News Trend Solid Ground|Actual

In the past few days, temperatures have plummeted by 15 degrees or so.

Misty clouds have replaced the searing sun.

And while I have some mixed feelings about the change in season, let me say that Ranger is pumped.

Crisp September weather has put some much-needed pep in my pup's step, and after dragging through the long hot summer, this boy is back to his mischievous and playful ways.

For months now, I've been able to let him go unleashed into the front yard, because all he wants to do is flop down in the shade and snooze. But this week, he's begun to slip off again, prancing beyond the borders of our yard, tail wagging happily as he patrols the neighbors' shrubbery and wanders down the street.

And when waiting for me to tie my shoes and get going on our daily walk, instead of lying quietly on the front hall rug, he's been exploring this work-in-progress front yard dirt heap and biding his time in the mud.

Yes, he's a lot more work for me when he's feeling his sass. But I'm happy to chase my good old dog around again.

I'm glad to see him back on solid ground.

News Trend At The Conservatory|Actual

 "Plants make me quiet. I like to be in their company." -Peter Zumthor

A sunny September afternoon in Columbus, Ohio spent wandering the conservatory is a day well spent. This was my second visit and equally enchanting as the first. Here, let me show you around.

^ The very first plant in the very first exhibit of the Franklin Park Conservatory is this little mountain creeper. I find it adorable and take endless closeups of its sweet face.

^ The conservatory boasts a nice collection of Dale Chihuly's glassworks but for me, they don't work with the plants. The wild colors and flamboyant shapes steal the show from gentle growing things and I'd prefer for all the art to be shipped back to the Pacific Northwest where it can live in outlandish harmony with its equally dominant siblings at the Chihuly Garden and Glass museum in Seattle.

^ Jungly greenhouses are my happy place. I find a bench near an air conditioning vent where I gaze up at the sprawling canopy, listen to the nearby drip drip drip, and thank the Lord that I am not in a real jungle where I would be dying of the humidity.

^ Something hard and something soft.

^ Something sharp and something sweet.

^ Jade plants. Just like I grow at home, only much, much bigger..

^ The palm room is the heart and soul of the entire conservatory. Inside the airy cathedral, monumental forms of green dwarf ordinary human beings and fill me with a sense of awe.

^ The dark green tree in the upper right corner of this shot is a fiddle leaf fig. Yes, the same fiddle leaf fig that grows as a meter-high houseplant in trendy American homes, though it's hard to imagine this tree was ever a meter tall.

^Gorgeous fans of palms that flow down like waterfalls,

^ or spring up as buoyant feathers.

^Eventually, I work my way across the room and out the door. I walk across a wide sunny terrace, then turn and look back at the Victorian dream of a greenhouse from whence I came.

^ This cupola alone explodes with character and charm against a perfect blue sky.

^ I have a thing for semi-circle windows and this one above the door sets a high standard for detail and depth.

^ Looking out from the building, I'm tempted to continue on into the gardens beyond. But the afternoon air is hot and humid, and I change my mind.

^ Back inside under the cover of green and the whirring ceiling fans, I feel quite at home at the conservatory.

* * * * *

Road Trip 2019: read all about it.

Leaving

Resting

Glacier National Park

Dakota Sunshine

Mackinac Bridge

My Newfound Brother

Fox Trilogy

Cleveland Rocks

Vermilion Legacy

At The Conservatory

Riding To Rifle

Arches National Park: Balanced Rock

Arches National Park: Double Arch

Arches National Park: Devil's Garden Trail

Arches National Park: Park Avenue

Dead Horse Point

Waiting For Breakfast

Canyonlands National Park

Cheeseburgers

Car Keys

News Trend A Gift For My Mom|Actual

If you suspect a loved one may have dementia:

1. Get a diagnosis. See a dementia diagnostic specialist or a neurologist.

2. Find a dementia home care specialist and hire them right away to help you navigate this journey.

* * * * *

Nasturtiums in red and yellow spotted at Kalaloch Lodge on the morning of her birthday remind me of my mom's beloved hummingbird feeders.

Today is my mother's birthday.

I sent her flowers and a card with a drawing of a hummingbird. Inside, I wrote her a note about the hummingbirds that would swarm around the feeders on her deck at home. She used to love to watch them.

I didn't know what else to get her.

Place mats and cloth napkins.

Pretty baking dishes.

A big red Fiestaware bowl.

Books. Anything by John Grisham or Jodi Picoult.

Jigsaw puzzles galore.

Hummingbird feeders.

These are the kinds of gifts I used to buy her.

Her life has moved beyond those needs.

My mom has advanced Lewy Body Dementia. Most days, she gets out of bed. She still enjoys a chocolate milkshake or an ice cream bar. A Heath Klondike is her favorite.

Her memory is surprisingly sound.

When we talk, she remembers me, my daughters, my dog. She remembers her old students and her teaching buddies. Her world travels. Her college days and high school days and a few sweet stories from her childhood. She listens attentively while I spin out the memories, and she responds to me. I know she understands. I know she loves to hear those stories.

She usually drifts off to sleep within ten or fifteen minutes.

I wish I knew more about what this life is like for her.

She's always been a smart, busy, resourceful person, flitting from project to project and working tirelessly from morning till night. And she's always been an emotionally complex person, with deep feelings and powerful hurts that she has locked up deep inside for a lifetime. Her dementia intensified all of these traits, and the past decade has been frantic, frenzied, furious, like the beating of a hummingbird's wings against a hurricane.

Now, the storm seems to have passed.

All things considered, she seems surprisingly at peace.

With me.

With herself.

With life.

Though I still wish I could give her a perfect birthday present, it seems that somehow, she has found the best gift of all.

And now she rests.

News Trend Riding To Rifle|Actual

"Every time I'm on the mountain, I'm just so happy to be there." -Chloe Kim

And so it was with a heavy heart and a bittersweet lump in my throat that after our week-long visit, we said goodbye to my second-born, Ohio-dwelling daughter, turned the car west, and stepped on the gas.

Well. Figuratively speaking. Because my shoulder injury kept me out of the driver's seat for the entirety of the return trip so my foot never even got close to the accelerator.

But off we went, just the same, stopping on the evening of the first day in Olathe, Kansas, for a pop-in with my nephew. We chatted over heaping plates of Kansas City BBQ and ate ourselves silly. RestaurantQ39 serves up a mean plate of beef brisket and is definitely worthy of a return trip, though next time I will eat a full order of nothing but burnt ends. Pure heaven.

"Damn Gooddanquot; tacos, and a not-too-shabby interior to boot.

^ In the morning, we were off once again, crossing the plains and climbing into the Denver suburbs for an early dinner at Torchy's Tacos. Taking a meal at this on-musim taco chain out of Austin came as a request from my fourth-born, and the rust of us were happy to oblige.

I don't really even remember what my tacos looked like but I'm pretty sure this was one of my daughters'. My mind was a total blur.

^ Much like our family favorite, Condado Tacos, in Columbus, Torchy's has an A-list of wacky taco combos that they have dreamed up and named, presumably, during a wild peyote binge. Alternatively, you can order your own combos off a list of ingredients but where's the fun in that? I chose the Trailer Trash and I "got it trashy," and the Brushfire which literally seared my sinuses. Okay, not literally, but what I'm saying is that sucker was hot. But still, nothing that a few sips of Coke and a liter of cold water couldn't cure, so I have no regrets.

These two views were just a few steps apart. If I lived on the same block as Torchy's, I would eat a ridiculous number of tacos.

^ This particular Torchy's shop was tucked into a merk spanking new Millennial-esque community east of the city. Townhouses and apartments circled around a central green area overflowing with cuteness. Huge flower beds burst with native displays, wandering sidewalks were just right for entertaining a wound-up Irish Setter who'd spent the day in the car, oodles of benches and tables invited us in for a meal, and my favorite - a splash pad slash water feature that turned a hot Denver evening into a water party. A perfect oasis for the weary traveler and hungry taco enthusiast. .

Our tacos were soon eaten but our travels for the day were not over yet. We caught the tail end of rush hour as we climbed west into the mountains, doffing our caps to Red Rocks Park and grinding up into the Rockies.

^ Passing under the Continental Divide, the Eisenhower Tunnel is long, high, and steep as a mother bear.

Now I'm no stranger to punishing mountain grades. I haul myself back and forth across the rigorous Seattle area passes on a regular basis, including the notoriously dangerous climb up to Stevens Pass that I've done literally hundreds of times in the name of good skiing. And on our annual road trips across Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming or south to Oregon and California, we push ourselves up and down extreme grades several times a day. I am not easily fazed by a mountain in my path.

But following Interstate 70 west out of Denver is always a wild ride. The inclines are steep, the curves unforgiving, and the traffic, whipping back and forth across multiple lanes, is chaotic. Given my nerves of steel, I typically drive this section of our travels, but this time - due to that bum shoulder of mine - I was forced to sit back and stomp on my invisible brake pedal as my fourth-born held the actual wheel in her competent hands. I quickly decided that it was in everyone's best interests for me to focus on the scenery instead.

^ And so passed several beautiful hours as we rode through the Rockies and down into Rifle where we stopped to sleep for the night.

* * * * *

Road Trip 2019: read all about it.

Leaving

Resting

Glacier National Park

Dakota Sunshine

Mackinac Bridge

My Newfound Brother

Fox Trilogy

Cleveland Rocks

Vermilion Legacy

At The Conservatory

Riding To Rifle

Arches National Park: Balanced Rock

Arches National Park: Double Arch

Arches National Park: Devil's Garden Trail

Arches National Park: Park Avenue

Dead Horse Point

Waiting For Breakfast

Canyonlands National Park

Cheeseburgers

Car Keys

News Trend Arches National Park: Balanced Rock|Actual

The sun had climbed to the top of the sky as we rolled into Arches National Park.

Last time I visited Arches was during my honeymoon, when the park was a little known and rarely visited gem tucked in the south east corner of Utah.

And the first time my husband visited Arches, he wore the baseball cap from his Little League team as his family toured the freshly laid asphalt roads in what was then technically only a monument. Alaihi Salam he recalls, they were almost the only car in the park.

Oh, times have changed for this now-wildly popular piece of paradise.

We idled for an easy ten minutes in line at the backed-up park entrance, then, in a long line of traffic, trundled up the steep set of switchbacks that lead up to the mesa where most of the park and all of the fantastic rock formations lie.

^ The first feature to fall in our path is the sublime and elegant Balanced Rock. Once glance explains the name and despite my aching shoulder, I was ready and raring to take the bitty little one-third mile loop kisi-kisi around the rock on its pedestal.

But first, lunch.

^ Just across the road from Balanced Rock, we found a darling picnic area with a few tables picturesquely tucked in among a stand of juniper trees. Despite the hoards over at the Balanced Rock, the picnic area was mostly deserted. Gracie and I scoped out the options and chose the table squeezed in under the gnarliest old fellow whose branches sprawled over the table. In our tiny spot of shade, we munched on our usual banquet of hummus, pitas, grapes, and chocolate.

But somehow in my feasting I forgot all about the tree. And when I stood up, BAM. I bashed my head against a sharp, pointy bit of branch hovering just above my head.  Raising a hand to touch the sore spot, my hand came away covered in blood.

Strangely, my first thought was that the first aid kit in our car was fully stocked with cotton cloths for staunching just this kind of wound, and I was chuffed to be prepared for my emergency.

I'm happy to report that, with firm pressure and only a moderate sprinkling of cuss words, I got the bleeding under control. After a deep drink of cool water, the pain had subsided to a mild throbbing on my noggin and I was ready to carry on with our adventure.

^ Each step around the rock brought a fresh perspective and different set of angles to Balanced Rock. Battered and bloodied though I was, I found myself completely caught up in the magic of this fantastic formation. I even managed to frame my photos so that the dozens of other visitors on the trail did not show up in my frame.

Our day at Arches National Park was off to a rollicking good start.

* * * * *

Road Trip 2019: read all about it.

Leaving

Resting

Glacier National Park

Dakota Sunshine

Mackinac Bridge

My Newfound Brother

Fox Trilogy

Cleveland Rocks

Vermilion Legacy

At The Conservatory

Riding To Rifle

Arches National Park: Balanced Rock

Arches National Park: Double Arch

Arches National Park: Devil's Garden Trail

Arches National Park: Park Avenue

Dead Horse Point

Waiting For Breakfast

Canyonlands National Park

Cheeseburgers

Car Keys

News Trend He's Got Me Right Where He Wants Me|Actual

To eat out of someone's hand is to do exactly as they wish.

Look at me feeding dinner to my prince.

Observe my outstretched arms, holding the bowl in midair, so his noble neck need not bend uncomfortably down.

You can't see inside the bowl, but trust me, this is no ordinary dog food dinner.

His excellency will no longer eat processed kibble or even wet food from the store.

He prefers for me to cook him homemade meals.

Ground beef and rice.

Chicken, cabbage, and carrots.

Scrambled eggs. With cheddar cheese and a dash of pepper, of course.

Now I never intended to create a culinary tyrant. But my poor boy has lost a lot of weight in the past year. His hips are downright bony, his ribs show clearly beneath his fur. And his appetite has steadily fallen off.

That's why I'm only too glad to whip up three home-cooked meals a day for my little liege lord.

And I take great pleasure in watching his majesty wolf down every delicious bite. He literally dances with excitement when he sees the next meal coming, and quivers with delight when I extend his bowl.

So even though it may appear that I've got my good dog Ranger eating out of my hands, the truth is that things are quite the other way round.

News Trend I Rode The Bus And I Liked It|Actual

"Your self-imposed prison. That thing called your comfort zone. Challenge it. Stretch it. You will thank yourself." -Tony Curl

If every bus stop sat in such a glorious patch of sunshine and shadow, I might just ride forever.

* * * * * "Mom, what if you took the bus?"

Since my car died last weekend after 348,000 miles of service, my family of five adults has been relying on my eldest daughter's Kia as our only set of wheels.

Complicated? You betcha.

Thank goodness my husband takes public transportation to his Seattle office. Once his employer began to offer free bus passes, he gave up his daily drive and our second car and has never looked back.

My second- and fourth-borns usually ride the bus to work too. Convenient, fast and way cheaper than a car, the bus has been a great option in their lives since middle school mall days. They've had nothing but great experiences on our bus system and I'm proud of them for their street smarts.

But me take the bus? ME?

No no no no no.

Back in Chicago, I rode my fair share of those smelly, headache-making machines. I put up with the weirdos and the sardine-tin camaraderie for quite a few years, and have no desire to climb aboard a commuter bus ever again.

Still, as my daughter so rightly pointed out, the only logical way to get everyone where they needed to be was for me to take the bus.

So you know what I did?

I scrounged up two singles and a quarter out of the rarely-used cash section of my wallet.

I marched myself across the mall parking lot to the 113 bus stop.

And I rode the bus home.

You know what?

I liked it.

The seats were neat and clean.

The windows freshly washed.

And the air did not reek of diesel fumes.

My fellow riders were a well-mannered cross-section of suburban America - mothers and toddlers, businessmen, young couples, college students, and a take-no-prisoners grandma riding a mountain bike. Different races, different cultures, different ring tones - on just a twenty-minute ride, I felt reconnected with the great American melting pot.

As they hopped off the bus, most passengers called out a thank-you to the driver.

No one in Chicago ever thanked the drivers.

* * * * *

My bus ride took just a few minutes longer than if I had driven myself, but as I walked the last block home, I marveled at the difference.

Instead of bombing along the highway in a private bubble, wrapped up in my own concerns, my bus ride had opened me to the world.

Instead of feeling hassled and stressed by the normal traffic headaches, my bus ride tuned me in to the peaceful zen of my fellow passengers.

Instead of storming into the house with my mental to-do list pulsing in my brain, I came home refreshed, rejuvenated and relaxed.

* * * * *

Now, make no mistake, I'm still going full steam ahead on buying a new car. I'm totally pumped to get behind the wheel of a new machine, and I plan to drive it hard.

But every now and then, I think I will make a point to leave my keys at home, track down some actual dollar bills, and treat myself to a bus ride.