News Trend Fine|Actual

Today is Day 10 of my adventure in Ohio and you better believe I?M missing my dog.

I?M not exactly worried about her - I know the rest of the family is perfectly capable of keeping Gracie happy and she?S been two weeks without me before. Still, I?Ve been dreaming about her most nights and just feeling a tad bit lost without my mischievous red shadow at my side.

So it was with a bit of melancholy that I radioed  in to my fourth born tonight and asked her for a report. “How is my dog?” I asked.

Instead of a verbal response, I received this:

A picture is often worth a thousand words but sometimes it needs to speak only one.

Fine.

My dog is doing just fine without me. All the same, I can?T wait to get home and see her soon.

News Trend Learning To Swim|Actual

I was swimming along toward the shallow end of the pool when suddenly, he crashed into me. He was six or seven years old, given his missing front teeth, and the youngest of four siblings. His teen brothers were handsomely built, tall and athletic with remarkably long arms and legs, highly capable swimmers.The third-born sister was not far behind them, effortlessly employing snorkel, mask, and fins as she confidently plied the waters.

In a flurry of thrashing limbs and spluttering splashes, the youngest disentangled himself from me and settled himself back on his feet, all the while gasping for air. Recognizing the fact that he had thoroughly body slammed me, he cheerfully explained, ?I can?T steer yet!?

I tried to hide my smile because I know for a fact that fourth-borns appreciate being taken seriously.

?You?Ll get it figured out,? I said. ?You?Re almost there.?

?I know,? He replied with a sunny confidence.

I stifled another smile.

Then with a flip of his wet blonde head and a flash of red Hawaiian flowered swim trunks, he splashed back under the water and swam off.

And I headed back out to the deep end, grinning from ear to ear.

News Trend Reading Memories|Actual

I have known of both these books since the 1970s; the first was required reading in a high school English group, the second a popular title I stumbled upon at a friend's house.

It was only this week, when murky memories finally prompted me to track down a new copy of The

Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-In-The-Moon Marigolds that I discovered on the back cover that another long-forgotten favorite, My Darling, My Hamburger, was authored by the very same man.

Holy Amazon Prime! I devoured them both this weekend and found myself caught up in a string of stirring memories from the past.

* * * * *

The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-In-The-Moon Marigolds by Paul Zindel

Mama Beatrice oozes ugliness as she raises her two teenage daughters in a deserted vegetable stand. Despite the squalor, her daughter Tillie finds success at the science fair and dares to hope for the future. This play won the Pulitzer prize.

"Can you give her more anger?" she urged me. "More darkness and sarcasm and despair?"

My ninth-grade English teacher, Nancy Priestkorn had awarded me the lead role of Beatrice in our classroom read-aloud of Marigolds, most likely because of my smooth reading skills. But clearly, Ms. Priestkorn expected a performance from me that I was not able to give, since projecting the emotions of a bitter, burnout middle-aged divorcee was not in my fourteen-year-old wheelhouse.

After cajoling and criticizing me through several group periods, she took the part away from me and gave it to the even more soft-spoken Carol Griffith, who fared no better than me in her ability to conjure up a midlife crisis.

I know that Ms. Priestkorn liked me. She later became fond friends with my mom, a fellow teacher, and sang my praises mightily. But it has bothered me, then and now, that she did not take the time to invest in me, to coach me, to put a little effort into bringing out a new side of me. To teach me.

Adults almost always overlooked me as a child, and while I still feel a certain sadness about that, I know that experience has shaped me into an adult who looks out for the overlooked, and cares about connecting with kids. And so, in the end, I am thankful.

My Darling, My Hamburger by Paul Zindel

Four high school seniors work through issues of romance and friendship as they begin to imagine themselves as adults and wonder where life may be taking them.

One evening when I was fifteen and hanging out with a class of neighborhood friends, I found this book on an end table in rec room of my host, John Hamlin. Retreating into the world between the pages, I amazed everyone but especially John by reading the whole book in an hour or so. He teased me about that for months, and I daresay if I ran into him today, decades since we last talked, he would mention that book in the first five minutes.

My quick work of Hamburger may say something about my reading skills but I think it reveals far more about how effortlessly I bonded with the characters and found myself in their transformative struggles. I was not unpopular as a teenager; I had plenty of friends but I think I was cut from a different cloth than most. Like the kids in Hamburger, I spent a lot of time in my head, wondering who I was and what I stood for, and more often than not, John was the only friend who truly understood.

* * * * *

Read more about what I've been reading:

Reading Afternoons

Reading Mornings

Reading Children's Books

Reading Memories

Reading Recommendations

Reading Inspiration

Reading Insights

Reading At The Pool

Reading About The Desert

Reading On Repeat

Reading Natalie Babbitt

Reading The Truth

Reading Books That Are Blue

* * * * *

Read more about what I've been reading:

Reading Afternoons

Reading Mornings

Reading Children's Books

Reading Memories

Reading Recommendations

Reading Inspiration

Reading Insights

Reading At The Pool

Reading About The Desert

Reading On Repeat

Reading Natalie Babbit

Reading The Truth

Reading Books That Are Blue

Reading Mysteries

Reading About Walking

News Trend Errand Reward|Actual

Jeni's Ice Cream. Bangkok Peanut in a Buttercrisp Waffle Cone.

Helping my second born move to Ohio has been a productive and satisfying experience. Though I openly confess I enjoyed a fair share of poolside down time, my primary mission here was simple.

Unpack boxes.

Run errands.

The unboxing tasks were straightforward.

I scrubbed down the apartment first, to be obsessively sure we were starting with not just a blank but a clean and hygienic slate. And then, with a minimum of daughterly instruction, I just put things where they naturally belong.

Sheets on the bed.

Dishes in the cupboard.

Countless pairs of shoes laid in rows across the closet floor.

Though I had my hands full settling all my daughter?S possessions into logical new homes, that half of my job description was easy and clear cut.

On the other hand, the errands posed a series of considerable challenges.

Not just in sheer number but in scope, complexity, and wacky degrees of randomness:

• Finding a nail salon that was actually open on July 4. Holiday or not, we needed pedicures stat.

• Troubleshooting with the Home Depot pros about which tool would most effectively help me remove a stuck screw from an upside-down bracket on an IKEA dresser I was assembling.

• Convincing a Crate & Barrel lady to let me swap out a marble utensil canister for another shade of stone, even though I had no receipt and had bought it at least 18 months ago. She agreed.

• Tracking down a recycling station that accepts cardboard. Ohio, really. It's time to get on board with a curbside program.

• Mourning the fact that our beloved Tillamook dairy products are not available in the heartland, and tracking down reasonable cheddar cheese and sour cream alternative brands.

Over the course of the two and a half weeks, I ran dozens and dozens of errands.

So on my last day in Columbus, as I finally wound down my lengthy errand to-do list, I decided that a reward was clearly in order.

And nothing says, "Well played," like an ice cream cone.

News Trend Between The Waves|Actual

Our trip to Rialto Beach on the Washington coast in May.

The waves roll in.

The waves slip back to the sea.

And my dog Gracie, like all my dogs before her, loves to walk in that place between the waves,

splashing through the chilly Pacific water,

lifting her nose into the considerable breeze, and

filling her soul with the wildness of the coastal beach.

How do I know that her soul is filled? Well, I suppose I can't say for sure.But

the sparkle in her eyes

the bounce in her step, and

the way she goes back to our campsite, curls up in a soggy ball, and falls right to sleep,

tells me most of what I need to know.

Plus, my soul is filled when I am between the waves at the beach. And in that way, I think my dog and I are veryy much alike.

News Trend Liftoff |Actual

The cooler is loaded with soft drinks.

My travel pillow and blanket are close at hand.

My husband’s packing a handful of maps.

And Gracie’s got her head out the window for some early morning air.

Yep, you guessed it. We are blasting off on another Streicher Family Road Trip, bound for my husband’s high school class reunion in Ohio.

And ladies and gentlemen, we have liftoff.

News Trend Picnic Lunch|Actual

A proper Streicher Family Road Trip does not operate on a set of rigid rules, but does indeed make use of time-honored traditions that not only streamline the operation but also maximize the fun.

Roadside picnics are a perfect example. Heaven knows it is entirely feasible to hopscotch across the country on a steady diet of McDonald?S, Subway, and Taco Bell, and I?Ll be the first to say there is no shame in that game.

But for my money, a proper road trip lunch break happens only when we ease the car off the pounding interstate to a lush green rest area. We check out the picnic table options as we cruise to a parking place; we lug the cooler, grocery bags, and picnic basket across the grass to either the most shaded table or the sunniest, depending on the weather.

^ Gracie Streicher has been scrounging for scraps under picnic tables since the day she was born.

Nothing beats a meal eaten in the open air. Let the kids get their first round of wiggles out; their freshly washed hands can help dig out the supplies and set the table. Simple sandwiches or summer sausage and cheese slices piled on crackers take on the proportions of a royal feast when pulled from the back of the car and spread out in the sunshine.

^ Scrounge no more, little girl. Here?S a special picnic lunch just for you.

Not every rest area lunch break is perfect. Over the years we have faced several picnic disasters. We have been whipped by desert winds, invaded by bees, and drenched in a torrent of sudden rain, to name just a few . These hardships have all been overcome by grabbing our food and running back to the paling aman of the car, and many a family legend has been born as the windows steam up and we laugh at our troubles.

^ After lunch, a proper road trip picnic includes plenty of time to wander about and stretch our legs.

Once we?Ve eaten, tummies may be full but bodies are still humming with restless energy that must be burned off before we head back to the car. Now?S the time to take advantage of those long green lawns. Tossing a ball around, chasing bubbles, walking the dog, and taking photos are all Streicher Family Road Trip-approved methods for releasing any remaining grumpies and getting the group onboard for more miles.

There is nothing like a proper roadside rest area picnic lunch to break up a long day in the car and set everyone to rights again  it’s one of the most deeply entrenched and deadly beloved traditions of a Streicher Family Road Trip.

* * * * *

These photos were taken at the rest area on eastbound I-90 near Coeur d?Alene, Idaho, on the first day of our road trip. Since no Streicher daughters are joining us in this road trip, Gracie is standing in as our only restless child.