The Chronicles of Janie

It was Monday, so Uncle Greg had to go back to work, and we females were left to our own devices. The devices we were left to were fixing a nice supper for Uncle Greg. The kitchen was barely large enough to accommodate Mom and Aunt Kelly, so I was kicked out to Facebook, blog, and offer moral support from the sidelines as they endeavored to convert Mom's roll recipe to suit the high altitude. When as much pre-meal preparation as possible had been done, we decided to head into Boulder and explore the Pearl Street outdoor walking mall. We started out following directions, which soon proved to be completely unhelpful. So, we threw the directions out the window (figuratively, of course), and proceeded to find the way on our own. I was extremely thankful that I'd had the foresight to bring only a small amount of money with me. If I hadn't limited myself, I could easily have squandered my slim savings in some of the mall shops. There were lots and lots and lots of stores staff...

Sunday was accent day. We went to church with Uncle Greg, and I was blissfully happy listening to the worship leader's Australian accent. Then after church, we went out to eat at Smokin' Dave's Bar-B-Que. Apparently, Smokin' Dave likes to hire internationals. Our orders were taken by an obviously foreign man, whose accent I was unable to trace. I employed my time in watching the other waiters, trying to figure out each one's nationality. I kept up a whispered commentary to my table mates. "That one's Russian, definitely Russian. Don't know what area of Russia, though. And he's probably from India. And that guy...Hmmm...Italian, maybe?" Mom has gotten used to my strangeness, but Uncle Greg and Aunt Kelly probably thought that their niece was just a little on the crazy side. My accent obsession did come in handy, however. When the food was served at last, the server asked Aunt Kelly whether she had ordered 'reebs'. Poor Aunt Kelly...

I have many obsessions and addictions. Travel falls into both categories. Therefore, you may try your dead-level best (and probably fail) to imagine my extreme delight when Mom announced she and Aunt Kelly and myself were going to Colorado to visit Uncle Greg. My Chronicle opens on Saturday (September 24), when we were all rested up and ready to go after the previous day's 14 or 15 hour drive from Missouri to Colorado. Since the weather was utterly, astoundingly beautiful, Uncle Greg decided to take us to Rocky Mountain National Park. Our outing started well, with a bear sighting before we even got into the park. There he was, just sitting in his tree and looking at us all. Several cars were pulled onto the shoulder, and people were frantically snapping pictures. A few policemen and park rangers were there to protect the bear from the tourists. We took a few photos, and then continued on our way.  The road went up. And up. And up. My ears were popping...

Okay, maybe not holy sod. Even I'm not fangirl enough to quite be able to believe that the places I visited are sacred. However, I will say that over the last few days I have definitely walked in the footsteps of some of the greatest literary figures of all time. Let me elaborate: 1588 - Shakespeare writes his first play. 1599 - The Globe theater is built by the company in which Shakespeare has a stake.  Somewhere around 1600 - 1605 - Shakespeare writes the play All's Well That Ends Well. 2011 - I am standing in the Globe theater, watching a performance of All's Well That Ends Well. Yep, it's me. Standing in the Globe. The place Shakespeare helped build. The place where countless noblemen-and-women have come to watch plays. The place where the Bard himself stood. Admittedly, I was in the cheapest area, a place that used to go by the lovely name of the 'the pit'. This was where the common folk could pay their penny for standing room at a...

'On my way home I can remember all the good days. On my way home I can remember all the best days...' That just so happens to be one of my favorite Enya songs, but it also applied very aptly to Mom. On our drive back to good ol' Misery...er...I mean Missouri... we passed through some of Mom's old Mississippi stomping grounds. She, Dad, and the girls lived there, many, many years before anyone except God had even thought of my existence. We passed signs for Coldwater, where the girls had gone to school. Strayhorn, the town (if it's large enough to be called that) that features so prominently in Charissa's story about the old GMC truck. If you've never read that story, remind me to show it to you sometime. If you don't split a gut laughing, I'll....I'll...well, I don't know what I'll do. But nevermind, you're sure to laugh. Anyroad, to get back to my chronicling; Mom decided to leave the beaten path to go in search of two of the hou...

"Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day." Our anti-rain chant had no effect, however, and our original plans to go hiking had to be abandoned. After several attempts to look things up on the internet, which were thwarted by a spotty (at best) internet connection, we decided to throw maps, directions and planning out the window. Or at least, most of them. We got in the car and drove about until we found a road that ran alongside the river. High embankments on one side hid the water, while tall fields of sugarcane grew on the other. The cane fields were occasionally broken by a house, a small town, or a brown historical marker. We craned our necks to read the markers as we sped past, but usually just got to, 'this was the sight of the first....' before we had passed by. We at length found ourselves in the town of Plaquemine. The first sight that met our eyes was on old railroad bridge that would raise up to allow boats to pass underneath of it. A little furth...

Day one of our Louisiana stay dawned with me surfing the internet for sites of interest in New Orleans, then trotting down the two flights of steps to the hotel lobby to print off maps and directions (and surreptitiously listen to the businessman with the lovely English accent). Mom and I decided that, since the weather promised to be fine, we would spend our day walking around the French Quarter. But first, of course, came the all-important business of locating 'The Stove Man's' shop and dropping off our stove.We drove past it about three times before we actually saw the signs that are hidden behind a veritable wasteland of old appliances. Hugh was nowhere to be seen, but a crony of his was out back. The crony took a very excited Mom on a grand tour of the wilderness of antique stoves in the side yard. I like old things, in moderate, well-kept quantities, but a jumble like this holds little interest for me. I opted to stay in the car and keep a lookout for Hugh while gu...

I like old things. A lot. Especially when they enable me to take a free (for me) trip. Now you're wondering 'what on earth...?' Well, Mom has an antique gas stove. She really likes it because it is practically indestructible, 'cute', cooks far better than most modern stoves, and will probably still be in working order a thousand years from now. It only had one problem. Occasionally, the flame would go out, but the stove still kept pumping propane. Usually, someone smelled the gas and turned it off before anything happened, but a few times the stove re-lighted itself, and all the accumulated gas, causing a 'boom!' that blew the oven door open. Concern was expressed that, one day, the oven door wouldn't be the only thing blown open by the explosion. The solution? A safety feature that would shut off the gas when the flame went out. Why go to Louisiana? Because 'The Stove Man' (Hugh) is one of the few people in the U.S. who still knows how to servi...

Arkansas was lovely...and warm. I was amazed to see Spanish moss and prickly pear growing in such great profusion. Their growth season is also about a month ahead of ours. I saw daffodils in bloom there, whereas ours were just starting to come up. So much for Arkansas in general. The reason I was even there in the first place was for the CCCA Conference, an annual meeting for people who work at camps. Pretty much everything that has to do with running a camp, from kitchen service to staff discipleship, was covered in the meetings. There was also a meeting about pool maintenance. Zhenya and I sat in on that one. Basically, it went: 'Pools, blah, blah, blah...chemicals, blah, blah, blah....dirt and algea, oh, horror! Blah, blah, blah....more chemicals, blah, blah, blah...'etc. Rather boring, especially as all of the information was printed in the handout. What really bothered me was that the meeting could have been over in 20 minutes, ins...

On Thursday, we got the sad news that Samantha Wollbrink's grandmother had passed away. The funeral was today, and Mom and I decided to go. Dad and Richmond had to help out with a work day at church, so we 'girls' were all alone when the funeral service ended and Mom had the sickening realization that she had locked her keys in the car! We called Dad's cell phone repeatedly...no answer. Apparently, Dad had left his phone in the truck. We called Papo, and he agreed to come out and pick us up. So, while everyone else left to attend the graveside ceremony, Mom and I stood by our little Scion, eyes strained for the first sight of Papo's car. Minutes dragged past. People drove up and stared at us as they stopped at the intersection. Our position was begginning to get uncomfortable when Mom saw a man pulling into the fire station across the street. "That guy looks like Joel. Maybe the fire department can get our door open." She said. I had already sugge...