Fighting MS Again!

Hey, all! After a year’s break, I’ve again decided to sign up for the MS 150 this year. And, this time, I’m going to participate in the Great Lakes West Michigan Breakaway Ride–a ride that I’ve considered doing in the past for a change of pace. I’m so excited to be participating for the 10th time in an MS ride (8x on Bike To The Bay, 1x on Colorado’s Great West MS 150). As you know, this cause is very important to me because my grandpa H had MS. If you feel so inclined, please feel free to donate to my effort–I’d really appreciate it.

So I’ve also persuaded Crow to join me. And my friend Sue from the ABC will also be participating. I’m so excited to do an MS 150 in the company of good friends. I’ve never cycled in Michigan so that will be a new experience. The ride sounds beautiful, following the Lake Michigan at points, and it’s listed as not being particularly hard. I think Crow is going to keep me tapped down to the normal 75-mile/day route. He’s already proving to be great temperance to my aggressive “do-it-all” mileage Nazism.

Although, my hand is currently hovering over the registration button for Calvin’s Challenge. There’s a big ABC contingent going there this year… And while I was going to wait until the weekend before to determine my participation based on the weather and my level of training at that point, I’m now seriously considering preregistering. Peer pressure works.

I know I have to be careful now that I know about the arthritis. So if I signed up for Calvin’s, I’d have to make a serious commitment to pre-season training, no matter what the weather is like. I hate rain. And we’ve had so much rain this season.

I’m taking glucosamine now. I’ve heard it helps with some of the joint problems associated with arthritis. I know that it’s not the cure to my problems, but it should help some. I still have to be careful when training. And I’ll need to resume my stretches. Hopefully, I’ve learned something from last year and I don’t overdo it. I still want to be able to challenge myself, though. 180 miles on Calvin’s would be my goal. You gotta start off small, after all.

Well, at least for the MS 150, I’ll just be taking my own sweet time. Crow is wonderful to ride with in that we are both of the same tourist mindset–it’s about the journey, not the destination. So I imagine we’ll be stopping to take pictures when the scenery inspires us to do so. I love signing up for new rides… unexpected adventures await…  And I love it when I have no idea what to expect. The best adventures are those you can’t even possibly anticipate.

Lemons To Lemonade

First off, I have to say that I don’t particularly like the phrase, “If life throws you lemons, make lemonade.” It’s a little overly sappy sweet for my disposition. However, in the case of New Year’s weekend 2011-12, I have to admit that it applies. I’m also reminded of the phrase, “The best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry.”

As my avid readers know, I spent New Year’s weekend at Holiday Valley ski resort the last several years. This year, I decided to do something different since Crow is not the downhill skier that I am and I wanted to be sure we went somewhere where there were activities both of us could do. So we booked a room with my fellow bike club members at the Wilderness Lodge in Wattsburg, Pennsylvania where there are many cross-country skiing trails. I’ve never cross-country skied before, but I’m fairly confident that I wouldn’t have much trouble learning this activity and since the Wilderness Lodge offered rental cross-country skis, I was ready and willing to try it.

This winter, however, has been slow at starting. We had no snow (except an occasional dusting) all December. No white Christmas. Nothing.

I’ve been depressed because last year I started skiing at Boston Mills the first weekend in December. Each day that Boston Mills is not open is money wasted on my season pass. I was forced to get a gym membership so that I could regularly work out somewhere since not only was it not snowing, it was raining almost daily which does not exactly invite me to partake in outdoor activity of any kind.

So, of course, when we arrived at the Wilderness Lodge on Friday (in the rain), we were a bit glum because it didn’t seem it was going to be possible to ski at all. Or do other snow activity. It was simply not cold enough for snow to occur, but we kept checking the weather in hopes that a big blizzard was on its way. Of course, we woke to more gray skis and dreariness on Saturday (New Year’s Eve).

Crow and I decided to act like tourists instead. We knew we had wanted to visit our favorite brewery–Southern Tier–since we were in the area. We originally planned it hit it on Sunday (New Year’s Day), which would mean just sitting in the little pub attached to the factory to have a few drinks. Tours of the brewery are only offered on Saturday, however, so we didn’t think we’d be able to get to do the tour this trip. However, since the weather wasn’t cooperating, we decided to hit the 3:00 tour on Saturday. To kill time, we decided to check out the Chautauqua Institute.

A wintery Lake Chautauqua.

I thought that the Chautauqua Institute was just a building where a lot of lectures took place. I did not realize that the “Institute” was the whole town itself. And the town was inside gates with a few entry points. It was a bit weird. Crow said it reminded him of Stepford from the movie The Stepford Wives. I think he had a point.

The mansion at Chautauqua. (Sorry that I can't remember who owns it!)

Fortunately, in the off-season, entry into Chautauqua is free. So we drove in, parked, and walked around admiring the architecture of the buildings and houses. We walked to the lakefront and through a park. The whole town was empty, which seemed a bit creepy, but given the dreary weather even the people who stayed over the winter probably preferred to stay indoors. It actually kind of reminded me of a college town between semesters–a perfect, clean little community absent of the usual hustle and bustle of people that define it.

A winding road in Chautauqua.

We were heading back to the main square when saw two horse-drawn carriages and some people loading onto them. Crow asked the guys who looked like they were in charge if the rides were for a special event, but it turns out that anyone could go! Crow asked if I wanted to, and I most certainly did, so we bought tickets and climbed aboard! What grand luck!

A sleigh ride at Chautauqua!

The ride took us on a tour of the northern part of town. The driver pointed out various buildings and mansions owned by famous people in Chautauqua that I guess I should have known had I known much about the Chautauqua Institution. Aside from the mansions and beautiful lakefront homes, Chautauqua really did remind me of a college town with its dorms, theatres, and various subject-focused buildings (music, art, etc). To be honest, I just enjoyed being on a vehicle pulled by horses. Even if it wasn’t through snow.

Mars Girl on sleigh ride at Chautauqua.

Crow on sleigh ride at Chautauqua.

After the tour, we decided to head out to Southern Tier as the website advised arriving early for the tour because there were only 25 spots available and it fills up fast. It’s a good thing we happened to arrive about ten minutes before the brewery opened at 2:00 because when we got there, people were already lining up to get in. We were about six and seven in line; by the time the Southern Tier employees opened the doors, there were at least 20 people behind us with more filing out of cars. We were able to secure our places on the tour and, about five minutes later, the tour–still an hour from start–was full!

The many Southern Tier brews on tap in The Empty Pint.

The Empty Pint–which is the small pub attached to the brewery–was packed with people. We were really impressed by the popularity of the place. We settled down with a pulled pork sandwich and a glass of the chocolate stout–a brew we discovered only recently on tap at a pub in Perrysburg just this past November. Southern Tier’s chocolate stout is undeniably the Best. Beer. Ever. I thought I loved their Pumking (the pumpkin ale available from August through October), but this chocolate (Choklat) blows every beer I’ve ever tasted out of the water. It’s that good.

The Empty Pint at Southern Tier--a nice place to enjoy a pulled pork sandwich and a good beer.

At 11% alcohol content, it was a rather heavy beer to start with knowing that we would likely be sampling beer on the tour, but I just couldn’t resist. It’s impossible to find Choklat in bottles in Ohio, let alone having the rare access to a tap. We joyfully noted, too, that there were bottles of Choklat in the gift area of the pub. Oh, we were so grabbing a few bottles on the way out! Among other things. And some swag.

The tour was exactly what we expected: lots of sampling followed by some explanation of the brewing process. We were taken immediately to a small stand that contained taps for Southern Tier’s IPA, 2x IPA (a favorite of mine!), the new 2x Stout, the experimental barrel aged Pumking, and–of course–the chocolate stout. The tour guide started us in order of the alcohol content. He filled a pitcher with 2X IPA, and then handed to one side of the group to pour and pass around. Of course, I had a glass, but was probably one of the few to obey the rule of the fill line on my glass. I knew I loved the 2x IPA. I skipped the regular IPA when it went around–how could anything compete with the 2x IPA? It would just be less hoppy, less flavorful. And, to be honest, I didn’t want to get too toasted. Plus, there were some beers in the pub I still wanted to try that weren’t on the tour.

Our taps on the tour of Southern Tier. Mmm. Beer.

The oak aged Pumking was good, but not as creamy and sugary as the regular Pumking. I prefer my oak aged beers to be heavy like a porter or a stout. The 2x Stout (a milk stout) was outstanding. Not as good as the chocolate stout, mind you, but that’s like comparing apples to grapefruit, really.

We gawked longingly at some kegs in the storage room. We giggled at a person on the tour who asked if Southern Tier put any of their beers in cans. (Cans? Really? Hello! This is not Yuengling or Budweiser you’re touring here! Bleck!) It was a pretty good time!

Afterwards, despite being a little toasty, Crow and I headed to the bar to try the new Eurotrash Pilsner and the Inequity Imperial Black Ale. I liked the Pilsner a lot–it tasted like summer with hints of citris. The Inequity was interesting–somewhat like an IPA yet deceptively dark. I’m not sure it’s something I would active seek out in the future, but it was worth trying. I kind of felt this way about Southern Tier’s winter brew–Old Man Winter. It was “eh” and kind of disappointing. Hey, you can’t win them all with me!

Drinks at Southern Tier!

At home I have bottles of Southern Tier’s Oatmeal Stout and their Mokah Stout (which is a combination of chocolate and coffee flavors) that I yet to try. They also have a Jav*ah (coffee) Stout that I see everywhere but have not yet bought. I’m pretty confident I will like those. Their Creme Brulee Stout is out of this world good, but has to be shared with others when the 22oz bottle is opened or else you will pass out before finishing the bottle due to sugar and alcohol overload. Anyway, given all the beers I have tried by Southern Tier, I’d say they have a pretty good track record with me. Which is why, I think, Crow and I love Southern Tier so much.

So, yeah, we bought the swag–a blue hoodie for each of us. I got a girlie Pumpkin t-shirt to wear when I’ve lost my winter weight. We absconded six bottles of Choklat, nearly emptying the shelf of that flavor. At $6.59/per bottle (22oz), you can’t really complain; 22oz bottles of any high quality beer such as this is typically 8.99 or more back home. We also built our own six pack of 12oz bottles, getting two each of 2x IPA, 2x Stout; one each of the Porterand the 422 Pale Wheat Ale (both of which we’d previously had and liked). It was an expensive trip out but well worth it.

Mars Girl poses in front of the exulted Southern Tier sign. Four hours after entering the brewery. In daylight.

Crow poses in front of the Southern Tier sign. A dream fulfilled!

Our adventure at Southern Tier (where we figured out that we had spent 4 hours!) left us really in such a state of inebriation that we pretty much were done drinking for the rest of the evening except to take the champagne toast at midnight with our friends outside of the Wilderness Lodge.

It was a pretty relaxed way to bring in the New Year as compared to my past several years watching fireworks and screaming the countdown with fellow skiers at the main lodge at Holiday Valley. But it was probably one of the best New Year’s celebrations in a long time because I brought in the new year with a new(ish) relationship. At midnight, Crow placed my first kiss of the year on lips. 2012 is already looking quite bright!

Sunday morning we had a glimmer of hope as we awoke to see sunlight streaming out of the bedroom window. However, by the time we were dressed and sitting at the lodge’s main room ordering breakfast, the clouds had returned with a heavy downpour. Our friends started packing up and leaving to return home. We were still waffling over whether or not we should attempt to go skiing at Peek N Peak and continue with our original plan to stay a night in Jamestown (which I originally set up so that we could visit Southern Tier at the end of a weekend of skiing). We ultimately decided that there wasn’t a lot to do in Jamestown (there really isn’t unless you really like Dezi Arnez and Lucille Ball) so we canceled the hotel room I had booked and headed out.

We went to Peek N Peak, since it was so close to the Wilderness Lodge, just to check out the conditions. As suspected, it was pretty horrible–sloshy mud and green grass at the bottom of every run, patches of brown spotting most of the slopes. I could tell that the snow was very wet by listening to the noise made by the few intrepid skiers who were making their way down. We decided wisely to not ski and then stopped to have lunch at the Italian place I like in one of the lodges.

It was on our way out, however, that we spotted an ad on the wall for Splash Lagoon (which seems to be owned by the same company that owns Peek N Peak). Crow and I had been wanting to visit an indoor water park this winter. We had nothing else to do. Why not?!

Splash Lagoon is in Erie, PA, about a half hour’s drive from where we were. We decided we’d just go up to one of the three hotels attached to the indoor water park and see if they had an vacancies. We were in luck; they all did! So we booked a room at the Residence Inn and excitedly planned that we would spend Monday at the resort.

Fortunately, I always bring my swimsuit whenever I go somewhere on the off-chance that where ever I’m staying will have a hot tub or pool. Crow, who is usually prepared for everything, actually did not bring swim trunks! But there was a Target up the road and he was able to get pair. We spent some time availing ourselves of the hotel’s pool and hot tub on Sunday night.

We entered Splash Lagoon around 11am on Monday and we did not leave until 6pm. It was the most fun I’ve had in the water in a long time! There were tons of water activities–hot tubs, a wave pool, fountains–but the water slides were the most fun. To be honest, I’ve never actually been on any water slides minus maybe a few simple ones occasionally in the rare instances as a child that I went to a public pool. We had a pool in our backyard, so we never really had to go anywhere else except on vacation which was usually a campground. So this was an entirely new experience for me. And I went for it fearlessly. Pretty much!

The first slides we tried were the ones for which you had to use an innertube. In a way, those were the most fun because Crow and I could use one of the “two-seaters” and ride together. Bravery in numbers! One by one, we picked off slides called Big Kahuna, Cyclone (most fun!), and Python Plunge (second best). The Cyclone was unique in that after swooshing quickly down a twisting tube, you landed unceremoniously into what basically amounted to a big bowl (I kept thinking of it as a “toilet bowl”) where you swirled around the sides, then the middle, until you were sucked down a hole into the last shoot that thrust you to the finish in a shallow pool. Several times, we ended up in the last shoot backwards–an extra thrill!

We tried the body slides next. These were extra scary because you went by yourself and you had nothing to hang onto except your own body. Which helped not one bit. Because I had no idea what any of these slides entailed, I was basically dropping myself into a tube and hoping for the best. The best–and scariest–of the body slides was Hurricane Hole. Signs at the top of the slide warn that riders will be dropped into 6.5 feet of water and must know how to swim. “No problem!” I thought. I couldn’t possibly have imagined what was in store for me.

Like Cyclone, Hurricane Hole starts with a series of twisted tubes that shoots you into a big bowl. I will note, though, that the beginning of Hurricane Hole is a longer, faster drop into that bowl. And, secondly, it’s in the dark. Having no idea where you’re going, you become completely disoriented before you are thrown into the bowl. I can’t tell you how many times I actually had my eyes closed during the first part of the slide, only to open them and realize I was in the bowl headed for…

…a great big HOLE at the bottom. No last slide. No casually spinning around like the swishing water of a vortex slowly around the hole. Nope. You slide maybe once or twice around the side of the bowl. And then, suddenly, your whole body is headed straight for a big hole at the bottom. There’s no stopping yourself because before you know what’s happening to you, you are dumped out and into a small six foot pool. You end up submerged, of course, and when you peek your head up, you have no clue which direction is OUT of the pool until the nice little lifeguard blows his whistle.

What a freaking blast!! I must have rode Hurricane Hole at least ten times and it still scared the piss out of me every time. And no matter how I feel into the hole (back first, head first, stomach), it never hurt to hit the water. The distance between the hole you fall through and water beneath is really short so I think that softens the blow.

Black Hole was another great body slide. It was much shorter than the other slides, but it was also completely dark inside so that you had no idea where you were going and it had a many twists and turns that thrust you a long at a pretty fast speed. I was a little annoyed by Shark Attack because for some reason, I slowed down significantly in the final part of it and I would always end up stopping just short of the end of the tube so that I had to crawl out to the pool. I don’t understand why that kept happening; when Crow came through it, he was thrust out easily. (And before you even mention it, I weigh more than Crow does so it has nothing to do with weight!)

We really had an awesome time. It was hard to get ourselves to leave the park. Our last several runs down the slide were prefaced by the promise that we were only going to ride one more. Ha! Crow is just like me in this regard; on the ski slope, I’m always claiming I’m on my last run for at least five runs. I never want to stop. Only two things were prompting us to leave: 1) We had a two hour drive home in snow (it was finally snowing out!), and 2) The chlorine was seriously starting to bother both our lungs (mine especially being that I have asthma).

Crow and I both agreed we need to do another water park in the future. It’s a great winter escape from the cold and usual activities. I like that we so readily adopted new plans when our original ones failed. We still had a great weekend. And that’s all that matters.

(PS, I apologize for the severe lack of photographic evidence of our trip to Splash Lagoon. Had I realized my camera–borrowed from Crow–was waterproof, I’d have taken it into the water park. We really were there. We have the detailed schematics of each slide etched into our brains to prove it. And the chronic smell of chlorine still in our nostrils.)

Santa Claus

I was crushed when I was told, in 3rd grade, that Santa Claus was not real. I wasn’t ready for that information. Some older boys down the street from me cruelly planted the idea in my head on a walk home from school.

“Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

“Do you believe in the Easter Bunny?”

“Do you believe in the Tooth Fairy?” they demanded amidst knowing, malicious snickers.

I shook my head confidently after each question. I was no fool.

“It’s your mom!” the boys exclaimed after each question in a voice that mocked my confidence.

Still, I refused to believe it. I’d thought I’d seen the light of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer’s nose in the night. I’d sworn I’d awoken to the bells of Santa’s sleigh in the dark of the early hours of Christmas morning. I used to panic on the way home from my Grandma H’s on Christmas Eve night, afraid that Santa would come to our house and, since we weren’t sleeping, would pass us by. I think my parents used to threaten us with that very scenario to get us to go to bed immediately when we got home. It worked. I would pull the covers over my head and make myself fall asleep no matter how excited I was.

It never once occurred to me that Santa Claus–or any of the other magical entities of holidays and lost teeth–were not real. It seemed absurd that my mom and dad would fool us by telling us about Santa Claus, and then placing the gifts under the tree themselves posing as Santa. I had never even hypothesized such a scenario.

Still, I asked my mom. And she told me the truth. All of it.

I cried. Hard. The tears burned my face and my heart throbbed in utter disappointment. I did not want this knowledge. I was not ready for this knowledge. I liked to believe in magic. And now the magic was gone. I’m pretty sure that that’s about the time that my faith in all magic started to disintegrate… The downward spiral away from God, religion, an afterlife that permeated my adolescent and early adult years. It was a little death in my heart.

My brother walked into the room after my mom regretfully told me the truth about Santa. She had told me that I had to keep pretending about Santa because my brother was still younger and believed. I didn’t want to ruin it for him too, now did I? She tried to put a positive spin on this “coming of age moment” by telling me that it was now my responsibility to help her keep up the fun for my brother until he was ready to learn the truth.

My brother wondered why I was crying. I suddenly felt very sympathetic towards him–he still believed in the magic that I now knew was not real–and I wished I could be in his place. I put my arms around him, hugged him tight. My mom grimaced, afraid I might let out the secret like those idiot boys down the street had done. But no. I was not about to ruin anyone else’s fun. I hugged my brother right and asked him what he wanted Santa to bring him this year. Even though I think it was early spring at the time, not Christmas time at all. I wanted to believe the words myself. Maybe if I pretended, it could still be real.

I don’t know when my brother learned the truth about Santa. But I kept up the spirit for years until “Santa Claus” stopped appearing in the From spot on the present tags. And when my brother stopped hurrying to bed on Christmas Eve night, I knew he knew. But we never discussed it. I’m pretty sure he probably took it better than I did. I’ve always been the one with the wild imagination, the one who liked to pretend, the one unable to accept reality even in the face of it.

I was reminded of this story a few nights ago when I watched the movie The Polar Express for the first time. In the scene where the little boy finds the bell that falls from Santa’s sleigh, and he hears it ringing as he picks it up, I started crying. I was really surprised by my reaction. I’ve cried in movies before–most recently, during any movie involving the death of a character as my widow senses always tingle with all-too-real memory to augment any fiction–but never before have I cried the kind of tears that pushed themselves from my eyes when I watched that movie.

I felt my heart swell with a sort of melancholic relief because the little boy in the movie finds proof that Santa is real. Because I want to believe that Santa is real. I could feel the words forming in my head even as the boy said them, “I believe! I believe in Santa Claus.” And at the same time, the adult me who knows that Santa isn’t real felt a sort of sympathy with the character, similar to the way I felt when I knew my brother still believed in Santa and I’d been told the truth.

The tears just kept coming. My face was wet and I was embarrassed. I hurriedly tried to wipe them away before Crow could see them, but he caught them anyway. “It’s okay,” he said. But I still felt a little stupid.

It’s a beautiful movie, really. We rewatched it again last night and the same thing happened. I just couldn’t control the tears. Some little girl inside me relates to this movie. She still wants to believe. She wants to completely accept the premise of the movie. She is found in the spirit of those characters.

My eyes remained wet through the remaining scenes of the movie, as these incredibly cute and realistic-looking children emoted about their experiences, said their goodbyes, and returned to normal life after their visit to the North Pole. I felt sorry for the little boy’s parents on Christmas morning because they could not hear the bell and thought it was broken. I knew I was like the parents. But I wanted to be like the little boy and his sister who could hear the bell and knew it was not broken.

In the end, the boy narrates that each of his friends stopped hearing the bell as they grew up… but that he always heard the bell for the rest of his life because of his experience at the North Pole. He never stopped believing. The tears flooded from my eyes again. I couldn’t stop them. I believe! I believe! a little voice in my head kept shouting. A little piece of my heart that was broken suddenly felt fixed. If you believe in anything enough, could it then come true?

Oh, how I wish… Oh, how I hope…

Merry X (terminate)-Mas!

"Exterminate!" shouts George.

It’s a cute little Dalek and I’m calling him George. He rolls around my desk and says, “Exterminate!” when he bumps into objects. Crow gave him to me for Christmas. My coworkers are less thrilled with him than I am.

Can’t anyone appreciate at genocide-wreaking genetically engineered mutant cyborg that slightly resembles a garbage can?

I hope your holiday was nice… Mine was a little different for a change. I guess it’s time to start some new traditions. This trial run was a little rocky, but it turned out all right. I think I drank too much on Christmas day–had two and a half Christmas ales with my dad (Great Lakes and 12 Dogs) and a stout. I spent all day yesterday battling a little bit of vertigo and nausea. I’m certainly getting old; can’t hold my liquor anymore!

I got a lot of great gifts and now I’m feeling a bit guilty, like I spent less on everyone else than they did on me. I don’t know what I did to deserve such lavish gifts from everyone, but thanks a million, all (and there was more than one of you). I guess I’ll have to be extra kind in 2012 and also remember the kindness next Christmas. I always thought myself pretty generous when it comes to gift-giving, but some of my friends and family have proven themselves even more generous than me! I love all my gifts, though–not a single returnable item among them!

So now the brief interlude/return to normal life for three days until my New Year’s mini-vacation. I had spectacular 2011. I can’t imagine 2012 being better. (It’s an election year, so it won’t be.)

Lights! Lights! Lights!

I broke one of my own rules yesterday: I rode a bike with the temperature below 40 degrees. But it was for a good reason. A tradition in my bike club is to ride a night through Silver Lake (an upscale neighborhood near where I live) to view the Christmas lights. As part of the tradition, riders are invited to decorate their bikes or their person accordingly.

In year’s past, this ride has motivated me to consider riding in the frigid temperatures because I love decorating for Christmas and I doubly love viewing Christmas lights. However, the one year that I came closest to actually doing the ride, the temperature was below 0F. That particular day is still regarded as one of those epically awful rides where a few members slipped on ice, another member never completely warmed after the ride, and someone else rode 200 feet before returning to his truck and, according to legend, sleeping until the rest of the riders came back.

In contrast, this winter has been extremely mild. We’ve only had a few light dustings of snow thus far and the temperatures have barely dropped to 25F. Since it was looking as though the day would be dry and in the 30s, I decided I would attempt the ride even though it was still a bit of a colder environment than I usually voluntarily ride in. Having a boyfriend who does not get stopped by colder temperatures (or even a blizzard–he was also at Ludicrously Cold Christmas Lights Ride mentioned above) is also motivation. So there was pretty much no doubt that I would do the ride.

I got especially excited when Crow showed me where I could find battery operated Christmas lights at the local Target. And they were on sale, even better! I bought two 9 foot strings of LED lights and happily strung them to the top and down tubes of my trail bike Mike. I have not ridden the Mike bike in quite some time, but I recently had him tuned up at Century Cycles. I’d been dying to take him out for awhile but hadn’t had a good occasion to do so. As added inspiration, I grabbed some scrap garland I had in my Christmas decorations and threaded it about the handlebars.

The Mike bike decked out for the holidays.

I was so excited when I saw my bike all decorated like that. Crow also had lights on his bike–some blue LEDs he’d bought the year of the Ludicrously Cold Christmas Lights Ride. I gave him another piece of garland which he also added to his handlebars. We were all set to ride in the spirit of the season.

When I arrived at the ride (which started at Marty’s Bike Shop in Stow), I was happy to see that others had also decorated their bikes. The best, though, was my “surrogate father” (inside joke), Ernie, who had placed a whole mini Christmas tree–complete with lights–on back of the seat on his recumbent. As we rode down the streets of Silver Lake in the dark, I felt like I was chasing a running Christmas tree (which was a funny imagine in and of itself). You couldn’t see Ernie behind the spectacle of the tree.

A little Christmas tree strapped to the back of Ernie's recumbant.

Quite a good turn out of the ride as well–about 12 people! I think that’s probably a record number of riders to show up for this ride and I am sure it had to do with the mild temperatures.

The merry cyclists gather for the Christmas Lights Ride.

We did make quite an impression where-ever we went. As we passed one decorated house, we could see a party taking place inside and the guests were peering out the windows at us and pointing. Several people walking dogs or in passing cars shouted, “Merry Christmas!” as we passed. We even shouted it at passers-by, but I admit that I felt a little bad starting it without the spectator saying it first… Is it bad for us all to assume everyone is celebrating Christmas? What if the passers-by were Jewish or Muslim? I felt a little guilty and ethnocentric. I hoped that no one took it the wrong way, like we were some sort of pushy Christian group trying to put the Christ back into Christmas… I can’t help it–I’m a liberal and I’m always worried about offending other people. Even on a small thing like a Christmas ride. But it’s food for thought. I have many friends from many different faiths and lifestyles… So I’m doubly aware of diversity. I wanted to shout a general “Happy Holidays!” but I guess when you’re in a group of people, you hate to be the one dork with sensitivity training ruining the fun for everyone else. I’m really bad at trying to set an example for others. I also do my best to blend into whatever group I’m amongst.

Mars Girl (dressed for a blizzard in four layers) and the decorated Mike bike. I'm smiling! Good sign!

Anyway, the lights were spectacular. Especially in the more affluent sections of town. I admit that I’m not a huge fan of those blow up lawn ornaments–I think they are kind of gaudy–and it seems that most of the affluent members of the community agreed. I have no problem, however, with tons and tons and tons of lights. Such decoration makes the night look enchanting and mysterious. I especially love those soft blue LED lights–they are like starlight sparkling on snow. I would love to decorate my entire house with them because they twinkle in the night air like a pocketful of stars. I could have my own little universe on my own little house!

I have to admit that it just felt so good to be back on a bike after all this time (I think the last time I rode was Thanksgiving weekend when I rode with Crow’s aunt and uncle around their neighborhood). The Mike bike felt so upright and sturdy. I forgot what it feels like to ride such a cushy bike. Since the positioning of the bike puts my back straight and my hands directly forward, that characteristic little ache I get in my shoulder (which is part of the arthritis) was completely absent. My friend Bob W (TDB) smartly suggested that I ride TOSRV on the Mike bike next year. Ha, ha. No way. It would take me all day. (The problem with comfort bikes is that you don’t get anywhere very fast.)

It was a great way to end the weekend, that’s for sure. I guess there’s one good thing about having such a mild winter so far: I can still enjoy a good bike ride here and there. I remember a few years back–2006, I think–when it was so warm (meaning, above 40 degrees) on Christmas Eve that I was able to go out and get in about 15 miles. That’s the latest I’ve ever rode my bike since I started riding obsessively. It’s looking like that might be possible to do this year as well…

I’m really glad I braved (what is to me) the cold to take part in this ride. Perhaps if the weather is agreeable next year, I’ll find myself doing it again. I admit that I really enjoyed riding with Christmas lights on my bike. I wish I could ride with lights on my bike all the time… Perhaps I’ll use the lights again for a night ride on the towpath in the summer with Century Cycles…

Christmas Cookies

Decorated cutter cookies by Crow and Mars Girl.

My boyfriend Crow and I decided to make Christmas cookies this year. I’ve always wanted to make a bunch of batches of cookies and then pass platefuls of them to coworkers and friends. It just seemed a nice, festive activity. I love the holidays.

We ambitiously decided to take on making six different kinds of cookies. If you know Crow, you know this kind of ambition is not unusual. And for once I got swept up in the thrill of it. It’s hard to pick just one or two types of cookies to make amongst the millions of different kinds there are out there to make (and eat). We both wanted to do it all.

We ended up selecting to make peppermint pinwheels, chocolate almond rosettes, cutter cookies with frosting, whole wheat gingerbread, spritz, and peanut butter blossoms. We had wanted to make snickerdoodles, but they missed the cut since we wanted to make some cookies that were different than the standard Christmas cookies everyone else makes.

We decided that we were going to make our cookies out of as many organic ingredients as we could. The peanut butter blossoms, for example, had Hershey kisses, which were not organic (though we would have bought some had we found something like a Hershey kiss that was organic). The flavoring extracts (vanilla, peppermint) were not organic nor was the food coloring or the decorations for the cutter and gingerbread cookies.

We blocked off the entire weekend of December 2-3 for making cookies. We started our cookie baking with the peppermint pinwheels because the dough is refrigerated for at least eight hours. We made the dough and rolled it into two swirled loaves on Friday night. On Saturday, the first thing we did was cut the cookies, put them on sheets, and began baking them. I was amazed about how the two doughs rolled together actually congealed overnight so that they were one in the loaf while maintaining their swirl color.

They came out extraordinarily well. Crow and I both love peppermint flavored goodies (ice cream is the best!) so we were pretty happy with the results. I loved the smell when you opened the oven–warm peppermint flooded the nose tauntingly. Next to the scent of pine trees, the fragrance of peppermint is definitely one that makes me think of Christmas. The recipe also makes a ton of cookies (somewhere in the range of four dozen!). They are small cookies so they don’t take up much room when packed up.

We next attempted to make what we figured to be the next hardest cookie–the rosettes. I must explain that finding the rosette irons required to make this cookie was like trying to find the Holy Grail except, as Crow pointed out to me, everyone knows what the Holy Grail is. Even at specialized cooking stores, we were often met with a blank stare when we asked for rosette irons. At places where the associates knew what we were talking about, we were told that they didn’t have any and weren’t expecting to get any any time soon.

We did find a set of three rosettes, buried on a low shelf, at one specialty cooking store but we didn’t buy them because the only shapes were not at all Christmasy–a butterfly, cloverleaf, and the basic rosette pattern (like a flower). We knew that Christmas patterns existed out there (the picture of the rosettes in my cook book were a Christmas tree and a snowflake) and we were determined to find them.

The funny thing is, the harder those damned irons were the find, the more I wanted to make them. I had delusions of returning the lost art of rosettes to the western world. I swear I’d eaten them once, somewhere in my distant past, but I couldn’t remember where. When I described them to my mom, she also had a distant memory of having had one before. Perhaps my Aunt JoAnn–the cookie guru of the family–had made them before.

Finally, after Crow vented his frustration on Facebook, a mutual friend contacted me to tell me that she had a set to sell us and that they were, in fact, Christmas-themed. (Thank you so much, Cheryl.) We were a little disconcerted, however, that a self-proclaimed cookie expert such as Cheryl was so willingly give up her only set of the rare rosette irons… That did not bode well for the ease of making the cookies.

Crow had a fryer. We used Safflower oil (healthier?) as the fry oil. Our first attempt to make the rosette was a fail. We either didn’t put enough of the batter onto the rosette iron or the iron wasn’t hot enough because it stuck to the rosette. All my hopes and dreams of re-discovering the love of the lost rosette cookie were starting to fade.

I tried a different iron while Crow frustratedly removed the fried batter from the Christmas tree rosette. The second attempt with a snowman iron worked a little better, but the cookie was still sticking a bit to the iron. The whole process was starting to look like a two-man operation and we didn’t have that kind of time–Crow needed to be starting the next batch of cookies.

The rosettes finally started sliding off the iron better–maybe it was because the iron or the oil were hotter. After awhile, the rosettes were actually falling off of the iron while still in the oil, so I suspect something wasn’t quite right. Also, my rosettes looked a bit puffier than I thought they should. I continued making them until the batter ran out but I was not entirely happy with the end result. They seemed crisp immediately out of the fryer, but after they sat for a bit, they got soft. I proceeded to decorate them with frosting and glitter. I never tried to eat one, regrettably. I had bits and pieces of the broken one that Crow had pried off of the first iron and it tasted good. After they got flabby, though, I was too depressed to try one. That did not stop me from adding them to the plates I later distributed to friends and coworkers.

While I struggled with the rosettes, Crow made an excellent batch of peanut butter blossoms. They were tasty and crumbly. Perfect. But they only made about one dozen so we decided that we might make a second batch later.

Next, I made spritz cookies while Crow made the cookie cutter cookies. Both of these cookies use roughly the same ingredients so we figured it would be easier to share the mixer. Crow’s cookies turned out great. After mixing my ingredients, I had a very dry dough that didn’t seem like it would work in the cookie press very well. And, in fact, it didn’t–the pieces of cookie coming through the little tree-shaped pattern kept breaking apart into separate piles of un-congealed dough. That is, when they managed to come out of the press.

I thought the mix needed some moisture… so I added water. Big mistake. Now I had a gooey mess. I trashed the first bowl of dough. It fell into the garbage can like the ectoplasm from a ghost in the movie Ghostbusters. I tried to make the dough a second time. I followed the instructions exactly, slowly adding the flour mix, and it seemed to work at first. However, the dough still seemed a little dryer than I remembered it should be (my mom used to make these cookies). Still, I again tried to run it through the press. The dough would come through the press, but it would not break off and drop onto the cookie sheet. I later discovered that I had the press plate in backwards. I didn’t know this at the time, though, so I just gave up and rolled the dough flat to make more cookie cutter cookies since the consistency was right for that.

Crow started making gingerbread cookies, but at about that time, we had to be cleaning up because Crow’s friends were coming over for a game night. We were also partaking in a cookie exchange (more cookies!) so things started to get a bit hectic as Crow ran off to pick up the lasagna for the night’s dinner and I assembled cookie plates for the cookie exchange. At that point, our cutter cookies were baked and cooled, but not decorated, so I did not use those for the cookie exchange. We had to table the rest of our cookie making efforts for the next day.

Decorated whole wheat gingerbread cookies by Crow and Mars Girl.

Sunday afternoon, we started making cookies again. This time, I started a new batch of gingerbread cookies (we had to throw out the rest of the dough from the batch Crow started the night before–don’t ask) while Crow attempted the spritz cookies for the third time. He actually got them to work out (with the press plate in the correct direction) but after three or four sheets of making them, he got tired of working the press (which is not as easy as it looks) so he just made drop cookies out of the rest of the dough, turning them into what he called “not peanut butter cookies” and “not peanut butter blossoms” as the cookies looked suspiciously like one or the other.

I found the whole wheat gingerbread dough a bit difficult to flatten and maintain form without breaking apart when using the cookie cutters. I suspect the dough was a little over-dry, but Crow kept assuring me it was perfect. The dough was hard to press flat and I could tell after my cookies were baked that they were a little thicker than they should have been. However, they tasted pretty good. I liked them better than regular gingerbread–they were more “meaty.”

Some of the many cookies waiting for plates to be distributed to Crow and Mars Girl's associates. (And, yes, that's a Halloween table cloth.)

By the time we finished making these two batches of cookies, we were getting pretty tired. Still, I mixed up a batch of red and a batch of green frosting and we decorated the oodles of cutter cookies through tired and blurry eyes. I thought Crow did a better job overall of decorating than me. Mine tended to look like a 3rd grader had decorated them… I’m just not that good at visually artistic things. Crow used one of those frosting tubes to make even cooler designs with his cookies. I tried one of the small cookies with frosting. Mine might not have looked good, but they tasted great!

We still hadn’t decorated the gingerbread cookies, but by that time, we were pretty much worn out from cookie baking. We decided to resume our efforts later in the week. Which turned out to be Wednesday. I made one more batch of frosting, this time without food coloring, while Crow made a second batch of peanut butter blossoms. I decorated the gingerbread cookies but let Crow finish them while the peanut blossoms were cooling because I just got too frustrated with my lack of artistic ability (I have much better ideas in my head than what my hands can make). Oh well. People eat the cookies ultimately after all. So I suppose they aren’t spending much time admiring their beauty first.

Once I started loading those cookies onto plates for my coworkers, I felt a little better about the results. The cookies did look nice–if not as nice as I imagined them–and it was fun preparing the plates. I enjoy giving people gifts and I knew my coworkers would appreciate this little surprise. Crow brought some cookies to his customers, too. For a day, we were both little Santa Clauses.

Despite what I perceive as a failure, I would like to attempt the rosettes again. After all, we went through all that trouble to get the damned irons. I’m still determined to bring back the lost art of rosettes… I will become the rosette expert, darn it, or brand myself trying. Crow and I are also thinking of making another batch of the peppermint cookies to bring to our families for Christmas. I really, really liked those; they were definitely my favorite cookies of what we made because they were so different. I found a recipe online that suggests adding baking cocoa to the other layer of dough to make chocolate peppermint swirls. For. The. Win.

Spiral

I recently started to focus on buying organic food. Since reading Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser while on vacation in 2005 (totally not a vacation book, by the way), I’ve been worried about the hormones injected into our food by the mega-farms to hasten the growth process of the animals we eat. While driving through Nebraska once, I saw many meat cattle farms in which hundreds of cows were penned up together to walk in their own manure because there was nowhere else for them to move. The farms smelled horrible. For miles before and after, even. I worried about the quality of the meat in these pens where they couldn’t move. It had an effect on me that brought me to read Fast Food Nation in the first place.

For the most part, though, I’ve been pretty lazy about following through with buying organic. It’s expensive. It’s hard to find. There are less choices with brands and less diversity of selection (ie, if you’re looking for a particular flavor). Thus is the problem with trying to eat more healthy in this nation: the better food is practically inaccessible to the average person, especially in the Midwest. But I can’t say that I ever stopped thinking about what I learned in Fast Food Nation. Nor could I get the image of that penned up cattle out of my head.

I did make a step to reduce the demand on meat: I made an effort to reduce how much of it I personally ate. Most days, I only eat meat at one meal (usually dinner).  About once or twice a week, I manage to go an entire day by deliberately choosing to not eat meat. I know I’m just one small person. But I guess in the case of trying to conserve our planet’s resources, I have to just comfort myself with the fact that maybe I’m not helping to contribute to the overall problem because I’ve reduced the overall demand by reducing my personal demand.

I try to preach these values to other friends without being too pushy. I can only hope that others also made a conscious effort to reduce the amount of meat they eat. It’s the same concept as how I feel when I trade two or three days a week of my commute to work by car with a bike in the summer. If everyone did that, just think about how much gas would be saved. And it’s not a huge sacrifice–I’m not saying give up your car, nor stop eating meat. I’m just saying reduce how much you consume. I know that realistically if I’m the only person taking these steps to reduce the demand, I’m not really changing anything. Much like my deliberate boycott of Wal-Mart, which my parents are quick to point out, Sam Walton’s kin could care less about since I’m just one person. But at least I’m not contributing to their wealth and seedy business practices.

I don’t want to become obsessed. It’s just that when you look at the high occurrences of obesity, cancer, diabetes, asthma, and other illnesses in our society, you have to start to ask yourself just what we’re doing wrong. There has to be a cause. I’m completely convinced that our obesity and diabetes rates can be tied to mega-farms and their hormone-injected food (which also accounts for incredibly early onset of puberty for women these days) as well as our over-sweetened food. I am starting to suspect some of the pollution and other irritants in our environment are leading to more cases of asthma. Other illnesses may be tied to high exposure to other things in the products we use every day that are simply not healthy.  I just don’t know what all this means. I’m not a scientist. I can’t conduct experiments with controls. I’m just saying, though, that my mind is starting to shift a little… I’m asking questions.

I guess my biggest moment of revelation happened a few weeks ago when, after having only eaten Kashi shredded wheat (Island Vanilla) for breakfast for about a month, I switched back to my old favorite Post Shredded Wheat (because it was on sale). I was about halfway through my morning bowl of cereal (dry with peanuts added in) that I suddenly thought, “This is way too sweet for my morning meal!” Kashi’s cereal is much less sweet. I guess I got used to it. And it occurred me at that moment why a lot of people I’ve known from outside the US complain that our food is too sweet.

This notion was further confirmed when Crow was looking for a can of diced tomatoes that he was going to use in fajitas he was making for dinner. The ingredients listing for most of the cans revealed that high fructose corn syrup and/or sugar had been added. Why?! Do you pull a tomato off of a vine and pour sugar on it in order to eat it? Um… no!! Tomatoes have their own natural, wonderful sweetness to them; they don’t need additional sweetness! It made me wonder just how healthy the food I’m eating is even when I’m trying to eat healthy. How much of the food I eat every day for a meal contains extra sugar in it?

I started using the application for the iPhone called Good Guide. You can scan products in the store and Good Guide rates the product based on its healthiness, its impact on the environment, and the company’s ethical practices. Questionable ingredients are flagged and noted by the degree of concern. Good Guide also suggests other products of the same type with better ratings that you might consider using instead.  The guide is rated by a group of scientists and environmentalists with no affiliation to said products. Check out the video on their website–it’s really interesting.

I realize that this whole thing sounds probably a bit wacky to my friends and family who have known me a long time. It probably looks like I’m starting to embark down the road to a type of fanaticism that inspires a lot of eye-rolling. Who has preached to me this crazy new age religion of purity in food and products? How have they managed to convert me? What’s going to happen next? Will you be raising chickens in your back yard? Oh, no!

Never fear. As I found myself scanning products into Good Guide on my last grocery trip, I started to wonder about myself too. I think this is how it started with some of my friends who I consider a bit on the fanatical side. You buy some natural, handmade soap, then shampoo and conditioner. Then you use henna on your hair instead of chemical dyes. Then you’re scanning the toothpaste isle for something that doesn’t contain fluoride.  And the next thing you know, you start only eating products with ingredients you can identify. It’s a downward spiral into a crazy land where you can only understand and communicate with the other inhabitants. And everyone thinks you’ve jumped off the deep end so they avoid discussing food or ecology with you. Then you’re labeled the family hippie and it’s all over.

There is a certain satisfaction in knowing that I ate a dish composed completely of organic products, though. Or that I’ve chosen a healthier product over one that is questionable. I still think if I wisely reduce the amount of chemicals I willingly expose my body to, I’m going a long way to a healthier lifestyle. I know it doesn’t erase all the variables–people still get ill for random reasons. But maybe I can eliminate some potential problems that are proven risks (ie, the hormone-injected cattle, food with unnecessary sugar additives). It certainly doesn’t mean, however, that I can’t eat the food I’m being served at a friend’s house because I can’t trust its source. I still like to eat at restaurants, after all (though places like the Mustard Seed Cafe become more appealing choices). And I’m really not rude.

I think if everyone took the time to take a look at the ingredients listing on the products they buy, they’d really start asking questions too. I wish I had a solution to overpopulation and the demand that requires hasty production of goods and food. I guess like with my choice to eat less meat, I just have to hope that other people are making like choices to decrease the demand on the food and goods that are not healthily produced. I have hope. More stores like Mustard Seed Market, Earth Fare, Whole Foods are making their way into Northeast Ohio than there were here just ten years ago. More organic options are appearing in regular grocery stores as well. If companies are made more aware that people are seeking better options, the less healthy ones will go away. (Which, of course, brings that demand problem back. Why can’t you people stop having babies? Just kidding!)

Anyway, I guess I am becoming that hippie relative everyone mocks. Oh well. I have my reusable grocery bags and I’m happy. (SAY NO TO PLASTIC!) Talk to me if you want to know more. Talk to me if you want to tell me more. I’m all mouth and ears.

Simple Things

…bumping noses with my boyfriend…

…a night bike ride up Smith Road–a hill I’ve never before conquered–while it’s closed to traffic, riding beneath the arms of construction equipment. The excitement thudding my heart like when I did something I wasn’t supposed to as a kid.

…the little patch of road ahead of me, illuminated by the headlight of my bike. My breathe–cold, laboring–as I try to make the most of a cold fall evening before the snow comes.

…decorating my house for Halloween. Spending time with friends at the party I threw.

…the warmth of a campfire in the fire pit in my backyard. Watching the flames lick the logs and the coals undulate bright and less bright, bright and less bright. Friendly faces illuminated in the light cast by the fire.

…laughing full and hard at some silly, stupid joke shared between me and Crow.

…listening to new albums for the first time by some of my favorite artists (Florence + The Machine, Coldplay, U2).

…waking up slowly on a Saturday morning without having any specific goals for the day…

…the first cup of coffee in the morning, that first sip and the pleasure that it brings to my senses–smell, taste, the sensation of it sliding across my tongue and igniting my taste buds with its flavor…

…late blooming roses on the bush outside my house… I usually don’t get all sappy about flowers, but it filled my heart with joy on a cold, cloudy November afternoon to find two roses in vibrant pink (and that bush usually yields orange-brown flowers) as if protesting the coming winter.

…making plans for future trips…

…the smell of wet leaves…

…the smell of pine trees… (soon to be in my house when I pick up my Christmas tree)…

…the excitement of the coming holidays…. Christmas shopping, making cookies, seeing family…

…anticipation of winter fun–snow-shoeing, downhill skiing, and possibly trying cross-country skiing…

…looking over an old nonfiction piece, trying to find a place in which it would fit for publication…

Slow down. Breathe. Revel in the simple things. Life is full of endless possibilities. I’m just starting to see them all.

Antietam

I admit that I’m not a huge history buff. In fact, I never found history class very interesting in school and I didn’t take any history classes in college. However, I do find certain events in history interesting from time to time. One of my fascinations involves the old canal systems, believe it or not. Having grown up around the Ohio & Erie Canal, I have thought about what it must have been like in the days when the canals were working. The Civil War is also another historical fascination of mine. From the girl who abhors war. Perhaps because it was so close and personal war in which Americans fought Americans. Our country almost broke apart as a result of that war. It’s just one of those turning points in history where the whole course of history could have changed.

I can’t say I retained all the information that was stuffed in my head while exploring this battlefield for about four hours. But I did remember some striking facts. Like the death toll from this battle alone made it the bloodiest single-day battle in American history (including battles fought during the Revolutionary War!) with over 23,000 casualties. The art work displayed in the museum depicts some pretty gruesome scenes of bodies scattered about the battlefield and, in particular, in the trenches of what was referred to as The Sunken Road.

The Sunken Road

It was eerie to stand in the middle of that road with the memory of those paintings etched into my head. I felt like I was walking on people’s graves. If there was ever a spot to be haunted, I’m sure this would be the spot.

The Sunken Road from above (in the observation tower).

It rained the whole time we were exploring the battlefield, switching between drizzle and hard downpour. I think this also added to the atmosphere of our experience there. In the distance, fog hoovered among the hills like watchful wraiths.

The view from the observation tower.

More scenery from the observation tower at Antietam.

The Burnside Bridge was where the last charge of the battle took place. It’s hard to picture the violence of war going on in what today appears as such a tranquil spot–someplace where you’d want to have a picnic with your honey.

Oops... that's not Burnside Bridge. How'd that get in here?

Ahh, here it is: Burnside Bridge

A cannon on the field by Burnside Bridge.

We spent four hours the battlefield and it truly was not enough. There were so many trails off the main road where a person could hike to see various stages of the battle, signs pointing out the key locations where specific events occurred. It’s pretty amazing how much of the battle is still so intricately recorded. You could literally walk in the shoes of a soldier from the start of the battle to the end. I’ve mixed feelings about this level of accuracy… It seems that to study something so intricately, you have to have some sort of fascination with the battle. Which I suppose is good–after all, I have an interest in the Civil War. Yet, some part of me thinks there’s something kind of sick about a fascination with a pretty brutal battle and war. It must be that hunger in us to hear a good, gruesome story. But it’s more than just a good story–it really happened. I have to keep reminding myself of that sometimes. Hearing stories about the war currently being waged in the Middle East certainly doesn’t fascinate me; it disgusts me. I can’t help but wonder if we have an over romanticized view of the past.

Another shot of Burnside Bridge. Which, by the way, was later named in honor of the Union general who led the attack at this location.

There were so many signs and monuments to read and I have to admit that I didn’t read them all. Or even skim many of them. My head was spinning with all these names and dates. Frankly, one of the reasons I never took a history class in college is because I’m horrible at remembering details such as dates and names; I’m a “general idea” kind of girl which is probably why I majored in English. Still, I read enough to get a general feel for this battle. Which ended in a draw after all those dead bodies. But it was apparently enough of a victory to give Abraham Lincoln confidence to announce his famous Emancipation Proclamation. And the rest, as they say, is history.

By the way, an interesting piece of historical information: The Battle of Antietam is known in the south as the Battle of Sharpsburg–the name of the neighboring town outside of which the battle took place (where as Antietam is the name of a nearby creek). As Crow aptly pointed out, “Things were so bad the south and north couldn’t even agree on a name for the battle!”

We stopped by the Antietam National Cemetery before leaving town. As Ohioans, we felt a certain obligation to find the area of the cemetery where the soldiers from Ohio were buried. We even scanned the registry to gape at the number of unknown soldiers listed, some of which were also listed by state (how did they know even that?). Unknown soldiers are the saddest collateral of battle. The thought of someone not getting a proper period of time to be mourned by family and friends seems like the saddest way to die of all. We humans need closure. Without a body or official confirmation of a loved one’s death, I can’t help but think that the family and friends of said soldiers always held out just a little hope for the rest of their lives that their lost loved one would turn up one day. I think that every once in awhile about my husband and I saw his body… It’s just a kind of painful way for someone to live, not knowing like that. My heart goes out to families of soldiers missing in action…

Last stop... Antietam National Cemetery.

Map to the grave sites at Antietam National Cemetery.

The registry lists all the known soldiers. If I were into genealogy, I think it would be really neat to be able to find the graves for relatives who fought in the Civil War. I wonder if any of my own relatives did. I’m thinking not because I’m not sure my family history in the US reaches back that far… I think we’re more recent. (See? I’m obviously not into genealogy!)

The shorter gravestones mark the graves of unknown soldiers. This is area where the soldiers from NY were buried.

The view as you enter Antietam National Cemetery.

It was a sobering experience, but really fascinating. I must admit I’m inspired to see more of my nation’s historical sites, particularly those associated with the Civil War. I’ve always wanted to visit the sites of the Underground Railroad that exist in Ohio; likewise, I’ve always wanted to return to Gettysburg, which I visited at a very young age with my parents, and all I remember from that experience is throwing a tantrum, refusing to put on my seatbelt, and falling out of the open door of our family car while in the cemetery. So I think it’s time to revisit Gettysburg as an adult. I foresee many road trips in my future… And grander adventures by bike!

43

Just taking a moment to remember my husband, Michael, on his birthday… He would have been 43 today. I hope where ever he is now (if there is some place to be), he’s happy and no longer worried about the problems of the world he untimely left behind. I hope he’s proud of how I’ve overcome… and I hope he sees my happiness now and elates in the fact that I’m no longer miserable in his absence. Time marches on. I will always have a place for him in my heart. And he knows.

Every day I let go a little bit more of the anger, grief, anxiety about the past. I’ve changed a lot in the last year and I think I’m finally able to give people a chance without the memory of my bad experiences tainting my faith in people. My heart is open. Wide open. It’s a scary place to be. But it’s the right place to be.

That’s my birthday present to you, Misha. Happy birthday, where ever you are (or aren’t).