Travels with Flo

My mother was  a seasoned traveler.  She honed her skills during years of traveling door to door in the farmland of western Illinois, selling silverware, books, and infant seats.  You name it.  My mom sold it.  However, this is not what this story is about.  This one is about Florence Myers and how she managed to drive three days - and nights- and get all of us safely from the Midwest to the East Coast in five easy steps.

1.  Always pack enough food for every occasion.  Breakfast?  No problem.  Have a banana.  And some orange juice.  A few sticky buns from the last bakery we stopped  at in Indiana.  Ditto...lunch.  Supper?  Well, we might stop at a HoJo's along the turnpike, but Mom's favorite places were truck stops.  Her motto:  If a man who drove a semi from coast to coast ate there, the food must be good.

2. Always pack as  much stuff as you can in the back seat.  The smallest person rides in the middle.  You pack around her.  And when she needs  to use the bathroom, you unpack her and then re-pack.  Guess who was the smallest person?   Obviously the picture above shows four people...and I notice my brothers are not present.  Where we put the gear on this trip I don't remember.

3.  Drive all night.  Drive all day.   When you get tired let someone else drive.  Take a snooze.  Stop to eat. Gas up the car.  Drain the family.  Head on into the night.  I do not ever remember stopping at a motel, or hotel on these trips.  One time everyone was just too exhausted to go on.  I vaguely remember Mom directing my brother Paul to pull into a place that seemed to resemble a parking lot.  We all fell asleep immediately.  Sometime in the early dawn someone came tapping on the car window.  Mom rolled the window down.  Pennsylvania State Patrolman.  Ma'am, are you okay?   Sure, we are fine.  We just got a little sleepy and had to stop.  Yes, that's fine, but  you see, you are parked in an outdoor movie lot....and you really need to move on.  Evidently, we hadn't noticed the giant screen or speakers when we wheeled in there  at 1 AM.

4.  Always, and I mean always, stop at an antique store.  My mother had a sixth sense when it came  to one of those quaint little places that were tucked around every corner as we made our way through New England toward New  Hampshire.  If she was driving she would immediately turn into the place and we would all have to pile out.  Except me, if I was packed into the back.  Mom would usually find something to buy...and it took some time because she always bargained.  Because of her antique habit, the last day on the road often turned into a day and a half.

5.  Collect as many maps and brochures about places of interest as you can and stuff them in your glove box.  We always stopped at the Tourist Welcome Centers.  Free coffee.  Free juice.  And lots of things to look at.  Mom kept every single piece of information she picked up.  She was always going to make sure we took a side trip the next time we came that way.  Maybe we would add a few days to the journey.  I can remember the teenage me groaning silently, trying to imagine adding a "few more days" to an already too long trip. 

But even with all the hard times I thought I was suffering through as I made those yearly trips with Flo , there were some things I remember.  Just how good a chocolate  milkshake tastes at Howard Johnson's when you've been traveling for miles and miles.  The sunrise over the mountains in Pennsylvania while you brush your teeth at a roadside park in the early morning. (Mom always called it "the bathroom with a view". )  The green hills of summer New England that told  us that we were near our journey's end.  And the sight of our little white house up at the end of the road.  Shuttered and waiting for another exciting summer.  After a long road trip, courtesy of Flo.    

Sidekick

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My new best friend is shy.  She doesn't enjoy having her picture taken.  She is gray, kind of blocky, and moves on wheels and slides.  My new best friend is my sidekick.  A walker.  And I would be lost without her.  

Recovering from total hip replacement is no stroll in the park, let me tell you.  I know that it is easier than knee replacement.  The recovery time is quicker.  The pain is less.  Oh really, the pain is less?   I guess so.  If you could rate your pain from 1 to 10, Mrs. Elder, what would it be?  How about 8 going on 800!!!!  Give me some relief.

Truly, I am doing fine.  I have had lots of phone calls, cards, food, visits from friends.  Everyone is so helpful.  And for them and their concern I am grateful.  I can't thank them enough.

But me and the Sidekick are in it for the long haul.  I have started physical therapy.  I do my home exercises everyday.  I walk.  And walk.  And walk some more.  Me and the Sidekick.   We have become friends.  Very good friends.  Couldn't make it without her.  

Butterfly Wings and Gentle Breezes

Sometimes when hot July days drive me indoors where cool air and soft chairs greet me with a welcoming nod, I think I might like to be a butterfly.  What would that be like?  I have lingered in my flower garden for long minutes waiting for one of these beautiful gifts from Nature to light near enough so I can take its picture.  I observe their long tongues probing into the inner sweetness of the blooms.  Antennae gracefully feeling for purchase on the stem, they move with ease over each blossom, searching for nectar.  Wings folded neatly at rest, and then lifting them to flutter to the next offering nearby.

Gentle breezes make the flowers move in the wind but the butterfly holds on until it has drunk its fill.  If  the wind blows too strong the butterfly just flies away to a protective tree branch and waits until conditions improve.  So fragile.   So light.  What must it be like to be able to float on the gentle breezes and move with butterfly wings?

48

This month marks the 48th year that Andy and I have been married.  A long time.  But a short one too.  Looking through my wedding pictures I laugh as I remember that day.  It was hot for summer in New Hampshire.  I think it might have been 78 or 79 in the shade.  Everyone was fanning and thinking cool thoughts while they waited in the little 1800's church in Eaton Center.  All the windows were open as I recall.  And the minister was sweating too.  It was his first wedding.  

Andy and I were cool as cucumbers.  

Later when the cake had been cut and served, sandwiches eaten and coffee and punch passed around, we retired to the living room of our summer home on Horse Leg Road to open gifts.  Andy and I had surprised our families by deciding to get married that summer after I graduated from college.  He was in Maine, prospecting for asbestos for Johns-Manville.  I was being trained in Tempe, Arizona to be a VISTA volunteer to the Navajo nation...midway through my language training when Andy phoned me and asked me to marry him.  Of course I said yes.  That was in mid-June.  We were married in mid-July.  No problem for us.  But thinking back on it, I can only imagine what a scurry this sent our families into.  A wedding in a month.  Sure, we can do that?

I love this picture.  I am unwrapping what Andy and I fondly call the 'wedding blanket'.  It was pink, thermal weave, light weight.  My Aunt Pearl and Uncle Dave gave it to us.   From JC Penneys, it withstood the test of time.  I think the last I saw it Nina was moving to California and it was packed with her bedding.  You couldn't wear that blanket out.

And isn't that the perfect metaphor for my marriage?  Tough.  Soft.  Made to last.  Forty-eight years and counting.  Couldn't be happier.  

Cooling Off

One of my favorite pictures is this one of my mom and her sisters Rosa, Taty, and two friends taking a dip in Panther Creek near Panola, Illinois.  My mom is in the middle.  Taty is on the right and Rosa is on the left.  Do you see the smiles?  Can you almost imagine the sparkle in their eyes?  Kids are kids.  Water is water.  And hot days in the summer just naturally draw the two together.

I love the handkerchiefs tied in knots on four corners that they have on their heads.  I have another picture of the same crew on the same day....out of the water. It appears as if they are in their bloomers and undershirts, shaking the water out of their eyes and wringing the last drop from their clothes.  I wonder what my Grandmother did when they arrived at the back door, dripping wet and laughing?

I know how hot it is in Illinois in the summer.  And we all know the sizzling days we have here in the Ozarks as the hot and humid weather makes us yearn for cool water and soft shade.  This picture was taken in 1920.  And I do believe I could go down to the creek here at home and find a similar scene any day.  Kids in the water.  They may not have handkerchiefs on their heads or be swimming in their underwear.  But they are laughing and calling and dunking each other under that cool refreshing water.  Some things never change.

Sidelined

This is a picture from long years ago when my hair was mostly brown and I could fit into size 10 jeans.  How I love to dance.  Always have,  Always will.  It is just part of me, like breathing or walking or smiling.

Unfortunately, my dancing days may be over.  It all started last fall with a pesky ache in my right hip.  Went to the doctor.  The MRI showed a considerable amount of fluid in the joint causing pain and aggravation.  The solution was easy.  Fluid drawn off the hip.  Cortisone shot injected in the area.  Good as new.

Well, not quite.  Fast forward to January of this year.  Clearing brush I strained my lower back.  Major pain for some time but nothing I had not experienced before.  I knew it would get better in a few weeks with rest and relaxation.  

And then the hip started to hurt again.  Was it my back?  Was it my hip?  I hobbled around as if I had suddenly added several years to my life.  And as you well know, that is not me.  I tried exercising.  Painful, painful.  Not at all the thing to do, said my body.

Another visit to the doctor.  Another MRI.  More x-rays.  The news was not good.  My hip had developed more fluid.  And the worst was that actually the joint was now practically bone-on-bone.  The fluid was drawn off again.  And I decided to get a second opinion, not liking the recommendation that I needed a hip replacement.  No! my mind screamed.  No!

My appointment with another doctor is in the beginning of July.  I am anxious to see what he says.  Maybe there is an easy fix.  Maybe I won't have to have surgery.

But now the festival in West Plains is coming up.  Jig dance contest, three hours of square dancing for two nights.  Lots of friends that we only get to dance with a few times a year  will be there.

But I can't dance.  I will be sidelined.  Not my idea of a good time.  Sitting and listening to dance music is not what I want to do.  But that is what will happen.  

Tapping my toes, I will pretend that I am dancing, hearing the sound of shoes keeping time with the fiddle.  And I will be sitting there.....waiting for the day when I can dance.  Hopefully.  With fingers crossed.  Waiting to dance....again.

Bears and bees

The night before last all was well with our bees in their new hive.  They were tucking themselves in for the night, humming as they cleaned up after the busy day, making plans for the coming of daybreak, knowing there was much to be done in their constant search for food and water.  Busy bees indeed.

But sometime in the twenty-four hour period between eight p.m. Wednesday and seven p. m. last night, a black bear raided our hive and scattered it across the green grass.  Andy found it first and came to get me to help.  I don't work with the bees but I can be an extra pair of hands on occasion.  I took pictures while he assessed the damage.  Thankfully, bees were clustered on the main hive body and the frames of comb were intact.  After suiting up Andy carefully put things back together.  I stayed in the truck, with the windows rolled up and mourned, trying to get an idea of what we might need to do next.

We have had bees before, in Illinois and in the Irish Wilderness.  It had been nearly forty years since we had fooled with them but we were delighted to take on beekeeping again.  Not so much for the honey but for the pleasure of seeing them work so hard.  They are fascinating creatures.

Andy worked hard last night, moving the hive to a new location and then he was up early this morning getting them settled in.  They are mad.  They are fighting mad.  Andy has been stung many times, but he is used to it.  Fingers crossed that they decide to stay where they are now.  I would be very unhappy if they swarmed and left us.  

But there is one thing we have learned.  Bees make honey.  Bears like honey.  And right there is one of those sad facts of life.  Bears and bees don't mix.