Galena, your blogmeisters new union suit, and the way home.

Greetings, Blog Pickers, Blogmeister David back again! It’s Sunday and we are in Illinois, about 60 miles from Normal (such an odd name for a place…..but I guess it is better than having another York, Springfield, Peoria, or other such multi state name). We left Galena around 10 am this morning and have been driving for about 2 hours already. CyberBitch, the voice in the GPS, tells us that it will take about 7.5 hours to get home so I thought that this would be a good opportunity to wrap up the blog for this trip. We are sitting here (driving here?) listening to the Glee- 3D The Movie soundtrack and Lea Michelle has just belted out Don’t Rain On My Parade, the song we had at the opening of our wedding last year. I am also watching yet more corn whizz past the window. I just posted a question on my Facebook page asking where all the wheat is grown in the America. All I ever seem to see is corn……and LOTS of it. Ah well…the multiple uses of social media. I look forward to hearing the responses!

We pulled into Galena at around 3 pm yesterday and checked in at the Aldrich Guest House. It is an absolutely gorgeous pre-civil war era home owned by Brian and Fran. It had taken some time to find somewhere with availability and who would let us stay for just a Saturday night as most have two night minimums at the weekend. We also had to find a place that would be welcoming to two men as well, something that straight couples are fortunate enough not to have to worry about. Having already discovered a few places that we didn’t think would welcome us due to wording on their websites, we were relieved when we actually spoke with Brian on the phone and he assured us that it didn’t matter one bit to him. Just another equality issue for you all to think about in the coming election cycle…..

Anyway, after checking in and having a quick tour of the house, we headed off to downtown Galena with a spring in our step after having spent 7 hours in the car. For those of you who have not been to Galena it is a beautiful place filled with tremendous history. We really didn’t have time to do it justice from a history perspective so shall have to return some time in the future. But for the few brief hours that we did have we busied ourselves on the main street. We found a bank, I withdrew $50, tucked the receipt away, photographed the bank, and had the bills changed into a $50 bill at a little store across from the bank by a young lady called Lauren. With that, we headed off to find our antique store for Illinois. Right across the street was a suitably run down store called “La Belle Époque” and so in we rushed. At the farthest end of the store sat a man with wild hair, wild beard, and wild eyes. I went over and said hello and asked him his name. “Buz”, he replied. I asked him if he was an Illinois native, at which point he got a little shifty in his chair but responded yes. I guess he may have thought I was from the IRS or something so I quickly stuck out my hand, told him my name, and that I was a photographer. I explained to him the project I was working on and he got really excited! He asked me what sort of stuff I wanted and I gave him the same answers as I gave Joan. Well, Buz lit up with the biggest smile ever which made him look even wilder than before and said he would love to do it. He even said he would throw in the box as well. So without further ado James and I departed and left Buz excitedly hopping around his store rooting through boxes and junk like a man possessed. I wondered what on earth we were going to get this time and we headed off to the shops.

Walking around Galena was a very different experience to the previous week of vacation. Garrison had been a very down to earth, sort of homey vacation experience. Galena was all about smart gift shops, antique stores, and expensive little boutiques. The contrast was really quite marked and made for an interesting hour as we wandered along the very crowded main street, seeing people decked out in Ralph Lauren, Gucci, and other assorted designer brands. But everyone seemed in a holiday kind of mood so we mingled in and had a good time. I also made the ultimate purchase of my vacation in a strange little shop selling t-shirts, sweatshirts, caps, and underwear. A bright red up to date Union Suit! Yes, dear reader, you can see it now can’t you. These are an updated version of the traditional Union Suit and I can’t wait to wear it. You can check out my purchase at www.lazyone.com. I am tempted to take a picture of me wearing it when I get home, but I have a feeling that it might be just a little too revealing and I wouldn’t want to scare any of you silly. So you’ll just have to look at the website and image yours truly standing there posing for you. James is really not too sure about this new purchase especially as I am threatening to wear it with my new woolly hat from New Glarus….ah well.

All too quickly we found that it was time to return to see Buz. As I entered the store he was sitting there waiting for me. He presented me with a small cigar box that contained just three objects. Was I a little disappointed that we hadn’t received this enormous container of things? Maybe, but I had set the parameters of the project and it was up to Buz to choose. Buz, however, was like a little puppy. He was SO excited and I took advantage of the moment to do his portraits. We found a great spot next to the window of the store and this time I had him hold the box of stuff together with the $50 bill. I took a couple of shots, some where he was smiling like a mad axe murderer, and some where he was looking serious and really rather menacing. He was a good guy and told me that I was the highlight of his week. He was thrilled that he been a part of my project. That in itself makes the whole thing work for me. It is becoming clearer that I may need to continue to tweak the project, so when I return to school tomorrow I’ll start the process of discussing the concept with a few folks and see where it leads.

We had dinner reservations for 8 pm at The Goldmoor Inn, a nice looking place outside of Galena, so after stopping off for a quick glass of wine at the DeSoto Hotel in Main Street we headed back to the hotel to have a bath (David) and a nap (James). I was eager to use the beautiful old claw-foot tub in the en-suite bathroom and so threw a handful of bubble bath salts into the water and disappeared under a cloud of heavenly lavender bubbles for 30 minutes while James snoozed on the beautiful iron framed bed, surrounded by fluffy blue and white pillows like the bearded renaissance man that he is. Then a quick change of clothes and we were off to eat. I had been looking forward to this meal but was also aware that I was approaching my dining limit. Although all of my clothes still fit I am fairly sure that I have gained around 8 pounds or more on this trip. Seeing as I had just lost 17 pounds on weight watchers this, dear reader, is not good news. So I resolved to eat sensibly tonight.

Dinner was lovely. The location was a modern constructed inn, which, as my nephew Jack commented on Facebook, looked like it had been constructed out of flat pack materials. Still the location was outstanding in that we were overlooking the river as the sun set in the distance. We dined on caprese salad, crab cakes, pork tenderloin, and beef wellington coupled with a lovely bottle of Domaine Chandon Pinot Meunier. It was all very nice and as you can see, the eating sensibly concept failed to even get started. So feeling like we had each eaten a Zeppelin, we headed back to the guest house and lay on the bed groaning with gluttony until we fell asleep, sleeping the sleep of those who have eaten too much and will pay for it in the morning.

Awakened by the smell of bacon and coffee at around 7.30 am we showered and headed down to breakfast. It was a lovely affair and Brian and Fran cooked up a storm and presented it all in front of us (groan, more food). This was my first experience of a bed and breakfast in the USA, although they are a staple of the UK, and I can honestly say that it was a fantastic experience. The standard was very high and provided almost the same quality as some of the hotels we have been staying in, although in a very different and extremely comfortable way. Next time we’ll certainly be looking at more of these places to stay and can whole heartedly recommend Aldrich in Galena. There was even a little guest book in each bedroom for you to write about your experience as well. I took great pride in writing both of our names in the book as we were the only same-sex couple to have done so. I love the fact that it will cause some people to no doubt have sleepless nights due to the horror that two men have been sleeping together in the very same bed…..ha!

And there, dear reader, you have it all. We are now 3.5 hours away from home. We just stopped for lunch at Hardees where I felt an almost uncontrollable desire to get up on the table and do a solo “Flash Mob” style routine when Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance” was played on the tinny restaurant music system. But, seeing as we had stopped at El Paso, IL, I took a quick look around me at the other patrons of the restaurant and reigned myself in. Probably a shrewd move considering the rather large and scary looking truckers, seated at the table next door, devouring mountains of burgers and fries. Instead I am contenting myself with typing to you while listening to “The Very Best of Judy Garland” in the safety of the car as we pass yet more corn. Such is the life of the passenger on a road trip.

So our vacation is almost at an end. It has been a great trip. It has been quite different for me and I certainly have enjoyed myself immensely. I feel privileged to have been able to share in James’ reminiscences and have had the opportunity to see and do things that would not normally have been on my radar. “Homos on the Road” has been a riot of fun and splendor in many ways. From the Four Seasons to Cabin Number 6 and everything in between it has been a merry and dare I say it, a gay old time. I hope that you have also enjoyed keeping up with our crazy activities. I often get messages from people saying how much you enjoy the blog and that is one of the things that keep me going with it. I look forward to the next trip where we can travel with all of you by our side once more!. I hope you have also enjoyed all the pictures that have been posted through Facebook and the micro-blogging with pictures through Twitter as well. It’s been a blast! School starts back for me tomorrow with my first meeting taking place at 7.30 am in Lexington. So I’ll be up at 5 am and on the road by 5.30 am, this time on my own with only a cup of coffee, a banana, a hardboiled egg, and maybe a few pieces of toast on a plate to keep me company for my commute. James will be heading off to the University for some Meetings. So think of us both as we return to our version of reality.

And with that, dear reader, I’ll leave you with a line from a song by The Beautiful South which is “You can’t have too many good times”.

So Big Love to you all. It’s been a blast!

D&J

In search of Paul Bunyan and his chopper....

Well, dear readers, it is time for some catch up on the blog. It’s now Saturday and we are on our way to Galena, IL for the next stage of our trip. We left Rolling Hills Resort early this morning (6.15 am) and hope to be in Galena around 3 pm or so. But first, let’s head back to Thursday and pick up the trail….

After our day of fishing we decided that we wanted to do something a little different that involved some exercise. It was time to bring out the bikes and head off to do some sightseeing, exploring, and riding. Armed with a trusty old copy of Lonely Planet USA we headed off to the village of Walker about 2 hours north east of Garrison. We threw the bikes onto the rack, grabbed our water bottles, and headed out, keen to see some more of Minnesota. I loaded up the rooftop canon on the Pathfinder just in case we saw Michelle Bachmann fly past on her broom and off we went. The drive through Northern Minnesota was really quiet beautiful and reminded me of when I spent time in Canada back in 2000, hardly surprising considering the proximity. It seemed that as we drove further north the pine trees got bigger, the grass became greener, the log cabins prettier (as did the men). What was really nice to see was how some of the usual suspects of fast food chains and stores like McDonalds, Wendy’s, and Walgreens, had risen to the occasion and actually built nice log cabin inspired buildings. It was a welcome change from America’s endless, featureless, obsession with dull strip malls and cookie cutter stores.

Arriving in Walker we decided that we would take a walk around town and have some lunch. Lunch was bagged in “The Outdoors Café” which was basically just a greasy spoon serving quite good burgers, and then we headed off for a wander. It was “Market Day” in Walker, which in reality appeared to mean that all the shops on the main street had dragged out all the things they couldn’t sell onto the sidewalk/pavement and were hawking them there instead. Flip Flops, bric-a-brac, “art”, t-shirts, walking boots, and other goods could be purchased at bargain prices. The local Tupperware store were even having a sale too, though we declined to purchase, despite James being attracted to a natty plastic salt and pepper shaker set. We flitted in and out of some of the stores, pausing to spend some time in an antique/thrift store as well. Here I had an idea for a new art project, revolving around items that have been previously owned, that would encompass all 50 states over a period of time. But I am getting ahead of myself…..more of that project when we get to Friday!

After we had tired of endless numbers of flip flop shoppers and people pushing buggies over our toes we decided it was time for our bike ride. We headed back to the Pathfinder and set out for the Paul Bunyan Trail. Having seen various paintings and statues of this particularly dashing lumberjack and his chopper I was eager to see the countryside that had been nominated as his “trail”. In reality I am sure lumberjacks are hot, sweaty, smelly, and poorly dressed, unlike the pictures of Paul Bunyan that portrayed him as handsome, clean, with well manicured hands and smelling of manly cologne. So off we peddled up his trail. The ride was really lovely and very uneventful (apart from a brief rain shower). There were no lumberjacks to be seen (smelly or otherwise) and I really couldn’t see any connection between our surroundings and Mr. Bunyan other than a shrewd marketing department. We rode for about 12 miles each way and returned to the car a little pooped out and ready for home. A quick stop for a vodka and tonic at a local watering hole in Garrison helped refresh us, and we spent a pleasant and relaxing evening at the cabin, dining on more of James’ kill from the previous day before turning in, saddle sore and tuckered out.

Friday found us in the mood for a more relaxing day. It was to be our last full day in the area so we decided that we would kick it off by cycling into town for breakfast. On the way I started to contemplate the seeds of my idea for my new art project. It must have been something to do with the peddling as all of a sudden the idea burst into my head and started fleshing out really nicely. I have always been fascinated by people, their stuff, and what it means to them. I am also fascinated as to how people and their stuff relate (or don’t relate) to their surroundings and geographic locations. What better way to explore stuff, relationships, and location than through antique stores across the country. The idea is still pretty much beginning but I felt that I had enough to go on to at least start the process off. So with that, I told James what was in my head and off we went to put my plan into action. Bear in mind, dear reader, that this is still a fairly fluid outline and I have learnt enough to know that my art projects usually always turn out different from what they started as! So expect this to change and develop over time.

We started off at the local bank. Bearing in mind that I want to do this over the entire United States if possible, there has to be a few set parameters to work within – the artist materials if you will. The main tool was to be a $50 bill. I took $60 out of the ATM and then headed inside the bank. There I was met by a lady called Bonita. I explained to her that I would like a $50 bill, which she duly gave me. I then photographed the bill and the ATM slip on a spare piece of counter. Then, upon leaving the bank, I took a photograph of the bank itself, made a note of its location, and set off on the next leg of the journey. Getting the $50 bill may be different in some states, as that may be challenging on weekends, but I will always be taking $50 or $60 out of the ATM, recording the ATM receipt and location, and also recording from where I change it into a $50 and the name of the person who does it.

Next stop was to find an antique store. Aware that I need to make sure that I allow the creative process some room to develop, the only criterion I had was that the store had to be owned by a native of the state, obviously, in this case, a Minnesotan. So we headed into the nearest town, Brainerd, to find an antique store. There, we found a whole street full of them, and after a few enquiries we found one that was owned and run by a native Minnesotan, Joan Cooper. Her store was called Antiques and Accents and was veritable treasure trove of “stuff”. Joan didn’t know what was coming, poor love, and was mightily suspicious of me. Here is what I asked her to do. I showed her the $50 bill and asked her to pick out $50 worth of stuff from her store. The only condition was that the items had to have been previously owned (i.e. not new). If she wanted to pick items that related to Minnesota in anyway, by her own judgment, that was fine, but it wasn’t necessary. She could pick as many items as she wanted to make up the $50 or as few items. I just wanted it to be her choice and not mine. I also said that I wanted to be able to take her picture with the $50 bill, along with a couple of pictures of her store, inside and out. She looked at me like I was mad, but then said yes. She seemed more comfortable when I left her a business card and that we would go and have lunch while she picked out the items. With that we left a puzzled looking Joan behind us, stepped back out into the sunlight, and went in search of lunch.

We settled on the North Wind Café, just a few doors away. As we entered I noticed a sign on wall by the counter. It said “No out of town” on it. A little perturbed I asked James if that meant we were not allowed to eat here as we were from somewhere else. He laughed at me and pointed out that if you lifted away the picture frame that was leaning against the sign it revealed “checks accepted”. I scowled at everyone in sight, and, just like when a cat falls off a fence in front of you, picks itself up and saunters off with an air of “I meant to do that all along”, marched off to a table, to drown my sorrows in pepsi and French fries.

Soon it was time for us to return to see Puzzled Joan in her antique emporium so we paid the bill and hurried out. I was excited to see what she picked for us. As we entered the store there she sat, beaming at us looking very proud of herself. “Do you want to see what I have picked for you to make sure it is okay”? she said excitedly, all trace of Suspicious Joan having evaporated. “Sure”, I responded. “But whatever you have chosen is fine”. It was fascinating as she still didn’t get the concept that someone was asking her to be the person who was making the choice. It was all about her, the native Minnesotan, and her view of the stuff. With that she showed me the collection she had put together. She had chosen about 6 items and they all still had their tags on (I made a mental note that all future items had to have a price tag or sticker on them too).

I also wanted to buy a box to hold the objects all in as well. I would like to try and buy roughly the same size of box in each store for consistency, but had already decided that the box should not be bought out of the $50. If they wanted to donate a box that would be fine, but I felt that it had to be kept separate from the main purchase. James was duly dispatched to the back of the store and came back with a charming wooden box to carry it all in. All the items were put into a brown paper bag, placed into the box, and a receipt written out to MKphotographers for $50. Next I took a couple of quick portraits of Jean holding her $50 bill (I may in future also take a picture of them with the box of items too), a couple of pictures of the inside of the store, a few from outside, and we were off and on our way. James peered into the bag and asked if there was $50 worth of stuff there. I said that I thought so, yes, but it really didn’t matter. If someone swindled us, that was all part of the piece. It would be documented along with everything else when the work is displayed. Likewise, if someone chose to give me some old piece of crap that they had been dying to get rid of for 25 years that would be fine too. This is all about representing the people through an artistic piece, good/bad, nice/ugly, and about all the connections that can be drawn and created through the interrelationships. I have no idea what I am going to do with all the stuff, but I would like to display it in collections, maybe photographed as a typographical piece as well. The project will no doubt continue to evolve, but I remain very excited about it and plan to do Illinois when we are in Galena today (Saturday)

Having finished with my art for the day, it was time to go and see some other people. We had spied a sign pointing to a pottery store off the beaten track earlier on our travels and we wanted to go visit to see what it was all about. So off we went, down some little dirt track, to Brown Bear Pottery. There we met the fabulous Haddie, a 50ish woman who sits making pottery to feed herself and pay the bills, and making ceramic sculptures to feed her creativity. We spent a lovely hour talking about pottery, Cat Stevens, politics, Nicaragua, and parties before purchasing some of her lovely pieces and heading on our way. I also continued on my series of taking pictures of artists in their locations too. She sent us off to see Bob at Ripple River Wood turning studio where we found more kindred spirits to chat with and pass the time. We bought a few pieces and I took Bobs picture to add to the collection. Maybe this will develop into another project over time….who knows! But for those of you at the University who are reading this blog I am continuing to try and think a little more broadly in my work….so there.

Over the course of the week we had cooked at the cabin most of the time for a few reasons. 1. There were not many places to eat in Garrison. 2. Everywhere that we found dished up either burgers or sandwiches or frozen pizza. 3. We had been trying to eat a little more healthily as we are both expanding on this vacation. 4. We had a mountain of fish to eat, courtesy of James, fisherman extraordinaire . We were moaning about this terrible state of affairs to Haddie at Brown Bear Pottery who suggested that we try The Lonesome Pine (cue chorus of Laurel and Hardy singing “The Trail of the Lonesome Pine” one of my faves!) Wow, we thought, a recommendation! We asked if it served burgers and she said yes, but that there were lots of other things too, including fresh fish, pastas, salads, and veggie options. So with dinner plans set we went back to the cabin to pack for our early departure and, after taking a quick nap, we headed out for dinner.

The Lonesome Pine was FABULOUS! It was filled with lovely people, great atmosphere, and importantly great food and wine. We sat at the bar drinking Gin and Tonics for an hour while waiting for a table. James wrote postcards to his blisters and brother, while I sat watching the world and all the people go by. For dinner we both had fresh walleye, one breaded and fried, and one broiled with garlic and lemon. Everything was washed down with some super wine that we didn’t finish so took home with us for later. A definite winner of a place and a big thank you to Haddie for pointing us in the right direction.

Arriving home at around 10pm I thought it was time to sit by the shores of the lake and finish up two of the almost empty bottles of wine we had ended up with. So we grabbed the camping chairs, some glasses, and headed down to the shore of the lake. Thunder was rolling in the distance, lightning darted around in the sky, and there were breaks in the clouds that let the moon shine down on us. We could hear people laughing in their RV’s and caravans while we sat and thought about how lovely the night air was. Protected by bug spray (we had learned!) we spent a wonderful hour or so while James remembered more stories and happenings from his previous visits to the lake. He talked about fishing, swimming in the lake as a kid, rowing out on the lake, and a myriad of other memories. It was a wonderful and fitting end to our time at Rolling Hills Resort. Who knows if we will ever be back again but I am very pleased that we went and had the opportunity to do so many different and fun things.

So now, dear reader, as I mentioned earlier, we are back on the road again. Our destination is Galena, IL which will be our halfway stopping point on the way back to the Martin Koschoreck homestead. We are just passing over the Mississippi as we I type….so stay tuned for the final installment of the blog a little later!

Big love to you all,

D&J

Of fish and of men.....and the ones that got away.

Wednesday morning arrived early at Camp Rolling Hills Resort. We had to be at Garrison Sports by 7.30am to obtain our fishing licences and to pay for the morning’s fishing trip. So James had set his iPad for 6.30am to give us enough time to shower, get our fishing outfits on, have coffee, and be off. 6.30am on vacation? For fishing? The things I agree too…. Still, once showered and with a cup of coffee in front of me, I wondered why it was still dark outside. I could have sworn that when I had been up early the day before it had been sunrise by now. So I look at my watch. It was 5.40am. Ouch. It seems that James’ marvelous iPad was not capable of picking up and synchronizing the time. NTP Apple? Ah well, at least it meant that we could enjoy coffee and the sunrise, which was still 30 minutes away…

At 7.30am we rolled up at Garrison Sports already for a mornings fishing. James was a little nervous about the whole affair, still remembering his childhood experiences that had seemingly scarred him for life. I was wondering what the other people on the trip would be like and would we be sharing a boat with some thundering, loud, obnoxious, fishing people, bedecked out with hats, fisherman vests( all covered with hooks and feathers) while all the time talking about the one that got away (ran away, more likely). My worrying was in vain. Accompanying us on the trip were a bunch of middle aged ladies and their husbands, a father and his young son, and Bette, the famous lesbian daughter mentioned in a previous post. It would, at this point, be an appropriate moment to mention that, with the exception of Bette (for obvious reasons), nearly all women that I have seen in Minnesota seem to have the same hair-do. It’s a sort of short thing, all clipped, bobbed and curly. It looks a little like a bathing cap pulled up over the ears and lifted at the back. The curly aspect is a little reminiscent of a water spaniel, and, I must be honest, It is odd how many people have it. I think it is a cult thing really, sort of like the masons but with hairdryers and a shampoo and set thrown in for good measure. Anyway, I just thought I would mention that….

Once we were all on the boat, Bette whisked us up to the front and handed us our rods. She introduced us to Greg, her brother in law, who would be the captain, and also explained that we would be heading out along the lake shore. We’d be looking for the “weeds” as that is where Northern Pike hang out. Super, I thought. Here I am, again likely to be thrashing around in the weeds. It would be just like returning to corporate America in so many respects. Still, the engine turned on, we turned into the breeze and off we went, a motley and rag tag collection of fisherpeople all intent on landing the big one. Or, in my case, hoping that James would land at least one fish so that we could move past this particular paternal scarring event.

After about 10 minutes, Captain Greg decided that we were in a suitable place and parked the boat. Now it was time for action! Bette informed us that she would bait our hooks (such a quaint expression) and with that she plunged her hands into a bucket and pulled out two live and thrashing fish. “Minnows” she proudly proclaimed. These “minnows” were about 9 inches long! I always thought that minnows were small little fish, but it seems that I was wrong. These “Super Minnows” were to be the bait that would catch our Northern Pikes. At this point I started to feel a little uneasy over what we were going to be doing with our bait. Swiftly, Bette grabbed my hook (hey now…) and shoved it into the mouth of the minnow and out through the top of its head. With that, she threw it over the side of the boat, and told me to let out some line. I, an ever obedient and instruction driven person, did as I was told and flicked out a hefty amount of line. My minnow, thankful to have been returned to the murky depths of the lake, swam off into the weeds, presumably where the Northern Pike were waiting to gobble it up, hook and all. And so began the long processing of waiting. I was waiting for my poor, defenseless, little minnow to be devoured by some big hungry monster fish that I would then haul (in a manly way) into the boat. I felt a little like I had gone to the zoo with a bag of pork chops and was just dangling them through the bars of the lion cage. It didn’t seem particularly sporting to me. But one look over at James, who was staring intently at his “bobber” (float for the euro zone), almost as if he were willing all the fish in the lake to just hurl themselves at his hook in some sort of aquatic hari kari, told me that I should just sit there and keep my mouth shut (a tip that would have served my minnow well if you ask me).

And so we sat, and sat, and sat. Periodically we would pull our line in to make sure that the minnow was still there and alive. Then the poor thing would get thrown back into the drink again to wriggle itself attractively. And so we sat, and sat, and sat. In fact we sat for four hours straight. Apart from Greg moving the boat to a few different locations, the only movement was that of the little kid down the other end of the boat catching the only fish. He reeled in a 24 inch Northern Pike (with the help of his proud dad), and that was it. Clearly the fish were unimpressed with my minnow and had either all gone shopping or had decided that they were too smart to fall for that old bait on the hook routine. So we headed back to shore with nothing to show for our 4 hours other than a credit card slip.

As we had dreams of glory in our heads, what do you think we did dear reader? Did we slope off into the distance to lick our wounded pride? Or did we jump into the car and go and kick some kittens around in frustration? No, like lambs to the slaughter we went back inside Garrison Sports and signed ourselves up for the afternoon fishing trip instead. Never let it be said that we are without either ambition or perseverance for we were determined to empty the lake of fish that day…or go broke trying. With that, we went and ate pizza and drank beer, something that all successful fishermen do, or so we thought.

At 2pm we returned to the dock to be greeted by Bette and her wife, Lisa. We were also joined by Shelley, Greg’s wife, and Greg himself, who was still in charge of the boat. I gave Greg a stern look as we boarded, which just made him smile broadly back at me in an alarming fashion, and, with a roar of the engines, we headed back off to find a fishing spot. This time we went to the other side of the lake and it seemed that we were heading for Canada before Greg stopped. Our minnows were retrieved from the buckets, re-speared onto the hooks and hurled over the side over the boat to strut their stuff in front of the predators of the deep. And we sat.

In fact, we sat for only about 10 minutes before James’ bobber disappeared. Bette instructed him to pay out some line to see if the bobber would come back up. Apparently if the minnow has decided to go for a snoop around the weeds, as they are wont to do, the bobber will come back up again. But it didn’t. Aha! It seemed that James had caught something…or rather his minnow had. I tried to put the vision of the minnow fighting for its life in a fight to the finish with the demon of the deep out of my mind and instead reeled mine in, stowing my rod and minnow out of the way, and reached for my camera (of course). Meanwhile, James was being instructed to pay out more and more line which would allow the fish that he had caught to retreat off with the minnow in his mouth. This he did and we waited with bated breath for about 3 minutes which, we were assured, was all it would take for the presumed monster on the other end to swallow both minnow whole and hook.

When James felt the line tighten, presumably when the monster had eaten the minnow and had decided to work off dinner by taking a little swim, Greg yelled out “STRIKE!” James whipped his rod up, creating a beautiful arc while in the process scaring the pants off me and everyone else and began to frantically wind his line in. The rod bent over, and James, now a man on a mission, hunched over his reel like some possessed maniac engaged in the battle of his life. “WIND IT IN” yelled Greg, and James wound faster and more manically. I wisely stood to one side, a little perturbed at the change in my husband into mad fisherman, and Greg reached for his landing net. By now, the bobber had resurfaced and was speeding toward the boat. Behind it was a trail of foam and sputum, giving the impression of a surfer being towed upside down. Closer it came, everybody watched, and waited, and then Greg stuck his net into the lake at the appointed time. He hauled out this massive Northern Pike (26.5 inches long), removed the hook from its mouth, and dumped the whole thing into James waiting arms. We named the fish Don, after James’ Pa.

Like a duck to water, James knew exactly what to do next. He broke into this big smile and thrust the fish out in front of him, eerily reminiscent of the creepy monkey holding Simba out at the opening of The Lion King. Everybody roared, clapped, and I pressed the button on my camera like a stage mother happily capturing her infant prodigy’s proud stage debut. Suddenly the fish gave a shudder, jerked a little, and a dead, slimy, and very chewed minnow shot out of its mouth and landed on the floor in front of us. Nice. With that the Northern Pike was carried off by big burly Greg and dumped into a holding tank to presumably reflect on the error of its ways, not to mention the stupidity of not noticing that the Minnow had a hook through its head.

Did you think that was it, dear reader? No, of course you didn’t. A demon seemed to have been awakened in James who, with new minnow on the end of his hook, threw his line out once more. About 10 minutes passed and James’ bobber disappeared again. Yes, he had caught another one. Over went the rod, manic winding James re-appeared, Greg roared, and another hapless Northern Pike was hoisted from Mille Lacs Lake into the holding pen. This one kept his lunch down and was carried off scowling to join his new friend in the sin bin. Then it was my turn. But I am sad to say, dear reader, that I was not quite as successful as James. My bobber went down, I paid out my line, but my strike was too nellie it seems. My fish just laughed and swam off with his free lunch. When I reeled the line in my hook was bare. Do you think I learned? No, because an hour later the same thing happened again. I lost my fish once more. Ah well. Who wants a big old slimy thing flopping around in their hands anyway I said, shrugging off defeat with ease. James was bringing home the “bacon” so what did I care? I was happy that he was finally dealing with the past. We named his second fish Darline in honour of his mother.

To add insult to injury only moments later James did it all again. I sniffed disdainfully as James and Greg hoisted a Bass over the side of the boat. Everyone cooed and clucked appreciatively. The bass was 20 inches long, which meant that it had to be thrown back (Bass,it seem, have to be 21 inches or longer to keep, proving once and for all that all fisherman are size queens). But Greg informed James that it was one of the most beautiful fish he had seen caught. It seems that not many people catch bass any more on the lake so it made James even more proud of his achievements. We named this one Kate, after James’ eldest sister, and throw it back into the lake where hopefully it will have learnt that in fish land there really is no such thing as a free lunch.

With that, Greg turned the boat around and we headed back to port. I dutifully took pictures of James holding his prizes on a string and then we delivered them to the sport shop for cleaning and preparing. In no time at all they were handed back to us in a large plastic bag. Dinner for the evening was assured….well for the next four days in fact. We actually ate it for two nights and donated the rest to Orin, the resort owner who seemed very honoured and pleased with his gift. For the epicurious amongst you I provided the cooking services and that night we ate fillets of Northern Pike, sautéed in butter with garlic, diced spring onions, a small chopped chilli, and a white wine reduction, served with potatoes, and carrots. It was delicious, even if I say so myself.

And with that, our day of adventure was over. We polished off the wine, did the dishes, and headed off to bed. James slept the sleep of the master fisherman, no doubt dreaming of his Pa, proudly patting him on the shoulder (and then demanding to know why he only caught 3), while I dreamt about the ones that got away…..sniff.

Big love to all,

D&J

We're off to see St Judy, the wonderful diva of.....Grand Rapids.

Howdy Doody BlogFiends!  Thought I should come up with a different greeting from the normal one.  How's that for a starter?

Tuesday morning loomed long and large.  We had more work to do, for me some reading of an awesome book by Chris Orwig, photographer and super chap, and James had work to do for an online class that he is teaching.  We also had a date with a certain movie star in mind.  So with that we set off for the town of Grand Rapids, MN, about a 1 hour drive or so from Garrison.  It was a pleasant drive with nice scenery and no untoward events....except the bird that flew straight into the radiator of the Pathfinder with a loud thud and a flurry of feathers.  The bird wins the headache of the day award, methinks.

Arriving in Grand Rapids we turned to the trusty GPS and Bing Maps to find a local Starbucks to camp out at.  Alas, we were out of luck it seems with the only Starbucks in the entire town being a licensed concept store located in Target.  Call me a snob but having worked for Buckies for over 7 years in corporate stores, licensed concept locations and their lack of beverage standards are not on my menu.  So we spied a Caribou Coffee location a little way down the street and settled in there.  I have to say that the coffee was pretty good too!  They looked a little flumoxed when we asked them to make us a french press of coffee so we settled for an Americano for James and a Mocha for me instead and settled in for a few hours.  A pleasant experience indeed.  James typed away and I read away, all the while watching the comings and goings of various Minnesotans and their caffeinated habits.

Soon, however, it was time to leave.  We had a definite mission at hand, and those of you who use Facebook or Twitter to keep up with our adventures will know what the mission was.  You see, Grand Rapids is no ordinary town.  It is the birthplace of none other than St Judy herself.  Yes, dear reader, your happy homos were here to make a pilgrimage to the Judy Garland Birth House Memorial Museum and Historical Exhibition.

Could we be any gayer?

With barely contained excitement we went back to the car, re-programmed the GPS and sped off towards Mecca.  With no idea what to expect our imaginations went crazy.  Would there be a real life animatronics version of Judy at the entrance?  Would there be an interactive re-enactment of Liza's birth?  Would we be able to cluck appreciativly at the stupendous collection of Cecil Beaton costumes that had been designed for Judy in her many movie roles?  And then we arrived.

Located right on the main road, highway 169, with traffic thundering past, was a small sign that read Judy Garland Museum.  There were no dancing girls wearing snappy outfits and red sequined hats.  There were no munchkins ready to offer us a lick of their lollipops.  There was no walking, talking version of Liza Minelli, with Lorna and Sid Luft walking deferrentially two paces behind.  Instead there was an ordinary building with a sign. Just a sign, saying "This Way to the Judy Garland Birth House Memorial Museum and Historical Exhibition".  For a moment we looked perhaps a little crestfallen, and then, remembering that Judy was nothing if not a trooper of the first degree, we picked up our smiles and swept forward, radiating a smile that would have knocked the socks of Louis B Meyer, and entered the museum front door.

James listening to Judy sing in the museum

Once inside we came face to face with a delightful lady, wearing an odd looking frock that was an alarming shade of green, who informed us that we had to pay the princely sum of $8 each to proceed any further.  With credit card at hand we paid the fee, snatched up the photocopied map and sailed through the doors into the exhibition. 

The museum was completely different to anything that I was expecting.  Despite the fact that Judy Garland was a major star, and love her or hate her, and an important part of cinema history, the museum was suprisingly without pretension or glitz.  It had been set up by a group of people who were really proud of the the fact that Judy Garland was from Grand Rapids, MN, and had spent all their time collecting memorabilia from around the world.  They had even managed to secure her house.  There was no fancy lighting or glitzy corridors lined with costumes and gold discs.  There were no dancing ponies or munchkins.  Just a treasure trove of Judy stuff to look at.  Playbills, photographs, a few dresses, telegrams, and of course the house in which she lived were the crux of the exhbition.  There was a letter on the wall from Liza thanking the people for honouring her mother, and also a mention of that other deity, Barbra Streisand, who had donated funds to support the museum (bless!).  It was a remarkably honest and down to earth rememberance of a star who started out in humble beginnings, and who, through little fault of her own, ended up in a humble and sad ending.

Will the real Judy please stand up!

We went from section to section of the museum, marvelling at the material that had been amassed, and then toured the house that Judy (or Frances Ethel Gumm as she was christened) was born and raised in.  It was all very special and heart warming.  She was, and is, such a special lady.  All joking aside she was someone who has inspired many a person to move forward in their lives and I am glad that people have the chance to see and learn something about here.  And of course to visit THE GIFT SHOP!

How could there be a Judy Garland Birth House Memorial Museum and Historical Exhibition but no gift shop?  We were not dissapointed.  Although modest it had just the kind of campy "trinkerama" that one would expect to find.  Wizard of Oz lunchboxes, ruby slipper badges and brooches, assorted books, postcards, mugs, creepy Judy Garland dolls, etc etc etc.  The list just went on.  There was even a very large picture of Andy Williams, who was the guest of honour at this years Judy Garland festival that had taken place at the Judy Garland Birth House Memorial Museum and Historical Exhibition earlier this year (The picture looked like it was from the 1970s and I am sure that he is about 97 now).  But the biggest prize of all, apart from the foam "yellow bricks" that you could purchase for 50c each, was the set of Glinda and Dorothy Salt and Pepper shakers.  Glinda, the Good Witch of the North and Dorothy Gale of Kansas sculpted in porcelain, with holes drilled in their heads (three in Glinda (p), one in Dorothy (s)) and with clever little magnets to hold them close together.  No matter that Dorothy looked like she had been hit in the face with a brick and that Glinda looked her make up had been done by Robert Smith of The Cure.  These, dear readers, are insignificant minor details that mean nothing to Friends of Dorothy from all over the world.  And so, with credit card in hand, we forked over the requisite $12 to have these ceramic morsels enter our lives.  You may or may not be fortunate enough to see them on the dinner table when you next come over for dinner.  If not, then consider yourself persona non-grata and be gone...before someone drops a house on you!

"If I only had a brain"

With that, dear reader, we left the Judy Garland Birth House Memorial Museum and Historical Exhibition (don't you think the title just rolls of the toungue after a while?).  Waiting outside was the Wizard of Oz wooden cut out display where children could put their heads.  Well, seeing as we are all children at heart, it was too good an opportunity to miss!  I, being the perfectionist that I am, made James put his head in all of the holes and pose for photographs, presented here.  I am sure that you will agree that the one of him as Dorothy is just perfect and more than a little disturbing, seeing as how his eyes are so close to the top of the cutout head.  Bless him and St Judy!  You can see all of the shots here on this page, including one of yours truly, your blogmeister as well.

And with that, dear reader, our trip was done.  We spent the rest of the afternoon tootling around Grand Rapids, MN, and then headed back to Garrison.  Garrison seemed a strange and quiet place after having been to the Judy Garland Birth House Memorial Museum and Historical Exhibition.  But we cooked our dinner on the grill, washed our dishes, and retired to bed, thinking that for the next few days our cabin in Garrison was home, and that there really is no place like it.

Big Love,

D&J

P.S.  Don't forget that you can now follow us on Twitter for the microblog updates too!  David can be found as dnmartin98 on Twitter so hurry along and follow us!  You wouldn't want to miss anything would you!

Where to now, chaps?

Uh oh.....

"If I only had some courage!"

"If I only had a heart"

Lesbians, Bugs, and Bicycles.

Greetings all!

Sunday morning dawned bright and early at Camp Moi.  To be precise it was about 4am.  Our bijou little home doesn't include curtains really....just a few thin cotton pieces strung over the window.  Even if they had been heavier it wouldn't have drowned out the shrieking of the Loons on the lake (no I am not talking about the tea party either).  Still, a well placed pillow over the top of the head allowed a few more hours of sleep sending us through to about 8am.

Once we were up and in the land of the semi living, things didn't seem quite so bad.  James took a look around him and realised that maybe he had judged the placed through jaded, distant, and tired eyes.  The place didn't seem nearly as dire in the daylight.  Yes the sofa, walls, bed, vinyl, etc was still there.  But he seemed a little more content with it all.  I, the hardier one of the two of us when it comes to roughing it (yes, dear reader, I am deathly serious.  You may find me at Claridges or the Four Seasons when funding permits, but I am always happy to go camping and do adventurous things...like shopping in the dollar store) just smiled and nodded sagely.

Sunday was to be an easy day.  We had some chores and work to do, so we headed off to Brainerd (such an odd name).  We needed to find a laundromat/laundrette, James had two hours of work to do online, and I had to wrap up my last time sheet for Cisco.  So we spent most of the morning and some of the afternoon there, stopping to pick up a lovely Weber charcoal grill from Home Depot for $30 on the way home so that we didn't have to go back to the Blue Goose and be intimidated by Sherry and The Hydraulic Boobs (wouldn't that be an awesome name for a country western band?)

We did, however, go for a bike ride when we returned to Camp.  It was to be our first piece of real exercise since leaving Kentucky back on the morning of July 30th.  So in the heat we straddled the saddles and pushed off down the driveway for a ride into Garrison.  It was very pleasant, with the exception of some fat, lard ass trucker who tried to knock us off our bikes deliberately when we tried to cross the road.  A shake of my fist and an evil stare made me feel better, though I still peddled hard to make sure that I was safely on the other side of the road before he could get me.  But other than that, the ride was largely lovely and uneventful.  We totalled about 7 miles all told before panting back up the hill to the resort, gasping for a glass of wine.  Yes, dear readers, we are destined to be two old fat knackers by the time we return to Hebron in a week.  Ah well....C'est la Vie!  Dinner was grilled on the new BBQ and we turned in for the night.

Monday dawned with another early start, though this time I had a horrid headache that made me retreat under the covers for a while longer.  Ibuprofen and coffee soon sorted me out and we set off to enquire about fishing trips.  One of the demons that James is keen to lay to rest on this trip is "The Fishing Trip with Dad".  I gather that there was a trip with his dad in the dim and distant past which involved James not doing very well with his rod (ahem...) and his Dad yelling at him and calling him a duffer.  Consequently, the fishing trip demon needs to be dealt with.  Having asked the owner of the resort, Orin, and our next door neighbours at the site, Earl and Marty, which was a good company to take a trip with we had settled on Garrison Sports.  Having been told that The Blue Goose fishing trips were always full of drunken yahoos we had figured that that would not be good for James' delicate fishing constitution.  So off we toddled toward the aforementioned place to enquire about the details of "getting yer rod on....." as I like to refer to it.

Pulling up at Garrison Sports I was a little puzzled as to a sign outside that said "Bear bait here".  Those of you who are Friends of  Dorothy too will understand that this is not the kind of thing that you expect to see outside a fishing shop.  Having been referred to as Bear Bait before, I stepped gingerely inside.  Stepping up to the counter triggered a very nice lady to appear from the backroom and she smiled broadly at us both.  James, instantly at ease, started on his whole talk about wanting a fishing trip and being a novice, and not having done it  for years etc.  The women nodded appreciatively and before too long they were getting on fabulously.  Meanwhile I, the observant one, had noticed a very prominent HRC equal rights sticker affixed to the front of the counter.  I hissed "James, look" and pointed to the sticker.  He ignored me, as usual, and carried on with his new best friend.  After a few minutes, I tried again...."James, have you seen this?" I whispered.  Still I was ignored.  This, dear reader, is a normal but frustrating sense of affairs.  I mention something or point something out and am duly "tuned out", only for James to suddenly "discover" the thing that I mentioned and pretend that he was the one who first found it.  Sure enough a split second later James looked down and saw the sticker.  "Oh look", he said to the owner, you have an equal rights sticker on your counter".  The owner smiled and said "Yes, my daughter is..." and stopped.  You could see the calculation taking place in her brain....and then looking at both of us (who must have appeared a safe bet" continued "a lesbian".  And it that point it was like everyone was family.  She and James continued chatting up a storm and I was left to mooch around the store looking at the various shapes and sizes of rods and poles.

Before long, husband of female owner appeared behind the counter too.  By this point James had decided that we were going fishing on the Wednesday morning trip (8am -12pm).  Surprise!  That was also the trip that was being captained by the lesbian daughter and her significant other.  James, thrilled at the idea, was clearly in his element.  All memories of "The Fishing Trip from Hell" seemed to have vanished.  As husband of female owner approached, his wife turned to him and said "These two gentlemen noticed the equality sticker on the counter!"  At which point, husband turned round, took one look at us, and then, in a voice that boomed throughout the ENTIRE STORE and shook the rafters, said in a broad and resonating Minnesota accent "Ah, homo's are you then?"

Now, dear reader, I am not easily caught off guard.  But this is deepest and darkest Minnesota we are in.  Paul Bunyon may look like an escapee from the gay bar, circa 1982, but it still doesn't strike me as the last bastion of tolerance, especially with fruit cakes like Michelle Bachmann liable to be lurking behind a pillar.  A quick look around assured me that there was no one else within earshot and that we were safe.  James at this point had first laughed nervously and then said "yes" to husband owner.  At which point everyone chuckled and we carried on pretending that we were in an episode of The Walton's.  And with that, we all shook hands and sealed the deal.  Yes, we are booked on a fishing trip in Garrison, MN on Wednesday morning with a couple of lesbians.  Is Garrison ready for this?  Although slightly alarming at first, it was heartening and lovely that the owners had so straight forwardly embraced us and their daughter.  I can't wait till Wednesday to tell her about it!

The afternoon took us off to Kathio State Park for a hike.  Arriving, we checked in at the visitors office, bought our state park permit and headed on to the hiking trails.  Everything was suspiciously quiet.  Still, we sprayed ourselves down with bug spray (Ben's 30% deet, thank you very much) and headed off into the tundra.  You can see pictures of us all ready at the start of the trail in this blog.  Don't we look happy!  It was, however, not to last.  After about 45 minutes of hiking we realised why there was no-one else there.  That reason was the bugs.  I can honestly say that I have never seen or heard so many mosquitoes in all my life.  Although the bug spray was doing a good job of keeping them at bay, it seems that the effective distance of bug spray is a distance of about 6 inches from the body.  Both of us were enveloped in clouds of mozzies that made it seem like we were in a horror movie.  Sure, they were not biting, but it was really difficult to "Keep Calm and Carry On" as we Brits like to do.  So with much flailing of arms we had to cut the walk short and return to the car.  Mosquitoes and Deer Fly - 1, James and David - 0.  Bummer.

And so, with that, dear reader, we returned home, cooked our dinner and spent a quiet evening at the cabin.  Having stopped off at the liquor store for wine we sat inside scowling at the bugs that littered the outsides of the window.  I noticed that there was big spiders web, complete with large, unpleasant, hairy, hungry spider on the outside of the window next to my chair.  So I turned on the table lamp next to the window and watched a million mosquitoes fly straight into the spiders web and get caught.  I cackled out loud to myself, while remembering a line from Elvira, Mistress of the Dark;

"Revenge is better than Christmas",

And with that, dear reader, I bid you goodnight.

Big love,

D&J
 

The Eagles have landed.....

Greeting all!  Yes, we have arrived at Rolling Hills Resort!  We touched down on Saturday evening around 7pm on our nostalgia fest.  James drove us into the resort and although it was 41 years since he had been here he said that it felt that driving down the driveway into the resort itself was almost the same.  Now I feel I should clarify something here for my european readers.  Resort make it sound like we have gone to the sunny Costa Bomb or somewhere exotic.  In fact it is really a caravan site next to a very large lake on one side and a very large pond on the other.  Interspersed in between the caravans/mobile homes (more english/american translation) are six cabins.  We were destined for cabin #6.....we had originally booked cabin #1, the same one that James had stayed in as a nipper, but that had been reassigned as a whole season rental so we we got "upgraded".....to one that was larger and more modern (ahem....)

Once we had parked the car, we took a quick walk around the resort during wich James was rather quiet.  Then he spoke up.  "It's really different with all these caravans here" (see, now he speaks english....).  And then he went quiet again.  We had previously had a talk about what we were likely to encounter 41 years later...well, I had talked about celebrating the differences, not expecting it be the same, reflections of a childs life through an adult's eyes, etc etc and James had just sat their stony faced as he always does when he knows I am right, but I sensed that this was a lot different from that which he had been expecting.  Still, it was a first night and with my usual tact and subtlety I.....stayed quiet.

Returning to the door of the cabin, we entered.  In this instance not a lot had changed.  It was like stepping back into your grandma's kitchen and house.  Formica everywhere, nothing matching, two recliners, a suspect sofa (minus antimacassars) and a dubious looking carpet.  The bedrooms were dark panelled (read budget MDF) with a double bed in each.  In between the bedrooms was a makeshift shower with a large hot water tank in the middle of the floor.  A toilet filled with brown water loomed ignominously in the corner like an empty throne waiting for its next hapless regent.  Our journey, it seemed, was just beginning.

I could sense that James was a little crestfallen, so I cheerfully suggested that we drag our bags in from the car.  So in a matter of minutes were were firmly inside and ready to make the best of it.  It was clean, tidy, hideously unmatching, but fine.  We had not anticipated coming to a luxury pad with a maid and fluffy slippers but had come on a journey back in time.  I suspect that James had not thought that the journey back in time would extend all the way to the bed linen and the vinyl floors.  Still, there we were and that was that.

I could sense that both of us needed a drink.  You know, dear readers, that my mind is never far from the next meal, so I cheerfully (and perhaps a little too brightly) asked what he wanted to do for dinner.  The answer was quick.  " Blue Goose for dinner" said James.  I nodded, subserviently, havening never seen a goose that was blue, nor having had one for dinner either.  It quickly became apparent that this was the local bar/restaurant/diner in the town of Garrison just a short drive away.  So back into the car and off down the drive we went.  To the Blue Goose......

When we arrived we noticed that that Blue Goose had a liquor store next to it for off sales.  Great news in that we could pick up some wine for our new home! So we scurried off into the bar for dinner.  As soon as we entered I realised that this was not the place that I was going to be able to ask for a martini.  In a scene somewhat reminiscent of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, where they arrive and go for a stroll around Broken Hill and everyone stares (except we were wearing shorts, t-shirts, and sneakers, having wisely left our man-bags in the car) we entered the bar and looked around.  Lots of people looked back.  Then they carried on with their business and returned to chatting, about what I have no idea.  But I was glad that it wasn't about us.  James and I slid into a table in the corner and I wondered what my chances were of ordering a cosmopolitan (just kidding).  Shortly a bubbly young blonde waitress with a perky chest appeared at our table.  We were later to find out that her name was Sherry, due to overhearing a conversation in the parking lot where some men were talking admiringly about her chest as though it were the twin cams on a new truck ("wow they are big and powerful, certainly a handful")

Sherry dutifully dispensed menus to us and informed us that she would tell us what beers they had on tap if we asked.  Sensing that this was a leading question, I obligingly asked "what beers do you have on tap?"  To which she gleefully responded "Budweiser, Bud light, Miller light, Coors Light and Amber Bock".  Sucker punch.  Feeling the need to assert my individuality against the large perms and rippling plaid shirts that were all around me, I responded that I would have the Amber Bock.  She turned to James who said "Gin and tonic".  Traitor.  So who is the nellie one now, dear readers?

Once Sherry had taken herself and her chest back to whence it/she came from, James and I began to peruse the menu.  After deciding on Walleye sandwiches (check out the picture on James' Facebook Profile) we sat back to enjoy the surroundings.  James would occasionally come here in his youth with his mother and father for dinner.  He couldn't really remember much about the interior so I can't comment on whether or not it had changed much.  But we did spend a very nice evening there, enjoying our surroundings and the people around us.  Sherry was delightful, and her chest was really quite the star of the evening, even if wasted on us.  The men at the other tables though were certainly most appreciative.  The little 6 month old baby at the table next door certainly thought it was Christmas (and time for Christmas Dinner) everytime she came back to the table, judging by his smile, grabbing hands, and eyes like frisbees.

Having left the restaurant we descided that we wanted to pick up a bottle of wine from the liquor store.  Walking past a group of plaid shirt and wifer beater clad gentlemen, who were the ones discussing Sherry's appendages, we entered the Blue Goose Liquor Store.  Choice was fairly limited, but seeing something that we liked we paid the burly gentleman at the counter and headed on our way back to the cabin.  Will we return to the Blue Goose?  Perhaps for a drink later in the week methinks.  I feel a need to see if Sherry's boobs last the week, or whether she uses a handpump each day for top-ups.

Returning to the cabin we took another stroll around the resort.  James was still quiet about the whole experience but seemed content.  Places change and things come and go.  But as we walked around I asked if it was stirring any memories for him.  His answer, in his usual way, was succinct.  "This place holds many ghosts" he said.  And we will leave it at that.

And thus it was time for bed.  We turned out the lights, brushed our teeth, and hit the sack...well the double bed anyway.  We slept the sleep of the travel weary.  One of us because he had been sitting gazing out of the passenger window all day, and the other because of time travel, which brings the sleep of memories so vividly to life once more.

Big love to all!

D&J

Back to the future....nostalgia for Jimmy.

Greetings once more blogpickers! Yes, 'tis I BlogMeister David once more.  I am sitting here in the passenger seat of the car again writing to you. James is driving (as usual, though I was allowed to drive for about an hour today...huzzah!) so I thought I would end your suspense and tell you about the next part of our trip.

We just passed Minneapolis (hey Miss Janet!) and are now on our way to Garrison, centre of the universe. From there it will be a short trip to "The Cabin of Childhood Dreams and Escapades".  Well, the cabin of endless family holidays and fights with sisters might be a little more accurate.  So let me tell you more because I am convinced that you, dear reader, are beside yourself with anticipation as to why we, your intrepid friends, are heading here.

As you will recall James and I went back to the UK to get married last year (if you really haven't been paying attention then I suggest you check out the blog archives and catch yourself on). Well, to cut a long story short, it was all a bit expensive, what with a seven course dinner and a country house.  So this year we decided that we needed something a little less expensive.  One evening James came home from work and started talking about the cabin that he used to go to when he was a young boy...basically every year from the age of 0-16.  He mentioned that he might like to go back and visit, especially now that his parents are no longer alive and his dad can't terrorize him to go wrestling, or to participate in some other such manly activity which would be pure anathema to any soft and sensitive boy (though certainly less scary than kissing girls).  I sat there , listened and thought to myself...

"That was 41 years ago....ha. The place will now be either a supermarket, a bingo hall, or a microbiology centre dedicated to growing super strong plants that will save the world from certain destruction by aliens riding llamas". (Good idea for a movie, huh...Llamas vs Triffids...rocking!)

Well, dear reader.  As you have by now probably surmised, I was wrong.  Very wrong. In fact we are at this very moment on a freeway hurtling towards a date with destiny with nary a flux capacitor or a Delorean to hand.  I am about to be transported back in time to the VERY SAME CABIN BY THE LAKE FROM 41 YEARS AGO.  We are destined to spend 1 week here, and, providing that the bugs (which I am sure will be the size of planes) don't get me first, we will have a very informative, educational, and reflective visit. We are going to go fishing, hiking, biking, and possibly flower picking (if I can work that into the schedule to neutralize some of the testosterone that will be lacing the air).  It will, dear reader, be fun.

So there you have it.   You can be sure that I will be blogging regularly on how thing progress.  I am so gripped by the impending excitement that I will even be tweeting about it.  Those of you who are of the Twittering persuasion will be able to follow me on Twitter as dnmartin98 if you choose to do so.

After all, you wouldn't want to miss anything would you?

Watch this space.....

Big love,

D&J

Fondue, music, and a little bit of sausage dancing.

Greetings readers! It's a beautiful sunny day again here in Madison, WI. We have been here for three whole days now and are loving it. It has been a mixture of work and play for both of us; e-learning conference and Cisco interspersed with play time in the streets of Madison.

Wednesday was a beautiful day here in the land of cows and sunshine!  Having met up with Nancy and Ann, two other professors from the University of Cincinnati, we decided that a mini-road trip was in order. So we piled into the car and headed off to the Swiss style town of New Glarus.  Home to the oldest Swiss settlement in Wisconsin, and to our favourite brewery, it is somewhat of an annual pilgrimage. I had already done a 2 hour business development call with some people in Norway and California so was totally ready to get out of the hotel.  The open road beckoned so off we went.

Arriving at New Glarus we spent a very pleasant hour wandering the shops and generally having a lazy day.  We finally decided that it was time for lunch around 1pm  so headed to the local Swiss restaurant. There we indulged in Rueben sandwiches, Cheese fondue, and bratwursts.  There was mirth, merriment, and laughter all with a Swedish accent.  I should mention that there was no polka dancing or clogs in evidence despite rumours to the contrary.  The afternoon was spent at the New Glarus brewery home of our favourite beers before heading home for a much needed nap.  Oh afternoon naps I will miss you when this vacation is over!

Wednesday evening was an opportunity for more culture. Throughout the summer Madison has classical music concerts that take place on the green around the state capitol building. The music was obviously important, but the opportunity to sit on the grass with a bottle of wine and friends was perhaps more appealing.  So with plastic glasses in hand we settled in for an hour or two of Stravinsky, Tchaikovsky, Grieg, and Chardonnay, that well known oakey composer.  The music was good, the wine better, and as you can see from the picture above everybody had fun. The most fun though was had by a group of people sitting a short way away from us.  A squirrel ran down a tree and straight into the middle of a group of picnickers.  The squirrel proceeded to then run around, no doubt scared out of its fur, while all the picnickers screamed and ran around in circles.  After a while the squirrel ran back up the tree, it's job done, and all the people sat down sheepishly.

The whole evening then sped by with a visit to The Old Fashioned, a Madison institution and one of our favorite places to hang out (such a strange turn of phrase). Fueled by the cocktail of the same name, we indulged in walleye sandwiches, bratwursts in buns, and gourmet mac and cheese.  All six of us seemed very happy and James did declare later that he had felt a little silly at dinner, presumably code for being hammered. However everyone was well behaved, even though James did contemplate trotting out his Jimmy the Hula impression for the table. Alas, it was not to be, despite many requests.  Neither did he agree to perform "The Koschoreck", a special kind of polka danced while wearing lederhosen backwards and upside down and involving six pounds of bratwurst together with a large bag of cucumbers.  Ah the stuff of legend....

Thursday bought more work duties for us: James spent time in the conference discussing the finer points of e-learning retention while I chaired some meetings with people in the Cisco Hong Kong office.  Gripping stuff!  In the afternoon I headed out for a walk and a visit to the Madison Contemporary Art Museum, a terrific place that was showing an exhibition on technology and its impact through the ages. I spent a pleasant two hours there before returning to the hotel for a few more meetings and dinner in The Capitol Chophouse, a very splendid affair indeed. For those who like such details, dinner revolved around steak, scallops, crab cakes, and was accompanied by a Panther Creek pinot noir and a Frogs Leap Merlot.  All jolly nice indeed. It was good to spend time with a group of friends and marked a definite high point of the week so far!

Friday was a lazy day.  I had spent the morning recording some presentations for Cisco from our hotel room while James took to the floor in the conference to present his paper along with his colleague Jim.  I'd like to say that the afternoon was filled with our usual kind of craziness and mayhem, but it was actually spent wandering Madison, looking around the university, eating ice cream on the shores of the lake, and popping in and out of various shops.  It was all quite restful and very welcome.  Friday also ushered in my last day of working for Cisco as well. I have been very fortunate to be able to return to my old job, now as a contractor, in the summer and to work with my (mostly) fabulous colleagues there.  It went very well this year again, and I look forward to the possibility of doing it all again next year! Now it is time to try and return to being an artist once more.....

Friday brought a quieter evening at The Old Fashioned as two of our party had already departed. Still, we acquitted ourselves well and retired to the hotel room for a reasonably early night (11.30pm) as we all had early starts. Nancy and Ann were heading back to Cincinnati and James and I had a date with a car for the next part of the "Homos on the Road" extravaganza.

So there you have it, dear readers. I'll be posting tomorrow as we head onwards and upwards....literally.  We are heading to Minnesota!  Yes, I am wondering why as well.  But all will be revealed soon. Keep your eye on the blog!

Big love to all!

D&J