Travels

“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.” St. Augustine

Last summer my husband, Roger, and I completed our goal of visiting all 50 states together in the nearly 30 years of our marriage. An acquaintance asked which states I liked best and which I considered the worst. Because the last two states we visited were South Dakota and Wyoming, I talked about the wonderful sights of those states first. I then mentioned the attributes of some of the other states. I never said which states I consider the worst. I believe there is something good about each of our 50 states.

In South Dakota we photographed Mt. Rushmore where we saw the carved faces of presidents George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt, and Abraham Lincoln. We visited the museum which displayed pictorial information about the construction of that phenomenal monument. Fascinating! We were also in South Dakota just in time to see the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally which lasted about 10 days. Last year an estimated half a million bikers attended the annual rally. The noises of the many motorcycles drove the bison toward the hills making us miss seeing the animals.

We drove from there to Jackson, Wyoming, the last state on our list. Jackson is a small city in the Jackson Hole Valley of Teton County. One of the best restaurants in Jackson is The Bunnery Bakery & Restaurant which serves traditional American breakfasts, sandwiches, and delicious baked goods and desserts. While Roger and I were discussing the successful completion of our state visits, several of the customers overheard us. We were congratulated by several of the them. One man sent a large cinnamon roll, The Bunnery’s specialty, to our table as a gift for our accomplishment.

During a walking tour of the city, we saw an impressively huge arch made of shed elk antlers collected by local children. We walked the boardwalk to a local museum which detailed how people in the past lived. While we were there, we saw one woman demonstrate the loom to weave yarn. We also took a short ride in a horse drawn stage coach to see the rest of the city.

In Yellowstone Park we saw Old Faithful, one of the most famous geysers in the world. This area has more geysers than any geyser field anywhere. We also saw elk, moose, and some friendly donkeys being fed by tourists which was forbidden. Just before exiting the park, we finally saw herds of bison in the fields. Some of the bison stopped on the two-lane road blocking the traffic for some time. It is illegal, and dangerous, to try to move the bison. Of course, there were some impatient people who tried or got too close to those huge, wild animals. Foolish! I’ll write more about some of our statewide trips in future blogs. Have you traveled to many of the 50 states? What did you find interesting about them?

In Yellowstone Park we saw Old Faithful, one of the most famous geysers in the world. This area has more geysers than any geyser field anywhere. We also saw elk, moose, and some friendly donkeys being fed by tourists which was forbidden. Just before exiting the park, we finally saw herds of bison in the fields. Some of the bison stopped on the two-lane road blocking the traffic for some time. It is illegal, and dangerous, to try to move the bison. Of course, there were some impatient people who tried or got too close to those huge, wild animals. Foolish!

I’ll write more about some of our statewide trips in future blogs. Have you traveled to many of the 50 states? What did you find interesting about them?

Office Nerd #4

Amazing Journeys Online Episode 2: Fear…less

The arrow sliced the air. The rabbit turned its head, eyes widening. Socrates sensed he aimed true—until the head of another wolf appeared, jaws reaching for the rabbit. Only the arrow, intended for the rabbit, sheared the wolf’s ear and landed point buried at the feet of the hare. The wolf yelped with pain.

Socrates cursed, as he reached for another arrow, fumbled it, and watched it land in the high grass.

Father rabbit disappeared into the trees.

The wolf snarled at Socrates. Glaring, she crouched as if gauging the distance to her new prey. 

Drawing another arrow, Socrates’ hands shook. He suddenly felt a shortness of breath. The sun felt hotter. “Come on, breathe, breathe, breathe.” Repeating the word, he struggled to steady his limbs. The wolf’s calmness, as she stared balefully, sent a chill through his body. “You can do this. Take a breath. Hold, and…”

He released the arrow. The wolf leaped. The arrow missed badly. The wolf zigged and zagged, closing the distance. Socrates ran.

Placing the bow in an equipment slot, Socrates pumped his arms for greater speed. The grove was too spread out. The trees grew closer with each stride. His breath felt sharper as he pumped his arms. The fatigue bar was close to red lining, dropping below fifteen percent. When it did, he’d collapse and be wolf food.

His instincts screamed, ‘Dive!’ He tumbled right. The hair on the back of his neck tickled as he sensed then saw the wolf’s shadow rise over him. Its rear claws found purchase on his back, pushing off powerfully and leaving a searing line of pain. His roll became a sprawl, grass whipped sharply against his face and arms. Sweat slicked his back, enflaming from the wolf’s claws. 

A message box appeared before his face, translucent so that he could see his surroundings through the text: “You’ve been clawed by a matron wolf avenging its mate. 8pts damage plus one bleed point per minute unless bound.” Socrates was suddenly reminded that he was inside a virtual world.

Dismissing the message, Socrates breathing slowed, readied to sprint, and froze. The heavy growl in the wolf’s throat left the man drained of energy. His arms hung at his sides as his breathing slowly settled.

This was it, Socrates thought. First death in the game. Too soon to earn the “undying” bonus for lasting three game weeks, as he’d only been fully immersed in this three-dimensional world for three hours.

A couple strides away, Socrates spotted trees with climbable branches. But they might as well be a hundred meters with the angry animal in his way. Socrates racked his brain for a solution, any option that could save him. 

Suddenly, an idea came to him.

The wolf crouched, growling low in her throat.

The man reached into his inventory.

The wolf leaped.

Jaws closed toward Socrates’ head. He grunted with effort, shoving the bow into the wolf’s mouth, and used the animal’s momentum to push himself away. 

Reaching the first tree, he gripped the rough bark and scrambled up the trunk to the first branches, the second, and finally the third. Sitting exhausted, he looked down at the wolf. It bounded from broken bow to the tree.

Socrates smiled in relief that he was safe for the moment. He’d wait until the wolf got tired and left. His smile froze with horror as the wolf leapt and scrambled onto the first branch. She stared at him, and then the next branch.

Socrates muttered, “No, no, no…”

The wolf leaped, scrabbled with its claws, and…

The wolf climbed to the second branch. She watched as the man raised his legs and stood. She seemed to grin with triumph and expectation.

Socrates’ heart sank.

Here We Go Again!

Whenever it’s time to write I get this “here we go again” feeling. All the cool, neat ideas I have in my head make an immediate beeline for the door and I’m left with nothing. Even things I originally thought were pretty funny don’t sound that way anymore. Years ago I wrote a humorous piece titled Do Dieters Have Split Personalities? It’s about why it’s so hard to stay on a diet when success is just around the corner. The Ann Arbor News published it in their Opinion Section. They must have liked the piece because they gave it most of the page. If I redid the piece and freshened it up a little, would it make for a good submission to our Deadwood Writers’ Anthology? That’s where my problems began. Someone in our writers’ group insisted I should check with the Ann Arbor News to see who had the rights at this point in time. Originally that didn’t sound like much of a problem so I agreed. But it’s turned into a big headache. The next day, I sent the Ann Arbor News an email giving them the title of the story, the section, date and page number where it had been published. I told them I’d like to freshen the piece up a bit and submit to my writers’ group. I got a prompt email back saying: “That would be handled by our print group.” They included an email address and a name to send it to. I thought, this is going to get settled quickly. That turned out to be the understatement of the year. On March 9, I emailed Todd and explained the situation. No one answered. I waited a few days. By March 13 I realized that no one was going to answer. I sent an email to the nameless person who had told me to contact Todd in the first place. This time I asked for a telephone number. The response was complete silence. I decided to let this problem sit for a few days, hoping something would happen or I’d come up with a brilliant idea. By March 18, I decided to try phoning. I got the Ann Arbor News’ print edition number from Google and dialed. Jan answered. I asked to speak to Todd. She said she’d connect me. But all I got was his voice mail which wasn’t very helpful. I left my name and number. Then I called Jan back. This time I explained why I was calling and asked if there was someone else who could help me. Jan said yes. Actually, Mickey was the person who did this. She would connect me. The phone rang several times and then I got Mickey’s voice mail. I left my name and number again but didn’t have much hope that I would hear back from him. Then I had an idea. Frequently, people will respond to an email before they’ll respond to voice mail. I’ve never understood why. I called Jan back and asked for Mickey’s email address. I sent him an email explaining the situation. When I woke up Tuesday morning, I checked my email: lots of messages but nothing from Mickey. But, around 11:00 a.m., I got an email from Sara. When I saw that she is the Regional News Manager for the Ann Arbor News, I began to feel better. It looked like my problem was going to be solved after all. Sara wrote, “If you signed a freelance agreement with us, the copyright belongs to us. If you didn’t, you are free to rework it and submit it to your group. If you did sign an agreement, please let us know and we can give you a release.” Now, the truth is, I wrote this piece in 2008 and the only thing in my file is the piece and the 2008 cover letter I sent to Arny. 2008 was eleven years ago. How am I to remember if I signed a freelance agreement or not? I don’t think I did because, knowing me, I would have asked for a copy and put it in the same file with the published piece. The only thing I do remember is feeling nervous when I walked into the Ann Arbor News downtown, met Arny, and had the photographer take my picture. I shared this with Sara, minus the nervous part, and asked if she could send me a release to be on the safe side? I checked my email this morning and there was nothing from Sara. I decided to wait until 11:00 a.m. before printing copies of this piece to bring tonight. I also hoped I’d hear back from Sara in the meantime. This turned out to be a good plan. At 10:29 a.m. I got an email from Sara saying “Please feel free to rework and resubmit the essay to your writers’ group. You can use this email as official permission.” Mmmmmm… after 14 days, closure. Not only do I have the rights to my piece, I have written proof. Great! For once, this is not a case of “here we go again”.

Office Nerd #3