No, it's Iowa.

As you may recall, I wrote earlier this month about wanting - no, NEEDING - to go to The Field of Dreams. I had hoped for a thin space there where the present and past might intersect. And so they did, but not as I had expected.
Then again, this trip has been all about plans not going as expected. I think my blonde roots still exist deep in my scalp, even though I appear to be a brunette. But that's not for here and now.
No. This is all about The Field of Dreams and what I found there and did there and saw there.
So, let's make the last first, shall we? I saw corn, walls of corn, acres and acres of corn, standing taller than me, in the morning sun and the high noon sun and the sun setting toward the Pacific. I saw freshly mowed green, green, grass, lush beneath my feet, checkerboarding the outfield. I saw a baseball diamond shimmering in the afternoon sun, under a blue, blue sky and angelic puffs of clouds.
I smelled ripe corn and aging silk melding together with the warmed grass and the tang of red clay.
What did I do?
I walked out to centerfield, the heart of the outfield, and kept walking straight up to that surrounding wall of corn. And I stood in the arms of the cornstalks, breathing in their aroma, basking with them in the warmth of the afternoon sun. After driving for hours through the lifeblood of the midwest, it was good to finally be this close to the real thing.
I listened to the rustling of the corn in the light breeze, listening for something else, a sign of other life stirring. Just me and the breeze and the golden ears.
I came back infield, cutting over the first base line toward the bleachers. One of my goals had been to sit in those bleachers, drinking in the sight of the diamond and the afternoon sky and the closeness of space and time.

And so I did sit in the bleachers, two rows from the top, with the house behind me. And I relished the contrast between the red clay of the infield and the lush green of the outfield, with the blue sky beaming above all. And I did see an angel, out in left field, dancing across the sky, trailed by a flock of fluff. Very nice!
Then I climbed down from my perch, heading toward home plate. A quick - no, make that leisurely, please! - stroll around the bases, making sure to JUMP onto each bag as I neared it. First! Second! Third! And safely back to home!
Sweet. And quite satisfying.
I signed the vistor's log, made a donation, and decided to head for the Windy City, to ease my travel time to the Motor City.
But I must have turned in the opposite direction and ended up not quite where I had intended, but where I needed to be.

The tiny town before me was bedecked with the Stars and Stripes. In front of every business and house on the main street. In front of every establishment and residence on the side streets. American flags fluttering before and behind, to the right and to the left. What a grand sight!
And I realized that THIS was where I was meant to be, what I was meant to see here in Iowa. I know my stepdad was thrilled.
Miss you, Frank.

are you ready for this?!

Last night was fabulous!!! The Odd Lot improv group was celebrating the birthday of one of their own... and they had special skits JUST for him. Elvis was there, talking about his return to Earth from his erstwhile home on Venus, the planet of Love. (Hahaha! See? I did get it!) So was Christopher Walken and Don Knotts, temporarily inhabiting the same body and fighting over it, too. Oh, and let's not forget the Cowardly Lion, part of the prison detail to pick the poppies in Oz! Rawr! A crowd of folks was there in the audience, to cheer on the mayhem and to help the celebration. I am SO blessed to have been there!
My favorite skit, though it was certainly a hard choice, was "Soucy Kills!". Ordinarily, it would have simply been called "Last Lines, the game in which everyone dies", but this time, the birthday boy was designated the slayer of all. And what was he slaying? A list of horrible, horrifying creatures, that's what!
First up was the Chupacabra, cast to type, which made it even funnier. The creature met its match, venturing within reach and having its spine ripped out through its back and then thrust into its heart. Ahhhhhh! With its dying breath, it uttered the audience-generated words on the slip of paper - but spoke in Spanish! What a stroke of genius!
Next up was Cthulhu, denizen of the darkest ocean depths, burbling his threats at the Soucy. Quick as a flash, the Soucy hurls a bowl of batter at the squidlike monster and then dunks him into boiling oil! Hahaha! And Cthulhu utters his final words in - what else? - Cthulhuese, as he collapses to the floor.
The Queen of King Scorpions then sashays onto the stage, clashing its fierce claws and thrashing its terrible tail. No, seriously, I saw it! The Soucy approaches, and, whilst the insect threatens to sting, he places his finger on the center of its thorax. Oh, no, the deadly poisonous Soucy finger! The scorpion goes through incredible death throes, before succumbing, exclaiming all the while, "No! No! No! No! No! No!"
Thomas the kitten then meanders onto the death floor, finding a spotlight in which to lick his paw and look cute. Then the Soucy is on him! Oh, the poor kitten is cuddled to death! And, in true kitteh-speak, his last utterance is a single, pitiful "meow". Nicely done!
So, for those keeping score, we have four fierce creatures down, with only once having an English last line. Awesome!!!
Little miss Shirley Temple skips forward, singing about good ships and lollipops. The Soucy is not amused. He makes short shrift of her and her song, and she joins the bodies littering the floor.
Now it's time for the Dwarf, arch nemesis of the Soucy since childhood. This one is hatless and approaches fearlessly, on its stubby legs, but draws too near. Rip! Out goes its heart and the Dwarf leaps from the shock, before gravity pulls him to its bosom. Hah! Take that! One dwarf down, one Soucy still standing!
And the Dragon decides to take him on! Plodding across the stage, taking care to avoid the human hurdles at its feet, it breathes fire in the Soucy's direction. Once, twice, then the Soucy blocks its mouth, forcing the fire to go scorching back into the body of the beast, evoking a smell of barbequed flesh. (Yes, I did smell it!) Game over, the Soucy victorious against all! Woohoo!
I wish I could recall the last lines of the last three fierce creatures, but I was too tickled to commit them to memory. Still, know ye that they were quite appropriate for the occasion, made remarkable by the fact that they were randomly drawn from the hat filled with lines from the audience. GREAT fun!

candygram!

And when you open the door, it's a shark! Remember those SNL skits with Chevy Chase as the Land Shark? They aired in the mid-1970's after "Jaws" made the ocean a scary place to stick a toe in.
Well this post is not about that. Nope. This deals strictly with actual candy, lovely bits of dark chocolate, this time with raspberry swirls, wrapped in shiny foil with a hidden message. I think of them as fortune chocolates! I had stayed away from them for some time, but I'm again indulging in their rich delight... yum!
So, here are the fortunes received the past few weeks.

Smiling is free. (It also releases endorphins and elevates your mood. try it right now. I'll wait.)

Happiness looks great on you. (See above.)

You have a great laugh! (Definitely a favorite and I've had this fortune several times.)

Be a little naughty with your nice. (But don't let Santa know!)

Be playful with your love. (A sense of humor is so very important and doesn't get the airplay of external appearances.)

Live well, laugh often, and love much. ("L" words are liberating!)

You are exactly where you are supposed to be. (Even if you're lost... which I am so very often.)

Tempt your sense of exploration. (See above.)

You're delicious. (Even though I'm not covered in chocolate?)

Take this moment. Enjoy it. (Meaning, of course, savor that chocolate and let it melt eversoslowly in your mouth. Yum...)

Relaxation by chocolate. (See above.)

one thousand times

Today, a favorite song by Wolfgang Press is on my mind. I do so love the lyrics, whther sung by them or Sir Tom Jones. 'Tis a nice song just before bedtime, you know? So, with no further ado, here it is.

A Girl Like You

You go to sleep
I want to sail in your head
And when you speak
you know you got to make sense
You want to say that it's me you know best
I said a girl like you
she was born to be blessed

My hands are yours
you can take them from me
And take my mouth
I - I have nothing to say
You want to fly to some other place
I said a girl like you
she was born to be kissed

Born to be kissed
one thousand times
and your mother too
one thousand times

You wanna say it
you say you long to be free
but when you fall
you want to fall back to me
You want to fly and that's no disgrace
I said a girl like you
she was born to be blessed

My hands are yours
cause I don't know how to pray
and take my mouth
I - I have nothing to say
And lift my heart to a higher place
to a girl like you
who was born to be kissed

Born to be kissed
one thousand times
and your sister too
one thousand times

one thousand times
and your mother too
one thousand times
your sister too
one thousand times
a girl like you
one thousand times
one thousand times
here comes the sun
here comes the sun

* * * * *

Quite lovely... I'm going to watch the video again now.
Later!

off key

Last night, I did karaoke at a friend's housewarming party. I sang a tune that has become part of my repertoire at the American Legion, as it is always greeted with enthusiasm by the predominantly country music crowd. I'm known as the "Rock Star" by the KJ there, and I suspect the others regard me as such also.
AnyWHO, others were singing at my chef friend's gathering, and I was even singing along on "Seven Bridges Road". So, as others were requesting that the host pull up songs for them to sing, I did, too. You know, being part of the crowd, participating, right? I had wanted to share a fun song with them, so I requested "Squeeze Box", a song right in keeping with the double entendre tunes of the evening... and, oddly, no one but the host seemed to know it. So they didn't get it. And justthatfast, I realized: I was no longer part of this group. I had thought I was, but I was definitely mistaken. I might still have a link to the host, and maybe to Cassadi's mom, but that was it.
Once upon a time, I was seeing these folks once a week, sometimes more often. Then a friend died and we still tried to hang together, but it wasn't the same. The linchpin which had held me to this group had fallen away, and, as will happen, I drifted. The others were firmly linked and held fast.
Sure, in the three years since our friend's death, I've invited them to events in my new circles and I have occasionally traveled in their circles and been there to share some special events. The little girl's birthdays. A few dinners with the girl's mom. The chef's graduation. The odd karaoke night out at a local corral.
I'm not sure how I ended up on the chef's guest list for tonight. I'm not sure how I even ended up going. No, wait, I take that back. I went because I hadn't seen him since his graduation and I am only too aware of how quickly someone can leave this world for another too far distant.
I did not want this opportunity to be lost.
So I went, bearing gifts to please the palate and the ear: panforte margherita from Italy and tales of creating Italian cuisine for a lunch and a dinner in Siena. I also brought ajvar, a versatile roasted pepper concoction from a kickstarter chef.
I'll be curious to see what he fashions using that! Maybe I'll even merit a taste of any new creation... maybe?
Earlier, I had briefly attended the Bastille Day party of some other friends. I had lost track of them - rather, they had lost track of me - since the divorce. We had all met through the trivia evenings my ex had hosted fifteen years ago at Fink's Deli, an eatery long gone from Liberty and replaced by a pizza chain. So, maybe you could say they were more his friends than mine for the first year or so, but surely not any later than that.
After our marriage ended, I still was part of the group. Birthday parties and baptisms for the children. Pool parties of all types, whether saltwater or the regular every-other-Tuesday session with cue sticks and colorful balls. Barbeques and holiday gatherings.
Then, that was over. A misunderstanding about my presence at the Tuesday pool nights, "drinking beer with other women's husbands", led to a horrific rift. Apparently, they forgot who I was and thought I had become someone else. Not the guys. They knew I was the same person I had ever been, just "one of the boys", so to speak. But one of their wives forgot and false accusations were made. In an attempt to salvage some shred of a relationship with this woman and her family, I allowed myself to be banished from billiards. And, even though some made an effort to continue a friendship with me, all of the children played together and I, of course, had no children to be invited to parties.
Last year, that started to change a little. A birthday party for the son at a state park. News of the daughter's winning essay on being fearless. An invite to the post-production play for Operation Rescue at the church. And you better believe I went every time I was invited.
The Bastille Day party invite went out Friday evening and I didn't read it until yester morn... but I worked it into my schedule for the day. You better believe that! This had been one of the summer events I had loved, hanging out with the friends and their growing children, playing in the pool and the yard, waiting for the burgers and dogs to come off the grill. Oh, yes!
I was greeted as if I had never left their company. How wonderful! The dog even seemed to remember who I was, though I am sure it has been at least two years since I was there. The world traveler shared her pictures of Denmark, as well as the tales and food she had brought back. She also had frozen whiskey sours for all - very nice. I wish I could have stayed longer, but I already had the chef's party on my agenda.
Still, life is looking brighter for the renewal of those friendships. I will hope for constructing a new harmony with the world traveler and her family. I'm not sure whether the others may lend their voices; perhaps so.
After leaving the chef's condo, I felt the urge to go somewhere, somewhere... but where? The beach? The marshmallow roasting? The new square over the parking garage? I decided on karaoke, as I was sure I would know at least one person there: the zombie friend. He's the KJ at the "Best Karaoke" joint in town, as well as being a longtime friend. So, off I went, planning to maybe do a few tunes and find my voice.
But I never did sing. Rather, I never did sing on the stage. I had a pocket full of songs I like, I had others on my phone, but I found myself preferring to enjoy the mini-concerts of others. One I sang along with a couple of fellows nearby, all of us belting out "Build Me Up, Buttercup" and hamming it up. For some other tunes, I sang along and noted them for the Rock Star audience. Amazingly, some songs I didn't even know, like "Ol' Red". Now, that's a country song I might do one day!
All in all, a nice night in the company of zombie and others.
Maybe I'll go again tonight and actually sing... Hopefully, in key.

baseball puns

Okay, you say you didn't get enough yesterday??? Good for you! You're hairier than I thought you were!
Well, here are a few you have never seen. N e v e r.
Yeah, that's quite an assertion, eh?
Making ME perhaps a bit hairier than YOU had guessed.
Hah!

These are baseball-oriented and devised whilst sitting in the stands, doing one of my favorite summertime activities: watching my boys of summer and soaking up the ambiance - and comments - of those around me. You never know where inspiration may strike!
:-)

So, here are my own little offerings to the world of wordplay.

Shagging flies, fun and games until you get caught!

on fireworks night:
Move that truck or it will be towed! Ribbit ribbit!

runner on second and homerun hitter at bat:
He could tie us up! Nah, he isn't really my type.

Puns, glorious puns! To the brain so delicious!

Yeah, it's best if you sing the above to the tune for the cheese commercial? Don't know that one? You can check it out here!
All done? Great! back to where I was.

A former professor of mine, of the British persuasion, recently sent these to me and I thought I would share them here, for all and sundry, but especially for the eldest of my three younger brothers. Today is his birthday - he's either a deck of cards or weeks in a year, your pick - and telling jokes is his thang.
If you are NOT a fan of puns, you may want to run off elsewhere.
Seriously.
You have been warned.
But for the rest of us, HERE THEY ARE!!!

I changed my iPod name to Titanic. It's syncing now.

When chemists die, they barium.

Jokes about German sausage are the wurst.

A soldier who survived mustard gas and pepper spray is now a seasoned veteran.

I know a guy who's addicted to brake fluid. He says he can stop any time.

How does Moses make his tea? Hebrews it.

I stayed up all night to see where the sun went. Then it dawned on me.

This girl said she recognized me from the vegetarian club, but I'd never met herbivore.

I'm reading a book about anti-gravity. I can't put it down.

I did a theatrical performance about puns. It was a play on words.

They told me I had type A blood, but it was a Type-O.

PMS jokes aren't funny, period .

Class trip to the Coca-Cola factory. I hope there's no pop quiz.

Energizer Bunny arrested. Charged with battery.

I didn't like my beard at first. Then it grew on me.

How do you make holy water? Boil the hell out of it!

Did you hear about the cross eyed teacher who lost her job because she couldn't control her pupils?

When you get a bladder infection, urine trouble.

What does a clock do when it's hungry? It goes back four seconds.

Broken pencils are pointless.

I tried to catch some fog. I mist.

What do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary? A thesaurus.

England has no kidney bank, but it does have a Liverpool.

I used to be a banker, but then I lost interest.

I dropped out of communism class because of lousy Marx.

All the toilets in New York's police stations have been stolen. Police have nothing to go on.

I got a job at a bakery because I kneaded dough.

Haunted French pancakes give me the crepes.

Velcro - what a rip off!

Cartoonist found dead in home. Details are sketchy.

Venison for dinner? Oh deer!

Earthquake in Washington obviously government's fault.

breathe, just breathe

One of the best things about vacations is this: you breathe again.
I know, it sounds absurd, right? You breathe all the time, without even thinking about, with the pace of your breaths linked to your gender and activity level and various other things.
But on a true vacation, one that has a little staying power to it or a relaxing vibe, you wake up one morning and realize: you're breathing.
Very nice feeling.

Um... you've been somewhere? I missed it??

No, I've been here, but the vacation came to me. So to speak.

Okay, the bait is out there, i'll bite. Whatever are you talking about?

Okay, remember i was talking about five-year anniversaries of bad things?

(Silent nod and slow exhale.)

Well, yesterday was such a day. I had actually gotten the date one day off earlier, but the seventh of July of 2007 was the day of betrayal and the last day of my ex in the house. As you know, i had been planning a pity party, to bitch and moan and be generally unsociable. Oh, but with some poor sod to serve as designated driver. Or some such. Pity party, mega scale. But i didn't get to do that.
And at first i was pretty aggravated about it.
But it all worked out for the best.
You see, my bff came down for the weekend and stayed with me. As did her husband. And her lovely daughter, my punk rock goth girl.

Oh, how wonderful! She always perks you up, doesn't she?

Yes, she does. She certainly does. On this trip, she had come with some dread of her own: her 'rents wanted to look at houses, as they will be moving in here in a bout a year. Meaning, of course, that she would be moving here in about a year. And going to a new high school. And all that jazz.

Well, you know, you go where the job is, right? Her dad has a new job and it's here, so the family has to be move here, too.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. You weren't uprooted in your teen years, so you really don't know. But i digress.
Your fault.

Again?

You bet! So, let me set the scene: on Friday, i wake up and am feeling pissy because i have company coming to my pity party. I eventually take some of that hostility out on the yard, getting most of the front lawn cut before my battery-powered mower runs out of juice. (I think the mohawk strip perpendicular to my sliver of moon looks cool, so i may start doing that intentionally.) Some of my new girlfriends have invited me to an evening meet-up down by the river, so i go, all the while knowing my bff and family are on their way to town. Remember, i was feeling pissy.

So you've said.

Okay. (Deep breath.) Well, my new girlfriends don't know any in-depth on me. Which means they don't know i have a pity party planned. And you know what happened? The pity party got circumvented right out of existence, at least for that evening. I had a margarita and shared a bucket of boiled shrimp and danced and sang and talked. Then i shared s'mores and danced and sang and talked. That evening, i allowed myself to take a little vacation from the demons in my head. And the reason i could is simple: no one there knew of them, so i didn't have to acknowledge those serpents, either.
By the time my company arrived, the hour was late, i beat them home, and life was doing well. Not great, but manageable.
The next morning, off we go to breakfast, to an old haunt i once visited often. This time, i had something completely different for breakfast and that was good. All seems to be going okay. Then we leave and the girl is glum. Why? The 'rents are driving around and around, looking at houses for rent, houses for sale, houses for the big move here. Here, where the girl will be leaving all her friends.
So i suggest we drive by the arts high school, the high school she'll most likely attend. And we do. And as we drive along the canopied road, with the old brick houses and white-columned porches, she brightens some. As do i.

Good. That's good! The end of the pity party... right?

Not quite. Remember, i had been "looking forward" to my event for a couple of weeks, if "looking forward" can be used here. Actually, i had been in deep dread of it, but held it in the same regard as a mammogram or pap smear: a necessary bit of messiness to be dealt with and done for the greater good. You know? Some warped rite of passage from where i was five years ago to the time now, on my way to the future.
So, we finish Saturday, the day of the damned, doing sunshine events. Down to the river for First Saturday, eyeballing the wares for sale. Ducking into a local joint for drinks (another margarita) and brief shade. Down to the beach for wave-crashing and shell hunting. Dinner at the place where the "elite eat in their bare feet." And the day was done for my guests, but I did a quick change and was out the door for a margarita and karaoke.
"Ain't No Sunshine"
"Just My Imagination"
"I Dig Rock and Roll Music"

Those don't sound like downbeat songs. I would have expected stuff like "Wake Up Call" and "Something In The Air Tonight" and "Before He Cheats." "Every Breath You Take." That type of song, all songs you've done before.

You know, I had, earlier in the week, planned to sing those very songs. But I decided on - the Wednesday? the Thursday? - to do more upbeat songs instead, try to jumpstart my glass-half-full way of thinking. And it really did help. So did talking to Elvis, one of the regulars there. And by the time i returned home, life was better, but not yet normal.
I wakened at five to the realization that i was going to be out of toilet paper and had four people in my house. Off to get it, then back, and back to bed for an hour or two. I sent my bff and her family off to the morning beach and stayed home to mope, getting it out of my system enough to have lunch with them and my first niece at a barbeque joint.
Then my niece went back home and they went to visit his dad. I went to enjoy a quiet time at the stadium with some regulars and my boys of summer. That was relaxing, being outside but in the shade, feeling the breeze kicked up by the huge propellers overhead, drinking in the sounds of summer.
No need to go home afterward, either. A ghost tour had been arranged to entertain and inform the three from northwest of Atlanta. I headed downtown to catch a missed wave for talk and dinner. And there i was, kvetching about five year marks of odious occasions and ill-timed visitors and whatever else that came out of my mouth. And he said to me, you would have rather had the pity party?

Seriously? Those exact words?

No, i paraphrased, but that was the essence of what he said. And i realized how very selfish i had been, to have thought that rolling around in mope would be preferable to spending that time in the company of those who know and love me. And how those particular people knew best how to handle my insanity, when to stay close, when to back off... but not too far. Because the bff not only knows where the bodies are buried, but helped me put them there.
Thanks, gfriend.

buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks

Yes, Virginia, The Field of Dreams DOES exist!

A field of dreams?

No, THE Field of Dreams, as in the baseball diamond created from the rough earth of two farmlands for the movie.

Um, i think you're mistaken there. The movie just had ONE farm involved.

Well, that's the magic of film! In reality, two farming families in Iowa allowed the film crews to create the huge baseball field on adjacent portions of their land, then they had corn planted all around. Pretty nice work!

Really cool! And so it's existed all these years?

Well, not quite. After the filming wrapped, one of the families plowed under the portion of the baseball field on their land and replanted crops. But a strange thing happened. That first summer after the movie came out, people came to visit the Field of Dreams portrayed in the film. Not just baseball fans, but FAMILIES came, to play a game of catch on the diamond immortalized in the movie.
The family that had plowed under the portion of the diamond on their land rebuit the baseball field and corrected their mistake.
And more families came to play catch and dream of parents gone and children grown. To dream of baseball greats in the past and present. To dream.
There in the midst of midwestern corn, in the heart of America.

Okay, so what does this mean to me? What's the deal?

I want to go there.

To Iowa??? Seriously??? You don't know ANYONE there.

I know. That doesn't matter. When Mudville was talking about it last night, i very nearly cried. It has been such a reprehensibly hard week for me and i had, quite literally, thrown myself out of my house and forced myself to go be with people who knew me.

Good. Get yourself out of your head for a while.

That was my aim. So, off to downtown i went for the every other Thursday evening meeting. And i deliberately sat next to a woman whose thoughts i value, a woman who i knew would be supportive of me and the part of my hard week i shared with her. And another educator sat on my other side and, between the two of them, i started feeling much better and nearly whole again.

(Nods head.) Good, good, very good to be around positive folk in difficult times.

The important thing is this: they listened. That's the long and the short of it. They listened and allowed me to get the hurt and anger and sorrow out of my head and my heart and my lungs. Sometimes, that, coupled with warm hugs, is what is needed to start forging a path out of the sadness of the world.
So there i was, talking to these two fine ladies. The rest of the group has begun bidding adieu, taking their leave, dwindling our ranks.
Mudville comes over to regale me with the news of his upcoming holiday. He knows i share his love of baseball and he wants to tell me of his upcoming exploits. He's going off for nearly two weeks, to visit his sisters, to see games in Cincinati and Chicago, to visit The Field of Dreams.
The what?
Oh, yes, indeed, in Iowa, near Dubuque. The Field of Dreams.
And i got all choked up and made him him tell me all about it. How it's the silver anniversary of the release of the movie. How celebrity athletes and movie stars used to go there and play games to raise money for charity. How it is still open for all who care to make the drive to this diamond of baseball heaven.

Oh... baseball heaven. So, there may be an intersection there of interest to you? Is that the logic here?

I don't think so. I don't know. Maybe. I just need to go and i need to go THIS year. I just want to walk the bases and gaze into the corn and sit on the bleachers. Who knows? Maybe i'll even pitch a few balls, see if i can even make it to the plate these days. I need to go there. This year.

Well, then you better start planning how you're going to go there. It's a long drive and your summer will soon be drawing to a close.
Oh, and enjoy the trip. I hope you find what you're looking for there.

Me, too. And... thanks.

compliments from odd places

Last Thursday, I was talking care of errands prior to my weekend trip.

Stitch up the placket on my new purple and lime and chocolate blouse from Italy. The lovely ruffles cannot hide the gap caused by the curvature of my bosom, revealing my chocolate bra when it should remain hidden.
Done!
I'll wear it on Saturday at the workshop!

Wash clothes, including newly stitched blouse.
Done!
Plenty of clean clothes for the trip, and after!

Get manicure. Get my first manicure EVER.
Done!
The manicurist couldn't believe it was my very first one. She also couldn't believe I only wanted clear coat on the nails and not any color. But hey, I was the customer, and the customer is always right, right? Absolutely!
And now my nails, my naturally white-tipped nails, are all the same length and almost distract me from typing. Wild!

Drop off wedding gown at the dry cleaners to see if it can be salvaged.
Done!
The dress had been out in the shed and had "age spots" on it, especially noticeable on the high-low, creamy, peau satin skirt of the gown. I know exactly what the material is because I made the gown twenty years ago. It was the last thing I ever sewed. Long story.
The young woman at the counter called the owner over to look at the damage and assess whether it could be removed. The woman handled the fabric, noticing that there were no tags. 'Was it custom made?'
'Yes, it was. I made it myself.'
Incredulous, admiring looks, at the dress, at me. 'And what kind of fabric is it? Is there any silk?'
'No, ma'am, no silk at all. That fabric is too difficult to sew. The dress is satin and lace and pearl buttons, with the skirt being peau satin.'
'Beautiful work', she told me. 'We can't promise we'll be able to get all of the spots out, but we'll try. It's going to take a few weeks, because it has to be done in stages. Is that going to be okay?'
'Oh, yes, that will be fine. Just let me know when it's done.'
'We'll take good care of it. You really did beautiful work on it.'
So, I thanked her and left, amazed that this stranger had made such a point of complimenting me on my work as a seamstress. Lately, I find myself looking at fabric. I've even opened up my mother's sewing machine to figure out how to thread it, as every maker likes a slightly different path from the spool to the needle.
Amazing!

Then I went to the Jepson for moon pies and mini corndogs and popcorn, with NeHi sodas and RC Cola to wash down the repast. This was the reception for the new exhibit featuring the works of a Georgia artist, the late Reverend Howard Finster. Of course, not ALL of his works are there - the man had created almost 50,000 pieces, with about 40,000 completed in the last 16 years of his life. I've never owned any, but I do admire his cheetahs.
After the reception, I watched a rock-umentary titled "Athens, GA Inside/Out", filmed in 1987. Mr Finster was present there, also, as were musicians still with us today (R.E.M. and Love Tractor) and those that faded shortly after the filming (Time Toy and Flat Duo Jets). It was so nice to share that experience with the Portuguese (Mike Rendeiro) and other friends!
All in all, a fabulous day and evening!

So, that was last Thursday.

Today, I had gone to the Jepson to visit the art works of the Reverend Howard Finster, as the display will only be available for another two or so weeks. I went there to distract myself from disturbing events of this morning, events still hurtful and alarming, but soon to be rectified.
Instead of the newly featured works, however, I found myself captured by the Science and Technology exhibit. Seriously. Well, actually, anyone who knows me at all knows what a science nerd I am, so I guess my attraction to this display was to be expected. After all, not only did it feature light and imagery, but also the "school of fish" live painting (originated in 1986 by Reynolds and presently the work of Shiffman from 2004). And the electric fish were making paintings of ME. From wherever I stood in the room. Honestly, I think I could have played with it for hours! But if I had, I would have not seen any of Finster's religious works of art.

As it was, I only had about thirty minutes to do a brisk sweep of the hall containing the Finster exhibit. I'll have to plan on returning for a more leisurely stroll in the rooms devoted to it.
So, afterward, I spent an hour in Telfair Square, admiring the arch of the trees toward the clear blue sky. Admiring the robins and bluejays and grackles which fluttered to peck at the ground near where I sat. Soaking in the warmth in the cool shade. Talking to my first niece, sharing my day.
Then, off to the coffeehouse to look for supper. Why there? Well, in truth, I did go by another coffeehouse earlier, thinking I might join the philosophy group for tonight's discussion of happiness. But, that was not to be for me. Too many cars, not enough room for my compact. So, off to the one at the foot of Forsyth, to check out the Oklahoma songstress. Nice aubergine sandwich, too. And my lovely blue-sky cousin called! She had received the "thinking of you" package and wanted to share her happiness with me. Yea!!!
After the phone call, I left to join the Liquor Posse at one of their trivia haunts. But the joint was too crowded, as was the table, so I said my hellos and goodbyes and departed, with plans to see them on First Thursday.
Then I did a bit of grocery shopping, as I needed milk. The soymilk I have will be thrown out. Much as I like the taste, it makes me overly emotional, so it must go. So I bought my Lactaid and my almond milk and a few other odd bits, like raspberries and celery and Vidalia onions, and took my purchases up to the one register still open.
And the young woman at the register says, 'You've lost a lot of weight! You look good!'
I don't know how she could really tell, as I was wearing my loose green dress. But I responded with 'Yes, I have. I've lost fifty pounds.'
'I can tell', she says, 'I can see it in your face.'
But of course, I thought, I see it there, too. 'Thank you', I said to her.
'I sure can tell', she said again. 'I just don't recall how I know you.'
'You look familiar to me, too', I told her, checking her badge to see if I recognized her name. Nope. So I rattled off a short list of places we might have in common. Church? School? Baseball? Nope.
'Well, you keep doing what you;re doing', she told me. 'You look good.'
Thank you, thank so much!

I'm curious what my doc will say tomorrow morning at my yearly check-up.