Roots

Somewhere along the way, I've forgotten my southern roots. I suppose that's somewhat understandable, considering that my upbringing occurred completely on Yankee soil. As a child, I remember fleeting references that hinted to a heritage beyond the New England states. For example, people would often take note of my mom's slight accent and ask where she was from. I never quite noticed it. Of course we made frequent pilgrimages to Virginia to see Aunt Becky and Grandmama, and they made even more trips to see us. And so I never forgot about where my mom came from; I guess it just never felt like my history. Grandmama died 16 years ago and thus ended our summer trips to her house where my brother and I would pick green beans and drive the tractor around the yard (crashing it every so often). I remember my mom letting me steer Granddaddy's 1973 Ford truck (surprising after the tractor incidents) as we drove the short distance on Route 689 from Grandmama's to US 460. Those are some sweet memories.


My dear Aunt Becky still lives in Virginia with her family, and as I hadn't been back in years and Andrew had never visited, we decided to go over Easter. We were treated to true southern hospitality and Becky's incredible memory. We spent the weekend laughing, listening and asking questions as we relived memories and created new ones. We had Easter lunch at the Peaks of Otter, a childhood haunt I hadn't revisited in years. The following day we hiked Sharp Top Mountain and were rewarded with beautiful views of Virginia countryside. And of course, we found a new friend in Pugsley (who couldn't love that face?).


On our last day, we drove over to where Grandmama had lived. I hadn't been there since she died. We commented on how the property seemed smaller than we remembered. The barn and garage were a little run down, and the trailer was gone, but the well cap was still there, which had always posed a challenging obstacle to our tractor cruising. We remembered where the grape vines and garden used to be and how the land sloped in the back. The garage and utility shed were open. I was hoping for the shed to smell as I remembered, but it didn't. It's been been a while I guess. Smells fade. But amidst the decay and relics of a life once lived, new life persists...

in dogwood blooms...

...and in a renewed connection to a history that is mine too.

[in the cement under the outdoor shelter]

[the barn my grandfather built]

[the garage/shed also built by Granddaddy]

The Wild Wild West

Mountains... hiking... skiing... views... fresh air... sunshine... sunburns... Elsa... Triumph... Wahoo's... friends... family... wild times.

Where Winter Meets Spring

My dear brother never fails to mention how fantastic the weather in Denver is (especially after a particularly long spell of dismal Chicago grayness) . And as much as it pains me to admit it sometimes, he's right. Tonight we head out to the land of mountains and sun, to embrace a Spring more mature than ours, and to steal a few more moments of Winter's most exhilarating activity (see below).


Elsa, get your booties on... here we come!

Self-portrait(s)

After being away for a week and a half, I almost feel like I'm returning to another world. Breaks are good. Andrew and I spent about a week in New Hampshire, and before that, I was in Phoenix for a work conference. Our little vacation proved to not only be a wonderful time reconnecting with family and friends, but it also allowed us some time with ourselves. To rest our minds. To relax. To visit with others. To be hundreds of miles away from work. To escape the demands of daily life. To read. To (try to) abstain from email and blogs and phone calls. Instead, we could just be with each other and our families in the most basic sense. Whenever I have a chance to do this, I get a little closer to identifying the kind of life I'd like to lead: one that is perhaps a little slower paced, that is defined primarily by real, human interaction, and one that leaves room for the unknown and unexpected. Communing with loved ones coupled with a little self-introspection: not a bad way to take a break.

Alternate Routes | Pure Michigan

I think I'm a sucker for state tourism ads. First Montana, now Michigan. But how can I help myself when in between phone calls and emails I am suddenly arrested by the lulling voice of Tim Allen (yes, Tim Allen from Home Improvement) crooning about water and sunrises? And have I mentioned that every ad is set to the music of the Cider House Rules soundtrack? GLORIOUS! I'm sold every time. We have taken several trips to Michigan since the launch of the Pure Michigan ad campaign and you can bet that I pop in the Cider House CD every time we cross the border. There's just something about that ad, that music, that makes me believe Michigan is truly pure. This past weekend, we spent two purely enjoyable days with friends lapping up all the purity Michigan has to offer.

At the Close

Over Labor Day weekend, we opted for one of those newly touted "staycations" and paid a visit to Milwaukee and then to St. Joseph, Michigan. We had been to neither and it proved to be just right for making the most of our long weekend. Our first stop in Milwaukee was the Miller Brewery, which, other than the free beer, left much to be desired. Actually, it was pretty embarrassing compared to other brewery tours I've experienced. I'm chalking it up to an "off day". In any case, at least Andrew got some good photos.




Michigan was our final hurrah of summer. Beaches. Sunburns. Swimming. Reading. Picnics. Perfect.

We bid Summer adieu, and while I will miss the long, warm days, Fall is my season and I beckon it with anticipation. I recently read a reflection by someone who thought Fall should mark the New Year. I couldn't agree more. There is a newness in the crisp air... a chance to start over... again.

Alternate Routes | Big Sky Country

Montana. I want to go. I think there's some kind of irony in the fact that when you're young and relatively free of responsibilities, you're also relatively free of cash. These are the times when I'd like to pick up and go, and lately, I've had a hankering to hightail it out to Montana. There's something about the open air, beautiful wildlife, rustic cabins, big skies and big mountains that's calling me. I want to rent a little cabin for the week, hike by day and campfire by night. I want to go on a pack trip, where it's me and my horse and the path ahead. I want to breathe the mountain air, feel the sun on my back and head out into the unknown.

All this to say, I certainly don't feel starved for adventure or beauty (albeit of a different kind) in Chicago. Chicago is absolutely wonderful in the summer, and in some ways, I'm happy to stay put for these few precious months. But I can't help but feel drawn to a new place in which I can get lost between blades of grass and mountain paths.


In this "Alternate Routes" series, I hope to explore new places, destinations, things to do and things to see. Some may simply remain on a Wish List until I retire or win the lottery, while I imagine others will be readily available and attainable. Through it all, I hope to diverge from the main paths ahead and breathe new life along the way.

Water

"...Amazing grace, oh how sweet the sound
There was glory in the air, there was dinner on the ground
And my sins which were many, were washed away and gone
Along with a buffalo nickel I forgot to leave at home
But that seemed like such a small, small price to pay
For the blessed peace of mind that came to me that day
And it was down with the old man, up with the new
Raised to walk in the way of light and truth
I didn't see no angels, just a few saints on the shore
But I felt like a newborn baby, cradled up in the arms of the Lord
This road is long and dusty, sometimes the soul it must be cleansed
And I long to feel that water, rushing over me again."

-from "Baptism" by Kenny Chesney

Congratulations, Ian. We love you. (And you too, Alexander and Charlotte!)

Matt & Annie

I've been friends with Matt and his twin sister, Jessica, since junior year of high school. Over the years our families have become friends and they are the kind of people I know I'll never lose touch with. And so, this past weekend, we headed out to West Palm Beach for Matt and Annie's wedding. It was a great time to relax, escape Chicago weather, see my parents, reconnect with old high school friends and celebrate a new marriage.

The Party Bus. Yep, it's a party on a bus.

Jess and Amy

No comment.

Emily and Jessica (sisters of the groom)

Speaking of the groom...

His lovely bride, Annie

Maid of Honor, Becky

Oceanside reception at the Hilton

Their first dance was to The Luckiest by Ben Folds Five, except that it was really Matt singing. He surprised Annie (and the rest of us) and recorded himself. Wish I had that on video...

1 + 1

Perhaps the only thing better than seeing two of your dearest friends get married is to see them marry each other. Andrew and I feel honored not just to have been a part of Sarah and TK's wedding, but to be a part of their lives. The wedding day exemplified all that a wedding should be: a beautiful, inspirational manifestation of love and commitment, and a vivid reminder of the blessing of friendship... truly the stuff of life.