Boreal Witch

Enter Friday Playdate. Two hours of unstructured play, snack, art, and swimming. Two hours of Arthur and me time. 

So we played tennis. Went to thrift stores. Went to Culver's. Went to the library. 

Balin is Arthur's little tagalong. Balin is my little tagalong, too. He accompanies me everywhere while Arthur is in school and follows Arthur around when he gets home. 

Needless to say, it was nice to spend time with just Arthur. I find I don't spend enough one-on-one time with him.

Blessed be. 

I see his point, I do. When family knows you're coming to stay for a week, spending time with them suddenly becomes a priority. Everything else you may have done is pushed aside while you entertain (or are entertained by) great-aunt somebody-or-other. 

We did, however, deliberately free up a couple days at the end of our trip to see Robinson's oldest brother, John-Charles; his partner, Hugo; and, of course, Patches.

The boys love their uncles but not as much as their dog. They loved throwing the ball to Patches, laughing uproariously as she brought it back and dropped it at their knees, waiting for them to toss it again. They thought it hilarious when she rolled in the grass and begged for food. They wistfully doted on her. (See the picture of Patches? The boys watched her chewing on a stick and decided she needed more. They brought her the pieces on the left. They love, love, love that dog.) 

A rickety old swing set had been left by some previous tenents long ago. The boys adored this rusting contraption - playing on it every spare moment of our visit. John-Charles and Hugo worried the boys, with their wild, reckless playing, might hurt themselves somehow, but - surprisingly - the thing held up, protesting with its loud, ancient creaking.

They took us to Hueston Woods State Park, where we rented a boat and sped around the lake. Hugo mentioned that he took Patches on the trails in the area quite often and picked up garbage along the paths. Once, they happened to find a picnic table in the water and tried to retrieve it. The boys were quite enamored with the sandy beach and would have stayed there all day if we had let them. After all, we had only spent a few hours at the Indiana Dunes...

The most exciting part of the trip for the boys was the melting of the Summer Snowman. Ours had already been brought out and melted on the fourth of July but John-Charles and Hugo had saved another Summer Snowman for the boys to observe. (And eat. Even Patches helped which the boys found hilarious!)

This trip was certainly epic, a once-in-a-year kind of trip. While it was sad to say good-bye to John-Charles and Hugo it was more than wonderful to be back in our own apartment, in our own bed, surrounded by our own things. The cat was ecstatic to see us again, after meowing her displeasure.

Where did your summer adventures take you?

Blessed be.

The boys, of course, were higly amused - though I would not go so far as to suggest that they loved it.

Getting from Hershey to Gettysburg entailed a trip through Harrisburg, Pennsylvania's capital. We saw the capital building from the highway - Arthur even commented that it looked similar to the one in Madison - and got turned around several times before we finally found the right exit. The boys, having just eaten their weight in candy, were rowdy.

The boys were not impressed with Gettysburg. Not that they should have been. After all, they are so young and their world is so small that they don't understand the importance of history. All they saw were statues of dead men, pennies on grave markers, and a field full of lined-up stones that begged to be stepped on. They didn't realize that about 50,000 people were wounded or died at that very place. They didn't know that some of those people were never identified, that their families could never get closure. They couldn't possibly understand the fear and the horror that those soldiers (on either side) faced for three days before the Confederate army retreated. They were completely unaware that, in states like Maryland, brothers would often fight against each other - to preserve the Union or for the right to secede. 


I hope one day they'll understand.

This little project of mine has sparked a bit more patriotism than I anticipated. I have a newfound respect for my great-great grandfather, John Muentner, who fought in the Civil War as an artillery man in one of the Wisconsin regiments. He is known by the family simply as "Civil War John." He was an immigrant to the United States and yet, like many recent German immigrants, fought for the ideal of keeping the Union together despite the loss of lives. Did he ever regret it?

Even when I was a jet-setting college student, I began my journey from Seattle and Chicago, never from New York. I've always wanted to go to Boston and even considered a college in Maine, but never applied.

Conneticuit was a bit out of our way - seven hours from Niagara Falls to be exact - but being the awesome parents that we are, decided to take Arthur and Balin to Mystic to see Astro. 

Astro became sort of a family celebrity when we studied Argentina back in February. When the boys discovered that penguins and sea lions lived in the southern part of South America, they immediately wanted to learn more. One of the books we checked out from our library was Astro the Steller Sea Lion. It became an instant hit with Balin, who wanted us to read it over and over again. 

Then Auntie Blythe bought him the book and Robinson bought him a sea lion stuffed animal in San Francisco. Balin pretended he was Astro, hunting penguins and performing tricks. 

Yes, it would have been a mistake to not try to fit it in, at least. 

Mystic quickly became one of my favorite places on the trip. I grew up next to an ocean (granted, it was frozen most of the year) and miss the fluidity and expanse of the water, the roaring of the waves, and collecting washed up trinkets on the beach. I love the farm and other rural places but whenever I visit the ocean, the wind and water beacon me and I never want to leave.

Quaint is probably the perfect description of Mystic. People adorn their lawns and houses with nautical  junk instead of plows, wagon wheels, and antique tractors as they do in the midwest. Wooden boats anchor at the docks, boat makers and their assistants dilligently making their repairs. There's a village to wander around in, filled with activities and demonstrations, costumed volunteers, and even a horse and wagon. 

It's a little town known for its pizza - we've still not seen the movie - and, for those in the ocean sciences, the aquarium. The pizza was pretty good, nothing amazing, but the fried pickles were  incredible: crunchy, salty, and somehow sweet at the same time. The dill dip (or maybe a bottled Ranch?) that accompanied the pickle platter paired perfectly. 

The boys had the most fun at the Mystic Aquarium. They got to see Astro and a gigantic green bullfrog, took in a sea lion show, watched penguins gracefully torpedoing through water, and even made some squished pennies: a sea lion for Balin and a frog for Arthur.

As we drove away the next day, we offered up some thoughts about our favorite things in Mystic. Robinson said his favorite part (besides the salted caramel ice cream at the little ice cream kiosk) was watching me ride on the 90-year-old motor boat, the breeze in my hair and a smile on my face. 

Blessed be.

That being said, we were fairly certain that the boys could last a few hours in the car but - being as active as they are - we were also certain that we'd need frequent stops. The many rest stops along the way became little beacons of light - reminiscent of a light from a lighthouse. The boys were eager for a stretch and though it took a little longer to reach our destination, it was worth it to have two (relatively) happy boys in the back seat.

When this trip was first conceived and everyone would be going, Dad insisted that we stop at the Indiana Dunes and spend some time on the beach. As it became clear that we'd be unable to go with everyone else, we decided that we'd stop there anyway. We were leaving Friday evening and needed a bit of a head start for the long drive to Niagara Falls. It seemed the perfect place to spend a few hours.

The boys enjoyed the dunes but, honestly, what kid wouldn't enjoy having a field of sand and a large body of water to play with? They were upset when we told them we had to leave, with the promise that we would return.

Niagara Falls was an interesting dichotomy: it's the first state park in the United States (established in 1885) and an obnoxious tourist trap. We spent more time waiting in lines than exploring the actual park. Kid you not, the place was set up like an amusement park. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that in theory, right? Anything to get people outside, exploring our country. But what are people really experiencing when a state or national park is essentially turned into a commercial theme park?

I come from a place where "state park" means vast expanses of wilderness and little or no human interference. They are places where you'll see wildlife. Places to hike, camp, or picnic. Places where you can enjoy the scenery.

It's hard to enjoy the scenery when you're walking around multi-story shopping centers and restaurants. Granted, this type of commercialism is far-reaching, extending even into Alaska. (Anyone who has driven past Glitter Gulch knows exactly what I'm talking about.)

Don't get me wrong. The falls were amazing.

But we buy too much. We waste too much. We strive to have the newest technology instead of getting by with what we have.

Why should the natural world mimic our every day world?

Short answer? It shouldn't.

The natural world should be a place of refuge, a place to find solace, a place to mentally recharge. It should not be yet another place where we can purchase yet another worthless item.

A challenge for you, my readers: The next time you are outside, put away the technology and take in everything around you. Note the color of the leaves. Smell the air. Examine the trees. Listen to the wind.

Blessed be.  

There are days I wish I had more drive. I wish I had that ambition to sell my abilities. But as I grow more and more as a person, I realize that that's not who I am. I still can't say with certainty who I am, but I know what I like. I like to work hard. I like to create. I like to feel special. I like simplicity. I like freedom. I like to be alone.

Dinner's on the stove top. Balin's crying in my ear because Arthur did something mean to him. There's another two loads of laundry to fold. The scraps and squares of two quilts have taken over the office floor. The kitchen counters and dining room table are covered with so much clutter it's hard to cook and eat. 

And I find myself overcome with apathy by these things. 

This is my frustration: my life has become too much. 

I have too much stuff. Any attempts at getting rid of this stuff is met with the entry of more stuff.

I try and quilt to use up my fabric. But somehow there's a lack of time or space or energy or money to finish projects. 

I don't care about anything I have because we have so much. I don't take care of the things I do have because...well...I can't find it. 

I want to own things I care about. I want to like the things I have and make more time for the things I love. I can't do that if I'm constantly tripping over my junk. 

There will be changes. They will start slow, but they will happen. 

Blessed be.