Yesterday I drove from Washington DC to Greenville, South Carolina. 500+ miles.
I left at 7:15 a.m. and had a lovely morning commute through Rock Creek Park and down to the Potomac. I was fascinated by the highways that had central blocks of three lanes that they flipped one direction for the other at peak volume times.
I saw a new Krispy Kreme doughnut store beside a vintage one, complete with all the 1950s style neon. And of course, the old one was being prepped for demolition.
In North Carolina, at the rest areas, they arrange the flowers into N & C shapes in the garden which from a distance in the car looks like a floral “NO.” And they also gave out lots of maps! And the attendants talked a while… I lost 15 minutes of driving time.
South of Charlotte around 4:30 p.m., I hit my first slowing of the day, but beside me in the traffic was a vivid blue McLaren which you don’t see every day.
I ate cheesy grits and a Spam crunch biscuit at Biscuitville.
I visited two independent book stores: Persnickety Books and Hub City Bookshop & Press.
For more info on that, see my newsletter. Read my official newsletter here (and subscribe while you are at it!)
I used HotelTonight to book a room at 6 p.m. I considered staying in Spartanburg but that would have cost me $100+. I came to the ExtendedStay America right off 85 and I’m glad I did because it was only $70. I slept great and there’s a Panera outside! (If you look at the photo– it’s kinda between the two main trees.) There’s a pizza place, a liquor store and TWO grocery stores (one of which is a Walmart).
Today marked the first day of my week-plus trip to present an erotic writing workshop at SexDownSouth: Atlanta, promoting Parisian Phoenix’s Juicy Bits. I left home at about 7:50 a.m. and headed to the bank to deposit some checks at the a.t.m. Then, after much thought, I headed to Panera and picked up an iced tea and already had to pee.
At 8:15 a.m., I left Panera with a toasted asiago bagel and my tea. (They offered me a bagel for $1 today.) Sixty-five miles later I had to pee again! So I stopped in Grimes, Pa., Exit 13, at our “favorite Sheetz.” This Sheetz has an entire row of smoothie machines and frozen icee flavors.
I made it to Route 83 and Harrisburg by 9:50, despite all my stops. By 10:30 a.m., I had eaten my gummy worms and needed to pee yet again. So I stopped in Shrewsbury, Pa., near the border of Maryland, in an area where they had massive shopping plazas with every eatery known to man. Even a Panera. I used the restroom and grabbed a coffee, even though I hadn’t finished my tea.
I left Shrewsbury at 10:45 and arrived in DC at M’s house at 12:07 p.m.
M, my traveling companion through all my crazy adventures on several continents, and I hung around the house and chit-chatted for hours and spent some time watching the black squirrel that hangs around their house, Climber Meta.
We went to Siam House DC for a lovely thai dinner, where I had mango curry with tofu. So delicious!
My hosts are currently having a great day exploring all my maps from AAA.
Today, Eva and I stopped at The Dollar Tree because I wanted to start stocking up on survival snacks for my Atlanta road trip.
I will have a small food budget, but I have several days driving to do and several nights in Atlanta to consider. I’m getting nervous because it looks like the hotel charges $35/night parking, $12 a day for internet, and has no free breakfast. I have to remind myself to breath and trust it will all work out.
But since Eva lost her job yesterday, it’s hard not to stress.
So I spent $16.25 at the Dollar Tree:
I bought two small cans of generic Spam and this small bag of coconut flour for the pantry.
Eva loves Spam, so I thought these cans would be useful for when she’s cooking for herself when I’m gone.
And the flour– I have trouble passing up good deals on specialty floor.
The Road Trip Snacks:
Four bags of snak club tajin gummies. Sweet and spicy to help keep me awake if I get tired driving.
Two bags of Harvest Snaps, the protein from the snap peas will help hold off hunger.
Two bags of peanut butter filled pretzels, same logic as the snap peas.
And the two boxes of fiber bars? That’s 6 little birthday cake bars that really do taste like dessert.
Today, I donned my publisher hat and I drove to Bernards Township Public Library in Basking Ridge to support poet and filmmaker McKenna Graf. McKenna publisher her second volume of poetry with Parisian Phoenix Publishing after self-publishing her poetry debut. Her next event is in Manhattan on August 22, 6 p.m., at the Barnes & Noble on the Upper East Side.
I started my day with a squawking cockatoo, and then proceeded to come downstairs with the intent to write a draft of my upcoming political profiles for Armchair Lehigh Valley and I did an hour of work on it. But for some reason sifting through Milou Mackenzie’s different Pennsylvania house bills spiked my anxiety and allowed that little voice to take hold. You know– the negative thoughts voice that says, “You can’t do this.” And/or “all your effort is meaningless.”
But, I know I have a road trip today so I eat a hearty breakfast, deliver Eva to her father’s car, and order my Panera iced tea. In the adventurous spirit of a road trip, I go to a different Panera and I love that there drive-through is a straight lane. But what I do not realize as I drive up is that they finally tore down the Phillipsburg Mall.
They have been saying that they were going to demolish the Phillipsburg Mall probably for a decade– and all the reports stating that the anchor store Kohls would be the only part of the mall left standing. This Panera was on one of the pad sites at the mall. (A quick Google search tells me that Crown American opened the mall in 1985, a key time period for malls, and that the stores vacated in 2019-2020. Supposedly a warehouse will be erected on the site. Because every warehouse needs a department store next door.)
In the late 1990s and early 2000s, especially when I worked in the area as a journalist, the Phillipsburg Mall was probably my favorite in the region.
The Author Talk
The drive to the library was uneventful. The Bernards Township Public Library appears a fairly modern vibes with the architectural feel of a small elementary school. McKenna did a wonderful job reading her poems and answered questions with ease during the chat portion of the program.
These are the moments when I very much love what I do, and these are also the moments when I get to contemplate how much the community built by a publisher influences everyone involved with it.
McKenna said several astute, thought-provoking items:
Self-publishing her first book put her in control of her own destiny instead of waiting for someone to deem her worthy. I would describe this a little differently: that self-publishing gave her a hands-on understanding of the industry which allows her to navigate and negotiate her future with less naivete.
Each book/work/poem represents a moment in time, and as such, they will never be perfect. And despite their imperfections, poems will always convey the feeling they need to share.
During her recent intensive geology class that toured National Parks in Utah and Arizona, poetry allowed her to grapple with something difficult. As she struggled to learn the complex scientific knowledge of the course, she used poetry to translate it. And she then made herself a photo book of the unedited work to capture the moment in time.
McKenna sold some books. I made some social media posts. I wove around the streets of Basking Ridge to entertain myself and I headed home.
Road Trips Snacks
On the way home, if I wanted to be a nice person, I needed to stop and put gas in the car. I noticed a sign for QuickCheck and that’s one of Eva’s favorites so I figured I would stop there. I discovered it was on Perryville Road, which is pretty darn close to her surname. I figured I’d run in the convenience store and get a snack (but hopefully nothing too crazy as I have lost four pounds) and then get gas.
I decided on a cup of their Kris Kringle iced coffee with light cream, apple slices and Lenny & Larry’s complete creme bricks… I mean cookies. The package said they had 15 grams of protein and 130 calories. So why not?
Gas was fifty cents a gallon cheaper than in Pennsylvania and it’s always a nice treat to have someone else pump it. The coffee had coconut and vanilla notes, which made me regret getting a small as I could have easily finished a large. I ate the apple slices (probably my first serving of fresh fruit this week) while waiting for the car to fill.
And wouldn’t you know as soon as I ended up on the road again the damn oil light came on. And the car is scheduled for an oil change in eight days.
The drive home was also lovely, and I enjoyed singing along to my music.
But if you’re curious about the cookies–
They tasted like hard discs of sprinkles. The vanilla flavor was that candy-ish flavor one gets from sprinkles, but the texture was hard, and I don’t mean hard like a cookie wafer but hard like an almond. When I got home to examine them closer I saw each serving had 130 calories, but each package of six cookies was three servings. So I had wasted almost 300 calories on some awful cookies. In addition to protein, they had some potassium and iron. The ingredient list looks like the whole cookie is wheat, pea protein and oil.
Yesterday, my friend Gayle and I embarked on an adventure. I wanted to motivate myself toward more movement and healthier living and Gayle enjoys visiting new towns via self-guided walks designed by local clubs of the American Volkssporting Association. Gayle has wanted to hit the Ephrata, Pa., walk (which is about 90 minutes away from our homes) and I love a day trip. The walk is maintained by the Susquehanna Rovers.
Gayle packed lunch. I packed sunscreen. I even tossed some electrolyte powders packets in my bag, knowing it would be a sunny summer day. I took my muscle relaxers.
Off we went.
The background
Now, as someone with a mobility disability (cerebral palsy, spastic diplegia), I suspected– or perhaps even knew– that this would end with some sort of injury or discomfort. I had hoped that having this walk, a 5K by design, would motivate me to get away from my desk and wander around the neighborhood.
That didn’t happen. I could blame the heat wave, but in reality, I doubt I would have changed my behavior even if the weather were nice.
In the end, I said to myself, “Anyone can walk a 5K.”
And in one respect, I was correct. I did it. On the other hand, it was stupid. And I’m suffering because of it. But that’s getting ahead of myself.
I wanted to use this walk to see how my movement was in a more long-term commitment. I wanted to test my breathing and my heart rate. I suspect a lot of my health issues will not resolve until I lose at least 20, if not 30, or even 35 pounds (at which point I ask myself– how did I gain this much weight so quickly?)
So this walk would help me evaluate my true status and make health-related goals.
That was my logic. Was it a tad reckless? Maybe, maybe not.
The Walk
Ephrata has a lovely main street, historic buildings and apparently monuments– none of which we saw because the 5K was mostly through residential neighborhoods. And we missed a turn somewhere and ended up shaving off about a half mile. Our time for our 2.8 mile 5K was about 31 minutes a mile, and we periodically stopped to enjoy the shade, look at weird buildings, and sometimes cuss about hills.
AVA walks are rated, and this was a 1B which means it was supposed to be easy, with sidewalks and the occasional hill. But if you looked at the “fine print,” the walk was rated “medium” for strollers and “hard” for wheelchairs. I think for the foreseeable future Gayle and I need 1A walks that are easy for wheelchairs.
So here’s my analysis of what we saw in Ephrata on the 5K:
A gnome garden. I like this tiered design of outdoor knick knacks. I’m not sure what sense it makes, but it seems like a concept the no-longer-a-Teenager would embrace.
A neighborhood egg stand, that was closed.
Your going to have to google this for yourself. “Best Kept Secrets Tour.” “Shopping, Food & Fun adventures.”
The strangest “double” homes I’ve ever seen. The walk took us through an entire neighborhood of attached, split-level homes. I own “half a double,” and some neighborhoods in my area are row homes that expand an entire block. But I have never seen neighborhoods like these. I fail to understand the logic. There are two reasons to “attach” homes– one is to lower the cost by sharing a wall, and the second is to squeeze more people into a smaller space.
These homes have the space to be detached. They are on suburban lots. So, if you are going to invest in a suburban home, why would you want (or even accept?) being attached to your neighbor. There were also attached ranch homes, with the same concept, but just without the extra stories. And some had a strange shared doorway in the middle, like a breezeway, so they were both attached and detached.
We did see a lot of great distant views. Mountains in the distance. Clear skies.
One of the first things we encountered was the Anne Brossman Sweigert Charitable Foundation, with a family sculpture out front and a sign engraved on a grave marker. (They also have not updated their website in almost 10 years according to the “grant history” tab.) Why did they place their sign on a grave marker? So it didn’t blow away? Fade?
Around the two-mile mark, we realized we had missed the turn and reached our threshold for the residential tour, and ironically, we ended up taking a street parallel to the main drag back to the hotel where the walk-box is stored.
Interlude: Early in the walk, I noticed my right leg was pulling in toward my left leg. So, minding my fitness and strength coach’s advice, I led with my knees to make sure I wouldn’t end up tripping over my own legs due to my knees facing inward. I tried stretching, to see if I could get my hips and thighs to move more outwardly, but I couldn’t come up with the right movement.
Nothing hurt, but damn everything was tight, and my legs fought me with every step.By the time we climbed the hill and stairs by the hotel, my back was starting to feel the stress. My legs didn’t want to lift. So I made it to the car and popped another muscle relaxer.
Step count: about 8,500
The Ephrata Cloister
We went to Ephrata Cloister, driving down the main drag and wondering why the walk couldn’t have shown us all these lovely local businesses and perhaps led us to a cafe where we could have rested. We had a savory-and-sweet vegan chickpea and carrot salad with a side of grapes for lunch. From there we headed into the gift shop.
At the gift shop, I found an impressive collection of wood crafts, paper folding kits for Moravian Stars, quilted cards, replacement ink for quills, Amish novels and a nice selection of Pennsylvania Dutch nonfiction books.
The no-longer-a-Teenager is mostly Pennsylvania Dutch on her father’s side. One paternal great-grandfather was Welsh, but all of her other paternal great-grandparents were Pennsylvania Dutch. Her paternal grandmother’s father spoke Pennsylvania Dutch (Leroy Buss) as his first language, learning English at the one-room schoolhouse he entered at age five. I would have loved to buy her a Pennsylvania Dutch to English dictionary or Superstitions and Folklore of the Pennsylvania Dutch, but the budget did not allow.
We visited the museum where we learned that the Cloister was a spiritual community with roots in Germany that came to Pennsylvania, just like the Quakers and the Moravians, in the early 18th century for religious freedom.** They had strict beliefs and practices, one of which was celibacy so it became impossible to keep the community alive. (The “householders” later became the German Seventh Day Baptist Church. Householders were the families on neighboring farms who supported the community and their religious beliefs without going all in on the celibacy, vegetarianism, and sleeping on a wooden block disciplines.)
We also saw a really long glass horn.
** 1720. That’s more than FIFTY YEARS before the Revolutionary War.
The tour
Gayle and I like to support local history and nonprofits, and who doesn’t love the story of a good old colonial cult. So, we embarked on the tour.
First, we watched a really information-packed but poorly acted and filmed movie. You can watch it online here. (This was where Gayle thought she lost her phone and I got a text from a client who needed me to do something later that day.) We were told the tour was 45 minutes to an hour long, depending how many questions people had, and that we should be on our way at 3 p.m., 3:15 p.m. at the latest.
Gayle was hoping the tour would send us all over the grounds walking from building to building. I was suddenly starting to hurt and could barely stand. Neither of us voiced what we were thinking to the other.
“You’ll love the tour guide,” the volunteer at the desk said. “He’s really knowledgeable and passionate.”
Our tour guide took ten minutes to get us out the door because already other members of the tour were asking stupid questions covered by the movie we had just watched. We walked out to the middle of the yard, not even a half acre away where the tour guide announced we had reached the village.
We stood outside for a long time, at first talking about architecture, then the idiots with us had to debate how old the trees might be, and whether they were “original.” I was mesmerized the whole time by a man who looked very Mennonite/new order Amish/”Dutchy.” You don’t think the Pennsylvania Dutch have certain genetic “looks,” but they do.
Now, somewhere around this time, it became difficult to know when the tour guide was telling us historical fact, and when he was expounding on his own “theories” (his word). He talked a lot about significance of numbers, how the triangle formed by the Village served as a reminder of our path to God, and the powers of the mystics. This is where I, as a journalist and a historian, started to get annoyed. He provided no proof of the sources of his ideas. (Here are some of the official lectures on the topics.)
We stood in the main living area of what became the Sister’s House. Eventually we ended up in the Meeting Room. We were *locked in* the building, so strangers who had not purchased the tour could not wander in. I know this because the Dutchy man needed to leave and he could not without interrupting the tour.
I faded in and out of the door mentally because my legs were hurting at about an eight. When we left the meeting room and entered the add-on kitchen, I was ready to fight the sweet little old ladies for a space on the small bench. My heartrate had been soaring since we started the tour (130s when standing and 110 when seated) probably in response to the pain. There was room for all of us.
Interior of the Meeting House (saal, meaning “room.”)
At this point, my plan was to sneak out of the tour when he let us out of the building and to tell Gayle to take her time as I would sit outside and read my book. But it turned out the tour was only to this building.
Our tour guide unlocked the door at 3:40 p.m.
The repercussions
By the time I went to bed, my pain levels had reached a nine. They are between a six and seven today and I’m taking it easy. I think my body has forgotten how to walk. As a person who deals with spasticity, which means my muscles in my legs never relax, I have a theory. This is the first long walk I’ve taken probably in years, certainly since I started taking muscle relaxers. It’s the first long walk I’ve taken since I started fitness training with Andrew, and even more certainly, the first I’ve taken since he had to pause our sessions several months ago. And I sit at a desk now, 8-10 hours a day, seven days a week, and walk 3,500 to 5,000 steps a day.
So, sure I overdid it.
But I still maintain that I have never moved the way I moved yesterday. I fried my adductors.
Hard to believe for several months from 2020-2021 I was a picker in the Stitch Fix warehouse where I walked miles and miles and miles every night, five days a week.
For more about this trip and some discussion of books, printing and those arts at the Cloisters, see ParisianPhoenix.com.
A good portion of what I am going to write today will probably reappear in a smoother format over on the Parisian Phoenix Publishing page. (ParisianPhoenix.com) My brain is swirling. My frustration tolerance is low. Anxiety is taking advantage of point one and point two to paralyze my concentration.
These are growing pains. These are the realities that accompany change and even more so, success.
Cocktail contemplations
Last night, I really would have loved a cold beer to sit and sip while I pondered the events of the last few days– but my frugal self would not justify spending money on something so frivolous nor did I want to put on shoes. So I opted to make a cocktail of whatever we had in the house. We had grenadine (the kind with alcohol), creme de menthe and creme de cacoa, because a few weeks ago I had a craving for a grasshopper. That was short-lived. Since then, my occasional cocktail has been a creme de cacao and Coke Zero, because who doesn’t appreciate a chocolate Coke?
Last night I opted to skip the mixer and head toward “Dirty Girl Scout” territory, but I didn’t measure so my pour led to slightly chocolatey mint drink.
Why did I desire a cocktail last night? Because…
Sex Down South Atlanta
I was sitting in my reading chair, hoping to capitalize on the cool evening breeze and spend some time with my cats and my naughty Goffin’s cockatoo. I need to proofread McKenna Graf’s upcoming poetry book, review Larry Sceurman’s new middle-grade dragon story, and somehow manage to not only score some time for my ghostwriting client, but also prepare for the upcoming comic con in Phillipsburg and finish my workshop for Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group.
Let’s be honest. Comic con is a Friday problem, and this was Wednesday. GLVWG is a Sunday problem, and again this is Wednesday. But the other stuff was/is yesterday/today problems.
I receive an email from the organizers of Sex Down South Atlanta. It talked about the 200+ presenters that proposed workshops and they were sorry they could not accept them all. They told us all we could have a discount code to come to the conference and shared the list of accepted workshops.
Now, a friend of mine had proposed a workshop and I was her accountability partner for getting the proposal in. At the last minute she told me to enter a proposal and I laughed– because what do I have to offer at a big sex conference? She said they had a category for writing and erotica.
So, I entered a proposal.
I opened the file attached to the email last night to see if my friend’s workshop was selected. I did not see it. I scroll through the list and reach #31 and see: Explore Your Fantasies and Write Your Own Erotica, and I think, that sounds like a nice offering. As I finish the sentence, my jaw drops to the floor. It reads: Explore Your Fantasies and Write Your Own Erotica with Angel.
My workshop description
Which means the acceptances and the rejections went out in the same email. My proposal was accepted.
I went through my files looking for the proposal and sighed with relief that 1. I have it and 2. It’s reasonable. I spent the rest of the evening talking with friends. Because I’m shocked. And excited. And wondering how the heck I am going to pull off traveling to Atlanta. But that’s a future problem.
So that’s why I needed a cocktail and why my brain is even more overextended and fried than usual.
I write. It’s what I do. I got a random text last night from a colleague of a friend who I think would mesh with me on a personal level. We’re scheduled to have lunch on Monday. She texted last night– she’s a fellow journalist– hoping I could review her application for a special project. Let’s just call it a grant.
I needed that last night. I received a text from her this morning. She’s never requested my professional skills before, and I didn’t really think about that before I agreed to help her. I just heard, “I need someone to look at my thoughts.” And the former managing editor/grant writer in me just kicked in. She was on a tight deadline, and I was close to bedtime. But I did what I could.
Her text this morning said, “Holy shit. You’re good.”
But let me back up… and let me tell you why I’m struggling to digest the 24-hours of my life that started with 3:30 p.m. on Valentine’s Day and ended after work yesterday.
Happy Valentine’s Day, The Teen!
So, The Teenager considers the hamburger chain Fuddruckers one of her favorite restaurants in the world. Which is funny when you consider her favorite, favorite restaurant in the world is Kachapuri in Moscow. And mine, too.
We had a Fuddruckers a few blocks from her grandparents house for a couple years when she was in preschool. Her connection to this place goes back that far.
They closed it when she was about four. The two closest Fuddruckers now are in Hershey (1.5 hours away) and in New Jersey (1 hour away). We drove by the exit for the Hershey Fuddruckers during our service dog appointment Monday. But I wasn’t hungry, and at this point I can confirm that poor diet spikes my blood pressure.
Somehow, we negotiated a trip to Fuddruckers in New Jersey for Valentine’s Day. But a wrinkle came to the plan when her car’s service appointment took longer than anticipated, and more money than anticipated. But we decided to go anyway. Because at this point, the poor kid is miserable. She got nailed with owing federal income tax, her car insurance has doubled and her car is an enormous money pit that might be a ticking time bomb. Really, the transmission might be next. But we’re working on manifesting luck and joy. Hamburgers, it is!
I locked up the house and I discover an envelope in the incoming mail. The design of the envelope itself ruins the surprise of what’s inside. These kids today, they have all the tension stripped from their lives.
Now, our trip to Fuddruckers was officially a celebration.
And this Fuddruckers, according to the Teenager, is way better than the Hershey Fuddruckers. We’re apparently connoisseurs now.
Note to self: my bacon bacon jamburger was amazing.
Conversations in the car got a little heavy as conversations in the car normally do, and I went to bed missing my family. But that’s another feeling for another day.
Wednesday, February 15
I performed well at work on Tuesday. Perhaps too well, at 132 fixes. My official observation was nearly 107%. I felt the warning creaks in my body Tuesday night that maybe all the car rides and the full day at work might have stressed my lower extremities.
This story takes a turn, and could have ended in tragedy, but it didn’t. But it’s a lot of emotion and a friend nearly lost their life. So if that doesn’t appeal to you, stop reading.
There’s a crew of us at work. We all used to work second shift together. Then we moved to the 10-hour Sunday cohort, Then we moved to day shift. When they rearranged to break schedule to make larger lunches, we gravitated together. And I’d like to believe we have a bond.
One of us went to the hospital Superbowl Sunday with chest pains. This person has a history of past heart attack. And the hospital, from what we understand, tested for hernia, gall bladder and gave an EKG but never did cardiac enzymes. They sent our friend home. This person has been in intense chest pain on and off since Sunday. This person forces themselves to come to work on Wednesday, because we all need to work. We’re not living lives of leisure and passive income.
We’re sitting at our normal morning gathering spot in the breakroom, and we had seen the car of the person in question, but this person had not arrived in the breakroom. We figured this person needed to talk to supervisors. Makes sense.
I receive a text. “Are you at work? If so come to my car.”
I do.
My friend was sitting in the car, tears streaming, clutching at the chest, stating there was pain in the arm. My friend was about to throw up from the pain. Apparently, my friend planned to drive to another hospital after a supervisor offered to call an ambulance. We went into the building, where my friend went into the bathroom. Another colleague had to escort her out of the restroom.
This is when another friend declared that an ambulance had to come and told our supervisors to call. And our security head monitored vital signs.
Our most confident and bossy colleague went to the hospital and we’re told she kept the staff on their toes.
Our friend had a heart attack in front of us.
Our friend received the care needed, but THREE DAYS after first going to the ER.
THREE DAYS.
I’m angry at the system. And I feel guilty for not pushing harder for better care sooner.
But right now, we’re all solemn and grateful that we didn’t lose a friend.
I started my day by leaving the house at 7:15 a.m. to visit my friends the phlebotomists at Quest Diagnostics. With my history of anemia and fluctuating iron & vitamin D levels, I tend to get iron & vitamin D checks with my annual bloodwork.
My vitamin D was low during my January 2021 physical (22) so I started adding vitamin D + calcium supplements to my diet. With my multi & my slow release iron.
By June, that had jumped to 32. I stayed that level for the next six months. Today’s test would see if I had gained more— 30 is considered normal.
I started laundry before I left so I could wear my new cat t-shirt. I had a much anticipated meeting with social activist-journalist Dawn Heinbach scheduled for the afternoon at Cracker Barrel, a location I thought would be convenient as she lives several counties away. She submitted some material for the Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money anthology. I had some books she wanted. I know she’s a cat person so I knew she would love my French pun cat shirt.
When I got home from Quest, I made an egg sandwich and took a photo to my artist friend Maryann whose mixed media postcards appeared in Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money. She thinks all my food photographs are well-played and pleasingly styled. I told her she’ll have to come for dinner.
I put the laundry in the dryer and eventually changed into my cat shirt. I did some paperwork before I picked up my good friend Nancy to provide a ride to the doctor. Nancy is my poetry editor at Parisian Phoenix Publishing and she’s blind. She keeps me in line both with my writing and my business and occasionally has to make sure I’m facing my disability in an intelligent fashion.
While at the doctor’s office a very senior citizen’s phone went off. The ring tone was the opening notes of Usher’s “Yeah.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. He looked mortified. Did a grandchild prank him?
I finished Tylia Flores’ Handi-Capable while in the waiting room. I posted a review on Amazon.
We did a couple other Nancy errands and I pointed out I needed gas in the car, and asked if she’d mind a detour to Wawa. I think Nan made out on that one as she went home sign a turkey sandwich, some sour cream and onion potato chips and some half-and-half iced tea/lemonade.
Somehow the two of us can do absolutely nothing but laugh while doing it.
I spent the afternoon blogging and catching up on some work for the business before it was time to go to Fogelsville for my early dinner.
The sky opened, as they say.
I told Dawn I would hang out in those amazing Cracker Barrel rocking chairs. I didn’t know it would be in a deluge.
Luckily I had my umbrella in my car.
The servers came out and danced in the rain. An old man complimented my Eiffel Tower umbrella and said he and his wife were going there next.
Ever the grammar nerd, I said, “really? From Cracker Barrel right to Paris? I hope you love it.”
Dawn and I had a superb conversation about what journalism should be, and she lives in the geographic region served by my protege at Berks-Mont newspapers. We talked cats— and she did like the cat shirt. And my turkey dinner was disappointing but Dawn and I chatted for two hours. We shared a cup of coffee after dinner before going our separate ways.
I bought the teen a Scooby Doo mug and myself a coconut peanut butter candy that tasted like toffee both in flavor and mouth feel.
On the way home, my 2015 jetta played a horrible prank on me. The gas gauge and miles per gallon/miles until empty screens didn’t display any information. Luckily I got gas with Nan so I knew I had plenty. On the highway. 26 miles away from home.
Upon reaching home, I took care of some correspondence and received an update from my doctor. My vitamin D is now 37!
The plan: the teenager and I would head out after school today and meet my college roommate Curly for a belated Beltane dinner at a brewery in Harrisburg— approximately half way between our home and hers.
But in the pouring down rain, the accidents started to pile up (pun intended) and Curly would arrive at the Mill Works 30 minutes or more before we would.
And that would have us arriving in Harrisburg and at the brewery for Happy Hour.
So I suggested a mid-travel switch from Harrisburg to Hershey. And since we needed to agree on a coordinate before driving too much farther, I suggested Fuddruckers as we used to take the teenager there on road trips in her younger days and for some reason, she adores it.
We lingered there as long as we could trying to find something to do in the evening and in the rain. I found a couple cafes and a family amusement center with go-karts but it seemed something called the cocoabeanery was nearby so we headed there.
Which turned out to be Hershey Lodge.
And when I texted Sobaka’s mom that we ended up at Hershey Lodge, where she often stays for the state school board conference she asked if we could pick up her lotion. And sent us a photo.
We did some chatting over beverages in the lobby. I had a lavender latte. The cocoabeanery turned out to be the hotel’s breakfast room in the off hours. We got to watch many teens at their prom.
Curly and the teenager did some energy work, and invited me to join, but my vibrations freaked out the teen.
Angel Ackerman 