Category Archives: Far Away Places

Driving Miss Drivel

24 Friday Apr 2009

Posted by in Far Away Places, Life at Home

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This morning I took my husband to the airport.  This afternoon I took Kyle to Penn Square Mall.  And after that, I took the dogs for their walk.  But to be perfectly honest, I did very little of the actual ‘taking’ on any of these trips, unless you count the return trip from the airport when I took myself home.  If left to my own drive, none of these trips would have made it out of ‘park’.        

 

I have very little horsepower right now, probably because I’m weighed down by sadness.  It’s hard to believe that this five-week Beijing trip that I’ve dreaded for so long has officially begun.  Thirty-four days before I see my husband’s smiling face again.  I know that soon the dogs and I will settle into our routine.  But for now, I feel lopsided, like I’m hobbling along without my better half.

 

I just want to stay home and mope.  I’ve had little desire to write or to do anything the least bit productive.  So until Kyle called, I just sat in a chair and read, another one of those Tudor historical fiction books that I’m so enamored with of late, that allows me to escape to a place where wife’s heads are loped off for no good reason.  A trip to Henry’s court always has a way of putting my own woes into perspective. 

 

No woes from Kyle today.  For whatever reason, he was in a great mood, but he certainly noticed I was cranky.  He called me on my moodiness pretty quick, which may have worked to dissipate my edginess.  He was so appreciative that I stopped moping long enough to help him select some new dress clothes for tonight’s BSU Banquet.  New clothes have a way of making a person feel as though their putting their best foot forward. 

 

And I guess I put my own best feet forward when I grabbed a couple of dog leashes for a daily walk around the park that I could no longer postpone.  The poodles rewarded me with many displays of appreciation–including circus pirouettes from Maddie and a big lick on my neck from Max who was standing almost eyeball to eyeball with me, two hind legs planted on the floor and both front paws planted on my chest.  The poodles didn’t seem to notice my crankiness or the fact that I was slowing down their poodle parade with my dead weight.  Instead, I received a lot of poodle smiles that seemed to say, “Atta Girl.”  “Good Poodle Mommy.”  Even at my best, I am dragged up and down Mesta Park sidewalks full speed ahead, two poodle top knots fast.

 

Tomorrow, I’ll make myself get up and go again.  But today, I’m having my own little pity party.   What sounds good is a warm lazy river and an inner tube; or perhaps a margarita on the rocks while floating in the tube, if the river were shallow enough.  No place to go and all day to get there.  But instead, I’m writing.  Because Kyle told me I should.  And without any drive, I know its pure drivel.   But who cares?  Tomorrow, I can always hit ‘delete.’

In Name Only

12 Sunday Apr 2009

Posted by in Far Away Places, Life at Home

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It was good to get away from everyday cares, if only for a little while.  My husband is going to Beijing for five weeks, and while I do my best not to think of it, I know the day of departure is looming.    

 

So I was glad for the time together in Eureka Springs, where so many before us have come to tap into the area’s healing powers.  We had no agendas, no list of ‘must dos’, taking each day and meal and experience as it came.  We visited a few of the area’s natural wonders, including some of its natural springs that once were the source of Ozarka bottled water, before the company moved its operations to Texas.  We took in a few of the shops, antique stores as well as ‘vintage’ stores; the latter we found were ‘vintage’ in name only as none carried vintage wares.   

 

Here in Eureka, it’s the antique stores who offer vintage goods.  I could have had a vintage Barbie case for a mere $45 and I saw sheets of vintage photos for ninety percent less.  It made me sad to think that no family member had wanted to keep these old Victorian portraits and photos for their own sakes.  Perhaps the person who left behind the photos for the pearly gates left behind no remaining family.  Either way, it’s a sad thought. 

 

Darting in and out of quaint little Victorian shops to keep out of the rain, my husband’s eye fell on an interesting book title.  “How to Profit from the Coming Rapture: Getting Ahead When You’re Left Behind”.  I believe it may offer tongue in cheek advice to help readers laugh at those worries in life that never transpire but make us anxious all the same.  Maybe somewhere in those pages, it teaches the importance of telling the truth, like when to call yourself ‘vintage’ and when it’s time to stop calling yourself Ozarka.  

 

We were fortunate to stay at a place that was true to the words written about it.  And, because it was grounded in truth, it became more than claimed to be.  Mt. Victoria Inn was simply the best part of my Eureka Springs visit.  Each day I came to borrowed ‘home’ after a day of exploring to immerse myself in simple pleasures, while soaking up the ambiance of comfortable elegance around me.  

 

On the outside veranda, I let the breeze caress my face and carry away my worries; I allowed myself to get lost in a good book or watching a good movie while curled snug in my borrowed bed; and I enjoyed life and wrote about it while others prepared my meals.  And food always tastes better when prepared by another’s capable and gifted hands. 

 

Without dipping even my smallest toe in the famed local waters, I found relief from my worries.  Somehow, like that Texas company who left behind everything but the name, I need to carry something of this healing place with me.  But I want substance over form; something that is not in name only.    

Mountaintop Experience

10 Friday Apr 2009

Posted by in Far Away Places, In the Garden, Life at Home

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We’re spending Easter weekend at a lovely B&B in Eureka Springs.  It’s one of many located on the town’s “historic loop”, a ribbon of road that winds around the mountain top, a steep city block above the quaint collection of old Victorian shops and spas that make up the town’s historic center.  It’s an appropriate place to spend Easter – the ornamental trees and tulips are in bloom and the grass is a lush spring green – the old colorful Victorian homes that nestle in the grass and dot the mountain look like a bunch of colorfully decorated Easter Eggs.   

 

We’re staying at Mt. Victoria Inn, a vestal white virgin three story in the midst of a crowd of ‘Painted Ladies’.  We’re told these old Victorian homes cannot change their paint color without a lot of government red tape.  How long this house has been painted white I do not know.  But I do know that the home was built in 1902 as a home for nuns; so it would not surprise me if it were born white, the same color as the church that sits across the street.

 

This is my second visit to the inn in less than a year.  My first was with Kara when we came blueberry picking last July.  We stayed just one night, but I so enjoyed my visit that I wanted to come back to share it with my husband.  It rained that July and it rained yesterday and today.  All this rain makes for gorgeous gardens.  And for good sleep.   

 

Chris and Lisa are our innkeepers, a down-to-earth couple who take seriously the comfort of their guests.  They’ve done a good job based on all the awards heaped on their little inn.  Even Oprah Winfrey has given them her seal of approval.  But what I most appreciate about Chris and Lisa is that they playfully spat and spit at each other in front of their guests just like they were one of their four cats.  But the way they do this is so comfortable, you’re made to feel like family.  

 

The house is beautifully decorated, filled with Lisa’s family heirlooms.  And the breakfasts prepared by Chris are divine; they are so filling, they allow me to get through my day on two meals.  And yes, in case you’re wondering, I confess to breaking my Lenten fast two days early….  But who’s counting?

  

I remember writing a little bit in my journal when I was here last July.  And now, here I sit again, writing a few words for my blog.  Most of the time I’ve no idea what words will come when I sit down to my keyboard.  Writing mimics life in this way.  Two weeks ago I had no idea I would be sleeping in Eureka Springs tonight.  But writing is the thread that binds together my stays at this B&B, as it binds all the days of my everyday life.  And no matter where I am, writing my life can often become a mountaintop experience.