An attitude of gratitude

TG and I spent the eight days straddling my two favorite months -- that would be October and November -- touring New England.

I'll be telling you all about our travels in due time, but this tidbit I must give you now.

On the last full day of our trip, we visited a cemetery I've had on my radar for many years: Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

This 174-acre burial ground, located one mile from the campus of Harvard University, in the shadow of downtown Boston, was consecrated in 1831 and has the distinction of being the first garden cemetery in the United States. 

The Egyptian Revival gateway to the grounds of Mount Auburn is inscribed with a verse from the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes:

Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was:

and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.

So it was that on a warm autumn day, I was blissfully walking the acres of Mount Auburn with my camera.

I came upon a row of four Victorian-era tombstones that were unusual in that they were together, indicating a family plot, but each different in design.

They were also relatively small.

I moved in for a closer look.

The first stone was an elevated scroll. Whereas this stone had its own dedicated base, the next three shared a common base.

The second stone was an elaborate cross upon which was carved one word: Mother.

The third was unique in that it consisted of a wreathed disc presented at a slant. I'd never seen anything like that before but there were many similar to it at Mount Auburn.

Then I came to the last stone, which was an ornate gothic style featuring its own wreath of granite flowers.

It had been broken at one point, into several pieces, and painstakingly reassembled with some sort of bonding material that was much whiter than the aged stone itself.

I wanted to believe that, where the stone had been carefully restored, it is even stronger than it was before it crumbled. That now, it will last.

And it was only then that I noticed the single word on the tombstone's face:

Thankful.

It brought me up short and caused me to stand, staring at that word, for a while.

I told you that I rarely if ever touch a tombstone, but I found my hand -- the one not holding the camera -- resting on the top left side of that stone for several seconds.

I tried to imagine what circumstances led to this tiny monument bearing, not the name of the person buried beneath it, but a single word conveying the emotion of gratitude.

We will never know. But it doesn't matter. 

Today, tomorrow, and every day God graciously gives, be thankful.

And that is all for now.

=0=0=0=

Happy Thanksgiving

Google it if you dare

Upon returning home from Folly Beach, we had a little more than a week before it was time to set out again.

We were bound for Lenoir, North Carolina, on a dual mission: our Stephanie had asked her dad to help her with some home improvements, and there was Grandparents' Day at Allissa and little Andrew's school.

I struck out on the Wednesday, with my plan being to pick up the children at school in Hickory on my way to Stephanie's place.

That's because she drives a distance each day to drop them off and collect them in the neighboring town of Hickory, and I'd be driving right through there en route to Lenoir.

The weather was beautiful and the drive uneventful. I reached my destination on schedule.

Although the car line teachers knew that Lissy and Andrew's mamaw would be picking them up, and the kids saw me and came running straight to the car, and another teacher whom I've known for nearly thirty years came to my window to greet me, I had to produce my driver's license.

Well done, car line teachers. That's the way I like it. When it comes to those babies, you cannot be too careful.

I drove the children home, then went to check in at our hotel (Stephanie doesn't have room to put us up unless she and Joel give us their room -- which they would -- and I'm not having that).

There's a brand-new, just opened this year, Hampton Inn in Lenoir. You can Google it.

And while you're at it, you can Google Google ... because most likely, one of the reasons a new Hampton Inn was built in Lenoir is that there's a $1.2 billion-dollar Google Data Center in Lenoir.

True story. I saw it. It looks like a city. I was under the impression that it was relatively new, but a few seconds' research revealed that it's been there for ten years. That's how secret it is.

It's, like, hiding in plain sight. And now I learn that there is one just as big in Moncks Corner, South Carolina. I'll have to go and see that; I'm due for another trip to Moncks Corner, home of Mepkin Abbey.

I don't know what they do there (not Mepkin Abbey; the Google Data Center). But it's a trifle scary. Don't ask me why; it just is.

At any rate, I checked in at the Hampton Inn. TG would be there later that night. I got ready to attend prayer meeting at the church where my son-in-law is the pastor.

The next morning, TG got over to Stephanie's house early so that they could get started on their project.

I took my time getting ready to go out, and then went here and there before time to once again pick up the children from school.

On the way home, we stopped at several stores and did some shopping. I hate to brag, but my grandkids are excellent at going with the flow. They even seemed to enjoy our excursion.

Maybe that's because the last stop involved them being encouraged by me to pick out a small toy and a treat. They deliberated over their selections, and even colluded to choose something Melanie (at home) would enjoy.

(It's outrageously fun being a grandparent. I'd do it again. Oh wait! I am doing it again. There's a new grandbaby coming within the next couple of weeks. Ember's presents are bought and will be placed under the tree even before the nurses place her in her mother's arms.)

That night we had a delicious home-cooked meal even though Stephanie's kitchen was undergoing a cosmetic renovation.

After supper, the kids took turns showing me their Ranger Rick magazines. Excellent material. So impressed was I, that I got Dagny a subscription to Ranger Rick Jr for Christmas.

The next day was Grandparents' Day at the school. It is shocking how early I had to get up in order to be ready and in Hickory on time for this event. Do not make me relive it.

Suffice it to say, the kids sang cute songs and the principal talked about fund raising efforts, and then there were refreshments.

It being Friday and a special day, the children were released from school at lunchtime.

After we all got back home and TG resumed working, it was time for Melanie to go with her beloved Skill Creations teacher, Miss Vickie, for an afternoon of special activities.

Stephanie and I had planned a trip to Broyhill Walking Park because again, the weather was perfect.

Allissa was keen to go, but little Andrew held back. He wanted to work with Papaw.

I've been to the walking park a bunch of times, my only grandson pointed out. So stay behind he did, and Papaw was glad for the help.

We three girls drove to the park and set out on the walking loop around the big pond before branching out into the wooded area that surrounds the small pond.

Allissa loves to watch the turtles that cruise at the warm surface of the water near the large wooden deck at the start of the walking loop.

Then there are the geese. They own that big pond and there was lots of splishin' and a-splashin' in the water while the sun shone down and the climate was ideal for critters and walking folk alike.

My granddaughter loves to walk up a flight of stone steps and go through the woods for about fifty yards before coming back down to rejoin us on the loop.

We had the place almost to ourselves.

I can't tell you how many times I've taken pictures of the bright autumn leaves that have fallen and collected at the edges of the small pond.

It's always a poignant sight.

Lissy climbed and clambered and enjoyed the day while Stephanie and I sat on a bench for awhile and talked.

I don't get nearly enough quiet, un-busy time with these people. 

On the way home, I bought us all an ice cream cone.

We had plans to go to Piccolo's for dinner. It's a favorite spot of our daughter's family; the owner is from Chicago and even has a pizza restaurant there.

He's a fanatical Cubs fan so you can imagine that we had lots to talk about. Although on this evening, we had to content ourselves with talking with the owner's son about our favorite team.

Although said owner has scoured the country for truly amazing vintage Cubs artifacts and they are prominently displayed throughout the restaurant, I didn't get any pictures of that. I was too busy eating lasagna.

Afterwards, on the way home, my son-in-law took us to the spot in Lenoir -- it's a residential neighborhood -- from which one can get the best glimpse of the new Google facility. Most impressive at night, with all of the many lights.

Sad but true: the next day, we had to go home. Stephanie was happy with the outcome of her project, and TG was glad to have had the time to help her with it.

Before I set out for Columbia, I swung by the Google place again to get a picture of the primary-colors G at the entrance.

I was a little nervous to be stopping and taking photos, but I did it anyway. 

See the black oblong above the multicolor G in this close-up? I don't know what that is but I can't locate it in the zoomed-out version at the top of this post. Maybe you can.

Be careful.

Anyway, right across the street is a huge furniture factory. Hickory is a major player in the furniture industry.

I literally trespassed in order to get several photos of the company name on account of, I have a niece whose married name is Bernhardt.

Nobody told me to stop taking pictures (something that frequently happens) so I clicked away, capturing a nice selection that could be made to look dramatic in post-processing.

click to embiggen

I figured that my niece and her husband could frame one of the art-grade pictures (I will thank you not to snicker) and hang it on their wall. I would, if it were my name.

And then I faced the drive home, and arrived without incident, and began looking forward in earnest to our next trip.

And I will tell you all about that; never fear.

But first: our experiences at the South Carolina State Fair.

Next time. Be patient.

And that is all for now.

=0=0=0=

Happy Tuesday

Beauty. And the beach.

On our way home from Chicago -- which takes two days because it works better that way -- we again broke our journey in Indianapolis.

Once there and settled in at our hotel, we returned to Crown Hill Cemetery.

I hope you're not bored or otherwise disconcerted by my cemetery pictures. If you are, there's always the click-out option. Lay-uhs!

The beauty

It's just that, when we'd visited Crown Hill the week before, there wasn't all that much time. Not near enough to soak in and photograph even a fraction of the beauty.

Plus which, unless I'm able to be on location when the sun comes up (not likely), I enjoy taking pictures in the late afternoon.

On this day, there was a dramatic sky. Adding interest was the fact that the cemetery lies beneath a busy flight path to and from Indianapolis International Airport.

When TG and I arrive at a cemetery, here's what we do: I get out with my camera on a wrist strap, my phone snugly nestled in my crossbody bag.

TG, who has first obtained a map from the cemetery office, goes on to cruise around while studying said map for interesting graves and other attractions.

I have to walk; I can hardly bear to ride in a cemetery on account of, every sixteen feet, I see something I need to take a picture of.

It's funny but, monuments and other cemetery-like things that are irresistible from the car, are sometimes not compelling to the same degree when one is on foot.

But I take pictures of them anyway. Shoot first, as it were, and ask questions later.

As I walked, there was no one above ground except me. It was quiet even for a place that is known for lack of ambient noise. It enhances an experience which is already inherently serene.

There was the usual contingent of angels on pedestals, gesturing with their glorious wings.

I happened across a gothic chapel with spectacular landscaping. At this point I was besieged by gnats -- as in, I was in danger of inhaling them -- so I had to keep walking.

The clouds began putting on a show.

There was a memorial ennobling war dead.

And yet more eloquent angels.

This monument to a departed child stopped me for several minutes and garnered shots from several angles.

No; I did not place the fake flowers in her arms.

Truth be known, I wanted to remove them as I found them garish. But I didn't touch.

It's difficult to think about the winter ahead, and the snow that will settle on her little face and arms.

Sweet home

Soon it was time to return to our hotel and a pleasant evening. The next morning, we started for home.

Earlier in the week, I'd photographed this monument which adorns the plot of a family named Sweet.

The bronze boy is holding an acorn in his hands.

On his shirt are carved the words Acorn Farm Camp.

A few minutes' research revealed that Herb and Dee Sweet founded Acorn Farms, which was the home of Acorn Farm Camp in Carmel, Indiana.

 According to some sources, it was the first day camp in the United States.

I found this web site that gives a mini bio of the Sweets, in case you're interested.

 May they rest in peace.

The beach

In due time TG and I reached our own home sweet home, a turn of events which never fails to delight us both.

But I didn't stay for long. 

Dagny was out of school for two days at the end of the week. Teacher conferences.

TG's college roommate from all four years at The Citadel lives in the Low Country with his wife of forty-five years. They are our lifelong friends and they have a bolthole on Folly Beach.

The little house is rustic but completely comfortable, adorably decorated, and pristinely kept.

Our friends are gracious enough to let us use it from time to time.

There are always message boards on the doors, on which our hostess writes personal notes. The one on the door to the room she knew I'd use greeted me by name. It's special, the way she does that.

But this time, on the front door, she had chalked Welcome to the Beach DAGNY.

Our Dagny was so thrilled to be going to be beach. It was all she'd talked about for days. Audrey, Dagny, and I set out on Wednesday evening at about nine o'clock.

TG would follow us in a day or two, but for the present it was just us girls.

We made it to Charleston by ten thirty and stopped at Harris Teeter on the Folly Road for provisions.

Dagny couldn't believe it when she got out of the car and could smell the salt air and feel the sea breeze, but the beach itself was nowhere in evidence.

We reassured her that it was only minutes away. But first: food and supplies.

When we arrived at the beach house and had unloaded all of our stuff and were getting settled in, Dagny began to -- ahem -- act out. Or up. You decide.

She was tired, but that's no excuse. She wanted to GO TO THE BEACH.

Only, it was eleven o'clock at night and pitch dark and we adults were ready to go to bed.

Dag persisted. We called TG, which in our family is akin to summoning the cavalry. He asked Dagny what her problem was.

Papaw I want to go to the beeeaaach, she wailed.

But you're AT the beach, he pointed out, and told her she'd see it the next morning. When it was light.

How did this situation resolve? Well, I will tell you. 

Audrey and I fired up our phone flashlights and walked with Dagny the fifty yards to the beach.

There was no one else out there and the waves where thundering and the tide was going out, and it was pretty neat.

We didn't stay long -- just long enough to appease the child, who, it turns out, had been right all along.

When you get to the beach, go down and see the beach, if you can. Even if you can't really see it.

The next morning, Dagny had to endure Audrey and me preparing for a day at the beach, which included sitting on the deck, enjoying attempting to enjoy our coffee.

My grandchildren all know that when they hang with Mamaw, first thing in the morning comes the coffee hour. But when they are anxious to do something or go somewhere, that hour seems like a week.

Normally they're patient; I'll give them that. But on this day, Dagny could not contain her need to GO TO THE BEACH.

So we grabbed our hats and beach totes and chairs and blankets and towels and snacks, and again traversed the fifty yards to the beach.

Within four minutes, Dagny had made a friend. The little girl was about a year younger than Dag, and named Evie.

Evie was spending several days at Folly Beach with her grandparents, who were most amiable and very kind to Dagny -- even relieved and glad that Evie had someone to play with.

The receding tide had formed a sand bar, and that, on the side nearest us as we approached, had resulted in a huge shallow pool.

The girls played and splashed and built things in and around that pool until the tide came up and disappeared that long, shallow pool. The weather being summer-hot, the water in the pool was the temperature of a bath.

Eventually we went back up to the house and I can't remember what we did for dinner, but later we came back and let Dagny play at the edge of the surf.

She was entranced by the waves and could hardly get enough of it.

The next day, Dagny again teamed up with Evie for sand-and-water based activities. In the afternoon, I rented a golf cart and we cruised around the island.

A stop at Bert's Market -- open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year (we may doze but we never close) -- yielded a sandwich for Audrey and a hotdog and small icy Coke in a bottle for Dagny.

At Bert's there's a distinctly bohemian vibe. I liked it because why not? It's the beach. Salt life.

They offer free coffee so I got some of that and it was good.

The island isn't large and pretty soon we'd seen most of it. Back down to the beach we went.

That evening, TG drove down to Folly and joined us. We sat on the deck for a long time after dark, snacking and listening to music and enjoying the lights in the trees.

The next day was Saturday. We'd be going home later in the afternoon, but there were still many hours to enjoy the beach.

Only -- did I mention it was Saturday? Yeah. Word of advice: Avoid Folly Beach on Saturdays in hot beachy weather.

There were easily ten times more people there that day, than had been there the previous two days.

I dislike crowds.

So TG and I left Audrey to watch over Dagny and Evie -- beach buddies for the third day in a row -- and cruised around in the golf cart some more.

Then we picked up the girls and went back to the popular Bert's -- again, crowded like you wouldn't believe, to a truly alarming degree -- for snacks.

TG bought me a small oval decal for my car: Pirates of the Carolinas.

The tide was low when we returned for a final time to the beach. One could walk out for what seemed like a mile and still be only waist deep in water.

The last time I was actually in the ocean had been forty and one-half years ago, in that exact spot.

(TG and I spent part of our honeymoon on Folly Beach, and stayed in that same beach house.)

We'd been frolicking in the ocean when a jellyfish wrapped around my legs and stung me. My gallant groom carried me out and sat me on the shore and went back in to swim.

I got a pretty bad sunburn that day. It was the last time i set foot in the ocean past my ankles, until I said to Audrey this past late September day: Let's go in.

She had never been in the ocean at all, past her own ankles. I grew up swimming in the ocean in southern Florida, but as we advanced into the waves -- which were strong -- it amazed me that I had spent hours in the surf as a small child.

And I was an excruciatingly scrawny child.

But I know that I did, and I marveled at that as the waves kept hitting us, threatening to knock us down.

Audrey and I turned back after we'd walked out far enough to say we'd been in the ocean.

Later in the day we faced the music: time to turn in the rented golf cart, pack up our stuff, stuff the cars with what we'd packed, and get on the road.

We stopped at McDonald's (Dagny's request) on the way, and ate supper.

I don't like the drive home but at least it was less than two hours.

Nothing really, when you think about it. 

But what I really think about it is, I want to go back to the beach.

Ready when you are.

And that is all for now.

=0=0=0=

Happy Thursday

Of French Toast and Fountains and the Friendly Confines

I bet you thought I'd forgotten to tell you about our last full day in Chicago, back in late September.

Nope.

It's just that, in the intervening seven weeks, we've taken three more trips. 

Which, what with all of the other stuff that goes on around here more or less constantly, has kept me from giving the proper amount of attention to this task.

I'm sure it's the same at your house.

But today's the day. Lucky you. Let's press on.

It was September nineteenth. We awoke with great hope that the Cubs would win the game that night, unlike the one the night before, which they'd lost.

We'd be in attendance yet again and we were looking forward to singing Go Cubs, Go as our boys, mired in a dismal losing streak, broke it and took their victory lap.

Dreams die hard in the hearts of Cub fans.

Breakfast at Eleven

But first: Eleven City Diner.

I'd drawn a bead on this place during our trip in 2018, but we'd run out of time before we made it over there.

I told Erica and Chad about it and during their trip to Chicago over Labor Day weekend this year, they had a memorable meal at Eleven.

So this time, I was determined. We summoned an Uber and soon were on our way. It wasn't far -- just over on South Wabash.

As soon as you walk into Eleven City Diner, you know it's super special. It's basically a Jewish delicatessen type of restaurant. Very old school although the restaurant itself is not old.

Frank Sinatra with lots of thrilling treble reverberated throughout the high-ceilinged space. There were plush leather booths and thick diner-style coffee mugs.

I had to laugh when TG took a call on his low-tech flip phone and, sitting in the glow of red neon, wearing his shades which are also reading cheaters, resembled a mob boss instructing that certain kneecaps be broken.

I quickly dispatched this picture to the kids. Audrey pointed out that the ring worn on her dad's pinky finger only added to the illusion of him being a wiseguy.

(Sometimes he wears it that way. I don't think it's a fashion statement.)

At any rate, the coffee was excellent and so was everything else. I ordered a spinach and feta omelet (my favorite) with a slice of challah French toast on the side.

I don't remember what TG had.

All I can say is that if there is a better breakfast to be had in the city of Chicago, I would like to know where it is served. 

(But I don't believe there is a better breakfast in Chicago -- and that is saying something because I've been to, among other places, The Original Pancake House on East Bellevue Place.)

We check out a library

After that marvelous meal we were ready to walk. It was a balmy day. We consulted my phone and headed five-or-so blocks north, then turned one block west, to State Street.

Our destination was the Harold Washington Library Center, a remarkable building in and of itself.

Its namesake served as the fifty-first mayor of Chicago. Mayor Washington died after four and a half years in office -- literally, he died in his office, of a massive coronary -- on the morning of November 25, 1987.

We had seen the library before, but we wanted to go inside and view an art installation entitled Above and Beyond.

Above and Beyond is the only Vietnam War memorial besides the wall in Washington DC, to feature all names of those who lost their lives in that conflict.

The names are engraved on 58,307 replica dog tags that hang inside a 13 x 34 foot opening in the ceiling on the library's third floor, between the escalators.

There is also a single black dog tag representing those who died from conditions related to service during the war.

At an interactive kiosk, you can use a touch screen to search for anyone whose name you know will be there.

Our Chad's father, Greg, lost a first cousin in Vietnam, in July of 1970. His name was Sandy and he was twenty-one years old.

TG and I have visited his grave in Williston, South Carolina.

I typed in his name and within a few seconds, his picture and information was on the screen.

Another view gave us the approximate location of Sandy's dog tag.

We paid our respects and sent pictures to Chad and his parents.

The tags sway and touch one another with any slight movement of air in the space, producing a soft but constant tinkling sound.

As though they are whispering, please don't forget us.

We have not forgotten.

The lake is east

After that profound experience, we made our way back out into the sunshine and walked directly east, in the direction of Lake Michigan and Buckingham Fountain.

The fountain, one of the largest in the world, has fascinated me since I first stood beside it as a child.

Even walking towards it is exciting. Because the city is at your back and the vast lake is so close, you feel as though you're expanding your horizons with every step you take.

If you glance behind you, the skyscrapers are there. Although they don't move, they seem to be accompanying you even as they encourage you to explore what's up ahead.

There are beautiful sculptures and breathtaking views on every side.

The fountain itself is a wonder to behold. I had only my cell phone with me (all of the pictures in this post were taken on it) for a camera, and the fountain is so big that I couldn't get a decent shot of it except from afar.

So there we are: me and my the fountain, courtesy of TG and my iPhone 7. Yes; I was talking. The live shot makes no mistake of that. What was I talking about? Only God knows.

More fountains ... and flowers

At any rate, after spending twenty minutes or so admiring the fountain and marveling at the whine of cicadas in a nearby grove of trees -- yes, there are both wooded areas and cicadas in downtown Chicago -- we walked back west and north, towards the Art Institute.

On the way we passed the commuter train yards that lie directly behind the Art Institute.

If you look closely, you will see the words The Art Institute of Chicago engraved on the back wall of that building, directly facing the train tracks.

From this point -- you saw it on the winged girl sculpture earlier -- there is ivy everywhere.

It reminds me of kudzu -- the vine that ate the South.

But this is Chicago -- anything but the South -- and yet the ivy is eager.

In a gorgeously green large courtyard area with many places to sit and contemplate and maybe eat a yogurt or a sandwich in fine weather, just beside the Art Institute, is Lorado Taft's Fountain of the Great Lakes.

The sound of water and birds is everywhere. You hardly know you're in a city.

Chicago is known as the City in a Garden, and this is one of the ways it earned that name.

Beautiful flowers and greenery are everywhere.

And it all seems to occur so effortlessly.

The Lions of Michigan Avenue, flanking the steps of the Art Institute -- one (pictured below) on the north pedestal, another on the south -- are considered the greatest works of artist Edward Kemeys (1843-1907).

They were placed there in May of 1894.

I have pictures of our family in front of the lions, going back to when the kids were very small.

While walking on northwards towards Millennium Park and the Crown Fountain and the Cloud Gate, we got a glimpse of the Sears Tower* as we looked west down Adams Street from the Magnificent Mile.

I told you about the Crown Fountain last year -- so named not for its resemblance to any kind of crown, but rather after the Crown family, who commissioned and paid for it.

It consists of two glass-block monoliths with water splashing down them from the top. They face one another across a wading pool that is fifty yards long and a scant inch deep.

Made for walking and soft splashing and reflecting.

Which one does while surrounded by the city, and by buildings both old and new.

Children love it. I am not sure whether this wee tot struck this pose of her own volition, or if she was instructed to do so.

There are photographers and artists everywhere.

Either way, the effect is charming.

Crown Fountain caused a great deal of controversy when it opened in 2004; lots of people didn't like it then and lots still don't.

I can take it a lot better without the videoed faces which play on each tower's front, with water sometimes spouting out of the "mouths" of the faces. It's odd. Let's leave it there.

I would like to see the fountain at night, when hundreds of LED lights illuminate the towers.

Maybe next year.

Speaking of next ... that's when we went back to the Bean. Official name: Cloud Gate.

Can you see me and TG? You should be able to; workers polish the bean several times a day.

Leaving that area, I couldn't stop taking pictures of flowers. As I said, they are everywhere.

Then it was time to begin walking towards our hotel, which was in fact too far to walk to. It was fortunate that we had those Ventra cards.

We rode the subway back to Chinatown/Cermak station, and walked to our hotel from there.

It was time to get ready for that night's baseball game.

This clock was a stone's throw from our hotel's entrance. I hope no one ever throws a stone at it.

That evening, back to Wrigley Field we went. The Cubs lost. They failed to make the playoffs and a few weeks later, their season was over. It was a disappointment but it's now ancient history.

There's always next year.

And that is all for now.

*It has another name now but I never use it.

=0=0=0=

Happy Monday :: Happy New Week

Do nothing until you hear from me

FYI: I'm on the road again.

Be in touch soon.

And that is all for now.

=0=0=0=

Happy Monday :: Happy New Week