tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34787018968162074662015-02-08T17:03:37.575-08:00A Cool WriterFollow a writer as she travels on a journey of finding herself and finding life, and writing about every minute of it.Christy Lynne Trotternoreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-38058423360974228252014-07-02T09:40:00.001-07:002014-07-02T10:08:16.426-07:00Summer RubblePer my last blog post, back in March, I have been writing, just not blogging. Time to revisit and pound out some random thoughts.<br /><br />Life is still tough, and will continue to be for a while, but right now it's more financially tough than emotionally, so perhaps things are shifting? Changing? We'll see. Last August I snagged an adjunct teaching job at a community college, and spent the last year teaching English. I love it. I've been looking for full time teaching jobs, but it appears that college English instructors might be a dime a dozen; competition for full time placement is fierce, and with just a year under my belt, that seems to be not yet enough experience I suppose.<br /><br /><br /><a name='more'></a>Anyhoo, with still just a year of teaching under my belt, I didn't snag any courses to teach in the summer, so this leaves me relying financially on the night job until mid September. Come Fall though, I do have four classes lined up, and unless something else comes up that can promise me a long term, somewhat financially secure future before then, I am spending this summer working on writing projects that I've neglected, enjoying my summer the best I can, and trying to find a successful way to FINALLY get back into the dating scene.<br /><br />Yeah...<br /><br />I titled this post Summer Rubble because rubble seems to describe my life best. Broken bits of crap cluttering the open space. Trying to take the remnants of past disasters and bad choices, clips of negativity and despair and forging them all into something positive. Questions of my sanity and purpose in life, and what it all means, what I mean, and ultimately, who cares about it all and why. Realizing it's the small moments buried in the rubble, that while you have to maybe dig for them from time to time, know that it's worth getting your hands dirty for, because those small moments make up your grand scheme and before you know it, you are on your way to forming a beautiful re-entry into life. And for me, it all comes back to writing and "those small things."<br /><br />I've always thought it was the small things in life that make life work (but practicing that motto is something else): morning coffee on the patio, watching the dog chew on a new toy (and at almost 14 years old, the fact that she still seeks out chew toys to play catch with is something I adore), a smile from the cashier at the grocery store, the person who got to the four way stop before you waving you through to go first, someone telling you you have pretty eyes that they've just noticed for the first time and you've known them for a few years, the moment when you look around your apartment and for a second think, well this isn't much, is it? then realize that hell yes, it is much, and it's yours and no one can take that away.<br /><br />And finally, that moment when you check your email one morning and are delighted and surprised because you... you who's never in the right place at the right time, who says all the wrong things at the wrong times, you who doesn't gamble on anything because you don't have the money or the good luck, you who continues to look for that light at the end of the tunnel... you check your email.<br /><br />At the end of April, I submitted a short story to the Dayton Daily News, who co-sponsored scholarships for the <a href="http://www.antiochwritersworkshop.com/" target="_blank">http://www.antiochwritersworkshop.com/</a>. I've attended the workshop a few times, but it's been several years since I last attended. I had no intentions of placing, winning, or even being able to go to the workshop because it's pricey (but worth it), and couldn't afford to take a week off work. Regardless, I wanted to finish this story I'd been working on for about a year on and off, and it was just my sole intention to do just that. My theory is that you never know unless you try, and I hadn't been trying near as hard as I should, so by committing to just finish a project and submit it somewhere, well, that was good enough for me.<br /><br />Turns out that I won first place in the adult category! This wasn't the first short story I'd ever written, and only the second I have written that I have ever submitted anywhere. But it is the first to place, and it's officially my first "published piece of fiction." Is it only on a newspaper site? Sure. Is that publication? I consider it so.<br /><br />As a writers, our retribution is to be published, right? We write first, because we love it. We succeed because we are talented and persevere. We struggle and sacrifice because we want our words to reach the masses, to entertain, to bring smiles. But ultimately, we do want to see SOME SORT of means to the end, right? I'm not talking fame and fortune. We can't all hit the NYT top ten or Ophra's BOTM. But sometimes, just sometimes, we can try, one more time putting ourselves out there to see what we are made of, and when the mood is right, it will pay off. However small this victory might be, it is still a win.<br /><br />Indeed, things are shifting and changing. Constant motion forward, sideways... but no more back stepping. Pushing myself to even enter the contest was a huge feat, and I am glad I did it, first place or not. I get to attend two days of the workshop, which I am ecstatic about and I got a story out there that I am very proud of, and the best thing of all is that I look at the rubble, and there are shiny, small pieces that are catching my eye. Rebuilding anything from any aspect is tough, and sometimes, you just have to do it one piece at a time.<br /><br />Here's my story. Enjoy!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.daytondailynews.com/news/entertainment/books-literature/adult-first-place-grandmas-wringer-warsher-christy/ngF8w/" target="_blank">http://www.daytondailynews.com/news/entertainment/books-literature/adult-first-place-grandmas-wringer-warsher-christy/ngF8w/</a><br /><br /><br />Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-24530973820913722112014-03-09T20:06:00.000-07:002014-03-09T20:06:37.518-07:00The FieldIt's been a while since I've blogged. About a year actually. I got (or tried to get) back into writing daily last April with the A to Z blogging challenge, but I only made it through letter I. It wasn't like me to not see that through. Here it is, almost a full year later, and I ask myself: why did you stop? "Things" got tough. You know, life. Life got hard. About as hard as it has been since the day I packed a Penski truck rental full of everything I could fit into it and moved back to Ohio from Illinois. Life: Money. Men. Career. You name it.<br /><br />I think I stopped writing because I know how my mind works, I know how I think, and I suppose I was afraid that the more I wrote, the more truth would slap me silly. I suppose I thought the more I wrote, the more I would share. The more some might judge. The more some might question who the hell I really am (meaning that I assume the few folks I actually know on this good earth might read my crazy thoughts and find out way more about me than they care to).<br /><br />So, it's been a year, and life is still... tough. In fact, I don't currently know one person who isn't struggling with something right now. And I by no means compare my situations to anyone else's. That wouldn't be fair. My crap is mine and their crap is their's, yet it all ties us together, doesn't it? Instead of me writing about it all though, because who wants to read about other people's hardships, I just backed off, as I have in almost all aspects of my life. I do what I do best, and because of past pain and past bad relationships, and past deaths of those who I loved dearly, when things get tough, I just shut down. Money not flowing in like I want it to or think it should? Shut down. Career not taking off or solidifying like I hope it will? Shut down. Men not banging down my door telling me I'm the most beautiful creature on the planet? Shut down. Push away the friends you do have. Lock your doors tight and pull the drapes closed. Don't let anyone near or in. And deal with your hardships on your own because you don't want to burden anyone else. Congrats. You do that and you tend to eventually forget who you are, what you are working towards, and you forget that those who matter most keep peeking through those drapes for a reason.<br /><br />Have we all been there? THAT PLACE? I think we have. It's, again, what ties us all together. When isn't life hard? For anyone? I'm not the poster child for bad decisions made or a bad hand dealt, so why do I shut down? Because it's just easier to deal with it all on my own? For a while that works, and those who know you well, they will accept it for a while, but eventually they will stop calling and... you'll know you bottomed out and you have two choices.<br /><br />One: you can stay on the bottom and slither your way to the next heated rock that might, just might, give you enough warmth to get through the night, where you when then be left to weather the storms of tomorrow on your own.<br /><br />Or two: you can cowgirl up and with all the strength you have left in the pit of your stomach, you can TRY to see a small glimmer of light at the end of a very long tunnel that appears to be out of your reach, but is in reality, not so far away.<br /><br />This all has a point, I promise.<br /><br />I chose option two. I chose it about four hours ago.<br /><br />I visited my dad this evening. It was a much needed visit, and it didn't hit me how much it was needed until I drove home. I hadn't been inspired to write for, again, about a year, and something hit me as I was walking our dogs in a field back behind where he lives. This field has some significance for me. One: it's a place my dog, a Jack Russell, enjoys immensely. She was a country dog for about ten years, but then I uprooted her and when we moved back to Ohio, we lived with my father for three months or so, until I could get back on my feet. I used to walk the dogs even then, sometimes twice a day. When we (the dog and I) got back on our own, my dog was forced into a life as a tiny apartment dwelling dog, only getting a whiff of the country air when we'd visit my father. Two: the field was always a place I'd escape to, so to speak. Back in my immediate post divorce days, it was just a nice, quiet place to go. I enjoyed letting the dogs off their leashes and watching them chase rabbits and squirrels. I enjoyed the silence. It was in the field that I'd try to re-plan my life.<br /><br />So we (the dog and I) visited dad tonight and after a terrific dinner of bbq ribs and homemade potato cakes, along with a few vodka and sevens and Reds preseasons ball, I walked the dogs in the field. We lost an hour in time today, the whole Spring Forward! thing, so at 8 pm, the sun was still out, and it was nice, but deceiving. With the cold air nipping at my ears, the leaves of last fall crunching under my BOC mules, the dogs pulling on their leashes left and right, it dawned on me. This.<br /><br />When we returned, I made a comment to my father: boy, you can really leave the world behind when you step onto that field, can't you?<br /><br />Yes, you can, he replied.<br /><br />They say there's power in prayer. The famous "They." "They" piss me off sometimes because "they" don't know everything, but okay. "They" also say there's power in words. Perhaps the fuel I seek can be found in my own words, the very same words I'm so afraid of.<br /><br />My father and I, while going through somewhat different situations right now, are really feeling the same emotions. We are both searching, hoping, looking for something, anything, that might give us a sign that things will be better, because remember, I am not the only one having hard times right now. Aren't we all looking for that something? Just when we might want to give up because we have nothing left to give, just when we have nothing left to fight with or for, just when we don't know what way to go, which way to turn, which road to take... the field with the sunlight shines open.<br /><br />Then it becomes clearer. I am thankful for what I have, not so much what I think it is I am working towards because I don't have it yet, but for what I do have at this very moment.<br /><br />And after the field, there's pineapple upside down cake.<br /><br /><br /><br />Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-12918641961537803232013-04-11T10:29:00.003-07:002013-04-11T10:29:38.837-07:00A-Z Challenge: IOkay, I needed a quick post for I, and this is an older poem I found. It's not magnificent, mind ya, but it will work. Plus, it's a grey, rainy day today... Oh, and I think this is my take on a love poem!<br /><br /><br />Insecticide<br /><br />The rain,<br />no matter how powerful and torrential,<br />never washes away the insecticide,<br />the mist you spray when you cry or walk by.<br />It drapes on leaves, the ground, the sky, my skin.<br />Its rancid odor causes me grief,<br />disbelief,<br />that a sigh is no more a sigh<br />than a man is but the man he builds.<br />The insecticide envelopes,<br />develops me; <br />folds me in threes times the number<br />you multiply to make my skin black.<br />I make you whole<br />and yet, you kill me.<br />You disease me and not even the rain<br />can wash away our beautiful mistakes.<br />Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-24259302761900560642013-04-11T10:23:00.003-07:002013-04-11T10:23:38.723-07:00A-Z Challenge: HHoroscope.<br /><br />Granted, there's that word again, I'm a few days behind on my letters, and I have NO idea what day H was, let alone what my horoscope was for that day, but here it is for today:<br /><br />"Boldness comes in many forms. You don't usually think of a bold person as someone with tears in their eyes, but the one who is unafraid to show his feelings in action is the very definition of bold."<br /><br />Interesting. I wear my emotions on my sleeves, shoulders, face, and cuffs. I have heard people say that because of that, I am not under control of my actions. Well, I debate that because I call myself a passionate person. I care. Sometimes too much, sometimes about nothing, sometimes about everything, sometimes about the wrong things. But I care. And I'm animated. I have no problem speaking my mind. You don't have to agree or react to me, just hear me. And I'll hear you.<br /><br />Anyhow, I cried the other day at work. In front of men. Bosses. And I had no problem doing so. I was upset, shocked, and angry by a matter that was brought to my attention. I can't go into details, but suffice to say, I was in a position that was rather new to me, and let me just add here, that sometimes, I just have no patience for people's bullshit, games, ignorance, and stupidity.<br /><br />From time to time, we will, whether we like it or not, find ourselves at the mercy of others; we find ourselves at the end of a finger being pointed at us. We find ourselves questioning our actions, behavior, and motives, asking if we are in fact being honest and true. We find ourselves questioning the actions, behavior, and motives of others, and while perception is different for everyone, in the end, darn it, there is a universal right and wrong, right?<br /><br />So I cried. It won't be the last time, I'm sure. Maybe this should vary based on the situation, and while all facts aren't present, did that moment make me weak, or was I bold? I have yet to answer this question myself. I'll have to get back to ya.<br /><br />Your thoughts: weak or bold?Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-7625791308045326732013-04-11T10:11:00.004-07:002013-04-11T10:11:47.945-07:00A-Z Challenge: GGranted.<br /><br />I take a lot for granted. I try not to, I swear, but I do. I don't mean to, but I do. I take for granted my dog will eat her food every day. She's fussy. I take for granted that people can and should read my mind. They don't! This makes me mad. I take for granted that service people should always be friendly to their customers. They aren't. This makes me not want to spend money. I take for granted that I wake up every morning breathing, that I'm somewhat healthy. Many people don't, can't, and aren't.<br /><br />I get so mad at myself for what I take for granted. I'm willing to take, but I question what it is I give back. Maybe I'm too hard on myself? Maybe I'm reaching.<br /><br />What I need to work on: not taking everything for granted, and focusing on what I can give more of, and giving because I want to, not to get something in return. I guess I try more than I think in regards to all of this, but this is the word that came to me for the letter G, and it got me to thinking... I guess that is the point, though, to being human? Always striving to be a better person?<br /><br />Is there anything you feel you take for granted that you want to share? Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-5011778244015793582013-04-11T09:43:00.002-07:002013-04-11T09:43:55.640-07:00A-Z Challenge: FFar Behind!<br /><br />Ha! I am 5 letters behind! Trying to catch up, but April is turning out to not be such a good month to do a blogging challenge, edit and rewrite a manuscript, and work 45-50 hours a week! Yikes.<br /><br />Next few clips might seem like random garble, and I apologize, but the week has just gotten away from me.<br /><br />Here's another F word, and no, it's not that one you are thinking of, naughty reader! Finances. I have been trying to get my finances in order this week too. As if prepping a manuscript is not stressful enough, money worries can kill ya!<br /><br />I don't think many of us really, are as financially sound as we want to be. This economy and job market thing is not helping. Long story short, but I've been divorced now for two years. I work a night job that pays okay, and I was freelancing, which I hope to return to once this manuscript is complete by the end of the month. Whether you are on your own though, or share financial responsibilities with someone, or if you have kids even, to add to the pot, it's tough.<br /><br />I worked really hard for the last two years to just keep my head above water, but I had to face a reality: I just don't make enough money. Sigh. However, as it turns out, even with what I have been making, I've been doing okay. Not as okay as I want to be, but I've been lucky to keep my head above that water mark for as long as I have. Divorce usually financially ruins if not one person, both. Now, my ex, well, he will probably tell you I took him for everything he had... I don't dispute him feeling that way. However, I will tell you that I took what I needed. I knew it would be difficult starting over, but I honestly didn't take him for half of what I could have. I was just smart enough to realize that the emotional burden of taking more than I needed just to be a bitch far outweighed how hard I knew it was going to be back out on my own.<br /><br />Does that make sense? It does to me. Anyhow, I've left him far behind now, but financially, I'm still trying to catch up. All in time, I suppose. Let's face it, things can always be worse, right? Things for me aren't as grim as they could be, and for that I am thankful. Eventually, that water mark will lower, and I will wade instead of float; I just need to keep my eye on that proverbial prize!Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-51878736174504707432013-04-05T09:47:00.000-07:002013-04-05T09:47:18.182-07:00A-Z Challenge: Excerpt<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Version>12.00</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties></xml><![endif]--><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> 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Name="TOC Heading"/> </w:LatentStyles></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]><style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This is an excerpt from my manuscript, <i>Why Sunday Mornings Always Come Down (and Other Hard Lessons My Father Taught Me)</i>. It's from part one, titled Footprints and Footsteps My Roots Have Sacrificed. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I have always been intrigued by a person’s roots, where they come from; who they come from. I don’t always believe that blood is thicker than water, but you can’t change the DNA you come from, who your relatives are. The first lesson my father taught me is that while you can’t change who you come from, you have to take the good and bad essence that makes up your roots and use it all to define who you want to be. This doesn’t mean you let the people who are your past define you, but rather, you separate the riches from the spoils to persevere and become the person YOU want to be. You can embrace your blood ties or you can disregard them, the choice is always yours. Past events that have happened in my family along my timeline have left scars and pain that will never be erased, and these events have left now an emptiness in my life because there are relatives I never even knew let alone speak to, to this day. Yet, I’m drawn to my family’s history, my heritage, and can’t help but think that it all, the good and the bad, has definitely shaped me into who I am today. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m one fourth Cherokee, Lithuanian, German, and Irish. What a mixed bag that is, hmmm?</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"></span></div><a name='more'></a><br /> <div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t know much about my mother’s side, truth be told. Her childhood and roots were not topics we discussed often, and any information about her parents and her ancestors were left mainly to my imagination, but I know that the German and Irish comes from her side. I never met her real father, who’s name was Tom. He and Grandma Dorothy, my mom’s mom, divorced when my mother was very young. Dorothy remarried to a man named Charlie who raised my mother. Grandma Dorothy’s father, whose name I can’t recall, was a man I met a few times when I was very young when we’d travel to Texas, where my mother was from, for Christmas and summer vacations. He fought in the Great War. I have the military flag from his funeral. My father used to hang it on the side of our house for holidays. Charlie was not the nicest of fathers from what my mother told me. My mother has a younger sister and a younger brother. Charlie had two daughters, then Charlie and Grandma had a son together, so it was Mom, Betty, Tom, then Pat, Kathy, and Ronnie. The only one in any recent years I’ve ever had any communication with was Mom's sister, Aunt Betty. Mom always seemed closer to her. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I believe there were many things about my mother’s family and her childhood that she kept to herself, bad things. Some things I became aware of when I was an adult, but I think there were literally things she took to her grave that I’ll never have a clue about. My father, over the years, has been more open about his childhood, his parents, and combining the things I know from both sides, it is safe and honest to say that my parents were two very tough, strong individuals. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My father’s side is the side I’ve taken the most interest in, having had more access to relatives and information than my mother’s side. My grandfather, Paul, dad’s real father, was full-bloodied Cherokee. I’ve tried tracing the Cherokee portion of our family tree, but it has proved to be a difficult task over the years. Based on Cherokee research I’ve done, I think it was my great-great-great grandparents who may have taken some part in the Cherokee Removal in 1853. I have reason to believe that my ancestors, whom obviously survived, possibly fled from their homeland to avoid removal, and made their way up north. From where they fled and where they actually ended up, I do not yet know, but Paul’s family has long standing ties to the Dayton area. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Version>12.00</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties></xml><![endif]--></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> 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mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">While my grandmother and Paul were married, they had six kids; Aunt Paulette, my father, then Chris, Tommi, Barb, and Nancy. Grandma eventually divorced Paul, and remarried to a man named Ray. </span>I never knew Paul, and any information over the years that my father has been able to provide about him and his past has been sketchy at best. It’s a task to take history and try to trace how it to how it relates exactly to your blood line. My father thinks that our Cherokee ancestors lied about their Cherokee lineage when they migrated north to make it easier on them to start over. He thinks that they were ashamed they were Cherokee just because of the backlash that has served this country for far too long, if you ask me, about claiming to be a Native American of any kind. It has never been uncommon for any Native American to flee to avoid removal and to lie about who they really were. Our family last name, however, is supposedly linked directly to Cherokee ties. </span></div><br /><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The history of the Cherokee and my journey on exploring this part of my heritage could serve as a book on its own. I don’t specifically claim to be a Cherokee, but if I could ever trace our family to a Cherokee descendant, we could technically be considered tribal. According to Cherokee statutes, to be considered Cherokee, you can be up to 1/16 Cherokee, so long as you have official papers tracing who your ancestors or relatives are. If I’m ¼, that’s pretty close ties, so the proof is in the ongoing research and tracing, but if ancestors burned their papers or hid information, the dead ends I will meet or have met thus far will remain endless. If ever in conversation with someone about Indians or heritage, I will say that as far as I know, I’m Cherokee, but am not affiliated and can’t prove it. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandma Annette’s side is a bit easier to prove. She was Lithuanian. Her parents immigrated from Lithuania through Ellis Island. I have papers that a relative gave my father, who in turn gave to me. They are certificates with the names of my great-grandparents, showing that they are part of an immigration wall of honor proving that they did pass through Ellis Island. I don’t know what year they came over, so I have been working on tracking that information down. They changed their names to a more “Americanized” version and settled in Michigan.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My family history is rich, one that I don’t take lightly. Through the grandparents I knew and didn’t know, through the hardships I’ve seen or only heard about, I take great pride in where I come from, who I come from. It’s these people who created those who created me. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></div>Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-10953874450296057582013-04-04T09:51:00.002-07:002013-04-04T09:52:20.444-07:00A-Z Challenge, DDreams.<br /><br />I took a few psychology courses back in college because I was, am, interested in how the human mind works. What makes us tick? Why do we do the things we do? How much does our subconscious effect our choices and decisions? Does any of this influence why we dream what we dream? Truth be told, I don't have the answers to any of those questions. This, in turn, leaves me highly frustrated with human behavior. Sometimes, I can barely rationalize why I do what I do, why I think the way I think, let alone try to define why others do or say what they do or say.<br /><br />Back to dreams. I know I dream of certain things and people because I have conflicting or unresolved issues with these things and people and I don't know if it's my inner self trying to console me or what, but sometimes it just freaks me out. I think it's these dreams that block my muse, prohibit me from writing sometimes.<br /><br />For example, when I dream about my mother, she is alive. Granted, she passed away quite some time ago, but in my dreams, she'll suddenly reappear, pretending she was just gone for a while, and she's like, "Hi! I'm back!" In other dreams I have about her, I'm always searching for her, looking for her. It's as though I know she's still alive, and I'm looking behind trees and under rocks for her. When I have such dreams, I wake feeling unsettled. <br /><br />I'm not sure I'll ever come to terms with my mother's death, and the dreams don't always help. Just when I think I've finally found peace with it, I'll have one of these dreams and I will think I've made no progress at all!<br /><br />Do you have experiences like this with your dreams?Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-2784673724868861722013-04-03T09:48:00.000-07:002013-04-04T07:44:15.207-07:00A-Z Challenge, C: Competition In 2009, I entered this lil competition, <a href="http://www.wordsandmusic.org/2013%20Guidelines.html" target="_blank">http://www.wordsandmusic.org/2013%20Guidelines.html</a> in three categories: novel, short story, and work in progress novel. I actually made it to the semi-finalist round, through the second round, and got my name on their website, but that was the extent of it. Hey, I'll take it, since I made it that far with all three submissions! I was browsing their website recently, not really sure what I was thinking because I don't have a fiction piece even remotely close to being ready to submit, but I thought, what the heck, right?<br /><br />I see that this year, the competition has a new category: narrative non-fiction.<br /><br />Let me give you a bit of back story.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />In late 2009, my stepmother passed away, after a two year battle with breast cancer. Billie and my father had been married eight years. My mother passed away back in 2000. Suicide. For my graduate school program thesis, I wrote a fiction novel on my take with her death, mixing in the Cherokee heritage from my father's side. This is the novel I ended up spending a few years on and off editing and rewriting, which ended up submitted to the WFWW competition in 2009.<br /><br />After Billie's passing, my father asked me to write a book about him and his marriage to my two mothers. Little did he know, I had already begun work on something of that nature. Well, if you read my B post, then you know that life happened, turned crappy for a while, and okay, I dropped the proverbial ball on many of my writing projects. However, in the last year, I picked this manuscript back up, purchased books on memoir writing, took a few free seminars on non-fiction writing and publishing, and have been working (sometimes not so) feverishly on trying to finish it.<br /><br />Fast forward to today. I had been looking for a final push that I needed to finish the darn thing. My forte is not narrative non-fiction mind you, while I do have a somewhat small background in journalism and such. Not to mention, this has been an emotionally difficult task, writing this book, because it's sooooo close to home. The book has become a collaboration of sorts between my father's experiences and my own; his life, his life with my two mothers, our families, and my take on losing two mothers. I know he's had an idea of what it would end up being like, as did I, but it has taken on a life of its own, and while it is in the editing stage now, I have struggled with my demons, other peoples' demons, and have tried to regain control over it. So the push I needed to finish it was finding out the WFWW folks were kind enough to add this new category.<br /><br />The original deadline for the competition was April 1, and I worked so hard in March to try to make it, but I wasn't going to. Just too much editing, rewriting, too many second shift hours at work. At the turn of the new year, I was dedicated to getting back into freelance, but before I even knew I was going to submit my manuscript this year, I had decided to forgo getting back to freelancing so I could spend the spring finishing the book, so I'm left relying solely on my night job to make ends meet right now, but I'm convinced this is all in my cards. <br /><br />I'm not convinced by the positive outcome of such competitions, to be honest, and had I not placed well enough years ago with my fiction work, I wouldn't even consider it this year, but maybe this is all a sign. I have other reasons for pushing to finish the book, so I'd still be working on it regardless, but this is just that small edge I guess I need to keep on the ball. They extended their deadline to May 1 now, and I'm delighted, yet terrified!<br /><br />I am one of those people who work well off knowing that my word means something, and I can hold myself totally accountable for my actions; that and I hate, more than anything else, knowing that I might disappoint people or let them down. So, I told my father about the competition. I think he's excited about it. I've told a few others, but now it's in print! So I HAVE to finish it! I HAVE to submit it. It's not about a chance to "win," get money, or prove any points. No.<br /><br />It's about... knowing that bad things will and can happen to you in life, but no matter the pain and turmoil, there is always a light, however small a sliver it might be, that can guide you if you keep your eyes open long enough to follow. <br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Version>12.00</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties></xml><![endif]-->Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-13620516111668396092013-04-03T08:12:00.001-07:002013-04-04T07:44:29.843-07:00A-Z Challenge, B: Beginning Again When I began this blog, it was several years ago. It was meant to serve the purpose that I'd hold myself accountable for my writing. I'd have some place to call home with my words, and the thought of documenting how life and writing intertwine with one another seemed like a wonderful idea. Then I got divorced. And stopped writing. To heal, I began writing again, using my blog as a template for the therapy. I should have created another blog, because for about a year after my divorce, I didn't write write, let alone write about writing. I wrote about pain and hate and struggles, while trying to freelance and work on unfinished projects, but everything just kept running into itself and before I knew it, anything to do with writing just became a blubbering massive mess.<br /><br />I deleted every single one of those old posts. It was dribble. Dribble I suppose I had to write in the first place, because it did help, but today, I decided to wipe the slate clean. I'd never deleted anything I'd ever written before, but hitting that trashcan button with one click of a mouse, well, it seemed fitting. For a long time, I've been in this place of limbo, just trying to pay bills, find myself again, trying to regrow and relearn. Looking back over old posts about how broken I was for a long time would do no good going forward, right?<br /><br />It's difficult to go forward in a new life, sometimes, when you have lingering affects of your old life tagging along behind you. Memories. I don't need old blogs posts to remind me of how broken and angsty I was. This is my official beginning again. It's been a long journey, as I knew it would, and I still have a ways to go, but we have to give ourselves a clean slate once in a while, right? That's allowed? Looking back, I sacrificed so much of myself and my passion when I was married, and while it does no good to have regrets about decisions you've made. I didn't graduate from a top notch grad school writing program and accumulate a large amount of school loan debt for nothing. I didn't lose track of my passion when I was married to just dismiss what I know I was meant to do since age eight. I didn't survive my divorce and work and claw my way back to who I want to be just to be afraid to put words down. I don't work a second shift job just to have insurance and be at home in the mornings so I can work on my musings.<br /><br />I guess I've done, or am doing, all that so I can begin again. Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-34020135580423814312013-04-02T08:33:00.000-07:002013-04-02T08:33:42.111-07:00NaPoWriMo #1 ShiverShiver <br /><br />The dove speaks to me<br />as it dances across the water,<br />watching its own mirrored image<br /><br />Clip my wings, it cries<br />so I may fly free forever<br /><br />It shivers, as if remembering<br />that its purpose is not only to fly,<br />but to whisper and shine<br /><br />I'll stand at the water's edge<br />clipping wings with sand<br /><br />Knowing in truth that the dove<br />will one day fall apart, leaving behind<br />a reflection of myself to whisper and shineChristy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-76010362088070217232013-04-02T08:11:00.001-07:002013-04-02T08:11:56.864-07:00A-Z Challenge, A Is For ArtMany will argue what art is. Is it interpretation? Should it be defined for us? Is it wasteful, confusing, irrelevant? For me, like beauty, art is in the eye of the beholder. Art is everywhere, in conversation, in print, in paint, in personality. Art is passion, starvation. I find absolution in art, specifically in writing, my writing, which I wholly consider art. The only problem is, I haven't been doing enough of it. <br /><br />Yes, I resolve myself of sins through my writing, through sharing my art. This doesn't need to necessarily make sense to you, but I hope in a small way it does. So, to kick off April's A-Z Blogging Challenge, I chose the word art because I wanted to remind myself of my purpose for writing. There was a period of time, for a year or so, where I used writing, my art, to cleanse my soul, to heal, to build again. I felt I reached a threshold where words stopped having meaning. So I stopped my writing, my art. Sometimes, you can't deny what your fuel in life is. We try to deny our purpose because perhaps we feel our fuel doesn't burn enough to pay the bills, perhaps it doesn't burn enough to make sense to others, perhaps it doesn't burn enough to make us feel as though we are making a difference. Or, perhaps we feel that the fuel we burn will change us, help us grow, and sometimes, we don't want to do that, do we? Change and grow. <br /><br />I've been denying my art, choosing to ignore words that come to my mind because I didn't want to put them down for the world to see, observe, interpreter, define, or find confusing or irrelevant. I suppose this is a risk an artist, a writer must take though, right? We expose ourselves at the risk of being judged or agreed with, or to educate and entertain. When did I stop taking risks? Oh, right, when life got too hard, too much happened, my heart broke too many times. Those are the times when the art should flow freer, not stop. But I let it. <br /><br />So, in honor of April, I'm back in the saddle to blog again, keeping in mind that art, like everything else in life requires patience. I'm not a die-hard Catholic, but I did just come from a stint of practicing Lent this year, where I did manage to successfully stick to a few of the sacrifices I offered to give up. Anyhow, I'll make reference to St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of journalists and writers. He was a patient man, writing down sermons and prayers when people would shut their doors to him. <br /><br />April should be an enlightening month for me, for many, I hope, and going forward, I'll remind myself that art, aside from anything else it is, is patience. I'll be patient and the words, the art, will come. <br /><br /><br />Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-29095164388270463532012-01-02T19:30:00.000-08:002012-01-02T19:30:33.733-08:00Max: A WWII ProjectIn addition to the numerous projects I have demanded to myself that I finish this year, and am using the winter to stay cooped up and begin such projects, I have yet another project I have begun. It has to do with well, I guess it could do with writing, I can track my progress here on my blog, but it involves WWII memorabilia and research. <br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><br />This project will in fact require much research, something I'm good at, and might take a while thought to complete, with all my other pending projects. However, if you have an interest in WWII history and such, you might want to keep up with my posts as I go, because I hope that what I find will be well worth our journey. Also, any contributions you can make, cool readers, to my research, would be most appreciated.<br /><br />So, let me give you a bit of a story and onto the project.<br /><br />My father had this friend, named Max. Max was older than my father, by about 20 years I'd say. Max was like my second grandfather. He was a very intriguing man. He was a locksmith for a number of years up in Cleveland, loved to gamble, and had a passion for taking care of needy children and families. He taught me how to play dirty pool and even when I was younger, he'd tell me stories about his childhood and life and I'd listen like you wouldn't believe. My father loved him like he was his own dad.<br /><br />During WWII, Max served in the Army Air Corps and from what my father could tell me, he served for many years actually, retiring. That's when he ended up in Cleveland and became a locksmith until he made his way down to the Dayton area. My father doesn't know much about Max's military life, he only recalls conversations from the past in snippets.<br /><br />Max died in Dec of 2000, just months after my mother's passing. He death devastated an already crushed man, my father, and it was indeed a sad day for me. Max was part of our family and he loved my mother almost more than I did. We were all very close. His wife disappeared soon after his death, their children, both adopted, surfaced after many years and took her away I think. I don't know his children, didn't even know he had adult kids until his passing. Unfortunately, I'm beginning this project blind, and probably won't ever come close to finding out any of the info that I think will complete the project, but there are still avenues I can take to try to make it as complete as possible.<br /><br />In the fall, my father handed me this box that he had stored in his garage. It was a box that Max had given him a number of years ago. In this box are things from Max's WWII days. What I know so far is that Max flew in the Army Air Corps, and for a period of unknown time (at this time) he flew with Jimmy Stewart, yeah, the actor from "It's a Wonderful Life." I also know that Max spent time in Japan and Germany. This box my father had contains Japanese artifacts, see photos, along with many of his ribbons and pins, and pins and "things" for lack of a better word that Max either collected from German soldiers or German people. There are also two Kodak cameras and a roll of film. If it was used, I don't know, the film I mean.<br /> <br />I think I can do research on the cameras easy enough. I'm not sure what to do with them per se, but I have some ideas. I think I can try to find out what his ribbons and pins all stand for, having worked at the Air Force Museum when I was a kid helps, but deciphering the German stuff and tracing the Japanses things are going to be tough. My father basically asked me to take the box and research it all. He's curious to learn or know if anything is worth anything or if we can even place where exactly any of this stuff came from, and or what any of it means. My father kept, and I don't have a photo of them yet, but he kept these little glass coffee cups that pilots apparently kept on them. You made the coffee in the upper half and drank it from the bottom half. Need a photo of those.<br /><br />Well more to come on this. I'm reading about Jimmy Stewart right now. <br /><br />So here's just a few photos I took of some of the stuff. More photos will come. I might have to make this a separarte blog!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tK3fzxxWcCA/TwJx4JLZUgI/AAAAAAAAANA/TNigWde8-1w/s1600/DSC00559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tK3fzxxWcCA/TwJx4JLZUgI/AAAAAAAAANA/TNigWde8-1w/s320/DSC00559.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z1bgI4ekNX0/TwJyX6ZwFUI/AAAAAAAAANI/7jJisZ-Iyyg/s1600/DSC00560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z1bgI4ekNX0/TwJyX6ZwFUI/AAAAAAAAANI/7jJisZ-Iyyg/s320/DSC00560.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lFUcntmWnaE/TwJy0EMH4vI/AAAAAAAAANQ/k_MAtk11q3I/s1600/DSC00561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lFUcntmWnaE/TwJy0EMH4vI/AAAAAAAAANQ/k_MAtk11q3I/s320/DSC00561.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lUo8SGQnNLI/TwJzQ-HcbDI/AAAAAAAAANY/1EF27o_kHgI/s1600/DSC00563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lUo8SGQnNLI/TwJzQ-HcbDI/AAAAAAAAANY/1EF27o_kHgI/s320/DSC00563.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pF9-m-rdX6A/TwJzs4295II/AAAAAAAAANg/PevdWcaKwbc/s1600/DSC00564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pF9-m-rdX6A/TwJzs4295II/AAAAAAAAANg/PevdWcaKwbc/s320/DSC00564.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C9_jiYsUqJk/TwJ0JJWkUeI/AAAAAAAAANo/Hg-RZU5guD0/s1600/DSC00565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C9_jiYsUqJk/TwJ0JJWkUeI/AAAAAAAAANo/Hg-RZU5guD0/s320/DSC00565.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zTJbRa1l9YQ/TwJ0lqlZ2dI/AAAAAAAAANw/N0vkbDi6XXw/s1600/DSC00567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zTJbRa1l9YQ/TwJ0lqlZ2dI/AAAAAAAAANw/N0vkbDi6XXw/s320/DSC00567.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iFqQJF5FpI0/TwJ1Bz7Ut1I/AAAAAAAAAN4/sUfLHynRgCU/s1600/DSC00570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iFqQJF5FpI0/TwJ1Bz7Ut1I/AAAAAAAAAN4/sUfLHynRgCU/s320/DSC00570.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QvLB5IGC5x8/TwJ1eY075PI/AAAAAAAAAOA/tA4Br161I_8/s1600/DSC00573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QvLB5IGC5x8/TwJ1eY075PI/AAAAAAAAAOA/tA4Br161I_8/s320/DSC00573.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br />Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-30211647989286046352011-08-02T20:11:00.000-07:002011-08-02T20:45:49.643-07:00Dayton Air Show 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W6ywC3Y5GrY/Tji4tSs9VGI/AAAAAAAAALg/yum--fcXXZM/s1600/DSC00451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W6ywC3Y5GrY/Tji4tSs9VGI/AAAAAAAAALg/yum--fcXXZM/s400/DSC00451.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Well, this is a few days late; got sidetracked, but I do have photos! That makes my delay okay.<br /><br />I went to the Dayton Air Show 2011 on July 23. Okay, it's more than a few days overdue, but meh.<br /><br />I always loved going to the air show. Even when I lived here before. I've always loved planes, in fact. Might have something to do with growing up in an Air Force town. No, my parents weren't Air Force; Dad was Navy and Mom was in the Marines. I loved planes beginning at a very young age. For many years, I'd find my way to the air show, and it was always by default. One year, about nine years ago, and the last time I was there, I actually paid. Before, I always got in for free for one reason or another, free ticket, volunteered. You name it.<br /><br />This year, I wanted to go, and it was a last minute decision to go, but my father, the irony, said hey, you should go because you might not be around here next year, you might not get another chance soon, so go while you can. I had debated spending the 30 bucks for a few hours, but it was worth it to me. I knew I wouldn't need all day, just a few hours at that. So I headed out on Saturday afternoon, and it was so HOT. And all the planes, where were they parked? Oh yeah, on the hot blacktop. It was almost 100 that afternoon. But I trucked along, snapping all my photos and such. The last time I was there, a Liberator was there. I got to sit in the cockpit. That was pretty cool. <br /><br />This year, it was too hot to wait in the lines in these dang planes to try to finally squeeze up into a cockpit, so I settled for crowd watching, picture taking, and drooling over the men in the flight suits. I mean really, is there anything better than a guy in a flight suit? <br /><br />So are you wondering, did I go alone? I sure did. Is that strange? Why? Why not go alone. I've traveled around this country alone; I moved myself, a truck of furniture, a car in tow, and a Jack Russell, alone. I celebrated my last birthday alone. Meh. Comes with the whole "life after marriage and divorce" thing. Some things you just have to see if you can do, and going to an airshow in public, alone. <br /><br />Not a big deal. On my birthday, back in June, I went to the movies alone. First time ever. Saw The Hangover 2. I didn't mind one bit that I was alone. In fact, I asked myself why I never went to the movies alone before.<br /><br />Now, do I like being alone? Well, no. Doing some things, like writing, tweezing my eyebrows, sure. Some stuff I'm going to have to do alone. That's just how it is right now. <br /><br />I'm back "home," but it's not my hometown, and even if it were, who would I still know? Heck, I don't know anyone in the area now, except for one gal I was friends with years before I left. I'm currently not interested in tracking down people from Ohio past. Anyhow, some people are really hung up on doing things alone. I figure I'm in a new phase in my life, so I have to get out there. I have to see what I'm still made of.<br /><br />Years ago, when I was younger, I had a huge complex about doing things alone. Wouldn't do a thing by myself. I always had alot of friends, did alot of stuff, I was young and in college, you know? Miss Party Gal. But times changed. I grew up. Friends parted ways. Jobs changed. Whatever. And there was a period of time when I found myself more and more staying home with not a lot to do. It really depressed me. <br /><br />I don't want to fall into that again.<br /><br />So, I went to the air show. Hey just last weekend, Dad and I went to that Dragon's game, but he left early, because it was so friggin hot, so hot I could barely stand it, but I stayed after he left. I didn't mind it a bit. <br /><br />Dawn of a new age.<br /><br />Back to the flight suits, erm, planes.<br /><br />It really only took me an hour or so to walk the field and snap my photos. Then I parked in the grass area as the Thunderbirds were beginning their warm up for their show. <br /><br />Behind me, I have video too, huge storm clouds started rolling in. The Thunderbirds had to come back down. The joint pretty much closed up at that point. People started rolling out to the parking lots. I mean, there was one of the biggest crowds there that day than I ever recall seeing before. Massive amount of people, I tell you.<br /><br />The Thunderbirds said they'd do autographs to make up for cancelling their show, so I stuck around in line to get a few signatures. Plus, it gave some time for the crowd to thin and getting back to my car wouldn't be such a nightmare. <br /><br />Standing in line, omg, felt like such a groupie, but I wasn't drooling or anything. It was the women behind me, older than me, I might add, who were really pushing my buttons. To be fair, I think I look a bit younger than I really am, and don't ask my age, I'm hung up on that right now, but these chicks had me at a good ten years, and they were just pushing and drooling and yammering the whole time.<br /><br /><br /><br />I had a choice at that time. *laughs* There was a time, and I'm sure she is still in me somewhere, when one Christy Lynne would have turned around and slapped the snot outta the woman. My other choice was to say nothing, and just ignore her. Not wanting to make a scene, and if you knew me, you'd be shocked that I pass up a chance to make a scene, I just picked up my camera, said not a word, and moved up in line.<br /><br />*sigh*<br /><br />Just common sense, you know? Some folks don't have it in the company of aircraft pilots. I however, did. *laughs* And the pilots were nice enough, but it was not like you could stand there and say hey, how ya doin? They just wanted to get out of there, I think. I did catch some convo from the very first person in line, some young chick. The first pilot greeted her, they exchanged some words, and then she broke out in this God awful loud laugh, and then all I heard was, "Yes! I'm the Facebook stalker."<br /><br />This is what I was up against. Her and the drooling 50 plus chicks behind me. *sigh*<br /><br />Aside from that, it was as eventful as I thought it would be. As I was waiting for the shuttle to go back to my parking lot which was like 5 miles from the field, I Facebooked about being able to find my car, not realizing most of the crowd had left by then (and it was very easy to find my car). One year, I went with a girlfriend, and we got so lost in the parking lot, like we walked around for hours in the rain and heat trying to find my car. Eventually I had to stand up on someone's hood, a few actually, to try to find my car. The same friend caught my comment and referenced the time we were lost. Good times. Air Show. That's me.<br /><br />Why do I like planes? I dunno. When I was a kid, I worked at the Air Force Museum. Still one of my favorite places ever. If I end up leaving this area again, I'll go and snap some photos of that, or might just anyhow. They have added like three or four new wings since the last time I was there, and that was about three years ago.<br /><br />There's just a powerful mystic about planes. So much of our recent American History is based on planes and their role in wars and such. Dayton too, is the home of the Wright Brothers. Flight was invented here! <br /><br />I think I'll need to expand on this a bit, maybe make a blog just about planes.<br /><br />Remind me to tell you about my experience in learning how to fly. Too long to share here, but remind me. It's a hoot.<br /><br />So, the photos. Like I said, I have some video of a stunt plane and of the Thunderbirds, but it's not great. I'm a writer, not a video taker person LOL and the air show as NOT the place to practice. I need to figure out if I can edit the film or not; the clips were taken with my camera. Good investment, my camera. I love the video feature, but forget it's there! Maybe I'll toy with the film this weekend.<br /><br />Oh, and I actually didn't have to buy my ticket. Hahaha. I pull into the parking lot to pay for parking, and it was like almost 2 in the afternoon, right? So I ask the nice lady taking money, hey, I said, I don't suppose it's half price parking for the last four hours? No, I'm afraid not, she said. Okay, I said, that's cool, I didn't think so, but thought I'd ask. No biggie. So I pull up a bit and she comes back to my window like a minute later. Do you have a ticket to get in, she asked. I thought you could get them at the gate, I said. You can, she said, but here, she handed me a ticket. Free ticket for you to get in, she said, if you want. Oh, I said, wow, you sure? She nodded. Wow, that's awesome, I said. Thank you so much! I wasn't trying to skimp out on paying anything, mind you, but it never hurts to ask while an event is down to the last few hours, I guess.<br /><br />Thanks for reading!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5AdgvV2Ob1E/Tji49TEcHoI/AAAAAAAAALk/JbniWP6b4Tc/s1600/DSC00453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5AdgvV2Ob1E/Tji49TEcHoI/AAAAAAAAALk/JbniWP6b4Tc/s400/DSC00453.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rwz2-XbvH1I/Tji5HQZ6RSI/AAAAAAAAALo/VdMjl2nv8UA/s1600/DSC00455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rwz2-XbvH1I/Tji5HQZ6RSI/AAAAAAAAALo/VdMjl2nv8UA/s400/DSC00455.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NSqOe9MK6-A/Tji5QbC9zCI/AAAAAAAAALs/5Z1UnQDXvsc/s1600/DSC00457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NSqOe9MK6-A/Tji5QbC9zCI/AAAAAAAAALs/5Z1UnQDXvsc/s400/DSC00457.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M5uxyCTKEyM/Tji5ZeJ8f7I/AAAAAAAAALw/iRDwE_wrvgI/s1600/DSC00471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M5uxyCTKEyM/Tji5ZeJ8f7I/AAAAAAAAALw/iRDwE_wrvgI/s400/DSC00471.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pLqFTYOaw-0/Tji5kEEVfII/AAAAAAAAAL0/YaAL5zt04ww/s1600/DSC00477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pLqFTYOaw-0/Tji5kEEVfII/AAAAAAAAAL0/YaAL5zt04ww/s400/DSC00477.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_-AFZ8sAodY/Tji50-Wr7mI/AAAAAAAAAL4/W-Hv5uOCABQ/s1600/DSC00500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_-AFZ8sAodY/Tji50-Wr7mI/AAAAAAAAAL4/W-Hv5uOCABQ/s400/DSC00500.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7ni7kXqueE/Tji6AxyAw_I/AAAAAAAAAL8/fESZaBD-fnQ/s1600/DSC00505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7ni7kXqueE/Tji6AxyAw_I/AAAAAAAAAL8/fESZaBD-fnQ/s400/DSC00505.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5AIBiPeOm_A/Tji6QZrikaI/AAAAAAAAAMA/FIND_vtyi9Y/s1600/DSC00518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5AIBiPeOm_A/Tji6QZrikaI/AAAAAAAAAMA/FIND_vtyi9Y/s400/DSC00518.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pw5PzVhqmGE/Tji6aPZl48I/AAAAAAAAAME/t8Hq6UtkI24/s1600/DSC00525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pw5PzVhqmGE/Tji6aPZl48I/AAAAAAAAAME/t8Hq6UtkI24/s400/DSC00525.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span id="goog_758230761"></span><span id="goog_758230762"></span>Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-25332506537513137642011-07-24T19:22:00.000-07:002011-07-27T20:11:39.451-07:00Dayton Dragons woohoo!Ah yes, I owe a post about the Dayton Dragons game on Friday.<br /><br />The Dragons have recently broken a record; they have had the most consecutive sellout home games in all of pro sports. I don't know about you, but I would say that is one heck of a big deal! The Dragons began playing in 2000 at Fifth Third Field, in Dayton, OH. My father has had season tickets for every season. I don't recall the 2000 season very well; that was the year my mom died. The following year, he was remarried; and I did go to some games with him and my step-mom; and when I moved to IL, I came back for games here and there over the summers.<br /><br />Dayton fans take their baseball seriously, as do I. The Dragons, a minor league team for the Cincinnati Reds, have produced many good players over the years; Dunn, Pena, Stubbs, Votto... just to name a few.<br /><br />The record: 815 sell out home games in almost 12 years; surpassing an NBA record set by the Portland Trailblazers from 1977 to 1995.<br /><br />So Friday, they had a special game; gave out Votto bobble heads and had a few big names come in to say hi to the fans. They played Burlington, and won!<br /><br />Who was there? Well, for some of you who don't know it, there is a pretty cool person on the ownership team for the Dragons, he's a member of the primary group who owns the Dragons. Mr. Magic Johnson himself was there, along with Archie Griffin, another primary ownership guy.<br /><br />Eric Davis also was on hand to catch one of the ceremonial first pitches.<br /><br />Just before 9 pm, it was about the sixth inning, and who arrives by helicopter, fresh from a game in Cincy against the Braves?<br /><br />Mr. Drew Stubbs, Mr. Chris Heisy, and Mr. Logan Ondrusek! The crowd went nuts, of course! Each came up through the ranks with the Dragons on through to the Reds, and it was pretty cool having them come back to where it started for them, so they could pay tribute to the fans. <br /><br />Are the Dragons headed for the playoffs this year, first time since 2008?<br /><br />TBC but in the meantime, here's some photos!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k9rLx_Z1bdo/TjDM8UfGhQI/AAAAAAAAALI/UGhfi1-DqfE/s1600/DSC00405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k9rLx_Z1bdo/TjDM8UfGhQI/AAAAAAAAALI/UGhfi1-DqfE/s400/DSC00405.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heater and Gem, Dragons mascots</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jN8E__OSne0/TjDNG5p1JjI/AAAAAAAAALM/YYxt1Zqd4_Y/s1600/DSC00420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jN8E__OSne0/TjDNG5p1JjI/AAAAAAAAALM/YYxt1Zqd4_Y/s400/DSC00420.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the game, parachuters landed in the field with American Flags attached</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6XCdiDljCo4/TjDNXNPAhzI/AAAAAAAAALQ/_ugbwUrNHLg/s1600/DSC00424.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6XCdiDljCo4/TjDNXNPAhzI/AAAAAAAAALQ/_ugbwUrNHLg/s400/DSC00424.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was a real person! People were trying to get him to crack a smile, but he wouldn't!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TEA6A0Z32Lc/TjDNtR4IngI/AAAAAAAAALU/hQyTeddhAUw/s1600/DSC00426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TEA6A0Z32Lc/TjDNtR4IngI/AAAAAAAAALU/hQyTeddhAUw/s400/DSC00426.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Archie Griffin, left, and Magic himself!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X8t4qpL9qnM/TjDN67SyMsI/AAAAAAAAALY/HplMUqWo4Pc/s1600/DSC00431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X8t4qpL9qnM/TjDN67SyMsI/AAAAAAAAALY/HplMUqWo4Pc/s400/DSC00431.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s14w35uYRFw/TjDOEEjr1wI/AAAAAAAAALc/lIZtzICAYt4/s1600/DSC00443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s14w35uYRFw/TjDOEEjr1wI/AAAAAAAAALc/lIZtzICAYt4/s400/DSC00443.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left, Drew Stubbs, Chris Heisey, and Logan Ondrusek</td></tr></tbody></table>Tomorrow I'll post about my adventure to this year's Air Show!Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-10600059239138386572011-07-19T14:49:00.000-07:002011-07-20T07:26:36.683-07:00Great American Ball Park , Wrigley Field, and the Jake**editing: not only do I always forget to label my posts, but I forget stuff to add!<br /><br />Catching up on an old post. This is how unorganized I am right now. *sigh*<br /><br />I went to see the Cincy Reds play the Cleveland Indians on July 3; first time ever I was at the <a href="http://mlb.mlb.com/cin/ballpark/index.jsp">Great American Ball Park</a> in Cincinnati, OH. It was pretty fun, very hot, and it's a very nice park! I grew up at Riverfront, watching Pete Rose try to break the hitting record. My dad took us to ballgames all the time. I love the sport. Dad was supposed to go to the game, he's a big Indians AND Reds fan, but it was so hot that day, he bowed out. I don't blame him really. I met my brother in his place.<br /><br />We met at at <a href="http://www.williesonline.com/">Willie's </a>in Covington, Ky, had lunch, and took a shuttle to the park. I feel so bad because our meal and waitress were so nice, and I told her I was going to blog about her and the place, and I'm just now getting to it! Our waitress was Brook, and really, she was so nice. I had a philly cheese sammich with moz cheese and mushroom sauce. Was soooo yummy. I should have taken a photo of it, but I didn't. My brother had some sort of burger with a fried egg on it...<br /><br />Brad, the manager, came out to say hello. He was super nice too. I wanted to tell him what a great job Brook did waiting on us. I guess they have been a little slow on the business side recently; something about bridge work on 75, so access to their place was... difficult? So I want to give a shout out to anyone in the Cincy/Covington area who wants to go to a great place with good food and beer! Head to Willie's! And if you go for a game, you can park in their lot all day, drink a crapton of beer, and take their shuttle to and from the game for like a buck or two. Beats driving; and with the sports atmosphere of the place, it's sure to get you in the mood for the big game.<br /><br />Here's some photos I took:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kvWJe_WRmqw/TiXxooIDECI/AAAAAAAAAJU/B1ixqx57Hng/s1600/DSC00379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kvWJe_WRmqw/TiXxooIDECI/AAAAAAAAAJU/B1ixqx57Hng/s320/DSC00379.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t_VAm4jrvBk/TiXxzW6jufI/AAAAAAAAAJY/5-qSvh5y7h0/s1600/DSC00381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t_VAm4jrvBk/TiXxzW6jufI/AAAAAAAAAJY/5-qSvh5y7h0/s320/DSC00381.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_KqGSlNq3hM/TiXxe7UDw1I/AAAAAAAAAJQ/QeG1VzTRdP8/s1600/DSC00378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_KqGSlNq3hM/TiXxe7UDw1I/AAAAAAAAAJQ/QeG1VzTRdP8/s320/DSC00378.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U6q6RIC2Dmw/TiXyKAME_KI/AAAAAAAAAJc/8mqeV8YJanw/s1600/DSC00385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U6q6RIC2Dmw/TiXyKAME_KI/AAAAAAAAAJc/8mqeV8YJanw/s320/DSC00385.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the shuttle bus</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y8W9EJf6JJc/TiXyUgPIQtI/AAAAAAAAAJg/l438RcLx_D8/s1600/DSC00386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y8W9EJf6JJc/TiXyUgPIQtI/AAAAAAAAAJg/l438RcLx_D8/s320/DSC00386.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seats weren't bad at all!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rzrjdhowmic/TiXygURJpAI/AAAAAAAAAJk/RZqApxLpSU8/s1600/DSC00387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rzrjdhowmic/TiXygURJpAI/AAAAAAAAAJk/RZqApxLpSU8/s320/DSC00387.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right field</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ebtAA9tfP7k/TiXyqKUX-dI/AAAAAAAAAJo/uFys3aG0QTM/s1600/DSC00388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ebtAA9tfP7k/TiXyqKUX-dI/AAAAAAAAAJo/uFys3aG0QTM/s320/DSC00388.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Rtsww0XF_Ns/TiXy27vTNAI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Qp9dX1BEoRU/s1600/DSC00389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Rtsww0XF_Ns/TiXy27vTNAI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Qp9dX1BEoRU/s320/DSC00389.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ohio River</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zRH1RBExOnI/TiXzBPHlj9I/AAAAAAAAAJw/zuGXgE2RmWw/s1600/DSC00390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zRH1RBExOnI/TiXzBPHlj9I/AAAAAAAAAJw/zuGXgE2RmWw/s320/DSC00390.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ZyKGzD6gjU/TiXzNUOYBgI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/GAm5ApvX3K0/s1600/DSC00391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ZyKGzD6gjU/TiXzNUOYBgI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/GAm5ApvX3K0/s320/DSC00391.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KgQOvdV2BXM/TiXzcUNot4I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/cLPpIRPQKSI/s1600/DSC00392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KgQOvdV2BXM/TiXzcUNot4I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/cLPpIRPQKSI/s320/DSC00392.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BB Riverboat! I think... one of the riverboats anyhow</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j-FiFP6Wroc/TiXznFIa2uI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/hm7DpUJJ5DE/s1600/DSC00393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j-FiFP6Wroc/TiXznFIa2uI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/hm7DpUJJ5DE/s320/DSC00393.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View into Covington</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P9HbjSfktF0/TiXz2n_VphI/AAAAAAAAAKA/PSp_imV-SRw/s1600/DSC00400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P9HbjSfktF0/TiXz2n_VphI/AAAAAAAAAKA/PSp_imV-SRw/s320/DSC00400.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silly me! Always have to get a hat!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VOvMH8gFO9I/TiX0A94EgjI/AAAAAAAAAKE/Rhn-Q42O8RM/s1600/DSC00401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VOvMH8gFO9I/TiX0A94EgjI/AAAAAAAAAKE/Rhn-Q42O8RM/s320/DSC00401.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />So our seats were in left field, right on the concrete wall. I'd say about half the stadium was in their seats that day LOL. The other half were walking around in the shade or pushing their way into the mist area. My beer buzz seemed increase the more water I drank too! Let me tell you, Cincy is not far from where I am staying right now, but after a day full of beer and heat, it was a super long drive! <br /><br />On the shuttle bus back to Willie's, a kid with an Indians teeshirt on was sitting in front of me. Usually never one to speak to strangers (but since my divorce, I have become.... what is the word? More vocal, more willing to speak to people, not afraid to strike up convo? I dunno, it's weird. Anyway, I said, hey, you from Cleveland. Yeah, he said. So we talked about Cleveland and the Jake (<a href="http://mlb.mlb.com/cle/ballpark/index.jsp">Jacobs Field</a> where the Indians play, which is now called Progressive Field. Really? I hate when they change the darn names of stadiums! Grrrr!). He knew <a href="http://www.paninisgrill.com/">Panini's</a>! Great place to get a sammy and beer, and is much cheaper than the ballpark. They take like deli meat, right, with thick bread, and top it with cole slaw and fries, and bam. That's your sammy. You can hardly eat one alone, and if you go in, well, they used to do this, but if you go in and order say, pizza, because they do have pizza, they will make fun of you.<br /><br />My folks lived in Cleveland in the mid-90's for a few years so I spent many a ball games at the Jake. They used to have this bar area downtown, and I say used to because the kid on the bus back to Willie's told me that most bars have closed or moved now, but it's called the Flats. Bars used to line both sides of the Cuyahoga River and you could take a boat taxi to get from one side to the other. Used to be a big party spot on the weekends and such. Good times. But right down near the Jake are fun places too. Panini's being one of them. If you like Reubens, might I suggest Rathskeller, tucked on Prospect I think, but it's almost like in a back alley. It's very "1920s" with its interior and atmosphere, like a true prohibition-era diner.<br /><br />So, one weekend, my brother and I were up visiting, and it was in April, or it might have been October, I can't recall exactly, but my dad had tickets for the Indians and it was so cold and rainy, my mother didn't want to go, so we three went. It was when David Justice had played for the Indians and he was semi-hot at the time, having come from the Braves, and I wanted to see him play, but had no idea he turned out to be the man his then wife (?) Halle Berry said he was. Anyhoo, I can't recall who they played that day, but they were having a double header. It began raining, then snowing, and this is why I can't recall the month, but it was either the start of the season, or near the end, and if you know Cleveland, it's hard to pinpoint seasons because their weather in the winter and spring and fall is just nuts with all that lake-effect stuff. Well, the first game was great, they won and despite the weather, the place was packed. When the Indians are hot, as you can see now if you watch them, Cleveland fans, like those of the Cubbies I'd say, WILL go to a game, WILL have a good time, and WILL cheer them on. There were games we went to in the mid-90's that had like standing room only and then standing room only on TOP of that.<br /><br />So, my brother, the DD, wasn't having as much fun as my dad and I LOL. I convinced my father we should stay for the second game. We didn't have tickets, but scalping was legal, not sure if it is now, but I mean, you could openly go outside the park and find a pro selling tickets and buy them and not get arrested, so we walked outside and got tickets. My dad said, you are nuts. I said, hey this is fun, and I said, David Justice is gonna hit a homer this game, I can feel it. Dad said, no he's not. I said, you watch.<br /><br />So several beers more later, and two blankets and three ponchos later, we are back in our seats for the second game. Crowded. Dad's telling everyone sitting around us that his daughter predicts Justice hitting a homer and fans are sneering. Many didn't like him back then. So what do you think happens? Yup, near the end of the game, Justice knocks on out of the park, giving the Indians edge and eventually the win. Crowd goes nuts, I go nuts, dad sits in amazement. The crowd around us cheering and high-fiving me. <br /><br />We get back to mom and dad's and we are drunk, wet, tired, sore throats, and my mom just shakes her head and says, "I've never know a more collective bag of nuts than you three."<br /><br />So, back to Cincy. It was nice spending the day with my brother, actually. We've been reconnecting a bit lately, after many years of not really talking but we don't need to get into that here. It was a nice day, despite the heat, and let me say, it was so hot, the brother did not want to return to our seats, at all. He was not a happy camper LOL when I made him! I thought we should at least sit a few innings down, to make use of the tickets and all. But even it got too hot for me.<br /><br />My next sports blog should be coming up this weekend; tickets to see the Dayton Dragons play. That's always a good time. Dayton likes their baseball, let me tell ya. It's fan appreciation night or season ticket holder appreciation night, something like that. I think they might have like Votto bobble heads or something. Oh, recently, the Dragons surpassed a record in sports history. Anyone care to guess what it was for?<br /><br />Pictures and blog to follow on that night's game.<br /><br />Yeah, like baseball. I went with my girlfriend Laura to a Cubbies game last July. I'd actually been to The Friendly Confines many times. We backpacked through Chicago for the night. It was fun! Wait, it was June I think? Oh darn, I'm so bad with dates. I have photos. It was cool up there, I know that. Ha. It was the end of May last year.<br /><br />So, we took a bus up there, tickets were from um the U of I in Normal, Laura's mom works there and had tickets and Laura's husband couldn't go so I went instead. We planned to stay overnight and take the Amtrak back the next day. Before the game even started, I was into the Old Style. As was Laura. It was an early afternoon game. The <a href="http://chicago.cubs.mlb.com/index.jsp?c_id=chc">Cubs </a>played the Dodgers and I was happy to see ol Ryan Theriot back in Chi town. The cubs won and I was so happy because I got to sing their song they play at the end of a win.<br /><br />After the game, we hung around, waiting for the bus with Laura's mom, trying to catch players as they left the stadium. None of them stopped, but we saw a few. Can't recall which ones though. Then we hit a few bars down in Wrigleyville, had more beer, and then head to the <a href="http://hopleaf.com/">Hopleaf</a>. Laura's brother is the chef there. We had more beer and a good meal! I know we had some rabbit and some other sort of fancy stuff, but it was good. I need to get back there; the atmosphere is so chill there.<br /><br />After that, we took a cab to our hotel; we booked a room at the Wyndham near Michigan Ave. It was so nice! So after all the beer and walking around, we thought it was a grand idea to go get into the hot tub.<br /><br />Yeah.<br /><br />Still feeling great, we get cleaned up and head back up toward Laura's brother and meet him for drinks. I think we had several shots of Petron. I got sick. Not like sick sick, but got a terrible headache, and I guess it was a combo of the beer, the hottub, and the cab drivers. Have you ever ridden in a big city cab? OMG.<br /><br />It will make you car sick, I swear. So, we called it a night. Got back to the room, I drank some water and took some Aleve, and felt better. Laura woke up in the middle of the night, sick too. Poor thing, hit her much harder than it did me. We barely checked out on time the next morning. Bummer thing was that our train didn't leave until like one or so, so we had a few hours to kill, and she really didn't feel like site seeing so we just made our way to Union Station and waited for the train.<br /><br />Union Station, the original part, is really cool. You walk through the tunnel to the main area and the ceiling is so high, it's like you feel like you are in some old timey mobster movie. The ride home was rather quiet. Poor Laura.<br /><br />Lesson here: never do beer, food, hottub, shots, cab ride. So that's my Cubbies story. I have another one, from a long time ago, that I'll post about another day. Here's some pictures of that May 2010 trip though: <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uYQlxYH_VBY/TiX2o_UbFUI/AAAAAAAAAKI/VX8ecbzMCnQ/s1600/IMG_0051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uYQlxYH_VBY/TiX2o_UbFUI/AAAAAAAAAKI/VX8ecbzMCnQ/s320/IMG_0051.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura, pre Petron</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j06yPC5569A/TiX3BeRCV4I/AAAAAAAAAKM/68L5ZL0VYwI/s1600/IMG_0052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j06yPC5569A/TiX3BeRCV4I/AAAAAAAAAKM/68L5ZL0VYwI/s320/IMG_0052.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, me with beer</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fK_O5YLXhZY/TiX3DJOlwXI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/qOixTpyCo9M/s1600/IMG_0058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fK_O5YLXhZY/TiX3DJOlwXI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/qOixTpyCo9M/s320/IMG_0058.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey hey what do you say, the Cubs are gonna win today Go Cubs Go</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZZQIwAPuh3Q/TiX3IkagLCI/AAAAAAAAAKU/nUNvCBTXVd0/s1600/IMG_0061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZZQIwAPuh3Q/TiX3IkagLCI/AAAAAAAAAKU/nUNvCBTXVd0/s320/IMG_0061.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view from hotel room, was taken with the phone, but not too bad, the reflection, I guess</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lTeBu0FK6MI/TiX3OeUAnJI/AAAAAAAAAKY/aGBGboJ0eL8/s1600/IMG_0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lTeBu0FK6MI/TiX3OeUAnJI/AAAAAAAAAKY/aGBGboJ0eL8/s320/IMG_0062.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YNATAWKynuQ/TiX3Q-1xNcI/AAAAAAAAAKc/OVg-xvR6eKI/s1600/IMG_0067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YNATAWKynuQ/TiX3Q-1xNcI/AAAAAAAAAKc/OVg-xvR6eKI/s320/IMG_0067.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VnZK8YWNawM/TiX3T9cSf1I/AAAAAAAAAKg/YKMIl3FvKJQ/s1600/IMG_0065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VnZK8YWNawM/TiX3T9cSf1I/AAAAAAAAAKg/YKMIl3FvKJQ/s320/IMG_0065.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wyndham is very nice! </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HOT29MZ4EHk/TiX3WjcH24I/AAAAAAAAAKk/CTXxzHp1Hvs/s1600/IMG_0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HOT29MZ4EHk/TiX3WjcH24I/AAAAAAAAAKk/CTXxzHp1Hvs/s320/IMG_0072.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Union Station</td></tr></tbody></table>Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-73317139746725022552011-05-23T18:40:00.000-07:002011-05-23T18:40:17.722-07:00Weekend Review Chicago to Oak Park to Berwyn Part IIISaturday, later that day, Berwyn, IL<br /><br />After being terribly late to my friends' home, I finally arrived around 12:30 pm<br /><br />Ed and John are friends I know from Ohio. Ed and I go well back in time. He was always like my big brother. He'll tell it like it is, but you know if you have a friend in Ed, you have a friend for life. I followed them up until about ten years ago when they lived in D.C. and while there with family, I saw them for a short time. I wasn't able to ever see them again until this last weekend. <br /><br />After that, I became terrible at returning emails and that 's when the Illinois bubble ate me, but I tracked them back down and living so close to Oak Park, since I was there, I practically invited myself over.<br /><br />We had a lovely afternoon. Their home is just amazing. I had never seen so many brick homes in my life, and as John told me, they are brick bungalows. Just street after street after street, rows of brick bungalows.<br /><br />Here are some photos of their home:<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1r9KO_RDrrQ/TdsC0UqKX_I/AAAAAAAAAFE/jZTm_ssuFfk/s1600/DSC00366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1r9KO_RDrrQ/TdsC0UqKX_I/AAAAAAAAAFE/jZTm_ssuFfk/s320/DSC00366.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Ed</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zHWfCFPvk-8/TdsDV2vVLOI/AAAAAAAAAFI/W6MvH-mlWV4/s1600/DSC00367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zHWfCFPvk-8/TdsDV2vVLOI/AAAAAAAAAFI/W6MvH-mlWV4/s320/DSC00367.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Down their street</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G4CUzjhNP8Y/TdsFDamKoJI/AAAAAAAAAFM/ByhZrJZpSU4/s1600/DSC00368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G4CUzjhNP8Y/TdsFDamKoJI/AAAAAAAAAFM/ByhZrJZpSU4/s320/DSC00368.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty sitting room!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>We spent time catching up. Of course I hogged most of that time dishing on the divorce, but it was just like old times. Just sitting and talking and relaxing. I love Ed and John, and always thought there were good peoples. They have traveled so much too! OMG the photos of Paris, Italy; the homes (soooo beautiful!) that they've lived in.<br /><br />They MUST come decorate for me when I get resettled (LOL)...and take me on their next vacation (LOL).<br /><br />For lunch, we went here:<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nM23cAWmTi8/TdsGPiXROxI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Igy0adGajpI/s1600/DSC00362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nM23cAWmTi8/TdsGPiXROxI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Igy0adGajpI/s320/DSC00362.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camaleon on Lombard in Cicero, IL</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>I have never eaten at a "real" Mexican place. Tex Mex is all the rage, you know? You get used to that Taco Bell stuff and you have NO idea what you are missing out on. And if you have a conception about true Mexican food, it's a mis...<br /><br />We started off with shrimp and cream cheese thingies that were to die for. This place has the real deal going too; everyone is speaking in Spanish, soccer game on the big screen. I loved it. It reminded me of how much I LOVE being in new places and experiencing new things. This place you won't find in Pontiac, IL, that's for sure.<br /><br />Now this thing... I did not like it. It is like death. I'd rather have a gnome shave my legs than try this stuff again! <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ImU2DM05FGI/TdsGSClMtlI/AAAAAAAAAFU/tdA7rWJcGts/s1600/IMG_0269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ImU2DM05FGI/TdsGSClMtlI/AAAAAAAAAFU/tdA7rWJcGts/s320/IMG_0269.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little bowl holds the key to WWIII... atomic hot!!!!</td></tr></tbody></table>My mouth burned like it never had before. For. Two. Hours. I was sucking down water and was cursing because it wasn't helping. John said, "Oh, water makes it worse." I know he was cracking up at me inside him mind. I don't blame him. But after my second glass of water you tell me this? <br /><br />I ordered Camarones a al veracruzana:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fh_jt67ofvA/TdsGUcjTUFI/AAAAAAAAAFY/56FqVQusCco/s1600/IMG_0270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fh_jt67ofvA/TdsGUcjTUFI/AAAAAAAAAFY/56FqVQusCco/s320/IMG_0270.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Could not finish it.<br /><br />After lunch, we went into Pierre's Bakery on Cermack. <br /><a href="http://www.pierres-bakery.com/">http://www.pierres-bakery.com/</a><br /><br />I wish I had taken photos but there were too many people around, but OMG the cakes and the treats and the sweets. This place is a divorced woman's best friend! The strawberries dipped in chocolate were the size of my palm almost. Nothing like it, I swear. The cakes were so beautiful and on the other side of the bakery they have a flower shop. There were vases in cool cases with roses and their petals fanned out, and these roses were huge, like the size of my HAND.<br /><br />We had gelato for dessert. Again, another treat I'd never tried before. Life! Where have you been?<br /><br />Seriously though, good time. We then drove around Berwyn and some of these bungalows in this are just amazing. Houses like I've never seen.<br /><br />I am sad that I didn't get up there sooner than I did, but I told Ed and John that I now have someplace to visit! Again with the inviting myself to their house.<br /><br /><br />So that was my mini vacay. Lot done in a day and a half, huh?<br /><br />What's next?Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-81008899513049336092011-05-23T17:49:00.000-07:002011-05-23T17:49:14.501-07:00Weekend Review Chicago to Oak Park to Berwyn Part II<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Saturday, Oak Park, May 21, 2011</span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The next morning, I woke and checked the website for the Hemingway museum in Oak Park. I made the mistake of thinking they opened at 8. I had made plans to be in Berwyn by 10 that morning to meet friends who live there, but that’s when the museum opened. I had to call them and tell them I was going to be late because I screwed up the museum time. </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Since I was up and ready to go at 8 am, I figured I’d check out and head into Oak Park. That’s where I found the coffee shop I made a quick blog post from. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z5oATwVWvlI/Tdr0AZuz10I/AAAAAAAAAEc/Sq2BXQy7W8o/s1600/DSC00266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z5oATwVWvlI/Tdr0AZuz10I/AAAAAAAAAEc/Sq2BXQy7W8o/s320/DSC00266.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>That's looking up Oak Park Ave, outside the coffee shop. It's the photo I couldn't upload on Saturday while I was blogging from the coffee shop. I love the brickwork of the buildings, and the town has this really old time feel to it.<br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was right at the door when the museum opened. </span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BB2_giJoB7w/Tdr0bkehJ2I/AAAAAAAAAEg/HPcThplFVG4/s1600/DSC00267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BB2_giJoB7w/Tdr0bkehJ2I/AAAAAAAAAEg/HPcThplFVG4/s320/DSC00267.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> <a href="http://www.ehfop.org/">http://www.ehfop.org/</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">See, for eight years, once I found out I lived so close to Hemingway’s birth place, I had the desire to go to the museum and his childhood home. I never made it. The ex would never want to go with me. It’s sort of funny, but when you are married, I think you are less likely to do things alone; you think or hope that your spouse will want to do things with you. Getting the ex to do things was hard. He never wanted to do anything. It was only at the end of our marriage that he showed perhaps a slight interest in doing things, but by then, I’d spent 8 years in a bubble and had become happy and a bit content in that bubble, so I was less likely to venture out on my own to do anything. I realize I lost a lot of myself by not continuing to do things I wanted to do, even if they were on my own, but isn’t that the point of marriage, having someone to do things with? Or maybe, it's just creating a false happiness. And we all know what happens with that...</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Anyhow... </span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I studied Hemingway pretty extensively in grad school, but I didn’t get through all of his works, just select ones that my evaluator and I had agreed on, but over the years I have collected just about all of his books. I am fascinated by his life and by his writing, and I was so mad at myself that I became one of the women who stopped doing things because I would have to do it alone. When did I become so scared? Is that what marriage did to me? Ah, that’s a topic for another time. So, there I was, on my own in Oak Park, and I wasn’t bothered by it, and enjoyed every minute of it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The museum was put together very well. It covered every aspect of Hemingway’s life and writing. Connie (no photo), operating the gift shop, was very friendly and seemed to know her stuff when it came to Hemingway. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I appreciated seeing photos of Hemingway through the years, and personal possessions. Anything and everything you could imagine that showcases his life was in this museum. I'd love to go back again before I leave the state, but with four weeks and counting, not sure I can swing it. Seeing his photos and books and the highlights of his life from a young boy to on up really resonated with me the fact that I couldn't be happier with myself that I did make the trip.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">See photos below.</span><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qKz2KsqxZDA/Tdr0-F9h8-I/AAAAAAAAAEk/y-M5UU4iRWs/s1600/DSC00298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qKz2KsqxZDA/Tdr0-F9h8-I/AAAAAAAAAEk/y-M5UU4iRWs/s320/DSC00298.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hemingway's high school report card</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b3mM13rQmbk/Tdr1LLDIHoI/AAAAAAAAAEo/Ya5OwKpWMjw/s1600/DSC00306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b3mM13rQmbk/Tdr1LLDIHoI/AAAAAAAAAEo/Ya5OwKpWMjw/s320/DSC00306.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hGc5CkTOQew/Tdr1lmLC5yI/AAAAAAAAAEs/-QffoIWxGyI/s1600/DSC00274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hGc5CkTOQew/Tdr1lmLC5yI/AAAAAAAAAEs/-QffoIWxGyI/s320/DSC00274.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I have more photos if anyone wants to see them!<br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I didn’t spend too long there because I knew the kicker for me was going to be his home and was it ever. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They only gave tours on the hour, and it was almost 11 am, so I hoofed it to the meter to put in more money and then back up the street a few blocks just in time to make the 11 am showing. All the while, my feet were screaming in the second pair of sandals I selected for the weekend. Two wonderful tour guides, in the photo, John and Julia (who was a guide in training), led me through the house. They were the nicest kids. Believe it or not, I learned so much, much more than I ever knew about Hemingway AND his family. </span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oWXae799NJQ/Tdr2F0-1TkI/AAAAAAAAAEw/RprtvIapDys/s1600/DSC00361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oWXae799NJQ/Tdr2F0-1TkI/AAAAAAAAAEw/RprtvIapDys/s320/DSC00361.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When I had arrived, my feet hurt so much, and I made a comment about walking around and wearing the wrong kind of shoes. Another nice guide (who’s name I did not get) said hey, take your shoes off! I said, really? She said, sure! I was OMG. Not only was I delighted at the fact to remove my heeled sandals, but I almost well you know what a brick. I got to tour Hemingway's house barefoot! I danced in the foyer. The tour guides laughed.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">*side note: I seem to have this fascination with my bare feet, and the lack there of of NOT wearing shoes if I can help it. I got married barefoot. I ran around as a kid with no shoes on, ever! Still do. This tops the bare feet thing for me though.*</span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We began the tour and while many things in the home have been refurbished over the years, the foundation has worked very hard to try to recreate furniture and other things in the home to be how they were back in Hemingway's young days. While he lived there just for a short time, but the essence his family left behind is just... powerful. I won't bore anyone with the details of the home and such, but if you are curious just let me know. Here are a few photos.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M6-PiCNwDCY/Tdr3M6zVLVI/AAAAAAAAAE0/e5sJN9Nzj18/s1600/DSC00322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M6-PiCNwDCY/Tdr3M6zVLVI/AAAAAAAAAE0/e5sJN9Nzj18/s320/DSC00322.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This is the sitting room, off the foyer. The photo in the right hand corner is of Grace Hemingway, Ernest's mother. It is placed just as it was when her father placed it when she moved in with him after her mother passed away, and before I think, she married Mr. Hemingway. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--9yUdmAErmk/Tdr3vP9cVWI/AAAAAAAAAE4/W8m6uo9wVYI/s1600/DSC00327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--9yUdmAErmk/Tdr3vP9cVWI/AAAAAAAAAE4/W8m6uo9wVYI/s320/DSC00327.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining room table, replicated</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W-GdYoRzFhU/Tdr6efEteJI/AAAAAAAAAE8/t9QfbJtDLtY/s1600/DSC00338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W-GdYoRzFhU/Tdr6efEteJI/AAAAAAAAAE8/t9QfbJtDLtY/s320/DSC00338.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hemingway's birth certificate</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Again, I have a lot more photos of the home. Let me know if you want to see them!</span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There's just lots of coolness that goes with the home, the rooms, the family that lived there. This weekend I'm off for 4 days in a row, and while I'll be busy packing last minute things, and job hunting (yes, still doing that) I might just create like a Hemingway blog or an extended post and toss in everything in more detail.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh, here's one last photo:</span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MoZVzXeX4Rw/Tdr8q7rS6XI/AAAAAAAAAFA/A0eEpAZNqd0/s1600/DSC00357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MoZVzXeX4Rw/Tdr8q7rS6XI/AAAAAAAAAFA/A0eEpAZNqd0/s320/DSC00357.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Julie, the awesome tour guides, in the library, with the stuffed owls </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 12pt;">TBC</span></div>Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-78031768873659417302011-05-23T16:53:00.000-07:002011-05-23T16:53:47.289-07:00Weekend Review Chicago to Oak Park to Berwyn Part I<!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Part I: Friday, Chicago, May 20, 2011</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So I drove into Chicago this past Friday morning to meet a writer friend at Union Station. They have been in the states since Feb and was riding the train up from Southern Illinois to catch their flight from O’Hare, back to Germany. Their train got in at 1 pm, their flight left at 1030 pm. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We met and had lunch and just killed time really. Not much to do in that time span that won’t have you fighting traffic, getting lost, or missing a flight; so we stayed in the general down town area. We took a cab to the Hard Rock Café, then a cab to Poag Mahone’s, where we had a drink and some food (lil two bite baby cheeseburgers… I did ask for them well done, which to me means NO PINK, yet they were pink, but the Cosmopolitan made up for it… I guess).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKmPUSmFtCU/Tdry3LSmHwI/AAAAAAAAAEY/ycObhdF4-yU/s1600/DSC00263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKmPUSmFtCU/Tdry3LSmHwI/AAAAAAAAAEY/ycObhdF4-yU/s320/DSC00263.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My friend actually met a friend of a friend and his friends there and they chatted for a while. Before long, it was time to hoof it back to the Union Station parking garage and head out to the airport. I figured it was going to be about an hour drive, maybe 45 minutes from downtown to O’Hare and I was right. Traffic was stop and go; and more stop and go.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I wasn’t even really sure what terminal or parking I would need. I was going to drop my friend off in the departure area, but once we got close, I didn’t know what exit to really take, knew it was the International Terminal we needed, and it just seemed easier to park in short term parking and get her inside. Besides, her bags were heavy and I wouldn’t have felt right just dropping off at a curb and saying see ya!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We went into terminal one and that was the wrong one. We then took the train, yeah, the train that goes just around the airport, to terminal 5. After getting my friend checked in and to the area where she’d go through security, I headed back down to terminal one and the parking lot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">From there, I made my way to my hotel for the night. It was nice, quiet, and soon I was asleep. My feet hurt from walking around all day. I wore the cutest sandals, but they had no soles, so I might have been barefoot walking around Chicago all day. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I had made the comment in an earlier post I think, that I loved the sound and sites of the big city. I used to want to live in Chicago. I decided after visiting it a few times that I was better off just visiting; I seem to appreciate it more. I wouldn't mind living there if I could work there; but to work there and commute... uh no. I don't think I could hack it. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Part II TBC</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-38674318430384041362011-05-21T07:40:00.000-07:002011-05-21T07:40:14.391-07:00The true writer's life: blogging on the run!Wi fi, such a cool thing! Lets you blog and sip raspberry mochas at the same time. Ah, times have come a long way since the days of college. <br /><br />I'm at the Caribou coffee shop now, on the corner of Oak Park Av and Lake St. The Hemingway museum is just down the street, opens at ten. I thought it was eight! <br /><br />Regardless, soaking in the atmosphere of a Saturday morning in this charming Chicago suburb.<br /><br />Have a photo of the famous Hard Rock sign, and one of the corner at the coffee shop, but blogger seems to be sticking! I'll try one more time before heading to the museum, otherwise, will post them when I return home this evening.<br /><br />P.S.<br /><br />THEE best thing about this moment? I'm totally happy and content, alone, with me, with the strangers on the street. I am... me.Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478701896816207466.post-74395092010518656442011-05-20T20:57:00.000-07:002011-05-20T20:57:26.601-07:00Writers and the CitySpent the day in Chicago. I met a fellow writer at Union Station. Two meals, a few iced mochas, one Cosmopolitan, and a few pieces of Hard Rock gear and she is on her way to Germany and I'm tucked in a pretty decent Holiday Inn Express room, preparing to rest up for my day tomorrow to Hemingway's birth home and then the rest of the day with friends.<br /><br />I really like Chicago. I fell in love it the first time I visited, which was years ago. I drove out here one summer with my parents and friends of the family to see the Cubs play and tour the city.<br /><br />I returned again a few years after that with a friend and we spent our time getting drunk at the Navy Pier and trying to figure out what subway to get on to get back to our hotel.<br /><br />The next time I was in Chicago, was in 2006, when I came up here to shop on Michigan Ave for a dress to wear when I got married. Another trip was just this past summer when I came up with a friend to go to a Cubs game. We rode the train back and that was different.<br /><br />This trip might just be my last for a while, like the other trips were oh so close together; but really, I won't be back here for a long time, so in one short afternoon, I tried to absorb all I could.<br /><br />I like the traffic, the horns, the people on the street, the cops on the ATVs. I couldn't live here though, work here. I'd get run over, the people move so fast! You have to, I suppose. It just moves that fast here. I guess every really big city is like that.<br /><br />O'Hare is truly a masterpiece of an airport. That place is so big that if you blink, you'll forget where you are.<br /><br />My company was great for the day. Theresa, my new writer friend is really just a gem. I wish we'd had more time to chat and explore the city, but she said she wasn't much of a big city gal, and I guess I could be a bit but more so just in the moment, since I'm there, I want to see it all, but eh, I'd seen my share of the town more than once. I hope I was able to make her trip to her plane as smooth as possible.<br /><br />I miss Daisy, she's at home with the ex. I'm sure she's fine, and truth be told, I needed a night out of there. While the end of June will be here soon, I just needed to get away. I would have left a while back, but circumstances prompted otherwise. Regardless, it's nice to get away. There won't be much getting away for a while to come once I do move, so I guess it's okay to do it know.<br /><br />I always loved traveling. We traveled very often when I was a kid. I loved staying in hotels. Each place we went was new and exciting. I'll have to think about some favorite places I've been and get back to you. <br /><br />I'll be reconnecting with some old friends tomorrow and maybe they can become an option for coming out to visit the area again. I also reconnected with a few family members this week. They might just be on the summer "who to visit" list. Okay, so maybe that getting away thing was false. I might just have some places to go this summer, but visiting family and friends, I mean, you don't have to stay in a hotel, you have a place to sleep if they are kind enough to have you. But I guess that's still "getting away." <br /><br />Long day, early day tomorrow. I'll post about Hemingway's museum for anyone who might be a fan of his. Maybe more on the whole travel thing. I like writing about the places I've been, the things I've seen. It reminds me of the good things life and this country have to offer.Christy Lynne Trotterhttps://plus.google.com/101894599460936728774noreply@blogger.com3