Category Archives: travel

by

Work Places: Florida in winter

Yesterday, when Jordan and I made it inside the South Bend airport after a bitter, biting trek across the parking lot (I’m talking about the snow and cold, by the way–we weren’t being mean to each other), I said that we couldn’t be flying to Florida at a better time. Jordan agreed. “It kind of makes me understand snowbirds,” he said, and I knew what he meant. Maybe the weather in northern Indiana is part of why I sometimes fantasize about retirement.

I took off my hat and gloves in Atlanta, where it was 57 degrees as we crossed the jet bridge, and finally got rid of my coat in Orlando, where it was still in the 70s when we landed around 9 pm. Yes, it was humid, but what a lovely respite from the dry, chill wind back home. My skin drank in the moisture gratefully.

We are here in Orlando for a work conference Jordan is attending at the Doubletree by Hilton Hotel Orlando at Sea World. After the conference, we are extending our trip with several days of vacation, including some beach time near Melbourne, a visit to the Kennedy Space Center, and a day at Universal’s Wizarding World of Harry Potter back here in Orlando before we fly home. But for the next few days, I’ll be hanging out here at the hotel while Jordan schmoozes with other nerds in the magnetics industry. Fortunately, the Doubletree has an extensive outdoor seating area (collectively called the Pavilion, Terrace, and Veranda) that happens to be right outside our room. I went out there early this morning to work on my Bible study and sat on a low-slung couch in front of a coffee table, lit by gentle but sufficient light from the fixtures that dot the area. There are also tables, small clusters of chairs, and a pretty water feature. Under the pavilion, fans keep things cool, and I noticed an outlet near my couch. Right now, I’m working in our room (which has good Wi-Fi, a decent-sized desk and ergonomic chair, and an adequate coffee maker), but later I think I’ll take my work outside. After all, what’s the point of getting a taste of the snowbird life if I’m not absorbing as much Vitamin D as possible?

by

ode to the cabin

In the years before my dad’s parents passed away, they started RV camping on a little plot in the woods at the edge of some land in Garrett County, Maryland, that they used to farm years before and that still belonged to the family. My grandfather sold the RV after my grandmother passed away, but he wanted to keep camping on that spot, so he put up a couple of modular sheds, installed a tiny kitchen and a tinier bathroom, and created the Stockslager family cabin. Pappy kept visiting the cabin until he died in January 2018 (you can read my tribute to him here), and his gentle, goofy humor and spindly handwriting are still all over the place, in the lists of instructions he made for winterizing and taking care of the cabin, the John Deere clock he made and hand-painted with a Bible verse that somehow fits, and the old and quirky but still functional cookware and dishes that are getting a second life after years in Grandma and Pappy’s kitchen. The cabin continues to be a beloved vacation place for many members of our family. It has been expanded in recent years and now includes a bigger bathroom and a private bedroom, though some still prefer to sleep in the curtained area off the living room. It’s not palatial by any means, but it’s really just there to serve as a shelter and a base for outdoor adventures, and it serves that purpose beautifully.

Jordan and I have spent a long weekend at the cabin each of the three autumns since we’ve been married. Here are some of my favorite things about being there.

  • Walking down to the hayfield when the sun is coming up, then taking the short loop hike through the woods and watching deer burst out of their hiding places and run across the path
  • Cooking breakfast in the tiny indoor kitchen, making the whole cabin smell like bacon and coffee
  • Cooking hot dogs and s’mores over a roaring fire in the fire pit
  • Playing board games under the fairy lights at the picnic table in the covered outdoor kitchen area
  • Taking a spin around the woods and fields in the utility vehicle (a John Deere Gator, of course)
  • Hiking in the nearby New Germany State Park, as well as other trails on and off the cabin property
  • Visiting some of our favorite local businesses: High Country Creamery (where we stock up on cheese for the visit–very important), Cornucopia Cafe, and of course, Candyland at Hilltop Fruit Market

I love that I go to bed smelling like fire every night at the cabin. I love that I can get up early and get a little work done while sitting outside as I wait for Jordan to get ready for the day. I love that even though the cabin feels isolated and we sometimes hear coyotes and catch glimpses of bears, we know we’re safe because we’re surrounded by the farms and homes of people who knew and respected my grandparents and are keeping an eye on their kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids. I love seeing the patchwork fields covering the hills in the distance and watching the sun slant through the trees and light up the leaves like fire. I am thankful for this beautiful place that has meant so much to my family and now means so much to Jordan and me. I can’t wait to be there again.

by

guest post: There’s Always a Table for You

Today I’m sharing a short story by my brother Mark Stockslager, centering on the Ship Hotel, a landmark of the western Pennsylvania stretch of the Lincoln Highway. Whether you’re interested in the importance of research to creative writing (WRIT 402 students, take note!) or just love a good story, I think you will enjoy this!

There’s Always a Table for You

A Ship Hotel Story

by Mark Stockslager

“‘Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood

When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud

I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form

‘Come in’, she said, ‘I’ll give you shelter from the storm’”

Bob Dylan

1

              It was 1975, and Elmer was sick of it. Not the year, no, but mostly everything else. His job at Schellsburg’s one and only real estate business wasn’t on life support yet, but Elmer liked to say it was high time for some diet and exercise if the job wanted to see the 80s. His marriage was taken off of life support a few years earlier, and he was still sore about that. Not just sore that his wife up and told him one day that he was boring, he was fat, and he was balding and she wanted out, no — sore that he didn’t have anyone to complain to anymore.

              “And you complain too much, Elmer!” That’s something else she told him.

              Anyhow, the only thing Elmer much cared for anymore was Bob Dylan records and driving his car. He drove when he was annoyed (sick of it) and that was a frequent occasion these days. So it was on this day that Elmer got in his car, popped in the tape he’d recorded of Bob Dylan’s latest LP and started driving.

              “I’m telling you, Bill — Blood on the Tracks is gonna go down as one of his best,” Elmer told the one coworker he could tolerate, and told him again and again since Elmer picked it up in January.

              “Uh-huh,” was Bill’s reply. He’d said the same thing the other times Elmer had brought up Bob Dylan. To Bill, Dylan was just another anti-war hippie Communist who overstayed his welcome.

              It was a particularly beautiful fall day when Elmer fired up the first track “Tangled Up in Blue” and decided he’d point his Chevrolet Corvair west on 30, which Elmer affectionately referred to as “The Old Linc.” The Lincoln Highway stretched over 3,000 miles from New York to California, and was still held in high regard similar to Route 66, but the stretch through western PA that included Elmer’s hometown of Schellsburg wasn’t used by many folks. Not for long distance travel, at least. The PA Turnpike was more preferable to those trying to avoid the mountain, and the novelty of the gigantic teapot on the side of the road had worn off for those who didn’t appreciate the finer things. Like Elmer did.

              Elmer had checked the clock on his stove before leaving his house. It was just getting on 2 in the afternoon, it was a Saturday, and he had no responsibilities today. “The only thing I knew how to do was to keep on keeping on,” said Bobby, and Elmer agreed.

2

              Elmer backed out of his driveway and directly into the side of his neighbor Ellen Grayfield’s sedan. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Elmer barked. Both parties shifted to park and Elmer jumped out of his car.

              “Ms. Grayfield I—”

              “Don’t bother, Elmer. I’m already over it.” She stayed in the car, but her window was rolled down. She waved her hand like she was lazily waving away a fly.

              Elmer slowed in his tracks. “What? You’re serious?”

              “Well, you’re insured aren’t you?”

              He nodded. “I am.”

              She nodded, almost in unison. “As am I. And quite honestly, Elmer, I don’t know if I even see the need for that nonsense. You see any scrapes?”

              As she said it, Elmer looked at her car and noticed it looked almost brand new. “You know, now that you mention it—”

              “Okay and how about yours?” She nodded at his Corvair, and his eyes followed.

              Elmer squatted by the rear bumper and stared. “Nothing. There’s nothing.”

              “Well don’t act like it’s God’s miracle, Elmer, you barely touched me. It wasn’t a head-on collision.” Ellen Grayfield gave Elmer a half smile and waited for his reply.

              “So you want to just shake hands and call it square?” Elmer reached his hand through her passenger window and she shook it, firmly.

              “That’s what I’m talking about, fella. Where you headed on this fine day, anyway?”

              Elmer was so relieved that (a) Ms. Grayfield wasn’t upset and (b) their cars seemed weirdly fresh off the lot with nary a scratch that he laughed and said, “You know, I have no idea. I was just going for a drive to be honest.”

              Ellen Grayfield once again smiled and once again nodded and said, “Great minds think alike. The Linc?”

              “Yeah I — hey I call it that too!” Elmer began to feel a sense of deja vu, but the good kind. Almost like meeting someone new and realizing you were going to be friends. Only, he’d lived next to Ellen for years and had exchanged nothing but quick pleasantries with her throughout their acquaintance.

              “You headed east or west?” Ellen’s car was still running, as was Elmer’s, but neither seemed to mind.

              “I was thinking of going west. You?”

              “East. Not sure why or what, just flipped a coin in my head, I guess.”

              Elmer was leaning over to talk to Ellen through the window and normally by now his back would have protested. He didn’t feel any pain today. “Ha, yeah, same here.”

              What was going on here? Elmer was not good at small talk (the Dylan conversations with Bill were evidence of that), but he all of a sudden wanted to stand here and chat with Ellen for hours. They weren’t even talking, really, just batting niceties around like backyard badminton, but it came naturally and it felt good. Wonder if Ellen likes Bob Dylan?

              “Well Elmer, as much as I’d like to sit here and chat with you for hours,” Didn’t I just think that? “I’ve gotta scoot. The Linc is calling, and I must go.” She looked at him for a couple beats and added, “You gonna be alright there, Elmer?”

              Elmer shook his head slightly, as if to clear the cobwebs, and replied, “Yeah, oh yeah…guess hitting the brakes after bumping you made me feel a little fuzzy. It’s been really nice talking with you, Ellen.” He moved to straighten his back, just a touch, and felt a twinge.

              “Same to you, Elmer. Don’t be a stranger.” She gave him yet another smile and yet another nod, maneuvered to D, and started to roll. “Gravity pulls us down and destiny pulls us apart, Elmer. Or sometimes together. I don’t know.” Her car pulled up to the stop sign just up from Elmer’s, its left blinker signaled her forged path, and off went Ellen Grayfield.

              Elmer, somewhat dazed but feeling good, turned back to his car. “Idiot Wind” was playing now. And what was it Ellen just said? Gravity and destiny? Elmer knew that was one of many lines in the almost eight minute track, but how did Ellen know that was what he was listening to? Elmer didn’t usually crank up the volume until he was out on the main road — out of courtesy to his neighbors of course.

              The sun glared in his eyes as he turned right onto Route 30 (“The Linc is calling,” Ellen had said) and Elmer glanced at the clock on his dash. It was almost four o’clock. “That doesn’t make sense,” he proclaimed to nothing and no one, “We talked for barely five minutes!” It had felt longer, though, hadn’t it? But if they’d talked for almost two hours, why was the tape still on track four?

              “Whole thing musta looped around and started over,” Elmer said with a grunt of a laugh, but that didn’t quite add up either. It was the thing that made the most sense, though, and Elmer left it at that. He turned “Idiot Wind” up and he sang along loudly. It was, for Elmer, the song he liked to sing along with the most.

3

              Elmer had driven for barely a mile (“Idiot Wind” gave way to “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go”) before his mind forced him back to the weird time jump he had just experienced.

              “Ok, look,” Elmer began (he talked to himself a lot since the divorce, it was easier to think that way), “It must have been later than I thought when I left the house.”

              Was it, though? His mind answered.  You looked at the clock on the stove when you left. It’s in big white block numbers. It said 1:57 pm, and you know it.

              “Alright then…the stove was wrong. Or the car is wrong!”

              Who changed the clocks then, Elmer? You’ve lived on your own since—

              “Yeah yeah, I hear you,” Elmer interrupted his own mind. “Any bright ideas then, smart guy?”

              Elmer’s prying brain seemed not to have any ideas worth noting, so his internal spat came to a quick and unsatisfying conclusion.

              Quick and unsatisfying, you say? Sounds like another reason why you and your wife had—

              “That’s quite enough out of you, thanks!” Elmer shouted at himself. “This conversation is over.” Side two had started and “Meet Me in the Morning” was on. It was a bluesy one, so Elmer turned it up even louder. He didn’t sing, but he beat hell on the drum kit of his steering wheel, dashboard, and doorframe.

              Schellsburg wasn’t much of a town to speak of, so Elmer was out in the country even before he and his mind had started trading haymakers, and Route 30 started its steady climb over the mountain. The sun seemed to be dipping lower and lower like God had hit fast forward on His VCR and the button was stuck.

              The day was almost over and Elmer felt like it had just begun. But it was Saturday, tomorrow was Sunday, and he didn’t have to let some stupid clock issue with his car (and possibly his stove) get in the way of his good time. Which these days consisted of driving and Dylan.

              The steady hum of his car grew to its usual dull roar when going over the mountain, so he turned Dylan even louder to hear it. Let’s face it, Elmer. It’s not about hearing it, it’s about feeling it. Especially when you’ve got the volume this high. Dylan was singing about Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts when the roar of his car gave way to a bang, and a hard jolt towards the oncoming lane.

              “My tire’s blown out!” Elmer yelled to no one. Luckily he was moving slowly, and no one was heading down the mountain, so Elmer corrected himself and his car slowed further to a 15mph crawl as Elmer collected his thoughts.

              “Just find a place to pull over, and we’ll figure something out. Flag somebody down, catch a ride, get a tow. We’re fine.”

              Are we fine?

              “Yes we’re fine. My back hurts and my head hurts but we’re fine.” And frankly, Elmer was proud of himself. The Elmer of the past few years would have been blowing a gasket at this point. The gasket probably would have already been blown after his little run-in with Ellen Grayfield’s sensible sedan, and a flat tire would have ruined the next few days for That Elmer. But This Elmer? He was still riding the buzz from the fact that his and Ellen’s run-in didn’t involve anything other than a pleasant conversation. It was the conversation, mostly. He hadn’t had such a friendly chat in well…

              “When I get up tomorrow, I’m gonna offer to go with Ellen to church. I’m sure she’d love the company. Who am I kidding? I’d love the company, too.” Who exactly was This Elmer? That Elmer — the snarky Elmer in his brain — didn’t recognize or exactly like him. That Elmer loved a complainer. He thought misery tasted good.

              For now, though, Elmer (This Elmer, Our Elmer, if you will) had the matter of his front left tire to worry about, and where exactly he was going to pull off. There weren’t a whole lot of options going over this particular stretch of the mountain.

              There is that old restaurant and hotel joint. The one that looks like a ship?

              “Oh you’re trying to help now, are you?” Elmer chided himself. But That Elmer had a point. It was coming up on the left, wasn’t it? It wasn’t what it used to be, back in the glory days of presidents and celebrities coming to visit, but it was a parking lot, and that’s all Elmer needed at the moment.

4

              It was only seconds after Elmer decided the ship was his best option that the structure loomed around the corner (and not a moment too soon — his tire was thumping loud enough to give up on Dylan). It took Elmer a moment to register two things. Number one — the building was beautiful. It was freshly painted, lit up like a used car lot (but in a good way), and the parking lot was jammed. Number two — the hotel was lit up because it was basically dark. He looked at his dash and saw that it read 5:45.

              “That doesn’t make a lick of sense, but I don’t care. That’s the least of my worries.” And it was true — Elmer hung a lazy left into the small lot and wasn’t sure if he’d find a spot. His Corvair crept along the small strip of parking on the side of 30 (the building was built on the side of a steep cliff on a mountain, after all), and shortly Elmer found a perfect spot. Right in front of the entryway.

              “Hey look at that!” He practically punched the roof in excitement. He eased the car into the space (perfect fit) and hoped the next time it moved was onto the back of a tow truck.

              Elmer sat in the now-quiet car and took a quick moment to close his eyes and collect himself. Yes, his back and head hurt. Yes, he got a flat on a day that seemed to be flying by him, but he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even disappointed, really. This Elmer was trying to take it easy, baby, take it as it comes (Elmer liked The Doors, too, but nowhere as much as he did Bobby).

              Elmer could hear music, but it wasn’t rock and roll. It was big band music, and it was coming from the hotel. “Sounds hoppin’ in there!” Elmer got out of his car (his back gave him a holler, but not as big as he had feared it would) and made for the door. He knew priority numero uno was asking to use the phone to call a tow, but he was more excited to see what was going on inside.

              As Elmer reached for the door, it swung wide for him. The music came into a loud focus, as did the pleasant smells and sights. The first pleasant sight was an older man wearing a suit, a captain’s hat, and a warm smile, who had opened the door for him.

              “Come in, come in!” the captain said (Elmer assumed he ran this ship) and stepped aside to usher in an Elmer (This Elmer) who was feeling that good, good daze from earlier today at about 1000%. “I’m Herb, the captain of this ship. What can I do for you, Mister…”

              Elmer looked up and met Herb’s eyes. They were kind, patient eyes. The eyes of someone who was waiting for an answer but nice enough to give you time to gather your bearings before you answer. Elmer appreciated those eyes. “I, uh…I’m Elmer! I’m Elmer. My car—”

              “Flat tire, huh? That’s not fun at all.” Elmer gave him a puzzled look. How in the world? Herb recognized the look and laughed. “Oh, I heard you pulling in. Thumping like a bass drum, it was.”

              That was good enough for Elmer (maybe not for That Elmer — the music is way too loud for somebody to have heard that, he thought) so he recovered and asked Herb if there was a phone he could use.

              “Why sure there is, Elmer. Anything else I can help with? Hey, you hungry, Elmer?”

              Elmer was, and Elmer wanted to hang out here as long as he could, honestly. At least until the tow truck got here. It was Saturday (night) after all. “Yes, sir, I am, but is there even a table open? This place is hopping!”

              Herb smiled, gave Elmer a nod, and waved his hand towards the center of the small but charming dining area. “Of course, Elmer! There’s always a table for you.”

              Elmer followed as Herb led him to the small table, one chair already pulled out for its next occupant. “I’ve actually never been inside here, Herb. Driven past it all my life, though.” He looked at Herb then, who was smiling expectantly. “Wait, do we know each other?”

              “I don’t think we do — we get a lot of people in here these days, but I never forget a face. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of seeing yours before.” A small cacophony of music coming from the slightly cramped stage at the front of the dining room. No one was dancing —not yet — but Elmer had the feeling the tables would get cleared after dinner and this party would really get swinging.

              “Well, Elmer, if there’s anything you need, I’ll know. Somebody will come by to get your order.” Elmer and Herb shook hands, and Elmer sat down as Herb made his way through the room, smiling, nodding, chatting, and overall commanding the room like only those really special people can. Like a captain, for instance.

5

              Elmer had ordered drinks and dinner and was tapping his foot to the music when That Elmer tapped on his brain.

              Say Elmer, what did you come here for? It wasn’t just hopping music and fettuccini alfredo.

              Elmer brought his hand down hard to the table, but no one noticed over the music. “The phone!” He whispered to himself. He’d never called the tow! As if he’d heard Elmer’s whisper, Herb made his way over to him, hello-ing as he went.

              “You ready to make that call now? I figured you’d want to wait until you’d ordered so the timing worked out.” Elmer almost laughed in relief.

              “Yeah! Yeah, that’s good thinking, Cap. I’ll admit, I’d almost forgotten about why I was here in the first place.” Elmer stood up and allowed Herb to lead the way.

              Herb walked in step by Elmer’s side, somehow both of them able to walk comfortably even in the small room. “Oh, let’s say that the dinner and the show was the main reason, Elmer. The car trouble was just the luck that brought you here.” Herb took Elmer to a door off the dining room that led into a small office. Outside the office was a grand (grand for a small restaurant that looked like a ship built on the side of a mountain) staircase that led up to what looked like rooms to rent.

              Elmer laughed and said. “I like that idea, Cap. I like it a lot.”

              “Phone’s on the desk. Take your time, Elmer.” And with that, Herb was back at it.

              Gotta say, I really like this guy.

              “That makes two of us, good buddy,” and Elmer dialed the only tow truck service in town.

              The call was short, and the friendly but slightly stressed voice on the other end of the line assured Elmer that somebody would be out at some point this evening. “But it’s a Saturday night, sir, and it seems like everybody’s driving and everybody’s blowing tires tonight.”

              Elmer wasn’t fazed. “Hey, you can put me at the end of the list if you need. I was able to pull off a nice stop and I’m having dinner, so I don’t mind the wait, truly.”

              “Thanks for understanding, sir. Where is your car located right now?”

              Elmer gave the name of the Ship Hotel (“That old place? Sure, I know it”), thanked the voice, and rejoined the fray.

              As Elmer shut Herb’s office door, he noticed Herb talking to a woman by the front door who looked like she was the main greeter of guests. Herb wasn’t necessarily speaking angrily, but he was more agitated than Elmer had seen him all evening. He wondered to himself what could have the Cap rattled like that.

              Herb broke away when he saw Elmer and instantly flashed him a smile, not betraying that anything could have been bothering him mere seconds before. “Any luck, Elm?”

              “They’ll certainly be here before this party dies down, but hopefully not much before,” Elmer laughed. “Say Cap, everything alright? Not to pry, but you seemed a bit concerned just now.”

              They arrived back at Elmer’s table, his fettuccini just freshly dropped off, and Herb clapped him on the back as Elmer sat down. “Aw now…it’s nothing we can’t handle. Nothing that matters much — it’s doom alone that counts.”

              “Alright, Cap, but if there’s anything I can do….” Herb didn’t reply, but bowed slightly and smiled and off he went.

              Nothing really matters much, it’s doom alone that counts…now where had Herb heard that before? It was right on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t place it. It sounded like a lyric. Like a Dylan lyric, his mind chimed in. Do you suppose the Cap likes Dylan too? Or what do you think is really going on here tonight, Elmer?

              Elmer wasn’t sure how to answer the question, so he decided to tuck into the best fettuccini alfredo he’d ever eaten in his life until further notice.

6

              The combination of Elmer’s hunger and the best fettuccini alfredo he’d ever had meant that he finished fast enough to want another plate, but he was keenly aware that two servings of pasta was a trend he’d better stop subscribing to if he wanted to see his feet anytime soon. So after making the wise decision of allowing his digestive system to work, he settled back to listen to the band and glance around the room.

              The Captain was nowhere to be seen at the moment, so Elmer took in the other clientele. It seemed to be your typical Sunday lunch crowd, folks in church-appropriate suits and dresses. It struck Elmer as a little odd for a Saturday night, in fact the whole setting seemed a bit old school, but it was A-OK by him. Nothing wrong with a little fancy dress and fancy music to break up the monotony of his usual TV dinners and leftovers by the record player.

              Elmer thought back on the events of the day. Or at least he tried to — what time did he get up that morning? What had he eaten for breakfast? Can we remember anything before leaving the house and running into Ellen Grayfield?

              Elmer put his hand to his mouth to disguise his muttering and said, “You know it’s getting real when you start saying ‘we.’” That Elmer had a point, though. Elmer thought hard and couldn’t recall anything before leaving the house in the afternoon to drive — but that’s probably because we had the same boring morning we always do, right?

              “You and I are thinking more and more on the same page, buddyroo,” and then Elmer decided to stop conversing with himself before anyone noticed.

              “How did that alfredo treat you, Elmer?” His smiling waiter appeared out of nowhere, who Elmer hadn’t seen since he’d taken Elmer’s order.

              Elmer took a second to recover. “It was the best I’ve ever had, uh…I’m sorry what did you say your name was?” Elmer wasn’t sure the waiter had given it, but he erred on the side of politeness.

              “It’s Robert, and I’m glad to hear that. You got room for dessert?” Robert produced a dessert menu in the same slick motion of clearing Elmer’s plate, and Elmer didn’t bother to ask how Robert had known his name.

              “I’ve always got room for dessert, Bobby,” and they laughed like old friends. Elmer ordered the cannoli (leave the gun) and hoped his tow truck was hours away. Come to think of it, what time is it anyway?

              There wasn’t a clock on the wall. Like magic, Herb approached Elmer’s table and said, “Glad to hear you enjoyed your meal, Elm. It’s coming on 9 o’clock, I’m surprised your tow isn’t here yet.”

              “9 o’clock! Time flies when you’re having fun I guess!” Yeah, at the speed of sound, and Elmer agreed. “I told them to take their time on the account of having too much fun here to be pried away.”

              Herb glanced behind him to see the greeter making a beeline for Herb and Elmer. “That’s what I love to hear —” She whispered in Herb’s ear shortly, and Herb turned to a curious Elmer. “Phone’s for you, Elmer. Sounds like it’s your tow.”

              Herb ushered Elmer not to his office, but to the small greeter’s stand which had a phone with its receiver sitting face down, waiting for Elmer. “Yeah, this is Elmer.”

              “Sir…I’m sorry to say…having trouble…the place…confirm the address for…” The voice sounded a million miles away with an ocean of static in between.

              “Yeah the address is—” and then the call dropped. Elmer turned to see Herb still with him and said, “I guess they’re having a hard time finding this place, and the call dropped on me.”

              Herb nodded apologetically, “Sometimes the phones are a little wonky here —us being at sea.” A beat passed and Herb and Elmer started giggling like they were two school kids sharing a dirty joke. “But hey, Elmer, looks like the dancing is about to start.”

              The tables had been cleared, and the band had kicked it into overdrive. Still older songs, but this time it was a song Elmer could actually place the title. They had begun playing an instrumental version of Sam Coke’s “Twistin’ the Night Away,” and Elmer couldn’t resist.

              “Well they’ll get here when they get here, won’t they, Cap?”

              “That’s the spirit, Elmer. Get on out there!” Elmer didn’t have to be told twice.

7

              Elmer danced for minutes, or hours, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t a good dancer (he was bad, if we’re being honest), but this crowd didn’t mind. Everyone became instant friends when the rock and roll started to play. The men had shed their suit coats, but even then everyone had a sheen of sweat as they danced to song after song.

              The fettuccini alfredo would have normally given Elmer a serious case of the burps, but Elmer felt better after this meal than he had in a long while. He didn’t even seem to care that his cannoli was long forgotten, but he had a feeling it would turn up at some point. Things just seemed to show up in this place.

              Several songs later, everyone was laughing, panting, and fairly well tuckered out. The band switched back to something smooth and slow and Elmer looked around for the Cap. Herb was on the far side of the small room, leaning on the wall with a content smile on his face. Elmer approached. “You can really cut a rug, Elmer,” Herb said as he pushed himself to a standing position. “I always like to hang back and watch people dance on the weekend nights. People seem so happy and alive.”

              Elmer was still panting a bit when he said, “I can attest to that, Cap. Say, what time is it now?”

              “It’s just now 11, Elm. You might be stuck with us tonight,” Herb once again had an apologetic tone, as if he was being an inconvenience to Elmer.

              “That’s just fine, that’s just fine. They’ll catch me in the morning, I’m sure. I just want to peek out at my car real quick. Is there a room available for me?”

              Herb smiled. “There’s always a room for you, Elmer.”

8

              Outside the air was cool but not cold, and Elmer breathed it in deeply. Elmer was more partial to the fall and winter (“You sweat less in the cold!” he’d say), and he was glad that the summer heat was in the rear view mirror.

              “Speaking of rear views, let’s have a looky at this car of mi—” Elmer blinked as he cut himself off. He blinked again, rapidly, as he stared dumbly at his Chevrolet Corvair. Now he bugged his eyes out as he squatted by the left passenger tire, the one that was a ragged piece of rubber when he’d sailed into this place.

              He didn’t need to squat, could have seen it ten paces away, but Elmer wanted to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. The tire was completely full, no holes, not even any wear on it. Elmer stood up too fast and put his hand on the hood to steady himself.

              “You good, Elm?” Elmer whipped around to see Herb standing in the doorway with a look of concern on his face. “You look a little dizzy.”

              “Just catching my bearings, Cap. But take a look at this.” Elmer stepped aside and Herb approached the car and squatted just as Elmer had a minute ago.

              He whistled. “Look at that, Elmer! That’s fresh off the rack, I’d say!” Herb stood slowly, scratching his stubbled cheek at the unexpected sight of the brand new tire.

              Elmer looked up at the considerably taller Captain. “What are you saying, Cap, they came by and replaced my tire without trying to collect any payment?” Elmer had a thought just as he said it, and checked the wipers to see if a bill had been left there.

              Herb followed his eyes and said, “No bill that I can see. What are you thinking, Elm?”

              “I’m thinking there’s some good samaritans out there, but this would be a random act of kindness of a biblical proportion.’’

              Herb laughed at that and replied, “You’re not wrong, Elmer. There’s ‘paying it forward’ and then there’s this. That’s assuming they did fix it gratis. I guess that means you won’t be staying with us?” Herb had a genuine look of sadness on his face when he asked it.

              “Well, I…I guess I don’t need to now, do I?” Elmer felt that same sadness. He wasn’t ready for the night to end.

              Herb read Elmer’s face and said, “The room’s still on the table for you, Elm. Car or no car, you’re welcome to stay the night. Free of charge.”

              Elmer protested. “Oh hey now, Cap, of course I’ll stay, but you gotta let me pay for the room.” They began walking back to the ship as they talked.

              The door was still open and Herb hung back to allow Elmer to enter. The band was finished for the evening, and the clientele were either making their way to the exit or up the staircase to their rooms. “Elmer, I insist. You’ve become a fast friend, and I like to take care of my friends.”

              “Okay, Cap, I won’t fight you. And I thank you — for everything. This whole night has felt…I don’t know…” Magical, his mind said.

              “Magical?” Herb suggested.

              “Yeah, that’s right.”

              Herb paused at the greeter’s stand to grab a key off of a rack that held several rows of key holders. “That’s what I like to hear, Elmer. You’re in room 14, last of the ‘first class cabins’ that we’ve got. The rooms aren’t big, but they’re cozy enough.”

              Elmer hesitated before going upstairs. “I guess I don’t have any toiletries.” He didn’t say what he really wanted to say.

              “That’s no matter. Check the cabinet under the sink, and if you need anything else come down and holler. We’ll get you squared away.” Herb smiled at Elmer’s continued hesitance, and he stuck out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to have made your acquaintance —no, your friendship—tonight, Elmer.”

              Elmer shook — firmly and earnestly. “Cap, I can’t thank you enough.”

              “Come and back and see us sometime.”

              “That’s a promise.”

              Elmer’s room was indeed small but cozy, and the cabinet did indeed have everything he needed for the night. Almost like they knew, huh?

              Elmer, tired and happy, laid down in his clothes on the bed and sighed. “Yep…almost like they knew.”

9

              He woke feeling more refreshed than he had felt in ages. He sat up and surveyed his cabin on the SS Grand View Hotel. “The Ship of the Alleghenies,” he said to the empty room, and then his heart sank.

              Elmer wasn’t in a small cabin on the ship. Elmer was in his bedroom on Peter Street in Schellsburg. He shut his eyes, held for a moment, and opened them. Still the same bedroom with the same ugly wallpaper he and his wife had chosen together. Elmer threw himself on his back as if to will himself asleep again and gave up immediately.

              “This isn’t right, it can’t be right.”

              I know it, Elmer. It was so real.

              “It was real, dammit!” Elmer stomped out of the bedroom towards the front door. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he knew he was going to drive right back to the Ship. He was still there in his mind. If he was dreaming, he hoped he wasn’t sleepwalking too.

              Elmer whipped open the door and almost ran into Ellen Grayfield. “Hey, Elmer! I was just about to invite you over for breakfast and — say, where are you off to in such a rush? And still in your jammies, no less?” She looked like she was feigning surprise — like she already knew the answer.

              “I’m uh—” He stopped and looked down at his clothes. He was wearing his usual sleep attire—a white t-shirt and boxer shorts. Friday night’s boxer shorts, by the look of it. “I’m, well…” Elmer thought about it and for a second and figured he might as well tell Ellen the truth. They’d connected yesterday and surely she’d understand. He launched into his story — the flat tire, the ship, the Cap, the dancing, the dinner, all of it. He was talking so fast that he wasn’t sure Ellen would keep up, but she took it all in, nodding and smiling at him. She smiled like she was hearing a story she’d heard a bunch of times before.

              “So anyway, I have no idea why I’m here and not there and I just gotta get back to —okay, why are you smiling at me like that?”

              Ellen touched his arm and said, “Elmer, you want to go inside for a bit? We should talk. And you should grab a housecoat.” Elmer had a pout on his face, but nodded and turned to let Ellen in his little living room. He shuffled to his bedroom, and he heard Ellen in the kitchen banging around. He put on actual clothes, washed his face, and brushed his teeth — both to give Ellen time to make them breakfast and him time to collect his thoughts. Let’s go hear her out, Elm.

              Elmer looked at his face in the mirror. “Okay, pal. We’re ready.”

10

              “So you and the Cap became fast friends, huh?” Ellen and Elmer sat at the small dinette set in the kitchen, sipping coffee and picking at eggs and bacon. Well, Elmer was picking. Ellen was enthusiastically enjoying the fruits of her labor.

              “Yeah, he was…he was the best. Ellen…can you tell me what’s going on, please?” After a beat he added, “And thanks for the breakfast.”

              She waved. “Not a problem, Elm. Look, I’m just gonna tell it to you flat and true. Herbert Paulson, the founder of the Ship, died two years ago in 1973, at the age of 99. He died in a bathtub on his beloved Ship, as a matter of fact.” She stopped and looked at Elmer, allowing him time to process and respond.

              Elmer didn’t take any time to process and blurted, “No no no that’s not right! I was there! The Cap is alive!” He was becoming increasingly frantic. “And he was barely in his 70s, surely! Come on, we’re going there right now, together.” Elmer stood up with a jolt and sloshed coffee on the table.

              “Sit down, Elm,” Ellen said softly, which he did, looking like a child obeying his mother.

              Elmer, with his head down so as not to make eye contact with Ellen, murmured, “Are you telling me I’m a liar? Are you telling me I dreamed this?” To Elmer, the dream would be just like a lie. Or is it something worse?

              “I’m telling you that if we drove the 9 miles to the Ship right now, you’d still find it standing. But you wouldn’t find the Cap, and you wouldn’t find the hopping place you found last night. The Ship has seen better days. I’ve seen them myself.” Ellen reached over to touch Elmer’s hand.

              Elmer found it in himself to meet Ellen’s eyes. “Ellen, what day is it today?”

              Ellen smiled a sad smile, like she knew she was about to break Elmer’s heart. “Today’s Saturday, Elm.” That’s when the tears came to his eyes.

              “It was so real, Ellen.”

              “I know it was, Elmer.”

              “It was a dream?” He wanted Ellen to confirm, to slam the nail in the coffin.

              “That’s the closest word to it. I still visit the Cap too sometimes.” Her hand was still on his. “Was it a good dream, Elmer?”

              He choked out a small sob. “The best.”

              Ellen then took Elmer’s hand into both of hers. “Then that’s good, Elmer. That’s real good.” She took a moment and said, “Elmer, I think we’d be good friends. Would you like that? Would you like to be my friend?”

              Elmer smiled then, with tears still in his eyes. “Yes I would, Ellen. I would very much like to be your friend.”

THE END

“Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn

‘Come in’, she said, ‘I’ll give you shelter from the storm’”

Ditto

by

Work Places: The Carlisle Inns of Ohio

This is the third post in my series about places to do remote work in some of America’s most beautiful vacation spots. Click here for the first post and here for the second.

Good morning from the Carlisle Inn in Walnut Creek, Ohio! I just walked into our room after sitting on the balcony, which overlooks rolling farmland and (on the front side of the hotel) the quiet main street of Walnut Creek. (It’s just slightly above freezing outside, but the balcony faces the sun and is warming up quickly–and besides, I had a cup of tea.) My husband and I are here on a weekend trip that’s part family visit and part couple’s getaway. We plan on spending time with my aunt and cousins who live in the area and are avid board gamers like ourselves, but we’re also going to do a few things just the two of us, like taking a walk this morning and, tomorrow, hitting some of my other favorite spots in Walnut Creek: Der Dutchman Amish Kitchen Cooking (for breakfast), Carlisle Gifts, Coblentz Chocolate Company, and Walnut Creek Antique Mall.

Why would one want to spend a chilly November weekend in middle-of-nowhere Ohio? For one thing, it’s beautiful here, especially at this time of year, with recently-harvested fields resting on hillsides, orange and red trees blazing over the ridges, and mist rising off the pastures as the frost melts in the morning. For another, it’s quiet here. Although this area (primarily in Holmes and Tuscarawas Counties) has become a prosperous tourist destination in recent years, it isn’t overdeveloped, and businesses close down early at night, reflecting the agricultural lifestyle of the Amish, whose culture-challenging lifestyle is one reason why tourists find the area so fascinating. (Jordan and I passed almost as many buggies, tractors, and bikes as cars as we came into town last night.)

If you visit, I recommend staying in one of the Carlisle Inns, whose slogan is “Peace & Comfort.” (I feel like that should be every hotel’s slogan, right?) They are part of the Dutchman Hospitality Group, who run several fine establishments in the area, including the Der Dutchman restaurant (hearty, homestyle fare) and two of the most gorgeous fine gift shops I’ve ever visited, Carlisle Gifts in Walnut Creek and Dutch Valley Gifts in Sugar Creek. There are two Carlisle Inns. The one in Walnut Creek, where we’re staying, is the older of the two, so the rooms maybe aren’t quite as up-to-date, but they’re still comfortable and clean, and you can’t beat the charm of this location, which stands as a friendly beacon at the foot of Walnut Creek’s main street (especially when it’s lit up for Christmas, like it is now). I love being able to walk next door or across the street to the retail establishments I mentioned earlier, or stroll a little further into the residential part of Walnut Creek.

The other Carlisle Inn is in Sugarcreek, a somewhat more built-up town, though still not at all overdeveloped. It’s newer, so the rooms are a little nicer, and it sits on a whole compound of Dutchman Hospitality properties, including the Ohio Star Theater (a popular local spot for concerts and live theater) and Dutch Valley Market, a food shop. I prefer the location of the Walnut Creek inn a bit more, but you really can’t go wrong with either. You might choose the Sugarcreek Carlisle Inn if either a) you want an ultra-comfy room to stay in on a quick overnight stop on a road trip (I’ve done this) or b) you’re coming to see a show at the Ohio Star Theater (I’ve done this too, when a friend and I came to see Fernando Ortega a few years ago). You might choose the Walnut Creek Carlisle Inn if you want a quiet weekend getaway where you can do a little shopping but still feel like there’s no one else around for miles.

Since this is part of my Work Places series (and Jordan is wrapping up work across the table from me right now), I should mention that the rooms in both Carlisle Inns, from my experience, all have decent-sized tables and ample plugs. I don’t remember the Wi-Fi situation in Sugar Creek, but here in Walnut Creek the network, while adequately fast and reliable, isn’t password-protected, so if you’re concerned about security, you might want to forego the hotel network and create a hotspot on your phone. Also of note, the rooms have Starbucks coffee in them.

But don’t stay in your room working too long if you can help it. Take a cue from your Amish neighbors and distance yourself from technology for the weekend. Isn’t that what you came here for?

by

Work Places: On the Lanai in Oahu

This is the second post in my series about places to do remote work in some of America’s most beautiful vacation spots. Click here for the first post.

Today is the last day of a week-long vacation I’ve spent with my husband and his parents on the Hawaiian island of Oahu. This has been my first visit to Hawaii, and it’s been wonderful. My main advice to anyone visiting Hawaii for the first time is don’t work. Seriously–this is too beautiful a place for you to spend your time inside staring at a computer. If you have a job that truly requires you to check in from time to time, don’t be checking your email on your phone while standing at the edge of the Waimea Valley waterfall or one of the equally stunning vistas you’ll see practically every time you step outside. Instead, build in a day or two when you can hang out at your lodging and get your task list to the point where you feel okay not worrying about it for the rest of the trip. And if you can, stay at a place that has a lanai.

A lanai is essentially a Hawaiian patio. We have been fortunate to be able to stay in a first-floor condo that has one main lanai, plus two smaller ones accessible through the bedrooms’ sliding doors. I’ve been doing yoga each day on the lanai outside our bedroom. On the main lanai, we’ve been eating all of our stay-in meals, playing games, and watching the sun set over the ocean almost every night. This is also where I did at least a little bit of my work on each day that I had to do some grading. There’s no electrical outlet out there, and it does get quite warm when the afternoon sun reaches the lanai (and that’s going to be true no matter what time of year you visit Hawaii). So I did end up going inside and doing some work in the air conditioning at the dining table, which still afforded a beautiful view of the palm trees and the ocean. But as often as I could, I tried to be outside, feeling the breeze, hearing the ocean, and watching the bold birds hopping across the lawn (most common were mynas, Brazilian cardinals, and zebra doves–yes, we bought a Hawaii Audubon Society book at the grocery store) and the occasional mongoose slipping through the bushes.

In summary: Don’t go to Hawaii planning to work. But if you can’t avoid it, you can’t beat the lanai.

by

Work Places: breakfast and Wi-Fi in Ludington, MI

Since working remotely has been a theme of this blog since it became what it currently is, and since I’m finding myself working in a variety of far-flung parts of America this month, I’ve decided to start a recurring series called Work Places. In each location, I’ll write about the places where I get out my laptop or planner and do anything that falls under the umbrella of work (and I have a fairly expansive definition of the term).

Before I get to today’s location, I’ll briefly mention where I was last weekend. My husband Jordan and I spent Labor Day weekend at a family cabin in Grantsville, Maryland, in the mountainous western part of the state. There’s no Wi-Fi at the cabin, and I didn’t want to spend much of this vacation working, but I did have some grading to catch up on, and one of our days ended up being too rainy for hiking, so I create an iPhone hotspot at the cabin. I worked for about three hours under the sturdy roof of the outdoor kitchen area, while Jordan sat by the nearby campfire and read. For a grading session, it was pretty idyllic. Afterward, we had lunch at the Cornucopia Café, a breakfast and lunch place with a quiet, rustic vibe, a seasonally changing menu (we’ve eaten there several times and always enjoyed the food), and a full coffee menu, within a short walk of the historic Casselman Bridge and the Spruce Forest Artisan Village. We saw a woman using a laptop at one of the tables, so we’re assuming there’s Wi-Fi there, but don’t quote me on that.

All right–now for today’s Work Places. This weekend, Jordan and I are RV camping with his parents in Ludington State Park, on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan (i.e. the Michigan side). Cell phone reception in the state park is terrible, at least in the campground where we’re staying, and in general I think that’s a good thing. (When we came here last year, my phone kept thinking I was in Central Time–it must have been picking up a signal from across the lake. It was like being in a place outside of time.) But today, Jordan needed to do a half-day’s worth of work, so I decided to join him in his quest for Wi-Fi in downtown Ludington.

We left the park when the sun was just coming up; the quiet and semi-darkness made the trip feel more magical than such an errand normally would. Jordan’s dad had scoped out a few locations for us earlier in the week, and his recommendation was Red Rooster Coffee and Community on James Street, so we headed there first–mainly because it’s one of the few businesses in town that opens at 7 am. It has the somewhat sterile industrial look that seems to be so popular in coffee shops these days, but it still manages to feel cozy, mainly because it takes that “community” thing seriously. There are bulletin boards advertising local events and businesses, the baristas are friendly, and it seemed like every other person who walked through the door knew either one of the staff or one of the other customers. The coffee was good (Jordan had a cold brew, and I had a hot cup of their medium roast), and so were the muffins (we split a banana nut and an orange cranberry). We decided to wait until our second location of the morning to have a full breakfast, but the Red Rooster offers oatmeal, an acai bowl (my father-in-law tried this and said it was good), and a variety of breads and spreads. We stayed for about two hours and never felt like we were being pressured to move. The Wi-Fi was strong and easy to connect to, all the tables had easy-to-reach outlets, and the bathroom was clean. The hip youngster music they were playing was a little loud, but not too distracting, though Jordan did have to step outside to made a phone call.

You can park on the street for free in downtown Ludington, but the spots (which are nice and spacious for bad parallel parkers like me) are all marked “2 hours.” I am not sure if this regulation is closely patrolled, but I went out to move the car a little before 9:00 anyway. About that time, Jordan came to a good stopping place in his work, so we decided to walk down the street probably a tenth of a mile to Brenda’s Harbor Café, a breakfast-focused diner whose menu looked good to us online. We were seated right away even though the place was clearly busy, and we’re still here (9:48) finishing up our breakfast and working on our back-to-back Lenovo Yogas–yeah, we’re cute :). (There aren’t many outlets, but the Wi-Fi password is clearly printed on the condiment tray. It’s like they want you to stick around.) Although the décor here is nautical kitsch (anchors on the curtains and wallpaper, walls packed with framed photos of boats), this place actually feels a lot like the Red Rooster with its friendly staff and vibrant conversations among the patrons, who seem to be locals. (Again, I’m only exaggerating a little when I say that we seem to be the only people here who don’t know anyone else.) And the food is great! Jordan had a classic breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast, and hash browns, while I went for the slightly fancier option of eggs Florentine (a Benedict variation with spinach and tomatoes), and we both really enjoyed our meal. The waitress kept the water and coffee (a solid standard diner coffee) coming, and I enjoyed doing a little people-watching while surreptitiously writing this post. (I didn’t really want the waitress to know I was reviewing this place in real time, you know?) I haven’t checked out the bathroom yet, but the Wi-Fi is working great, and the music is more muted (I think I’ve heard the Beatles and the Eagles, but I can’t really tell).

I want to emphasize that I encourage setting boundaries around work. It’s important to disconnect regularly, even if you don’t go to the extreme of camping in a park where time zones don’t exist. But if you do have to check in with work while in Ludington, check out these two spots. Stay tuned for more Work Places!

by

app recommendation: Forest

I’m writing to you today at the end of a productive and surprisingly relaxing day of grading Week 7 assignments (the big, culminating projects on which I try to give students their money’s worth in grading comments) for my online classes. I graded six assignments today (on track with the schedule I made yesterday), plus I did this week’s laundry, had lunch and watched a Friends episode with my husband, and even took a yoga break. I attribute my success and Zen-like calm partly to the fact that my classes are fairly small this term, but also to one of my favorite apps, Forest, which I’d like to recommend to you.

Several years ago, I learned about the Pomodoro method, a popular productivity technique that simply involves working for a period of time (usually 25 minutes) and then taking a short break (usually five minutes). There are plenty of apps for this, let alone the fact that you could easily replicate it with any timer or clock, but my favorite one is Forest, which I’ve been using for about a year. I believe it was my good friend Allison who introduced it to me, and I think I happened to be in England when she texted me about it. I actually did a fair bit of grading during my vacation in the village of Knutsford last summer—I was there visiting my dad, who was on a work project, and during the weekdays, he went to work, and I sat in the flat and graded, punctuating my work sessions with little breaks in the charmingly walkable streets of the village. I remember choosing my first Forest tree style while I was waiting for my takeaway sandwich at a delightful cheese shop/cafe.

So, about those trees: Forest is simple—if you succeed in focusing on your task for your selected span of time (I usually do 25 minutes but have also done 30 with equal success), a little virtual tree (or mushroom, grass tuft, bush…you get to pick) grows in your little virtual forest. If you use the app in Deep Focus mode, which I always do, your tree will die if you do anything else on your phone for more than about five seconds, and that’s a devastating enough consequence to keep me on task. There are gamified aspects to Forest—you can earn coins to unlock fancier tree styles, and you can even choose to have a real tree planted in your honor if you earn a large enough number of coins. But for me, the basic functionality is enough (though I have leveled up my trees a few times). It’s simple and charming (like Knutsford!), and it’s been making grading less dreadful for me since June 2019. Find it in the app store and let me know what you think!

by

Ebenezer and the Jordan

I promise I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth; I’ve just taken a break from my blog that lasted a little longer than I had planned. I am still figuring out how writing fits into my priorities during this busy, exciting year, but at present, I have no plans to put the blog on a longer-term hiatus.

Today, I want to share an observation that some of you might, rightly, find a little cheesy. All I can say in my defense is that I value symbolism because it helps me begin to grasp the abstract, something that does not come naturally to me.

Let me back up. A few years ago, I wrote a post about the Old Testament account of Ebenezer, the stone that the prophet Samuel set up to commemorate God’s leading of the Israelites. (I recently wrote a short story about this, which I hope to see in print soon–stay tuned.) The word “Ebenezer” is an important symbol for me; I have it engraved on a necklace, and I love its odd, archaic appearance in verse two of my favorite hymn, “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” If one can have a favorite biblical memorial stone, Ebenezer is mine.

But there are other memorial stones in scripture, and the speaker in a webinar I was listening to this past weekend reminded me of the memorial pile of stones (which doesn’t share a name with a Dickens character) that the children of Israel set up in the middle of the Jordan River after God miraculously allowed them to cross it on dry land. And then I thought about how God has led me to a Jordan of my own–my fiance, whose first name is Jordan. (I told you this would be cheesy.) When I moved out here to Michigan in August 2018, I was excited about my new job and ready for a reboot of my life, but the question remained in my mind–why Michigan, in particular? (No offense, by the way. Honestly, you can read here and here about how much I like Michigan.) And now I know why: so that I would be in the same eHarmony orbit as this wonderful man I’m going to marry in May.

Hither by God’s help I am come.

by

trains on Thanksgiving

Very early tomorrow morning, my fiance is arriving in Pittsburgh on a train to spend Thanksgiving with my family. I am already here at my parents’ house, benefiting from a work schedule that I admit is almost embarrassingly privileged (I get the whole week off) and the fact that I finished up last week at a conference in Baltimore, about 3.5 hours from my parents. Jordan, who had to work this week like a normal person, is taking an overnight train and then hitching a ride back to the Midwest with me on Friday.

Although it means waking up at an ungodly hour, I am excited to see Jordan at the station. (I’m thinking about making a little sign with his name on it.) There seems to be something inherently romantic, or at least heartwarming, about meeting loved ones at transportation hubs on holidays–just watch the end of Love Actually. Bonus points if it’s in a train station, which is inherently more romantic than an airport–just watch the middle of White Christmas. But my mom and I both went to a different movie reference today: We imagined being late to the station tomorrow morning (a distinct possibility; let’s be honest) and finding Jordan sitting forlornly on a bench with his mittens on and all his worldly possessions (or, you know, his overnight bag) sitting next to him, like Del Griffith at the end of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, a movie that is actually about Thanksgiving and that I have written about twice over the past year. (This post is about the movie’s theme of “radical hospitality,” as I put it; this one consists mainly of an embarrassing story about something dumb I did, but it does reference the film several times and is also of historical interest since I wrote it shortly after meeting Jordan).

I don’t think I’m saying anything profound here: There’s something special about picking a beloved face out of a crowd. There is something special, too, about the look on the face of the person you have come to pick up. I know from my own experience that even if, unlike Del Griffith, you know someone is coming for you, there’s still a moment of relief: “Oh, they didn’t forget me.”

Keep those feelings in your heart as you celebrate Thanksgiving this week. Don’t take for granted the beloved faces around you. And don’t forget about the people who feel like they have been forgotten. Fred Rogers used to remind us to look for the child in each person we speak with. I would add: Look for the child who is afraid of not getting picked up after school. I think there’s a little bit of that child in all of us still.

by

a pep talk for me

I’ve been feeling a little down the past week or so, and while I think there are several reasons for this, probably the biggest one is that my much-anticipated first summer of freedom (since college, that is, and with “freedom” defined as not having to report to work) has come to a close. I spent basically the whole summer going from one trip to the next, with people I enjoy being around and with something to constantly look forward to. I didn’t have to go grocery shopping or mow my lawn or take out the trash–all tasks that I don’t mind (sometimes even enjoy) when I’m home but that it feels exciting and slightly transgressive to be able to ditch for weeks at a time. Now that I’m back home but not yet back into the rhythm of the school year, I feel let down, broke from all the money I spent on my travels (I’m not, but it feels that way), and a little lonely. This last part has surprised me–normally, I’m all about my independence and totally capable of entertaining myself, but the past couple of weeks, I’ve felt like I’m suddenly not an introvert anymore.

I’m sharing all this not to whine but because I think this particular brand of mild seasonal depression may be more common among adults than we realize. It might not be an end-of-summer thing for everyone; I think it happens after Christmas for many people. But it’s something we should talk about so we know that we’re not alone. If you’ve ever felt this way, I’d be happy to listen to your story in the comments. (Or, if we know each other, let’s chat off the blog!)

Because it’s started off so poorly, I’ve been dreading the remainder of August, so I’m going to spend the remainder of this post listing reasons I have to be optimistic–if not manically excited like I was at the beginning of the summer–about what’s to come. I realize this is a totally self-indulgent use of my blog, but maybe it’ll inspire you to make a list of your own.

  1. School starts in 21 days, and classroom teaching (NOT meetings or assessment or filling out forms, though I understand why those are important) is the part of my job that I really love. I’m looking forward to meeting the freshmen in my composition classes and seeing some former students again in my literature class. I’m also teaching my first-ever independent study, on dystopian literature, with a really great, motivated student. And I’m excited to restart the creative writing group that meets at my house. I can’t wait to make food for this little community and share stories with them.
  2. I have a new boyfriend! He’s the sweetest, and that’s all I’m going to say about him here because, frankly, it’s none of your business, blogosphere. 🙂 (Yes, I tend to overshare, but I do have boundaries.) I’m excited about the adventures we have planned, such as Hippie Fest in Angola, Indiana, next month (I already know what I’m going to wear)–as well as the less adventurous but no less precious times we will be able to take walks, share meals, and keep getting to know each other. (I like what I know so far.)
  3. Fall in West Michigan is beautiful, but I didn’t maximize my enjoyment of it last year because I was still getting used to my new job and home (actually, I was still renting and home shopping last fall) and generally getting on my feet. This fall, I intend to hike, pick apples, go to festivals, and be outdoors as much as possible. As my siblings and I ironically-but-secretly-unironically like to say, it’s almost time for hayrides, hoedowns, and all things pumpkin spice.

Next year, I’ll probably spend my summer a little more quietly (then again, who knows?). But although I’m feeling the crash right now, I don’t regret my summer of carpe diem. (I know that’s grammatically incorrect in Latin.) And, especially now that I’ve written this post, I’m looking forward to what comes next.