A Pondering of Coffee & a Giveaway

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It seems like a good day to ponder coffee. I love that we have a National Coffee Day. Instead of running out to get my free coffee, I'd rather sit at home and drink what I like. And think about a coffee memory. 

I only started drinking coffee in college. We didn't grow up with Starbucks on every corner. Drinking it in high school would have been weird. Coffee was still the nasty Folgers that only "old" people drink. My college had a coffee shop, with a myriad of flavors and creams-- you couldn't even tell it was coffee! and thus, the love for this hot, sweet, comforting beverage began. The love, and the necessity of something that would keep our eyelids pried open.

My best friend had a small, four-cup pot for the dorm. I remember sitting on her floor, Sunday afternoons, drinking Gevalia coffee and dunking vanilla wafers. We each had textbooks open, studying for some exam. She was a biology/chemistry major, so her studying was filled with-- well, chemicals and anatomy and calculations. I was a Psychology/English major, so mine was filled with theories, dysfunctions, and literature. We listened to Enya and tried not to fall asleep. I think I usually did. We laughed a lot, and happened to study a little. 

How do you like your coffee? I'm in the mood to give away my current favorite from Trader Joe's. (If you prefer, I'll send a gift card so you can get your own coffee). Just leave me a comment below.

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In the meantime, sip your coffee and enjoy this little passage from a book on my shelf called The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown.

      "She's sleeping," our father announced gruffly, making his way into the kitchen. He must have gone out already; the paper was unfolded, a mug of coffee gone cold beside it. He lifted the front section as Cordy deftly slipped a plate onto the table, golden omelet flecked green and white with onions and peppers from the garden. "Thank you," he said, looking at her and then back at the plate, pondering the mystery of how the girl and the meal were connected.
     "You're welcome," Cordy said. She poured and cooked another omelet, eased it onto her plate, and joined him at the table. Our father hid behind the paper, but she heard the sounds of his silverware, the grimacing swallow as he drank his coffee, bitter and black. 
     As a child, Bean had developed a tremendous aversion to the sound of chewing. At the breakfast table, faced with the melodious crunching of our entire family's teeth working against their cereal, she would grow furiouser and furiouser until she stood and stomped off to eat elsewhere, in peace. Cordy had never been bothered like this. She loved the symphonic harmony of people eating, the gentle sigh of pleasure at the meeting of taste and bud, the percussive notes of cutlery. 
     "I really like working at the coffee shop," she said, apropos of nothing. Our father lowered the paper, brows down, and stared at our sister. "I was just thinking, I love all the sounds. Like the steamer, and the bell on the door, and the conversations. I can work, and I can just listen to all those sounds around me, and it's kind of comforting, you know?"

Here I am, ready to pour your coffee! circa 1979

     "If music be the food of love," our father said, and gave a short smile.
(Find The Weird Sisters here.)

Tell me about a coffee memory you have!
(Random drawing on 10/1; US and Canada) 

By the way, I'm with Bean-- I HATE the sounds of chewing! :0)

Us Vs. River: Trip Part Four

Despite the coziness of our cabin, regulating mountain temperature is a chore. We started off hot, keeping the windows open, then sometime around midnight, we were frozen. At least I was. Everyone else was asleep. I spent most of the night opening and closing windows.
But morning arrived at last.
My husband became the Greatest Man on Earth when he managed to run some power in the truck long enough to trickle out two cups of coffee for us. And there was only a little dirt in the bottom-- not his fault. But no matter because today was the day. 
The day we would do something we had never done before. All together. Something that would challenge us. That would drag us from our comfortable lives on dry ground. This thing we had been thinking about for weeks. White Water Rafting.

We showed up at the building downtown where we were to meet, where we paid a heavenly sum to risk our lives in such a manner. They gave us water shoes, helmets, and paddles, then the talk on How Not to Hold the Paddle and What to Do If You Fall Out of the Boat. Our very awesome guide assured us this rarely happens. He also said the boat rarely tips over. He did have to warn us that this was an adventurous activity in which we could perish. After this comforting speech, we all boarded a van for a ride across the canyon to the launching point.

 It turns out we were the only family on this boat, with one other couple joining us for the rapids-- who would then get out and take a kayak the rest of the way. An employee on a bike rode the trail beside the river to snap pictures of us all while we struggled through. This is the only reason I have over a hundred pictures of this adventure. And because I couldn't say no to buying a whole flash drive-worth of them. We did get a couple of great family shots, however. (Note to self: If all goes south, someday get a job riding a bike along the river, taking pictures).

Well, it is one thing to view the gorgeous river flowing along the highway, from the safety of your car. It is quite another to actually climb into a rubber raft that is going to sail into the cold, swirling water, only inches from you. I am surprised the kids did not get out and run at that point. They knew there was no going back, and resigned themselves to hunkering down in the back of the boat for the worst of it. My son looked on in-- fear? disbelief?-- as the adults practiced paddling and leaning, just a quick refresher before pushing into the briny deep. 

And then we were off!

We got drenched. The rapids were like Mother Nature dumping gallons of frigid water in your face, while you keep paddling like a tiny ant. Our guide would tell us how many strokes to take, since he was very experienced, and seemed to know what it would take to get us out of the drain. After the first few miles of rapids, we were able to take off our helmets, attempt to dry out in the sun, and just relax a little. We conversed with our guide and enjoyed the scenery. 

At one point, we stopped along the side where hot springs had created a little rocky alcove. He let us out, and we took off those slimy wet shoes to warm our feet. The shore was smelly, but it was interesting. The springs near the source were too hot to even touch, but farther out, we found the perfect temperatures. This was one of those magical places I had to remember in my mind, since the camera girl had long gone, and I had nothing with me. Although I respected the river, this was the highlight of the rafting trip for me.

Reluctantly, we got back in the boat. A little farther on, we reached our disembarking point. I should mention that part of the whole rafting experience is the rafting guide. We had a great one, and that made for an awesome trip. The guide is not only your lifesaver; he is also an entertainer. He lives out of a tent all summer, and the river is his second home. He knows it intimately. We got to hear his stories, and he asked us plenty of questions. I'm sure we will run into him on a remote mountain path or river someday, as long as my husband is with us. 

Tipping the guide is a big way to show that you liked him. We did this afterward, especially since he sat through our picture show at the ice cream shop. Yes, after the van ride back, we were taken across the street to an ice cream shop to view our pictures on tv screens there. Quite a set-up, yes? Because of course, in a shop like this, also full of candy, you just have to have refreshment after a half-day long ride on the river. 

Driving back to our little cabin-in-the-wilderness felt pretty good this time. Lo and behold, we arrived to more settlers. The lone woman had moved out, and a family had taken her place. The two cabins next to us were occupied by a very large family, who had also set up a giant tent. We were never so happy to have neighbors up there as we grilled our hamburgers. We kind of enjoyed watching them tiptoe through the spiky weeds, stare at the pile of bones, and discover the lack of electricity in the bath house. Because we felt like survivors.

My daughter made immediate friends with a girl her age. This family was on their way home to Chicago, and it's too bad we couldn't have actually known each other in real life. Still, this time, I was the one who talked with them as it got very dark. We told of our travels and things we had seen, while the girls walked around with flashlights, talking and writing in a little book. We laughed about the two-mile drive up the road that required one to wear a sports bra. (She got the joke). We wished each other well and safe travels. The girls wished each other good-night.

This would be our last night at the ranch. We had made arrangements to leave the next day, after my mini-meltdown in which I said I didn't want our trip to end here, and I had visions of going back somewhere cool, wet, and green. With less dirt, and more rocks. Maybe by a river. We were pretty sure we knew just the place. 

Buttons, Bones, & a Battery: Trip Part 3

After another glorious breakfast, I took a little time to snoop around the Main House. Our hosts had some interesting collections, and I engaged in a little history conversation with Mr. H. after spying an old weapon on the wall. He showed me a drawer of Civil War-era bullets-- among them, an actual Minie ball. These balls were responsible for the loss of many soldier's limbs in battle.

He also had a bullet he had found in a nearby area, where Teddy Roosevelt was known to have hunted elk. Based on the age and type, this bullet could have been used by Teddy. I really loved this printer's cabinet. Just opening each drawer was a little like opening a present. You didn't know exactly what you'd find, but it was pretty cool. 

There were at least ten drawers of buttons!

Our first plan for the day was to spend several hours at the famed Hot Springs Pool. This pool "has been a sanctuary of relaxation and fun for over a century." Its "rich minerals have been soothing and restoring all who swim, soak, and play here for generations." Sounded wonderful. Upon arriving, we noted the sign to leave your marijuana at home, then paid the equivalent amount of four baby goats (just guessing?) to enter the pool. 

Before long, I realized that this is an international gathering. People come from all over to experience this place. We should feel privileged to even be here. Never mind the smell of rotten eggs, and the elderly European men in Speedos. I scrounged a couple of lawn chairs in the grass, then settled in to read for awhile. The kids took off for the pool. (But not the water slides, because those cost extra).
The people-watching was as good as at the airport. I noted a man nearby who had a very interesting haircut. In fact, I sketched it onto my notepad. Picture something that looked like a helmet, attached to a strip of hair that crawled from the temple, down and around the chin. Then, I saw three more men with the exact same haircut. Maybe a cultural thing? I knew of no men here who would don that hairdo, let alone with three of their buddies. 
A man sitting several feet from me (who left his gross flip-flops right next to my chair) was reading the SAME book as me ("Wild" by Cheryl Strayed). I quickly put mine away and pulled out my notebook instead, afraid I'd become his book club buddy. Plus, he was there first so he had the reading right. 

I tried to write a little, in between the head sketches and listening to other languages around me, enjoying the sun. Then the kids and husband came back. 
Grouchily, the kids laid down in the grass. "It stinks! I can't get that taste out of my mouth! I'm ready to go!"
"What? We can't go yet."
"I'm hungry!"
"Our lunch is in the truck, which is about two miles away. Once we leave, we don't really want to walk all the way back in here."
Clearly, the altitude and nibbling on the breakfast was getting to them.
"Plus, I just paid half your college savings to get in here!"
Of course, this was a joke. We have no college savings.
So after I dipped myself in the gray-ish warm water for a little bit, we packed up and headed to the truck for our tailgate picnic.
So much for the rich, nourishing minerals of the mountain springs. It was time to find our camp.

Here's a travel tip. It's not a great idea to spoil yourself at a Bed and Breakfast and THEN try to go camping. This was not my original plan, but that is how it worked out based on the availability of where we wanted to go. 

We drove back through the beautiful canyon, then off a road that took us to a locked gate. We had the code, so we drove on through the Ranch, up to the building where we were supposed to check in. People milled about, putting on helmets, getting on ATV's, with no one looking eager to help us. Finally, we went inside a little place and hesitantly paid for our next three nights. (That's another thing about camping-- you always pay BEFORE, which can be scary). 
The host/rancher said he would take us to the cabin, and hopped on his own ATV, complete with a real live border collie sitting on the front. 
Then guess what? Our truck wouldn't start again. Oh glee. So the rancher pulled up his truck, and after a jump, we were on our way. Farther up the trail. Up a completely rocky road. Around curves. For miles we bounced. Was he taking us up to the edge of a cliff? If he went over, would we follow him? 

Finally, the cabins. We had to park on the road up behind them. We jumped out, leaving the truck running, our flip-flops becoming shovels for the dirt. The rancher flashed a white smile across his tanned face. "How'd ya like the ride up?"
He took us down to pick out our cabin, since there were three open. First of all, I should say that the view was breathtaking. But it was remote. The air was dry, the ground was dry, and the flies were biting. We were close to a big bath/shower house, but there was no electricity despite the lightswitches inside. We located the power outlet as big as my fist, just laying outside, taunting us. Apparently, they did use the juice for special events (people get married up here), but not for campers. 

We picked out our cabin. Was it a bad omen that there was a pile of BONES right outside it? I could feel a meltdown coming on. Luckily my daughter had hers first. I tried to convince her it would be fine, all the while wondering what I had brought us to. We unpacked our stuff, shoving it in the cabin. Then we took off again down the road, to town for a truck battery and for a reassuring sign of civilization.

Summer's not complete until you blow a wad of money on a local carnival. While hb bought the battery, the kids and I found a carnival just being set up for the town's Strawberry Days. We did not partake in Strawberry Days-- after all, we don't like crowds THAT much. But they did want to ride The Sizzler. Just the thing to take their mind off troubles. As soon as the ride started, my son's face went pale and he mouthed to me, "I'm going to throw up." There was nothing I could do but pray. His sister was on the inside of their seat, so it wouldn't hit her due to the shifting gravity, but who knows what would happen with flying vomit. Suddenly, I had a horrible flashback of a time my brother played on a huge bungee jumper at a ski resort, and then came down with crippling altitude sickness. I prayed that The Sizzler would not sizzle my son in the same way. My prayers must have worked, since after a couple of rotations, the color came back and he appeared fine. We blew more money in a maze of mirrors, then headed back to our happy little cabin.

The evening's dinner: hot dogs. Yes, it was part of the plan. After settling in, we all felt a little better. Up here, there was no wi-fi, but amazingly the phone service was great. This meant a lot of reading. I'm thankful to have kids who like to read (when there is nothing else to do). A group of horse riders came through, and tied the horses right outside our cabin while the riders went down to eat at the chuck wagon. I took a moment to go talk to them (the horses), and wonder what they were thinking as they looked back at me. The only other camper-- a lone woman-- came out to see them as well. Could I camp alone like her? I don't know, but maybe someday I will try that. 

At dusk, I walked around the pond, and hopped over a little creek. I stopped still when I heard some trampling through the brush. In a second, a deer and I came face-to-face under a full moon. Those kinds of things you can't plan for. 

Tales from a Family Trip (Part Two)

Outside of Denver, we drove higher and higher into the mountains, in awe of the scenery all around us. Some in our vehicle thought we should be there at this point. But no, our destination was deeper in the mountains, through a lush canyon, past a touristy town, up a dusty road, to a quaint Bed and Breakfast: our home for the next two nights. (For privacy sake, I’m not going to give names of actual places. You can ask me later).

I wrote more of my book by this creek.

I loved it the minute we stepped out. It was listed on the Historical Register, as it was originally homesteaded in 1885. We had a great little cabin, right next to the rushing creek, which could be heard each night through our open windows. The main house was where we would eat our breakfast each morning. The front door of the house was always unlocked, so we could roam about and make our way to the plate of fresh cookies in the dining room. Everything was magical and peaceful.
The first night, we did not want to trek back to town, so we relied on food brought from home. It came in a box. It was frozen. It was called Grandma’s Chicken & Rice Bake. We love it. It took about an hour to cook in the microwave. It was perfect. (All that food planning so far was going well). We explored the premises, and slept well that night.

The whispering Aspen trees

A bridge that led to an open clearing, where I kept hoping to see a black bear.

The cat in the Main House stared out at us.

Our breakfast was the kind you take pictures of. It is also the kind your kids merely nibble on, and you are then obligated to at least eat the majority of their leftovers so as not to seem rude. (For the record, they got cinnamon rolls instead of the omelet-- lucky). So it's really like two meals rolled into one. 

With no real plans in mind, we asked our hosts for suggestions on nearby trails. Mr. H. said we could hike to see Doc Holliday’s grave. Excellent! We drove into the town of Glenwood Springs and found the trail, off a small residential street. The “hike” was not too bad, except that it was dry and we are not altitude-accustomed. So there was a bit of a challenge, and the first lesson was learned, which was TAKE WATER EVERYWHERE IF YOU PLAN TO SWALLOW HERE. 

There was beauty along the hike. A tree with colorful streamers grew from the rock. We spied a view of the entire valley. Then—what? My husband saw someone he knew. Out here in the middle of nowhere. An intern from work last summer. He talked with him, while the kids and I talked with his family. The first of random strangers you talk to on vacation that you know you will never see again, but you still make a connection that means something if only for those few minutes. But really, isn't that weird? What are the odds, I ask you?
We had to wander around the old cemetery to actually find the stone. I also wondered as I wandered how they carted "everything" up here. Not exactly convenient. I can just imagine that conversation-- never mind. I commented that I would like to come back here at night, to which the kids screamed that we would not be doing that.

I found a great name for a book character, by the way.

On to Doc's grave. What is sad is that it may not actually be his grave. He is somewhere in the cemetery, but the exact spot is unknown. Doc Holliday, as we reviewed while we were there, was a dentist who developed tuberculosis. He then moved to this area, known for its healing springs, in hopes of improving his health. Of course, he became quite the gambler and gunfighter.There was a sign in town at a hotel: “Doc Holliday died here.” We did not go in, but still, it was quite fascinating.

Next, we drove into the canyon to see the majestic Colorado River. We found a spot right by Grizzly Creek, where the water was loud and ice-cold. The sun was warm, and we had nowhere to be. Just paradise. My family loves rocks, and we could have stayed there all day. We actually seem to spend lots of time by rivers, looking at rocks. Anyway, this finally felt like vacation. Words can’t really describe it.

We found gold!

Back in town, we found the necessary bookstore, where I found the perfect used book. Then on to the ROCK SHOP. I think it was the kids’ favorite part of the trip. I’m not sure how long we were in there, but we got well-acquainted with the worker. She loved her job, and it showed. She was quite surprised when I asked her to pose for a picture. By the time we left, we were contemplating coming back for their “meditation” hour in a special room they had with large bowls on the floor. When she ran some kind of meditation stick around them, they let out different ringing tones that penetrated through your ears and down your spine. I could have meditated on many things there. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be.

Because we needed to eat. This time, we found a local pizza joint. The large calzones really hit the spot. The kids ordered $1 ice cream cones—they looked so good, I couldn’t resist one. I don’t know if it was the soft-serve or the sprinkles on top, but I had to have my own. The guys who worked there were so nice, and were whip-sharp. My husband ordered our cones at the counter, and I heard:
“Some mom must have got tired of washing bowls, man.”
My hb: “Wh- what?”
“Yeah, that’s probably how the ice cream cone got invented.”
Awkward silence.
Hb: “Why couldn’t it have been a dad?”
“Oh. Well, yeah, I guess it could have.”
I know I took more notes on my phone from the things those guys said, but the notes have since disappeared. The only other one I can remember is after seeing an acquaintance of theirs who came in the store. “Man, she’s been pregnant a LONG time.”

Back to our little home away from home! We had to savor every minute left at the cabin by the river. This meant: taking advantage of the free Wi-fi and making sure we didn’t miss the Finale to "The Voice." 

Tales from a Family Trip (Part One)

A common habit nowadays is to "blog your trip." I've read some great tales of my friends' road trips, and I don't know how they did it along the way. So now that I've been home, settled, and started vacation withdrawal (and because I don't want to be left out), I'm going to blog about my trip after-the-fact. 

In the hopes of looking at something different than we're used to, we took a family trip to Colorado. I am the planner, and I had planned where we would stay, which would include three nights of "camping." (Meaning: I am not a camper; I only hoped I would become more of one in CO since there is a lack of humidity and mosquitoes; we would be in a cabin with beds; there would be showers nearby; it would save money). Still, I looked online to find "camping lists" so that we could pack properly. The lists I found out there were obviously written by people who planned to spend entire summers in an RV, with lots of little kids, who wanted to be outdoors and also cook a lot. Items like "potato peelers," "Dutch ovens," "musical instruments," and "sidewalk chalk" graced those lists. They also planned for a lot of accidents, because the list for the first aid kit was long enough to open a small emergency room. 
Scratch that list.
I made my own, and started packing a week beforehand. I felt a little like Kate Gosselin, which was weird since I only have two kids. Still, with a full-time job, I had reason to bark at everyone to quit laying around. "There are only six days left to pack!" We wanted to leave at 4 a.m., which is unheard of. "The entire truck has to be loaded and ready to go the night before!" I had to plan almost a week of meals, which was the worst part. I barely accomplish this at home. But we couldn't eat out every meal, and again, camping-- I wanted something other than hot dogs. 

Sunrise!

Anyway, we made it out of the house by 5 a.m. Still, an accomplishment. But wait, at the end of the street, we had to turn around for something. Heading out again, we made it to a gas station. While there, I realized I had left a bag of cash* at home. To my husband's credit, he did not kill me. So delaying us about 20 more minutes, we turned around for that. Finally, on the road to Kansas! That long, lovely state that lay between us and our mountainous destination. (*We do not normally have bags of cash at home. We had sold something on Craigslist and had saved the money for the trip. It was hidden. Too well). 

Art made from fossils

A week before, while looking for my book of Colorado state wildflowers, I came across a brochure advertising a museum in western Kansas. I whipped it out, and we made a stop at this Fick Fossil & History Museum in Oakley. I would highly recommend it to anyone. The massive amounts of fossils and bones, from the days when Kansas was under a giant sea, were found by locals who had donated them. Mrs. Fick created amazing folk art from thousands of shark teeth. (I imagine her sitting with Mr. Fick, saying, "Dear, what should we do with all these teeth?" "Why don't you make a mural of a shark? Or our nation's flag?" "That's a great idea. I'll get started right now.")

Shark teeth and fossils

U.S. Flag made with shark teeth

After picking out some cheap souvenirs (a shark tooth, postcards, and candy sticks), we climbed back into the truck. The battery was dead. This meant: my daughter was forced to play on the dinosaur playground equipment while we waited. (Not saying who forced her). I took pictures because my kids are almost past the playground age. And I had never seen a climbing apparatus like this. Fortunately, the truck battery soon revived itself, and we were on our way. We skipped the Prairie Dog Exhibit at the next exit.

We were almost to the edge of Kansas when we stopped at a little gas station. Inside, the clerk asked if we were heading west. We told him indeed we were. He said there were tornado warnings, and to be careful. He showed us the bright red radar on his little black box tv, we thanked him, then my daughter freaked out outside. ("Are we going in that direction??") Seriously, THANKS FOR THE WARNING, MISTER.

Not one to shy from warnings, my husband drove right on through. I kept an eagle eye on the clouds, sure a twister was going to drop any second. I know I saw swirling in the dust. I tried to keep a calm look on my face, but my exit plan was spinning through my head. Thankfully, we hit some rain, but the worst of it was always ahead and to the north. Once we got to Denver, we heard there had been a touchdown right by the airport. There were news crews right on the highway. Apparently, this was a big event. 

Nothing to fear here, right?

Did I mention we could see for MILES?

Just rain?

Sheets and sheets of rain?

What the Bill Paxton is that?

Low, angry clouds

Lord, please get us through this. . .

Ahh, blue skies again. 

The mountains were just ahead of us. On we drove.