News Trend Talking To Strangers|Actual

I cooked something new for my lunch today - a sauteed spinach sandwich:

In a small cast iron skillet, two cloves of garlic were chopped and browned in olive oil.

To which were added two whopping handfuls of fresh spinach, stirred until wilted.

This mixture was then sprinkled with crushed red pepper and heaped into a chunk of crusty bread.

Delicious.

I reveled in every bite of this surprisingly tasty concoction but I must confess that as I ate, my mind feasted on an entirely different matter.

This sandwich was more than just a random new recipe. It came recommended by a friend of mine named Peter.

Well. I'd say we are friends. But the truth is that I've never met Peter in person nor chatted with him at length, and the little that I do know about him suggests that he and I are two very different people..

Our paths crossed years ago, when we blindly added one another on Facebook as part of a gaming strategy and we have lived on in each other's feeds ever since. I'm sure many right-minded people would call that out as reckless and inappropriate social networking behavior, but as with many other of my old Mob Wars comrades, I've grown quite fond of the guy and enjoy keeping up with his interesting antics and colorful commentary,

Which, last night, included his vivid and mouth-watering description of the spinach sandwich he whipped up for his dinner. And that is exactly how my inspiration for today's lunch was born.

So as I devoured my delectable sandwich, enjoying each warm and savory bite, I couldn't help but think how glad I am that I talk to strangers online. Thanks, Peter!

News Trend The Bridges Of Madison County|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, start here.

* * * * *

It wasn't the first time I woke up from my car nap that I realized something was amiss. Sure, I sensed that we had veered off our proper route on the interstate and were now prowling the back roads of Iowa. But I just assumed my husband was performing his usual mid-morning Starbucks hunt and fell right back to sleep.

But it was ten minutes later, when my body woke me up a second time, that I realized this unexpected detour was more than just a coffee break. Rubbing my eyes and tilting my seat back to its upright position, I took in the winding hills of the two-lane highway, lined with well-kept homesteads and lush cornfields as far as the eye could see. Before I could gather my thoughts to pose a reasonable question, my typically predictable and totally by-the-book husband could contain himself no further.

"We're going on a side trip!" he exalted, giddy with his own cleverness and derring do.

Turns out that when the sign announcing our entry into Madison Country, Iowa, popped up along our route, he decided that a tour of the local covered bridges was in order.

Thus began an interesting morning adventure around this famous patch of green, and a series of new discoveries for me.

^ The bridges of Madison County, popularized in story and a 1995 film starring Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep, really do exist. What's more, they are big, barny, brawny affairs, much larger and sturdier than their New England compatriots (or at least they seemed that way to me) and totally in keeping with their midwestern surroundings.

^ My two younger daughters were entirely smitten with not so much the bridges themselves, but the countless and infinitely varying messages penned on the interior walls. Notes, love letters, and autographs from local old-timers, love-struck teens, and a surprising range of international visitors offered my girls entertainment aplenty and I swear they read every one.

^ For his part, Ranger would have NOTHING to do with the bridges. Time and time again, I tried to casually lead him into the big red mouth but as soon as my boy approached the shadow of the structure, he hit the brakes, dug all four feet into the wooden planks, and resisted further forward movement with every ounce of his being.

So he went swimming instead.

^ As we wandered from one bridge to the next - there are six still standing and we visited four - our senses were dazzled by the Iowan countryside and small town scenery. I for one could not get enough of the hay rolls dotting the landscape, and was perfectly willing to wade through foot-high grasses lousy with grasshoppers to get a good shot.

^ Winterset, Iowa, is the county seat and gem in the crown of Madison County and also the birthplace of famed cowboy actor, John Wayne. A surprisingly affluent and hipster-licious city, I hung out the car window snapping shots as we rolled through town.

^ At our second bridge, Ranger displayed a further development in his frantic covered-bridge phobia. Not only did he refuse to set paw anywhere near the big red beast, but he cautioned me - with the full range of his vocal chords - to stay away too. I brashly ignored his yelping and walked through this one, but when I came out the other side and looked back at my noisy dog, I saw that he had stepped around the bulwark to keep an eye on me.

Look carefully at this photo and you will see his red head at the opposite end of the bridge. Squint your eyes and you may be able to make out his offended facial expression and open mouth. Yes. He was barking at full volume.

^ More bridges, more bridge graffiti. The interior of this bridge was filled with light from the cut-out windows which, despite the monstrous oaken timbers, created an atmosphere that felt strangely light and ethereal.

^ Two other unexpected discoveries from my day in Madison County:

First, there were a surprising number of other sightseers visiting the bridges on this ordinary August day, including apparently international tourists. The foreign tongues and European soccer jerseys pretty much gave them away.

And despite the many jokes and references made among us visitors, at least on this day spent among the bridges of Madison Country, Clint Eastwood was nowhere to be found.

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.