Images: (Mental) Snapshots from Vacation

Every year, when I get back from vacation, I always think that I will never be able to improve on my trip.  And every year, I somehow manage to do just that.  Don't get me wrong...the type of vacations I take would appeal to a very small percentage of the population which happens to exclude my own husband.  I don't  mind vacationing like this by myself, as he does not mind his travels to Vegas and touring baseball stadiums with a group of friends that does not include me.  We recognize that when we have a kiddo with us, the essential make up of our family vacations will change.  So we've decided that while future trips will include some (but not a lot) of history, and some (but not a lot) of sporting events, in the mean time, we will each get our fill of what we love most about our vacations while spending time together on long weekends until its time to plan our first family road trip.

While I love history, I also have a campy sense of fun that was born from my own family's road trips way back when, when we visited family friendly tourist destinations abounding in discount t-shirt shops and the sale of stuffed animals.  In many ways, I haven't changed since I spent my hard earned allowance (all of $15 saved throughout the school year) on a small stuffed cheetah toy purchased from a gift shop in Estes Park, Colorado, the gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park.  And this year's trip showed just how true it was. 

Ultimately, this vacation really is captured in a series of mental images that will live with me long after I retire the memory card containing these photos.  Fortunately, I can share some of those images through the magic of my trusty Nikon SLR camera and the wonder of digital media

"We're goin' green!" (from Twister)

One can be forgiven for thinking that this was not a very good way to start a week's vacation.  I had been watching the approaching north bound cars (the video is from one of them) and trying to gauge when I would run into rain.  The sky was a greenish-brown, which should have been fair warning.  Then I looked to my right.  Warning! The videographer who took this video does curse.

Along I-55 near Portageville, Missouri

I suspect the flash of silver at 3:09 may have been me speedily driving southbound, scared out of my wits.

Oh, the humanity!

The only reason that I ended up taking my trip when I did was so that I could head on down to Shiloh National Military Park on the 150th anniversary of the two-day battle.  Having relatives who fought with the 7th Iowa volunteer infantry and who were engaged on the Sunken Road during the first day's battle, I have often felt a deep connection to this particular battle, and wanted to participate in the Sesquicentennial celebrations here.  I was so happy to see the fantastic turn out for the celebration, including at least 500 fellow hikers who took part in the guided hike titled The Hornet's Nest: Myth and Reality.  Here's a quick summary of the hike.  The woman standing in front of the Iowa monument, watching the huge dragonflies flitting around, may look familiar.

The Hornet's Nest: Myth and Reality

The Illumination

When you are interested in the Civil War, you get inured to the casualty numbers of these battles.  There used to be a time when I'd hear a number and say, "That's the entire population of my home town."  It's just as easy to forget that the casualty list is more than just a collection of the numbers as it is difficult to really comprehend the enormity of the human impact that these battles had.

The Grand Illumination featured 23,746 luminaries set throughout the 11 mile tour road of the park.  Each luminary represented one casualty:  one son, one husband, one brother, one father, one life.



The luminaries ring the Bloody Pond


You just know this isn't going to end well

This week (actually this Sunday) marks the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic.  I was interested in this disaster well before Kate and Leo came on the scene, so I decided to drive across state to Pigeon Forge to visit the Titanic museum.  On the way, I happened to see that the Circle Players, a community theater in Nashville, was performing Titanic: The Musical.  I had seen the show years before in Chicago on its first national tour and was unimpressed, but having a front row seat and an additional fifteen years or so of maturity allowed me to see the underlying tension that simmers even under the upbeat and hopeful beginning anthems.  I cried.  At least ten separate times.  I am surprised the theater wasn't flooding by the end of the show.

My boarding pass (theater ticket) was for crew member Ercole Testoni, who did not survive. 

A note: If you are ever going to watch community theater perform a musical, you can't do better than seeing one in Music City.  Everyone in Nashville, apparently, can sing like a star!

Scooter is a professional.

I have no skill at riding a horse.  I would never attempt to ride without the benefit of a guide, and a docile trail horse whose sole concern is following the hindquarters of the horse immediately in front of it.  But on vacation, I try to make it a point to find a trail ride.  I've ridden across the battlefield at Gettysburg, which was amazingly interesting and fun.  I've ridden in downtown San Antonio, and the horse didn't appreciate my lack of skill.  But I've never had a ride so peaceful as at the Sugarland Stables just inside Smoky Mountain National Park, where after the first turn, the only thing that could be heard besides the clip clop of the horses' hooves, was the mountain stream that ran along side the bridle path.

My horse, Scooter, proved the consummate professional and politely ignored my insistence that he take a different path while fording the stream.  One of us was a professional, after all, and he insisted that he could handle it without my input.

Toni and Scooter.  One of these two knows what they are doing.  Care to guess which?

Summer bobsledding

If you've never had the chance to ride on an Alpine Slide, you are missing the most thrilling 45 seconds of your life.  The wind in your hair combines with the illusion of danger as you feel like you are flying down the mountain (though I doubt it is ever as fast as it feels).  Before last vacation, it has been over a decade since I'd had the pleasure.  And this time, I had the pleasure four times!

At the top of the run.

You just know this isn't going to end well, part 2

Before James Cameron came in and corrupted the vision of the Titanic, linking it (unfortunately) to romance and weepy sentiment (so that some people of a certain sex don't find it cool to even admit an interest in the actual non-Hollywood version of the events), I was fascinated by the Titanic.  I devoured books, movies and articles about the ship and the people and still love watching A Night to Remember, in my opinion the best movie that's been done on the subject.  I could recite minute details, and crew lists.  I was terribly pathetic.  So on the 100th anniversary of the sailing of the ship from Southampton, England, I visited the Titanic in Pigeon Forge.  I was impressed by a focus on the mechanics of the ship from building to sailing.  I was happy to see a good representation of passenger life from second and third classes, and workers on board ship in addition to the much more fashionable and popular first class personages.  Though the average person goes through the museum in an hour and half, I spent nearly three hours in the exhibit, and probably could have spent even more. 

My boarding pass was for second class passenger Ascuncion Duran Y More.  She made it.

Final note...the crowning centerpiece of the ship's first class public areas was the Grand Staircase, a replica of which has been painstakingly created in the museum.  The designers eschewed marble and granite for the floor of the opulent staircase in favor of a new, more expensive and more exclusive material.  Do you want to take a guess as to what it was?

Linoleum.

Are these all nocturnal fish?

My visit to the aquarium was brief as half of the lights went out.  While some of the tanks remained lit, the large shark pool did not.  Fortunately, the darkness added to atmosphere as giant saw fish and sharks swam overhead.

I am totally going to strike it rich!

After years of unsuccessfully asking my parents to indulge us in gem mining at one of the millions of tourist traps we'd visited, I decided that I'm my own adult now, and darn it, I'm going to find myself a gemstone!  I visited the Pigeon Forge Gem Mine, bought a bucket of dirt, sat down at the flume and sifted away, eventually coming up with lots of rubies (my favorite stone probably because I was born in July), sapphires, emeralds, topaz and garnets, among others.  I hemmed and hawed about creating jewelry from my find and eventually decided on something that I hope will be meaningful and beautiful: a three stone ring with a garnet (Troy's birth stone), a ruby (my birth stone) and a citrine (the stone for November, representing the month we were married).  I've held on to my unused stones, and one day soon hope to pull out three more to send off and be mounted.  A garnet for Troy, a ruby for me, and the birth stone for our son or daughter. 

I managed to do a lot on this trip, but don't regret a single moment (not even seeing the tornado).  Someday, we will return as a family to Gatlinburg to hike in the park, ride the horses, visit the aquarium, mine our own gems, board the Titanic (and hopefully make it off alive) and visit the local Civil War Trails site for a little history.  Until then, I will continue on making each trip better than the last (though I have no idea how to do it this time!).  Next up:  the Sesquicentennial celebration at Antietam National Battlefield in September.

Newfound Gap, Smoky Mountain National Park

Looking Up

In one week, we will have been live with our agency for eight months.  We'll still be in that oddly named place of limbo: actively waiting.  It is amazing to me that even though we haven't had any legitimate contacts from expectant moms, these months have actually flown by.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not immune to those moments of self-doubt when I feel like becoming parents just wasn't meant to be for us.  Sometimes it feels like we've been trying so long and hoping for so much, and have come away with so little that this is a permanent state and we will never be anything other than what we are today...DINKs (Dual Income No Kids).

The good news is that those moments don't happen often and when they do, they are fleeting.

Last week, I was walking on my lunch hour, preparing for my second annual (at this time, at least) walk in the 500 Festival Mini-Marathon in May.  When I walk, I spend my time ruminating about things.  Sometimes it's nothing in particular. This day, it happened to be about my prior experience walking 13.1 miles and oddly, how it compared to where we are on our journey to adoption.

I had been doing just fine until we hit Indianapolis Motor Speedway.  The banking made the 2.5 miles of the track the most physically difficult of the whole day.  I could have simply powered through and been in a much better mental place when I left the track had it not been for one thing. 

I looked up.

In the distance, hazy and far away were the buildings of downtown where the starting line had been and where the finish line was.  It looked so far away.  I couldn't fathom walking all the way back there.  It seemed too far for me, and once the thought entered my mind, it poisoned all of my good intentions. 

After leaving the Speedway, the going became tough for me.  I would continue to put one foot in front of the other, but the idea that every step brought those buildings closer was simply lost on me.  One step at a time seemed like a slow and difficult way of getting to the finish line.

But I made it.  It wasn't pretty.  I spent at least five miles in a mental argument with the devil perched on my shoulder who argued that I would never make it and I should just stop where I was.  Troy always seemed to appear from up ahead at just the moment I needed assurance and support.  And we finally looked up to see the buildings towering over us as we crossed the finish line hand in hand.

Sometimes, I feel like we're at the place in the adoption journey where the going gets tough, the goal seems impossibly distant and we've lost all of our faith that our little steps are actually carrying us somewhere. 

And when it gets like that, I am reminded that when I have nothing more to give, the strength comes from those around us, and their support keeps me putting one foot in front of the other.

We're getting closer with every step that we take.  I simply have to remember that even though every footstep is small, it is moving me closer to my goal all the time.

The Epicenter of Awesome

It is an exciting time here in Indianapolis.  The eyes of over 100 million viewers will be focused on the Circle City Sunday night as the Giants and Patriots face off in Super Bowl XLVI.  Those of us who live here know that the city will shine as a bastion of hospitality.  We are proud of our city and can't wait to show it off to the wider world who seem determined to see us as the city we were in the 1980's, the Indianapolis known as Nap-Town and Indian-no-place.  We Indy folks feel like we've known the secret about how great this city is for a long time, and now, it's about time we let everyone else in on it. 

And from what we're hearing, people are really enjoying all that this city has to offer.

But we're not really ones for hearsay, so on Thursday, it was time for us to go downtown and enjoy what everyone else has been raving about.

The city is absolutely electric.  There is an energy that is coursing through the streets, and everyone seems to be having a good time.  There was so much to see and do, our 12 hours downtown only scratched the surface.  Here are our highlights.

We pause on Pan Am Plaza in front of the ESPN broadcast studio

First stop was Pan Am Plaza where ESPN had set up their broadcast studios.  We saw Bob Ryan wandering amongst the crowds, Herm Edwards (who some people in the crowd kept referring to as Tony Dungy) hurrying to an appointment, and Rachel Nichols do a report live to Sports Center.

Then it was down to the NFL Experience in the Convention Center, two blocks away, where we attempted to show the Colts, and any other NFL scout what they were missing on their roster.  Unfortunately for our future football careers, it is unlikely that we will be the next Colts Quarterback, starting or back-up.  Maybe, when we have a kid, they will show us up.  Actually, let's call that probable.  Regardless of our future kid's skill with a pigskin, the Experience certainly was a place where a young one (or a young one at heart) could have hours of fun.

Troy demonstrates his laser rocket arm.

Toni's form leaves much to be desired.  And the result is an epic fail.  Fortunately, the onlookers were kind.  (Troy's photography skills mean he should stick with his day job!)

After our unspectacular showing at the NFL Experience, we went outside and watched a marching band perform on Capital Avenue as zip line riders soared overhead, waiving and cheering to those below.

Three zipliners ride high over Capital Avenue (upside down, mind you) with Lucas Oil Stadium in the background.

We wandered down Georgia Street, which is the home of Super Bowl Village with stages, ice carvings and more skills tests.

Super Bowl Village on Georgia Street

Then we decided to relax down at the Slippery Noodle, a bar and blues music joint just north of the stadium.  When we got there around 5 pm, we didn't intend to stick around all night, but a few hours later, with front row seats, we decided staying around for the 9 pm The Why Store concert would be a way to cap off our evening.  I'd never heard their music before, but once they started playing, the bar came alive, and our front row seats were coveted.  As it turns out, during the second set, a number of revelers decided it was time to dance, and they did so in the only open place in the joint, a small aisle right in front of the stage. 

Front row for The Why Store at the Slippery Noodle

As patrons and waiters were dodging drunken dancers, the crowd started to back up.  An older gentleman, who looked vaguely familiar, stood at our table waiting for a break in traffic.  "It could be a while," I said, which was invitation enough to engage me in a round of Colts trivia to see if I was, as I claimed to be, a true Colts fan.  At the end, he asked if the guy I was with was my husband.  I said yes.  He asked if he was a good guy.  "Absolutely."  Then he asked to see my ring.  Trusting Hoosier that I am, I held out my hand and he slipped on a huge, sparkly gold ring emblazoned with a blue sapphire Colts horseshoe, diamonds and the words, "2009 AFC Champions".  After exclaiming over the sight of this impressive ring on my finger, I turned it around to discover that the vaguely familiar man who I had been talking to was recently fired Colts Special Teams Coach, Ray Rychleski. 

Now THAT is some serious bling.

For those who don't know, I have a special place in my heart for the Special Teams, which I told him.  Then I said, "You know, I'm here in the jersey of my favorite player of all time." 

He looked at my number 17 jersey and asked, "Austin Collie?"

"Oh, no.  Hunter Smith."

That got quite a laugh from the Coach, who said (as if I needed to be reminded) that he never coached Hunter but he'd heard great things about him and that he still lived in the area.

Then he went on to lament his lack of a returner.  He wanted Courtney Roby.  Had he had a returner, he wouldn't have been fired.  I didn't have the heart to tell him that a returner would have only solved half of his problems unless the returner was also an awesome tackler to cover punts and kickoffs.  Regardless, it was nice of him to let me live vicariously through him briefly.

Our night ended early, before Jimmy Fallon and the Roots made a repeat appearance at the Noodle, but the time we spent downtown was enough to make me proud of, and happy for, the city of Indianapolis.

Maybe this is a first, but not a last.

Monty Boy

I was planning on writing a review of our weekend in Chicago today.  It was going to be a post about remembering who you are when everything is crazy around you.  We wanted to take the weekend to simply be a couple, not hopeful adoptive parents, prospective adoptive parents, or a waiting family.  We wanted to just be two normal people enjoying a normal life this weekend.

Unfortunately, all of the excitement that had been building for the chance to simply spend some quality time with my husband was dashed on Friday morning, when I went out to feed and water Monty, our Golden Retriever.  Sometime between when Troy had fed him on Thursday evening and when I went to him, he had passed away.  Our only warning that something wasn’t right was his loss of appetite and a little stiffness in his joints, both presenting on Thursday.  We had hoped to alleviate both problems with a little bit of wet food, something he always seemed to accept as a delicious treat.  Sadly, whatever ailed him was more serious than we could have guessed.

We’ve always been dog people and have been blessed with owning three wonderful examples of the species and our family has surrounded themselves with canines of all stripes: mutts, designer breeds, and pure breds. And as much as I love all dogs, if I had to create a breed that combined all of the positive traits of all the dogs I’d ever met and leave out all of the negative, I could do no better than God already had when He created Golden Retrievers. 

Goldens are loyal and enthusiastic.  They are curious but gentle.  They genuinely love the company of people.  I think that Goldens have two states:  excited and waiting to be excited. 

Monty was a particularly good example of the personality of the breed despite his skill set being decidedly un-Golden-like.  He was not fond of the water and would go to great pains to avoid the lake, the garden hose, or an accidental dribble from the water jug on his head, though he did have moments when he didn’t want to come in out of the rain.  For a retriever, he was uncharacteristically bad at retrieving, and while he was happy to chase a stick, he was exceedingly reluctant to return it.  He was a smart and obedient dog, but only one of his senses ever worked at a time.  It was not unusual for him to put his head down and start off through a corn field, with me trailing after him calling his name.  It wasn’t that he was ignoring me; it was simply that his nose was engaged and his ears didn’t work when that happened.  When he would lose the trail, his head would pop up, he’d look around and try to figure out where he was and why his mother was calling his name and chasing after him.   

One day, I went out to feed him and he greeted me at the trap door to his dog house barking loudly, excited I was there.  I put my finger to my lips to “shhh” him and said in a whisper, “Use your inside voice.”  He looked at me and then barked at half of his previous volume. 

I know that many people don’t believe that animals will go to heaven.  They feel that a dog doesn’t have a soul.  Well, I can tell you that I’ve looked into the liquid brown eyes of my Golden Retriever and I can say with a certainty that he had a soul and that it was innocent and joyful and kind and enthusiastic for life.  It was full of all the things that God wants of His children.

I am reminded of a story, which I believe may have been from Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone Episode, The Hunt (which itself may be based on an anciet Sanscrit text called the Mahabharata):

An old man and his dog were walking down this dirt road with fences on both sides.  They came to a gate in the fence and looked in, it was nice - grassy, woody areas, just what a hunting dog and man would like, but, it had a sign saying 'no trespassing' so they walked on.

They came to a beautiful gate with a person in white robes standing there. "Welcome to Heaven!" he said. The old man was happy and started in with his dog following him. The gatekeeper stopped him. "Dogs aren't allowed, I'm sorry but he can't come with you."

"What kind of Heaven won't allow dogs? If he can't come in, then I will stay out with him. He's been my faithful companion all his life, I can't desert him now."

"Suit yourself, but I have to warn you, the Devil's on this road and he'll try to sweet talk you into his area, he'll promise you anything, but, the dog can't go there either. If you won't leave the dog, you'll spend Eternity on this road."

So the old man and dog went on. They came to a rundown fence with a gap in it, no gate, just a hole. Another old man was inside.

"Excuse me Sir, my dog and I are getting mighty tired.  Mind if we come in and sit in the shade for awhile?"

"Of course, there's some cold water under that tree over there. Make yourselves comfortable."

"You're sure my dog can come in? The man down the road said dogs weren't allowed anywhere."

"Would you come in if you had to leave the dog?"

"No sir, that's why I didn't go to Heaven.  He said the dog couldn't come in. We'll be spending Eternity on this road, and a glass of cold water and some shade would be mighty fine right about now. But, I won't come in if my buddy here can't come too, and that's final."

The man smiled a big smile and said "Welcome to Heaven."

"You mean this is Heaven? Dogs ARE allowed? How come that fellow down the road said they weren't?"

"That was the Devil and he gets all the people who are willing to give up a lifelong companion for a comfortable place to stay. They soon find out their mistake, but, then it's too late. The dogs come here, the fickle people stay there. God wouldn't allow dogs to be banned from Heaven. After all, He created them to be man's companions in life, why would He separate them in death?"

You will be missed Big Mo.

Going the Extra 143 Miles....A Parenting Story

I promised this story in a previous blog post.  At the time, I called it A Mello, A Volleyball, A Plane and A Parent.  This story is all true.

When people ask me about my family and the kind of upbringing I had, which happens often as we move through the adoption process, I always tell them that I was lucky to grow up in a family where supporting each other was of the utmost importance. My parents were very involved in our lives and it wasn't until I was in college that my parents actually missed the first high school marching band performance that any of us (me, and my sisters) were participating in.  The reason for their absence?  They were attending an awards dinner for first generation college students as my guests. 

They took their obligation to support their children seriously, and it is something that I am forever grateful for and hope to be able to emulate with as much grace and good will as they did.  Being on the road at 6 am for a State Fair Band Day performance,and then coming to pick us up when the buses rolled back into the school parking lot at 3 am the next morning takes a special kind of dedication.

When I want to provide a specific illustration about how dedicated my parents were in supporting their kids, I always tell this story.  It didn't happen to me, but to my sister, but there is really no better way to explain what my parents would do for us girls.

In a high school marching band like ours, any kid who wanted to participate could.  For the musicians, there were no auditions, and no one was held back as an alternate to fill spots later in the season.  Everyone marched.  And that included the few handful of fall athletes (football, cheerleaders, and volleyball) as well.  One of those was my youngest sister, who, in addition to playing the mellophone (marching French Horn), also played volleyball. 

Her senior year, both groups were doing exceptionally well throughout the year.  The band was getting the highest scores at contests and the volleyball team was state ranked.  As the season dwindled down and the stakes for each contest got higher, my sister, the band director and the volleyball coach had a decision to make.

The state marching band finals happened to fall on the same day as the regional volleyball tournament.  Marching band was in Indianapolis and volleyball was in Kendallville.  Marching band was to end at Noon, and volleyball was to begin at 1:00 pm.  The distance between the two sites was 143 miles. 

No car could legally make the trip between the two points in the hour allotted.  Now, normal people would tell her that she would just have to make a choice.  After all, life isn't supposed to be easy and will be filled with choices.  Adults make these decisions all the time.

But was that what my parents believed?  Well, they always reminded me that life wasn't fair.  And they encouraged me to make well-reasoned decisions.  But in this case, they didn't care for the contemporary logic.

Their youngest daughter had worked very hard at her chosen activities.  She didn't miss practice or class.  She kept her grades up.  She should be rewarded for her dedication to both volleyball and marching band.  She should reap the rewards that she'd worked so hard for all season.  So my parents did the only thing a person could do.

They chartered an airplane.

Now, my parents aren't poor by any stretch of the imagination, but they aren't, to borrow from the current vernacular, the 1% either.  They are solidly middle class.  And they decided that if a car couldn't get her from one event to the other in time, then they'd just have to get a plane to do it.

Tracy marched that day and stayed on the field as awards were announced.  As soon as they had awarded the top trophy, she sprinted off with a stadium worker to the south airlock where she met Mom, Dad and Grandma.  I remember standing on Pan Am Plaza with Tami (my middle sister) and waving as their car sped down the road to the general aviation gate at the Indianapolis International Airport where my Dad put Tracy, Mom and Grandma on the plane to the Kendallville Municipal Airport.  Like a dignitary, her plane was met by the Principal of the high school who then drove all three of them to the gym where the volley ball tournament was just moments away from getting underway.

My dad followed in his car, getting there in time for the final set.

I know that I don't thank my parents enough for being the parents and people that they are and providing for me in all ways.  And someday soon, I hope that they, too can reap the benefits of their efforts throughout the years, and hear the excited cries of "grandma and grandpa!"  ringing through the halls.