dual personalities

First, I want to say how delighted I was to see my dear DP blogging again! I’m thinking of you constantly as we wind our way west. We made it to Idaho (yay!), but it will take a few days for my nerves to recover from hairpin turns in mountain passes. The DH loves driving through mountains (I kid you not) but his devoted wife is not a fan. Since my Tuesday post, we’ve done many wonderful things. We braved the crowds at Mt. Rushmore,

and hiked around the Devil’s Tower,

which is also awesome up close.

After the crowds at Mt. Rushmore and the Devil’s Tower (we got there early so it wasn’t too bad), we were the only visitors at Rosebud Battlefield State Park, site of the battle in which Gen. George Crook and his men, including a young trumpeter in Company F, Arthur Newell Chamberlin, our great grandfather, battled Sioux and Cheyenne Indians to a draw on June 17, 1876. It’s a neat place,

and easy to imagine the action. According to the site information, the army lost 9 men and the Indians about 25.

The battle raged all day and eventually Crook withdrew, which is why the Indians claim victory. Given their losses, however, I’d say that Crook had the upper hand. From there, we drove the short distance to the Little Big Horn, where we were NOT the only visitors. It’s a beautiful area and well organized.

The battlefield spreads for miles along a ridge; Custer split his forces and tried to defend too much area, or so it seems to me. We didn’t stay to long because bad weather was closing in, but I’m glad we went.

We spent the night in Billings, MT, and got an early start the next morning in an attempt to enter Yellowstone through the northern gate. Alas, after surviving the tortuous tailbacks on this wild mountain road, we found the pass closed by snow (that rain we encountered at the LBH was snow in the mountains) and had to turn around and do it all in reverse! But the view was great.

We backtracked and drove around to the eastern side of the park, through Cody, Wyoming. To give you an idea of the distance, from our start in Billings to our entry of the park from Cody took about five hours. Once in Yellowstone, we braved the crowds and visited Old Faithful (another couple of hours to get to). Here’s my old faithful squinting happily:

Yellowstone is very beautiful, but I found the car-accessible parts too built up and crowded for my taste (of course, I was right there with the other tourists, so part of the problem). If I had had time and were younger, I’d have ventured into the interior, but we made do with famous places like these boiling water pools at the Thumb.

It was an incredibly blustery, chilly day — perfect except for the wind, but we did not get blown away. From Yellowstone, we drove through Jackson Hole, Wyoming (about 75 miles south). I’ve always wanted to go to Jackson Hole. When I was in graduate school we joked half-seriously that we would move to Jackson Hole and open a bar at which unemployed Ph.D.s would work. Well, I must say, that I absolutely loathed the place. The hills/mountains loom over it so that you feel as if an avalanche will crush you at any moment (I guess that’s why it’s called Jackson HOLE), but worst of all are the hordes of tourists, the traffic, and the realization that no one actually lives there. It is certainly not the place for an obscure, hole in the wall bar. But enough of that. After enduring the hour-long traffic jam, we finally made it out. Once clear of the place, we had our first moose encounter!

As we turned the corner, we came face to face with a young moose standing in the middle of the road. Although I grabbed the camera quickly, it was off the road by the time I got the shot.  But, still, a moose! That was the perfect end to a long, 12-hour day in which we started in Montana, drove into Wyoming, and ended up in Idaho, but it was well worth it.

Today we are going to take it easy, maybe go to an estate sale in Hailey, and do laundry. Stay tuned for more adventures… Be well and stay safe!

Daughter #1 here. I gather last week’s Wednesday Treat was a big hit. I should just pepper today’s post with photos of a dashing Cary Grant or something. Instead, I’m going to share some random thoughts.

Flood waters in Jefferson City are finally starting to recede. When everything was flooded, I thought ‘Where did all this water come from?’ and now I think ‘Where has it all gone?’ Anyway, hopefully, things will soon return to normal on my drive to work.

Also, on an unrelated note, they are working on the parking garage where I am #blessed to have an assigned spot. During this construction, parking is a free-for-all though and some biotch in a white Acura parks in my spot EVERY DAY. The spots around me are free, but mine is ALWAYS TAKEN. It seriously triggers me first thing every morning. Sigh.

One of the joys of Mid-MO life is the plethora of country radio stations. While on my drive recently, I was struck by the notion that a man who looks like the one below ever had a career. And not a bad one!

I mean really. One of my favorite radio stations plays classics mixed in with current hits and sometimes I am struck by the old, tacky songs. How did this song ever get recorded? Let alone make it to number one?!

To make up for exposing you to that song and the pic of Joe Diffie, enjoy the pretty wallpaper options for your phone from Schumacher’s instagram.

Currently, we’re in Rapid City, South Dakota after a grand day on the prairie, where the road is straight, the speed limit 80 and you feel as if you can see forever.

We also visited Badlands National Park — the perfect location to film sci fi movies. You can imagine a Star Trek episode, can’t you?

I also thought a lot about Teddy Roosevelt who was profoundly affected by his time in the Badlands, although  I think he was mostly in North Dakota.

Parts of the park were full of tourists, but they mostly stuck to the obvious scenic stops and did not venture into less accessible places. Some of them behaved stupidly by trying to climb up the formations only to have trouble  getting down again, but that is to be expected.

The weather was perfect — in the mid-sixties and overcast but not rainy. And despite the ubiquitous warning signs,

the only fauna we saw was a chipmunk.  It was probably too cold for snakes anyway.

Being in South Dakota, the land of nuclear missiles, it seemed appropriate to visit the Minuteman Missile Visitor’s Center to relive Cold War nuclear Armageddon angst. Alas, we did not have time to go on the missile silo tour. Maybe next time…

Tomorrow we’re off to see Mt. Rushmore and will then drive into Wyoming.  We’ve done a lot, but I’m saving a few topics for later posts so I don’t overwhelm you with pictures.  Rest assured that we’re having a wonderful time and we’re still speaking. I’ve only locked myself out of a hotel room once (conveniently while the DH was in the shower and could not hear me pounding) and we’ve only had one epic fail: Wall Drugs in Wall, SD. It’s a horrible tourist trap.

This photo is from Google Image

The creepy elk-bunny says it all. I can take a little kitsch, but when it’s combined with crowds and tacky tourist junk, I’m gone. Do not visit Wall Drug!

Signing off for now….

your semi-intrepid DP.

When this posts, daughter #2 will be en route to New York City!

This week is the 12th International Melville Society Conference, which will celebrate the bicentennial of Melville’s birth. Melville was born in lower Manhattan and is buried in the Bronx, so there is much to see and learn. I am looking forward to partaking in a number of conference excursions, and will present on a roundtable about Melville’s religious thinking. DN and I will then extend our visit through the weekend, with an itinerary that includes comedy shows, lots of dining out, and our one big blowout: tickets to the American Ballet Theatre. (You only live once!)

It will be odd to visit NYC without my sister there — how many times did I visit over the years that she lived on the Upper West Side?

Too many to count! We will have to make do without our intrepid tour guide.

Hopefully we do not meet a fate like Bartleby the Scrivener’s–or of that story’s narrator, for that matter.

“Bartleby,” said I, in the kindest tone I could assume under such exciting circumstances, “will you go home with me now–not to my office, but my dwelling–and remain there till we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? Come, let us start now, right away.”

“No; at present I would prefer not to make any change at all.”

I answered nothing, but effectually dodging everyone by the suddenness and rapidity of my flight, rushed from the building, ran up Wall Street towards Broadway, and jumping into the first omnibus, was soon removed from pursuit. As soon as tranquility returned, I distinctly perceived that I had now done all that I possibly could, both in respect to the demands of the landlord and his tenants, and with regard to my own desire and sense of duty, to benefit Bartleby, and shield him from rude persecution. I now strove to be entirely carefree and quiescent, and my conscience justified me in the attempt, though, indeed, it was not so successful as I could have wished. So fearful was I of being again hunted out by the incensed landlord and his exasperated tenants, that, surrendering my business to Nippers for a few days, I drove about the upper part of the town and through the suburbs, in my rockaway; crossed over to Jersey City and Hoboken, and paid fugitive visits to Manhattanville and Astoria. In fact I almost lived in my rockaway for the time.”

— From Bartleby the Scrivener

It’s day five of our epic trip and we’re about to leave Indiana for the wilds of Iowa — at least that’s the plan. It’ll be a long day’s drive in the rain, but that’s okay.  Let me bring you up to date on the trip so far. We started slowly last Tuesday, driving only to Liverpool, NY to celebrate son #1’s (belated) birthday. We had a wonderful dinner at a local Indian restaurant

Those are appetizers on his plate, not the main course.

and then went back to his apartment to open presents and provide moral support (i.e. watch) while he assembled new DVD storage shelves.

Mike Baxter at work.

Next morning we headed to Ohio; the drive was uneventful and we made it without mishap to Springfield, the home of the Heart of Ohio Antique Mall. The mall is so big that it took us three hours to do a quick browse through. We saw many wondrous things including this mounted turkey’s foot. There’s a story behind that one — perhaps involving voodoo?

Alas, there weren’t many antiques on the premises and those were overpriced.

Thursday’s drive was a little more challenging due to the heavy truck traffic and rain, but we made it to Indiana in time for a lovely dinner and a visit to the Backstep Brewing Co. for trivia night with some of Tim’s and Abbie’s co-workers. Our team won both rounds! It was loads of fun, but I confess that I did not contribute much.

Abbie clinched both rounds by getting the  bonus question!

On Friday we went to lunch at Maxine’s on the Green

and then to the Crawfordsville Strawberry Festival located on the grounds of the Lane mansion, which we got to tour.

Now owned by the Crawfordsville historical society, the house started life as a four-room cottage. When Henry Lane bought it in the 1840s, he enlarged it substantially. I like the side porch:

Lane was a U.S. Senator whose main claim to fame was that he represented Indiana at Lincoln’s funeral. As a prominent Crawfordsville resident he was also a good friend of Lew Wallace, author of Ben Hur.  After our tour, we did a little antiquing and then got ice cream in nearby village. Then we came home to relax on the balcony with Eve.

The DH and Eve relax.

Soon we’ll pack up and head out! We’re having a great time and will check in again on Tuesday if possible. Stay safe and follow the rules of the road!

“Huh. This sounds a little like Enya.”

It’s a remark that I get occasionally from my mother when I’ve co-opted the stereo. And it’s true; some so-called “chillwave” music (b. 2008, d. 2013) can skew pretty Enya-y. Given Enya’s reputation as a middlebrow or even kitschy artist, many would take this comment as a crack. “Enya” is less than positive. In fact, however, I take this as something of a compliment. This is not because I particularly enjoy Enya’s music but, rather, because I think “Enya” also means something other than Enya herself. Enya is also a description of listening context.

Close your eyes. Please, close them. Now inhale deeply, filling your lungs with the air that surrounds you always. Now push that breath out. Picturing Enya, tell me what you see. Let the flowing things exhale through you. A waterfall of vowels. Orinoco. A figure wreathed in billowing folds. Diaphony.

This sort of new age-y nonsense is the Enya stereotype. As the description in this YouTube video (“The Very Best of Enya”—nearly 18M views!) encourages us, “sit back and relax as you listen to two of Enya’s most beautiful songs accompanied by some of nature’s finest pictures.” Sit back, pretty pictures. But really, who wouldn’t want that? If it actually worked, I mean.

What “sounds like Enya” means isn’t only “sounds like Enya.” Theoretically, Enya brings ease, but what “sounds like Enya” can mean is also something closer to “I’m listening in the context of having already eased.” Which is exactly what I want! I try not to co-opt the stereo too often. The moment has to be right. It shouldn’t be a moment when one might pay too much attention. Attention is critical. So, never dinner. Dish-washing is ideal. Washing dishes, a song sneaks by you. Something nice, just on in the background. Not too far in the background—you should give the occasional “Huh.” But you shouldn’t be snapped to attention. Ideally, by the time you listen to a song, you have already heard it.

And now, a few (breathy) songs I’ve been loving recently.

My Wednesday mood was soured by a 2.5-hour long meeting. But I did get to pick up the first bouquet of my summer “subscription” from the campus farm. So I’m going to try to keep up with that vibe.

Somehow, the presence of flowers can always bring you back from the ledge:

There were flowers: delphiniums, sweet peas, bunches of lilac; and carnations, masses of carnations. There were roses; there were irises. Ah yes–so she breathed in the earthly garden sweet smell as she stood talking to Miss Pym who owed her help, and thought her kind, for kind she had been years ago; very kind, but she looked older, this year, turning her head from side to side among the irises and roses and nodding tufts of lilac with her eyes half closed, snuffing in, after the street uproar, the delicious scent, the exquisite coolness. And then, opening her eyes, how fresh like frilled linen clean from a laundry laid in wicker trays the roses looked; and dark and prim the red carnations, holding their heads up; and all the sweet peas spreading in their bowls, tinged violet, snow white, pale–as if it were in the evening and girls in muslin frocks came out to pick sweet peas and roses after the superb summer’s day, with its almost blue-black sky, its delphiniums, its carnations, its arum lilies was over; and it was the moment between six and seven when every flower–roses, carnations, irises, lilac–glows; white, violet, red, deep orange; every flower seems to burn by itself, softly, purely in the misty beds; and how she loved the grey-white moths spinning in and out, over the cherry pie, over the evening primroses!

–Virginia Woolf, from Mrs. Dalloway

ALSO… I am updating this post to include that the news that the Blues won the Stanley Cup! Now there’s another mood. I woke up to excited texts and an entire Instagram feed of celebrating friends.

DN noted that the cup has passed to the Blues from the Capitals, so “we’ve got a real winning household.” Well, sure. But nothing beats the feeling of a St. Louis win.

So, to quote my siblings… Suck it, Boston.

Well, Daughter #1 here again. By the time this publishes, I will have spent a day travelling in the wilds of southern Missouri. And by travelling, I mean flying in the tiny plane. Zut alors!

That being said, back when I had my own blog, I used to post a weekly Wednesday Treat so I’ve decided to bring it back.

Happy Wednesday!