Wyoming to South Dakota

This will be my parting entry--it's only a temporary parting! Mark and I are traveling over the Labor Day holiday. When we return I'll post one more entry about our Western trip; we visit Mt. Rushmore, where the flag is flying half-mast because of the events of the week. We also drive through The Badlands on an overcast day. I had been there when I was seven and had memories of all the spectacular, unbelievable colors, but either 25 years had altered my memories or the sun needed to be out in order to see the array. We only saw simple shades of brown. I'll include pictures.

We left Yellowstone on Thursday 13 September, just two days after the terrorist attacks. We were hoping to get to our motel in South Dakota in time for the ‘Friends’ premiere. We had no idea of the magnitude of loss. We were soon to notice how unified and patriotic our nation—or at least the farmers in Wyoming—had become as a result.

Upon leaving the northeast entrance/exit to Yellowstone, we were bid farewell by the exiting committee (the cows). We followed Rt. 14 to Cody: “The most beautiful 52 miles in America” said President Teddy Roosevelt, who was instrumental in the declaration of so many of our natural lands and National Parks. We occasionally passed large farms with flags flying conspicuously. I commented to Mark that I hadn’t seen an American flag flying at a residence since the bicentennial. It was nice to see.

Scenery along Route 14 east of Cody was even more breathtaking than Roosevelt’s proclaimed “52 miles.” We stopped at small-town museums in Buffalo and Johnson County as much to stretch our legs as anything else. The Jim Gatchell Memorial Museum had dioramas of battles between settlers and natives and other American Indian artifacts. The first jeweler who moved into the county bought a cash register from NCR in Dayton, Ohio and a safe from Hamilton, Ohio. They were both on display.











On eastward to Devil’s Tower National Monument.










The welcoming committee (prairie dogs) greeted us upon entrance to the park.











We stepped into the Visitor’s Center so that we could say, “We’ve been to Devil’s Tower,” and we paused to watch a devil—a daredevil—ascend the basaltic form, but, as I said earlier, we wanted to catch the premiere of ‘Friends’ so we hurried on our way.

We got to our room at Lantern Inn between 6:30 and 7 p.m. We settled in while Dan Rather on the CBS Evening News talked about the tragedy. We’d wanted a pizza all day so ordered one for dinner from the local place, which was the only dining option in little Hill City, SD. Hill City was so little, in fact, that there was no delivery so Mark and I drove to get it.

We got back in the room a bit after 7 p.m. and expected Wheel of Fortune or Jeopardy! to be playing, but Dan Rather still introduced clips of people showing pictures and pleading for their loved ones’ beyond-all-hope, miracle survival. We realized that there had been no commercials, and the magnitude of Tuesday’s events sunk in. We watched the television as we sat on the bed eating pizza. Tears streamed down my face.

From an essay I wrote a year after the event—

I cannot not watch. Survivors are interviewed. Family members of the missing hold up pictures for the camera. Victims recuperate in hospitals. Scenes of the towers collapsing are still shown over and over. A man in a business suit jumps from an upper floor of one of the towers. I sob at the desperation he must have felt.

With the bed shaking from my sucking in breaths—like someone sobbing does—Mark said, “ We’ve seen enough.” It was the same things over and over. Luckily the small motel had cable so we watched a movie before we went to sleep.

I still think about that man who jumped. I imagine his thoughts: "OK. I have two options, and the best one is jumping out this window hundreds of feet from the ground." Would I do it? Would you?

More Yellowstone Pictures

Yellowstone

Mon 10 Sept – This morning it was freezing nearly in our cabin. Under 50 degrees anyway. Last night Mark moved to the other bed. I had to shower [first this morning]. It was so cold I took my whole suitcase in so I wouldn’t have to come out to dress. We drove north to Tower Falls and hiked down to the bottom. We made several stops and hiked on the way to Mammoth Hot Springs. We hiked all around Hot Springs.

Palette and Canary were most active.
They can deposit up to 2 tons of limestone/day! This is the most geyser-active area of the park.


Tue 11 Sept – I got up @ 6:45 and drove…to view wildlife. Saw 4 elk. At 7:30 I returned and woke Mark. Forgot to tell him about a plane crashing into one of the Twin Towers in NY.









We drove to Sulfur Basin where things were really steamy. In car we got an update on crash. It was a terrorist attack! Two planes hit the Towers. One hit Pentagon in DC. Another plane crashed in PA – unsure if it’s related at this point. On to Old Faithful for 10 am tour. Old Faithful erupted at 9:58. A lot of people went on walk.

Before it started we saw lion geyser go off. On walk we saw anemone – big and little go off several times, plume geyser and then we went and sat by bee hive geyser. We sat there nearly an hour before deciding to walk back. ...









Then we saw the indicator for bee hive erupt… ~15 min later, bee hive went off. It was magnificent. We drove north … and had lunch. Mark noticed one of the bison was limping bad. In binoculars I could see it was his left front leg. …I told a ranger about the injured bison….We saw SO MANY geysers erupt today!...









Yesterday we saw these walls left from cooled lava into perfect basaltic cubes.

My travel journal has no entry for Wed 12 Sept. I write about the day’s activities on Thurs 13 Sept. It’s just more hiking and wildlife viewing, just like any other visitor’s day at Yellowstone, no matter that terrorists attacked the U.S. just the day before. With no TVs in Yellowstone, we weren’t bombarded with images of the towers collapsing, streets filled with debris, people running frantically and crying. We were so far removed from it all and had no idea of the degree of violence our nation suffered.

Grand Tetons National Park into Yellowstone

Sat 8 Sept [continued] - Into WY and Grand Tetons and parked at 1st spot for hiking – Granite Canyon – and hiked 1.5 mi in and 1.5 mi back. On the way back I felt tired and thought I might throw up. I thought I hadn’t given myself enough recovery time as I had worked out moderately hard this morning. [Although I hadn’t eaten in five hours, I] felt full – upset stomach.


[On our drive out of the park, we saw a mother brown bear with two babies. They were up in a tree eating berries and such, we guessed. The little ones were playing.] We stopped at a small mkt and bought chicken flavor Ramen noodles, a small cheddar cheese wheel, and a pint of strawberries [for me to eat throughout the day. At the motel] I changed into sweats and got into bed. I was cold. Mark went out to find tangerines for me, and a 40 oz for him. He woke me upon returning with tangelos but said he couldn’t find any beer. [This evening I was feeling a little better, and] we drove around the square and weren’t sure if this is Jackson or Jackson Hole. Mark dropped me off and went to do laundry.











Mon 10 Sept – No entry [yesterday]. Yesterday morning we drove to Moose Visitor Center [to meet guide for float trip on the Snake River. The company was Triangle X. Another couple sat at the meeting point on the Snake River, and I asked them what tour operator they went with to see if perhaps we’d be sharing a boat. But their operator was different from ours. I mistakenly told them, “We’re taking the Triple X tour. The man said, “I wish we were going on that one.” And I realized my error. It was pretty funny.]

[The Triangle X guide was terrible. The only things we got from the trip were some good photos and some sun. No knowledge about local geology or history, which is what a good guide gives you. After our float trip,] we drove up thru the Tetons to the SW side (Old Faithful) of Yellowstone.










[We expected thick forest on the drive in, but that wasn't the case. It turns out that most of Yellowstone burned in 1988.

We got to Old Faithful just minutes before it was due to erupt—and it was right on schedule.]

NW Colorado, Utah and Idaho

Nothing too exciting happened between The Great Sand Dunes National Monument (now National Park) and Yellowstone, but since you’re along for the ride and you can’t just jump from one place to the next, I’ll include some of my travel journal entries and pictures.

Mon. 3 Sept. –…We headed north! to the ghost town of St. Elmo. Dad said left at a country road just south of Nathrop. We hiked some. I saw something white on the mt. that moved. Goat? Sheep? In Nathrop we bought a disposable camera.















Faux ghost town and little shops in Fairplay, where I bought bath fizzies. On to Breckenridge where we stopped at a market and bought lunch and replenished snacks.















Through Frisco and on to Georgetown where we took a train on the Georgetown Loop. Not much to see beyond what we can see from the road.

[Tue 4 Sept] – We took ‘Oh My God’ Road to Idaho Springs—quite a harrowing drive with the straight drop offs—towards Denver in hopes of finding a place to repair my camera, … The camera guy at Super Kmart didn’t know of any place [where I could take my camera]. Instead of buying 3 more disposables, we bought a manual with 55mm zoom.










Drove to Coors Field and watched Dodgers take batting practice [before the game].

Thursday 6 Sept – [But this is what we did Sept 5] – To Leadville. We did the Leadville Historical Building tour. 15 places including a Catholic church, Tabors Opera House (restored). Saloon, other hotel, drug store. Onward West to Glenwood Springs to Vapor Caves. So hot. Estimate 120+ degrees. For 15 min. we sweated. Entrance was thru a spa. We showered and headed N to Dinosaur.














[The scenery and the late afternoon sky made this the most beautiful drive I remember ever taking. My album has 12 pictures of the sky. I used half a roll of film for sky! The rest of the disposable camera’s shots.]














We drove in the CO entrance [of Dinosaur National Park] to Echo Park Overlook and saw deer. Sky was beautiful.

[What we did the 6th] Near Salt Lake City we stopped at Timpanogos Cave Nat’l Mon. Hiked to entrance 1.5 mi – 1065’ rise – in 40 min. I about killed myself [meaning the hike was pretty strenuous]. 3 caves toured in ~45 min. [We were the only two on that particular tour, the second-to-last one of the day. The caves were breathtaking. I was expecting something like Mammoth Cave—just smooth brown walls, a stalactite here, a stalagmite there. But walking in Timpanogos was like entering a fairy-tale castle or a snow globe with glitter instead of snow. Every surface was crystally and sparkly. I took pictures, but see Fri 7 Sept. entry for our next camera disaster.]

SLC [Salt Lake City] – Temple Sq., Church of Latter Day Sts has many bldgs there. Tabernacle is Domed. Mormon Tabernacle Choir was singing. The place was beautiful and the city so clean. We saw a statue dedicated to the Mormons who came from Iowa in 1850 pulling carts of their belongings themselves because they couldn’t afford oxen. A statue dedicated to seagulls. [explanation:] Once in SLC [the people] planted crops and were near starvation when crickets were destroying crops. [But in swooped the seagulls to eat the crickets, and all ended well. Thus, the statue.]

Fri 7 Sept – North to Antelope Island [and the Great Salt Lake]. We saw lots of buffalo and one deer and birds. N to Id. to Hagerman fossil beds Nat’l Mon. [At the time, it was the newest National Monument. Very small. Not worth the trip.] Then we headed for Craters of the Moon NP. … So we get to Craters of the Moon – just 20 min. after Visitors’ Center closed. We drove the 7 mi. loop and got out and hiked 3 trails. The first was straight up a hill. I got up with my camera ahead of Mark and took a picture of a little green chicken-like plant growing out of the lava bed (plants and animals can survive on lava beds due to adaptation.) It was my last picture. Mark got up and asked if I wanted him to rewind it. I handed it over and he turned and turned. He opened it and it wasn’t rewound. He closed and turned and turned again. Not rewound. He did it again and nada. He said we ought to have read the directions. He stripped the rewind reel. [So we’re without a camera again].

Sat 8 Sept. – We stopped at Wal-mart this morning [in Idaho Falls, ID] and bought a camera and food [and a fleece jacket for me. We drove all around the small town of Idaho Falls looking for the magnificent falls after which the town was named. On that lovely Saturday morning in the center of the bustling town, we finally asked someone where the falls were.












He pointed to his left and said, “Right there.” We thought it was awfully small to have a whole big, bustling town (for Idaho) named in its honor.]

The Great Sand Dunes

The parking lot is overflowing. Barefooted families picnic in the sand, men throw Frisbees for dogs to chase, and young girls sleep in the sun. On the lower dunes young children lie on their sides and roll to the bottom. Some ride plastic sleds. Higher up people-watchers sit and watch the scenes below. Higher still are trekkers with an aim for the top taking a rest.

My husband, Mark, and I are in southern Colorado at the Great Sand Dunes National Monument, one of the most awe-inspiring national beauties I’ve ever seen—after Washington’s Mt. Rainier on a sunny day and Alaska’s Inside Passage. A ranger at the visitors’ center spoke on the difference between a Park and a Monument. It’s an involved definition. Please see http://www.nps.gov/grsa/wahtsthediff.htm to learn for yourself.

The highest of the ever-changing Great Sand Dunes are over 700 feet, and daredevils on their snowboards-turned-sandboards are beginning their descents to the bottom, zigzagging down the dunes. Mark and I plan to hike to the top. After climbing several dunes we collapse for a rest. My camera case is around my neck, unzipped, and without my realizing it, my $230 zoom-lens camera falls out into the sand. I take the last four shots on the roll and listen to the auto rewind grind the film into its canister.

Even though hundreds are here, the expanse of the dunes make us feel solitary. The peacefulness sooths my burning ire of getting sand in my camera. This Sunday before Labor Day, we each have our own section of the dunes to enjoy, and there’s still plenty to go around. Mark and I sit in the sand watching little boys slide down the steep lower dunes at break neck speeds while their mothers recline with a book and enjoy the early September sun. We watch young men carry their boards ever higher to the peaks of the equally steep upper dunes and then “surf” down.

After a 10-minute rest, Mark and I hike up the next couple dunes, yet the top seems no closer. We give up our goal of the summit and head down. Mark sweetly offers to carry the camera case so that I can have some fun running down the steep sides. I brought a plastic garbage bag to try as a sled, but it doesn’t work. I really was looking forward to sledding, but running down the dunes is surprisingly fun too.

The Great Sand Dunes are in southern Colorado straight down SR 17 in Mosca, which means fly in Spanish—though we didn’t see a single insect. The park has lodgings at more than $100 a night. Alamosa, 14 miles south on 17, has less expensive lodging opportunities. Mark and I have reservations at a Bed and Breakfast in Moffat, a small town 30 miles north of Mosca, for about $60, which includes breakfast the next morning.

No matter what you pay for a chance to see and experience the Great Sand Dunes, it’s all worth it.

Pike's Peak in Colorado

The curvy route to the 14,110-foot apex of Pike’s Peak is 19 miles. Each mile is represented by an animal that lives at that elevation. The animals are pictured on the mile markers. Mark and I bet on what animal would represent the final mile. I took mountain goats and all things similar. Mark went with small rodents.

The representative for mile 19 is a pika—not a rodent but close. It’s in the same family as hares and rabbits. Mark won the bet.

Snow was on the ground though the warm sun was melting it to mud. At the top, Mark and I hopped out and change into hiking boots, which were in the trunk. Dressed in shorts and sweatshirts, we stepped lively over to one side of the Peak, scrambled past the tourists to the other side, snapped some photos and hightail it back to the car. Whew, was it ever cold.

Though Mark won the 19th mile bet, I have other bets I’d rather win. We were on our way to Cripple Creek, Colorado and black jack.

In Cripple Creek we gambled for a couple hours and only lost $10.50 before we headed to our stop for the night in Can~on City, Colorado in the middle of the state.

The next morning we drove west to Salida to the cemetery to hunt for my great-grandpa’s grave, but the graveyard was so big, we never found it, but I’m glad we stopped in Salida. Downtown is north of Route 50, and is the only town for miles around, so if you’re near Salida and mealtime is approaching, stop in.

We filled up our tank and tummies and turned south on 285, which turns to 17, to the alligator farm/fish hatchery. The place was a working hatchery but had become commercialized due to the novelty of alligators in Colorado. Because of the natural springs, the water stays a certain temperature year round, warm enough for alligators. They were originally brought here to eat the fish guts that hatcheries naturally produce.

For $5 apiece we entered and saw snakes, geckos, caimans and alligators. As a money-making ploy, an employee literally shoved a baby alligator at Mark and took his picture. We didn’t buy though.

Outside was a show. An alligator wrangler roped one of the large reptiles, none of whom were eager to participate, and he drug it up to land and sat on his back and demonstrated how to get the mouth open. I say demonstrated because some fool people sat on the animal’s back and got the mouth open so that their wives or friends could take pictures for posterity. I consider myself a risk taker, but no thank you, ma’am.

After our fill of the fishery, we aimed south toward Mosca and the Great Sand Dunes National Monument, one of 10 National Parks we visited on our trip.
The dunes appear out of nothing and nowhere. They are one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in the way of scenery. These are so much more than the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes in Michigan. Those dunes are nice yet spread out while the Great Sand Dunes in Mosca, Colorado are enormous dune upon dune upon dune upon dune.

I have so much to say about them, I don’t have room here. Check next week for the follow up.

Kansas to Colorado Springs

A roadside sign read “Welcome to Quinter, Kansas,” from United Methodist, Presbyterian and Catholic churches. The last on the list was the “Drunkard Brethren.” Mark and I think it was a joke. We didn’t stop in Quinter, just drove through on I-70 on our way to Colorado Springs, the true beginning of our western dream trip.

The Olympic Training Center was our first stop in Colorado Springs. We killed time in the gift shop while waiting for the next tour. I bought a red knit T-shirt for $13.77.

The tour began with a short film on past champions and current athletes-in-training. When the lights came up, our guide spoke, but we could hardly hear due to rain pounding the roof. Our group left the theater, and we saw that it was hailing, hard. The tour was canceled.

Not knowing if the bad weather would ever let up, we left for our next stop: the Pro Rodeo Hall of Fame. On our way, we had to pull over—partway under a tree—due to hail.

Lights were out and streets were awash, but we made it. I enjoyed the Rodeo museum. Besides displays of riders, other “notables” got their billing, including announcers, promoters, clowns and bulls. I am not particularly interested in museum art, but the pictures, paintings and sculptures in the Hall of Fame were tasteful and well placed.

After more than an hour in the Hall of Fame we found it raining harder than ever as we started towards the Air Force Academy. It was Parents’ Weekend, and everything was crowded. We stopped at the bookstore, which is more than a bookstore. It’s a museum giving information on duties of cadets and upperclassmen, on what campus life is like, and on the history of the Academy. We thought we would eat at the cafeteria on campus for a cheap meal, but then remembered that it would most likely be crowded due to Parents’ Weekend. We decide to check into our motel, then go to dinner.

Traffic on I-25 south was bumper to bumper, slow to stopped. On the radio we heard that the exit nearest our motel was closed due to flooding. We exited the highway earlier; we had a good map of downtown.

The outskirts of town weren’t that well mapped though. Between the Pro Rodeo Hall of Fame and the Air Force Academy, we wanted to drive through Garden of the Gods but couldn’t find it, so gave up.

Determined to see Garden of the Gods, we set out early the next morning. The sun was up and the birds were singing though we never expected such nice weather after yesterday’s torrents.

To get to the Garden, the map indicated a right turn at the crossroads just beyond Columbine High School. Since it didn’t work either of the times we tried it the day before, we took a left instead and came across the park entrance. Entrance is free, and we drove through twice because the Garden was so spectacular with its red rock formations. We hiked a little, but just a little because we were on a schedule.

We had just 15 and a half days left to explore the rest of Colorado and four other states. Pike’s Peak, just up the road, was our next intended stop.
On the way to Pike’s Peak we saw signs for Manitou Hot Springs and so stopped for a self-guided tour.
Manitou didn’t offer much. Dwellings carved out of the mountain side were open for touring through. We weren’t sure if they were original, but we doubted it. The requisite gift shop was on site too—with a small information center/museum.
Manitou Hot Springs is worth a stop but not much time. We had reservations in the center of the state for this evening and so had to keep moving.

Cinci to St. Louis, KC and Beyond

The plan was for Mark to drive from our place in Cincinnati to St. Louis. After visiting the Arch and the Anhauser Busch Brewery, I would drive to Hays, in middle Kansas, for the first overnight of our 19-day trip through the American West.

We left at 6 a.m. and made it to the arch by 12:30 p.m., thanks to the time change. Before we crammed into the little car to the top, we toured the Lewis and Clark museum below the arch. Journal entries from their expeditions are posted—complete with misspellings, which adds to the authenticity.

The trip to the top of the arch takes four minutes in a small car of about 30 cubic feet at my best estimate, for five people. The fit was tight for Mark at 6’ 4”, me at 5’ 11”, two large, athletic-looking young men and their petite female companion.

The day was beautiful and so was the view from the top, but we were on a schedule, and there’s only so much to see, so we snapped some pictures and headed to the Anhauser Busch Brewery for a free tour.

The tour lasted an hour and began in the gift shop. We passed a Clydesdale colt grazing in the entrance yard on our way to the stable. The Clydesdales’ have an air-conditioned stable cleaner than most college dorm rooms. We were greeted by a Dalmatian taking it easy in the cool barn. After the stable we saw a short film concerning production and distribution of final goods. The next part of the tour was up a couple flights of steps to overlook the production area. The guide said it would be several degrees hotter than at ground level. Already too sweaty, I passed.

The day was hot, and we were eager for the product tasting at the end of the tour. Finally we entered an open area with tables with pretzels, an unmanned soda fountain, and an area with alcoholic drinks and bartenders. Mark got a small cup of Bud Lite, and I got some hard lemonade. Mark’s next taste was of Killarny’s, and I got a cup of Sprite to dilute that lemonade since I was driving next. Then I decided to try 180, the new drink that’s high in caffeine. Being wide-awake while I am driving in St. Louis traffic is a good thing. I got only half way through the 180 and got a terrible pain under my breastbone. Mark and I left right away.

I was in too much pain to drive so Mark stayed behind the wheel all the way to Kansas City at the western Missouri border. (My pain was long gone by then. It must have been the carbonation or caffeine.)

Kansas City’s Arthur Bryant’s was our aim for dinner. We saw Arthur Bryant’s featured on the Travel Channel months earlier and thought this the perfect opportunity to try it.

We got to KC right at dinner time, and the signs on Interstate 70 directed us to take exit 3C to get to Arthur Bryant’s. We found it on the corner of 18th and Brooklyn. It didn’t look like much and was in a poorer area of town, but as expected, the food was great.

I got Bar-B-Q chicken and Mark got a thick Bar-B-Q pork sandwich. Complete with fries and sodas, it cost just over $20. On the wall was an old, signed picture of Steven Spielberg, Cate Kapshaw and Sally Field eating there. There was one of President and Mrs. Carter too, and most recently, Emeril Legassi.

That night we stopped at a Motel 6 just east of Hays, Kansas, the halfway point between Cincinnati and Colorado Springs, where we had reservations for the next night. Thus the end to day one of our western trip.

Review of L.L. Bean Ice Cream Maker

Several posts previous I mentioned that my husband planned to order hiking boots from L.L. Bean. Last week he called the order in and asked for an ice cream maker too – or an ice cream ball. It’s something I had seen in the catalog and pointed out to him—not because I wanted one but because it was so cute.

The makers come in pint or quart size in colors of cranberry, blueberry, green apple, grape or tangerine. No crank is involved, no electricity is involved. It’s simply a metal container for the ice cream ingredients surrounded by an insulating area into which one puts the salt and ice, all encased in a plastic sphere.
From the L.L. Bean ad-
Fill the bottom of this durable, lightweight Lexan® plastic ball with ice and rock salt, add ice cream ingredients to the top and just shake, pass or roll the ball around your campsite.

It’s not as easy as all that. I was looking forward to tossing it between us, but Mark was concerned it would break if one of us (me) dropped it. And he ordered the quart size, which was quite heavy. I didn’t mind it so much because I only shook it for the final five minutes of the 30 required. But Mark thinks he wants to return it because it was such a pain.

After 30 minutes, he unscrewed the top and into a half-gallon container we poured out the middle cream which hadn’t iced up. It took the two of us because the ball is so awkward. Then Mark scraped the ice cream from the sides of the metal container using a wood spatula. It didn’t work well. A metal spatula would have cut through the ice, but it also might scrape the container, so he tried a large plastic spoon. It didn’t work that well either. But with much effort, most of the ice cream was out in the half-gallon container. Mark lidded it the container and popped it in the freezer for 20 minutes, before scooping himself a big bowlful, while I took the ice cream ball and ate directly from it, cleaning up the ice cream that still remained on the inside.

We do not recommend the L.L. Bean ice cream ball—at least not the quart size. We’ll likely keep ours as the cost to return it is $6.

Introduction to a Trip Out West

Five years ago, Mark and I took our first trip out West.
We were in Yellowstone on September 11, 2001. It was a surreal experience.

Years ago I wrote travel pieces about the different places we visited. The articles were written to stand alone, but I will post them here to take you along on our trip. Because they weren’t meant to be published together, some information may overlap. Please excuse this.

I’ll post the first article next week. We travel from Cincinnati to St. Louis and on to our first overnight in Hays, Kansas (Saaaa-lud!)

Our trip takes us to Colorado, Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, and South Dakota, including nine National Parks.




Also, I have so far written my blog following the Chicago Manual of Style, but my travel pieces are written to the AP Style Manual, and I will continue my blog using that style—in case you pay attention to that sort of thing.

Stay tuned, and enjoy the ride.

EEFryer

Spending Savvy from a True Saver

This is from several years ago.

Recently I spent the weekend with a friend of mine. We’re separated by two hours of highway travel, and so see each other only a couple times a year. While we watched TV and ate popcorn, we talked like girlfriends do when they don’t see each other often. I revealed that the first thing I did when my husband and I returned from our honeymoon was pay off his car. And this was only a month and a half after putting a generous down payment on our first house.
Since I used to work for the state government, just like my girlfriend, she knew I wasn’t raking in a big salary when I got married, and she asked me how I had the funds. I told her simply, “I save my money.”
She asked me to write her a plan, some rules to help her manage money better. If my girlfriend can benefit, so can you. Here are the top 10 money-saving rules I live by (most of the time). Cut out this page and make copies. Post one by your computer to discourage frivolous on-line purchasing, put one in your purse or wallet so you’ll be reminded of the rules as you retrieve cash or your credit card, and put a copy on your refrigerator just for reinforcement.

1. Buy clothes only from the sales rack… The only articles of apparel I’ve ever bought “in season,” for which I paid full price, were my prom dresses my junior and senior years of high school …in fabric you can wear year round. No corduroy for me, thank you. I’ve gone to interviews in winter in a white cotton T-shirt, dressed up with faux pearls and a jacket. The same T-shirt I wore with cut-offs to my nephew’s ballgame the previous summer.

2. Buy only what you need or will use... My mom hasn’t realized that she’s no longer cooking for my brothers and me since we’ve moved; when she sees chuck roast on sale, she buys two. My mom lives alone in a big house with two refrigerators and a 17 cubic foot freezer—all stuffed until the doors nearly pop open. She throws out, at my best estimate, over 50% of the food she buys because it gets freezer burnt, dries out or spoils before she uses it. Even though it’s a good deal when you buy it, if you don’t use it, it’s a waste of money.

3. …but only if you will need or use it within a reasonable time period. For years my girlfriend has bought furniture for a house she doesn’t own just because it was on sale. Her tiny condo is stuffed to the gills. I know lots of people have bought exercise equipment that is used only by the dust bunnies under the bed. Before you invest in a large item, be honest with yourself. Are you going to use it? Do you really need it? Right now? A “large item” varies for different people. Many times I end up reasoning myself out of an $8 T-shirt from the sales rack let alone passing on the $350 vacuum with all the fancy attachments.

4. Stay home and cook more than you eat out… Sure, this is easy for me since my husband does most of the cooking, but if I had to cook, I would, simply for the savings. …and eat your leftovers. My husband’s a good cook, but some meals, like his minestrone soup, made in a big soup pot, become less tastefully aesthetic after the fourth time eating it in a week. Yet he and I eat up until it’s gone, just to save money on fixing something else or going out.

5. Get a subscription to your favorite magazines rather than buying from the newsstands. The newsstand price for most monthlies ranges from $2.50 to $5.00 while a year’s subscription can cost as little as $12. If you like the magazine enough to buy it more than three or four times a year, it just makes sense to subscribe.

6. Pack your lunch. That minestrone soup? I have it when my husband fixes it for dinner, eat it for lunch and dinner on the next day and lunch and maybe dinner on the following day. It’s almost more than I can take, but it does save money. Another girlfriend used to eat out every work day, just so that she could spend time with her coworkers and they could complain about their employer amongst themselves away from work. A stress-busting lunch. Since she lives so close to where she works, I suggested she invite her colleagues to her place one day a week and offer up her microwave and dining room table. She liked the idea, and now the lunch bitch-bunch has a new Friday afternoon venue.

7. Wash your own hair right before you get a cut. This saves me $5 since my hair dresser doesn’t have to do it. It also saves on the tip.

8. Invest in some home equipment rather than spending $500 or more a year for a gym membership. You can start out small; you don’t have to buy all at once. And remember to consider rules 2 and 3. A dozen years ago I started out with a video and six-pound dumbbells. Now I have a complete free-weight rack, a step, Swiss ball, medicine ball, resistance bands, a stationary bike and about 20 exercise videos, which all together cost thousand$. Spread out over 12 years, it didn't hurt at all.

9. Buy DVDs or videos only if you’ll enjoy them over and over again. Some of you reading this should consider, “When was the last time I watched ‘Speed,’ and do I really enjoy it any more?” If you answered “over two years ago” or “no” then gather up those tired tapes and DVDs and trade them for cash at the local buy-back/resell place.

10. Go to matinees. My husband and I see only two or three movies a year at the theatre. I don’t even know what the full, evening price is, just that it’s more than the matinee price. When we get an inkling to see a show, we visit the local video rental place, and those visits are few and far between too because the shows on TV and cable (yes, we do dish out for basic cable—I am married to a man who needs his ESPN) don’t cost extra.

Little savings add up. Be diligent. By trimming your costs, you’ll grow your savings.

Sleeping Arrangements

My husband and I rarely share a bed. We sleep in the same bed, just mostly not at the same time. He’s had the same third-shift job since before we were married, and since our engagement, I had made my mind up that he would have to quit once we got married because I couldn’t foresee us spending much time together—what with us working opposite shifts. However, I found that after we exchanged vows and moved into our house, we were together all the time.

Mark’s is a salaried position, meaning he gets paid the same if the job takes two hours or nine, and rarely is he gone more than six or seven hours a night. That means he tucks me into bed with a goodnight kiss and he sends me off to work with a good morning kiss nearly every day. It’s really nice.

He’s almost always awake by the time I get home, and we spend the rest of the day hanging out together, until I go to bed and he heads off to work. Too much together time? Maybe, if we didn’t like each other, but we do like each other.

Mark’s work has its seasonal ups and downs and things have been slow lately, yet he sleeps on the couch rather than share the bed with me. We’ve gotten used to having the bed to ourselves so rather than disrupt my slumber whenever he might decide to come to bed, he finds comfort on our couch. He does it as much for himself as for me as he claims sleeping with me gives him a backache because he gets squinched up on the edge while I hog the middle of the mattress. Whatever, you big baby, is what I tell him. And then I smile.

The night before last he was gone before I got home and he didn’t return until I’d already retired for the night. He and his brothers helped his parents move furniture out of their house to get new carpet.

Yesterday morning I quietly got up so as not to wake him as he slept on the couch, and I went upstairs to workout. At 6:10 a.m., workout over, I started down the stairs and heard him brushing his teeth. I asked him, “Why are you up so early?”

“To spend time with you,” he said through a mouth full of toothpaste.

Now, how sweet is that? See, that afternoon he’d be gone again, at his parents’ house moving furniture back in on top of the new carpet so he got up early, something he never does unless we have a plane to catch, simply to talk with me while I got ready for work.

What a guy. I love Mark—even better than I-love-goats.

I Love Goats

I was raised by goats.

Not really but that’s what came out one time early in my husband’s and my relationship when I meant to say, “I was raised with goats.” But even that’s not right for I have no childhood memories of running around the barnyard playing goat games, as kids (meaning baby goats) tend to do, or of kids sitting around the dinner table with me and the rest of my family.

What is correct and what I should have said is “My family had goats when I was growing up.” But if I’d have said that, then Mark would be without his joke, which he uses at every opportunity. A new friend of ours says, “I was raised in Boston,” and Mark chimes in, “Did you know Elizabeth was raised by goats?”

I love goats. As young ones they are adorable with their knobby knees and floppy ears, and they’re pretty darned cute as adults too. Well, not male pygmy goats. We had one for a short while, and I didn’t like him at all. He had an odor and his eyes were an evil icy blue, but that’s a different story.

When I was in eighth grade we had just one goat, Robbie. (He gets a mention in My_Lost_Summer.) In the springtime, I would let him out of the field and he would wander around the yard while I lay in the sun and did homework. One day after I’d finished some algebra problems, I took a nap in the cozy warmth of the April day. I woke up to Robbie climbing into my lap while chewing on my homework! It was salvageable, but I had some explaining to do to Mr. Combs (who also garners a mention in the book) the next day.

In 1999 my dad and step-mom retired to the Georgia coast, and up the road from them…IS A GOAT FARM!! I walk up several mornings when we visit. This past May there were babies! This one looks like Robbie. I love goats.

Molly & Me

This is Molly, Molly Svetlana. She's the little one; I'm the grown-up. I just met Molly and her mom, Angela, this past Sunday at church though I read about them in our church's monthly bulletin in February and Angela and I have exchanged numerous e-mails.

Let me go back to February. I was up visiting Mom, and the monthly church bulletin was in my box, the box I think all parents keep for their adult children, where they put any mail that has come for them or articles they clip from newspapers or magazines that they think might be of interest.

So, in February I read the New Jersey Presbyterian Church (located in my hometown, Carlisle, Ohio) February Bulletin and was genuinely touched by a story about a woman who was hoping to adopt a little girl from Russia. The story included a picture of the tow-headed chubby-cheeked baby girl sitting in a room full of toys in what I assumed was her orphanage. Her name was Molly Svetlana, and she had a life-threatening disease that could, however, be controlled through a strict protein-limiting diet. The story said that Molly would likely not find a family due to her health problem. But Angela L., a church member I'd never met, wanted to adopt Molly. You see, Angela's teenaged son had this same disease; she knew how to deal with it. Angela was asking for financial help to bring Molly home because she had just gotten laid off in December from an accounting job with a local newspaper publisher and funds were running thin.

After reading the story, I vowed to myself to give $100 to Angela and Molly.

I spent the night at Mom's and went to church the next morning, the first time I'd gone in more than a year, and during the announcements, Sue W., a teacher from my former high school, said that the women's group would meet on Wednesday and brainstorm ideas to raise money for Angela and Molly.

After services that Sunday I met with the pastor to discuss presenting my memoir, My_Lost_Summer, to the congregation. As I'd grown up in the church, I thought people might be interested to hear the story. The pastor suggested we open up the presentation to the whole community, and I left that day considering it.

By the time I'd gotten home to Cincinnati, I'd formulated a plan: I could present my book to the community and, on top of what I had vowed to give to Angela and Molly, I would donate 10% of the profits from any book I sold after the presentation. My presentation would be a fundraiser to help Angela and Molly.

I e-mailed the pastor and we set a date in May. In attendance were Angela's son and her parents--but not Angela. She was in Russia visiting Molly.

The evening was a success. I knew most in attendance and most in attendance knew the story, lived right there in Carlisle when it happened twenty-three years ago. People bought my book and freely stuffed bills in the jars available to collect donations for the adoption. I know that night barely made a dent in the bills that Angela is now facing and has faced since the beginning of the year. But even a little dent is something, and hopefully my event raised awareness of Angela's situation.

Molly's new hometown is my old hometown. And from what I could see Sunday at church, she fits right in. I look forward to seeing her grow up.

Exercise Doesn’t Have To Be Expensive

My August 3 blog entry concerns exercise and recovery from Traumatic Brain Injury. I write about an article in the August 2006 issue of Reader’s Digest that says making exercise a habit is a way to keep your brain healthy, and I attribute my full recovery from my coma I suffered at age thirteen partly to exercise. Some survivors of TBI may be living on government assistance and think they cannot afford exercise equipment or membership to a club. But…

Exercise doesn’t have to be expensive.

I never did own a membership to a club. In college I worked out at the physical activity center on campus, with membership included in tuition, and after college I designated a room in my home to my workout room.

In the almost twelve years I’ve have been a regular exerciser, I have amassed

*ankle weights
*a step for aerobics
*a set of 6#, 8#, 10#, 15#, and 25# dumbbells
*a stationary bike
*a Swiss ball
*an eight-pound medicine ball
*about twenty different step aerobics, floor aerobics, Pilates, yoga, and weight training videos, all from http://www.collagevideo.com/, a site that has nearly every fitness video released
*a high step
*a tennis ball
*a light resistance band.

Add all that up, and it’s probably around $600. But I didn’t spend it all at once. The cost was spread over twelve years—and some of it I got for gifts—no cost to me.

So you see, it is possible to get in shape on a budget. Just be resourceful (the shoe-shine box, above, was actually a shoe-shine box one of my brothers made in high school shop class) and smart. In 1996 I bought a set of six-pound dumbbells for $6, and the typical price for dumbbells is still only about 50 cents per pound. Buy more expensive equipment on sale (the stationary bike, above, I bought at an after-Christmas sale). When your spouse or a parent asks what you want for your birthday, give them some ideas of fitness equipment you would use.

Hop to it! Hopping is a free cardio exercise.

Characters from My Lost Summer, the Book

My family members are characters in My_Lost_Summer, a story of my recovery from a coma when I was thirteen. This picture was taken one year before my horseback riding accident.

I’m the blonde to the left. My brother Chris is behind me. He is eighteen here. Though Mom remembers how much time he spent at the hospital with me, he cannot remember anything about that time—or he wasn’t willing to talk about it when I asked, perhaps. When he makes an appearance in the story, it’s due to someone else’s memory, most often mine. Therefore, he is a relatively minor character in the story though in reality he was a major one.

To Chris’s left is our brother Mike. He’s ten years older than I, which makes him twenty-two in this picture. He had moved to Maine just weeks prior to my accident and came back to see me twice during my ninety-day hospital stay. I don’t remember either of the visits. His character is a little more developed than Chris’s because Mike remembered so many significant happenings when I interviewed him. Mom and he both remember the event that most characterizes the relationship Mike and I had then, a relationship typical between the oldest and youngest of a three-child family.

Chapter 8 of My_Lost_Summer ends with Mike flying in from Maine, and the next morning he and Mom leave for the hospital to see me.

In the morning on the drive to Kettering [Hospital], Mike at the wheel, Elaine tried to equip her son with a visual picture of what his sister was now: “Now, Michael, she’s either really active or really still. I think the doctor is bringing her out of it to see how she is, and then once she gets violent, I think their drugging her to keep her under so she doesn’t hurt herself or anyone else. She’s already kicked a nurse. She usually has restraints on her arms and legs for when she gets so restless.” They passed the Miamisburg public pool with its smooth surface glistening in the morning sun.
“And she has tubes running everywhere and IV lines and monitors and all that. Okay?” Elaine searched her son for some kind of slight shock or reaction, but she’d told him the same thing over the phone every day since Libbi was admitted. He’d heard it all already.

Mike barely nodded his head up and down, keeping his eyes on the road, “Okay.”

“Her doctor assures me that she’s right on course. They say that most people who come out of a coma are active and thrashing around like she is. They say it just takes time.”

Then, in Chapter 9, he sees me for the first time:

Elaine’s warnings were insufficient to prepare Libbi’s older brother for the scene. Seeing all the lines from the machines and dripping bags that led to his sister’s body, which was lifeless for the moment, and the restraints on her arms and legs, it was all somehow a surprise despite the forewarning. Mike collapsed in a wave of emotion—like he had taken a physical blow—and he lay on the floor sobbing with abandon

Interviewing family for this book more than twenty years after the event was quite revealing to me. I had no idea Mike reacted like that, and he and I shared a cry when he told me.

In the picture next to Mike is my cousin Holly, sixteen, giving Mike the bunny ears. She didn’t make it into the book because she couldn’t remember anything from that time and I had no memories with her in them, and including extra characters, especially if they do nothing significant, simply confuses the reader. So I chose to leave her out. She understands.

In front of Holly is my cousin Noelle, who’s thirteen in the photo. I have only great memories of whenever Noelle would visit, which I remember being several times a week.

Yay! Noelle’s here! I think as I see my cousin walk through the doorway with a big, yellow smiley-face, Mylar balloon.
…
“Hi, Libbi! How are you today?!” She doesn’t expect a response. “How was your therapy this morning? Good?” She ties the balloon onto the railing.

“You know what; I bet you can’t see that, can you? Why don’t I tie it down here so you don’t have to look straight up to see it.”

She talks to my Mom: “How’d she do in therapy this morning, Aunt Lanie?”

Mom tells her I’m coming right along and then gathers her purse and a couple flower arrangements and leans over the bed and says to me as she pushes my hair back off my face, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?” and she kisses me on the forehead and leaves.

Noelle is just a flurry of activity. I love love love when she comes with Grandma. …

Noelle secures the balloon to the table across from my bed, still talking: “We won our softball tournament last weekend. We played some teams from Carlisle. Tracy pitched the game we played against them. She did real good, but I got two singles off her, and we did win three to one. Lance’s team finishes up this week.

“There. How’s that?” She pulls the string to make the balloon bounce.

She flits over to the window and looks at the plants and flowers that are piling up there. She reads the cards: “These flowers are from your Aunt Frieda and Uncle Steve in North Carolina.” She turns to look at me. “That’s your dad’s brother, right?” She turns back. “And this arrangement is from…I can’t get the card out of the envel—oh, here it is. J.T. Riley and Ruppert Ruppert. Huh. What about that.” She replaces the card in the envelope and turns to me. “They’re the sponsor of our softball team.”

Noelle walks to the bedside console for bed-2, where Mom has set the lidded glass container with condensation forming on the inside walls and ivy and moss growing. “Isn’t this terrarium nice!?” Noelle exclaims as she bends to look through the glass sides. She reads the card tied to the lid with the striated pink ribbon, “It’s from everybody at Cheney’s. Where your dad works? They sponsored Stephanie and Trisha’s team. Do you remember my friends Stephanie and Trisha?”
…
Noelle makes her way to the bulletin board across from the end of my bed, above the table where she tied the Mylar balloon. She rearranges the pictures on the border. The ones of Flash and Sparky and my brother. “Is Mike going to come home again to see you?”

Again? When was he here? I wonder.

Even though I have memories of her later visits, Noelle only remembers seeing me when I was glassy-eyed and non-responsive.

Between Noelle and me in the picture is Lance, my cousin who’s a year younger than I. He doesn’t remember anything from my time in the hospital, and I don’t have any memories that include him. His one spoken line in My_Lost_Summer is “Hello?” when he answers the phone at our grandparents’ house when Mom calls to report the news that I am critically injured.

The picture of my horse, which is the front cover of my book, has field/woods in the background. It’s the same background as in the picture above. The field Flash was in when I took that photo is off the left side of the picture.

As I come across photos of family who are characters in my story, I’ll post them.

How Exercise Influences TBI Recovery

August’s Reader’s Digest tells us that the No. 1 thing we can do for brain health is to get our hearts pumping. Quoted in the article “Mind Games,” Dr. Donald Stuss, a neuropsychologist, says “The best advice I can give to keep your brain healthy and young is aerobic exercise. Another doctor, Mark McDaniel, professor of psychology at St. Louis’s Washington U., adds, “I would suggest a combined program of aerobics and weight training. Studies show the best outcomes for those engaged in both types of exercise.”

Exercise is likely a contributor to what I consider my full recovery.

Fall term of my sophomore year of college there was a health clinic on campus, and, among other things, I had my body fat percentage estimated. The measurement was rough, depending on skin folds for its determination. The result was a scary number: I was over 30% fat, considered obese, though to look at me, you’d never guess. But I decided that even though I didn’t look unhealthy, I likely was. I started swimming at the YMCA on campus most every night, and for Christmas I asked for a jump rope.

I transferred schools in the middle of that school year, but I kept up my training habits: five days a week I trudged over to the PAC (physical activity center at the University of Dayton) through sun, snow, and rain. Twenty minutes of jumping rope every day followed by alternate days of thirty minutes swimming or thirty minutes lifting weights.

When I graduated, I gave up the routine and only exercised lackadaisically until November 1995 when a significant life event propelled me to start a regular exercise program once again, and almost a dozen years later, I still workout six or seven mornings a week.

I know I owe my recovery to many things:

• doctors
• therapists
• my mom giving me simple puzzles to solve right from the start of my re-consciousness
• prayers
• returning to school so soon
• teachers
• the social support of friends and family, and
• exercise.

Exercise benefits everyone but especially the TBI survivor.

Stress and Aphasia

I work as a science editor, and there are some issues with my job that are causing me some serious stress. Generally, as my stress level rises, I tend to stutter and lose or confuse words, even if I’m in a relaxed setting. It’s just a symptom of stress that many people experience.

Last night after a particularly tough day at work, I stood in the bathroom flossing my teeth after a good brushing, and my husband walked in and reached around me to open the medicine cabinet to extract his toothbrush. On the sink was the case I keep my oral appliance in. (I wear a guard at night because I am suspected of grinding.) The case was due for a cleaning so I said to Mark as he was applying toothpaste, “If you do laundry tomorrow, put this in the dishwasher.”

I reached across the toilet in our tiny bathroom to throw my floss away. I righted myself and looked at my husband, who had his head tilted slightly, like dogs do when they hear odd noises, and he tried to contain his grin. Slowly, he repeated what I’d just said, with a question mark at the end: “So—if I do laundry tomorrow—you want me to put this—in the dishwasher?”

I laughed. “Oh. No. I mean…”

“I know what you mean,” he assured me reassuredly.

In the early recovery from my head injury, I had aphasia, or loss or mixing of vocabulary. My aphasia still makes its presence daily. I admit in the epilogue of My Lost Summer that I lose words all the time, and I have to ask Mark or my coworkers for help finding the right ones for the meaning I want to convey.

I wonder if the aphasia is a result of my head injury or if it’s just a natural part of my personality? If I’d never had my head injury, would I still experience this loss or confusion of words at times of stress or even every day, like I do now? Like I’ve quoted before, “[I] will never know the difference between what [I] could have been without the TBI [Traumatic Brain Injury] and what [I’ve] become.”

Aphasia wasn’t my only problem last night: after I flossed I started up the stairs to wash my face, and Mark said to me less jokey and more with concern, “Hon, haven’t you already washed your face?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

It’s stress, I tell you.