Friday of the wedding weekend (September 11th) was an all-tourist kind of day. Jolene had to work (sad), so that left me and Mer to be touristy, with Shannon leading the way. To get the day started off right, Shannon and I ran up to the Skokie Sculpture Park and park and back, a run of about 6 miles or so. It was fairly gratifying that I was clearly in better shape than Shannon, which is often not the case. Shannon is an avid biker, but had not gotten to ride much over the summer, and I was two weeks away from a marathon, so I was in pretty good shape.

After we showered and got ready, we headed over to Ann Sather’s Restaurant for breakfast. Mer and I love this restaurant for breakfast – they have huge and very good cinnamon rolls that we quite enjoy. We always walk to the restaurant from Shannon’s place, a walk of about 2-3 miles. It is fun to see the city neighborhoods, and we always go along back streets to get to see houses and buildings. We do this even when we visit Chicago in the winter. It whets the appetite.

After we got done with breakfast, we decided it would be fun to go downtown and see a few sights, especially the sights that had changed in the 8+ years since we’ve lived in Chicago. Shannon works for the Art Institute, so that seemed a great place to start. Shannon was able to get us into the staff area of the building to meet a couple of curators of whom Shannon is very fond. They were very nice and funny women, and specialized in ancient art. On the recommendation of the curators, we then went to see an ancient falcon sculpture that looks as if it could have been right out of the Art Deco period. We also wandered through some of the 16th and 17th century rooms of paintings to see a few paintings that are very famous and/or that Shannon and Jo like.

The main attraction Shannon wanted us to see in our limited time at the Art Institute was the new modern wing. It is beautiful. I think Shannon said it was $300 million, and it looks like it. It has wooden floors, large ceilings, huge windows that look over the city, and the art is laid out in a logical (and not crowded) manner. Much of the art we blew by, but Shannon did want us to see some of the views of the city which happen to be near art that does not pass the Matt Test (the “could I have made it?” test), and thus the art made me angry. Still, much of the modern art was at least okay, and the views of the city are fantastic.

The new wing has a new restaurant and patio that looks over the park and the city, and also has a pedestrian bridge into Millennium Park. This is a great space. While we were looking at the city and having our picture taken, a woman was being filmed next to us for some kind of Chicago-based TV show. We then wandered down the bridge (which also has wonderful views of the city) into Millennium Park.

Millennium Park is a wonderful addition to the city. It has a lot of space, and the outdoor auditorium is really cool. They have planted walking gardens and new hedges that will take 20 years to grow to maturity. There is a cool winding bridge that connects the park to the shoreline. There is a small artificial stream that runs through part of the park, and several business people were eating lunch beside it or dangling their feet in it. Mer and I dangled our feet in the stream, and it was really cold! Shannon talked to a local guide who said the stream mirrors the original Lake Michigan shoreline, which is neat (the current shoreline is probably 3/4 of a mile away from the park). We wandered over by the sculpture called “The Bean,” which has become a Chicago icon and is strangely fascinating. The park’s fountain/square was working, to the delight of many children, but the large signs on either side that usually show faces that spit water at the kids were turned off. There was also a small display of Chinese sculpture near the fountain, including a metal dinosaur.

We were hot, so we stopped by a smoothie bar. Mer got water, but I was happy to get a strawberry concoction. We then jumped on the El to go back to the apartment, but got off a stop or two early to get ice cream at a place Shannon recommended. It was quite good. We then walked to the apartment, where Jo met up with us. It was a good afternoon, and the evening was still ahead.

We all piled in Jo’s car to head out to dinner and a show. We ate near the theater we were going to, at a local Italian chain called Leona’s. Mer and I are very fond of Leona’s as well, having eaten there quite a bit when we lived in Chicago. Sadly, this night, the food was slow in coming, and Mer’s food came out last and late, so she did not have much time to eat it. We did make it to the nearby theater in time, but it was not the leisurely sort of meal we like to have.

Shannon and Jo treated us to a play called The Night Season, which is a play about an Irish family. It was about a father (often drunk), his three daughters, an elderly (and slightly crazy) grandmother, an American actor who stays with the family, and one of the daughter’s former boyfriends. The theater was very intimate, with the stage only about 10 feet away. The audience was fairly small (about 25 people). The actors did a fine job in acting their roles. I enjoyed the play, and found it compelling, but it mostly just told a story. There is certainly nothing wrong with telling a good story, but the play did not leave me thinking too deeply about it when I left. Still, I do enjoy theater and it was excellent storytelling, so I had a very good time.

Not a bad little day in Chicago.

Sorry for the lag in blogging once again – I was sick for about 18 days, and then out of town for 4 days, so much of October’s planned blogging got put on the back burner. I certainly needed to mention this entry, though – it was 18 years in the making.

Back in early August, I got an e-mail from Mom that had a subject of “Wedding.” I figured a cousin or someone was getting married and Mom wanted me to know. I was rather happily surprised when I opened the e-mail and found out that Mom and her long-time (and long-suffering) other half, Marc, were getting married on September 10th. She said she would understand if I could not be there with the start of school and all, but that was just silly. I would not have missed this wedding for the world. I love weddings, and I like Marc very much, and it’s my Mom – c’mon!

Meredith and I got permission to miss school both Thursday and Friday of that week in September, and we made our way out to Chicago after school on Wednesday the 9th. It was uneventful, with the highlight being the traditional stop at Dairy Queen near South Bend. We got to Shannon and Jo’s place late, but stayed up to see Shannon’s excellent DVD slide show of the pictures of their summer trip to Maine. The pictures were quite fantastic, and Shannon chose some fun music to go along with the pictures.

Thursday came about and we spent much of the morning puttering. Shannon made brunch (French toast) while Jo ran errands. We all took our turns in the sole bathroom in the apartment, and got spiffed up and headed down to the University of Chicago with Jo driving. We got there in plenty of time, and only a few people were there yet.

The small chapel that Mom and Mar chose was beautiful. It could only hold about 50-60 people, but the seats were carved wood, the stone was classic gray, and the altar was backed by a giant stained glass window. It was a great venue. The place started filling up, and finally we got word that Mom and Marc had arrived. We went outside to say hey, and escorted them in a side door so Marc could go to the front of the chapel and Mom could go to the foyer.

Mom went to great lengths to make sure her children were involved in her wedding. Shannon and I got to walk Mom in (a task I apparently sucked at – Shannon and I went at different speeds with me going faster, so Mom got kind of cockeyed). Kelly got to be the Matron of Honor (I’m sure she’ll be happy with her being called “Matron”). Jolene and Meredith got to read poems; Jolene read a poem by Maya Angelou that Mom had requested. Meredith read three sonnets (Shakespeare, Barrett Browning, and ee cummings) and (at my suggestion) a poem about husbands by Ogden Nash (he he!). The officiating bishop did a great job of officiating a dignified service, while still having a few moments of levity that showed how well he knew Mom and Marc. I was very pleased at the liturgy of the service – I’m not sure what one it was, but it was very sound from a Christian perspective.

Marc seemed nervous – that made me smile. Marc is usually very much in control and usually very quick to help with the levity of a gathering. His being nervous was wonderfully honest, and it was a nice testament to his feelings. Mom looked very elegant in a simple blue dress, and the space was small enough that the service was easy to hear.

The service lasted about 30 minutes, and then we all went outside to chat. The World’s Cutest Niece was quite happy to be playing with a balloon of a butterfly, and the Wold’s Cutest Nephew was very well behaved in his car/travel seat. It was good to see Kelly and Paul and the family – we do not get to see them so much as we get to see Shannon and Jo and Mom and Marc.

  After some pictures were taken (I actually did not take any during the ceremony since I was in it), we dispersed to go to a nearby Mediterranean restaurant that Mom and Marc had reserved. As an aside, when I got out of the car in my suit and fedora, a man outside the restaurant told me I looked as if I was a magazine cover. That made me very pleased. Not surprisingly, the restaurant’s food was ample and excellent, and was served up in four courses. Mom and Marc do know food, and I was happy to share in their good taste.

  After an excellent meal and some visiting with people, we headed out to the car to head northward. We were going back to Shannon and Jo’s. Mom and Marc and Kelly and Paul and family, as well as a few others, were headed to Mom and Marc’s apartment nearby. Mom and company were planning on heading to the Michigan home the next day, but we decided that we get to Chicago so rarely that we would stay in the city for a couple of days to see a few sights.

It was very much a lovely wedding, worth waiting 18 years for.

Thursday, Aug. 6th, was our last day in Amish Country, at least this time around. We slept in and packed everything up and made sure the cabin was in decent shape. Once everything was okay, we headed over to the town of Berlin, where we headed over to The Farmstead for brunch. We again avoided the buffet that every restaurant seemed to try to throw at us, and ordered single meals. It was a good restaurant, and I hope to get it on the Amish Country rotation.

After brunch, we drove over to a local furniture store. The two men in the store, who appeared to be in their 30s, were speaking Pennsylvania Dutch when we came in, and they continued to switch effortlessly between Pennsylvania Dutch and English while where we there, depending on who they were speaking to. Both men were very friendly, and we spent quite awhile lusting after beautiful wood furniture that was very reasonably priced. The owners also told us that we needed to head out to a local farm (near Miller’s Bakery) and get a “fry pie.” It turns out that a fry pie is the perfect way to get your fruit. The Amish take a fruit spread, like strawberry, wrap it in a pie crust, deep fry it, and coat it in a glaze. Wow, were they good.

We took the men up on their recommendation and went out to the farm. The fry pies were as good as advertised, and there were lots of other wonderful baked goods available as well (of course). We wandered around the yard a bit after we had our food, and we looked at the various animals.

We then pointed the car homeward, although I wanted to make one more stop. There is a store near Berlin that is advertised as a forge and iron works. It turns out the actual forge is in Pennsylvania, and this is a retail outlet, but it was still fun to look at the various metal pieces. While Mer was in the bathroom, I bought her a pair of earrings (with cats on them). And because this was Amish country, the earrings got me a coupon for a free piece of pie at an Amish bakery on the way home. We decided that Amish country was now aggressively flinging food at us wherever we went, and so we saved the coupon for another day.

Keep in mind that we were in Amish country for only ten possible meals, and we skipped three of them. In a little over 50 hours in food central, we both managed to pack on 10 pounds each (which we have since both managed to take off). On our 11th anniversary, there was just more of us to love!

Wednesday (August 5th) was day two in Amish country for our little anniversary getaway. We slept in, and then took our time getting ready. I sat on the front porch some and started Jane Austen’s Persuasion. Once we were presentable, we headed back to Grandma’s Homestead restaurant because we had seen the night before that they had a breakfast buffet. It was quite tasty, but my favorite part of the breakfast was the homemade strawberry jam. They were not messing around with that – it was basically smooshed-up strawberries (and probably some sugar) and it was fantastic! Shockingly, we both ate too much.

After breakfast, we headed (via scenic back roads) to Miller’s Bakery. Miller’s Bakery is off the beaten path, but had been recommended to us by the owners of the B and B. It was certainly worth the trip! They had huge cookies and desserts for very cheap, and they had homemade chocolates for $6/pound. It was a pity that we went there when we were full, but we still managed to buy a few baked goods and chocolates. And, yes, you are starting to see a food theme in our vacation.

We stopped back at the bakery of Der Dutchman on the way back to the B and B to pick up a cake that Mer had wanted. She really had just wanted to buy a slice, but they only had whole cakes this day, so we plunked down the $4 and went home with too much food.

We went back to the cottage were we munched on our bakery goods, and I napped while Mer went on the back porch to read. Having fully rested, and having virtuously skipped lunch, we took a scenic drive out to Mrs. Yoder’s Kitchen, where we tried to order fairly light – we got sandwiches again. We were both still pretty full from brunch and snacking.

At some point during the day’s driving, we saw another smile-worthy moment. We saw a very cute little Amish girl in her traditional Amish clothing, and sporting bright pink Crocs. Mer and I both agreed that Amish children are all cute, including the boys. Neither of us is particularly parentally inclined, but the children we saw were just cute. They sometimes waved and we never saw them pitching fits.

After supper, we went home again and we played Dark and Stormy, a game about the first lines of books. I think I actually won this time – I can win about 1 out of 5 times when we play, but I may be remembering it wrong. Still, I’ll say I won. We played on the front porch, and were able to wave at a couple of Amish girls who rode by on horseback. The evening was quite nice, and it was pleasant to be on the porch with a good excuse to watch the sunset.

We ended the evening by beginning a six-part adaptation of Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. I had recently listened to the book while running, and so wanted to see a movie version. The adaptation was decent. They cut some characters, and the changed a little bit of the ending (which we saw once we went back home – we did not watch all six parts that evening!), and made it a little more romantic, which I guess I can overlook. It was a good way to end a good day (nothing says “anniversary” like 19th-century literature!).

Mer and I took our second (of two) mini-vacations in August. Over a year ago, a friend of mine gave me a two-night stay at a Bed and Breakfast down in Ohio Amish Country. I had not used the gift certificate, and Mer thought it would be a good use of it to celebrate our 11th anniversary (which was on the 8th of August). I agreed that it was a fine idea, and so I took three days of vacation – Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, August 4th-6th. It would have made more sense to make the vacation join up with a weekend, but the B and B was booked for the weekends around our anniversary. Besides, it made for a nice treat to be away from work during the week.

We slept in at home on Tuesday (why start a vacation with setting an alarm?), and got things packed up for the 90-minute drive to Holmes County. It was a pretty day, and we had no trouble getting to Amish Country. We stopped at our usual Amish restaurant, Der Dutchman, for lunch. It was more or less on the way, and we decided we could check in at the B and B after we had eaten. I had a very good but un-Amish stir fry (the chicken in it was quite wonderful), and we swung by the bakery after lunch and drooled over the cheap baked goods (they were selling pies for $6 and entire ho-ho cakes for $4). We held off on buying any, because I wanted to visit the chocolate factory down the street that we had never been to (and had not even known existed). Before stocking up on chocolate, we decided to poke around in the shops in Walnut Creek.

My favorite store there is a religious wood carving store. I am a big fan of wood, and while a few things struck me as tacky, on the whole the carvings were tasteful and made of beautiful wood. My favorite piece was a reproduction of a hymnal page of “Amazing Grace.” It would have fit nicely in a spot in our living room, but the price was way too high (more than some complete furniture sets from Amish stores).

I was poking around in the upstairs portion of the store when I heard someone talking. I pretty quickly realized the woman was not speaking English, and after a moment or two I figured it must be Pennsylvania Dutch (a Germanic language spoken by some Amish and Mennonites). The woman was in traditional dress – a white bonnet and a plain, light blue dress. The parts that made me smile were that she was wearing white sneakers and was speaking German into her cell phone. I don’t know all the “dos and don’ts” of Amish ways, but that was a special moment and made me quite happy.

We did finally get down to the chocolate store, and they make the chocolates right there. You can watch the small factory where the candies are made, and the store wisely leaves the factory windows open so you can smell the chocolate. If I recall correctly, we bought over 1.5 pounds of chocolate (most of it was mine, I have to admit). With our evening goodies well in hand, we made our way back to the car and drove the 15 minutes or so to our B and B, a cabin called “A Little Slice of Heaven.”

The “Little Slice of Heaven” cabin is very pretty, and only has capacity for two groups of guests. We had to share the place with another couple who showed up late on Tuesday and left early on Wednesday, so they were no bother at all. We had the place all to ourselves on Wednesday night. The cabin is small, but has lots of woodwork and all the features we wanted in a B and B – a TV with DVD player for movies, a nice stereo for music, and a whirlpool bath for luxury. We let ourselves in and unpacked, and Meredith polished off her book she was reading while I quality-tested the bed by taking a nap.

We decided to deliberately strike out and explore new places that evening. Usually when we go to Amish country, we just go to Der Dutchman. The friend who owns the B and B strongly encouraged us to get on the back roads and see things, so we did. It was good advice. We took a bunch of back roads through lots of farm country. We saw several horse-and-buggy teams on the road, and we had little trouble getting to our restaurant of choice, Grandma’s Homestead. I figured we had decided on a decent place when I saw a hitch rail with several horses tied up to it. I know that much of Holmes County is touristy, but I took it as a good sign if the local Amish ate there from time to time.

Mer and I ate another excellent meal, and we even tried to be light by getting sandwiches since we were still full from lunch and chocolates. I was thwarted in trying to avoid dessert when I found out my meal came with free dessert. I got some custard ice cream with Oreos mixed in. I was okay, but I need to remember to stick with baked goods when in Amish Country – that is where the desserts really excel.

We went back to the B and B where we relaxed by watching the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers classic Top Hat. The music and fun nature of the film suited my mood quite well, and it was a very nice way to end a very pleasant day.

July 4th was a Saturday this year, and nothing says “Freedom” like a road trip to go see outdoor sculpture. So, we headed off early to go to the Meijer Sculpture Gardens in Grand Rapids, which was about 90 minutes away. It was a fine day, with some clouds, but we figured that between the slight threat of rain and the holiday, we would have the gardens mostly to ourselves, which turned out to be pretty accurate. The rain never came, and so we had a warm but not sunburn-likely day, which is pretty ideal for me.

Getting to the gardens was uneventful, and Meredith was tickled to see that it was right across the street from Cornerstone University, where she has had several students go. We parked in the lightly-populated parking lot, and made our way inside. We paid, and used the restrooms, and saw that there were some inside exhibits, but made our way outside pretty quickly in case it were to rain. We grabbed a map from the inside info desk, and armed with this, Meredith was able to plan our orderly tour of the grounds. We immediately dismissed the idea of a guided tour via tram (neither of us likes tram tours since you cannot always linger at a place). Mer decided to circle around the outside of the park, strongly encouraged by me since it was a wooden walkway through some wetlands. I like walkways. The wetlands were pretty, and had some animal sculptures placed in the trees and bushes and that pleased us both very much. The gardens overall did a very nice job of incorporating the sculptures with the landscape, even when the sculptures were abstract.

The walkway ended near the “farm” area of the gardens, with pretty farm buildings and sculptures of farm animals. We poked around the barn (which had been moved to the gardens from elsewhere) and farmhouse (which really just held bathrooms), and then Mer kicked into gentle tour-mode. We took the wandering garden paths in a gentle stroll, but in a manner that would allow us to see the entire gardens without have to backtrack much. There are several areas of the gardens that are quite isolated, with sculptures down shielded paths, and the largest sculptures are spaced quite a bit apart, so nowhere does the park feel cramped or crowded.

We did end up seeing the entire park. I think it took about 5 hours, plus a little more to see the inside exhibits. I liked most of the pieces I saw, and I do not remember being made angry by any of the modern pieces. I do give much more allowance for abstract sculpture for some reason. I generally like it, especially when it is outside. I think the abstract pieces are better when surrounded by trees. Some of my favorite works included:

A horse sculpture that looks for all the world like it is made of driftwood, and it looks like a horse Death would ride. It is actually made of bronze, but it really does look like wood. It is pretty remarkable.

A huge horse sculpture that is one of the main works of the Gardens. Here we came across a family with two small children. They were running around under the sculpture, and the dad announced they had to move on. As they ran under the sculpture, the older of the two children (who was probably four) looked up and announced “Daddy! This horse is a boy horse!” I found that rather amusing.

There were a pair of very whimsical dragons in the children’s section of the park which made me think of a former student of mine and made me convinced that Mer and I need to kidnap her and take her to the Gardens to see these creations. 

There was a sculpture of an old man and a young girl, and I think it was just called The Storyteller. I’d love to be a good storyteller someday, so I liked the piece.

There were many more sculptures around, and they were quite wonderful. I strongly recommend swinging by Grand Rapids if you are ever even close to the area. You can spend a quite delightful 4-6 hours here.

We did also look at the indoor exhibits, which had a special exhibit featuring works by Calder, who invented the mobile (sculptures that hang and balance from string or wire), as well as huge steel sculptures that can be found worldwide (including Grand Rapids). There are regular indoor exhibits as well that included a carnivorous plant exhibit and a Victorian garden. It really is a wonderful place to visit, and Mer and I want to go back in the fall and winter to see how the grounds change.

Once we were back to the car, Meredith asked if we could swing by the three nearby colleges where she either had students attending or where she had known people who had gone there. She likes to be able to visualize the campuses. Since they were close, I agreed, so we popped across the street to the small but nice campus of Cornerstone University. We made the circuit of campus in just a few minutes, and so proceeded on to the other side of town to Calvin University. Calvin has a much bigger campus, and is more traditional- looking, with more brick buildings, paths, and many trees. Even driving, it took us over 10 minutes to get around the entire campus. It just seemed to go on and on.

We hit the highway and headed back south. Our last stop was to be in Holland, home of Hope College. We got off at the Holland exit and proceeded in to town, and it looked pretty bland – huge strip malls and nondescript housing areas. Mer’s friend had always talked about how cute the college and town were, and I have to admit that I was skeptical. We pushed on and drove into the real downtown, the historical area. It was charming. There were traditional shops that faced wide sidewalks, with restaurants and bookstores and music shops. We drove around Hope College, and it was fairly contained (about 1 block by 2 blocks), but it was very pretty. I needed to use a restroom, so we stopped and wandered around a bit. We found a great bakery that served unusual, large, chocolate desserts, and we were quite won over. We hope to get back to Holland again soon as well.

Once we got back to Mom and Marc’s place, we told them about our day, and then the four of us went downstairs to watch the movie Doubt. It is a film about a Catholic priest who is accused of molesting a boy in his school, and the film revolves around how one can prove something like that. It was quite excellent and thought- provoking. Oddly, Marc and I felt for the priest, while Mom and Mer felt more for the nun who was defending the child. A very good film – I recommend it.

We went home on Sunday, and picked up with a pleasant stay-at-home summer (including going to see The Winter’s Tale for free with our friends Matt and Lis). However, so that I can soon get back to live blogging, I’ll wrap up the entire month of July with this journaling of a very good vacation.

Thursday (July 2nd), we tried another Michigan parks trail. This time it was a small free park called Warren Woods. The trail head again had no map, but the trail was in okay condition and in a pretty woods, so we felt fairly encouraged. This was furthered when the trail began to border a small ravine with a stream at the bottom – it was pretty with the promise of getting much prettier. We crested a hill and found some stairs leading to a beautiful wide wooden foot bridge. This was a very happy find, and so we strolled across the bridge to see what awaited on the other side. Here, the Michigan trail fantasy ended. On the other side of this fantastic bridge the trail abruptly ended in a swamp. We thought that maybe things had been wet and the trail might continue on the other side of the swampy area, but we saw no evidence of that and were getting swarmed by mosquitoes. So, Warren Woods trail turned out to be a great 3/4 of a mile long trail. We headed back to the car.

We drove up to Silver Beach in St. Joe’s to walk around the town and the beach. The town was building a carousel and ballroom near the beach; I will be excited to see how that turns out someday. I support a ballroom! The day was very windy, and so the beach was not overly crowded, although there were quite a few people out anyway. We walked along the beach and headed toward the dual breakwater/lighthouses of Silver Beach. The pier cautions people against walking along it, but it is very wide and fairly smooth, so people walk and fish all along the structure. We wandered out to the edge and watched the waves come crashing over the concrete, and we got to see a sailboat go out on the very choppy lake. After a very leisurely time, we headed back to the car and headed home. Happily, Mom and Marc came in that night, so we got to see them some that evening.

On Friday, we headed out with Mom and Marc in their car. They agreed to drop us off at Weko Dunes State Park. If you walk into the park, it costs nothing to get in, and then it is about a two mile hike back along the beach to get back to the Weko city park. We thought that would be fun. It was a very pretty day, and the Weko Dunes beach was absolutely mobbed. It was funny – there were what felt like thousands of people all in fairly close proximity, but if you wandered a little ways along the beach, the crowds disappeared. I guess it is hard to walk to uncrowded areas with a cooler, beach umbrella, and a four-year-old in tow.

The walk was quite nice, all in all. It turns out much of the walk was easiest if we walked in the water. There, the sand had been compressed into a hard surface that was pretty easy to walk on, plus the water was cool. On the occasions where rocks drove us back to the sand of the beach, the walking was much harder and a lot hotter. I’m not sure how long it took us to walk the whole way back to Weko Beach, but it was long enough that I was glad I did not have to turn around and do it again to get back to a car.

Back at the house, Aunt Linda and Uncle Kenny showed up, and so we had quite a crew for dinner (six in all). After dinner, we headed down to the beach to see the sunset, and as a bonus, the beach had three trumpet players playing “Taps” as the sun set. It is tradition for someone to play “Taps” at the beach when the sun goes down, but it is very unusual to get three trumpet players on one evening. It was a very pretty way to end a pretty day.

Okay. After weeks of being depressed at how far behind my blog had gotten, I have made the radical decision to skip most of the summer. Imagine I did lots of fun things and ate too much, and you would not be far from the truth. I have decided that I did need to blog about a couple of summer things, though. We took two trips this summer – 6 days in Michigan at Mom’s place over the Fourth of July, and 3 days in Amish country in August for our anniversary celebration. I’ll get to the August trip in the next day or two.

Since this was the second summer of trying to sell our old house, we needed to look for a vacation on-the-cheap. Mom’s place in Michigan is very beautiful and has the wonderful merit of being free. Also, Mom and Marc would be there on the weekend and that would be fun, so off to Michigan we went.

We left on Monday, June 30th. We had stuck around until Monday because Mer’s parents were in town over the weekend for Aunt Mary’s 70th birthday party on Saturday the 27th (a big shindig I wish I could blog about). At any rate, we left on Monday. Mom’s place is only five-and-a-half hours away, so we got there in good time. At this point, I’m not sure what we did that evening, but my guess is we played games for the evening.

The next day (Tuesday) we started off with our usual visit to Sammie’s Diner for breakfast. Sammie’s has huge breakfasts that are pretty cheap, so we are fond of the place. Later in the day, we headed down to South Bend to see our friends Gen and Dan. We had not seen them in almost two years, and they had added a new member of the family in that time. So, we got to meet Ellie, who is very cute and seems very good-natured. Gen’s dad came over, and we all headed over to a very good Mediterranean restaurant, Elia’s. Gen and Dan were excited that we wanted to go there; it seems that their South Bend friends are reluctant to get Mediterranean cuisine. We had a good time together, and headed back to Gen and Dan’s place for a little while. Since we still had a 40-minute drive, we had to leave around 9:00 or so, but I do have to say my addiction to dessert, especially after eating out, got the better of me. After getting gas, I pulled in to the Perkins restaurant next to the gas station to get dessert. It was yummy.

Wednesday was the first of July, and it was a nice day. Mer and I wanted to find some places to hike in the area. We like hiking in Ohio, and the parks around us are well maintained and free. So, we set out to find a park. We landed on going to Grand Mere state park. It had a slightly confusing gate. It was supposed to cost $8 to get in, but there was no ranger. The information kiosk was stuffed with a diaper, and the lock-box-looking thing seemed to be in disrepair and looked as if the money might just fall out. I felt bad about it, but given all of that, we just went into the park.

I’m afraid to say that Michigan parks (we checked out another one or two over the week) make Ohio parks shine. Grand Mere was the best of the parks we found, but there was no ranger, there were no trail maps, and the main trail was next to a swamp and so the place was swarming with mosquitoes. We walked along for about a half a mile, and had resolved to turn around and leave shortly if we did not get away from the bugs, when we found a trail that went (very steeply) up a sand dune. So, we took that. The dune was very difficult to get up, but once we did, there was a breeze and no bugs. The dunes kept going up, so we kept climbing, and were given wonderful views of the lake. We tromped around the dunes and headed down to the beach. We meandered around the beach for some time and had fun watching the lake and people and a very happy stick-fetching dog. We eventually returned back up the dune and went back to the car.

We headed further north and went to South Haven. It had been recommended to us as a very cute town, and it was. It had turned cool and was spitting rain, so I don’t think we saw it at its best. We did duck into a diner/ice cream parlor for lunch, and then headed over to the South Bend Chocolate Factory for dessert. A huge piece of chocolate cake caught my eye, so we got that. It turned out to be a pretty shocking $12, but we split it, so that was less shocking. The cake weighed in at over a pound and was quite delicious. Certainly not a treat to have on a regualr basis, but it was nice on vacation.

We headed back home from there, and in approaching Silver Beach we had the happy timing to be the first in line at a drawbridge that went up for a huge freight ship. It took about 20 minutes, but I liked watching both the bridge and the boat, so I did not mind (I was actually pretty excited about it). We made it the rest of the way home and, in the mood for it, we watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

I’ll write more about the other three days tomorrow. For now, it is good that the blog bridge has come back down and I can proceed again.

Happy anniversary, my dearest love! Eleven years and still having a ball. I love you!

Meredith wrote this last Friday, the day Bocca died. We wrote our own memorials so we would have more memories of our wonderful kitty.

Loving Bocca

“We’re not going to be able to bring him home until next week,” Matt explained.  To my confused look, he replied, “Well, you see, he’s … different.  He was in the shelter’s Socialization Program – it’s for, well, I guess what you’d call Special Needs kitties.  If people want to adopt one of these cats, they have to wait a week – the shelter wants to make especially sure they’re committed to the adoption.”

“I see.  And what kind of ‘Special Need’ does he have?”

“Uh, well, they think he might not adjust well to the new environment at first.  But he was so cute and sweet in the shelter, I just had to pick him.  He picked me, really.”

Returning from the shelter a week later, Matt brought the box into our bedroom and opened it.  I got only a blurry glimpse of tiger stripes as the cat scrambled frantically out of the box and under our queen-sized bed, stopping at its exact center, just out of reach and impervious to our entreaties that he come closer.  All I could see were its glowing green eyes.

When we realized that the cat had no intention of coming out from under the bed anytime soon, we shoved bowls of food and water under there with him – shortly followed by a litter box.  “Cats can live a long time,” I reminded Matt.  “Are we going to be shoving food, water, and litter under the bed for the next eighteen years or so?  I mean, we’ll do what we have to, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind for cat ownership.”

As it turned out, we only had to do this for about three weeks, and even toward the end of that time, the cat would come closer to our outstretched hands.  The first day he let me touch him, I felt we’d had a breakthrough only slightly less miraculous than that of Anne Sullivan with Helen Keller.  Several days later, he finally came out from under the bed for short spells.  And several days after that, he was roaming throughout the apartment.

Though we’d chosen the name “Bocca” – Italian for “mouth” – before bringing him home, the name proved an apt one:  he loved to talk, and he loved to eat.  His voice was not the most dulcet-toned of meows, but he generally saved his particularly strident vocalizing for when he wanted food.  We said he was world’s sweetest kitty everywhere except in the kitchen.  To distract him while we dished up his food, we would sing him one of the little songs we made up:  “What is it, Bocca? (3x)  Oh, why do you cry so?  Why do you cry? (3x)  Oh, why do you cry so?”  This one we sang in harmony.  The other one didn’t lend itself so easily to a harmony part, but had an echo:  “Bocca Bo-Sweet (Bocca Sweet, Bocca Sweet), on his little kitty feet (kitty feet, kitty feet) – oh, we sure think he’s neat (think he’s neat, think he’s neat) – he’s Bocca Bo-Sweet (Bocca Sweet, Bocca Sweet).” 

Not surprisingly, given his appetite, Bocca got rather large – about twenty pounds, at his heaviest.  When one of our friends came over for dinner and saw him for the first time, she gasped and said, “That cat looks as if he’s swallowed a meatloaf!”   

The only thing Bocca craved more than food was love.  We used this to explain his size, telling ourselves, “It takes a lot of cat to hold that much love.”  Some people think of cats as aloof, but this one certainly wasn’t.  He got into the habit of waiting by the door when he knew I was about to come home.  Then, when I tried to walk in, he’d flop down in front of my feet until I gave him some loving attention.

For a long time, Matt was his favorite if we were on the couch.  Matt preferred to eat Roman-style, reclining, and Bocca would curl up next to his stomach.  He had an aversion to laps – unless we covered our laps with blankets.  During the last couple years, the blankets were no longer necessary, and our sitting down was often enticement enough for him to come running to make himself comfortable, giving us a firm head-butt if we forgot to keep petting him.

At night, Bocca was more likely to sleep on my side of the bed, usually down by my feet, but if he sensed me waking up, he’d move to be by my head or chest, where I could reach him to rub his belly or scritch his ears.  Because of his ongoing eagerness for affection, we called him the Love Sponge – he soaked it all up.

Whenever we went away on trips, Bocca would mark our return by not letting us out of sight for at least an hour or so, following us from room to room as if to make sure we weren’t about to leave again.

Bocca’s gentle, loving nature also kept him from being aggressive with our two other cats – which is fortunate, since for most of his life the “Meatloaf Kitty” was almost as big as the two of them put together, and could probably have done some real harm if he’d been so inclined.  But they picked on him decidedly more often than he picked on them, and we’d urge him to overcome that sweet, pacifist nature and put the littler ones in their place.  When he wouldn’t, we’d intervene, chasing the others to different rooms for “kitty time outs” while we comforted Bokey. 

While he almost never started fights with our other cats, Bocca had no qualms about releasing any pent-up hostilities on rodentkind.  His first Christmas with us, one of our relatives had given us a stuffed cat-toy – a mouse about the size of a large rat.  We tossed it to Bocca to see what he’d do with it.  He immediately grabbed its head in his mouth, rolled over on his back, and, in just seconds, disemboweled it with the claws of his hind feet.  Stuffing was everywhere, so the first time he got to play with this toy was also the last.

At the time, we wondered if Bocca would prove similarly fierce if he encountered a real mouse.  Several mice later, we now know the answer – although he never disemboweled any (thank goodness), he was indeed a capable mouser, and proud of his skills.  In fact, my first day of summer vacation, when I’d been so looking forward to sleeping in, began much too early, as I was awakened by his muffled cries of triumph – muffled because he had a mouth full of mouse, of course. 

That was only six or seven weeks ago.  That particular “Bocc-alarm” was not the reveille with which I’d wished to begin my long-awaited break, but I’d give much to hear it again.  We’d noticed Bocca getting thinner – too rapidly, we feared, and yet besides increasing boniness he had no other symptoms of ill health.  If anything, he seemed healthier in some ways – when heavier, he had sometimes wheezed while he slept, or had had trouble jumping up onto the bed.  At this lighter weight, he was able to leap nimbly from the back of one couch to another, something we’d never seen him attempt in his younger but fatter days.  

Because of the weight loss, we had taken Bocca to the vet in January, but no problems were found.  In the ensuing months, he gained back a couple pounds, and we assumed he’d be with us for a few more years.  But then the weight loss happened again, more quickly and more drastically than before.  When his voice started to become higher and feebler, and when he began spending time in half-hidden nooks and crannies he’d never frequented previously – like beside the toilet, or at the back of the linen closet – we made another appointment with the vet.

It was too late – some disease we never caught the name of, but the prognosis was clear:  several months at the most, if he responded to the medications.

Bocca used to be such a strong cat that we were physically incapable of forcing him into his carrier, so whenever it was time to update his vaccinations, we’d find a vet who made housecalls.  I still remember coming home from work one day and being met at the door by Matt.  Agitated and breathing hard, he opened the door only a crack to say, “The vet and I are having trouble cornering Bokey.  It isn’t pretty.  Why don’t you take a walk around the block a few times before coming back?”  From inside, I heard the frantic yowls of a terrified cat, and decided I’d take my husband’s advice about that walk.

Moving from Chicago was wretched.  Bocca’s panicked yowlering, from a carrier on the front seat of the U-Haul, was shredding Matt’s nerves so badly before we even left the city that he recruited the aid of his mother and her boyfriend – one of them drove their car and one drove mine, so that I could sit in the cab of the truck with Bocca, petting him constantly, all the way to Ohio, to keep him quiet.

It wasn’t like that this time.  Too weak to put up much physical or verbal protest, Bocca let Matt take him to the vet for the diagnosis and pills.  And then back again a couple days later, for longer-lasting shots, because we couldn’t get him to swallow the pills.  And then back again for fluids, because we couldn’t get him to eat or drink.

The vet visits of the past couple weeks were a far cry from those early housecalls, but in one way Bokey had come full circle:  he was once again back in our bedroom.  He’d started his years with us in the bedroom solely because the bed was the most immediate sanctuary he found when Matt first opened his box.  This time, though, he was with us by choice – ours and his.  We wanted to be close to this creature who’d given us so much joy and asked only for food and affection in return.  Not content to be on the floor, where he had access to food, water, and litter, but lacking the strength to jump up on the bed to join us, he would cry or look up at us piteously until we put him on the bed between us, where he could be loved and petted from both directions.

Even this morning, he wanted to be with us.  Even this morning, when it had been several days since he’d eaten or drunk on his own.  Even this morning, when he could no longer hold his head up, and his breathing became labored.  Matt called the vet one more time.

The earliest appointment we could get was at 11:00.  I had to do some work in my classroom, so Matt and I walked to school together, and back again a little after 10:30.  He brought up the cat carrier from the basement.  Unable to say so, we both knew the carrier would be coming home empty.

Matt didn’t bother to bring the carrier into the vet’s with us – he just lifted Bocca gently into his arms and held him on his lap in the waiting room, while I petted him.  As Bocca struggled to breathe, Matt and I did too, choking on our tears.  One of the vet’s assistants brought us a box of tissues, and the other woman waiting, who’d been there before us, urged the vet to see us first.  We brought Bocca into the room and laid him on the table.  The vet got out his stethoscope and listened for a heartbeat, but found none.  Bocca had passed away in Matt’s arms only moments before, giving us the last gift it was in his power to bestow:  he spared us from deciding that we had to have him put to sleep.

On that harrowing moving-day ride through Chicago, eight years ago, my own stress and hormones were taking their toll, despite the fact that I was driving my own car at that point, and wasn’t even within earshot of Bokey’s heartrending howls.  Praying aloud that Bocca would calm down, would not be so scared, would stop crying, I began crying myself.  “God, please,” I wailed.  “He’s just a kitty – he never gave us anything but love!”  I cried the same prayer again today.  

I know he was “only a cat.”  I know there are people going through far worse ordeals, and I know lots of people have gone through this one.  I know.  I do.  But I miss him so much.  That Special Needs kitty Matt brought home just a couple months after we got married has been one of my life’s most consistent blessings over the past eleven years.  And although I’m not sure what the situation will be regarding animals in heaven, I’m really hoping that when I one day reach my own “mansion just over the hilltop,” I’ll open the door to find a green-eyed tiger cat flopping down in front of my feet, meowing insistently as if to say, “Thank goodness you’re finally home!”