I'M GETTING A SERGER.

As you may know...this past May, The Mailman and I took a little camping trip.  To the Great Plains.  And one of our stops was the tiny town of Wimbledon, North Dakota.  Why Wimbledon, you ask? Well...because they have a tennis court. And the folks at the general store make a killer cheeseburger.


Before we left home, TM said to me, "Don't let me run the gas gauge below 1/4 of a tank.  Remember what happened last time?" Yes, I did remember.  We were cruising down the Interstate in Northern Indiana when our little Subaru began to sputter.  We eased off onto the first available exit and coasted into the nearest gas station.  Apparently, the weight of the camper on the hitch is just enough to render the gas gauge useless below 1/4 of a tank.

Now...in the Great Plains there's a whole lot of nothing.  Stunningly beautiful nothing, mind you...but if you're a city slicker and used to a Starbuck's at every exit on the super-slab, you'll be pretty uncomfortable.  You'd better get your moch-jamocha latte while you can because it's gonna be awhile before you get another chance.  


So anyway...as we're pulling out of Wimbledon (The Mailman, Me, our two elderly weenie dogs, our packed-to-the-gills Subaru Forester and our packed-to-the gills pop-up camper)...the conversation goes something like this...


ME (leaning over to see that the gas gauge is a little below 1/4 tank):  Are you going to get gas before we leave town?

TM: No, I'll fill up at the next town.  It's just about 12 miles down the road.


(Pause)


ME:  Are you sure they have a gas station?


TM:  Well...if they don't, the Interstate is just a couple more miles.


(Pause)


ME:  And how far on the Interstate until there's gas?

TM:  (Silence)


I am annoyed.



Presently, we come upon what I assume to be the "12 mile road"...which turns out to be dirt and gravel.  Not the best surface for a fully-loaded camper.  TM turns around and heads back toward Wimbledon.  As we approach the intersection that would take us back into town, I know exactly what he's going to to. That's right.  He drives on.


Now...as I said, this part of the country has an abundance of wide open spaces.  Nothing between you and the blue sky...not a structure to be seen in any direction.  Beyond each grassy hill...is another grassy hill.  And on we go.

I am angry.  


I can feel the tension building.  TM begins to fidget.  The gauge is now on empty.  We pass a house and a cluster of farm buildings.


TM:  Do you want me to stop and see if they'll sell us some gas?


ME:  Do whatever you want.  You will anyway.


The rancher is apologetic.  No gas here...only diesel.  Jamestown is 7 miles down the road...and the gas stations are all on the near side of town.  Don't go any faster than 50 clicks...and good luck. We start down the road again.

I am FURIOUS.


We have the cell phone...but who do you call in the middle of nowhere?  It would serve him right if he has to walk...but I certainly don't want to wait on the side of the road in the burning sun...with two old weenie dogs on my lap...for God-knows-how-long until help arrives.   


And so I begin to pray...in the decidedly un-eloquent way of a soul on the edge of panic.


ME (under my breath because I'm not talking to him):  Please get us there. Please get us there.  PLEASE get us there.  

We top the last hill and see the promised land of Jamestown ahead.  As we creep towards the first gas station, I notice that the fuel is a couple of pennies cheaper a half-block further on.


ME (to myself):  If he goes for the cheaper gas, I really will kill him.


Uncharacteristically, he pulls into the more expensive station. Without a word, he fills the tank and heads into the convenience store.  He returns with two Snicker ice cream bars and a big can of "Peace Tea."  *snort*  As I bite into the chocolate-peanut deliciousness, I decide to call a truce.


ME:  This is good.  You must have known that chocolate defuses murderous rages.

TM:  I had a feeling.


(Pause)


ME:  I'm getting a serger.  I've wanted one for a long time and I deserve it.  I'm getting a serger.


TM:  What's it do?


ME:  That's no concern of yours.


To his credit...TM was very conscientious about the gas for the rest of the trip.  We had an absolutely lovely time.  And he's never given me a moment's grief about my new serger.


(These beautiful stained glass windows are from St. Boniface Catholic Church in Wimbledon. Before all this happened, TM stopped inside to take pictures...and left behind a small donation. St. Boniface is the patron saint of Germany...but apparently, he will intercede for mailmen, cranky sewists and old weenie dogs, as well.)

BONNEE'S BACATION!!!

Hi Everbuddee!  I bet you wuz all stayin up at nite worryin bout us all.  An you prolly couldnot eet nuffin eiver!  Well, you can go fix yoursef a sammich and take a nap...wee is fine!


It iz me...BONNEE!!!  Mommee an Duddee an Clydee an Mee went on bacation!  An Mommee is lettin MEE tell you all bout it!  This first one iz a pitcher of Mee lookin outta the window inna car. (Look closely.  Can you see what she's looking at?*)  We did lotsa this cuz it is a long way to there.

When we got there, we stay inna camper!  I like that cuz you can see stuff!  Duddee sez that wee could see beefalo from the camper...but I did not see none. (Look closely. Can you see what she's NOT looking at?**)

Oh.  There is the beefalo.

An horseys.  We saw horseys two.

My mos favoritest part of campin iz gettin too doo stuf wif my brudder!  Mommee and Duddee werenot wearin there leeshes here. Good fing Mister Ranger didnot see.  I don'tnot fink he wooda liked that! (It is true that TM and I were leashless.  However, we DO pick up poopies...just in case you were concerned.)

An I getta doo stuff wif Duddee two!  I wuz a little skeered here. Can you tell I wuz a little skeered?  I wuz a little skeered.  I don'tnot like big bunnys.  Clydee likes bunnys.  I like skwerlz.

Everbuddee gots all xcited bout this buildin cubbered in corns.  I gots one word for it: BORE ING.  If it wuz cubbered in BACON that wood be sumfin to get xcited bout.  I wood be all ober that!

Don'tnot say nuffin...but I fink hiz noze iz kinda big.

Wee went to Duddees favoritest TV show...but Mike and Frank wuz not at home. The nice laydee came out an gived Mee an Clydee sum sweet potatae treets!  An Duddee gots a micepad an a hat!  Mommee didnot get nuffin.  She sez the memry wuz enuff.

Onna way home wee stayed at the Missyippee Riber.  This here is where the boats go ober the dam an wee could watch them from our camper.  They gots loud horns! Oh..oh..an I barked at a pelican!  An wee saw a eegle catch a fish!

I like campin'.  If you gets boreded you can always watch the naybors.  I do that lots.  If you eber see Mee campin' next to you...you will prolly wanna zip up your windows!  







Well...that is all bout our bacation!  Ima thinkin' next time wee goes somewhere I will get onta twitter and twat bout it.  This bloggin' iz hard werk!


BONNEE


*praire dogs


**buffalo...or is it bison...I'm never sure

My Katy

Can you truly love a car?  "Ridiculous," you say.  "Sinful, even."  A car, after all, is a soulless collection of metal and glass, plastic and wire.  Gasoline and oil are it's life's-blood...and it's heart is a man-made engine.  There is no miracle here.  Ah...but you don't know my Katy.

She's the car I've wanted since the 2nd grade.  It was 1964...and my Dad...who would do just about anything to please his little girl...took me to the showroom to look at the brand-new Mustang.  He realized that his 8-year-old would not be wise to the fact that we were visiting an out-of-town dealership...and not the local Ford store owner, who was a friend of his.  He knew my obsession would fade away.  And it did.  But not completely.

My first car was a Mustang...a 1979 rust-colored, four-cylinder hatch-back.  I bought it used and paid for it in cash.  I regret that I don't have a picture.  (Who doesn't take a picture of their first car!?  Me, apparently.)  I drove that car until 1991...when it's mounting repair bills forced me to admit it was time for a change.  I needed a "practical car." 

As I spoke to our local Ford dealer about yet another problem with my ride...he said, "We have a car here that you'd just love."  I asked what it was.  And he told me.  "I can't afford it," I said.  "You can come down and look at it," he said.  So after work, as I pulled into the dealership...THIS is what I saw.  Which...as everyone knows...is a Mustang's best side.  I stepped out of my old car...and never drove it again.  So much for a "practical car."

This coming Christmas Eve, we will be together 20 years.  Aside from the usual maintenance issues and a transmission meltdown a couple of years ago...she's never given me a minute's trouble.  She was on my first date with The Mailman...and went along on our honeymoon.  She was a part of my Dad's funeral procession and our post-wedding parade.  She's been to Key West...the Santa Monica Pier...and Cadillac Mountain, Maine.  She's skirted the southern shore of Lake Superior and traveled the length of Route 66 and back again. 

She is a part of me.

Until last week, I hadn't driven her at all this year...a worn-out alternator keeping her sidelined.  TM (my hero, who can do just about anything) repaired her for me...and last Thursday, we hit the open road.  Just she and I...together again.  It was a beautiful day...the wind whipping my hair...her big V-8 purring along in overdrive.  A group of highway workers paused to stare as we passed.  That's my girl.  That's my Katy.

We're in Scotland!

After a restful night on the Caledonian Sleeper...we disembarked...picked up our rental car...and headed out into the Scottish countryside.  To work the kinks out, we stopped for a round of golf at the course in Girvan.  This is a classic seaside links course...very close to the famous Turnberry (the site of Tom Watson's heartbreaking second-place finish in the 2009 British Open).  The big rock way-y-y out there in the water is Ailsa Craig.

Now, I want to make one thing perfectly clear.  I am not a golfer.  I have (I believe) the athletic ability to be a golfer...but I do not have the temperament.  The game brings out some not-so-attractive elements in my personality...and since the sight of a grown woman swearing and stomping a golf ball into the ground is not something for public consumption, I usually decline to play.  That said...I DID play here...and enjoyed it!  True links golf is very different from what we're used to in the States.  Distance is not so important here, because without the lush fairways, the ball rolls...and rolls...and rolls.  I was able to keep up with The Mailman, which pleased me very much.  

I was playing quite well, when one errant shot headed toward another group of golfers.  I yelled "FORE!!!" as loudly as I could...and felt something go a little funny in my throat.  I thought I'd just strained my voice...but I was wrong.  Sense of foreboding.  More about this later. 

Our next stop was Culzean Castle...a stunning estate that was a favorite vacation destination for General Dwight Eisenhower after World War II.  

The castle was closing just as we arrived...phooey...but the gardens were open! 

Then, it was on to the beautiful town of Inveraray...

...and Claonairigh House, where we spent the next two nights.  Fiona (Fee) is a most gracious hostess...a triathlete and former nurse with a wonderful, lively family...who handled our confusion about fruit tea with aplomb.  (We put cream in ours...you don't want to do that.)

Lots of beautiful things to see in Argyll...like the old headstones in this churchyard cemetery... 

...the Isle of Seil, where TM engaged a group of locals in some serious stone-skipping... 

...and one of Scotland's most photographed places...the Glenfinnan Monument.  If you visit this spot, you MUST climb up to the top of the tower!  (Claustrophobes, beware.)

Harry Potter and Hogworts Express fans will also recognize the Glenfinnan Viaduct.  You know, I have yet to see a Harry Potter movie! 

 Then, it was another round of golf at Traigh (pronounced Try)...a picturesque little course that we discovered on our 2007 trip.  The little white building is the clubhouse...and the first tee is roughly where you see the small group of people.  Another difference from American golf...NO golf carts...even on the fanciest courses.  In fact, you are considered something of a sissy if you use one.  And they play speed golf.  And the courses are hilly.  What a workout!


Phew!!! Are you tired yet?  Better get some sleep...our next stop is Skye!

I Heart Scotland

Exactly one year ago today, The Mailman and I were in the Scottish Highlands.  Ever since I can remember, I'd dreamed of visiting The British Isles.  In my imagination, this was a magical place...a fairytale kingdom...wild and green...populated by kings and queens...with a castle around every corner. 

When I met The Mailman, I learned that he had spent a good portion of his military days on the north-east coast of Scotland...at the Navy base in Edzell.  We talked about it often, and I shared my dream with him.  I should have known better.  TM is one of those men who has a way of making dreams come true...and after we'd been married a few years, he began planning a trip to England and Scotland.  In the summer of 2007, my dream became a reality.  

I was terrified.  Aside from a trip to Canada, I'd never been out of the country before.  I came up with every excuse imaginable not to go.  The garden would die and our house would fall and/or burn down...we couldn't leave the dogs...we couldn't afford it...the plane would crash...and if it didn't crash the terrorists would blow it up.  The day before we left, I was an absolute sobbing, trembling basket case.  TM would have none of it...and somehow I managed to put on my big girl panties...swallow down my fear...and get on the plane.

And I fell in love.  I love everything about this place.  The green hills...the cool weather...the rain...and the gardens.  Oh my.  The gardens.  The people are some of the most extraordinary I have ever encountered...strong, resilient, knowledgeable and kind.  I am an American...through and through...but I feel completely at home here.  And I learned something.  Many times, there is something wonderful on the other side of fear.

Last summer, we flew across "the pond" once again...and I thought I would share some of my memories with you. 

After an overnight flight from O'Hare, we landed at London's Heathrow at about 8 o'clock in the morning on the 4th of July.  Fighting off jet-lag, we picked up our rental car and headed out to Wimbledon for the final day of tennis.  Since we were ticketless, we waited in the queue for grounds passes...grabbed some fish and chips once we were inside...and commenced people-watching.  After a pleasant conversation with a local couple (who thought I was Danish!)...we found seats in one of the show courts and tried to watch the men's final on the JumboTron.  I think this picture speaks for itself. 

Our first B&B was the beautiful Scotland Lodge Farm and the fragrance of English roses was just the thing to revive a tired-to-the-bone Yank.  

This is the stable on the grounds.  The owner's daughter is a professional event rider and some of these beautiful animals are show jumpers. 

This is a typical full English breakfast...fried egg, bacon (what we would call Canadian bacon), sausages, fried tomato and mushrooms, baked beans, juice and hot tea.  And of course, there's toast as well.  This hearty fare will see you through a day of power sight-seeing, believe me! 

No trip to this part of the English countryside would be complete without a visit to Stonehenge.  Just look at that sky! 

After seeing this on a PBS special, I knew I had to visit the stunning landscape garden at Stourhead in person.  It almost looks unreal, doesn't it?  You can walk completely around this lake and discover lots of beautiful ornamental buildings, grottoes and whatnots along the way. 

  

This is one of my favorite photos from the trip...taken at Great Chalfield Manor. Somehow, I think Rapunzel might be hiding up in one of those towers.

 

To me, this pretty doorway is quintessential English country.

Next, we headed into the world-famous Cotswolds.  This is a typical "turnpike"...on the way to our B&B.  Maneuvering a stick-shift-right-hand-drive car through these itty bitty roads was quite a challenge.  For The Mailman.  Just THINKING about driving here gave me hives!

 
We stayed at the Old Stones Bed and Breakfast...

...where they have a FABULOUS backyard garden...

...and a grass tennis court!  The property is an old stone quarry and the court sits right up against the old walls.  No...that isn't Helen Wills Moody...it's me!  I played quite a bit of tennis during my high school and college years...TM, too...and this was quite a treat for us.  Notice the bare feet!  Heaven! 

We visited Hidcote, another astounding manor house and garden...with big, fluffy perennial borders... 

...lots of clipped box and topiary... 

...a vegetable garden... 

...and a croquet lawn!  Here's TM, showing off his skill.  I learned croquet as a kid during a visit with my Illinois cousins...and wrangled a set out of my parents when we returned home.  This brought back some happy memories of Summer evenings at home in the backyard.  Do people play croquet anymore?

I'm queen of the lavender world!  The lavender fields are breathtaking...and I brought some home with me.

We usually eat twice a day when we travel...and a little market like this one is the perfect place to pick up a picnic supper. 

After three days in England, we returned our rental car and caught The Caledonian Sleeper to Glasgow.  It's a great way to travel a long distance...bed, breakfast and transportation all in one...and you sleep right through it!  As you can see, I'm pretty well shattered.  Next stop...Scotland!