The dusty, quiet riverboat town of Hannibal, settled in the early 1800s on a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River, had an uncanny resemblance to Twain’s fictitious hometown of St. Petersburg, right down to protagonist Tom Sawyer’s infamous white-washed picket fence;
It was all interstate driving from Chicago to Springfield, three hours of nondescript farmland laid bare by winter’s chilly disposition. A right turn just south of Springfield put Hannibal, Missouri, America’s self-proclaimed Hometown, within easy reach. Jimmy and I had the boyhood home of Samuel Clemens (yes that would be none other than Mark Twain) in our sights.
The dusty, quiet riverboat town of Hannibal, settled in the early 1800s on a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River, had an uncanny resemblance to Twain’s fictitious hometown of St. Petersburg, right down to protagonist Tom Sawyer’s infamous white-washed picket fence; HURRY! The celebration has begun; admission is FREE for the rest of the week, through Sunday, April 24th!
Turn off all electronics! Grab the kids, the pets, the passport, the camera, and the car keys and get out of Dodge. America awaits, in all her beauty, glory and history; it’s National Parks Week! Pick a site, any one of over 400 National Park sites covering a plethora of possibilities and make some memories for FREE. Yes, a plethora of possibilities, including . . . It was an invitation we couldn’t refuse.
The boardwalk stretched as far as the eye could see, steeped in mystery courtesy of Florida’s marvelous mangroves; and was quiet as the breeze off Miami’s nearby Biscayne Bay. Spooky quiet with all those trees harboring all manner of wildlife ready to pounce. Let’s just put it right out there.
I’ve never been a big fan of the Prairie Style of architecture; conforming to one design aesthetic, from structure to style, from rooftop to windows to walls, carpet to furniture to dinnerware feels more socialistic than democratic. In fact, for years I wasn’t really a fan of Frank Lloyd Wright. It has always been a challenge separating the brash, outspoken, self-serving man from the architectural genius. By his own admission Wright professed, "Early in life I had to choose between honest arrogance and hypocritical humility. I chose the former and have seen no reason to change." Okay, so I didn’t hold back; but there is still more Wright than wrong when it comes to the 20th century’s most influential architect. And what do you know; I’m willing to share my thoughts (the good, the bad, and the ugly) on the matter. Right here, right now. Happens every time I tour one of FLW’s homes, in this case his own home in Oak Park, Illinois; I come away with a deeper appreciation for the man’s genius despite the man's personal shortcomings. I promise to try to stick to the genius qualities. I was 25 when my husband and I bought into the American dream. The open floor plan of the 3-bedroom ranch centered round a great room flanked by modest kitchen and equally modest dining room imbued our little starter home with the grandiosity befitting our growing family and dreams.
At 25, this east coast momma knew very little of America’s greatest architect (wait for it!), or of the prairie covering America’s heartland that proved such an inspiration for the organically inspired Frank Lloyd Wright (tah-dah!). Then again, what do any of us really know at 25? Well, actually, at 22, Frank Lloyd Wright knew considerably more than most, particularly this flunky. Well, okay, I graduated college by the time I was 22, which is more than I can say for the master (FLW took a few courses in civil engineering at the University of Wisconsin in 1886, but never received a degree; it’s questionable the self-made man even graduated high school). I delivered my first child just weeks shy of my 23rd birthday. Then again, so did FLW. Well, actually Wright's wife Catherine did the delivering; but I digress. My point is (yes, there is one buried beneath all the reminiscing), . . . “For every walk is a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth and reconquer this Holy Land from the hands of the Infidels.” ~ Henry Thoreau This Infidel was certainly feeling the need for a crusade. Weeks, if not months of self-imposed confinement (difficult to make travel a priority in the midst of selling one home and settling into another) had left me feeling restless, at least on the days when I wasn’t feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. The winter months had simply added insult to injury. It was time to set aside the purging, the packing, the painting, and all the people parading through what had once been our family home for the last 20 years. It was time to reconquer this Holy Land, time to crusade for that which nurtures the heart and mind and soul, ergo my wanderlust. It was time for a walk in the woods, time for some fresh air to clear the mental fog. The price was right, the weather just as suitable, albeit a bit windy. Then again, it was March. And so off we went, just me and my shadow, going forth into the wild to reclaim this Holy Land from the hands of Infidels. I’ve been called worse. Alas, my crusade wasn’t as wild as it was spooky. Then again, I’ve always been one for a vivid imagination. Have you ever noticed just how exhilarating and exhausting a museum visit? Try tackling the #1 museum in the world!
It was like three hours of therapy with a psychiatrist (or so I’ve heard). I emerged from Chicago’s imposing neoclassical Art Institute at the end of a long afternoon feeling spent and hungry; my head and heart were spinning like a load of laundry going through a second rinse cycle before being hung out to dry. The Rock. Uncle Sam’s Devil’s Island. Hell on Earth.
Call it what you will, the infamous 22 acres of bay front property called Alcatraz was once home to the most incorrigible of U.S. criminals; and home to a parallel universe even Mulder and Scully would have found very intriguing. Chiquita would have you believe their banana is quite possibly the world’s perfect food.
In some camps the health benefits of avocados put the “alligator pear” at the top of the list. And of course, what would we do without the latest super food, king kale? Somehow I’ve managed without. Each 100 gram portion of this vegetable contains 200% of the RDA for Vitamin C, 300% of the RDA for Vitamin A, 1000% of the RDA for Vitamin K1, not to mention large amounts of 2 grams of fiber, 3 grams of protein, Vitamin B6, potassium, calcium, magnesium, copper and manganese. Holy hubris! With only limited quantities of food consumption humanly possible on a daily basis, what’s a hungry, health-conscious diner to do? He was in his own world, completely oblivious of the parade of passengers navigating Florida’s Orlando International Airport, Terminal A. The guy looked eerily like the uncle from the 1990s film, My Girl 2. A quick smile crossed my lips at the ethos of our shared experience. I’d been that weary traveler in Paris two years ago during a four-hour layover, part of an exhausting international two-leg flight originating at Chicago’s O’Hara Airport and terminating in Berlin’s Brandenburg Airport 7 time zones away. I would have willingly paid good money for a sleep pod I could have called my own had one been available at Paris’ Charles de Gaulle Airport, although personally I would have opted for one with a bit more privacy. Nope. Duane Hanson’s, “The Traveler”, a.k.a. Sleeping Beauty (eventually I discovered/realized he'd been there napping since 1985) seemed perfectly happy to sleep on the fly (the purview of most weary travelers) in his own little fishbowl. The display case was an addition eventually required to keep curious bystanders from touching the amazingly life-like piece of public art made of autobody filler, fiberglass, mixed media, and real life accessories like hair, clothes, shoes, and luggage. ---------------------------- You May Also Like: |
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