Camping Renewal

Last weekend was too perfect for these parts. The cornfields stretched for miles, but with some roll to the countryside, it wasn’t a boring drive to Oregon. No, not THAT Oregon. Illinois has a little town called Oregon and that’s where my drive took me.

Past rustic red barns and horse farms, past a make-shift sign pointing to a blessing of the harvest, past so many road kill raccoons I have to make mention. Solitary but not alone, a two-lane road with so many motorcyclists you’d think they were all going to some big convention. I think, however, they just knew this weekend was one of the few left for their passion until spring.

As each cyclist passed another, they extended their left arms downward. Not being clued in to motorcycle culture, I imagine this some kind of “secret handshake,” akin to the cub scout or boy scout handshake.

On hindsight, this is an appropriate segue since scouts camp a lot and that’s where I was heading. Years ago when my son Jeff was a cub scout, I somehow got snookered into becoming a den mother. Of course trying to wrangle eight elementary-age boys into after-school crafts projects is like herding cats. Bless my friend Molly’s heart, she knew better and passed on the opportunity to lead. Her son Christian, my son, and the co-leader’s son, ring-led the other boys into all kinds of harmless mischief. I had fun but not at the time. Does that make sense at all?

Eventually, Jeff graduated cub scouts and moved onto boy scouts and his dad took over as a leader. At least on my watch, the boys didn’t try to burn down the forest on a camping trip. The boy who a attempted that was, as they say, “troubled.”

So, when Jeff felt it was time to introduce camping to Natalie and little Nicolas, I was at first reluctant. Fifty-seven year old bones don’t like sleeping on the ground in a tent. Ever the boy scout, Jeff offered up an AeroBed, clinching the trip for me. The other appeal, besides being outside on a lovely fall weekend with people I love, was Jeff’s cooking.

By the time I pulled into the crowded campground at Lowden State Park, one former Governor Rod Blagojevich closed last year due to budget troubles, Jeff and Natalie had already set up camp. Sweet! Minor items forgotten and a burnt apple cobbler in a new Lodge Dutch oven were our biggest issues. Small price to pay for stars over our heads, a roaring campfire, S’mores, great steaks, campers’ breakfast, and being with people I love.

America’s Most Stressful Cities and One That’s Not

Forbes ranks America’s most stressful cities. I’ve lived in several cities on the list: Houston, Cincinnati, St. Louis, and was born in one—Washington D.C. However, I am presently located in Chicagoland—Chicago being the most stressful of all. I can agree that driving on the expressways when necessary is stressful. I try to take Metra when I go into the city. Paying through the nose to park a car only adds insult to injury.

While I love all that Chicago has to offer after you get there, I have settled in the far west hinderlands of Chicagoland. Batavia to be specific, which is ironically the only Illinois city to make Money Magazine’s list of America’s best small towns. Ranked at number 56, my little slice of Chicagoland is a stark contrast to the big-city buzz.

Here in Batavia, the biggest thing going on a Friday night is the local Batavia High School Bulldogs game—a real Friday Nights Lights just down the street from me. Life here is simpler—farmers market on Saturday, volunteer fair at the library, arts shows, bikers up the wazoo (we are on the bike trail along the Fox River). My bank, cleaners, insurance agent, hair salon, favorite coffee shop, drugstore, and the library are all within a mile or walking distance of my place. That cuts down on stress for sure. Batavia calls itself the City of Energy and the local landscape is dotted with windmills, an omage to its once booming windmill manufacturing status.

So, let Oprah Winfrey celebrate Chicago this week as well as celebrate her 24th year in TV with what the Chicago media has dubbed Oprahpalooza as she takes over three blocks of Michigan Avenue for her show, throwing even more stress onto the shoulders of commuters. It’s okay. This is the City of Big Shoulders afterall, but I think I’ll stick to my little corner of the world.

Including Samuel (and Nicolas)

Including Samuel, a documentary by Dan Habib that is airing on television stations in the U.S, chronicles a family’s journey to include their disabled son in all that life has to offer. Samuel has cerebral palsy. My long-time readers may recall that my little (born Feb. 23, 2008 at 26 weeks—1 lb. 12 oz.—101 days in the NICU) grandson Nicolas has been diagnosed with cerebral palsy.

So, this film hits home. I’ve just seen the 12-minute trailer. I hope you will watch this film if you have the chance. I know I will. At least click on the link and watch the trailer.

Closer to home though, as I watch little Nic crawl around army-style on the floor, I hope for the best. Hope the therapists who say they think he will walk by “three or four” are in one sense, right—that Nicolas will walk—or wrong in that Nicolas will walk sooner. Mostly, I try not to think too much about what ifs. I know that human spirit can overcome some labels and that much is left up to Nic’s spirit and determination. He has been given a tough hand to play. Many are helping him but no one can really predict. Labels are hurtful, limiting, unfair.

And that’s why inclusion is important. Not just because to me this is personal. But because all of us need to know that we have a chance to overcome, excel, fly—to soar wherever our talents may allow us to go. To walk, run, swim, create, speak, heal, cure, invent, teach, and to participate in all the other possibilities of life.

Googling BedBugs

I put Google ads back up on the blog since I am trying to make it to my $100 threshold. I don’t write to make money, but I would like to get the few bucks Google says I have earned. However, I thought it funny that three of the ads were about bedbugs. Well, that’s because I wrote about the Poundin Bedbugs Playskool toy and the fact that Colorado State didn’t have their annual sofa roundup because of the little critters. I will try to watch what I write about from now on.

My Favorites on America’s Got Talent

America’s Got Talent: Guilty pleasure, manipulated reality talent show—that’s my take and I’m there. So far, I’m a big fan of former chicken catcher Kevin Skinner, aspiring country-ballad singer. If he’s genuine—there’s always a part of me that holds on to a bit of skepticism with these competitions—he has my vote. Then, those three Texas Tenors look awfully cute in their cowboy hats. Soprano Barbara Padilla sings beautifully, plus she’s a cancer survivor—she’s high on my list. Next week brings more semi-finalist performances. Hope they are as good as the last round.

I was talking to a colleague at work yesterday. She mentioned that she had a shop in an antique mall, something I had never heard her talk about. “Oh, yeah,” she said, “I opened it about 15 years ago. Did real well.” She went on to say that she’d lost her passion for the shop now.

I’m kind of like that with the blog. I still love to write and have no shortage of topics I could write about here. Maybe, it’s because I write quite a bit at work—different type of writing but writing still. I look at how long it’s been since I posted last. Yes, I’d say, I have lost interest. So, I reckon I’ll see how this goes. Maybe I’ll still write once in awhile, but if you don’t hear from you, you’ll know why.

Meanwhile, see how Andrew Sullivan views blogging in this Atlantic piece (warning: it is long).

A Childhood Memory

I remember this poem by Robert Louis Stevenson. Mother recited to me often. I found this page in a Dover Publication and thought it appropriate for a summer day.

Treasure Island might be more respected and popular as far as a RLS work. I recall reading that book for myself. Of course, this Baby Boomer will always have the Disney version of the tale in my mind. But, it is The Swing I recall when hot summer days take me back to my childhood memories.

A Blogging Anniversary

When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. Helen Keller

I’ve been blogging for three years now. The first post (July 31, 2006) was one day after my 54th birthday. Here’s what I said back then.

And here’s where I am now. I have a real job working for a nonprofit organization helping needy elders, children and families. I still wonder how much time I have left. It’s been over five years since the Big C visited me.

I still ramble way too much. I can have the attention span of a gnat. My head is teeming with untested ideas. I don’t write here as often and regret the loss of time to cyber-visit with readers. To recap, since 2006, I have moved from Alabama to Springfield, Missouri, and from Springfield to Batavia, Illinois. My marriage of nearly 37 years ended last summer. Lots of other things happened of course, but I’m saving those stories for the book.

So, the past year has been a year of transition, self-discovery, self-sufficiency, and soul searching. While I see the glass half full, I wouldn’t mind if it were completely full. As I flit from one great notion to the next, I do feel progress is being made, ever so slowly.

The best is yet to come!

Don’t Let the Bedbugs Bite

No “Good night, John Boy,” at my childhood home. It was always Mom saying, “Night, night, don’t let the bedbugs bite.

I just thought it was a sweet way to close the day. Later, I realized bedbugs are real. And maybe you have had an up close and personal encounter.
But Fort Collins, Colorado, apparently does not plan to become a bedbugs mega center.
Colorado State University’s annual Great Sofa Roundup was canceled after organizers worried they might be recycling the little critters as residents hauled used sofas to a CSU parking lot instead of dumping them in alleys at the end of summer leases.

However, when I came across a toy with a bedbugs theme, I had to get it for Nicolas as I gradually build up a Gramma stash of little guy accoutrements.

A Patriotic Rocky Road to Recovery

What better than a cone of ice cream to celebrate the Fourth of July? I found a new flavor of Edy’s ice cream at the grocery store today.

What caught my eye in addition to the patriotic colors was the little product note on the back.

At Edy’s®, we have a history of lifting spirits. In 1929, we introduced a new flavor of ice cream to bring a smile to people during the dark days of the Great Depression. That flavor was Rocky Road. Now 80 years later, we’re at it again. To brighten the summer, Edy’s is proud to unveil a new Slow Churned® Light Ice Cream Limited Edition Flavor: Red, White & No More Blues!

I’ll let you know what we think, but I’d be surprised if I didn’t like it.

The Edy’s folks are doing their part to further economic recovery. Now, go out and buy something. That’s is if you still have a job.

Defining Moments

I hate labels. No, not the kind on food or medicine, which are practical and helpful except when they are deceptive.

The labels I hate are the kind applied to people. Mostly, I hate them because they do not define a person, only a condition, or at least what some expert seems to think is the condition. So what.

Somewhere along the line someone said I was shy. Is that bad? We introverts are supposed to extroverts. That is the norm. It took me some time to say, “You’re OK. I’m OK.”

As is the case often these days, my fractured mind took me off course. The excerpt below is what got me to thinking about labels. Dear Gentle Readers of some standing may remember my grandson Nic’s extremely early arrival into this world at 26 weeks, 1 pound and 12 ounces in February 2008. Then as now, we worried how these circumstances might impact his life.

While Nic has already overcome many hurdles, he has his work cut out for him. Of course, he is not alone in his journey. In addition to family, Nic has an army of specialists and experts on Team Nic. Here’s what Nic’s mom had to say recently,

We have been worried with the continued stiffness that Nic has in his legs, feet and pelvis. Upon several expert suggestions, we decided to take Nic to Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago to see a pediatric physiatrist, who specializes in whole body movement. Nic hasn't been able to sit up on the floor by himself because the tightness makes him fall to one side or throw himself backward. It also can make him “slouch” when sitting in a highchair. The physiatrist confirmed what we thought, which is that Nicolas has Cerebral Palsy in the form of spastic diplegia. This means that the legs are primarily affected, and also minimal tightness in the arms. This type of CP does not usually affect the cognitive or social abilities of the kids who have it, and does not get worse. CP is a condition that you are born with and that does not progress. Right now we know that the brain trauma he suffered after premature birth is causing his brain to send chemicals to his legs to make them stiff. Although it is hard to have your child labeled like this when he is so perfect in your eyes, we know that CP has a wide range of effects, from very mild to severe. Right now the doctor classifies his as mild.

We are going to have to help Nic continue to work hard to stretch and loosen these muscles in order for him to be able to sit up and eventually walk. That is a scary proposition for any parent to be told that your child may not walk. But, we have great faith in Nic’s abilities and are so proud of his determination so far. He already is exercising and stretching himself and helping himself make progress. I already can’t help but think of him as a tough guy and look at other kids differently because they don’t work as hard as he does. I’m sure that will always be the case.

Other things that we will be doing to try to help him progress is adding PT for a second time a week, starting Occupational Therapy, and also adding Aquatic Therapy once a week. Yes, Nic is going to get more pool time! He loved his first swimming class with Jeff at the Rush-Copley Healthplex, but now he will be trying therapy in the water one-on-one with a PT. I think he will really like this and we will continue to feed his love for the water. This weekend he used his baby pool on the deck for the first time. We will also be using the braces for his feet and knee immobilizers to help him stretch and keep his feet in the correct position. There may be other orthopedic devices that we employ here in the near future.

Down the road Nic may also need surgery, Botox injections, serial casting or oral medications to loosen the muscles as his bones grow longer. The Physiatrist specializes in kids with CP and is going to help us coordinate all his care so we don’t get lost in a sea of opinions.

It is what it is. It is not what it will be.


NOTE: Lisa Belkin has a parenting blog over at the New York Times called Motherlode. She recently posted a wonderful piece of writing by David Sexton titled “Out a Breath,” which was about having a child with Cerebral Palsy.

Strawberry Pies Forever

Hey y’all marketing/pr folks over at Shoney’s, Frisch’s Big Boy, or Bob’s Big Boy Restaurants, I have a question for you if your alerts pick up on this blog post. What’s the real original recipe for your strawberry pie?

I have had a recipe for years that tastes pretty close to what I remember the pie tasting like. However, no fewer that 46 versions crop up when you search Shoney’s Strawberry Pie over at cooks.com and another 11 more if you search Bob’s Big Boy Strawberry Pie.

Some call for strawberry Jello. Others cooks top their pies with Cool Whip (do not get me started on Cool Whip) instead of whipped cream. My version uses 7-Up. So I was curious as to what is the real, original version y’all came up with?

In case you were wondering Dear Gentle Readers, I made a strawberry pie for elder son in honor of Father’s Day. Hope he likes it.

Batavia—Where the Biggest Crime is Catnapping

Batavia—Where the Biggest Crime is Catnapping as a headline was too good for me to pass up. The Daily Herald reported this story the other day.

Seems a neighbor lady got fed up by Linus the cat doing catly things like killing birds and chipmunks. According to other neighbors, this female vigilante confessed to them that she had trapped Linus with a can of tuna and took him to a park for release.

Batavia’s deputy police chief said, “I can’t recall anything quite like this. We’ve had issues where pets come up missing, but this has a bit of a twist.”

Apparently this tension has been brewing ever since Linus moved into the neighborhood and his owner said someone had even posted a sign on their door warning them to keep the cat inside.

The catnapper will be arrested, but Linus is still missing.

The point of my post. I don't really know. Just struck me as an indication of how easily little things can get under a person's skin.

Lost

College Boy has joined the Dharma Initiative a.k.a Fermilab, the world's leading particle physics lab. Monday was orientation and CB is amazed by the brainpower around him. With over 6,000 acres, Fermilab is a pretty incredible place environmentally too. We drove around yesterday when I picked up CB and found the buffalo herd. Nice. But we did get Lost.

Be Big

I entered this contest yesterday. You should too. You don't have to be a kid either. Scholastic is encouraging everyone to Be Big and think creatively about how we can help our communities. Go for it! You have until June 26. Wonder what I suggested? Just ask.

Delightfully Macabre

My latest weekend passion is researching fabric designs either online (today) or at my local JoAnn Fabric store. Blame the fascination on my attempt to combine quilting with my love of design.

I was struck by this fabric called ‘vida de los muertos’ by Alexander Henry and had a hard time picturing how one would use it. Thankfully, the folks at J & O Fabrics had suggestions for this “delightfully macabre imagining of the daily routine of skeletons.” How about Hawaiian shirts, bags, crafts or an outfit for Rover? And then, I found a link to the bib pictured here.

Maybe one day you will see fabric by yours truly.

Feeling Picky

Having delayed getting my Illinois driver's license since returning to the state, I finally read Illinois Rules of the Road. I guess we have a shortage of proofreaders.

Missing Montana

I have never been to Montana. I have it in my head to go to Montana. This longing is nothing new as it goes back several years, fueled perhaps by too many years living in towns and cities.

As a young girl, I grew up living in the country—rural Alabama to be precise. My dad bought 20 acres and built a house on the land after he got out of the Air Force. From the age of five until 18 when I went away to college, I lived there, roaming the woods unto my self for the most part. I was an only child, close to my grandpa and grandma, who took care of me while my mom went off to her breadwinner job at Maxwell Air Force Base in nearby Montgomery. My dad never seemed to be able to make a go at much we judge success by—the War left him wounded without the visible signs. He never was the same says an aunt.

So, with rose-colored glasses, I look back on a sometimes lonely childhood. But it is what molded me and I appreciate quiet, nature, and time for reflection. Maybe that is what draws me to Montana. I think if Montana is anywhere as pretty as the pictures, I might find what I seek.

Take Two Aspirin and Call Me in the Morning

Reuters reports farmers fear pigs might get “swine” flu from people. I must admit that headline made me laugh, but then upon reading further, I realized maybe I shouldn’t have. One Kansas hog farmer said he was banning visitors from his farm and anyone needing to be near the porkers had to submit to a sort of swine security clearance. A Purdue University veterinarian said, “Pigs get flu just like people get flu.” And an Iowa pork producer added, “It's a real issue. If the pigs get it, there isn’t much we can do. Water, aspirin, and bed rest, that’s all we’ve got.”

Last weekend when cable reporters were all over this story like hogs after slop (not that I think the media are swine), I dismissed the hubbub as more mass hysteria, whopped up by media with too much airtime on their hands. Could I have been wrong?

Here in the far reaches of Chicagoland, officials closed Batavia High School and a middle school on Thursday after suspected cases of H1N1 were discovered. The Batavia Park District canceled all programs and gatherings through Sunday for children, and suburban papers reported business at some Mexican restaurants was way off.

Over-hype or not, it’s too early to say. However, the economic consequences are real and there are sick folks out there. I’ve avoided the regular flu all season and just when I think the danger of that has passed, up pops the swine kind. As Rosanne Rosannadanna used to say, “It just goes to show you, Jane . . . it’s always something. If it isn’t one thing it’s another.”

Stamp Out Hunger Food Drive

Put this on your calendar, America: Stamp Out Hunger Food Drive is coming up. HSP, where I work, gets food from the Stamp Out Hunger Drive, which happens on Saturday, May 9. Food from this drive largely fuels our Feed the Kids summer nutrition program.

Lots of food pantries need your help. Simply leave your donation next to your mailbox and your letter carrier will pick it up if your local office is participating. Call yours to see. Sadly, some are not. If that’s the case, Google food pantry and the name of your town and then take your donation to a local agency who needs it. Feeding America has a pantry locator too.

What should you donate? Peanut butter and jelly (our shelves are pretty bare), hearty soups, pasta, pancake mix requiring no eggs, syrup, cereal, tuna, coffee (we never get enough of this), mayonnaise, ketchup, canned tomatoes, canola oil, oatmeal, juice (V-8 is my favorite), crackers, Ensure, and low-sodium or sugarless products.

No glass or expired products. That’s really all you need to know. Except . . . there are so many in our country who really do need food. I talk to people everyday looking for help. Shouldn’t be this way. Not in America. Go forth and donate.