Here Comes the Sun

In other words, crap, I forgot the sunscreen.

Day three.  Baseball game.  Slept in and tried to go to Dottie's True Blue Diner for breakfast (a "Diners Drive-Ins and Dives" selection.). The line was out the door and around the block, so we hiked back and had breakfast at the same place we had dinner last night: Sam's Diner.  It was yum.  

As we walked back, we walked through a fantastic Farmer's Market and what appeared to be a Farmer's Market of sort for the homeless.  It was a lot to take in.  I'm still processing.

After breakfast, we hopped on a MUNI train out to the ballpark.  I am slowly overcoming my fear of public transportation.  I can read the route maps and it only took me a few minutes to figure out that the stop on the map with the picture of a baseball was AT&T Park.  I'm super smart.

The park was beautiful and our seats were fantastic.  

I am so glad that we splurged.  The kids were able to stand right at the edge of the field and watch warm-ups. Their patience totally paid off and they each got a warm-up baseball.  I was so excited for them that I could have cried.

The game was good, the sun was warm and I have to say that San Franciscans are incredibly friendly. We made friends with all of the people around us and the lady in front of me even offered me some sun screen.  That made it easier to get over the fact that her husband was sticking his furry arms into Boo's Coke.

Cubs won and I got to see my favorite pitcher, Big Time Timmy Jim Lincecum.  He had two hits.  It was crazy,

Oh, for a snack, we had garlic fries, which are supposed to be one of those things that you eat at AT&T Park.  They were really good.  Later on, at dinner, we accidentally ended up with another order of garlic fries.  They were strong and not so yummy.  They made my stomach hurt.  

These were the good ones. 

Also, there were several completely adorable little old ladies who were huge Giants fans.  When I am old, I am going to have a hat like this to wear to baseball games.  

On the trolley back home from Pier 39, we talked to an English family.  Later, Boo told me that she felt like she was in Harry Potter, which is exactly what I was thinking but didn't want to say.  I want to start using the word "brilliant" more.

And on that note, I am freaking tired, as usual.

And I smell.

Like garlic.  

Vampires beware.

Ain't no sunshine

Got up just after six to get ready for our trip to Alcatraz.  

Loved it.  Not sure how much I can express just how amazing it was.  It's sure ominous (seriously creepy) from far away, but wasn't nearly so foreboding once we were on the rock.  

We spent FOUR hours there.  We took a walking tour with one of the rangers, during which he explained about the escape attempts.  The self-guided cell block tour was fantastic, except for the fact that if the four of us didn't have our players in sync, it was challenging.  And it was crowded, but that's to be expected.  

We found this one hallway with amazing lighting and colors.  It was only a little creepy.

After Alcatraz, we headed back to Pier 39 for pizza and shopping.  Boo got a new pair of Toms (I decided that I am totally not cool enough for those ugly things.) KJ got a new Raiders t-shirt and is loving the fact that he gets lots of love out here for his Raiders gear.  I got a new sweatshirt since I got crapped on at Alcatraz (it was a big old crap, so no scrubbing it out in the restroom.)

We wandered along Fisherman's Wharf and decided to head to the Cable Car stop.  We knew it would be busy, but had no idea it was going to be a 90 minute wait.  The two Ks weren't exactly excited, but we toughed it out.

And it was freaking awesome.

KJ,JJ and I all got to hang off the sides.  

Boo got to sit, which was for the best because she was freezing.  Holy balls of fire, what a crazy experience with the hills and the cable cars coming at you from the other direction, with just inches to spare.  It was totally worth the 80 minute wait, at least for me.  But then again, I am like a small child, so maybe you shouldn't take my word for it.

I am so glad that I don't smell like homeless man tonight, but I do fear that I smell like bird crap.

And on that note, I am about to crash right here on my iPad.

So. 

Very.  

Tired. 

By the way, two days and no sun.  I'm not complaining, just stating a fact.  But I really hope that I get to see the entire bridge before we leave. 

I forgot the flower in my hair

Day One in San Francisco.

Got up at 5:45 (yay!) and managed to be on the road with McDonald's breakfast at 7:18.  Got to O'Hare, parked in the economy lot after an ill-fated attempt to hang with the taxis and two not-illegal U-turns.  

Had lunch at the food court and got to the gate with plenty of time to spare.  The flight was uneventful, barring the little girl in front of us who was constantly turning around and staring at us and offering us gummi bears.

Landed, got the luggage and hopped on BART to the hotel.  KJ was rather unsure after watching a story about someone being killed by a police officer on a BART train, but we assured him that we would be ok.  

Met Mr. Lee, got some good info on how to travel around the city and took an awesome trolley out to Pier 39.  

Had dinner outside (we midwesterners can handle the cold) with the birds and wandered the Pier. I was fascinated to see the number of people in winter clothes.  It was 59 degrees at dinner time. 

Boo and I were shoe shopping when we heard the sea lions barking.  We went running to go see them.  They are so cute.

The trolley ride home was more interesting.  We were packed to the gills and the kids got their first taste of homelessness and mental illness.  The man on the trolley was harmless and had a great conversation with himself.

It's 12:09 am here, 10:09 PM at home and we are all done. Put a fork in us. Good night. 

Also, I am tired. And I think I smell like homeless man.

Yep, tired. 

And we bought some salt water taffy. We needed the energy. 

Really, I am done. Good night. 

Who is this person?

I have never been a morning person.  According to my mon, when I was a toddler, I would sleep until 11:00.  The summers of my junior high years, I regularly stayed up until 4:00 or 5:00 am and then slept until 11:00 or 12:00 (maybe 1:00) and then rode my bike to the pool, swam all day, played softball in the evenings, and then did it all over again.
What in the world, you may be asking, did a teenager do until 5:00 am in 1987 and 1988, before there were a gazillion cable channels, before the internet, before Playststion, Facebook, Pinterest and Candy Crush Saga?  I read.  Books.  Lots and lots of books.
I still remember the first weekend in our apartment after JJ and I got married.  It was Saturday, glorious, glorious Saturday, the day for sleeping in.  Around 7:30 am, I felt a poke in the arm and could feel someone staring at me.  I opened my eyes just a slit and there was JJ, all smiles.  "When are you going to get up?" 
What?  A 7:30 wake-up poke and ear-to-ear grin is enough to push me into a murderous rage on a Saturday. 
Fast forward a few (17) years and here I am, willingly getting up at 5:45.  To golf. 
That, in and of iteslf, is a joke.  The first time my dad took me to the driving range, I was seventeen years old.  We were there for 45 minutes and I connected with exactly three (THREE!) balls. 
Here's how it went:  Take a practice swing.  Address the ball.  Whiff, whiff, whiff, whiff some more.  I had it in my head, after years of softball, that swinging something down into the ground was a bad idea.  So, I would raise up just a little with every swing so that I wouldn't beat the club head into the ground and then I would miss the ball.  I cried a lot.
So now I am getting up before the sun to play a game that makes me cry.  Well, I don't cry anymore.  I just swear a lot.  It's cathartic.

A Day with my Gram

I have recently decided to face the fact that I am not getting any younger.  Nor are any of my loved ones.  I've also recently started researching my family history and I kick myself for not asking more questions and recording more stories.  With this in mind, I decided that I need to spend some more time with my Grandma. 
We spent a morning exploring The Tiskilwa Historical Society's Museum on Main.  Tiskilwa is a tiny, adorable little town.  My grandma grew up on various farms all around Tiskilwa and is a proud 1943 graduate of Tiskilwa High School (salutatorian, no less.)  She's quite impressed with the collection that her town has put together and we spent a couple of hours looking through it.



This piece holds a special place in my heart as the woman killed in the cyclone was my great-great grandmother, Marie West.  Sometime I will get a good digital copy of the story.  For now, this photo will have to suffice.  My sister wrote a paper about it when she was in the eighth grade.  I wonder if she still has it anywhere.

I thought that these shells were beautiful.  There were decorated by sodiers during WWI as a way to pass the time.   It's amazing that something so beautiful can be created amidst such stress and horror.

Tiskilwa had it's own baseball team?  Who knew?  You should see the pictures of the grandstands.  They were huge!  I am fascinated by how times have changed.

Another special piece to me.  My great-grandfather collected these as he worked the land.  As a child, I loved to look at them and try to imagine what life was like as a Native American.  I am glad that my Gram is loaning them to the museum so others can see them too.

I had to take this photo for the Tiskilwa Volleydoll uniform (the white shirt.)  Tiskilwa always had great volleyball teams and really gave us some tough matches. 

This is the outside of the Museum.  It is the former Methodist Church.

I am dying to get inside of this house.  Besides the fact that it is AWESOME, my great-grandma worked here as a maid before she got married.  My grandma said that the family had a huge water tank on the top floor that they would have to fill.  My great-grandma sometimes had the job of going up and saying "when" so that it didn't get over-filled.  My Gram also told me that her mom and the maids from this house used to get together with the maids from another AWESOME house across the street and hang out on their days off.  My great-grandma has been gone since 1988.  How I'd love to go back and hear more stories.

The steps up to Mt. Bloom Cemetery on the west end of town.  Not a good photo, but it was raining.  These stairs have always creeped me out.  They belong in a horror movie.

 

I always see turkey vultures when I am with Gram.  I am not sure what to make of that.  There were four in this tree, but by the time I pulled out my camera and inched the car forward, three had flown off.

This house stands on the site where my great-great grandmother was killed by the tornado.  It's less than a mile from where Gram lives now.

The Tiskilwa Historical Society has placed these signs, commemorating the 18 school houses that served Tiskilwa.  This is the one my Gram attended.  It was the only two-room school.  All of the others were one-room school houses.

And finally, this rock commemorates Providence Colony and the Providence Community Church, which operated from 1841-1967.  That was the church Gram attended when she was a girl.  It is my understanding that Providence was settled by a group from Providence, RI in 1836 and died out when the railroad bypassed it and went through Princeton instead.  Now, that's my dad's version of the tale.  Someday I'll take the time to research it more.

I am so glad that I spent the day with her.  My only regret?  I didn't take a photo of her.
I'll remember next time.  

Road Trip!

600 miles. 9 hours. 4 bathroom stops (all because a certain mom drank too much Diet Coke and was the weak link of the group.)

We made it. We are here safe and sound. I think the trip went so smoothly for several reasons.
1. Classic Rewind on Sirius. JJ wasn't a fan of paying for radio, but I was a whiny baby about it after I got used to it during our free 3-month trial period. There was much drumming on the steering wheel. Drumming makes my husband happy.
2. I drove quite a bit while JJ had to do some conference calls. This prevented me from doing my standard "dramatic reading of road signs" and "random questions that can't be answered."
3. New (used) car's inaugural road trip made it all the more exciting.

We got here and had our traditional dinner at Gino's. I had my pierogie pizza. How can you go wrong with mashed potatoes, onion and cheese on a pizza crust.

During dinner I had a strange thing happen to me. I told the waitress that you couldn't get pierogie pizza back in Illinois. Se looked at me and said, "I was going to ask you where you were from because of your accent."

Accent?

For real? I chuckled to myself and decided that I totally deserved that one as I am always trying to decide where people are from based on their accents.

But back to that accent. What does a Central Illinois accent sound like to the rest of the world?

Enquiring minds want to know.

Chester's First Hair Cut

Remember Chester?



The cat of very little brain?



The one who once tried to play with a candle and got wax all over the place, including on her own face?

Yeah, her.

She's sweet.  She's cute.  She has a lot of fur and a really puffy tail.



This evening, my kids have friends over and Boo and her friend were busy at work, creating all kinds of things out of duct tape.  We were all down in the basement and Chester had been resting quietly, but decided she needed to investigate the closet as soon as she heard me open the door.  I ruined her evening by closing the door before she could get lost deep in the depths, so she had to find something else interesting.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her suddenly take off and noticed something white attached to her tail.  It took a split second for me to survey the scene, process and realize that she had gotten duct tape stuck to her tail.

Crap.

She came flying back into the room and performed a quick STOP, DROP and ROLL to dislodge the offending tape.  Of course, that only made it worse.  She ran a few steps, stopped and tried licking it off.  When that failed, she just took off in a panicked sprint as if she was going to run so fast, it would just fall off.

Knowing the situation was dire, I sent the kids to corner her before she made it any worse.

(I laughed a lot too.)

I knew there was no way were were going to rid her of her duct tape demons without scissors.  And I hoped that it wasn't going to require trimmers.

It's a good thing the dumb cat is so docile.  Between KJ, Boo and I, we managed to hold her still and cut the duct tape out of her tail without anyone bleeding.



I hope she's learned her lesson, but I am not going to hold my breath.