ourselves as smooth, centered, colorful, and balanced.

But inside, we are oftentimes a mess. Life's circumstances fill each one of our lives with challenges, traumas, hurts and fears, and while we all learn to manage them, one way or another, most of us try to keep the messy and complicated parts of ourselves hidden deep within, where no one else can see.

Hmm. I'm not particularly flattered to be likened to an overgrown gourd in this way but I can't deny that there's some truth in the comparison.

However, there's one more thing on the inside of every pumpkin - seeds.

Seeds represent growth, hope and the blessed assurance that new life is just around the corner.

And in this way, I am perfectly pleased to be a pumpkin.

* * * * *

A song called Hope from Smashing Pumpkins.

And now my metaphor is complete.

News Trend My New Roof|Actual

We also got new gutters. Gorgeous, amirite?

Last week, I bought the second most expensive thing I've ever purchased in my life.

Yes, my house represents the number-one big-ticket item. And ever since the day we signed on the dotted line to become homeowners, I've known that this enormous follow-up expense was unavoidably coming my way.

A new roof.

Blah. How boring is that.

I've been dreading this expenditure for years. I knew the day would come when we would be forced to blow somewhere around $25,000 on this utilitarian and mandatory but mind-blowingly mundane maintenance item and there was no way to cushion the blow.

I mean, we did what we could to stave off the pain.

We kept the first roof as clean as possible.

We replaced worn shakes and repaired small leaks.

We waited as long as we possibly could. And then some.

This summer, my husband and I agreed that the sorrowful day could wait no longer. We met with our roofers to seal the deal, and wrote them a big fat check. Then as I sat glumly by, imagining my hard-earned dollars sprouting wings and flying out of my bank account, a fleet of workers descended upon my home and began ripping my old roof to shreds.

Somewhere around the time that the giant heaps of worn shingles were carted off to the industrial size dumpster in my driveway, and the massive crane arrived to deliver the new shakes to the tippy-top of the now-naked roof, I began to get excited.

My new roof is unexpectedly beautiful, its fresh-cut cedar shakes shimmering in the autumn mist. Architecturally, our roof is a huge feature of our home's street appeal, and those new shakes make the place look like a million bucks.

It never occurred to me how pretty a new roof can be.

But best of all, my new roof is a beautiful metaphor for protection and safety and preservation of all that goes on underneath. I can't help but feel that my  home is now ready for a fresh cycle of life, and I'm excited to see what happens in this new season.