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.

Boston to Bedford, N.H.

I'll fill in some details later, but here is what I have done so far:

• Actually make a 6:55 a.m. flight, albeit with very little sleep
• experienced first flight delay due to plane malfunction in quite some time
  
• land in Boston and spend first 30 minutes on a call for my civil rights organization
• find my rental car place (not the airport one--the city center location was much cheaper)
• begin driving to New Hampshire, veering off for a detour when I saw the main highway was an unpleasant parking lot
• find the inn with very little trouble, enjoying the quaint New England houses along the way
  
• find myself in the middle of a wedding at the inn (literally)
• tear myself away from a comfortable, homey room to go to a New Hampshire Fisher Cats game
• attended game at a nice little park where they serve "Chowdah"
• explored downtown Manchester, N.H. for just a bit
• ensconced in comfortable bed back at the Inn, and no way am I having a wakeup call--nibbling warm cookies left by Inn staff

Happy Labor Day, all!

Writing from Lubbock, Texas . . .

. . . where I wish I had brought a camera, as I have seen so many things I would love to photograph. Also, I feel as if I have entered a mysterious land in which it is still 1950.

Why? Many reasons. Among them:

(1) desperate for morning caffeine, I entered "Starbucks" into my rental car's navigation system, which revealed two locations 5 and 7 miles away and a third 102 miles away;

(2) people ride bikes around town while wearing normal clothes, rather than skin tight biking outfits like those found in the Tour de France;

(3) locals do not lock their car doors and even consider leaving their keys in the car;

(4) the Hertz shuttle service takes a person approximately 100 yards from the airport to the parking lot found just downhill; and

(5) when a handsome manager employed by one's client is assigned after dinner to help the out-of-town attorney locate her hotel, he looks puzzled to find her in the driver's seat of her own rental car, intending to drive herself with him as a passenger.*

*If you're wondering, the nearly 38-year old General Counsel for her state's civil rights organization cheerfully said, "Oh, you'd like to drive?" and handed over the keys without argument.