tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59835899700700240062024-03-05T06:34:00.801-08:00Road WritingIn "Driving Across Missouri: A Guide to I-70" we wrote about what travelers can see beyond the billboards. In "Traveling Through Illinois: Stories of I-55 Landmarks & Landscapes Between Chicago & St. Louis" we found stories among the cornstalks. Follow us as we share stories found alongside the roads we travel in the U.S. and around the world.
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-49970021389544570182015-02-15T19:45:00.001-08:002015-02-15T19:52:50.426-08:00Lincoln's Funeral Train 2015<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I flipped through my <i>Midwest Living</i> magazine this month and found something I had to
mark on my calendar. This April will mark 150 years since our 16<sup>th</sup>
president was assassinated. In remembrance, a replica of Abe Lincoln’s funeral
train will roll through <a href="http://www.lincolnfuneraltrain.org/">Springfield, IL</a> and <i>ML
</i>says that a “replica horse-drawn hearse will carry a replica coffin to Oak Ridge Cemetery on May 3, where a <a href="http://www.midwestliving.com/travel/destinations/we-love-2015-top-things-to-see/?page=2">memorial
ceremony</a> honors Lincoln’s life.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I researched the details of the funeral train when I
was writing a story for my <i><a href="https://historypress.net/catalogue/bookstore/books/Traveling-Through-Illinois/9781626190481">Traveling
through Illinois: Stories of I-55 Landmarks and Landscapes between Chicago
& St. Louis</a></i> book. The newspaper’s description was so eloquent I
had to quote them directly. When the railroad tracks separate from their long
journey along the highway and veer away toward the center of Springfield, near mile
marker 108 southbound, I imagine that mournful train bringing Lincoln home.
Here is our entry for southbound mile 108:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">108 Funeral Train<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">During your
journey, you may have seen a passenger or freight train traveling between
Chicago and Springfield on these rails paralleling I-55. On May 3, 1865, the
most memorable train in Illinois’ history passed along this same route.
President Abraham Lincoln’s funeral train brought him home to Springfield. When
Lincoln left Springfield on February 11, 1861, (the day before his 52<sup>nd</sup>
birthday) he stood at the train depot and bid his friends a sad farewell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">Friends, no one who has never been placed
in a like position can understand my feelings at this hour, nor the oppressive
sadness I feel at this parting. For more than a quarter of a century I have
lived among you, and during all that time I have received nothing but kindness
at your hands. Here I have lived from my youth until now I am an old man. Here
the most cherished ties of earth were assumed. Here all my children were born
and here one of them lies buried. To you, dear friends, I owe all that I have,
all that I am… With these words I must leave you -- for how long I know not.
Friends, one and all, I must now bid you an affectionate farewell.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Four years
later, a train brought him back to the Springfield depot, once again among
tearful friends. On April 21, 1865 the funeral train left Washington and began
its 1700-mile journey to Springfield. Over 30 million mourners, with bowed
heads and teary eyes, waited alongside the tracks for their moment to pay
respects to him as the train passed. In the late evening of May 2, the train
left Chicago and followed the future route of I-55. In Joliet, Bloomington, and
Lincoln large silent crowds had gathered, and in the smaller towns hundreds
more mourners lined the tracks, sometimes illuminating the route with torches
held high and sometimes even paying tribute with funeral arches placed over the
tracks. The town of Williamsville, which you’ve just passed, had an arch that
said, “He has fulfilled his mission.”</span></div>
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On the morning of May 3, the train moved slowly into Springfield—taking
two hours to go about a mile and a half. The <i>New York</i> <i>Tribune</i> reported that:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
pall-bearers, those old men, friends of his, lang syne, approach. The stillness
among all the people is painful; but when the coffin is taken from the car,
that stillness is broken, broken by sobs, and these are more painful than the
stillness. The coffin is borne to the hearse; the hearse moves slowly, almost
tenderly, away, followed by the mourners, and the pallbearers walk by the side.
The cortege, more solemn than any that had gone before, reaches the States
House, where he was wont to speak face to face with his neighbors – where at
this hour those neighbors press to behold his face locked in death. All night
they will pass by with eyes searching through tears for resemblances and
recognition of the features they knew so well.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">On this eve of President's Day, and in the month of his birth, I envision Abe through Springfield poet Vachel Lindsay in <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176810">"Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight"</a>:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<i>It is portentous, and a thing of state</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<i>That here at midnight, in our little town</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<i>A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<i>Near the old court-house pacing up and down...</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<i>A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black,</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<i>A famous high top-hat and plain worn shawl</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<i>Make him the quaint great figure that men love,</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<i>The prairie-lawyer, master of us all.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #505050; font-family: Georgia; line-height: 24px; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<br /></div>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-54686688093765190962014-10-05T18:31:00.001-07:002014-10-11T21:01:48.704-07:00Royals and Cards I-70 Series Repeat?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So, of course, I’m excited that the Kansas City
Royals are in the play-offs. They’re the closest MLB team to our home- just an
hour south down the interstate. We love Kauffman stadium and have enjoyed many
games there. But, I’ve recently realized the other exciting possibility that
the St. Louis Cardinals and the Kansas City Royals could meet up in an I-70
Series again. Hmm…dreamy vision bubble forms in my head…the <i><a href="http://www.kansaspress.ku.edu/cabdr2.html">Driving Across Missouri: A
Guide to I-70</a></i> takes off in sales. Hmm…the marketing possibilities…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We wrote a story in our book on billboards. According
to a group called “Save Our Scenery,” Missouri has 14,000 billboards—about 3x
as many per mile as the 8 neighboring states. Many people find them an eyesore
on the landscape. About 42,000 people a day view the billboards near mile exit
183 according to highway statistics.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Hm…I imagine two billboards: the first says
something like, “Do you know what happened at Mile 97 in 1829?” the second
shows a cheesy photo of Ted and I holding our book and it says, “Read our book
and you’ll find out!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I see myself at a little pop-up bookstand along the
highway. No watermelons or pumpkins for sale, but bites of stories about the
history, community and natural history along the road. Maybe I’ll add a few
tomatoes and green beans from my backyard, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Hmm… any baseball-related stories between St. Louis
and Kansas City? Well, at the beginning of the book we talk about the new Busch
stadium and of a 6-mile stretch that honors homerun slugger Mark McGwire and
later we mention Kauffman and the George Brett superhighway stretch of I-70.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We
also talk about the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum in Kansas City’s 18<sup>th</sup>
and Vine District. I’ve visited it multiple times and it is interactive and
interesting. A real gem of a museum in KC. We pass local baseball fields like the
ones at Dyer Park just outside of KC and T.R. Hughes Field, home of the River City Rascals, in St. Charles county. We've seen road-trippers taking a break
at I-70 rest stops with their leather gloves out playing some catch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Well, as I listen to Game 3 of the Royals against
the Angels, I’m feeling optimistic! All right, Cards, let’s get our I-70 Series
going. </span></div>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-42355246946007208312014-09-20T18:53:00.003-07:002014-09-20T18:53:56.312-07:00Exploring LaSalle<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Over the
years, when in Chicago I have logged many miles on Michigan Avenue’s “<i>Magnificent Mile</i>.” And I have spent
countless days strolling “<i>State Street
that Great Street</i>.” As a fourth generation Chicagoan, I have often played
the role of tour guide when visiting the city with friends and family. My tour
would include Michigan Ave and State St., a few of the East-West streets, and
the adjacent parks, restaurants, ornate hotel lobbies, soaring skyscrapers and
subtle historic landmarks. However, on a
recent visit to Chicago my sister-in-law suggested that we deviate from our
normal route (which had become more rut, than route) and explore LaSalle – a
street whose name honors an explorer and his explorations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3shMctgR5suJbNA_NC4mzh-neD_FSC8fAsGFp5GCsgG8U-XU3XLylGGy_nkLnn_MdZJ2FWN7BMU1eHKTyYy9GGj3zKBFdZXGdE7t277d7mfbE5mcWgDBjwWI2_DGYjSb5PgCViYH3cOY/s1600/DSCN2716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3shMctgR5suJbNA_NC4mzh-neD_FSC8fAsGFp5GCsgG8U-XU3XLylGGy_nkLnn_MdZJ2FWN7BMU1eHKTyYy9GGj3zKBFdZXGdE7t277d7mfbE5mcWgDBjwWI2_DGYjSb5PgCViYH3cOY/s1600/DSCN2716.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Our
exploration began when we hopped off the Metra Train at the Van Buren St.
station rather than the more popular end-of-the-line Millennium station. Immediately I was transported into a scene
from a 1940s black and white movie. Built in 1896, the Van Buren St. station is
the oldest active building on the Metra Electric line. Ornate tile floors and
pillars reeked with nostalgia. The graffiti-laden wood benches – looking like
pews – seemed saturated with stories of generations of commuters who squeezed
into them as they waited for their train home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Heading up
the stairs into the bright morning light, I was surprised to exit through a replica
of an Art Nouveau-style Paris Metro entrance which the City of Paris gave
Chicago in 2001. This would be just the first of many surprising discoveries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We walked
west on Adams past the venerable Bergoff’s Restaurant and then ducked into the two-story
lobby of the Marquette Building to see the beautiful mosaics honoring two other
Illinois explorers Pere Marquette and Louis Joliet. F</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">our
bronze relief sculptures depicting the pair launching their canoes, meeting
Native Americans, arriving at the Chicago River, and interring Marquette’s body
can be found above </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">the
entrance to this National Historic Landmark. Built in 1895, it was one of
Chicago’s first skyscrapers. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Even the revolving doors are noteworthy
with tomahawks on the kick plates and panther heads on the push plates designed
by Edward Kemeys of the Art Institute lions fame. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Continuing west we came to our destination. LaSalle Street
is the heart of the financial district and this heart pumps money across the
city and world. It is cliché to refer to canyons among skyscrapers in major
cities, but LaSalle really feels like a canyon. The canyonesque feeling comes
from the Board of Trade Building which closes off the south end of the street,
thereby making pedestrians feel like they are walled in on three sides by rock canyon/skyscraper
walls. Atop the copper roof of the art deco Board of Trade building a 6,500
pound, 3-story tall aluminum statue of Ceres, the Goddess of Grain, looks down
on LaSalle Street. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVl4IRhabt6JjgL01uzre0BtmaJ5JFhCbh2PgdL_SXFwqO9ASH2W-aVY3Uvc16FeMkqAgMnf4QSPPJJUeIBzGXB1sSGhkP1UBG4fOWbig97JMH39nf6-4jmy9Q2iackDYyVPDAttGqUGs/s1600/DSCN2883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVl4IRhabt6JjgL01uzre0BtmaJ5JFhCbh2PgdL_SXFwqO9ASH2W-aVY3Uvc16FeMkqAgMnf4QSPPJJUeIBzGXB1sSGhkP1UBG4fOWbig97JMH39nf6-4jmy9Q2iackDYyVPDAttGqUGs/s1600/DSCN2883.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">She holds a bag of corn in one hand and a sheaf of wheat in
the other hand to represent the commodities traded in the building. For many years this was the tallest skyscraper
in Chicago and many folks still consider this to be its finest building. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It seems appropriate that in the shadow of the Board of
Trade is the U.S. Federal Reserve’s Money Museum. Ironically, it does not cost money to enter
the Money Museum. Once you pass through airport-like security visitors learn
how our economy works and why it sometimes doesn’t. You will see a stack of one million dollar
bills and you can put your arms around a million dollars’ worth of $20
bills. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23udt-Lxy2L5wo_F30dnugvWLUNP-aDAZN2bwo42HHtfQoWMo0HorurVtstudnJueSb0iKaFOibuHIdu95KKKGFeWqopCvIvtjFKTJSrtrj1V5b0DEiWVA8Px2DwJ0LKUIl-BGnHKjpA/s1600/DSCN2923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23udt-Lxy2L5wo_F30dnugvWLUNP-aDAZN2bwo42HHtfQoWMo0HorurVtstudnJueSb0iKaFOibuHIdu95KKKGFeWqopCvIvtjFKTJSrtrj1V5b0DEiWVA8Px2DwJ0LKUIl-BGnHKjpA/s1600/DSCN2923.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">You also can learn how to
identify counterfeit money. Free souvenirs include a bag of shredded currency
and photo “ops” include having your face on a $2.00 bill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Across the street from the Money Museum is another building
on the </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">National Register
of Historic Places</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, the Rookery Building. My
sister-in-law works in the building and so this was our primary destination on
our exploration of LaSalle Street. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Designed by Daniel Burnham and John Root, the Rookery was completed
in 1888. Frank Lloyd Wright redesigned the two-story, sky-lit lobby in 1905. At
11 stories tall, it is considered the oldest standing high-rise in Chicago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Even an untrained eye like mine could see the innovative
and intricate approaches applied to designing a building with light in mind.
Chicago was a dark, smoky city in the 1880s and even on sunny days the coal
smoke shaded the city. Electric lamps
were gradually replacing oil lamps and the Rookery light fixtures were designed
to work with either. (A bank vault in the basement stores many original light
fixtures, elevator buttons, and other artifacts.) But neither source was
reliable and, even when working, these lamps only produced weak light. So the
architects designed an open “light court” to allow natural light to permeate
the building. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XB8R0fifnVeqyWi7j7GYEUqORRNij2W-PA23IdlzUhqW4-_2BId5Bf4rAhiRep5c8w6KUcKZ55kW92zLW5hzUd4kH-dkKK3-24eLqVGqa6Zz_SBh7JbzORpCTmW3YkO4Nwor3oISkXc/s1600/DSCN2844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XB8R0fifnVeqyWi7j7GYEUqORRNij2W-PA23IdlzUhqW4-_2BId5Bf4rAhiRep5c8w6KUcKZ55kW92zLW5hzUd4kH-dkKK3-24eLqVGqa6Zz_SBh7JbzORpCTmW3YkO4Nwor3oISkXc/s1600/DSCN2844.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The friendly security guard led us into the elevator to
the 11th floor where we visited the Burnham Library. Burnham, Root and Wright
all worked and studied in what now serves as a conference room for the building’s
tenants. A photograph of Burnham and Root sitting in the room depicts the
furniture and fireplace just as it is today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The most stunning feature of the building is Root’s vertigo-inducing
oriel staircase which goes between the 2<sup>nd</sup> to the 12<sup>th</sup>
floor. This staircase is one of the most
photographed features in Chicago. It is commonly featured on art posters sold
to all of those tourists back on Michigan Avenue. Here on LaSalle you see the
real thing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vV7wVSg2pUIAC9GzNkEWRROTsMPZJOB0HMBPVZKjQ7pGT7GO_lejXFEYD9chj8nM9LDKsrFNH3fFhRiUgZMH-SvUfLpQAQcdBMyjKw_aj8TXY4MW7OvN90KFvkHVV8ZyxnTlBbjFNLs/s1600/DSCN2879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vV7wVSg2pUIAC9GzNkEWRROTsMPZJOB0HMBPVZKjQ7pGT7GO_lejXFEYD9chj8nM9LDKsrFNH3fFhRiUgZMH-SvUfLpQAQcdBMyjKw_aj8TXY4MW7OvN90KFvkHVV8ZyxnTlBbjFNLs/s1600/DSCN2879.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Before leaving, I asked my sister-in-law how the building
got its strange name. She said there were several versions, but most point
toward mocking noisy Chicago politicians.
City Hall occupied the site before the Rookery was built. The “Rookery”
may have referred to the City Hall’s rundown appearance or the crow-like politicians
who roosted there. Others said it was because pigeons flocked to the adjacent
fire station to eat the oats that were fed to horses that pulled the fire
wagons. In any case, Burnham and Root were not happy that the name stuck to
their beautiful building. But whether in jest or resignation, Root did design
cawing crows (or rooks) on the building’s exterior. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Daniel Burnham is most famous for designing Chicago’s glorious iconic lakefront. His most notable quote states, “<i>Make no little plans;
they have no magic to stir men's blood …” </i>The next time you visit
Chicago I suggest that you “make no little plans” and include time to explore
LaSalle Street. The architecture may stir your blood <i>and</i> your imagination. - Posted by Ted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-23349016969521647432014-09-02T19:02:00.000-07:002014-09-02T19:03:24.067-07:00Driving With a Mission<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s Labor
Day weekend and some families are feeling the urge to get in one more big road
trip before the days of turkeys and Christmas trees. Our family? Well, a
40-minute drive to Kansas City down Interstate 29 was fine for us. It’s been an
active summer and we’re ready to settle in for the winter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeodlYdBo1kSE6B4KaFOF7sTSNziRhV3nTEXmHgPVnt_B_szVi3Z7foMmd4pf3PfNRcLdIL9rhaQUsck45LXnk0QMB1kvwGv_q_H17FF-TpVrjleTxxveIDk-DJwK3RD__NKGiX-geFEk/s1600/IMG_1619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeodlYdBo1kSE6B4KaFOF7sTSNziRhV3nTEXmHgPVnt_B_szVi3Z7foMmd4pf3PfNRcLdIL9rhaQUsck45LXnk0QMB1kvwGv_q_H17FF-TpVrjleTxxveIDk-DJwK3RD__NKGiX-geFEk/s1600/IMG_1619.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">One trip I
took this summer was one down very familiar highways to a very unfamiliar
place. My daughter and I traveled to the south side of Chicago on a church
mission trip to help serve the people in the roughest neighborhoods in Chicago.
In the week we were there a young woman was killed by gunfire just a few blocks
down from the church where we were staying.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1IOArC3xUcm1Gv2q2lCNLUcMSbMKqgg0FN-74QW5VEL6fzHc_5TbMcaamWL_LmbvaW6v1-zyZAvhHMpDapjfXNvav8hqd9QHANruJ_Vj4s9DEs79EQ5_guxaK49WMlV5K7OU-gwEldg/s1600/IMG_1693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1IOArC3xUcm1Gv2q2lCNLUcMSbMKqgg0FN-74QW5VEL6fzHc_5TbMcaamWL_LmbvaW6v1-zyZAvhHMpDapjfXNvav8hqd9QHANruJ_Vj4s9DEs79EQ5_guxaK49WMlV5K7OU-gwEldg/s1600/IMG_1693.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">From St.
Joseph we traveled 2 of the 3 highways of which I’ve written about: Highway 36
and Interstate 55. Not much had changed on either highway since I’d written the
audio tour for MO and Ted and I had written the book for Illinois except for a
larger expanse of wind turbines through central Illinois. But on my way home
from our mission trip the road looked different to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">During our
week on the south side of Chicago we met people who found pride in their
community even though they knew that outsiders talked of their neighborhood
differently. They knew their neighborhood had gangs and individuals that caused
trouble in their homes and on the streets, but they didn’t want to pack up and
leave the place they had always called home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Some
outstanding community members choose to encourage others in any way possible. Many
in the community wanted to work but had lost their jobs as industries closed.
Others felt they had no means to leave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Roadways
conjure emotions just like sidewalks through gardens or sidewalks through
garbage. The roadways in these neighborhoods had signs that said “speed hump.”
I was used to seeing “speed bump” not “hump.” You could tell the neighborhoods
where speeding had been a serious problem. Speed humps are much wider than
bumps and in some neighborhoods they were lined up and down the street in every
block. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After
sharing our time with the community, we hit the highway again and traveled
south down I-55. As I drove a suburban full of teenagers back to their safe
neighborhoods, clean homes and loving families I thought of those we had just
left behind. Some wouldn’t have come with us if we had asked. They would say
they were needed there. It was their home and no matter how dangerous their
neighborhood would become, they would be there to keep guiding their young
people in the right direction. I marveled at their strength and their optimism
in the face of poverty and violence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pZbLdlnYihcIIdkemKoODz9hMSemz-wLfLL-NWfP5qT53tfANTNmBGHuUgrwpwOllZ8X5i0WDDMk7zdxjhz57m-o3UF8krABbaK4j_yKjXROii7KZ7fH2oM47rYme_76RHf_GZFuPXs/s1600/IMG_1707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pZbLdlnYihcIIdkemKoODz9hMSemz-wLfLL-NWfP5qT53tfANTNmBGHuUgrwpwOllZ8X5i0WDDMk7zdxjhz57m-o3UF8krABbaK4j_yKjXROii7KZ7fH2oM47rYme_76RHf_GZFuPXs/s1600/IMG_1707.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We weren’t leaving them behind. They were on a path
and had chosen their road. They chose the road to recovery. </span>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-20384595559118954482014-07-02T21:33:00.002-07:002014-07-02T21:33:34.761-07:00Air Travel Guide Across MissouriLast week my family and I flew out from Kansas City International Airport (KCI) to New York City. I love my road trips, but the view out an airplane window is mesmerizing. Cars move like little armies of ants in line on the highways. Multi-colored quadrilateral agricultural fields quilt the earth. Stormy clouds pass above you and below you. There's so much to see up there and you see it all in such a different way. It reminds me of that Proust quote we use in our I-70 book about "seeing with new eyes" the landscape we have taken for granted.<br />
<br />
I watch downtown Kansas City scroll by my scratched up oval window. Arrowhead and Kauffman Stadium come into view and also scroll out to the right. We're traveling I-70 by air. Hmm... could I use our book thousands of feet above the interstate? It worked on Amtrak, maybe it will work on Southwest Airlines. As I was peering down trying to find landmarks I saw this one<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiomj7ssaTEff-Pj99mLT2msbVDOL2p2ZmKLIOW3fUmU12X-tih6W9BAut1_SZg1MVBWua_N0tNTId3cQtO-QDeZ3gy-HW5C2eufF78_ffjxXIokbHjrZKenNwd49McxS5LuxRCquRwH9k/s1600/IMG_0844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiomj7ssaTEff-Pj99mLT2msbVDOL2p2ZmKLIOW3fUmU12X-tih6W9BAut1_SZg1MVBWua_N0tNTId3cQtO-QDeZ3gy-HW5C2eufF78_ffjxXIokbHjrZKenNwd49McxS5LuxRCquRwH9k/s1600/IMG_0844.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
and knew exactly where I was-- Mile 30,White Industries. I could see the huge 4,400-foot-long runway underneath us. At first I thought it was another airport, but then his inventory of 2,600 planes came into view. From the interstate you can see only the 1960s vintage Lear 23 jet in his front yard. It is impossible to see this view from anywhere but his backyard or the skies above.<br />
<br />
White Industries is one of the largest suppliers of used airframe, engine, and avionics parts. Some planes are flown in while others have to roll down the highway within another transportation vehicle. Some of his planes have come from such remote places as a glacier in Greenland and an African forest.<br />
<br />
As we traveled on further south I saw some of our other stories-- a glimpse of the Ozarks to the south (although, once again, more than a glimpse as we kept climbing towards our cruising altitude), small towns among the ag fields, cemeteries and schools.<br />
<br />
It would be great to have interpreters on airplanes. Sure you can use the airline app to somewhat figure out where you are (but not really). The plane on the app I was using was the length of over 3 cities (that's one big plane!) and made it difficult to tell where we were. If interpretive sky travel guides could stroll the aisles and tell us what we were seeing how time would fly. Okay, bad pun, but it would be such a richly informative and entertaining trip. But they barely have room to push that little beverage cart down the aisle and not enough funding to give us more than a tea-bag size bag of peanuts (get out the EpiPen.)But I'd pay for an interpretive sky travel guide. "Can you see the...?" "Did you know that you're directly over....?" "See how the...?" I could put down my magazine and listen to the stories as I pass over like Peter Pan in Neverland.<br />
<br />
Now I'm resisting the urge to write interpretive travel guides for airliners. We could put them in the little pouches just behind the safety instruction sheet. Safety first. What a variety we could write-- and have alternative stories for when weather causes detours.Winter could throw a cold blanket on the land, but the worst part would be the plane ticket cost we'd have to endure flying back and forth to double-check all our stories and sites. Anyway, as you travel this summer, we hope you enjoy all the stories that you see from the road and the skies! <br />
<br />
<br />LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-58699244120693686882013-08-31T22:00:00.001-07:002013-08-31T22:00:43.485-07:00Labor Day Blues<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s another Saturday night and in my household that
means The Fish Fry is on the radio KCUR- Kansas City. It’s a great program that
highlights blues, R&B, soul, jumpin’ jazz, and zydeco music and oftentimes,
KC artists. The week of July 6 they were doing a “road songs” theme. Here are a
handful of the road songs they played that evening. Listen to the whole show at
<a href="http://www.kcur.org/fish-fry-archives">http://www.kcur.org/fish-fry-archives</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Key
to the Highway- Muddy Waters<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EU4W5j78keE">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EU4W5j78keE</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Big
Road Blues- Rory Block<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFwIfKSGK2I">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFwIfKSGK2I</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">T
Model Blues- Lightnin’ Hopkins<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9AGSXiWWko">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9AGSXiWWko</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Long
Time to Get There- Betse Ellis<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Es6FCqgiIT0">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Es6FCqgiIT0</a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A few more of some
country blues for those who are laboring on the highway this Labor Day weekend:<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Mobile Blues- Waylon Jennings<o:p></o:p></span><u1:p></u1:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mN0nMxCS2U0&list=PL3162E65BC119154A">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mN0nMxCS2U0&list=PL3162E65BC119154A</a><o:p></o:p></span><u1:p></u1:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Truck
Driver’s Blues- Merle Haggard<o:p></o:p></span><u1:p></u1:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbsXkK93fUY&list=PL3162E65BC119154A">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbsXkK93fUY&list=PL3162E65BC119154A</a><o:p></o:p></span><u1:p></u1:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Long,
Lonesome Highway- Dick Curless<o:p></o:p></span><u1:p></u1:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_kV4efuN7Q&list=PL3162E65BC119154A">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_kV4efuN7Q&list=PL3162E65BC119154A</a><o:p></o:p></span><u1:p></u1:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Gulf Coast
Highway- Nanci Griffith<o:p></o:p></span><u1:p></u1:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DUqLleoZxtM">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DUqLleoZxtM</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-28988544361135064462013-08-23T11:05:00.000-07:002013-08-23T11:12:29.851-07:00Get Your Kicks on Route 66 and Enjoy the Drive on I-55<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a radio interview on WGLT in Bloomington, IL last weekend about our “Traveling Through
Illinois” book. They played the Van Halen song, “I Can’t Drive 55”
at the beginning of it. Clever. I liked it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ted and I started an I-55 song list years ago, actually. We
pondered what songs we should have on the soundtrack if this book should ever
make it on the big screen. Okay, well, we just thought about all the fun road
songs there are out there. So, for the next few blogs we’ll play some road
tunes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seems respectful to start with this one:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjejXfZYp9Y">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjejXfZYp9Y</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s an encore from his daughter:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NrNzqc1ZMRo">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NrNzqc1ZMRo</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s hoping that after you read our book, you won’t ever
sing Sammy’s lyrics about I-55:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FDKYGGvxAE">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FDKYGGvxAE</a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-31217580873382083492013-07-07T20:44:00.000-07:002013-07-07T20:44:49.178-07:00Kids Say the Darndest Things On Road Trips<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The first week of July 2013 is gone. For some this
means that summer vacation is half over. It’s the crest of the hill before
rolling towards Christmas. Hopefully most are still enjoying some fun in the
sun. For some, this may even be the eve of a family road trip. Some families
are triple-checking that they packed their swimming trunks, cancelled the
newspaper, and that their children have charged all of their electronic
entertainment for the drive. Ah, the glare of hand-held electronic screens has dimmed
the games of counting farm animals and playing license plate poker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have just come home from a youth mission trip to
Benton Harbor, Michigan where none of the teens were allowed to take electronic
devices. Poor kids were subjected to my I-55 mile marker stories from our “Traveling
Through Illinois” book. It wasn’t through my devious plans that this all
happened. The big boss of the youth leaders relayed that kids should take the
9.5 hours to talk and get to know one another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was lucky to get the vehicle full of boys. Little
boys can be loud in their imaginary play which always includes sound effects of
something blowing up, imploding, exploding, or blasting off, while little girls
do quiet tea parties. But, age does something to the vocal chords of teens that
has nothing to do with puberty. I could see the carload of girls ahead of me.
Arms were waving, bodies were swaying, ( I think the entire van was shaking ) and
the male youth leader who was driving their vehicle stumbled out at our first
stop to gas up the car. Dazed, he mumbled something about a headache. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Long road trips usually offer a few funny comments
uttered at just the right level of silence. Those are some of the most
memorable moments of the drive. As the boys and I crossed over the Mississippi
River from Missouri to Illinois on Highway 36 at Hannibal, I shared one of
these funny comments uttered by my daughter who was in the chatty girl vehicle
ahead of us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My family traveled Highway 36 across Missouri about
3 times a year to see family in Illinois. Every time we crossed the bridge over
the Mississippi River in Hannibal, we’d point it out to our daughter, Rose, and
name it, hoping we could teach her some geography along the way. On one trip
across the Mighty Missi-sip, when she was around 4 years old, I once again
announced in my best Chevy Chase voice, “Here comes the bridge! We’re about to
cross the Mississippi River!” Everything went quiet for a moment in the van as
Rose’s unspoken thoughts hung in the air, and then she said, “Mom, why isn’t
there a Mr. Issippi?” It took me a minute to get it and then she said that it
wasn’t fair to have a Miss Issippi and not a Mr. Issippi. What an equal rights
kind of girl!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This little tyke grew up to be a teenager. Just
recently she said to me, “When I get a car someday I’m going to buy a
(VW) Bug so I can drive by and watch people punch each other.” I am almost
too embarrassed to share this story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The whole “Are we there yet?” phrase springs from
the fact that kids have a hard time gauging time. In fact, one story of travel
and sense of time (not the same as time travel) is when my younger daughter had
no concept of time (or she was just too giddy from finding out we were going on
a trip.) On opening a fortune cookie that revealed we’d be going to Disney
World just after New Year’s, she blurted out in happy excitement, “Are we gonna
stay overnight??” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If you’re traveling with young kids this summer don’t
forget to take the baby book, a journal, or a pen and paper. You might just
capture some of those darndest things that your kids say as they first see the
Grand Canyon, cruise past a wind farm, or find bizarre creatures in the clouds
outside the window. Enjoy the ride!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-63560268504280828412013-06-27T21:03:00.000-07:002013-06-27T21:03:31.226-07:00Tree Silhouettes while Traveling Through Illinois<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As in any book, there are stories to be cut, and we
were sad to cut a few of our tree stories. Other landmarks fought for attention
at the same spot or other stories ran beyond the boundaries of their mile. So,
we thought we could “re-plant” this story on these cyber pages.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A chapter from “Reading the Landscape of America,”
by May Theilgaard Watts and my love for sculpture inspired this story on tree
silhouettes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">From the cutting room floor of the Illinois book:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Tree</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;"> <b>Silhouettes</b> In the distance a row of trees punctuate the skyline with their branching silhouettes. For half of the year these deciduous trees appear leafless, revealing the patterns of their weaving branches. While some people may find winter and early spring trees “dead-looking”, others see beautiful black sculptures lining the hillsides on the highways. </span></div>
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Different species of trees can be identified by their silhouettes. For example, a weeping willow tree would be easy to identify by its drooping branches that cascade down like long hair. <br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">Massive Bur Oak trees left in open fields can sprawl horizontally with thick low limbs stretching wide over the plains. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">In contrast, Cottonwoods usually have a very tall straight trunk with few or no lower branches but with upper limbs that weave together vertically in lattice patterns. These tall straight trunks were often used for canoes as trappers made their way down the Missouri River.</span></div>
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<br />LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-17252297041240175582013-06-17T20:46:00.000-07:002013-06-17T20:46:11.377-07:00Honk if You Like Trees!<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A shade tree is
a blessing in the heat of the summer day. With a grassy cushion or soft chair
to protect your backside from the bumpy roots, it’s a great place to enjoy a
good read. Shel Silverstein praised the
tree in his book, “The Giving Tree” as have many other authors in poetry and
essays over the years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We, too, felt the need to recognize these earthy friends
in our traveling books. We cannot fail to mention the gifts that trees give to
landowners, shoppers, sightseers, farmers, and children of all ages. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In our Illinois,
Missouri, and Kansas books we talked about the Willows, Oaks, Hickories,
Osage-Oranges, Red Cedars, and Cottonwoods. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Here are a few stories to share with you about the diversity and
wonderment of those living creatures in which we are surrounded by but rarely
acknowledge during our day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">From <i>Traveling
Through Illinois<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mile 137 Cottonwood Commerce-- </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If you are
driving along this stretch of the highway in winter, snow may be flying past
your windshield, but if you are passing through in June you may also see
flurries. The trees in a row on your right are Eastern Cottonwood trees, whose
tiny brown seeds are parachuted by cottony hairs that float across the highway
like a summer snowstorm. Notice how the heart-shaped Cottonwood leaves seem to
be continually moving. Cottonwood leaves constantly flutter because they have
flat, rather than round, stems that make them twirl and twist wildly in the
slightest breeze. Indian tribes shaped these tree trunks into sturdy canoes for
their trips of commerce and companionship across the state. With hot coals,
they would first burn the trunk and then scrape out they charred wood to sculpt
their dugout canoes. Canadian explorers, Marquette & Joliet, traveled the
Illinois and Mississippi River in birch bark canoes, but would have fared
better on a Cottonwood craft if they would’ve ventured into turbulent waters.
Plains and Prairie Indian tribes found Cottonwood canoes sturdier than the
birch bark canoes of the northern woodlands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Cottonwoods
still contribute to commerce. If you stopped for an ice cream treat during your
drive today, you may have held a cottonwood stick in your hand. The wood is
used for such things as ice cream sticks, kites, veneer, baskets, pulpwood, and
fuel. These lively trees are fast-growers, but short-lived. Years from now,
this stand may be gone, but most likely, somewhere along I-55, you’ll still see
these seed aviators planting products across the prairie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">from <i>Driving
Across Kansas</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">177
Water-loving Willows</span></b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
- </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Willows
and water go together. Old Testament prophets, Shakespeare, and a multitude of
writers and artists for centuries have linked willows and water. Unlike some
literary linkages, this association is biologically accurate. Willows require
an abundance of water and can survive long periods of flooding. These
attributes make them the perfect shoreline tree. Willows serve an important
function in preventing erosion of banks in ponds and streams. Willow roots form
dense mats that hold the soil particles in place instead of being washed away
by waves or flowing water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Native Americans used
willow wood and limber willow sprouts to make traps, tent poles and stakes,
mats, baskets, drums, meat-drying racks, and many other things. Today willow
wood is sometimes used for boxes, crates, and furniture parts. A specialty use
of willow wood is for artificial limbs for amputees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Willows were a living
pharmacy for both Native Americans and European settlers. Virtually every
potential health problem known was treated with teas or pastes made from parts
of the willow tree by some group of people on the Plains. Even “chew-sticks,”
the precursor to tooth brushes, often were willow twigs. These willow chew
sticks may have provided other dental health benefits from the chemicals in the
wood. <i>Salicin</i>, a painkiller used in
modern pharmaceuticals, is found in willow bark and leaves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The familiar Weeping
Willows are not a native species, but rather they originated in China. Weeping
Willows were brought to Europe in the 1700s and eventually found their way to
North America where now they are popular ornamental tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Written for, but not included in</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
<b><i>Driving Across Missouri</i></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Sycamores</b> - You can easily identify sycamores from the highway because they have white, tan, and greenish mottled bark. Sycamores grow where there is plenty of water so they are found along streams and rivers. Notice this tree is sitting in a damp low spot. Sycamores are the largest trees east of the Rockies. They can stand 150 feet tall and their crowns can be more than 100 feet across. Sycamore wood is hard, but it often rots from the inside so only the outer trunk supports the tree. Hollow trunks and branches become wildlife apartment complex for raccoons, opossums, bats, owls and other cavity-nesting birds. Settlers used huge trunk cavities, some as big as 125 square feet, as storage rooms and even homes. Sycamore wood has been used for dugout canoes, wagon wheels, barrels, and furniture.</span><div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">How many trees do you think you pass on a day’s drive? Amazing how
easily we overlook them, isn’t it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-90129489973162588122013-06-03T06:48:00.003-07:002013-06-03T06:48:56.659-07:00Tornadoes on the InterstateOur thoughts go out to all those who were affected by this past weekend's tornado outbreak in Oklahoma, Missouri, and Illinois. Ted and I have friends and relatives whose communities were affected by these storms, but luckily none of them were injured. In "Traveling Through Illinois" we have a story about a deadly F-3 tornado that crossed the interstate on June 1, 1999. The tornado hit <span style="font-family: Baskerville, serif;">the rest area at mile 65 and overturned </span><span style="font-family: Baskerville, serif;">six tractor-trailer
trucks and killed one driver and injured four others before </span><span style="font-family: Baskerville, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">it traveled farther northeast for ten miles.</span><br />
<br />
It's difficult to know what to do when you are on the road and then caught in the midst of a twister. Some have found refuge under an overpass while for others this has proved deadly. Some stay in their cars and others get out and hide in a ditch or low-lying area. Here's some information we got from the National Weather Service on what might help you survive is you face a twister on the road.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>from "Traveling Through Illinois"</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i>Meteorologists advise
that when drivers on highways spot a tornado, they<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i>shouldn’t attempt to
outdrive the unpredictable twisting mass of debris.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i>Tornadoes can weave
back and forth over a road and change directions<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i>quickly. They suggest
that if it is visible and far away, you should drive at<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i>right angles to avoid
it. Drivers shouldn’t park under bridges or overpasses<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i>since the winds can
actually be more severe as they rush under these spots.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i>Rather, you should look
for a nearby business where you could take shelter.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i>If no businesses are
nearby, park your car, move away from it so it doesn’t<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i>roll over on you, lie
facedown in any low-lying area like a ditch or culvert and<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<i>cross your arms over your head for protection from flying debris.</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Baskerville","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Baskerville;">Accounts from Oklahoma </span><a href="http://newsok.com/fatalities-reported-after-massive-storm-system-moves-through-central-oklahoma/article/3840694">http://newsok.com/fatalities-reported-after-massive-storm-system-moves-through-central-oklahoma/article/3840694</a> reported an array of different accidents on I-40 and other roads. Tornadoes can touch down in any season, but most especially the spring and summer. We wish you safe travels on the road this summer!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-75758166739489279552013-05-07T20:33:00.000-07:002013-05-07T20:48:50.747-07:00Traveling Through Illinois<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This week, The History Press will release our latest
book, “Traveling Through Illinois: Stories of I-55 Landmarks and Landscapes
Between Chicago & St. Louis” (you can call it “ttisoilalbcasl” for
short—okay, maybe that’s not much shorter really, but I do like that it has the
word “soil” in it. You’ll see a lot of that on your drive through Illinois!)
Ted and I hope to help travelers see more than soil out there, though. More
than corn (did you know that over 4,200 supermarket products and by-products
are made from corn?). More than sky (although it is vastly fascinating on the
prairie). More than semi-trucks (I personally like the lowboys). More than flat
(On trips to Normal I thought I wasn’t normal because I felt the front of my
car tilting like I was climbing a hill, even though it looked as flat as a
pancake out my window. I finally found out that I had been climbing a moraine
and realized I wasn’t abnormal after-all. Well, not about that anyway.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You have the drive all planned out. Take A highway
to B highway and stop for lunch at that place with the great horseshoe
sandwiches; but, when one of your stops is not at all what you planned,
sometimes those are the best memories. Ted and I thought that one of our
stories should be about what life is like in a small town (I have now invited
the John Mellencamp song into my head for the rest of the night. “Had myself a
ball in a small town…”) but it didn’t turn out at all like we thought it
would—it was better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We had to find an appropriate town in a spot where
we didn’t already have a story. The little town of Waggoner seemed perfect.
From the highway you can see this old gray wooden sign that looked like it
could have been made at Lincoln’s New Salem village and says, “Welcome to
Waggoner—Established 1886-- ‘From
prairie to farm with pride’.” Well if that don’t beat all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMAVHd5oOPR0xlIW9oxbna-39dr_7m4rIpm0W16ljD6XY_ME67qXXULOLgubiDL1oVqbBxxnUClX-ygfagJrHUGFrgFnhWH_fT2VzppktdrawZ-wvrA9EKsG3qFuQABAKZo9P5t1NcMM/s1600/IMG_0111_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMAVHd5oOPR0xlIW9oxbna-39dr_7m4rIpm0W16ljD6XY_ME67qXXULOLgubiDL1oVqbBxxnUClX-ygfagJrHUGFrgFnhWH_fT2VzppktdrawZ-wvrA9EKsG3qFuQABAKZo9P5t1NcMM/s320/IMG_0111_1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What’s interesting is that there is absolutely no
sign of life anywhere near that sign. It is in front of a crop field next to a
gravel road that just disappears far on the horizon. Where was the town? I
wasn’t sure it even existed, but they seemed friendly enough to put that sign
right next to the Interstate, welcoming all city slickers and other travelers
into their little town. I couldn’t help but love this invisible non-existent
town! So we chose Waggoner as our poster-child small town.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ted gave a call to City Hall. They directed him to
one woman who then directed him to another and after about 3 phone calls around
the neighborhood, his small town story became a Hollywood set. Well, it
involved Steven Spielberg, at least. One woman mentioned all the mandatory
small town things that small town people do—have dinners at the American Legion
Hall, play BINGO, and take afternoon walks on the country roads-- then she completely
spins our tidy small town story out of control by mentioning that, “Oh, yes,
and Steven Spielberg has visited here.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“???”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She went on to tell the story of how he accompanied
his wife, Kate Capshaw, to her grandfather’s 100<sup>th</sup> birthday party right
here in Waggoner. The story took a
twist—a different route than we had programmed into our GPS (Game Plan
Story)—but through the local citizens better stories poured forth than the ones
we had planned. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The best part of writing these books is talking with the people
living along our interpretive route. They are the stories. An interview turns
into friendly conversation, laughter, and an emotional connection. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we were writing a book to help travelers see more
than cornfields in Illinois on I-55, we were finding unexpected stories
ourselves. Each interview humanized that journey a bit more. It wasn’t merely a
highway for traveling, it was the front yard of many hardworking, funny, and
interesting people who gave their time to tell a few ex-natives their stories.
We’re passing them along.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-37298533232114920182013-01-31T20:24:00.001-08:002013-01-31T20:24:49.163-08:00The Hawk Highway<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
To most travelers, Texas State Highway 100 from Los Fresnos
to South Padre Island is a rather nondescript stretch of road. The short
24-mile highway is straight and flat as it courses across the coastal
grasslands of Deep South Texas. However, more observant travelers might notice
that the fences and power poles paralleling the highway between <span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Los Fresnos</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span>and
Laguna Heights are adorned with an amazing number and variety of hawks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this 11- mile stretch it is not uncommon to
see seven or eight different kinds of hawks as well as closely related Black
and Turkey Vultures and the stunning Crested Caracara. Many of these birds will
be close enough to the road to identify without binoculars as folks drive down
the highway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On a recent trip along this raptor-lined road, I observed
several individuals of each of the following species perched on fence posts and
power poles: Red-tailed Hawks, Red-shouldered Hawks, Ospreys, and the small but
colorful American Kestrels. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Around these
perched hawks, slender Northern Harriers fluttered like gigantic butterflies
above the grasslands. At times they seemed to bounce along the top of the
grass. Each of these species can be found throughout much of the United States.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, this corridor is also home to
some south Texas specialties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel2MW2_O3iTgJSigrcWyaR4FNkyLABaXKhN0br_wuFMLBxNidjCWbdRBEtGuAF37IUQzSZuXshUhiG51il7rLrwFSna_aJtJKz3x05TLZoN_0pZA2Eg0C3XaD6IPUghbZbn1lXd4fjnE/s1600/220px-White-Tailed_Kite.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel2MW2_O3iTgJSigrcWyaR4FNkyLABaXKhN0br_wuFMLBxNidjCWbdRBEtGuAF37IUQzSZuXshUhiG51il7rLrwFSna_aJtJKz3x05TLZoN_0pZA2Eg0C3XaD6IPUghbZbn1lXd4fjnE/s320/220px-White-Tailed_Kite.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White-tailed Kite</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0AbjLXl41rpRSTXlLtPiML0uo9e4wHBz_G37k64hAmitC8FEsqg-47Xb6qFSlQH4Lz5uNutdsYLYk12PXCrPywnW7VphzPLK-7NiKGCITOjb5X-4Q3N6yZzBXJN4VauFlN6JQdfM93XE/s1600/White-tailed+Hawk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0AbjLXl41rpRSTXlLtPiML0uo9e4wHBz_G37k64hAmitC8FEsqg-47Xb6qFSlQH4Lz5uNutdsYLYk12PXCrPywnW7VphzPLK-7NiKGCITOjb5X-4Q3N6yZzBXJN4VauFlN6JQdfM93XE/s200/White-tailed+Hawk.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White-tailed Hawk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I saw a
half dozen White-tailed Kites hovering along the roadside; their wings beating
fast, holding the bird in place while they searched the fields below for their
dinner. The gorgeous White-tailed Hawk, found only in south Texas, was even
more common.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their gleaming white
breasts and tails stood out from great distances. Upon closer inspection you
could see their rusty shoulder patches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At the other end of the color spectrum were the mostly black Harris’s
Hawks. These social hawks are black with reddish shoulders, white rump and white-tipped
tail. Unlike most hawks, they are often seen in small groups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see four of five together on the electric
wires or in small trees that dotted the landscape. It occurred to me that in
light of the impressive number of hawks seen per mile, I would not want to be a
mouse traveling along Highway 100!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvgagM_oMB1OGvBFk0-hxFZ_arhHey-q6wP1nm1SSmkDUggBefIr57GoF1Y51yPRPpepvbtPrqsdkPimsTfLDpvFotNr2Q6GP6jy2lb4_Lqey68UKFGcQ8O7jseBHS4bb6UsZ3-tD_MM/s1600/digitalmedia1.fws.gov.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvgagM_oMB1OGvBFk0-hxFZ_arhHey-q6wP1nm1SSmkDUggBefIr57GoF1Y51yPRPpepvbtPrqsdkPimsTfLDpvFotNr2Q6GP6jy2lb4_Lqey68UKFGcQ8O7jseBHS4bb6UsZ3-tD_MM/s400/digitalmedia1.fws.gov.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aplomado Falcon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The avian star of this highway is the rare and endangered
Aplomado Falcon. This medium-sized falcon was extirpated from the U.S. -- another
victim of the widespread use of DDT and excessive grazing by ranchers in the early
and mid-20<sup>th</sup> century. By the 1940s, Aplomado Falcons were wiped out
in this area. They were added to the U.S. Endangered Species List in 1986. In
1993, a non-profit organization called The Peregrine Fund began large scale
releases of these falcons back into the coastal prairies of south Texas. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This falcon is a bird worth slowing down and even slamming
on the brakes for. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed, I did stop at
the intersection of Old Port Isabel Road (Buena Vista Road on Google Maps) and Texas
Highway 100. Old Port Isabel Road is famous among bird watchers as a place to
see this elegant falcon but it was too muddy to drive, so I scanned the flat
open landscape from the edge of the highway with a spotting scope focusing on
the tops of poles, posts, and palms. Aplomados are readily recognized at a long
distance because they have a dramatically marked plumage of gray backs
(Aplomado means “lead colored” in Spanish.), black and white heads, and varying
amounts buffy orange (young) or cinnamon (adults) on their undersides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a rather tedious task to sort through
the many raptors perched and soaring in all directions. After having scanned
about 180 degrees, I happened to look up from the scope to see this zephyr of a
bird flying fast towards me. Immediately I knew it was the Aplomado with its
sleek missile shape and long pointed wings. It shot past and gracefully swooped
up and landed on a fencepost across the highway. There it afforded beautiful
views through the scope. While looking at this bird I could not help but
consider that this individual was one of only about 80 living in south Texas. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is a wonderful thing that this species once again flies
the bluebonnet south Texas skies. And it is a wonderful thing to be, like these
roadside raptors, at the top end of the food chain! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-- Posted by Birder Man, Ted</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(photos courtesy of U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service)</div>
LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-10440294515328390512012-07-23T05:34:00.002-07:002012-07-23T05:46:58.876-07:00Rebecca Ruth Loves Lucy<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As my family and I drove Interstate 64 west across
Kentucky last week, we reminisced about the trip we took about six years ago
when we stopped at the Rebecca Ruth Candy Factory <a href="http://www.rebeccaruth.com/">http://www.rebeccaruth.com/</a></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
in Frankfort. Previous trips across I-64 had piqued my interest in the candy
factory, and my chocoholic daughter was at the perfect age to enjoy a Willy
Wonka-like candy tour fantasy. Their famous Kentucky bourbon balls were enough
enticement for me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">With old-fashioned paper directions, we made our way
to the factory—which we found was also old-fashioned. As we neared the address
on our paper, we wondered if our computer directions had fooled us. We were
rolling through a residential area of little houses—clearly not our vision of
where complex industrial mechanisms churned out chocolate-drenched candies. We
pulled up in front of a little white house that resembled my great-aunt
Frances’ residence. We sat silently in the car, inspecting the home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was the guinea pig who tentatively approached the
screened door, completely expecting Aunt Bea to answer it. In a way, she did. It
was a home turned into a candy factory and the welcome from the small staff was
just as warm as if we’d been welcomed in for dinner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was late in the afternoon, and we were
momentarily disappointed when they told us that they were done making candy for
the day. But another family was milling about in the living room that had been
converted into a little gift shop, and they asked if we’d still like a tour of
the place. Sure.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">They took us down a very narrow hallway as casually
as we were walking toward Bea’s kitchen and stopped briefly in a room that
forever changed the tv viewing interests of my daughters. They played a clip
from the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I Love Lucy</i> episode where Lucy
can’t keep up with the chocolate conveyor belt and begins stuffing chocolates
in her apron, her mouth, and her shirt. Even just yesterday, my oldest daughter
flipped on the tv and enjoyed an episode of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
Love Lucy</i>. Who doesn’t love Lucy?</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The rest of the tour was one of imagination. We
walked past empty conveyor belts and the tour guide tried to describe what we
could not see. We went to the next silent, still machine and imagined again. It
was all rather funny, yet, in a very strange way, we enjoyed it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Rebecca Gooch and Ruth Booe were 2 school teachers
who turned their candy-making hobby into a business in 1919. Ruth invented the
famous chocolate bourbon ball that is the company’s prized sweet. We saw only
about 6 employees of the 10 to 15 that work there. Today, those employees make
about 100,000 pounds of candy a year.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Don’t expect to be wowed by Willy Wonka-like candy
factory pizazz here. I have to say that the Louisville Slugger museum tour,
just down the road on I-64 remains my favorite all-time tour. And while Rebecca
Ruth’s didn’t have much to see, it had that same up-close and personal feel I
liked about Louisville Slugger. I enjoyed the surprising stop-- the most
memorable tour where I never saw anything.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-74961567122251810022012-07-08T08:21:00.000-07:002012-07-22T08:04:44.156-07:00All-Star Game Road TripAs the Major League Baseball All-Star Game approaches Kansas City, just a short drive from my house, I actually wish I were 5 hours away. Not because I don't want to be near it. I LOVE baseball! I played softball for years and must make at least one MLB game and a handful of local baseball games each summer in order to get my fix.<br />
<br />
But from a marketing stand-point, I would like to be just on the edge of St. Louis. Multiples of me at the intersections of major interstates coming from the east, north, and south to funnel onto I-70. Me at a roadside stand hawking <i>Driving Across Missouri: A Guide to I-70 <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Driving-Across-Missouri-Guide-I-70/dp/0700616977">http://www.amazon.com/Driving-Across-Missouri-Guide-I-70/dp/0700616977</a></i>. Me, dressed in Royal blue and a tad of Cardinal red (since I'd be on Cardinal territory), yelling out to baseball fans from around the country-- "Don't wait until the National anthem to start your fun! Start at mile 234!" <br />
<br />
Of course, I should have just added another 2 billboards to the dominoes along the route: Billboard 1: "Do you know what happened at mile 119?" Next Billboard: (a cheesy picture of Ted and I smiling and holding our book) "Read our book and you'll find out!"<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Ted has set up his stands on the opposite field, the border of Colorado and Kansas, and is hawking his Kansas book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Driving-Across-Kansas-Guide-I-70/dp/0700612602">http://www.amazon.com/Driving-Across-Kansas-Guide-I-70/dp/0700612602</a> along with some Cracker Jacks for the game. Together we have surrounded east and westbound fans-- covered all our bases, moved in for the bunt, and oiled our glove. <br />
<br />LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-69561540481918528392012-06-30T16:12:00.000-07:002012-06-30T21:03:29.446-07:00Transcendentalist Road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
On a recent trip to Boston, my family and I decided that the literary town of Concord was just too close to ignore. One rental car later and we were cruising down Interstate 93 towards the hometown of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Louisa May Alcott. (Is there an ordinance that writers from Concord must be addressed by their full name? Maybe I'll start going by LuAnn Michelle Cadden- Nah.)<br />
<br />
As a Midwest driver, I always notice when driving on the east coast that you can't really see what is off the exits. Tree-lined highways hide gas stations, Big Macs, and any signs of habitation. In the Midwest you can see the golden arches rise a mile ahead above the cornfields. It makes me feel somewhat unsettled not knowing if we'll ever see people again. Will we really find a gas station or bathroom when we need it?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHFNKUgGrjdx8ZjilnhCrnYzpYkmk9I8KBRBLLXIt_RPvlOQ_eNwg0ABfoknS01AQ5tcbptqoHhHKHmG-pAXVIkJD0EgixLQgJmuwHx6D82CvJLSUujdXTkbvvMbDMdfZ_z1U33XY7gM/s1600/IMG_1155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHFNKUgGrjdx8ZjilnhCrnYzpYkmk9I8KBRBLLXIt_RPvlOQ_eNwg0ABfoknS01AQ5tcbptqoHhHKHmG-pAXVIkJD0EgixLQgJmuwHx6D82CvJLSUujdXTkbvvMbDMdfZ_z1U33XY7gM/s320/IMG_1155.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
A few curly exits later we arrived in mid-19th century New England. The homes were old and well-tended. Friendly stone walls surrounded front yards and although the roads were paved, I felt our horse power was kicking up dust behind us.<br />
<br />
Our first stop was Orchard House, <a href="http://www.louisamayalcott.org/">http://www.louisamayalcott.org/</a>, the home of Louisa May Alcott, author of dozens of novels, but best-known for <i>Little Women</i>. Although I loved <i>Little Women</i> as a young girl and still now as an adult, I also love to think of "Lou" Alcott feverishly writing her more sensational novels in order to be a female writer among a world of male writers. <i>A Long Fatal Love Chase </i>and <i>Pauline's Passion and Punishment</i> are titles that might make little women blush. <b> </b><br />
<br />
Alcott's father, Amos Bronson Alcott was a Transcendentalist who spent many evenings in the family parlor talking with fellow transcendentalists and friends Emerson and Thoreau. Transcendentalists believed in self-reliance and a spiritual connection with nature. They believed that education should be a communion of emotion and intellect. In Alcott's words each man and woman should have “an original relation to the universe.”<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_8eR-tYnCvMcVOAeqqROmHj2rSN6rj3OPO4ia7Tbbxn3zX0-cc0pIE_iIGmQQNGQXT3e6JP_Q6NUZA5Qpqu7Lxa2-3D3mc8Rta1VEN_6v60jPUroAsBiTGXodvlLL5Yxobw2cTKgdYc/s1600/IMG_1189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_8eR-tYnCvMcVOAeqqROmHj2rSN6rj3OPO4ia7Tbbxn3zX0-cc0pIE_iIGmQQNGQXT3e6JP_Q6NUZA5Qpqu7Lxa2-3D3mc8Rta1VEN_6v60jPUroAsBiTGXodvlLL5Yxobw2cTKgdYc/s320/IMG_1189.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
On our way to the Alcott's we drove past Emerson's home-- he was their closest neighbor and one of their closest friends-- just a short walk down the road.<br />
<br />
Henry David Thoreau helped the Alcott family survey the land for their home, invited them out to Walden Pond for day excursions, and taught Louisa to be a young Naturalist.<br />
<br />
The road to Walden Pond was not too far, either, nor was the road to the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery where they were all laid to rest on the same hill.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9i20bZSgUVaU9OyWZ514DdMnWYctf87KyrUo9NlrNnstxEbiMwKybRxcm-3GBWLkRb8k_iVAO5gXX9v7rW1ItZvfLNn5KyEEvaAGHXoidgYER9wCDr2-Bx_Jdz8wZYFeTa1JbJZTHZw/s1600/IMG_1180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9i20bZSgUVaU9OyWZ514DdMnWYctf87KyrUo9NlrNnstxEbiMwKybRxcm-3GBWLkRb8k_iVAO5gXX9v7rW1ItZvfLNn5KyEEvaAGHXoidgYER9wCDr2-Bx_Jdz8wZYFeTa1JbJZTHZw/s320/IMG_1180.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
As we drove the roads I imagined the families strolling along the road, throughout the town, around the pond and meeting each other for stimulating conversations. I saw Louisa perusing the books in Emerson's library. He was her mentor and told her that the library was her own to use. I saw her admiration in him as they talked of good writing and I saw her determination to pen her first book, <i>Flower Fables</i>, for his daughter, with success to make him proud.<br />
<br />
I saw Thoreau inspire Louisa to write her first book as he took her on walks in the woods and stirred her imagination with stories of fairies. One day in the woods she saw only a spider web, but he taught her to see a "fairy's handkerchief." <br />
<br />
Alcott's first book was inspired by Thoreau and written for Emerson. What wonderful links!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOXiDBknTzh6lUiBkS9ev33KY9SO7lRrUJdTM6AOewLNbLIAmCHOoxZYwIqVOSGlYNAfPHN1XbNfiiYa0hT3yYOlSkrwxlJSN-pYuBoJ_bBgnBfMG_ysl1fMfo_jhyFM7XVoMPdfTU0k/s1600/IMG_1168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOXiDBknTzh6lUiBkS9ev33KY9SO7lRrUJdTM6AOewLNbLIAmCHOoxZYwIqVOSGlYNAfPHN1XbNfiiYa0hT3yYOlSkrwxlJSN-pYuBoJ_bBgnBfMG_ysl1fMfo_jhyFM7XVoMPdfTU0k/s200/IMG_1168.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alcott's grave</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikrrSnsTJcYbtaPAsFlwCCSoFvfe65PV2ZRJKWqYbAZyFD7p7hUQxe9pMuMWAHAtYBNYrKeDK-ee7FVZOyp9J-eKMHbMuLrBEyKnvvWsePy6JXHq64ZfLJJPOQLGXumpJ0VwR8tIaySd8/s1600/IMG_1172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikrrSnsTJcYbtaPAsFlwCCSoFvfe65PV2ZRJKWqYbAZyFD7p7hUQxe9pMuMWAHAtYBNYrKeDK-ee7FVZOyp9J-eKMHbMuLrBEyKnvvWsePy6JXHq64ZfLJJPOQLGXumpJ0VwR8tIaySd8/s200/IMG_1172.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emerson's grave</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After we finished the peaceful trek through the pine trees around the Walden's Pond (which happily surprised my imaginings), we started our journey back to the speedy modern highways. As we pulled into congested downtown Boston I felt we had returned on a time machine. I felt our road trip had taken us from 1840 to 2012 in approximately 40 minutes. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EwtzxuvHZTotjt-dZIqYEZIILK-LDjq16LEaQ0RLd9zYGFAjl2ltnp0ricNeLX4zjGO2KG9aOLBqGzRZDhAlsUBRIKq3vL3YwPx1xS3Eh0Z-QidKMSHo8STHZDh54Cy_gAqai8znF9Q/s1600/IMG_1171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EwtzxuvHZTotjt-dZIqYEZIILK-LDjq16LEaQ0RLd9zYGFAjl2ltnp0ricNeLX4zjGO2KG9aOLBqGzRZDhAlsUBRIKq3vL3YwPx1xS3Eh0Z-QidKMSHo8STHZDh54Cy_gAqai8znF9Q/s200/IMG_1171.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alcott (closest) and Thoreau (tallest on far right of picture) share eternity on the same hill-- with Emerson just a few more steps away.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBTekGaRlm14lyykUx9pYQr7jPjRgPRdWeNO6h2M4SFtcFW-qWTpuX8CrOAELoyvKUne3v9t9Bi7uYpAbkMQOvl6ZD82v2109cJHFPPRgprn-5_Fx4_D3KDmoe_2SNIAPz-EZuMXJiB0/s1600/IMG_1176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBTekGaRlm14lyykUx9pYQr7jPjRgPRdWeNO6h2M4SFtcFW-qWTpuX8CrOAELoyvKUne3v9t9Bi7uYpAbkMQOvl6ZD82v2109cJHFPPRgprn-5_Fx4_D3KDmoe_2SNIAPz-EZuMXJiB0/s400/IMG_1176.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tree roots blanket Thoreau's grave</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-27947990912532120942012-05-02T19:18:00.000-07:002012-05-25T19:14:04.433-07:00Even Spongebob Goes on Road Trips<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Talk of approaching summer day trips and vacations
inspired my nine-year-old daughter and me to read<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Amelia Hits the Road</i> by Marissa Moss. Moss has a whole series
about ten-year-old Amelia. Reading the book is like holding Amelia’s journal in
your hand. I love epistolary novels (books
written in letter or diary/journal form.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Amelia’s
exploits reminded us of our road trips and trips that I took as a little girl
with my family. My brother and I often played the license plate game just as
Amelia did with her sister:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We’ve
been playing the license plate game for hours (or decades!). By the time we get
to the Grand Canyon, I bet I’ll see <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">all </b>the
states.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Like Amelia, I also bought a handmade Indian doll when
I visited the Grand Canyon when I was nine years old. I remember how cool it
was to pull off the highway to this dusty little roadside stand and purchase it
from the Native Americans that made it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One of our favorite parts in the book was when Amelia’s
family started seeing the first of many billboards advertising the “Mysterious
Place.”</span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Mysterious Place—30 miles
ahead—Stop and Experience the Mystery!</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Parents are happy that
the billboards will stall the kids from saying they’re bored for the next half
hour, but fear the exit they will pass as the kids point and whine from the
backseat.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Mysterious Place—15 miles to go to
this Unique and Amazing Sight</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Mysterious Place—Just 5 miles
ahead—DON’T MISS THIS INCREDIBLE SIGHT</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">4.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">HERE IT IS!!</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
the Amazing, Incredible, Unique, Extraordinary MYSTERIOUS PLACE—DON’T DRIVE BY
OR YOU WILL REGRET IT FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Do these billboards remind you of any you’ve passed
along the road? It reminded us of Wall Drug billboards in South Dakota and Bridal
Cave in the Ozarks. Of course, the kids in the book made the parents stop and
Amelia exclaimed,</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What
we saw next was so astounding I’m not sure I can write about it. The Mysterious
Place was—indescribable. At least, I can’t describe it, but Mom’s word for it
was “cheesy”—and she didn’t mean cheddar.</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There are actually many children’s and young adult
books out there on the theme of road trips. I’m talking about novels and
stories, not puzzle books and such (although <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mad Libs on the Road</i> is pretty fun).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The littlest road warriors can share a road trip
with their favorite cartoon characters. Spongebob, Mickey Mouse, Arthur, and
the Berenstain Bears all have road trip adventures. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Elmo’s Rockin’ Road Trip </i>sounds like miles of fun (grin), and even
the Mystery Machine heads out on the highway in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Scooby Doo and The Haunted Road Trip</i> (seriously—I am not making
this up). And for the beginning reader, there is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fred and Ted’s</i>(not Cable)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
Road Trip</i> by Peter Eastman.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Other road trip titles I found were the following:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Jackson
& Bud’s Bumpy Ride: America’s First Cross-Country Auto Trip</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
by Elizabeth Koehler-Pentacoff</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Popularity Papers: Bk 4 The Rocky Road Trip of Lydia Goldblatt & Julie
Graham-Chang</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> by Amy Ignatow</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Road
Trip (Diary of a Teenage Girl: Bk 3 Chloe)</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> by Melody
Carlson</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Road
Trip</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
by Roger Eschbacher (a picture book)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Road
Trip to the Parks</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> by Michael DiLorenzo</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Even celebrities have road trip stories for kids.
Henry Winkler, a.k.a “the Fonz” from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy
Days</i> has a book called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Barfing in the
Backseat #12: How I Survived My Family Road Trip.</i> Woody Guthrie's book spins a more positive attitude in the book that animates his children's song, <i>Riding in My Car.</i> The blend of illustrations and photographs along with movable parts and flaps make the book as lively as the song. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frRcDMGdTWM">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frRcDMGdTWM</a> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So on your road trips this summer, don't forget to pack some road-related reading for those little backseat drivers! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Ok-- one for the road... <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95W7cXehn6o&feature=fvwrel">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95W7cXehn6o&feature=fvwrel</a> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-50204459767951423052012-03-24T20:33:00.000-07:002012-03-24T20:33:32.323-07:00Maybe Next Time<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal">As the first spring breeze rushes through the windows of my home, I start planning weekend road trips. It’s time to start determining destinations and looking at all the territory between home and vacation spot. Getting from Point A to Point B requires careful research. It might be a beeline journey down the highway, but so much is to be explored on the way. Like hot fudge spilling over a mound of ice cream, I see the delicious journey expanding North, South, East, and West—maybe up to ten miles-- outside the royal blue line on MapQuest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I research every National Historic Site, campground, State or National Park, quirky artsy backyard, famous birthplace, rest stop, and roadside monument on the route like a kid crazy with the greed and strategy of planning what attractions they must conquer in a few days of Disney World.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But in the midst of the glory of my, “This is great—just 7 miles off the highway! What a gem!” the echo of a nerve-grating phrase re-enters my brain, “Maybe next time.” First uttered by my husband on a trip to southern Missouri in 1998 as we sped past a site that I wanted to stop and see, that phrase has made me a stronger traveler: more skeptical, more strategic, yet, flexible, more out-spoken, and most likely, more annoying to whomever wants to get to Point B quickly.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because we all know what “Maybe next time” really means. It means, “Never. Are you kidding? You think we want to really stop and see this?” or even on a kinder note, it just means, “We don’t want to make the time.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-8lFZVZkqdyoF7J_q5SrrwrQBhwL0SEycfyEF9QCm6RzxxwxgbZN3YR72nUyAwzCB0pWU9aNQCce9vYa8CtsUHSVss1tPx8EE4bbv5QWQjVUoWbOif4YSeo85HJMIhmfQgU2Z7Lm4ugE/s1600/IMG_0461.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-8lFZVZkqdyoF7J_q5SrrwrQBhwL0SEycfyEF9QCm6RzxxwxgbZN3YR72nUyAwzCB0pWU9aNQCce9vYa8CtsUHSVss1tPx8EE4bbv5QWQjVUoWbOif4YSeo85HJMIhmfQgU2Z7Lm4ugE/s320/IMG_0461.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">My husband and I were leaving from the Lake of the Ozarks after a weekend-long houseboat trip with my family and were continuing our trip on to southwestern Virginia to visit his family. Back at home I had done my pre-trip research and found a State Park that sounded fantastic to explore right off the highway, only a few turns from where we disbanded our boat at the Lake. It is called Ha Ha Tonka State Park and contains acres of wildflowers, some not found up north where we lived, and the ruins of a castle. But unfortunately Ha Ha Tonka only mocked me as we drove by with, “Ha! Ha, LuAnn! We’re not stopping!”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYGZ14RzB7i9k9GKBDS0A-5MPaIqVaMGCMuyMy-QCSafOtzSpYywWeJUEob4PbsOewIkdUirzOvYp7jYffMIx5KozM6GJt50J5a5rW28cb1RucCRY0qN9l8RB5OV1WUtH55z8Q8V7CS0/s1600/IMG_0432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYGZ14RzB7i9k9GKBDS0A-5MPaIqVaMGCMuyMy-QCSafOtzSpYywWeJUEob4PbsOewIkdUirzOvYp7jYffMIx5KozM6GJt50J5a5rW28cb1RucCRY0qN9l8RB5OV1WUtH55z8Q8V7CS0/s320/IMG_0432.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Unfortunately, the site was too close to our Point A. My husband was ready to hit the road for our day-long journey to Virginia. He was already in highway mode while I was anticipating a walk through a dry prairie glade after days on the water. As a happy-go-lucky newlywed bride, I reluctantly agreed that it would be a long journey and we better just get on the road and go. As we passed by the road to take us to the park he said something to the effect of, “We’ll come back sometime.” As you guessed it, after 14 years we never did go back. (But I did get there 10 years later when, for my job, I traveled there and helped lead a Naturalist hike along those trails and to the castle. Thanks, Kevin!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCfeGFK0geV03e-isRXEHYRpVA1uR6zC-bEYb9Tl1cNpoYocNPRUcJ8STBnNjKRevqqMXj8vc3hL0-aJ2sMbiBufbwZze4CTVh28RB03EMJ5EDF2A_iJYTcogd2CqpXSXwnF8bM9siyc/s1600/IMG_0464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCfeGFK0geV03e-isRXEHYRpVA1uR6zC-bEYb9Tl1cNpoYocNPRUcJ8STBnNjKRevqqMXj8vc3hL0-aJ2sMbiBufbwZze4CTVh28RB03EMJ5EDF2A_iJYTcogd2CqpXSXwnF8bM9siyc/s200/IMG_0464.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">But, I know it’s not just my husband that gets in “highway mode.” We all suffer from it time to time. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m glad we took the time on the way across Interstate 90 to Rapid City, South Dakota to stop at Porter Sculpture Park in Montrose. It was quirky, disturbing, creepy, beautiful, and the perfect place to pose for dramatic silly pictures. In Instamatic language, “We must have taken a whole roll of film there!”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxgSNidQvcCCdhZ4pUJOd32esQjzU2kvUxzplN5kKW9Jn0F9irYExHO0LUq0jBHT3dCIhNhyqj5STaR2aDO5CX89B2RbwnXT3J6yd5NopYSkmvmtCuMjPcu02D_q_pieusR19iYc33GQ/s1600/IMG_1915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxgSNidQvcCCdhZ4pUJOd32esQjzU2kvUxzplN5kKW9Jn0F9irYExHO0LUq0jBHT3dCIhNhyqj5STaR2aDO5CX89B2RbwnXT3J6yd5NopYSkmvmtCuMjPcu02D_q_pieusR19iYc33GQ/s200/IMG_1915.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ688qkZMeIXbxZzo_VZPhmPtBPZhvlo4uuzTlMOgK3eC_cVmCKXLVgr90hRL3T6rOeGRXrmIhtptOZOwsNIRXb1VRwGJg23aQwlmozfmPM15YCJnFstC_sTNQJey2zYsONgF40Fr10eQ/s1600/IMG_1924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ688qkZMeIXbxZzo_VZPhmPtBPZhvlo4uuzTlMOgK3eC_cVmCKXLVgr90hRL3T6rOeGRXrmIhtptOZOwsNIRXb1VRwGJg23aQwlmozfmPM15YCJnFstC_sTNQJey2zYsONgF40Fr10eQ/s200/IMG_1924.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxok0HRfyVeHerEu6KWWCqpiMiH9KiKeissBZ4ot8bHKQ4v8foNHJwWnFCM43TY6ltHoe4fH7Kh9ygUYCn7yari-_ZnzjYaVL3uxxwToWJJuw7FQAzfAQG2TOxv26bo_vz9itdTJmu2c/s1600/IMG_1920.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxok0HRfyVeHerEu6KWWCqpiMiH9KiKeissBZ4ot8bHKQ4v8foNHJwWnFCM43TY6ltHoe4fH7Kh9ygUYCn7yari-_ZnzjYaVL3uxxwToWJJuw7FQAzfAQG2TOxv26bo_vz9itdTJmu2c/s320/IMG_1920.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Being an Illinois native, I had to show my daughters the corn shingles of the Corn Palace in Mitchell. Even if the inside was full of tourist trinkets, just scaling the corny walls with our eyes was treat enough.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33t31HRjgfw4Om04lh698unKapQEPWXVN2zwtYQkbO0egBEYftDbgHcHL1IM0O0V5UUhOR68nkZp1dmcnASjNisIZZeDtPJFW8KGQNKU1fTgmQigTZCdIm26mBWd8fvaZrcKB_P-63fw/s1600/IMG_1935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33t31HRjgfw4Om04lh698unKapQEPWXVN2zwtYQkbO0egBEYftDbgHcHL1IM0O0V5UUhOR68nkZp1dmcnASjNisIZZeDtPJFW8KGQNKU1fTgmQigTZCdIm26mBWd8fvaZrcKB_P-63fw/s200/IMG_1935.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Why stay the night in a Rapid City hotel when you can stay wake up in a peaceful cabin dwarfed by rocky peaks that surround it? Only about 10 miles south of our route, Cedar Pass Lodge in the Badlands National Park gave us the feel of camping out in the wilderness with the luxury of a mattress and no set-up. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCikk0dpYndV20_nfjdPO3_0rjm_6-1HpmLCxORd0qqZB7DgYOkkoWtLOban7eY7_IZsdZNIdP-04h6dL5EwoTvMGWmxSsnHqU3BM5ol2ZHCae4cp2V2gvs-Ry38XFqaFfZzt3JxRspfs/s1600/IMG_1939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCikk0dpYndV20_nfjdPO3_0rjm_6-1HpmLCxORd0qqZB7DgYOkkoWtLOban7eY7_IZsdZNIdP-04h6dL5EwoTvMGWmxSsnHqU3BM5ol2ZHCae4cp2V2gvs-Ry38XFqaFfZzt3JxRspfs/s200/IMG_1939.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day we drove West through the park on our way to Wall Drug Store—another quirky stop all tourists to Rapid City are required to see.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIQ58iUzRMN89cyPj6gkJSGHd_JSI0-AC6QI-CukgrCAnxCtN2VJ7DxO2_sxjiDTvnj4a6amyCsq_50RtFMSGd2LLVuvXKuCcg2YbpUP2b6zf1jWJwvsLTn78eZ0MgUPmtFAjMgQPErA/s1600/IMG_1995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIQ58iUzRMN89cyPj6gkJSGHd_JSI0-AC6QI-CukgrCAnxCtN2VJ7DxO2_sxjiDTvnj4a6amyCsq_50RtFMSGd2LLVuvXKuCcg2YbpUP2b6zf1jWJwvsLTn78eZ0MgUPmtFAjMgQPErA/s320/IMG_1995.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">These days my husband knows me better and often indulges me in my brief off-road thrills. On your travels this spring and summer, stifle the phrase, “Maybe next time.” It might not be there next time. Natural disasters, a job move to China, Godzilla, alien invasion, and the dreaded Highway Construction all threaten to make Next Time, never. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This Time is the moment to have some silly educated or un-educated fun and make a trip a timeline of memorable moments from Point A to Point B.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-11262576587666840932012-01-07T21:22:00.000-08:002012-01-10T19:34:13.552-08:00I-55 By Train; Springfield to Chicago<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The week between Christmas and New Year’s my family visited the Windy City. In order to offer my daughters a new traveling experience, my husband and I took them on their first train ride. They were seasoned veterans on airplanes, buses, taxis, vans, and rental cars, but a ride on the Iron Horse was a new adventure.</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I pulled out my nearly complete I-55 manuscript to see the highway from a different vantage point. Initially, I got a radically different vantage point. When the train started rolling towards Chicago I realized I was rolling backward. A trip to the snack car and a seat at a dining table remedied the situation. The White Castle burgers weren’t bad, either.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Northbound by Day</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Checking my manuscript by the comfort of train was not only relaxing, but enlightening. I noticed details not seen as clearly from the road. The Northern Cardinal is the state bird of Illinois and I point out in the book that at mile 161 north, in Bloomington-Normal, you’ll see ISU’s mascot, Reggie Redbird, on a water tower. Well, on my train trip I was surprised to see another Cardinal mascot painted prominently on the water tower in Elkhart. Ah, Redbirds rule along this route!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">By train, I feel like I get a sneak peek behind the scenes of everything from commerce and industry to the privacy of someone’s backyard. We rolled past the back of Sangamon Center Shopping Center, past the Indian Hills subdivision and out into the cornfields. As we caught up with I-55 just past Sherman we started racing the cars next to us.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">From 55 you see the grain elevators off in the distance—the tall castles of the open prairie-- but on the rails you roll right next to them and glimpse them as would a freight engineer ready to fill up their car with corn or soybeans. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I smiled with sentiment as I rolled past the entrance to Funk’s Grove, seeing the Maple Sirup store, hidden by trees from I-55’s view. I was closer to the prairie that I helped plant here in 1995 than I had been in years. It felt intimate rolling right through Isaac Funk’s grove rather than alongside it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Intimate. The rails pulled me right into the small towns which I talked about from the road. With each station stop, I saw the downtowns which all look the same and all look different. Cozy diners with cozy names you’d never find in a shopping mall. Small lamp posts lining the street like decorative candles. American flags and old brick buildings. Here I was at each town’s doorstep just long enough to say a cordial hello and be on my way again. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I rolled right past the entrance of Exelon Corporation’s Braidwood Generating Station, the largest nuclear power plant in Illinois, through the tranquil wetlands of the Des Plaines Conservation Area, and into the suburbs of Chicago.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Southbound by Night</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We pulled out of Chicago at 5:15p.m. and sadly watched over our shoulder as the city’s skyscrapers disappeared from view. I was clever enough to score some seats facing the right direction this time even though most of the trip would be through darkness.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But the most fascinating thing I saw on the ride home was a spectacular light show right in the middle of the dark fields near Dwight. It’s not uncommon to see red lights blinking atop towers here and there, but I took a double-take when I saw my entire window light up with red dots at the same time and then go completely black again, then fill with red dots for miles and then go black in one blink. When I realized we had just passed Dwight, the light finally went on inside my head. We were passing the huge wind farm and fields of wind turbines.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Upon closer inspection, I could see that the red lights were in different spots every time they lit up. The blades were turning and the red lights were rotating in the sky. If it weren’t for my phobia of the germs that travel on public transportation I would have had my face completely pressed up against the window. The interior light of the train was reflecting my face back onto the window and distracted me from the total light show experience. As it was, I was pretty close to the glass and must have looked ridiculously like one of the kids we saw in Chicago who was attached to one of Macy’s department store windows. I do know that my older daughter responded with annoyed protest when I kept telling her to “Look! Look! The lights keep going on and off again! They’re red like Christmas lighting up an entire field! Isn’t that cool?” I’m sure she hoped that no other sane person on the train could hear my giddy glee.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The girls gave their new train expedition two thumbs up. The 9-year-old spent most of her time finding any reason to travel between rail cars and experience the fun-house-effect of the floor swinging one way while her upper body swayed the other. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">All to just have one more thrill walk from car to car, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">she’d throw away our dinner garbage one sugar packet at a time, use the bathroom, and offer to check the price of coffee in the dining car. The people in the cars between us must have thought she was a very small train stewardess.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The 12-year-old saw the ride as an uninterrupted luxurious reading session (except when her sister attempted to throw away her paper bookmark). </span></div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-24053055204630570912011-12-18T19:13:00.000-08:002011-12-18T19:13:05.575-08:00Book signing in Kansas City'Tis the season for icy roads. It looks like our first big winter blast will be icing I-70 across Kansas starting tomorrow. Luckily, the worst of it should be over by Wednesday when Ted drives east from Manhattan and I drive south from St. Joseph and we meet in the middle in Kansas City, Kansas for a book signing.<br />
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We're having a signing of both <i>Driving Across Kansas: A Guide to I-70 </i>and <i>Driving Across Missouri: A Guide to I-70 </i>at the Books-a-Million (BAM) in the Legends shopping center from 1p.m.-4p.m. Seems like a great spot, just off the Interstate on the border of both states.LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-38020046992807784762011-10-18T18:07:00.000-07:002011-10-18T18:07:23.088-07:00A Love of Lamps<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcqHff_Yl1pwsNN_30a6IlVu8Ed2tlmGiEdfQMnf4BlsKU5mXusbNS-Chyo4V9k8RrCBzhNqyGgwj0J42eeikkVscMccktGI1K-zBwFo6oTCnkbBi9c1usJYNraoSNw8hVesQsxxXA4Vw/s1600/Chicago+Y+with+Sear+tower+in+back.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcqHff_Yl1pwsNN_30a6IlVu8Ed2tlmGiEdfQMnf4BlsKU5mXusbNS-Chyo4V9k8RrCBzhNqyGgwj0J42eeikkVscMccktGI1K-zBwFo6oTCnkbBi9c1usJYNraoSNw8hVesQsxxXA4Vw/s320/Chicago+Y+with+Sear+tower+in+back.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wabash Avenue</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was in Chicago last spring, little did I know that I would start a love affair. It was a love affair of street lamps. Each street from State, Erie, Wabash, and Michigan Avenue had their own style of illumination. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAvIo7Zr45IeCz1zNDgiwyH4CRO7A9Du6_FOTG1-1zhk3BqE9G_2-c_F8BGdXN-QmPoYbxHX9Wc-yRRJXgTvGmEPZfeh5n6BcK7Zg8bUuzBnkXe6Kfg55JiHKMqOBsTknFnn4D6jkeMU/s1600/multibulb+chicago+posts.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAvIo7Zr45IeCz1zNDgiwyH4CRO7A9Du6_FOTG1-1zhk3BqE9G_2-c_F8BGdXN-QmPoYbxHX9Wc-yRRJXgTvGmEPZfeh5n6BcK7Zg8bUuzBnkXe6Kfg55JiHKMqOBsTknFnn4D6jkeMU/s320/multibulb+chicago+posts.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michigan Avenue</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So romantic, the candlelight of the city; tapers that stand tall and formal, whose single flames line the walkways, and ornate candelabras that adorn the table of the city where lovers can feast their eyes upon one another under the moonlight. Tall, dark (the post, that is), and handsome for me comes in the lamp posts of downtown Chicago. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EkpZaCvriRLunDh1MglgUcHUJIwxhbhhLnz9zKmh8F4LqT1q9L24-LaGPNlSgeo1a_kyrRpTwKXPN8U1XLme5WvAXHMTFxl1wJwaPkB2Y96GUgND-ZnsO1nAHRHyl1Op68mTVKgZHTg/s1600/closeup+gold+post.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EkpZaCvriRLunDh1MglgUcHUJIwxhbhhLnz9zKmh8F4LqT1q9L24-LaGPNlSgeo1a_kyrRpTwKXPN8U1XLme5WvAXHMTFxl1wJwaPkB2Y96GUgND-ZnsO1nAHRHyl1Op68mTVKgZHTg/s320/closeup+gold+post.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Erie Street</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Along Erie street the gold accents gave such a royal flair to the coal black coat underneath. Or perhaps it’s just the naturalist in me that loves the golden leaves swirling around the post from the Windy City’s breath. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The lamp posts along Wabash have the same Y pattern, but without the gold bling. Their simple strength lines the streets like tailored waiters, poised steadily with platters balanced above their shoulders.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> On Michigan Avenue, round globes circled the lamp like pearls.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8PqmkhNOrtWrzVEZtCwNp7Y9CW90SlHNA4KvJIDApYSKZPpWbzWsJ5oPAtPUalXA8PQM3yvwzV8nHoCm7giBuoDFnIsJfiIMMF7mDJuaVtlboR8rPmJPGcj2C4EEwtBvt2yl482n3jM/s1600/old+and+new+Chicago+lamps.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8PqmkhNOrtWrzVEZtCwNp7Y9CW90SlHNA4KvJIDApYSKZPpWbzWsJ5oPAtPUalXA8PQM3yvwzV8nHoCm7giBuoDFnIsJfiIMMF7mDJuaVtlboR8rPmJPGcj2C4EEwtBvt2yl482n3jM/s320/old+and+new+Chicago+lamps.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michigan Avenu<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">e</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Chicago just recently spent $25 million to renovate the lamp posts, in the mile stretch between Wacker Drive and Congress Parkway, back to their 1926 style. Architects Anderson, Graham, Probst, and White designed the original lamp posts whose Y frame represented the confluence of the north and south branches of the Chicago River. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYw2G-DrBUTpA9QNaeU8uHaWj9v8RjwS_T8uKvalmdsNim-EMQ82IBJH1f3T-k66iK7L6AhmncGr7iMVeXRymmTTL1MgxsO3Z2P8BQTHLy0fsVcU3KdDqzl2YCd9nVl8-cIPKd2dOlc2o/s1600/tall+cool+crest+pole.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYw2G-DrBUTpA9QNaeU8uHaWj9v8RjwS_T8uKvalmdsNim-EMQ82IBJH1f3T-k66iK7L6AhmncGr7iMVeXRymmTTL1MgxsO3Z2P8BQTHLy0fsVcU3KdDqzl2YCd9nVl8-cIPKd2dOlc2o/s320/tall+cool+crest+pole.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool Crest Miniature Golf in St. Joseph, MO</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHZ7UiauuPiMG_wmINpKGlcPjJC6xWgMbXa0LN2zqpauKUOfbNf5oAfZ6222QSsx4nzMerq5x4lvtp2TAB5k5sYl7os2SquH39wEBra2EQZoZESshJQs9mo9kflMYUpdMuy8XvYM5eak/s1600/library+gothic+post.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHZ7UiauuPiMG_wmINpKGlcPjJC6xWgMbXa0LN2zqpauKUOfbNf5oAfZ6222QSsx4nzMerq5x4lvtp2TAB5k5sYl7os2SquH39wEBra2EQZoZESshJQs9mo9kflMYUpdMuy8XvYM5eak/s320/library+gothic+post.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Along Wabash in front of Chicago Public Library</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In Chicago, my attraction to the lamp posts was like, dare I say it?—a moth to a flame. But it was just the beginning of my infatuation. Smitten by street lamps, I started snapping shots of bulbs on poles as I drove across the country on a family trip, in strangers’ front lawns, and even at the miniature golf establishment where my daughter had her 2<sup>nd</sup> grade field trip. While other good parents were snapping pictures of their child making memories with their classmates, I had my lens pointed at the interesting gothic lamp post that illuminated the ticket counter near the parking lot. It was a combination of the bulbs of Michigan Avenue and the Gothic background of the Chicago Public Library from Wabash.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRno6VkaV8lmeq4hTN2u_znPcGUXe0vF8EdQHyK2XRjYrgWvY9GMsoq0u5FE807YLZ_IfMaaFTH4YoFv5ropwz3_Fi8BfMJfgzBUeHlUDlxp711GQiA20GrptCNGHaqWV6GKEcl6ggKo/s1600/close+cool+crest+lamp.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRno6VkaV8lmeq4hTN2u_znPcGUXe0vF8EdQHyK2XRjYrgWvY9GMsoq0u5FE807YLZ_IfMaaFTH4YoFv5ropwz3_Fi8BfMJfgzBUeHlUDlxp711GQiA20GrptCNGHaqWV6GKEcl6ggKo/s320/close+cool+crest+lamp.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blend of Michigan/Wabash at Cool Crest</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY0NnUOiXz7Bcxr3sVfisoRn8H_CGNR2jPAElHfwG8TYjG3uzFYU1ChX3a7JZk6e3Wk9qGR9IjL1as2hDb6D2k0zuAKVMFFT0kYXDCsP2zxn0br3N-jdHvLm9xdGzAoYDvwCmdfWi330/s1600/bird+posts+and+street.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY0NnUOiXz7Bcxr3sVfisoRn8H_CGNR2jPAElHfwG8TYjG3uzFYU1ChX3a7JZk6e3Wk9qGR9IjL1as2hDb6D2k0zuAKVMFFT0kYXDCsP2zxn0br3N-jdHvLm9xdGzAoYDvwCmdfWi330/s320/bird+posts+and+street.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nakuru, Kenya</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As my insanity was mounting, my co-author fanned the flames of interest by sending me pictures of lamp posts from around the world. Ted’s travels illuminated my vision with even more interesting street light sculpture. In Kenya he found one of the most artistic street lights I’d ever seen. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">They were flamingo-shaped street light fixtures in Nakuru. Nakuru is famous for the millions of flamingos that congregate on the lake in Nakuru National Park. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPK3AGVfhPodHPHhNFbFtBdvOeXCMZ9x4OJ4T6L_eyp4Aq0ySV1GfOV3XC3QRjx-7Dhiop11AHXxchwTkHLmXccqfDLwEsWClK3fiEjlt4cB1qAXzXi6zBihzTrbBmkqhQEE6crIbIXU/s1600/china+bird+light+close+up.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPK3AGVfhPodHPHhNFbFtBdvOeXCMZ9x4OJ4T6L_eyp4Aq0ySV1GfOV3XC3QRjx-7Dhiop11AHXxchwTkHLmXccqfDLwEsWClK3fiEjlt4cB1qAXzXi6zBihzTrbBmkqhQEE6crIbIXU/s320/china+bird+light+close+up.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flamingo in Nakuru</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Back in Louisiana and Indiana we found more of the “Y” design street lamps.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4qdXuqjhf2_9mVgeLLjXDNbNpHTvdoJ5uYp1YfU93hZxhwdBGzXrArDm0Ik32LdCWiVuaep8cdNARHxqIDS24JEGWP5VFIYlhNqlPoD_EvmRpD0X10lzBcxtdy8Uat1w44RRcvQtE7o/s1600/Bayou+lamp+post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4qdXuqjhf2_9mVgeLLjXDNbNpHTvdoJ5uYp1YfU93hZxhwdBGzXrArDm0Ik32LdCWiVuaep8cdNARHxqIDS24JEGWP5VFIYlhNqlPoD_EvmRpD0X10lzBcxtdy8Uat1w44RRcvQtE7o/s320/Bayou+lamp+post.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shreveport, LA</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGi9FV1Umqn-XYHtRf_b4akdqnsoIEASuVI-lL2xwICdqoskaoU3beyWOvfz-xmTqrY8o-3Z0JRtAZESPJvqeSCrLx3SmS6SEgbXOxAyTn4XzD1giUh9W_E3eS5t9HkhkCsqCzeXsnGQ/s1600/Indiana+post.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGi9FV1Umqn-XYHtRf_b4akdqnsoIEASuVI-lL2xwICdqoskaoU3beyWOvfz-xmTqrY8o-3Z0JRtAZESPJvqeSCrLx3SmS6SEgbXOxAyTn4XzD1giUh9W_E3eS5t9HkhkCsqCzeXsnGQ/s320/Indiana+post.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evansville, IN</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A book on decorative street lamps would be very interesting to me—and no shortage of models out there. Sitting back here at home, typing away on my keyboard, I look out the window and see my street’s own antique lamps lined up along the lane. Street lamps make me think in black and white, of big cities and small down towns, of old postcards, of fedora hats and fishnet stockings, of Lewis’ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe</i>, and of short-stature simplicity and strength. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RACrTnFE-ZwlkPVNWku_UT5YfH5tpI7mA3aote5ARVNrAD8Yo6y2i6_1l_0ANCoraHHB-HX3sxQILDSEYsFxUEgVzCpm-J35Y7IBBcamscuGCSNP17K86-RWISFRnip7H8LF9MHM2Cs/s1600/downtown+Atlanta%252C+IL.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><br />
</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Atlanta, IL</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5ATaI9ow-EyAtq6W9wGldpFvkPp_i_ONP5TroI8VBLqQI7Z6QRXOvVlDYz13tUFA0LSPmCwKOW_-P0hiFeUYJee9RljUaoa1PB7MR46nqD7lx001aNJtZCObdjztHx5OS_k3MOGKDX4/s1600/lovers+lane+lamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5ATaI9ow-EyAtq6W9wGldpFvkPp_i_ONP5TroI8VBLqQI7Z6QRXOvVlDYz13tUFA0LSPmCwKOW_-P0hiFeUYJee9RljUaoa1PB7MR46nqD7lx001aNJtZCObdjztHx5OS_k3MOGKDX4/s320/lovers+lane+lamp.jpg" width="220" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lamp post on the lane</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> But looking out my window I remember now that they also remind me of home—the nights I’ve watched a soft snowfall glow orange in the simple lamp light or watched colorful autumn leaves swirl around its base. It is the candle outside my window—the beacon that inspires dreams of traveling and that brings comfort when I come back home.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-68577270210161905572011-08-29T20:32:00.000-07:002011-08-29T20:32:42.167-07:00Rolling Down the HIV Highway<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DoNotShowMarkup/> <w:DoNotShowComments/> <w:DoNotShowInsertionsAndDeletions/> <w:DoNotShowPropertyChanges/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal">POSTED BY TED:</div><div class="MsoNormal">I took one last glance over my shoulder at Mount Kilimanjaro. Flat topped, white-capped, it seemed to hang ghost-like above the hazy horizon. We turned onto hwy A 109 and headed west toward Nairobi. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This highway is called by various names. Sometimes it’s called The Mombasa Road, or the Trans-African Highway, or the Great North Road,<span class="normal"> but most often it is called the HIV Highway. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the thin, fragile and clogged artery that feeds and fuels the heart of Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road brings goods, including a stream of diesel and gasoline from the port of Mombasa on the Indian Ocean coast to the interior of Kenya, and on to Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi and South Sudan. Its not only freight and fuel that move along the highway, but the road “fuels” the HIV epidemic across all of central Africa. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They tell me that it is possible to move cargo (and disease) all the way across the African continent, even into West Africa as far as Lagos, Nigeria, on this highway. </div><div class="MsoNormal">This is one of the more dangerous and congested highways in Africa. It is not an interstate per se (it is actually inter-nation) but it carries the traffic of our interstates and yet it is only two-lanes. Can you imagine I-70 between Kansas City and St. Louis or I-55 between St. Louis and Chicago with all of that truck traffic, if there was only one lane in each direction? Well if you can picture that scenario then you can picture this highway.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hLxoDfdYWeF6hw3P-vBcEJ3jNDKH_UnGsuNSWqnpTyFAt2Avc5VlES8d06ma3nxVCWkVT5tYFKAFwylRyzmsnZI6XUgFsEtLStCXmJH_bNiqW6wovWuMI2-RQ92zcdWZVAkW_jYQmSQ/s1600/truck+lineup.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hLxoDfdYWeF6hw3P-vBcEJ3jNDKH_UnGsuNSWqnpTyFAt2Avc5VlES8d06ma3nxVCWkVT5tYFKAFwylRyzmsnZI6XUgFsEtLStCXmJH_bNiqW6wovWuMI2-RQ92zcdWZVAkW_jYQmSQ/s320/truck+lineup.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lines of trucks, most holding containers recently taken off ocean-going ships, spew black smoke as they huff and puff their way up the gentle hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They carry the goods that will stock store shelves in Kampala, be bartered for in open-air markets of Kigali, or furnish modern office buildings in Nairobi.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Although we had left Amboseli National Park behind, a “giraffe crossing” sign and several “gazelle crossing” signs warned drivers to be on the lookout, just as we have “deer crossing” signs in America. Sure enough, there was a family of giraffes, surprisingly close to the bumper-to-bumper truck traffic. This was no road through Safari Land. Four giraffes walked beside the highway with their graceful gait. (Giraffes appear graceful because, like camels, they walk with two legs on each side moving in unison). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Giraffes are often depicted in carvings and artwork as standing straight up, but as they stride along they appear to be leaning into a strong head wind or maybe they are stretching their necks for the finish line – so they can win by a nose. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Besides gazelle and giraffe crossing signs, many other surprising signs lined the highway. In Africa you never know what signs you will see along the way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, in the grazing and farming areas, dozens of signs announced, “This Land is NOT for sale.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all know about For Sale signs, but I had never seen “Not For Sale” signs on land or buildings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked my driver Ken why landowners post “Not for Sale” signs?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can’t that be assumed unless we see a For Sale sign? Apparently not in Kenya!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a widespread problem of deceitful individuals posing as real estate agents selling other people’s land or buildings that are not for sale. The owner, of course, doesn’t know that some unfortunate person just paid for the owner’s property, property the buyer can’t ever own. Land being sold out from under the true landowner has caused all sorts of problems (sometimes with violent consequences) for both the owner and the buyer, while the unscrupulous salesman disappears down the highway.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Other surprising signs along the way included the Serena Williams School (apparently she visited the area and donated a lot of money for the school so they named it after her) and the Michele Obama Grocery Store (President Obama is hugely popular in Kenya because his father was of Kenyan heritage. His face shows up on buses, taxis, and t-shirts). In Kenya, as throughout most of Africa, an exclamation point in a red and white triangle indicated an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">emphatic</i>, if not specific, warning to be alert. Hand painted signs often lead to confusion. Is it NU DESIGNS? Or NUDE SIGNS? Much like the Mail Pouch or See Rock City barns in North America, in Kenya most of the buildings were covered in advertisements – Orange for the Orange Cell Phone company; Green for its competitor, bright Red buildings covered by Coca-Cola logos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered if the owners got paid for allowing this, or maybe like some of the early Mail Pouch Barn owners, they just wanted a coat of paint on the barn.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Along the road, little children with their mothers in tow walk hand in hand to school, sometimes a couple of miles away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The brightly-colored clothes of the mother contrast with the navy blue or burgundy school uniforms of the children. Clusters of older students, also dressed in smart formal uniforms, lollygag to school. Many of the older youths also held hands as they walked. The children would invariably yell and wave when they saw this white person pass by in the car. Other women, many of them quite elderly, walked bent over with large sacks of produce on their backs. They were carrying their goods to market. Some walk as many as 10 or 12 miles on market day with these loads on their backs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked Ken why Kenyans consistently did so well in marathons and Olympic distance running events. He said he thought it was because at a young age they walk – and often run – to school. He said he ran up to 10 miles to school each day when he was a boy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuAPgejnv4jEtdkT-kjFr4RiV913vwu4J1N5S9g3Nz3zNUK-4A_Ya2ADFdXVKNRreFAtT-wPAW5VNY7kdpVioWoY32OQYahcucE7Kyg7ABPmbwdXXs5earc3up5OmN_8sfleFvEITzjVA/s1600/woman+carrying+goods+on+her+back.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuAPgejnv4jEtdkT-kjFr4RiV913vwu4J1N5S9g3Nz3zNUK-4A_Ya2ADFdXVKNRreFAtT-wPAW5VNY7kdpVioWoY32OQYahcucE7Kyg7ABPmbwdXXs5earc3up5OmN_8sfleFvEITzjVA/s320/woman+carrying+goods+on+her+back.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The remains of long-dead and destroyed trucks litter the roadside like the rusting exoskeletons of large insects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every few miles a large semi would be broken down <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">on</i> the highway. Lacking flares to give warning, truck drivers place twigs and branches in the road to indicate moving off to the side to avoid a broken down vehicle. Putting branches in the road is a common rule of the road throughout Africa, but I was surprised to see it in the relatively well-developed country of Kenya, particularly on this heavily traveled highway. Many of these broken down trucks had been totally overloaded. Freight would be stacked amazingly high, impressive packing jobs! A pick-up passed with a bed in its bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfRZ3w2Jki6Mgx73Dyo6kTIBJ2xyiEtgrKI2SaVOmli7P8RJSzZsK7P-UsR2bcEn1izPCSYN7TFjx4vnW9S4ocjVHe47NPUh8wd6YPtoftB57g0FBGH6Isc0rHYq28wH2ylCKByGIhdM/s1600/load.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfRZ3w2Jki6Mgx73Dyo6kTIBJ2xyiEtgrKI2SaVOmli7P8RJSzZsK7P-UsR2bcEn1izPCSYN7TFjx4vnW9S4ocjVHe47NPUh8wd6YPtoftB57g0FBGH6Isc0rHYq28wH2ylCKByGIhdM/s320/load.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">As we approached Nairobi, cement plants lined the highway. Rhino Cement, Co., Mombasa Cement Co, and many others, producing the cement demanded by the growing population and associated development. Suburban sprawl, business parks, buildings with familiar names like Caterpillar, Coca Cola and FedEx, and even the Belle View Outdoor Drive-In Movie Theatre made this stretch seem much like the approach to any major city.</div><div class="MsoNormal">In Nairobi, this constricted artery became a completely clogged artery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no bypass around Nairobi. This road, carrying all of the freight from the continent’s coast into Africa’s interior, passes right through downtown. Traffic lights and round a-bouts provide resistance, pushing back against forward movement of traffic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you imagine I-70 feeding all of its traffic into a city street in St. Louis? That is the situation in Nairobi which is why Nairobi is notorious for having some of the worst traffic problems in the world.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWEExF0eQblJxPYOEogW6HacNOEPTwcWf2_305On7Mi3HqGZWRrdiv6dTJLcP1XQajk_2LT1FG7TZS9uLXoFTQAZ8QxBLHM4D4rb-894GER55AqsMQa6_FO3o68dnx5nFDtezzj9T8bFg/s1600/congestion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWEExF0eQblJxPYOEogW6HacNOEPTwcWf2_305On7Mi3HqGZWRrdiv6dTJLcP1XQajk_2LT1FG7TZS9uLXoFTQAZ8QxBLHM4D4rb-894GER55AqsMQa6_FO3o68dnx5nFDtezzj9T8bFg/s320/congestion.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the city, Hadada Ibis and enormous five-foot-tall Marabou Storks, with wingspans exceeding 10 feet, replace the pigeons and sparrows that we see in urban environments. Hadadas and Marabous perch on street lights, road signs, and the tops of skyscrapers. Even in cities, Africa wildlife is spectacular.</div><div class="MsoNormal">After inching your way through Nairobi, you soon reach the rim of the Rift Valley. The Rift Valley is one of those places where the earth’s crust is being ripped apart.<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The Great Rift Valley was originally described as the spectacular geographic trench which stretched almost 4,000 miles from Syria in the Mid-East to Mozambique in southeast Africa. Today, the term Rift Valley usually refers to the valley of the East African Rift which extends from the Red Sea near Ethiopia down to Mozambique. It was into this tear in the earth’s crust that the highway descends. At the rim of the escarpment, </span>red wooden shops, with wood curious and white sheep skins on display, hang over the edge offering a free scenic view to entice tourists to pull over and take a look. Within seconds of aiming your camera down to the expansive valley below, the sales people accost you with their wares in tow. Through the blue-brown haze you can see two large satellite dishes that receive and send global communications, odd in that Maasi youth herd goats around their base as they have done for eons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The view of the Rift Valley is spectacular and from a distance the scene is placid, if not pastoral. But a closer look reveals blemishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clusters of white tents can be seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In January 2008, post-election violence displaced thousands of Kenyans. Several “Internally Displaced People” camps sprung up in this area on what are not lush pastures but desolate dusty plains. Three thousand people still live there in tents or makeshift homes with no shade, running water, electricity, or protection from the elements.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPc0IFS3zpVr826_MdZpnV-BaGLl9NrhgT8Di2d9Z6XkC5P1Qv9SgKrwwYuIG_n8GhJPNRDcntXwy74s3qwpwJBcRWxPbIvSUSg5Zbyi4l9yqW1OG5BlZ-qI4u-21NzxEtv91w9AurY_c/s1600/rift+valley.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPc0IFS3zpVr826_MdZpnV-BaGLl9NrhgT8Di2d9Z6XkC5P1Qv9SgKrwwYuIG_n8GhJPNRDcntXwy74s3qwpwJBcRWxPbIvSUSg5Zbyi4l9yqW1OG5BlZ-qI4u-21NzxEtv91w9AurY_c/s320/rift+valley.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The road winds its way perilously down the steep escarpment. Overloaded and poorly maintained semis, with long lines of vehicles lined up behind them , struggled to make it up the cliff face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact they would be traveling so slow that boys who had roasted corn over open fires could trot alongside the trucks and sell the corn to the driver while the truck struggled uphill. Impatient drivers would attempt to pass the trucks, chugging their way up the hill and willing to roll the dice on whether an approaching car is flying downhill around the next curve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Passing on curves is a contact sport on the escarpment. Debris from head-on collisions is a reminder that this form of Automobile Russian Roulette sometimes ends tragically. (See for example: www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmEHr60KDYQ)</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you are fortunate enough to survive the trip down the escarpment, you are released into the Rift Valley town of Maai Mahiu. Towns like Maai Mahiu give the highway its name as the AIDS Highway or HIV Highway. The truckers and other transient men, often from other African countries, stream through town along the road. It is too dry to do farming and poverty leaves many children and women hungry and homeless. With no other way of surviving, many of the girls and women turn to prostitution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact the only two sustainable and significant industries in Maai Mahiu are trucking and prostitution. The highway artery brings a steady stream of new customers every night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most striking thing about the town is the astounding numbers of bars and hotels for a town this size lining the highway. With thousands of truckers passing through and who knows how many women serving them, HIV/AIDS is rampant. One study estimated that possibly as many as one-third of all truck drivers along this road are HIV positive. Although Maai Mahiu may be the nexus of this problem, towns all along this highway have the same problem to varying degrees, hence the highway’s name of shame. Opportunities for vices seem to gravitate toward highways, even in America. The transient and anonymous nature of travel lends itself to indulging in such behaviors and there are generally individuals willing and waiting to profit from it, particularly when they themselves are desperate and lack other alternatives for income. But on this highway, the temptations, like the trip up and down the escarpment, can be particularly deadly.</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is here at Maai Mahiu that I left the HIV Highway. I headed south to the Maasai Mara Game Reserve where the only congestion would be among the thousands of wildebeests migrating to greener pastures, where the honking of horns was replaced by the snorting of zebras, and the only dangers were from the lions crouching in the grass.</div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-8516818568430497952011-08-17T14:09:00.000-07:002011-08-17T15:17:31.161-07:00Mile 78 Masterpiece in the I-55 Gallery<div class="MsoNormal">What's the difference between art and graffiti along the highway? There is a beautiful painting under a concrete overpass at mile 78 (best seen southbound) along Interstate 55 in Illinois that I enjoy every time I drive by. It looks like a spinning propeller or rectangular shards of glass spinning and blending in various shades of dark and light blue. It took time and care to create this professional-looking image hung in the I-55 gallery. It's no haphazardly sprayed peace sign or "So-and-so loves So-and-so" message. It hangs nicely under the bridge, protected from the sun’s bleaching rays and the scrapes of hailstones and tornado debris. I want to know who the artist was, why it was painted here, and why the highway department has allowed it to remain.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-21399440316777988892011-07-30T16:53:00.000-07:002011-07-30T16:55:13.371-07:001960s Road Trip<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In 1967, my grandparents took a road trip from Springfield, Illinois south to New Orleans and then west through San Antonio, Mexico City, Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, and back through Kansas City and St. Louis. At 7:15a.m. on 10-7-67 they pulled out of their driveway, carrying with them $1,000.87. They’d return at approximately 4:30p.m. on 10-27-67, coming home with $249.91. Only $2.45 was unaccounted for. During their 20-day trip they spent a total of $230.03 on motels, $123.74 on gas, $192.31 on food, $9.50 on tips, and $220.86 on gifts and miscellaneous items. They recorded 4 movies and 7 slides. They traveled 4,599 miles, and at 12:20 p.m., on 10-26, on a rainy Topeka bridge 109, on the Kansas Turnpike, their odometer turned 40,000 miles. How do I know all this? My late grandmother was meticulous in recording all of the details of their travels in her Stenographer’s Notebooks, and I had the pleasure of reading them. On her trips to Chicago, New York, Florida, California, and more she recorded every expense from a cup of coffee to a museum fee. Precision and care was taken with each day’s entry. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I attempted to keep an expedition expenditure list when my family drove to Virginia one year. It worked for a while, but then I forgot to add the extra Twix bar at the gas station or the groceries we bought for dinner. Details of the outgoing journey were written with honest and excited dedication to the task, but my hand and head failed to keep up to those initial standards on the return trip home. I wonder how many people still keep detailed records of trips. Is it a lost art? Now, our cars can record some of those details in trip odometers and GPS units, but I’m sure there are still folks out there who enjoy making columns in notebooks and filling in little squares by hand—the joy of flipping back pages and comparing the gas prices in Tennessee and Florida, checking for a fair price of a hotel by their past days’ travels, and tallying up how much they’d spent at the end.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">On their first day out they spent $26.48. Today that is practically absorbed by my family on our first stop for 4 hefty lunches at Hardee’s. Here’s a list of their expenses on that first day:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Coffee—Litchfield, IL .31</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Gas—Standard—Fairview, IL 2.70</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Lunch—Cape Girardeau, MO .72</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Motel—Travel Lodge, Memphis, TN 10.40</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Gas—Phillips—Howardville, TN 4.60</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Dinner—“The Flame”—Memphis, TN 7.50</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Dinner Tip .25</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m a detail person. I’m shocked at myself that I’ve only completed one of these detailed trip logs before. Rereading my grandmother’s methodical travel log stirs a new desire to try it again. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5983589970070024006.post-36212431699110273982011-07-07T08:21:00.000-07:002011-07-07T08:46:01.444-07:00Memorial Drive, Joplin MO<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6aG02ZpUDKLtH8BCPc_lSjGJMzyrDG5Z3gG-Nk_SrHOiqv_qBLBZlCDYPIXaosMsxp1LJMyhH1eGhK5Re8A4MKHRlN05kcodnK3z-XEuzmjf1fVZIpdOUOOYSe-TyfeJwpwFPuSfOr1k/s1600/IMG_7270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6aG02ZpUDKLtH8BCPc_lSjGJMzyrDG5Z3gG-Nk_SrHOiqv_qBLBZlCDYPIXaosMsxp1LJMyhH1eGhK5Re8A4MKHRlN05kcodnK3z-XEuzmjf1fVZIpdOUOOYSe-TyfeJwpwFPuSfOr1k/s320/IMG_7270.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7IVtzT_64Ebxiq_0kuGZFcqc3QIDjW3HBs81cvf7idL8kg2RJ4p4J9k7Uv-Gd0aRv6-yEhAtrladYElyXr6EHOruZfzHvyEgNQuMitjxX8l0i1Aw0CuTR38El_ANhnZB7EpZTCJATNY/s1600/IMG_7327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7IVtzT_64Ebxiq_0kuGZFcqc3QIDjW3HBs81cvf7idL8kg2RJ4p4J9k7Uv-Gd0aRv6-yEhAtrladYElyXr6EHOruZfzHvyEgNQuMitjxX8l0i1Aw0CuTR38El_ANhnZB7EpZTCJATNY/s320/IMG_7327.JPG" width="320" /></a>It was a sad road that I traveled yesterday. One of destruction, of loss, death, depression, and heartbreak in Joplin, Missouri. From Schifferdecker Avenue to 32<sup>nd</sup> Street to 20<sup>th</sup> Street, across Main Street and Range Line Road and Interstate 44, each street felt like a funeral procession. The May 22 tornado had traveled these same roads—an unlicensed, reckless and deadly driver that left miles of emptiness and pain behind.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWbN_K-97C8GEJDZ6qXFpR4LgL8YeZEBBs369QH_7wlv4C7L34MVaHiWIrNIn3Sj8G-Ao1dYpps-utCuTTAxo8qx0il6QnEGEGvAmcImdrHq6IzAHVTqlN8rp3ga6TBpj9UR2taEzeno/s1600/IMG_7292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWbN_K-97C8GEJDZ6qXFpR4LgL8YeZEBBs369QH_7wlv4C7L34MVaHiWIrNIn3Sj8G-Ao1dYpps-utCuTTAxo8qx0il6QnEGEGvAmcImdrHq6IzAHVTqlN8rp3ga6TBpj9UR2taEzeno/s320/IMG_7292.JPG" width="320" /></a>The twig-like trees stood out among the expanse of twisted metal and splintered wood that covered miles of land. They were stripped of their leaves, with trunks pock-marked where flying objects had pummeled them on their way by. But little green leaves sprouted in irregular clusters as they fought to regain their composure—a small sign of renewal in a ravaged land. Many trees had trapped the twisted metal of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">someone’s</i> home. They had captured <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">someone’s</i> quilts and blankets and held their shredded fibers like massive spiderwebs among their branches.</div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDDxbFmY3jcH20tvkkEEEGYcHm8Ny6FrTkgDmTodGX_SbVP35l1cHY2dl3FayQ1xGL4F4DvJ1raKqMl1d_ve0sWcObHTMN3pBdkS8Q30bZBpxT1HhINFFWTmB1o29jAlhuA_o6hL2DT5E/s1600/IMG_7267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDDxbFmY3jcH20tvkkEEEGYcHm8Ny6FrTkgDmTodGX_SbVP35l1cHY2dl3FayQ1xGL4F4DvJ1raKqMl1d_ve0sWcObHTMN3pBdkS8Q30bZBpxT1HhINFFWTmB1o29jAlhuA_o6hL2DT5E/s320/IMG_7267.JPG" width="320" /></a>The neighborhoods were eerily quiet. There were no children squealing playfully in their backyards. No one was cutting their grass or trimming flowers to take into the house. No joggers. No walkers. No postal carrier walking from home to home. I wondered where they had all gone. Where they were now. What road had they taken? Would they come back or could they never return?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5JQihCMRR_KQLYKxAQ3fmHWBeTDySgYjp1ku8Qm6QS5mARgNHouTsjjsJp8T5XTRyZjh-3eOKLdo6O9LmkE3WGgm82mm3PtL-uG6ZQUdEJAVnhq1R_5bYqkuauJyA4i-55AocRthGSk/s1600/IMG_7322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5JQihCMRR_KQLYKxAQ3fmHWBeTDySgYjp1ku8Qm6QS5mARgNHouTsjjsJp8T5XTRyZjh-3eOKLdo6O9LmkE3WGgm82mm3PtL-uG6ZQUdEJAVnhq1R_5bYqkuauJyA4i-55AocRthGSk/s320/IMG_7322.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_LsdOpRlLyV2hI9PXkMt8CGtNdrg5YQ8rqdBhshS4_G9lf1TsR6paqSuXojCdr70bq5l-h4x4eRNoJI1Bjvx_UmddYzGGuVzl96DjU5kayxcgnQuzu1dPjUKxwVpC-u6irQzeGxcFrY/s1600/IMG_7305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_LsdOpRlLyV2hI9PXkMt8CGtNdrg5YQ8rqdBhshS4_G9lf1TsR6paqSuXojCdr70bq5l-h4x4eRNoJI1Bjvx_UmddYzGGuVzl96DjU5kayxcgnQuzu1dPjUKxwVpC-u6irQzeGxcFrY/s320/IMG_7305.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>As I passed each forgotten toy or recognizable household item, I kept thinking, “This is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">someone’s</i> shoe, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">someone’s</i> jacket, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">someone’s</i> toy.”<br />
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While walking the sidewalks of a torn apartment complex, I saw a penny on the sidewalk—heads up. I left it- another small piece of hope for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">someone</i>. On our journey weaving back through the devastated route, I saw other signs of hope on their road to recovery— on the sign of Joplin High School, where the “J” and “lin” were missing, they had fashioned an “H” and “O” out of duct tape to create “Hope High School.” Spray-painted messages of “We’re ok” and “God Bless Joplin,” with the ever-cheerful Smiley Face accompanying them, brought a brief smile. Work crews who graciously allowed us to drive carefully through, and the smell of fresh lumber and the sound of hammers birthing new homes for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">someone</i> were hopeful sights and sounds. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzttekn_uM_8s_-88eNY6RYWL9zXgpkJXIL1NR8bUThcuY5wrtVIwYK7aVgo82wCi_Wr_g9BMu2Nq_13uN0kESQD6N6y0NLp5bornRzlTkYh_M0m3vHCMS6OQR1xZPhNaog1Lz6erhTo/s1600/IMG_7278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzttekn_uM_8s_-88eNY6RYWL9zXgpkJXIL1NR8bUThcuY5wrtVIwYK7aVgo82wCi_Wr_g9BMu2Nq_13uN0kESQD6N6y0NLp5bornRzlTkYh_M0m3vHCMS6OQR1xZPhNaog1Lz6erhTo/s320/IMG_7278.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGk-S3aCSQLdYDRKd6BPkC50KwhRIbpsHTDl6FL4MBhEu-HUFoyyA_dCAPETIbQqeqYVb3jIRsixjtA5nYde2bC5yWZLM4D2JLz3ECV2ySRqbpAquv7FDJwkj9oQd0Kj71WW2_HVgK0Qc/s1600/IMG_7315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGk-S3aCSQLdYDRKd6BPkC50KwhRIbpsHTDl6FL4MBhEu-HUFoyyA_dCAPETIbQqeqYVb3jIRsixjtA5nYde2bC5yWZLM4D2JLz3ECV2ySRqbpAquv7FDJwkj9oQd0Kj71WW2_HVgK0Qc/s320/IMG_7315.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
For me, these sights from the road were new yesterday morning and I was overcome with that initial shock and heartbreak that comes with being handed a letter of loss. But for others who had lived through it and were beginning to rebuild, the road may appear to them as one of Hope and reconstruction. Where my wheels turned solemnly and slowly, theirs are starting to turn with purpose and strength.<br />
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</div>LuAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10677337648463745286noreply@blogger.com1