Another October Weekend in Florida

On the outside wall at The Ravenous Pig

If you are lucky, an October day in Michigan will afford sunny coolness and deep blue skies, setting off the brilliantly tinged foliage in our parks and along our streets, usually ushered in by a maple or two flaming out in red, followed by a spectacular rainbow of unfolding color, and concluding with the Japanese maples in November, which are so bright (sometimes in falling snow) that they make my eyes and also my camera lens blurry.

My maple - 11-10-11

But I also like Florida weather in October and I always try to spend a few days with my daughters in the Orlando area. This past weekend I took along a friend for a short visit. The color in West Michigan has not yet fully developed and the Florida temps were just beginning to moderate, so it was a pretty good trade. We enjoyed a few near perfect days and nights (if a little warm in the afternoon) while missing a few cooler sunny days here in Michigan..



In addition to looking forward to some good weather, I always look forward to new experiences with the unique Florida flora and fauna, as well as some fun food.

My little pink piggies on the farm

The first night we dined at the popular The Ravenous Pig. I have a long history with the pig. I played midwife as piglets were born on my childhood farm, once making a pet of one little porker for the summer. We always had our own pork in a basement freezer. As the little piggies grew and went to market, they supplied the "bread and butter" of our lives.

It surprises me sometimes that pork is still so popular. And bacon--oh my--has been popping up in ice cream and coffee and chocolate bars and even here in daughter R's bacon-infused bourbon cocktail--along with vanilla maple syrup, angostura orange and a strip of candied bacon! (The Ravenous Pig Old Fashioned):

I went girlie with a Gin and Jam cocktail which went down real easy.

We stayed local, taking in a busy Saturday morning in Winter Park, along with everyone and their pooches, enjoying the art festival, farmer's market and the perfect weather for dining on the street. We ate French pastries, bought tomatoes and sampled a row of olive oil and flavored balsamic vinegars--I thought the fig flavor was interesting, but found no bacon infusions...

Also local was a meandering (a newly favorited word which I am making into a noun) through  Harry P. Leu Gardens. The many varieties of palms, the prolific bamboo, the huge rose garden, the blooming gardenias...there was so much to see and smell. New to me was to take a guided tour through the historic home on the property where the Leu's lived, as well as other families, since the late 1800's.

I always respect private property and don't steal slips of things or fruit, but there was so much ripe fruit on the grounds in the citrus grove, with no one in the area. I finally was tempted, too. Feeling a bit like the one who is the source of all sin, our mother Eve, I tasted one tiny fruit and pocketed another--a sweet lime. I noticed at least three varieties of kumquats! My friend O and daughter E pilfered some other unusual fruit into their purses.

Sour Orange

The next day we used some of the juices to make a dressing for the spinach and feta salad. Below O and E are squeezing the stolen fruit and adding a little sugar. The juice might have worked for the bitters in a cocktail, but this was noon!

Blood orange on their hands?

We managed a delicious lunch on Saturday with leftovers, including pork and a blanched tomato relish with those fresh tomatoes from the farmer's market.

Tomato bread laced with Parmesan was also a hit.

Another photo, showing the Octoberfest beer, the dog, the pool, the pocket of our host (who was primarily glued to his computer screen--except for his excellent lomo cooking--while we had our girl fun), and the new teak table--recently stained to match the new fence:

Our tray was not quite as unusual as the charcuterie tray (below) from Thursday night's (Ravenous Pig) excursion into foodie heaven, but yet, fully satisfying.

Here is our shared tray, but I don't remember the names of all these fun foods:

I continued the pork thing at 4 Rivers Smokehouse on the afternoon of the second day, with a messy pig pork plate, sandwiched with coleslaw (like I was trying to save carbs or something) and smothered in their special sauce. After all the meandering in the gardens, I devoured it all, easily, without taking any photos. Messy Pig was tasty, but not photogenic.

Later that night we did our classic lomo al trappo (which is a beef tenderloin) in the chimenea. I have described that before and it was as good as ever, perfectly tender and bright red in the middle--and as usual, accompanied by lots of red wine (selected at Costco by my friend O) and enjoyed with crusty bread and steamed asparagus. A little taste of Costco's dark chocolate almond clusters and we were thoroughly sated.

One-eyed owl

We didn't have the time or budget to check out the food and wine festival at Epcot, but opted for another local attraction that I have wondered about for years, the Audubon Center for Birds of Prey. We happened to be there at the end of the day when it was not busy and felt privileged to view the big eagles and hawks and owls closeup, as they were carried on gloved arms to their night cages. (Not one of these birds pooped while being held.) We enjoyed a little history of the age and injuries of each bird and learned many other interesting bird facts.

Other activities included kayaking and hot-tubbing which I did not participate in, and a couple of Netflix flicks. All in all, a great weekend, thanks to our super hosts, who provided all the accommodations. Also a big thank you to daughter E, who provided most of the chauffeuring.

The last night, sharing the last bottle of red wine, the girls watched the sun go down on Florida:

Photo from dock taken with E's phone

(I thought I was pretty knowledgeable about plants, but there is a whole world of exotic beauty out there that I have no clue about. I will end with a few more photos from Leu Gardens.)

Equador Princess Tibouchin - took a photo of label!

I know this flower - Hibiscus!

Back in the Olden Days!

I like to complain a little when little things go awry.  Don't you? Sometimes it's the small things in life that are the most annoying.

Every day and every week something breaks or is lost or spoils disgustingly in the refrigerator.

This week a branch broke off the giant honey locust tree in our front yard, hanging precariously over our driveway and the electric wires to our house. I cut the hanging pods (edible pods in some parts of the world!) off the branches to lighten the load. The local power company was called and the crisis was solved the next day, with only a brief electrical interruption. A small annoyance to be sure.

My tub drain finally slowed to a complete halt last week. (Maybe this is why plumbers are paid pretty well.) The stuff that came out of that drain when the husband took it apart this week....well, I probably don't have to tell you: the mother of all black hair balls. Blech! (Disgusting, nasty, horrid, gross.) I still need to bleach the heck out of the blech in that tub! I had to wear shower shoes in a tub that is used only by me. Even though we have another tub and even another old basement shower with a great shower massage, this was most annoying to me.

One of my lawn mowers is still held together with duct tape! A few more weeks and we can junk it or decide to have it repaired over the winter. My back hurts when I use it because the taped handle is sagging. Is this not more trouble than I deserve?

Just today an electrical fire a couple of blocks away plunged our whole neighborhood into (indoor) darkness. This doesn't happen very often and I had forgotten how little can be done without power.  How really spoiled we have become. One can take a shower or nap or read--I couldn't think of anything else to do! The garage door was stuck open. The street I needed to take to access the garage sale where I had purchased three lawn chairs earlier for $2 each was blocked totally by a fire truck. I was frustrated. But this occurrence again reminded me how much we depend on our computers and machines and our pretty reliable electrical grid.

The husband was so annoyed (when he came home from golfing) that he wasn't able to watch the golf tournament that he decided to fire up that generator we bought last winter. He got the television going, but forgot that our cable and Internet access is dependent on electric! It was good to know the generator is still functional--just in case! We could have watched a DVD I suppose--but the electric was back on within the hour.

These are just little examples of the small things that all of us experience from time to time. Perhaps worse are the annoyances of people in our lives that we have to deal with. They are less easily fixed--no duct tape or plungers are available for people! And inconsiderate drivers, litterers, etc. etc. ... there really is no avoiding them.

But then, sometimes I like to think back to the "olden days." I think of the stories told to me by my now long ago deceased parents. I still remember many things of childhood. How good were those good ol' days, really?

 I can't identify easily with the difficulties of earlier centuries or even less developed countries today. Sometimes old novels gloss over the grittier details of life. Houses were colder, transportation was limited and food was less available, but things of the bedroom or bathroom (for instance) were rarely described. The smell of the unwashed and un-deodorized--and the horse poop in the street--is unimaginable. (A poop reference has now become standard in every post.)

On Antiques Road Show last week a beautiful old bracelet was shown to open up with a small well for perfume which a lady could access in the event that the bad smells in the street became too overwhelming.

dahlias and toad lilies

The Book Club read The Orphan Master's Son this month, which is a recent fictional prize-winning novel that attempts to be a window into the world of repression and starvation and worse that is North Korea. There was no glossing. But those realities are far removed from my experience and I quickly forget how completely much better my life is.

Freedom, food, flushing toilets and fresh flowers are givens in my life!

But just a generation ago, with the knowledge I have of it first-hand, life was way more difficult.

My mother had to hitch up the horse and buggy to get to a piano (or was it violin?) lesson. That sounds pretty crazy to me--like a bad joke; like the claim that you had to walk to school uphill and barefoot, both ways! Or claims to have lived in a cardboard box. I think that actually happened in The Glass Castle.

My parents were so poor that they sat on peach crates for chairs in their first home. Really!

I remember taking baths in a modest amount of (soft) rain water that was collected in a cistern. It was a little yellow but I can't recall how funky it must have smelled. When I was very young I seem to remember occasionally using the water for more than one person. My father used a makeshift open shower in the basement and he did not always procure the use of a towel when he strolled through the living room to his dressing area!

I also (barely) remember that when I was very young, my farm cousin S had only an outhouse. Am I remembering catalogs for toilet paper? (subtle poop reference)

One quart of home-canned (blech!) meat fed my mother-in law's poor farm family for a week. The only food that was not rationed was the abundance from the summer vegetable garden. Radish sandwiches! I'll bet she would have been happy with the orange in her Christmas stocking.

To cook a chicken for dinner in the mid-century I remember that I had to catch one by the legs, chop off its head, dip it in boiling water and pick off the feathers, burning the small hairs off with a rolled up flaming newspaper. Holding the legs of a chicken while my mother sliced through its head with a sharp butcher knife, and then tossing it quickly on the grass to avoid the blood spatters--and then watching it until it stopped dancing around.......who could ever forget that?

I never went hungry as a child. We had our own eggs, our own meat, our own vegetables. We had apples and pears and even an apricot tree. My mother baked her famous buns and a chocolate cake every other day, it seemed. We ate well--sumptuously well, really. We enjoyed cream for  years. It floated to the top (called top milk--it was more like half & half) of the jars of abundant milk from our hand-milked cow that we kept for awhile after abandoning the larger cow-milking enterprise. (The cow would have to be "freshened" with a new calf every year to keep up that supply, which the new calf shared with us for a time.) And almost every night we enjoyed a small bowl of ice cream. Fenn's ice cream, as I recall, would go on sale for 49 cents for a real 1/2 gallon and my mother would have the basement freezer stocked with a variety of flavors. Does anyone remember butter brickle flavor? (We never churned our own butter or made homemade ice cream, in my experience).

AND my home was fully furnished. Not a single peach crate! Two large sofas (we called them davenports) and two large freezers!

But we did not have the variety of fresh foods that I now enjoy. I eat things every week that I had never heard of as a farm girl in the 50's. Edamame, portabellas, feta cheese, avocado, mango (not really), papaya (not really), Diet Coke Zero (really). Paleo Bread--not! Blech!

I have been purchasing spaghetti squash lately, readily available, although the grocery cashiers have still never heard of it. It is a very good low-carb pasta alternative! Ten minutes in the microwave and voila!


This week I tried the new Land O'Lakes product for easy sauteing--just drop a pre-seasoned bar into the fry pan with the prepared chicken tenders or stir fry veggies. Is that not the height of decadence for the lazy cook?

Even easier, I pick up a savory deli chicken every Thursday night on my way home from work--all hot, spiced right and juicy. I eat it plain or in a Caesar salad with lots of fresh Parmesan. Yum!

There is so much variety in the stores it is hard to decide what to buy. I have the regular stores mastered fairly well but have recently switched from Sam's Club to Costco and all the additional brands and products only add to the overwhelming array of available choices. And how does one manage to remember to incorporate all those super foods when the convenience foods are so tempting?

I have an acquaintance--an older woman living alone (with cats) and a garden of 900 day lilies. She says sometimes a spoon of peanut butter is her dinner. Some still live with surprising simplicity, while I fret over the lack of a decent red wine to pair with my Italian-themed dinner (that spaghetti squash topped with a jar of Ragu and (previously) frozen Italian meatballs and lots of Parm).

(While thinking about this post, I asked one family member what deprivation (he) remembers suffering through earlier in life. Would you believe, dial-up Internet!?)

And getting back to the bathroom--imagine how luxurious it would seem to a couple living a century ago to each have a bathtub to fill with hot water every day.

It is hard to imagine what the next generation will say is horse-and-buggy-ish about these times. It is inevitable that these days will one day be olden. But will they seem golden? They could seem golden in the aftermath of a nuclear blast I suppose, if we were alive to notice...

Thanks for listening to me blather on about my life. I must be talking to my computer, because I'm not sure anyone will get to this point in the post--or get the !point! of this post!

So to conclude, although aches and pains and parts that bulge in all the wrong places become more pervasive as I age, I wouldn't go back to any decade of the olden days. In spite of all the trouble and brokenness, all in all, my life keeps getting better. No more dial-up Internet, after all! And who would go back after HD cable television and smart phones?

I promised to be more thankful this year for the good life I live. And I am. Really!

And I promise to use less exclamation points in my next post!!!

Staying Well - Eat This Bread

I was sucked in by the incessant ads on Facebook.

If I am every going to really "go Paleo," a bread substitute would be a game-changer. I found out recently that Harvest Health carries this (frozen) almond bread made by Julian Bakery in a nearby store. I had to try it! So last weekend I trekked out to the store with Marissa and bought the most expensive loaf of bread ever. I am not willing to admit publicly what I paid for it.

The next day, Sunday morning, I got up early and started sucking down some black coffee. I had agreed to play my trombone in a brass quartet to accompany the choir and hymns at my church and needed to make it to a morning rehearsal.

Figuring I needed some sustenance along with my caffeine fix, I fried two eggs and toasted two slices of my new bread--just to try it. It is very heavy with almond flour and would stick to my ribs and get me through the morning.

I am not a morning person and eating this early was already a stretch for my stomach, but I bravely buttered the paleo bread and prepared to dip it in some egg yolk. But first I sniffed it and then I tried a bite with just butter on it. The bread smelled (was it my imagination?) like it was baked in a cave and tasted a bit worse! I wasn't sure if it was just me, so I offered a taste to the husband. He exclaimed that it tasted like POOP, chewed it a bit and then spit it out into the disposal sink. I was beginning to feel a little nauseous.

Once it was down, I was okay, and I made it through the morning just fine.

But I had some more issues with bread during the worship service. Instead of bits of delicious bakery bread that I remember from previous churches, we now have dreadful gluten-free wafers. I figure that eating those dry awful things is a way of helping me to remember Christ's suffering. Since I was playing, I took a wafer from the elder and set it on my music stand. But I had taken two!

Next, as I turned the page of my music, both wafers fell to the floor. Fortunately, in our church we do not hold to the belief that the wafers turn into the body of Christ, but I was embarrassed that my TWO wafers were now out of reach. After the service, I picked up the wafers and threw them into my trombone case ... and I ate one when I got home. I wasn't sure that was the right thing to do.

So I have one wafer left. Here it is, staged with a pewter communion pitcher--which has its own story.

Anyway, this (Monday) morning I thought I would give the Paleo bread one more try. How can I cover up that taste?

Sunday afternoon I had told my daughter about my very disappointing taste test. When I told my son-in-law about my cave thoughts and the husband's poop exclamation, he suggested it probably tasted like guano.

With the enhanced image of bat doodoo in my head, I got out some cheese and some salami and some spicy brown mustard. With all that spicy yumminess included, I managed a whole sandwich this morning with no thoughts of throwing up. I have to Eat this Bread. It is very nutritious, with almonds and egg whites and vinegar--and I paid a small fortune for it.

I am hoping that I don't need to eat Paleo bread in order to stay well. But I will continue to choke down that sacramental wafer for as long as I live here on earth. (I can't imagine having to eat something that distasteful in heaven.)

Staying Grounded

The boys next door--captured with zoom

I was out late last night. Out in the yard. In the dark.  I had been absorbed in some Sunday night television with the husband but still wanted to sprinkle a few things, including some grass I had cut short on Saturday late afternoon.

While I was hosing the grass in the dark, with the full force of our downhill from the water tower pressure, I noticed this huge fire two doors over.

There is a rumor that the boys will be putting the house up for sale soon. The bunny haven that has been accumulating for years in the backyard is being chipped and/or burned in preparation for selling. They have some sort of fire pit, but a flame this huge must be illegal. My neighbor tells me they had a hose handy.

Fire and water. Basic and elemental since time began. But I was participating in a new and "groundbreaking" experiment with the earth--grounding in my yard. Let me explain.

I can't believe that I have never heard of this before, but there is a movement called earthing or grounding which encourages tapping into earth's charges--supposedly electrons--which have all kinds of "positive" effects on the body: thinning the blood, charging the blood cells to promote flow, and promoting anti-oxidant effects (reduction of those dreaded free radicals and reduction in the body's inflammatory response). And you sleep better. All this from going barefoot in the grass--damp grass for better conductivity. Grounding on the wet lake shore is also optimal, but even concrete will allow for the flow.

Those already on blood thinners are actually warned against too much grounding! 80 minutes and your blood is thinned!

So ... I put on some dirty lawn-mowing socks and did a little grounding while I watered.

Rubber-soled shoes block the flow. Most of our shoes, even my birks, have rubber bottoms. But I have some old leather moccasins that should conduct as well as my cotton socks. On the earthing sites I noted that I could order some, e.g., buffalo or bull-leather moccasins designed for grounding. Some have copper or other metal points in the shoes to help with the transmission of the "free" electrons, but the ones I saw were pricey. The center of the ball of the foot is reputed to be the optimal transmission point.

Since winter time in Michigan is tough for bare feet, one can also apparently hook up a grounding mat that is attached electrically to a ground outside, so you can ground while you compute.

How totally crazy does this sound to you?

Having just viewed another episode of the popular Under the Dome mini-series (which totally strains credulity), this actually seems somewhat plausible to me.

Perhaps I knew this truth as a young child. My parents were not successful in getting me to wear shoes. I loved to go barefoot and took my shoes off in the car and whenever I could. My brothers even called me a nasty (poopy) name as a result of my going barefoot in the farmyard.

So ... I dug out my (not earth shoes), but earthing shoes! Which daughter now regrets leaving them home? They are machine washed and sanitized and ready to do some grounding in my yard!

Cake at the Lake

Another Costco Cake - it was supposed to say Birthdays

I had hoped to avoid eating so much birthday cake this year. However, with three July birthdays in our book club, I thought I would bring a cake to the lake for this year's golf outing, book discussion and cottage cookout. I planned dinner for 16 and served 15. People seemed to enjoy the cake but we also had brownies and ice cream available and people were either too full or too careful to indulge in large servings, so I was left with way too much cake to take home. It was cut up and put into individual serving containers in the freezer, but they were really easy to thaw and kept calling to me.

Like the flawed Florentino in my book club selection, Love in the Time of Cholera (who claimed to have kept himself a virgin while "courting" 622 women in his lifetime before he finally is united with his true love Fermina Daza late in life), in my heart I am anti-sugar and anti-carb, while along the way I have failed at least a thousand times. Today my daughter and son-in-law helped me finish the last piece. Next month, they both have birthdays. Will this mean another cake?

Not only did I "take the cake"--I failed to "walk the walk."

Two Women and a Truck

Today my friend and I spent a good chunk of the day in a truck. It was warm and we were in my uncle's red pickup with windows open and hair blowing.

After packing our load in the morning, including my friend's massive vine that she pulled off her pergola, we stopped at the drive-thru of a Tim Horton's, inquiring about the free coffee deal. It was 12:04 on my clock and although the offer ended at 12:00 noon, we sweet-talked our way to some coffee with cream, also purchasing some yummy apple fritters. The employee at the window was nice and even said, "You ladies have a nice day."

Ha! Ladies? I hardly felt like a lady. As we bumped along the road to the yard waste site with our load of brush, our hot coffees spilled a little. I had my work capris on, now newly stained with creamy coffee; I had my faded work hat crammed down over my pony tail; my dirty work gloves were on the seat between us.

It occurred to me that feeling like a lady at all was a ludicrous notion. Sometimes I see perfectly-coiffed white-haired grandmas with lips painted red, driving around in their older classic cars, looking very much like ladies. But will that ever be me? Do I ever even want to be called a lady? I imagine a day when I can no longer mow the lawn or mount the seat of a truck. It's getting more difficult every year! Maybe I will become a lady then ... in 10 or 20 years or so? It's not so hard to be a lady if you're sitting around in a chair most of the day.

After unloading our branches, we uploaded about 15 bags of wood chips, free for the taking. And then we stopped again, for diet Cokes and McDoubles, with bottom buns removed and hamburgers flipped up, per usual.

A photo from last August - I kindly cropped her buns!

Our second goal, besides stopping for refreshments 3 times, was to shovel 500 pounds (about $40) of Suwanee rock from Minnesota into pails to spread around the liner of my aunt's waterfall pond.

It was still hot and humid as we shoveled the pebbles into small pails that we could lift easily. The five gallon pails we lifted together, on the count of three. I have a photo of my friend wiping her brow as we loaded up the last few containers. She actually looks pretty good in her basic black. But it's a good thing you can't see her hot red face, or the coffee spills--definitely not lady-like!

We almost depleted the supply of stones--more stones are on order from MN.

After all this work (and still needing energy for the unloading), we once again rewarded ourselves--with a small chocolate dipped cone from the Dairy Queen drive-thru, chocolate chunks sliding off onto my dirty clothes.

On the way home I also indulged myself with a few purchases from my neighborhood gay guy's garage sale that I had passed up earlier. My friend bought those multi-colored plant watering globes. I bought 3 coffee mugs (against all my rules once again) which I couldn't resist for $.50 each and a pewter tray for my daughter.

After a long soak in a hot tub, scrubbing my toes and nails clean, applying some fragranced body lotion, and tossing all my dirty clothes into the washer--I felt more like a lady again--or at least, a woman.

As long as there is plenty of soap and hot water available, I clean up pretty well. I am guessing that having to wash up using a bowl and pitcher on my bureau would prove inadequate. And if I had to wear corsets and frocks every day--with no air-conditioning--even if I were rich, lived in a mansion and had a whole house full of servants--I wouldn't trade this dirty/clean, un-lady-like life I enjoy! I hope my friend continues to feel the same way, because we always have fun adventures together!!

I will probably never be a lady. But ... I am woman, hear me roar...or is that just my bad muffler?

The Twinkies Comeback

The sweetest comeback in the history of ever?

THE HISTORY OF NEVER
I have been thinking about avoiding falling as I get older and more clumsy. And I am trying to learn to be more careful. But I recently said out loud that I haven't fallen in a long time. So I fell--twice. Once I tripped on the wheel of the wheelbarrow while carrying some rocks. I sprawled out on the (soft, recently watered) lawn, rocks and glasses flying in different directions. This week I was hauling water in the rain and slipped on a muddy downhill patch, sliding on my khaki capris, my water jug flying. With each fall I twanged a shoulder a little, but was not really hurt.

For at least the last 20 years I have said I have never had a Twinkie. Which means I probably will have one. So today in the store, as the sweet comeback of Twinkies took center stage, I bought a box--on sale--and ate a Twinkie. Thought I might as well get it over with, since it was bound to happen anyway!

They are not terrible, just terribly sweet. Somebody better come over and help me eat some, though. They are good until August 22, advertised to have an extended shelf life of 45 days now.

But I feel just a little bit terrible for having broken my pattern of Twinkie avoidance.

I also bought a red pepper. Is this not the most beautiful, healthy thing you can imagine eating? But I chose to eat the Twinkie, while the pepper is still looking gorgeous on my counter.

Why does it never, in the history of ever, sound good to have a pepper with my coffee or tea?

Stuck "Under the Dome"

After recently finishing Stephen King's autobiographical work, On Writing, completed after the accident that nearly took his life, I was intrigued to try one or two of his novels. I haven't ventured into that realm yet, but the husband had taped the much-hyped Under the Dome, which is a 13-part mini-series based on King's 2009 novel of the same name. So we watched it.

While watching the first episode on the first of July, as the dome descends (?) on the town and splits a cow in half lengthwise (not really looking like the inside of a cow, but plenty graphically bloody--more like freshly ground hamburger) I was hooked. It turns out that nearly 17 million viewers watched with me.

After watching the second episode, I don't know whether to love it or leave it--or King. I recently re-watched a bit of Carrie and felt the same way. Why do I need to watch this stuff?

 I grew up with Little Women and Little House on the Prairie and no television at home until I was 17! Then we could watch Lassie and What's My Line--at least on Sundays--and it was a big step when my father graduated to Gunsmoke.

 I grew up with the (previously documented) violence of seeing a dying sow's throat slit, a warm pigeon gutted, and a pet pig taken to market for slaughter, but not the scary violence of science fiction, or vampire, terrorist or axe-murderer-type movies. I now am tentatively game for such things.

Strangely, I am looking forward to the third episode of Under the Dome on Monday night. We might tape it, but I will watch. Will you?

Seeking Solitude at the Lake

6 AM at Lake Michigan

I didn't really mean to stay up all night to see the dawn (and I might have dozed off for a few minutes), but last weekend I enjoyed a little more solitude than I had hoped for. (I did fall back asleep shortly after this 6 AM photo was taken).

So even though it was a holiday weekend, it turns out it was very quiet at night, except for crickets and birds. The Energizer Bunny surfer boys, down below--finally exhausted--were fast asleep.

Is it my camera or is it brighter a minute later?

The sunset the night before was a pretty good one, with lots of cloud patterns:

On Friday afternoon, as soon as we crested the dune, caught the first sight of Lake Michigan and inhaled the first whiff of the cool lake breeze, the stress began to roll down our backs and over the sand--disappearing into the lapping waves. Later, one sip of merlot and yes, we were mellow.

But by Sunday afternoon, having to clean up our mess, scrub the toilets, and pack up our leftover food and dirty laundry in the midday heat--the stress was back (and in my back). The last item to pack up--a large trash bag which held the remaining weekend detritus--developed a small leak, lightly spilling black coffee grounds down the deck stairs. All my work to clean up, and yet, I left a dirty little (if organic) trail in my wake. So annoying. I hoped it would rain clean or blow away in those awesome lake breezes soon. The brooms and hoses were all locked up and it was time to go.

Seeking Solitude in the City

I know that I have previously referenced the notion of solitude. I don't have anything more profound to say about it, but in my book, solitude always sounds more romantic in theory than it becomes in actualization.

My previous post explored the stark and quiet alone-ness I experienced late in the day and late-season at my aunt's lakeshore cottage. I did not detect one living soul, human or animal (okay, animals may not have souls, but I hope there are a few non-allergenic ones that make it to heaven) for miles around--and I was uneasy. I know there were deer in the forest, but deer are very quiet creatures.

If you are alone in an upstairs bedroom with the windows shut, reading (praying, meditating), you might experience a measure of solitude. But if you live in the middle of a city with neighbors near, there is always a dog barking down the street, a truck rattling over a speed bump, or especially lately, a firecracker exploding near by. And the birds have been really noisy this year--even at dusk. Or am I just becoming more annoyed with noise, the older I get?

It is difficult to find a place or a time that is both quiet and alone. I have experienced being miles distant from civilization many times, but I am almost never alone. And of course our smart phones now keep us connected at all times.

A pre-season exploration of the perimeters of Acadia National Park on Mt. Desert Island, Maine a few years back, with all its coves and forested areas, provided some escape. I will never forget "Thunder Hole"--at night, with a flashlight handy. You can google for a video of this unique spot.

I recall that hiking in the Rockies (with the family) provided a beautiful break from our more normal, peopled existence. An August ride up to the continental divide was quiet and surprisingly chilly.

My childhood farm at night, with stars the only light, felt pretty remote--but it was never silent. Sounds carry for miles in the country. I would analyze the train whistle triads from 5 miles distant through my open second-story bedroom window screen. Our neighbors a mile away claimed they could hear the alarm calls of our peacocks.

But today I experienced a tiny taste of solitude as I walked through a park alone. Even though there were streets with a modest amount of traffic nearby, there was not one soul in the park. I wonder how many cities have that kind of emptiness in their parks on a beautiful sunny (about 68-70 degrees) mid-morning. (Certainly not in Beijing!) I did not know whether to be happy or sort of sad, that all this lovely space was vacated--like the rapture had occurred.

I had met two friends for breakfast. Having never eaten at this restaurant, I had decided I would eat whatever G recommended. Well, she said the French toast was good. An hour later, with my stomach laden with that lump of bread and maple sweetness, washed down with lots of coffee, I felt the need to walk it off before heading home--so I crossed the street into the park.

"Children" playing in the park.

With the recent abundant rain, the fishing dock was inaccessible,

although tales were being told of previously caught fish:

A moment of respite, if not quiet, prevailed in the park,

and I am thankful to live in a place where one can occasionally escape people and enjoy the sights and sounds of nature!

Epcot - Topiaries and Teapots

Lady and the Tramp are soooo cute!

The topiaries that dominate the park during the Flower and Garden Festival are simply *amazing. How do they do it?

Well, as we were wondering aloud about it, a night worker who was taking his father to the park in a wheelchair overheard our conversation and told us that they have 15 topiaries in process for each character! Imagine that.

Some of the ways they use plant material are very creative. Here is a closeup of the tail of a Lion King figure--I think Mufasa.

Lion Tail

A cute panda in China

Dragon with "mist"

Twinings sponsored the teapots in the UK

Delightful Daisy Teapot

Erica snapped this monster's photo--

and this one.

These towers of flowers are everywhere.

The characters transform at night--is this Cinderella?