Being Home

For a week and a half, we packed up the necessities in our house (which, I've discovered, is more than a carload of things when you have a little one, a dog, and a kitchen full of food items you need) and moved over to Conservative Mom and Dad's house.

They were headed out on vacation and asked if we'd help dog and house sit. So, rather than have two big labs underfoot in our own small ranch house, we moved into their much larger ranch house.

It was ... chaotic, to say the least.

At least once a day Conservative Hubby or I or both would have to stop by our house to pick up something we forgot. Collar stays and suits for him. Flax seed and coconut and chocolate chips (very important) for me. Extra pajamas for Little Man. A brush for Butter. You get the idea. (By the end of our stay, I think we'd moved pretty much our entire house down the street.)

On mornings when I woke up early, I'd have to try to get ready and get both dogs out and fed without having them notice when the newspaper delivery person stopped by, because then they'd go beserk and everyone in the house would be up.

I won't even tell you about the many things we have to move around or hide once Little Man discovered them—even though Conservative Mom baby-proofed their house more than ours before we moved over there.

There were pluses though—like the nice, clean new shower instead of ours with the grout that makes me angry every time I step in. Having a front door with a knob that actually works. The treadmill and the elliptical in the basement, which saved me from making the trek to the gym after Little Man went to bed. The spacious kitchen (even though I could never find what I was looking for because I hadn't put everything in the cupboard myself). The newspapers on the doorstep every morning for me to read with my coffee.

Still, at the end of our time there, we were definitely ready to move back to our house, flaws and all. We were all happy to sleep in our own beds and to have all the necessities of daily life at our disposal.

Adventures in new places (even if they're right down the street) are fun.

But there's no place like home.

Balloons!

It was almost a month ago now when the annual art and balloon festival took over L-Town. Should you ever need an excuse to come visit us in the summer, this weekend just may be it.


Besides the fact that you can watch the balloons take off, fly across fields, land, and glow in the dark once night rolls around, there are plenty of other activities to keep you busy too.


Like wandering the farmer's market, art festival, and flea market at the two parks downtown. And tasting some of the amazing barbecue at the Kansas City BBQ competition, which was held for the first time downtown on the square. (Conservative Dad was even one of the official judges--lucky guy!) Or, if it's more your style, you can taste a great selection of Illinois wines at the Art of Wine tent (also on the square).


At night, there are bands playing out at the airport where the balloons go off. You can get your fill of fried food and less-than-safe-looking carnival rides, too.

Really, what more could you ask for in small-town Illinois on a summer weekend?

Walks in the Park

When Butter and I have time, we enjoy heading over to Kickapoo Creek Park for a nice, long walk.


It's a lovely little park with a big paved path that loops around it as well as some other, smaller trails that branch off into the woods and the fields. (Yes, it's big enough the terrain even changes a bit here and there.)


Butter is ecstatic the moment the car turns into the entrance to the park because he knows what's coming. So much to sniff! So much to see! So far to go!


It's a lovely park with a lot of big, old trees. When I was taking an ecology class a few years ago, Butter had the tortuous job of accompanying me on many trips to the park so I could practice tree identification. There are a lot of massive, established native trees and shrubs in the park for me to identify--plus, of course, a few non-native species here and there. (The one below is native--it's a sycamore. There are a lot of sycamores in the park, in case you're wondering.)


Because of these trees, even in the heat of the summer much of the path is shaded, which is nice for a pregnant lady and a very hairy dog.


And if you need a break, you can always step off the path and rest on one of the picnic benches.


Or in the hollow of this old tree, if you're tiny enough.

Sometimes, when we're feeling brave, Butter and I will even go off-roading and venture across the creek and into the woods.


But most of the time we just stick to the path and mosey along, him sniffing and peeing every chance he gets and me just enjoying the fresh air and the scenery and the exercise.


And then when we get done, we plop down on the ground, drink some water, and ...


relax before it's time to head home.

Balloons, Vino, Art, and Abe

There is a weekend in August when I can't help but be incredibly excited that I live in L-Town. It's a weekend that I wish came more than once a year.

It happened last weekend. It's the Art & Balloon festival, which now also includes a wine festival and flea markets galore.

This year, downtown L-Town was packed with people attending the art fair, the wine fest, the farmer's markets, and the flea markets.

And out at the airport, there were more crowds enjoying fair food and rides, live music, and (of course) the beautiful hot-air balloons.

On Saturday morning, I headed straight for the farmer's market on my bike (with my new basket for carrying my purchases). I also made a stop at the annual book sale in the basement of the library.

And I even hit up a few garage sales on the way home.

At one, I ran into Abe Lincoln. For real. A walking, talking Abe dressed for work in his standard black suit. He rode up to the garage sale on his motorcycle, with his signature hat strapped to the back of the bike.

I guess even lawyers and presidents like Abe enjoy a good garage sale now and then.

About an hour later, I went back downtown on my bike and checked out the flea markets a bit.

And then two hours after that, I joined Kid Sister and Conservative Mom downtown again for the art fair.


We perused the art and sculpture and pottery and jewelry. And before we left, I bought a mug to match the one I bought two years ago. And some beautiful copper earrings with the Celtic circle, which represents the interdependence of life.

Then, that evening, Conservative Hubby and I headed to Kid Sister and T-Bear's for a BBQ. It was delicious and fun, so much so that we almost missed the balloon glow at the airport. Fortunately, we arrived just in time to see the end of it and enjoy the band a bit.



And Sunday? Sunday it was time for the wine tent. We (even Conservative Hubby!) sampled a variety of tasty Central Illinois wines, and I bought a bottle of driest red I could find. (Note to self: Central Illinois is all about sweet wine.)


All in all, not a bad weekend, eh?

You're welcome to join us for the fun next year. Assuming we're not at a wedding, that is ...

Farmer's Market (x2)

Finally I had a quiet Saturday at home. A quiet Saturday without homework or wedding festivities or any obligations. And so finally I made it to the farmer's market.


Only it wasn't just one farmer's market. It was two.

You see, last year an incident occurred at the L-Town farmer's market. Big drama in a small town. And so the farmer's market split into two.

Now, there are a handful of vendors still setting up shop at Latham Park, where the farmer's market has long been held. But there's another group that now hosts a farmer's market in Scully Park.

The two parks are only a few blocks apart—on opposite sides of the square. But it's a wacky situation considering the original farmer's market wasn't all that big in the first place.

And of course I have to go to both, because my favorite vendors are split between the two markets.

So yesterday I got some beautiful produce—asparagus, rhubarb, sugar snap peas, strawberries, garlic, more strawberries, broccoli—at the new Scully Park market.

But the sweet woman who sells her breads is at Latham Park, so I stopped there for a bag of her to-die-for granola and a caramel pecan breakfast bread. (I had to do something to offset all the healthful fare I purchased at the other location.)

Alas, after this weekend the madness begins again and I just realized I may not make it to a single Saturday morning farmer's market in June. How sad is that?

Mel-O-Cream Donuts

At dinner on Saturday night, somehow the subject of donuts came up, and I admitted that I had never had a Mel-O-Cream donut. (Mel-O-Cream is the donut shop in L-Town.)


At the exact same instant, with the same horrified tone, Conservative Boy and T-Bear both exclaimed, "What?!"

I realized I was in big trouble.

"Are their donuts really good?" I asked innocently, but before I even got the words out both Conservative Boy and T-Bear said again, in unison, in that horrified tone, "Wow."

And I realized I had the answer to my question.

So on Sunday morning, Conservative Boy took me to Mel-O-Cream. We picked up a half dozen donuts and two coffees, because I also learned on Saturday evening that Mel-O-Cream coffee is pretty darn good.

We opted for two glazed donuts (my favorite), one glazed cinnamon twist, a caramel long john, a white-frosted long john with sprinkles, and one frosted cake donut with sprinkles.

(I was overwhelmed by the choices and after picking a glazed donut could not decide, so C.B. took over and promptly ordered the rest. He informed me I was taking too long, although I was only paralyzed by the options for about 20 seconds.)

Within an hour of our trip, only the cake donut and half of a long john remained. In other words, Mel-O-Cream donuts are as good as Conservative Boy and T-Bear's simultaneous exclamations led me to believe they are.

They're dangerous. Very dangerous.

Catching Crazies

The other day I drove past the covered wagon in L-Town and decided to stop for a photo. Only this photo wasn't just of Abe reading atop the wagon.

Because there were a couple of crazies standing in front of the wagon this time. Only they weren't really standing. They were doing this.

I have no idea who they are. Really. I've never seen them before in my life.

But I am impressed with My Mo ... er ... the woman on the right. She has quite a vertical.

(If you click on the image, you'll see a much larger version. Just in case you can help me identify who these random women are. Because, like I said, I have no clue who they are.)

The Derby

I played golf last Sunday. That's not really a big revelation or an uncommon occurrence, but what was uncommon was the type of golf I played.


You see, I was in a competition called "The Derby." This derby I speak of involves ten teams. Each team is comprised of one man and one woman who have been randomly paired together. The teams play nine holes of golf (alternating shots, so if the woman tees off the man hits the next shot, and so on), and on each hole one team (the one with the highest score) is eliminated.

Sounds relatively simple, right?

Except I forgot to add a few details. Like the fact that people in 20+ other golf carts follow along for the entire event, hooting and hollering and drinking and even honking their cart horns if they happen to have one. And a fellow with a bullhorn is there too, announcing who's up to hit and making random comments and witty asides in each person's backswing.

Then there's the fact that you never know when you'll be faced with a random challenge—like playing one hole with a tennis racket and tennis ball or having a dance-off on the green. (The winner off the dance-off got to move their ball two club lengths closer to the hole, so I whipped out the shopping cart and a few key 80s moves. But alas, we got second, so our ball didn't move until we putted it).

Intrigued yet? I was, which was why I agreed to give it a try when asked. Lucky for me, I was paired with one of Conservative Boy's best friends, A.F., who had never played in the derby either. So we knew we'd have fun, even if we didn't win.

We managed to make it through the 16th hole (we played the back nine), which means we got fourth. But man oh man did we have to scramble to get fourth. A.F. was nervous and I wasn't hitting very well, so we managed to get ourselves into trouble on pretty much every hole. We were among the worst scorers on nearly every hole—on a couple, we tied for last and had to have a playoff to stay in the game. That's how we went out on number 16, because my playoff putt was six inches too short. Boo. Hiss. (Have I mentioned I'm a bit competitive?)

Even though we didn't come away with the big W, it was fun. Very fun. As long as you can handle a bit of harassment and people yelling "the Wyoming Wonderrrrr" every time you get up to swing. Which, you know, is pretty much like every other day on the course, right?

Adventures in Illinois

Remember when I mentioned that other website where I spend so much of my time? It's called Illinois Adventures, and I post a couple of new stories each week about great places and events in Central Illinois.

This isn't a shameless pitch for the website. But I realized the other day that because I post all of those Illinois adventures over at illinois-adventures.com, I don't fill in those of you dear readers who just hang out with me on this site on what I've been trying around Central Illinois. And trust me, I've been trying plenty of things. So from time to time, I'll share the highlights here with you, just in case you don't religiously read every story I post at Illinois Adventures.

Let's see. Where to begin?

I've been exploring lots of Lincoln sites around the state, including:

The watermelon statue right here in L-Town (Lincoln christened the town with a watermelon near where the statue now stands)

Postville Courthouse, where Lincoln did his lawyering (it's also in L-Town)

And the Lincoln Presidential Library & Museum in Springfield (it's terrific).

In addition, I've been eating a lot, including world-famous Cozy Dogs at the Cozy Dog Drive-In in Springfield,

plus steak and sweet potato fries at Ted's Garage in Clinton, to-die-for pizza (and more) in Mason City, and Italian at family-owned Guzzardo's here in L-Town.

I even convinced Conservative Boy to tag along with me to the Illinois Shakespeare Festival in Bloomington, where we picnicked on the lawn outside this lovely mansion and listened to Madrigal singers in period costume.

C.B. even serenaded me with madrigal versions of "Back that A** Up" and Warren G's "Regulate" before we went into the theater and watched an impressive performance of Richard III under the stars. Isn't he romantic?

There's been a bit of kitsch too, from the giant Paul Bunyan statue nearby in Atlanta

to the world's largest covered wagon here in L-Town.

(Now you really want to come visit me, don't you?)

Unfinished Business

I have bad timing. Really bad timing. I always manage to leave town right before my flowers bloom or my veggies are edible.


Sometimes, when I'm gone long enough, they're almost done blooming when I get home. So all I have to remember them by are photos I took of them before they found all of their color.


I hope that won't happen this time.


I hope these babies will hold on for just one more week.


Come on, lovelies. You can do it. Don't let me down.


You know Conservative Boy and Butter don't appreciate you like I do.

Wait for me, please.

I said please.

Golfing Barefoot

Yesterday evening when we started pulling our golf clubs out of the back of Conservative Boy's vehicle for our usual quick Monday evening 9, I realized I was missing something. My golf shoes. And my golf sandals. And any form of footwear, except the worn out flip flops I'd donned before leaving the house.

Oops.

There wasn't time to run home for golf shoes, and I didn't really want to mess with driving home anyway. So I just hopped in the cart and off we went. (Usually I walk during the week, but it was almost 100 degrees and I wasn't exactly wearing appropriate footwear!)

Most shots, I kicked my flops off and hit barefoot. I'm sure there are rules against barefoot golfing. In fact, I'm positive there are. But I watched where I stepped and was fully aware of the hazards. And golfing barefoot is a heck of a lot easier than trying to keep your feet in a pair of flops, trust me.

I'm no stranger to golfing barefoot anyway. In high school, many nights at practice I'd take off my golf sandals, strap them to my bag, and play 9 barefoot. I love the feeling of cool grass between my feet. Besides, shoes—even golf sandals—can be so constricting. If I had my way, I'd be barefoot all day. (Oh wait, I usually am ...)

That cool grass felt particularly nice last night. It was steamy. Really steamy. (And quiet—apparently not many people like golfing when it's that hot out.)

I can't really complain about my round either. I shot a 45, barefoot. And I hadn't played in quite a while. And I blew up on the last hole.

Oh, and did I mention I beat Conservative Boy? That always makes a round that much sweeter.

(He'll say I didn't though. He'll say I cheated. That's what he always says if I play from the women's tees and beat him. Somehow, I can't seem to convince him that it's not cheating if you're a woman playing from the women's tees.)

Fried Cheese

I know, I know. I rant and rave on here about eating fresh, local, seasonal food and about how ingredients like HFCS are making people sick and obese. And then I go ahead and post this:


But look at it. It's delicious fried cheese. It's my weakness.

There's something about little orbs of cheese that have been deep fried that I swoon over. I can't explain it. I jump at the chance to eat these artery-clogging creations at state fairs, pubs, wherever I can find them.

I guess you could say I've become a fried cheese authority of sorts. So I was ecstatic to find out about a new takeout BBQ place in Lincoln (although I use the term "BBQ" loosely because there isn't a lot of that on the menu). Last week, Conservative Boy and I decided to try it out and consumed an incredibly healthy meal of fried food, fried food, and more fried food. It was all delicious but the tastiest part by far was the cheese. In fact, I think I am moving this cheese to the top of my L-Town fried cheese list.


But I will probably have to sample all the fried cheeses in town once more just to confirm this conclusion.

A New Place to Recycle

If you live in L-Town, get thee to the new recycling center with all your recyclable items.

I went on Wednesday (with one heck of a load of recycling, much to C.B.'s glee) and was impressed with the recycling center, which is sponsored by Good Sam Ministries and located at 1200 N. Postville Drive.

You might already place your cardboard, milk jugs, and cans in the brown bins the city picks up curbside every other week. And maybe you take your recyclables to the big green containers near downtown, where you can dump cardboard and paper, plastic, and aluminum and tin cans. But there's still reason to head to the new recycling center: they take all sorts of treasures, including colored and clear glass, tin, aluminum, chip board, paper, books, corrugated cardboard, ink and toner cartridges, batteries, call phones, and all kinds of plastics except 6PS. Now that's quite a list.

Best of all, even though I understand the recycling center is still a work in progress, it was pretty darn clean and organized as far as these things go. While Christmas music played on the radio, I bopped around dropping my recyclables into the clearly labeled containers that line the walls. Piece of cake. And very worth the trouble.

See, now there's no reason not to recycle if you live in L-Town. My goal is to get to the recycling center often enough that C.B. won't get quite so exasperated with my stockpile of recyclables in the garage. We'll see how that works out.

Oh, and, all you business owners in town, if you have large quantities of recycled goods the folks at Good Sam Ministries will even pick them up. Hurrah!

The Local Pharmacy

A random reason why I love going to the little local pharmacy down the street:

When I pull up into the drive-through with a big dog in the backseat who is panting and drooling in excitement because he absolutely loves car rides, I get my prescription and he gets not one but two—two!—dog treats.

Now that's service any human or dog can appreciate.

Teaching English

The L-Town College students I have in English 101 taught me a lot already. Yes, they taught me. Even though I may be the one in charge (er ... most of the time), I think I'll often learn almost as much from them as they do from me.

Here's a sampling from this week:

I'm a slave driver. Not really. But I have been informed that I assign more homework than the rest of the students' teachers. It was said a couple of times, in varying forms. Hmm. Sorry, guys. I don't see that as a bad thing. Need I remind you that this is a class about reading and writing? I'm going to make you read and write. And, in all fairness, I'm really not assigning them all that much work.

These kids have been through a lot. They may be young—most are fresh out of high school—but they've experienced plenty in their lives already. Many have recently lost parents, close friends, or both. Strangely, quite a few have been hit by cars or vans while riding their bikes or crossing the street. Quite a few moved around a lot as children, or grew up in far-from-nice neighborhoods (which is my nice way of saying they've been threated with guns on the street where they played), or come from broken families. But you know what? As honest as they've been when they've written about these things, they aren't asking for pity or whining. They've just written honestly. Which brings me to my next point ...

These kids can write. You know how I know they can write? Because we started writing in class from the very first day. We've done in-class writings, journal entries, reading responses. Sure, some are better at writing than others. A lot of them could use help with some fundamentals of punctuation, spelling, sentence construction. But get them going and they can tell a story or a paint a picture with their words. A lot of them don't think they can do it, have probably been told they can't in the past. But they can. The fundamentals they're missing will come, as long as I can keep them interested and keep them writing.

These kids live for Facebook, MySpace, and text messaging. Enough said.

A Visit from the Parents

Yep, that's right. The parental units (aka My Mom and My Dad) were in town a couple of weekends ago for a visit. And I, slow as I am to post recently, am just now writing about it.

It's not because we didn't have a great weekend. We did. Having family come visit is always great. (Yes, that was a not-so-subtle hint, family far and wide.) The reason I am slow posting is the same reason I have for being slow at doing just about everything the past couple of weeks.

Anyhow. Enough excuses. The Parents picked an action-packed weekend to visit good ol' L-Town. There was the farmer's market. The art festival. The balloon festival. A flea market. A wine festival. Can you believe L-Town has so many exciting summertime events? And that they're all on the same weekend--when The Parents just happened to come? How fortuitous.

Plus, there was plenty of golf. (Particularly for the menfolk, although My Mom and I squeezed in 18 even with our busy schedule.) And a trip to Mason City for a most delicious dinner. And a BBQ at the home of Conservative Parents too.

Now, unfortunately, I failed to take the camera with us on our outings to the wine festival, the art festival, the flea market, the farmer's market, and golfing. Basically, I didn't take my camera anywhere the entire weekend. How lame of me, I know. But I did take a few photos of the results of the weekend to share with you.

Random photos commence now.



This is my new mug. I purchased this mug at the art festival. I am actually drinking out of it right now. Isn't it lovely? I have a small collection of handmade mugs and this one is definitely my favorite now.



This is my other art festival purchase. It's a bird bath for my perennial garden. It perches on the ugly stump we couldn't get rid of. Isn't it cool? (Don't worry, that was a rhetorical question. I'll still think it's cool even if you don't.)



While we were in shopping mode, My Mom and I went to one of my favorite stores in L-Town, Three Roses, to finally spend some gift certificates Conservative Boy and I received for Christmas. And spend them we did. On a variety of decorative items, including this new piece of art for our living room wall. How about another angle?



And one more?



Isn't it cool? I thought so. Particularly since My Mom, master hanger that she is, was there to arrange it just so on the wall. I went to teach classes, came back, and voila. The white wine was open and everything was hung. That's what moms are for, right?



Last, but certainly not least, is this terrific bedroom chair (a Conservative Boy request—mainly so he has a place to pile up his shirts). I had been eyeballing it at a thrift store in L-Town for the longest time. Only it didn't look like this. The seat was quite dirty and the rest of it was a reddish color, all chipped and unhappy looking. But I showed it to My Mom and she agreed: It had potential. So much so, in fact, that she told me to buy it on the spot. And I did. And we went down the street and bought paint. And then, while I read for class, she refinished it. I did not ask her to. She wanted to. She can't sit still when there are things to be done. Because that's how My Mom is. And you people wonder where I got it from ...

Anyhow. I was forgetful and didn't take a "before," so all you get is the image above, which is the "after." It looks pretty good, and it will look even better when I find some new fabric for the seat.

So ends the random photos representing My Parents' visit to L-Town. Wasn't that fun?

Heritage Days

If there's one thing I've learned about people in small towns, it's that as a whole they are patriotic folk. Take the residents of L-Town, for instance. Many adorn every possible spot on their houses, in their front yards, even on their vehicles with American flags and decorations in red, white, and blue for Independence Day.

The 4th of July celebration here takes the form of Heritage Days, which this year stretched from Thursday evening through Saturday night. Three nights of live music on the street next to the courthouse, a flea market, and random other events were among the highlights.

The live music was fun, the flea market a total bust (Conservative Family laughed when I said I wanted to go, and now I understand why—someone was selling bottles of mustard, if that tells you anything). One of the better sights of the weekend? The antique cars that lined up around the town square. What can I say? I'm a sucker for old cars. Here's are some more shots, in case you're interested (and if you're not, pretend you are for a second, OK?):

(With that store front–one of my favorite L-Town shops, by the way—doesn't this shot look something out of an old movie? I love it.)

To Be a Movie Extra

OK. Not really. I can't say that I'll get to be an extra in a movie. But considering that downtown L-Town may be the site of the filming of a movie, who knows? Maybe I'll at least get to watch. We do have a pretty little square around the courthouse here, so I'm not that surprised it was picked.

Read about the movie and where in L-Town it will be shot here.

(By the way, it should come as no surprise to those of you who know him, but Conservative Boy thinks this will be his big break. He thinks movie-stardom becomes him. Ha.)