B&T Sunshine Tour 2022 - Day 2

You never know how the day will go until well…the day goes. We started out looking for the Hatfield's in Pikeville but B was not really in the mood and we didn’t have a real plan so I didn’t complain. Later, in Tennessee though, we made a stop at a gas station and found a flier for a Hatfield-McCoy Self guided drive through that passes by grave yards and points of interest (killings?). If only we had had that the day before. It would have been a perfect tribute for a Pikeville visit. But we so loved the 23 South experience that we will be back and you gotta leave room to explore for the next time.

B was excited to get back on the road so off we went. Again taken by the beauty of 23 South, we traveled 3-½ hours to Ashville, NC. The cloudless blue skies were stunning against the Appalachian mountains. As I viewed the mountains to my right I kept seeing these stripes that waved along. I thought they were logs at first but turned out they were the tree’s shadows creating these flowing trails. It was gorgeous though trying to take pictures at 60 miles an hour wasn’t real successful.

I find that often I miss the best pictures because I’m in too much awe of what I see before me. This was particularly true of the blue ridge mountains so I downloaded a photo from the web taken by a Michael A Milton that does it justice.

Layers of blue shades lined the bright blue sky. The forests that cover these mountains are predominately made up of spruce and fir trees and they emit isoprene, a building block molecule for many compounds, into the atmosphere creating the blue hue! A moistness glistened my cheeks once again for the gorgeous sites of the world we have been blessed with to explore. I’ve missed it all for even longer than I thought. I flew from place to place for years to other wonderful places while missing so many glorious sites along the way. This trip was eyes open wide!

The Biltmore was a place we had hoped to hook up with B’s brother and his wife who live on their mountain in Vilas, NC. It didn’t work out this trip, but my husband was impressed by the estate layout so we planned to visit the house Day3. We shopped a bit and overheard a constant buzz of ‘You must come, We love to come for Christmas time at the Biltmore!” It was a full moon and a gorgeous night this night! I image it would be magical at Christmas.

Back in our room, we discovered that our nephew, Blake, and his wife, Kate, were only 90 minutes away. They were camping at a KOA in Blountville, TN off I-81. They had been traveling from upper California where they packed up their 6 cats, 1 dog and a snake in an RV to sojourn cross country to their new home in Maidens, VA! Unbeknownst to us, we must have crossed paths around Kingsport, TN earlier that day.

Smiles and sleep were coming much easier these days!

B&T 2022 Sunshine Tour - Day 1 

We had decided to break down our travel days into 4-5 hour drives. B, the driver, and I, the navigator, could have gone farther this day but when we stopped, we were happy not to continue. The number of trucks traveling 23 South from the south end of Columbus made us feel like we were joining a convoy! The truckers in Canada were protesting COVID-19 mandates and talk of a peaceful U.S. People’s Convoy from California to Washington DC was circulating. For now, we were all going in the wrong direction to participate in either. 

B and I were going south in February to find the heat of the sun and beauty of the land. It had been a long, long, long, long time since we had been on the road let alone on vacation by ourselves. Maybe 30 years. We are both now semi-retired and spend a lot of time together…apart. The excitement of spending quality time together has been highly anticipated. Day 1 of 17 and the excitement was holding its own. As the traffic leveled out, I was struck by the gentle rolling hay fields of Ohio and the continuous view of something other than my house, or my parent’s house, or the routes in between. I blinked back tears a few times from the joy of it all! The farther we got, the less traffic we saw on 23. In fact by the time we crossed over from OH approaching Greenup, KY, we were a bit surprised to be practically the only vehicle on the road. 

 

I was reminding B that my mom and I had driven down to Greenup with quilt tops we had worked on together to drop them off for quilting. My Mother-In-Law, Ethel, had sent her tops there and, with her being my mentor, I followed in her footsteps. It was indeed much cheaper than what you might pay in Columbus at the time and that included the shipping costs both ways. Mom, who is now in the Alzheimer Care Facility, Kemper House, uses that quilt to this day…say…20 years later. 

 

Gift cards were our topic of conversation while passing through Ashland, KY where Big Sandy Superstore originated. B had recently rediscovered an old Big Sandy gift card. I am a stickler about using these cards. I’m all for companies making money, but I refuse to be the one to leave gift cards on the table as a donation. For sure we will take a walk through a Big Sandy when we get back.

 

Traffic was still light as we approached signs for Louisa, KY. (I love the way that Louisa flows off the tongue!) When we entered Kentucky, there were signs declaring we were traveling the Country Music 23 Highway. I found this map showing where Tom T Hall, Randy Skaggs and many other country stars hailed from in Kentucky. We were on our way to Pikeville, home to Patty Loveless. Anyway, the map was across from the women’s bathroom inside the pictured tabernacle. A young, sweet southern drawl was ahead of me quietly waiting for maintenance to let her in. When I arrived, it was determined that he wasn’t about to leave until he painted over the walls, so she and I made a pact to keep an eye out as we took turns in the men’s room. Pretty disgusting…yep...pretty disgusting. It was a fun place overall though and so very out of place in the middle of nowhere. That’s just how I like it!

Our first night away and we actually were in a room with a view. It was spent at a Holiday Inn Express alongside the Levisa Fork River and a railroad track. When looking up which river this might be, I was amazed to find out that driving down 23 south around Pikeville was driving the second biggest engineering feat in the world! The river and the railroad used to run through Pikeville until a cut through Peach Orchard mountain rerouted them. Strategically constructed from 1973 well into 1989, it is second only to the engineering development of the Panama Canal and has been touted the 8th wonder of the world. WOW! And we haven’t even been to the Hatfield - McCoy museum yet.

A Little "Big Easy"

Sitting home tonight is downright boring! We're just 18 hours off the plane and ready to go back!

We left Ohio for New Orleans early Saturday so we'd have plenty of afternoon to explore. The plane rides were short, on time, and smooth sailing! We scurried to the Marriott Hotel at the edge of the French Quarter. We threw our belongings in the room, changed from winter to summer attire, and hit the streets.

There is no easing into the Big Easy. It hits you hard and fast. We found our way to Jackson Square with its entertainers and taro card readers, then down Decatur St., on to the French Market with its beignets, muffulettas, whilst jazz and blues waft through the air.

The muffaletta sandwich originated in New Orleans. It can be ordered as a whole or a half. Sitting outside at The Gazebo Cafe, Brian and I decided we would share a whole sandwich and accompany it with some onion rings and cheese fries. Good grief! There was enough food for 4 starvin’ folk! The muffuletta alone started with a 10" round foccacia bread. Sliced horizontally in half, the bread was then stuffed with meat and cheese and an olive oil salad of green and black olives, carrots and bits of cauliflower. Coupling that with an earthy live version of The Animals' "House of the Rising Sun" made it one delicious way to delve into N'awlins!

Bourbon Street, of course, was the highlight of the night. A group of us started with a spectacular dinner at the Red Fish Grill. Never have I tasted such a succulent blend of textures and spices as was prepared for my Hickory Red Fish dinner. Even my husband who is a definite hamburger and fry guy, enjoyed every bit of his Wahoo!

The rest of our party headed back to the hotel while Brian and I made our first nocturnal sojourn through this historic district. It was Saturday night and eight of the 14 blocks of Bourbon Street's French Quarter was lighted and coming alive! The balconies were becoming crowded with patrons dangling beads they were anxious to distribute. (The custom is a reward of beads for any girl daring enough to expose her breasts.) Tempting as it is to think about getting into the spirit of things, it is only fleeting. Surely, this would come back to haunt me.

Ever seen the walking, dancing Kool-Aid pitcher? I pointed at a corner bar and with a now needed raised voice asked Brian "Is that a walking hand grenade?" By golly, it was! Apparently an explosive advertisement for a popular shot drink sold amongst a carrier of red, white and blue test tubes. Seems to me there might be something wrong with that, but maybe I'm just 30 plus years out of step.

On another corner a man walked curiously around an elegant statue. Statue? No - mime. He touched her hand chattering with amazement to his wife. I interrupted by telling him he's not supposed to touch. "She's a mime and you should probably drop a dollar in her box to make up for your faux pas!" I proceeded then to take a dollar out and dramatically pay for her performance. She took my hand and sprinkled what I guessed to be mime dust in my hand with illustrated instructions to blow it in the wind. The man and woman enjoyed it all with wonder. They were from New Jersey, she said. "Obviously a long way from the cow pasture!"

A fresh stretch of balcony and I watched as a young woman arched her back to the boys above and exposed, might I say, some very large and voluptuous “tits” (street jargon). I'm grabbing Brian, "Did you see her?!" as she was showered with beads. He missed her! We walk by and I heard her shouting up "Show me your beads!" I tried to turn Brian. "Oh my gosh, she's doing it again!" He saw only her reward. Too much fun!

Music or sexy young women beckoned at each doorway. Back down the road and its getting louder and more raucous. A sign went up in the middle of it all. "Repent! Repent! Your sins!"

Restroom time encouraged us to enter a jazz house. I asked and was directed to a couple doors being loosely guarded by a man and woman. The lady opened the door and followed me in. The meaning of her presence didn't come to me until I came out of the stall. A squirt of some of the worst smelling soap at my hands while my attention was being drawn to a tip jar. A suggestive dollar hung over its edge. Rummaging for change reminded me of an experience in Mexico that was downright blackmail. If you didn’t have any tissue of your own, you were at their mercy!

One last pass through the party. The boys were leaning way over cat calling to all the girls to "show us your tits"! Those needing to repent were telling those wanting them to, to mind their own business. A girl's mechanical legs looked destined to swing in and out of Big Daddy's window for eternity. Novelty shops brightly advertised the voodoo and masks and vampire blood and boas. The music was down right energizing!

Next morning at breakfast, the chatter spanned beyond Bourbon Street.

You can gamble at Harrah's. It's right up the street from the Marriott. In fact, one of the instructors at the convention had been there and won $15,000 on a penny slot! What?! Apparently, if you play all options, it costs $4.00 to "pull the arm". That might be 400 pennies, but the potential is 1,500,000 of them! While he was waiting for his money, he hit a bonus $900 on another penny slot machine! Unbelievable.

A movie is currently being filmed right outside the Marriott on Canal Street. The production crew would block off the road and send a trolley down the stretch with people waving and screaming for no apparent reason. 12 Rounds is currently the name of it. My husband is sure that he was captured crossing the street at the perfect time and is destined to be a superstar.

The conference sponsors came to New Orleans to help stimulate the economy. Touched by the people, their culture, and recent plight, they embraced a local high school; contributing heavily to their lives and their education. It was a moving and soulful demonstration of extended community.

A late comer to breakfast found a seat next to me. I turned to look and smiled broadly as I recognized her as the girl with the great tits.

Phew! At least it wasn't me this time!

Skunked!

If you've ever flown, you have an airline story. If you've tried to fly these last couple weeks, you have horror stories of being left stranded for hours when Skybus chose to drop out of the race without notice, or the FAA decided to crack down for real on MD80 planes that had ties spaced 1/4" too far apart around some wires warranting failed inspections.

I've been fortunate enough to have a job that has had the fringe benefit of travel. I've been places I may never have ventured to on my own. Chicago is definitely my kind of town! Vancouver is an unbelievable experience. You can't vacation better than Los Cabos, Mexico where I celebrated my 50th birthday drinking Sammy Hagar's tequila in Sammy Hagar's bar, Cabo Wabo!

After a 15 year hiatus, my husband, Brian, and I returned to New Orleans for an extended business weekend.

The trip down went without a hitch. I try hard to listen and watch as the stewardess' drone on about passenger rules and regulations while using visual instructions to show how to buckle and unbuckle a seat belt. Definitely, you cannot smoke on a plane. Who doesn't know that? No matter where you are, you can no longer smoke unless specifically designated. Not my rule, but one the federal government is expected to enforce. And enforce they will if you smoke on a plane; especially if you try to put your cigarette out in the restroom's trash compartment forcing the stewardess to extinguish the fire that is ignited. I recall wondering who in the world would attempt to smoke in a plane this day and age. Well, I don't know who it is, but heard a first hand account of someone who's plane was forced down due to these very circumstances. Everyone suffered from it with a whopping 18 hour delay to their destination. Now, that's a bad day; though a great travel tale!

But, back to my adventure. On the way home from a terrific time in New Orleans (A Little "Big Easy"), there were three of us traveling together. We were informed that New Orleans still had staffing problems so we needed to be 3 hours early to get processed. Within 30 minutes of our arrival, we were sitting at our gate already informed that though our plane to Memphis was on time, we'd be delayed an hour for the final leg to Columbus. Two hours plus was left at our disposal. Our traveling companion, Tim, used that time to identify a suspicious character and scope out his activities. I preferred to slink down in my seat and catch up on emails. I did see the gentleman in question on the plane though as I was boarding. Dark, sinister eyes looked hard into mine. Tim had gotten to me!

Once in Memphis we were elated to see that our connecting flight was not delayed after all! We scurried through the unusually quiet halls of an airport to our new gate. A few minutes before we were to board is when it began. First the expected 40 minute delay, then another hour. More disconcerting than the detainments was when the customer service agent asked "Does anyone see any planes in the air?" And in her next breath our flight was cancelled altogether.

They drove their herd of commuters to various customer service counters to discuss available options. Separated from Tim, we were finally being helped by a young lady who immediately informed us, without a smile, that she was not clocked in and only stopped to help. Tim flew by hollering that he'd just gotten booked on a plane taking off in a few minutes to Columbus via Cincinnati. Excited, I asked our agent if we, too, could get on that flight. After a few precious minutes of silence except for the occasional tapping of keys, I inquired what our odds were. She could get us from here to Cincinnati, but not on to Columbus. Disappointed, I asked what's next. Well, come to find out we had already been booked by another agent for a new flight. I was going direct to Columbus, while Brian detoured through Detroit. "That's not good," I said (surely with exasperation). "We need to travel together." And perhaps with just a bit more frustration, I might have accusatorily asked "Who would separate us?" This merely elicited the story that she was not clocked in but had merely stopped by to help. She transferred me to the Detroit agenda and printed off our tickets just as Tim was back to say that the miracle flight he had gotten had left the gate before he could breathlessly arrive. The agent next to us sympathized immediately and re-ticketed him on our flight. "First Class!" he exclaimed with glee. Heading to our new gate together, I looked at our tickets. Heck, Brian was in first class also! Cool, but wait! What's this? Row 18? Our teller knew full well Brian and I were husband and wife! Even though the seat was obviously available for Tim, she blatantly chose to keep us apart.

I told the agent at the new gate what had happened. She chuckled and said she would see what she could do. We settled in for another wait. There was one announcement only about the threat level of the airline sector being Orange. Brian and I quietly discussed whether that was new or if it had been orange for a long time. Maybe we always just heard when it turned orange which is High but not when it lowered. We were already uncomfortable because of the suspicious character earlier in the day.

I sat first class with Brian on the way to Detroit. Just being on the move was the true highlight here. Did it mean we would be home any sooner? Even though we flew over and bypassed Columbus to get to Detroit, we were now only a 4 hour drive instead of an 8 hour drive should we need to change our plans. Take 2 through another series of delays. Meantime I inquired at the counter about the seating arrangements for the last leg home. The agent said she could move us together in the back of the bus (I'm now in row 25) but there was nothing up front. I decided to let Brian stay in first class for his comfort. It was a short ride.

Last to board, I was taken aback to see my 2 travel companions sitting with no one next to them. In fact, there were 8 seats open in first class. I just shook my head. Really now, what was the point?

It was noted in the paper a day or so later that enhanced security had been put into place that day we returned when pipe bombs were found on an arriving gentleman passenger in Florida. This served to cause a ripple throughout the airline schedules.

I might have said at the time that I had been skunked by the customer service agent who wasn't clocked in. But, yesterday, my dog decided to sniff the derrière of a real live skunk. I've a whole new respect for the terminology.

Like I said though, everyone who has ever flown has a story to tell.

Music City

Music City! Nashville, Tennessee! I love traveling and discovering the world first hand. I’m not a country and western kind of gal and Brian just isn’t that kind of guy; but, they tricked us and we had ourselves a ball!

We drove down to the Gaylord Opryland on the finest of March days. Clear and sunshiny with a crispness in the air that hollered spring is hovering near! Just around dusk we arrived at Gaylord Opryland. This facility is the largest hotel and conference accommodation in the world. Relative to registration, our temporary residence was half way around it, up a few floors and down a couple more hallways. (Next time we plan to use a bell hop for our luggage.)

What a fabulous room! We grabbed some quiet time, freshened up and headed outside to explore the Grand Ole Opry only to discover it was closed.

Instead, we explored the hotel until we came across and settled in the Jack Daniel’s bar. Lively music was the draw. Country and Western? That’s Neil Diamond. And that’s Stevie Ray Vaughn. I didn’t know they were considered country and western. Brian said he had known all along. (This coming from the man who told me every Waffle House restaurant we passed on the way to Nashville was closed.) Nonetheless, this was toe tappin’, knee slappin’, hootin’ and hollerin’, down home music and we were having a great time!

Adding to the excitement was when the lead singer introduced the pianist, Jim. Jim had worked with Roy Orbison for eight years. I adored Roy Orbinson. Not just because of his music, but because he bridged a simple gap between me and my dad. Rarely had we agreed on ‘today’s’ music. 'Mystery Girl' though (Roy’s last solo album) was shared and enjoyed by us both.

I was so enthralled, I actually gathered enough courage to walk up and shake Jim’s hand. He came over and had a beer while relating personal tidbits from touring with Roy and identifying tracks he contributed to on albums. He remembered the excitement when Roy announced the formation of The Traveling Wilburys. Time was up; but, before Jim returned to his bench, he informed us that he would be playing the following night with a different group; an even better band. How could that be?

Dinner that next night was downtown Nashville at the Wild Horse Saloon. Posed horses took on human personalities intertwined with the tables and railings while a wild horse stampede finale was orchestrated upside down across the ceiling. Line dancing was being taught so most of our group joined in to learn and dance the night away.

Upon our return to the hotel, we were still curious about the promise of better music than the night before. We hit the Jack Daniels bar during the band’s first break. We waved at Jim and settled in for a nightcap. The music commenced and it swept us away; clapping, stomping and singing loud. This was one fine combo of musicians (notches above the last) and the night played on!

Heading back home, Brian and I broached the quality of music we were so thrilled to be a part of. His thought was “This is Nashville, Teri; Music City. The worst band here is probably better than the best one back home.” I didn’t argue.

Written By Teri Lee
March, 2004

Aspiring To Be Mary

Brian and I were young in our relationship and thrilled to be able to go on a company cruise to the Bahamas! It was a true adventure as neither of us had ever been on such a luxurious and exciting vacation!

One afternoon we were basking in the warmth of the near equatorial sun at an open market area. Our ship was docked for supplies and we had a couple hours to devour more of this laid back culture. We enjoyed sitting lazily with one eye on each other and the other skimming the crowd.

You see a lot of different kinds of people milling about and blending in; but, one woman caught my attention. She was tall and big waisted and wearing a belt to accentuate it. She looked fine, but it bothered me. It was certainly something I would never feel comfortable doing with my similar thick, pillar-like waist area. I figured her for at least 60 as I continued my scan. Ouch! Another fashion blunder; knee highs rolling down her calves. I was shaking my head when her tall, handsome husband lumbered over to bring her to meet us. I had missed his presence. It was newly acquainted Bob from work. As the couple approached though, I realized something else that wasn’t quite right; his wife’s glasses. Sunglasses? No wait, not just sunglasses; she had her regular prescription glasses on underneath! My initial fear was that I would gawk and giggle. But, I quickly sobered up as I realized what a delightful woman Mary was. In addition, it was apparent during our brief conversation that Bob was still crazy in love with her after 40 years of marriage!

I may have been 30 years old then. I have just turned 50. It’s crossed my mind more than once that I’ve failed to jot down the first note about this aging milestone in my life. It hasn’t been sad or traumatic. But, I’ve had this feeling inside….okay, I’ve had many and often violently conflicting feelings inside. The most predominant one has been a strong need to finally be undisturbed by the constant nagging of satisfying everyone around me! Exhaustion overtakes me just thinking about it!

It wasn’t until my mind traveled back to this brief encounter that I realized its true life value. The vision of hefty Mary and her double glasses and those hose rolling down her legs suddenly made my most grandiose wish the ability to walk through the rest of my days as uninhibited and comfortable with myself as this enjoyable woman surely was!

People encourage how important it is to do the right things for your self without concern for how others might perceive them. I think I’m ready. I want to be just like Mary!

Written By Teri Lee
March, 2005

A Challenge Unanswered

At the age of 19, I rode across the United States with a couple of girlfriends. One memorable stretch of road traveling through Colorado held me captive; a lone mountain reaching high into the bluest sky I could ever have imagined. I was transfixed. I gazed in awe toward that mountain. The splendor of its mere presence overwhelmed me! Inside I had a sense that this was my mountain and that it was calling to me. I wanted to run to the base and climb it to the top! I wanted to twirl around and sing the Sound of Music. “The hills are alive!”

It was a clean, wholesome aspiration; one that I’ve revisited in my mind many times since.

Twenty years later…A group of us arrived at the Tucson El Conquistador Hotel mid-afternoon. We checked in and after a quick freshening up period, I began absorbing my new environment. Columbus, OH is settled on flat land. I still held lingering memories of plush green lawns accented by the beautiful foliage of autumn. Here in Arizona, the brush sets delicately against a sandy terrain. Pine trees and palms towered alongside dry river beds, though the majesty of the mountains swore to fill them to the brim with the melting of the winter’s snows. I liked it.

The El Conquistador was built at the bottom of one such set of mountains; a spectacular view regardless of your perspective. I pulled up a chair next to one of my co-workers. Neither of us visually acknowledged anything but that mountain. He finally spoke.

“Do you suppose it’s me or does everyone who looks upon it feel a strong urge to climb it?”

I certainly felt it; that old familiar hankering to make that mountain mine. I was dressed for the welcome reception but decided to explore the possibilities of realizing this seemingly ancient dream. I moved toward it. New construction along the back of the hotel provided access a short distance above the hotel, but the trail ended at a water tower. The Saguaros were tall and mighty - unburdened by the wood pecked holes and desert animals hidden well within them. A yellow flowered bush reminded me of a picture captioned “snake weed”. It looked to me that it might be called that because of the low bushy lay of it. It further looked to me like a good place for a snake to hide out from the sun and a good place for me to avoid!

I stood in the middle of the path and looked up. It didn’t look that tough! It’s not that far to what I assumed would be called the brush line and if I could just get there, I would be a satisfied woman.

At the welcome reception, conversation indeed turned to climbing that mountain.

“You wouldn’t catch me in those hills! A lot of rattlers around here.”

“You better have a good pair of boots to wear.”

“The scorpions might sting you but you’re only sick for a while”.

The following day was filled with meetings, a hoe down, and a headache that allowed “mountain climbing” to settle far to the bottom of my list of “to do’s”.

Our third day was the free day. Breakfast broke up at 8am. I went back to my room to retrieve my camera. Slowly, without allowing much thought, I headed upwards to my destiny. Within minutes, I stood at the now familiar water tower surveying the land I was about to approach.

There seemed to be a way; just climb those rocks. What had they said about snakes under the rocks? The path was narrow and there was that snake weed again. I became acutely alert looking for any kind of movement indicating desert animal; friend or foe.

I stepped up onto the rocks and jumped down to the sandy terrain. I immediately huddled close to myself frantically jerking my head around in search of danger.

Overpowering anxiety; afraid and frozen!

“This is crazy! What do I fear but the talk of those who stayed behind? I can go on.” And I did. I forked to the right still careful not to touch anything around me, eyes darting in every direction. More rocks, more rocks with lots of nooks and crannies luring large families of snakes to rest in wait. In wait for what? A reprieve from the sun? Safety from the daylight? Unsuspecting tourists like me?

Suddenly I eyed the speeding stillness of an insect’s ability to flutter its wings beyond sight and yet remain motionless. It was the size of the common bumble bee known from my own backyard. Bee? No stripes. Killer bee? What did they look like? If they looked like a bumble bee with no stripes and could fly suspended, than this guy was probably just that! Twenty feet from the water tower and I flew back down to safety. I’m outta here! Back down the road; skipping so not to trip. I am done!

Safely from the rocks, I shook myself to relieve the rest of the tension. I began walking around the tower on my retreat down. I viewed the beautiful scenery but felt almost sick. I stopped. I slowly turned back. To my horror I gazed up to that brush line and felt peace. I looked away; bad. I looked again; good. Something, certainly not the conscious self I know, took one foot back toward the path and set me on my way. Tears were streaming down my face from at once realizing how deep rooted my fear of this journey was and discovering a sense within me that maybe I could overcome it.

I hurried through the familiar, on to the rocks guarded by the killer bee. The insect was unseen, though my anxiety was growing again.

I made my way quickly and more confidently to an opening perhaps 50 feet up. From there I could see the brush getting thicker but that didn’t bring the brush line much closer. I lingered for some time. Then, I descended.

Ten years has since passed since this trip to Tucson. I’ve never forgotten the fear nor my tears shed in conjunction with this vexing adventure. I’ve reflected on its meaning and understand it as the beginning of a journey to uncover new dimensions of my self. There were frustrating limitations I didn’t expect at all. The huge amount of fear interweaving in my life was brutally obvious.

I’ll be 50 in a couple of months. I’m still fearful (yet of fewer things) and still take cautious steps while wishing I was leaping lively and with vigor. Even so, I keep my hopes alive and my hunger for adventure awaits another chance for fresh discovery.

Written By Teri Lee
October, 1995
Final December 2005

The Man On The Plane

I can always rely on a good trip away from the norm to entice me to write. There is so much new information to take in and enjoy and relate to and analyze!

I just returned from a software convention in Orlando, Florida. I saw so many old friends and began the process of getting to know even more, but that isn’t really where today’s thoughts come from. In fact it’s not from business at all.

I finished reading a book, “The Bottoms” by Joe R. Lansdale, while I was in Orlando. The words rolled so smoothly and eloquently through the pages. The story captivated me from the beginning and I enjoyed every syllable thereafter. The story was told in the 1st person; the adult man in a nursing home perhaps 82 years old. What a tale he had to tell! The events surrounding a serial murderer where he lived from birth were relayed with amazing clarity. He took this reader back to Texas when he was 12. My mind followed it vividly. The closing of the book was so powerful with the old gentleman pining for that time in his life when such evil reigned with the good. At least he was living life back then and not drudging through each day at a home for the aged.

I thought of a woman I met several years ago while volunteering at a nursing home. She was 101 years old with still a sharp mind and reasonable health. I only met with her a few times, but she would tell me stories about how her daddy was in charge of laying out plans for the new railroad tracks across America. He forged his company and his family ever westward and often they found themselves to be the first white people seen by the natives. They would travel through the small villages establishing ties with its residents. What an adventurous life!

On the first leg of my flight home from the conference, I sat with a man 88 years old. He was clear, concise and interesting! He had been temporarily banished from his daughter’s home in Florida because of an impending hurricane (Ivan). His son lives in Columbia and he was traveling there so as not to be a worry to his daughter. He talked about how he occasionally now would lose a word during a conversation. (Trying to find words is such a constant effort for me at 49 I’d forgotten to think of it as something wrong.) He may have been more astutely aware of it because his wife had passed away 7 years ago with Alzheimer’s. He looked so sad telling me about the events leading to her death that tears came to my eyes. They had three children and had been together 57 years. “Fifty-seven years and it wasn’t nearly enough time,” he said, and I could sense the well of loneliness; so painfully sweet.

There is such a fast and deep relationship between the young and society's elders. The bond seems immediate and mutual. I felt that bond with the man on the plane and the lady in the nursing home and the man in “The Bottoms”. I feel there is something important to be communicated. Maybe that’s why Mr. Lansdale wrote that book. Maybe he feels it too.

Written By Teri Lee
September, 2004

The Beach - A Son's Perspective

Thick Layers of Blood Sucking Insects

May, 2004 Written by L at Age 12

Every year since I was just a little boy, my father told me that we would go camping in the summer, and every year since I was just a little boy, we have stayed home during the summer. In the summer after my sixth grade year at Brookside Elementary, my dad told me that we were going to go to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a camping trip.

Now for those of you who are not familiar with the Outer Banks, you must know that it is a beautiful place to look at from a distance. Let me attempt to describe it to you. Try to imagine living in a gigantic oven right next to the largest pool of water on the planet. You’re extremely thirsty and all you want to do is drink some of that water; but, you can’t because if you do, you’ll end up getting a large mouthful of salt. Now think about going inside your small tent (which is even hotter than outside) and being attacked by thousands of mosquitoes because one of the camp members never closed the tent flap.

Of course, when my dad told me we were going to the Outer Banks, I just kinda shrugged it off. Why would this year be any different than last year? I asked myself. After a while though, my mom started to get excited about going. “Oh, you’ll love it,” she told me. “Me and your dad used to go there all the time before you were born.”

Now I was starting to get excited. (I was told that it was a wonderful place to camp, I was not warned like you have been). So once everybody was packed and ready to go, we left home and headed out to North Carolina.

Part of camping is the trip to the campground, and lord forbid you fly to your destination! Oh, no my friends, you have to drive there. So now we have a 12 year old who’s just starting to rebel against his parents stuffed in the back seat of a Toyota Rav 4 being forced to listen to an Avril Lavigne CD over and over again. (I now have the ability to sing along with every song on her CD Let Go). As you can imagine this was not fun especially for ten straight hours.

Once we got there, it was pretty fun. The first thing we did was hit the beach. We had brought along a couple boogie boards so it was pretty hard not to have fun. So far we were having a great time until night came. I had heard stories of thick swarms of ravaging mosquitoes on the beach; but I had disregarded them. When we got back to our tent, we found that we had forgotten to close the flap. What we found inside was absolutely horrendous. The ceiling of the tent was lined with a thick layer of bloodsucking insects. It took us over an hour to completely rid the tent of the little beasts.

The next morning I decided I was going to go for an early stroll across the beach. I had no problem getting there because the beach was right behind the campsite. It was getting back that I had some problems with. There is a rule that you should follow when going to the beach. Always pick out a landmark to help you find your way back home. I did this. For my landmark I picked a sign that read

No Trucks On

Beach

Under Penalty of Law

It wasn’t until I had walked for about twenty minutes that I realized there was a sign that read

No Trucks On

Beach

Under Penalty of Law

about every twenty feet or so. So I ran back down the beach until I came to a place that looked like where I had come from. I walked over the hills that I was sure would lead me to my campsite. Well, instead of a campsite, I found myself in a field of odd looking flowers. I started to cross the field hoping it would lead me to some place of familiarity. Once I was half through, the field of flowers had grown so thick that I could not avoid stepping on them. After stepping on them, I really wished I hadn’t. They turned out to be small cacti.

So I pushed on down the field of cacti until I came to an outhouse. Not any outhouse; my camp’s outhouse. I started to leap for joy until I landed on another cactus, which pretty much just ruined the moment. I had finally made it back to the camp for another long night of mosquito killing.

The next day we went home. My parents were sad to leave but I was leaping (carefully) for joy.

To this day I refuse to do anything with my parents.

The Beach - A Mother's Perspective

I’m at the Oregon Inlet beach with my son, Logan, on the Outer Banks, North Carolina. He is surf fishing for the first time while I contemplate drawing the ocean. I’ve decided the waves are much too busy for my untrained eye-hand coordination to capture.

B brought me here about 18 years ago when we first met. Fresh love walked up and down the beach with us, romped in the sun with us, explored the Outer Banks with us. We camped a lot back then; weekends, holidays, vacations. We have scrapbooks and pictures of campsites with fishing tackle laid about. We jokingly titled our Oregon Inlet trips in B’s honor as Daniel Boone Goes to the Beach. It’s hard to believe that this is  Logan’s first camping trip with us at age 12-1/2.

As we walked the beach for the first time yesterday, we were looking for shells. (Okay, I was looking for shells.) Logan was loving the waves and merely biding time with me until he could swim and body surf again. As I picked up broken bits and pieces and an occasional half clam shell still in tact, there was a soft rap at my brain; some recollection trying to hone in. Yes, it was from before..when B and I walked the beaches picking up shells. All aspects of life together was special then; every encounter, every moment, every touch. Magic was all around us and in us. B and I walked through the waves day and night holding hands, talking about everything and nothing. And in the midst of all this magic was this feeling that the ocean held within it a most enchanted gift especially for me. My mind conjured up visions of mermaids and huge, beautiful conch shells. I was sure they would appear if I just looked at the right time and place. My eyes searched while my feet dredged the sand looking for a sign, a fleeting glimpse. Nothing ever came to light, but I never gave up hope. I knew they were there and when we left Oregon Inlet, that knowledge seemed to be enough.

So now I’m walking the beach again trying to recapture the essence of this feeling when “Mom! Mom! I saw a fish crawl out of the sand and run into the ocean!” and it hit me like a powerful wave. Out loud I laughed and asked for details. Inwardly, my body shook, my mind exploded and my eyes rapidly blinked back giant tears. There was no recapturing necessary. This was the right time and the right place to understand that reminiscent hint of my most enchanted gift.

Written by Teri Lee
Summer 2002