Some news . . .

The Chicago Cubs are going to the playoffs !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Search term.

Someone came to this site yesterday via this search: "psychiatric care for Cub fans." I know how you feel, my friend, I know how you feel!

Who's that hiding in the corn?

This is a preview of the story I intend to post next:

Please think good thoughts.

You might remember May, whose cause you so generously supported not very long ago. May's dad, who also is a very good friend, is scheduled to have bypass surgery tomorrow, probably around mid-day. The surgery is expected to be routine and successful, but it would be great if you could please keep my friend Dan in your thoughts.

UPDATE: The surgery was both routine and successful--yay!

Have you met Popeye?

If you haven't, you should. These words of his struck a chord for me, and they may for you as well, fellow busy people:

I’m also starting to see how the pain of exhaustion helped distract me from other kinds of pain that were part of my life. It’s not as much as I’m “taking my life back” as much as it feels as though I’m claiming a life that I think part of me thought I really didn’t deserve.

He's a wise one, that Popeye.

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From another corner of our fine country, Raul writes about an evening of unexpected bonding with strangers that began like this:

After a few minutes a very tall girl with long brown hair who I would later learn was a Parsons design student, broke social convention, turned to her fellow benchmates, and said, "My God, wasn't today beautiful." At first she just got a few quiet affirmations,"yeah, gorgeous", "best day yet" etc, but then a young woman in a business suit again broke social convention and revealed personal information: "It was so nice, when I woke up I decided I didn't want to feel miserable about anything, and broke up with my boyfriend. I ditched him at 7:30 in the morning. He didn't know what hit him."

(Via Kottke)

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Sometimes the person singing a song is more important than the song itself. That is certainly true for Dustin. Listen to him sing:



and then read his story. By the way, he won the contest and will be singing the Seventh Inning Stretch at Wrigley Field in a few minutes, just a day past the 10th anniversary of Harry Caray's last singing of that hallowed song.

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Jay has done it again, this time busting the U.S. Treasury with looking to him (or a successful wager on the N.F.L.) for a solution to the growing national debt. That's odd, I thought Republicans were the fiscally responsible ones. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

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Because I'm better with pictures than words, here is a weekend photo for you:

Please, oh please . . .

tell me that people who are truly evil, who lie, who hurt others, who think only of themselves, will face some sort of karmic retribution at some time.

Please tell me this is true.

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On another note:


This doesn't mean I actually decided to support Kucinich--it reflects the results of this quiz.

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Petraeus wants a pony?

This is one of the most clever things I've seen in a while:

Via Susan at Kiss My Big Blue Butt, we see one of the slides General Petraeus used in his presentations to Congress last week about all the work left to do in Iraq, even though we are "winning" the war that was "mission accomplished" several years ago.

Susan then points us to the genius work of Cleek, who had some fun with this chart.

If you don't click and look at both charts, you'll be sorry!

Something strange.

Near the end of my vacation, I stayed at a pretty little inn on the western side of New Hampshire, near the White Mountains. By the time I arrived, I was feeling tired from a very long day of driving through northern Vermont, Canada and northern New Hampshire. I gratefully settled in for the tasty meal the female innkeeper arranged for me to have despite my late arrival time. Afterward, I wandered into this comfortable and lovely library, craving the opportunity to curl up on the leather couch and read for a little while:



I was startled to see that nearly every book on the shelves of this library is also found in my own home. Nearly my entire collection is here . . . from Ayn Rand to Anne Patchett, from Presidents' biographies to "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood." Even the small set of DVDs found on one shelf is a subset of the movies found in my home. This wasn't a small library, really--the book-lined shelves were on several walls. So, odd that I felt as if I were looking at my own bookshelves.

When I passed the check-in desk on the way to my room, I asked the innkeepers, "Whose books are those in the library?" And the male innkeeper said, "They are mostly mine. Why?" And of course I explained, but I think we both felt a little awkward about this, for reasons I do not pretend to understand.

At breakfast the next morning, the female innkeeper said how nice it was for them to have a solo traveler, as she and the male innkeeper are single as well and don't meet that many solo travelers. The male innkeeper came out to visit with me after I ate the breakfast he had prepared. He was wearing one of those white chef's jackets that makes every man who wears it look charming, but he would have been cute even without it. We chatted briefly, but I felt shy and wordless and did not do much to prolong the discussion.

My friend S thinks I should follow up in a friendly way, perhaps with an email forwarding some photographs I took of the inn. What do you think?

Oh, and if you are wondering who is sitting at the chess board, here is a close-up:

A Vacation/Political Adventure

As you know, I was very interested in participating in some good old-fashioned New Hampshire primary stumping during my vacation. As you also know, I had some trouble locating the Democratic candidates so I could do this--who knew that campaigning was best conducted in secret? Left with no alternative, I resorted to attending a meeting of a different sort on the last full day of my vacation: I participated in the Seacoast Republican Women's Chili Fest. Actually, "participated" may not be quite accurate, in that I was reluctant to give a dime to any Republican group, so I ate no chili and drank no drinks. Instead, I listened, watched and talked to people.

Here is what I learned:

Well, it worked.

I had hoped to come back from vacation with a plan for my life. I did, though not quite in the way I expected. Instead of a step-by-step plan for my career, which is what I had in mind, I came back with something different.

At work today, more than one person told me I look very rested and peaceful. I've taken many small trips and even a few lengthier vacations before, but never before have people said this upon my return. I spent a good bit of time today thinking about this. If I appear rested and peaceful, my appearance matches the way I feel inside, even after I was reminded this morning of a certain aspect of my employment which I totally despise.

Here's what I came up with: I believe I appear peaceful because I feel in touch with myself again. I feel a renewed sense of confidence that I will survive whatever life throws at me--I once knew this for sure, but had forgotten it. I know there are some things I need to do for myself in the short term which will help me accomplish the things I want in the long term, and I have committed to do those things. I feel more focused. And perhaps most importantly, I feel a zen sense of calmness that comes from knowing the things that bother me most right now do not matter in the long run, that I won't care about them at the end of my life, whenever that may be, and that things truly work out for the best in the end.

I think these girls, whom I saw while photographing a bridge in Vermont, know that:



And I'm hoping their photograph will help me remember it, too.

I'm going to use my last few hours of vacation

actually vacationing . . . but I do have a surprise ending to the trip to share with you! I'll write it on the plane . . .

Happy Sunday!

Sadly, the vacation is winding down.

I have reveled in the fresh air and the trees and the mountains and the interesting people and things to see and the delicious food in Vermont and New Hampshire. My only motivation for returning home right now is that I miss my dogs terribly.

This probably doesn't speak well for my overall level of satisfaction with my life. I have not yet spent as much time on introspection as I wanted to, but I'm hoping these next two days at Lake Winnipesaukee will do the trick.

Here's what I did tonight:

Arrivederci, voce bella.

As I drove away from Shelburne Farms today, there were tears in my eyes.



I was sad to leave, but the tears formed when I heard that Luciano Pavarotti died this morning. Immediately, I found his rendition of Nessun Dorma on my Ipod and listened to it several times. If you haven't heard it, please listen:



Hearing Pavarotti sing live was on the "Life List" I carry around in my head, and now that item will never be checked off. I'm sad for me, and sad for the world because that gorgeous voice is forever silenced.

Heavenly

Today was pretty relaxing. I didn't drive much . . . just to downtown Burlington to check out the pedestrian mall. There I bought my major souvenir of the trip. I'll take a picture when it arrives and post it for you--I'm pretty excited about it! While there, I also had a nice panini sandwich for lunch and eavesdropped on a man talking about where all the police speed traps are around town.

After returning to the Inn, I saw a video of different times in the history of the place. It is truly amazing that it was restored to this beauty after being in a state of near-ruin. I love old buildings! I also took a tour of the grounds. A math teacher was our volunteer leading the tour and she was a great guide. Dinner tonight was a special event. It was a "Vermont Fresh Network" dinner in which there was just one sitting, with multiple courses designed to show off the products grown right here on the grounds and elsewhere in Vermont. I enjoyed it thoroughly, except for the pig's belly, where I lost the battle of mind over matter. We were seated with other guests at a big table and it was nice to have actual dinner conversation after so many meals alone on my trip. And now I'm relaxing with the Cubs game and trying not to remember that I have to leave this lovely place tomorrow. I will definitely come back. I'm considering seeing if a group of friends would like to come here for Labor Day weekend next year, as it would be a wonderful place to spend time with a fun gang of friends.

More soon . . .

I'm not sure if there is a heaven . . .

but if there is, I think I may have stumbled upon it today. You never would have known it from the way my day began--early, with work obligations, which took much longer to wrap up than I would have liked. So it was not until nearly 3:00 p.m. that I was leaving my B&B.

I set off for Bennington, determined to have a quick look at the town and find a pleasant place for a belated lunch. Lunch was very nice--I enjoyed an open-faced crab sandwich at an old train depot with beautiful wood paneling. I quickly viewed the very phallic Bennington Monument, snapped photos of three covered bridges and was on my way north to Burlington. I had already traveled the eastern north-south road, so I chose the western, which took me over the border into New York. The landscape was rolling and beautiful, though not quite as charming as that of Vermont and New Hampshire. Before long, I was within 30 miles of Burlington, and that is where the magic began.

The sun was beginning to set. Finally, I understood where the phrase "purple mountain majesties" comes from, as the western mountain ridge began to appear purple in the shadow of the setting sun. At the top of a hill, I suddenly had the breathtaking view of Lake Champlain, lit until it glowed by the setting sun. I was soon near the inn that was my destination, but I did not realize it and accidentally drove past. After a few miles of tree-lined road, the trees disappeared and I was on a road just a few feet above the lake, with a shipyard on my right and the lake on my left. The view--of the mountains and the water and the setting sun--left me breathless once again. I gazed and snapped photos and gazed some more. Finally, I called the inn for directions, thinking my cup of magic was full and that I should call it a day. But when I went to turn the car around at the shipyard entrance, two beautifully delicate deer were in my path. I looked at them in wonder while they gracefully walked away.

I then found the inn . . . more on that later. But suffice it to say that if a person ever wanted to dream she was a princess, this would be an excellent place for that.

Aw, you guys!

Thanks so much for the sweet birthday wishes! Here is a covered bridge picture to tide you over until I post more:



It is the Cornish-Windsor Bridge, which connects Vermont and New Hampshire over the Connecticut River.

P.S. Color me annoyed: I tried to find out where the Democratic Presidential candidates would be for Labor Day weekend, thinking they might be in New Hampshire campaigning. I wanted to hear them speak in person, and for obvious reasons, they rarely bother to come to Texas. I could find nothing on their web sites about them being here, other than that Barack Obama's people would have a table at the Hopkinton Fair. I attended the fair on Saturday and searched exhaustively, but found no table. Imagine my disappointment when I learned that Hillary (and Bill) were at Hopkinton the day after I was there and that Barack was in New Hampshire today. ARGH!

What a wonderful birthday.

I awoke early, knocked out a bit of work and then hit the road. Visited a flea market about which I was curious. There I bought four baseball cards for Cubs players, which cost a total of 70 cents. The old man who sold them to me said, "You smell really good," which for some reason made me smile more than once today. I enjoyed talking with another old man about the baseball bats he was selling, which included an old Roger Maris model. We agreed that we both honor him as the true home run record holder, notwithstanding any who claim to have passed him.

Brunch was at a maple sugar place . . . it reminded me of Pennsylvania breakfasts when we visited my mother's extended family, which were marked by a holder with six different syrup flavors on the table. Even the coffee beans had some sort of maple roasted flavor. The afternoon was spent seeing how many of southern New Hampshire's covered bridges I could locate and photograph. A few proved elusive, but many were captured.

There was the smell of pine and the occasional smell of animals as I drove through hills and even one little mountain. The air became crisper and cooler and ultimately I crossed a river and entered Vermont. The curved road gave way to a driveway and a white New England kind of house. Inside, there were wood floors and comfortable chairs and a nice innkeeper with a faint New Jersey accent, efficiently showing me to my room.

After a brief rest and freshening up, I stepped out into the dining room and took a seat at a round wooden tavern table. My table was perfectly situated across from the kitchen entrance and a small bar, providing the perfect vantage point from which to watch the husband and wife innkeepers tend to their dinner guests. I settled in with the Sunday New York Times and enjoyed a few pleasantries with the couple at the next table. When I took my first sip of wine, I quietly gave thanks for all of the wonderful things the past year has brought. In my next breath, I vowed to make this year count, to be a little nicer, a little more thoughtful, to do well at the things I do and to squeeze the most living that can possibly be lived out of a 12-month period.

And now I'm cozily curled up in a four-poster bed, smelling wood smoke and watching the leaping flames of a fire and feeling the satisfaction of a day well-lived.