New York City

"Imagine" artwork inspired by John Lennon, Central Park

I had the opportunity to spend a week in New York City, helping my sister-in-law, Laurie, after knee replacement surgery.

I have been traveling to NYC for years, my first time in January of 1996, in the middle of a blizzard. The airline did not cancel the flight despite weather conditions, and so I went. I remember stepping over piles of snow up to my thigh on street corners as the city dug itself out. I arrived at my company's corporate headquarters hoping to get trained on some software I really needed to learn. Instead I filled in to get work done for the many employees who couldn't make it in due to the weather conditions. Weather conditions that, in Minnesota, would have caused a hiccup but not a work stoppage.

That same trip I got hungry around lunchtime and was given directions to a little deli around the corner where I could buy an amazing sandwich. The employee's recommendation was, "You'll never get sick there." I replied, "Wow, that's quite a recommendation." She looked at me and said, "Honey, in New York it is."

Aah, New York. I grew to love it after years of traveling there multiple times a year. I stayed in different hotels around the city, explored different neighborhoods. I remember being in the Minnesota office, travel bag in my car, expecting to head to the airport later that afternoon. It was September 11, 2001. Our cohorts in New York could see the smoke and chaos from their office building. I called several clients who I knew lived in the city out of concern, before the phone lines could no longer handle the traffic and all calls stopped. We watched the TV in our office in silence until some of us could no longer hold back our tears. Many of our New York coworkers who lived in that area weren't allowed back into their apartments for weeks. We closed the office that day and went home, in shock. We grieved with them. We grew strong with them. And we felt like New York was a part of us, not some distant city.

Years after 9/11, I remember walking the city and having someone ask me which way Madison Ave was. And I knew!! I knew we were west of it and that they should take a right at the next corner and go down two blocks to reach Madison. How crazy was that, that someone mistook me for someone who KNEW something about the city, and I actually did?

Central Park

George Washington Bridge, as seen from Wash Heights

And now, most recently, I got to know the city the best. I arrived here to take care of my sister-in-law Laurie as she recovers from knee replacement surgery. She moved to Washington Heights 6 years before, far from her previous home in Midtown. I'd visited her a few times in Washington Heights, but it always felt foreign and a little not like the New York I knew. It was quieter here, not bustling. You could not buy a New York t-shirt for blocks around -- no "I heart New York" hats or little Statue of Liberty trinkets. Just grocery stores, local marts, doctor offices and places for people who live here.

I had lots of time to myself as she was in the hospital for two days after her surgery. I took the subway downtown to visit her. I walked Madison Ave, walking in and out of stores far out of my league, smiling at the doormen who opened doors for me, even though it was obvious by my appearance that there was no way I was buying anything in those stores. 

Flowers planted around a tree in the sidewalk, Upper West side.

I walked Central Park, savoring the sun, lilacs and crabapple tress that were in bloom while Minnesota was experiencing the longest "gray out" of any April. I ended up in a different neighborhood on the other side of Central Park and figured out how to transfer trains to get back to Washington Heights. Once there, I learned the local bodega, the best liquor store, the local pharmacy where I picked up prescriptions for Laurie.

I visited a grocery store in the neighborhood where Lin-Manuel Miranda lives, picked up a bottle of wine from the wine store that Laurie has seen his wife shopping in. I didn't run into either of them, but I got to meet the sweetest massive doodle you ever met and talk with its owner for a while. The dog walked up to me and expected to be petted. His owner was embarrassed, I was thrilled. 

Artwork provided by students over a footbridge, Wash Heights.

The local church's community fridge, Washington Heights

There is so much greenery in New York, so many hidden walking trails through flowers, trees, and along the all surrounding waters, be it the Hudson, the East or the Harlem Rivers. The parks I travailed were not filled with garbage, were not littered with the belongings of homeless people seeking refuge among the trees. They were peaceful, only disturbed by the occasional bicyclist or walker. 

Aah, New York. Until we meet again.

Traveling with Someone With Anxiety (SWA)

An appropriate visual for living with someone with anxiety (SWA).

I wrote a post yesterday about a trip Lindsey and I took to New York City over New Year's. All in all, it was an incredible, amazing trip. I had glossed over the real purpose of this trip; it was an exposure for Lindsey's fear of flying.

For us, this was a Very. Big. Deal.

Lindsey hasn't been on a plane since a terrible experience flying to and returning from the Dominican Republic three years ago. At the time her overall anxiety level was really high and she had a panic attack on the plane that lasted an hour. If you've never experienced a panic attack, for an entire hour Lindsey believed she was going to die — truly believed, in her heart of hearts, that this was the end. It was terrifying and traumatic. Once we arrived, we took a car service to our resort, and, sadly, saw a car-scooter collision that was more than likely fatal for the scooter driver. It reinforced the idea that she was going to die on this trip. She and I left after just two days because she was unable to function, she was dreading the flight back so very much. The flight back was just as horrible as the flight there, and she said that her flying days are over.

Fast forward three years.

Lindsey is in a very different place with her anxiety. She is juggling online high school classes with college courses, held down a job, has grown in confidence and in knowing herself. So when she said she was willing to try to get on a plane to see a musical, I was happy that she had identified a "reward" for this exposure that she would be willing to do.

It is a very different experience traveling with Someone With Anxiety (SWA). This successful trip did not happen without a lot of planning and accommodations.

For one, after arriving in NYC and getting to my sister-in-law's condo, Lindsey was completely exhausted. We didn't go anywhere else the rest of the day and got take-out from the nearest bodega for dinner.

Truth 1: If traveling with SWA, be prepared to be in a city with incredible culinary experiences but be unable to take part in any of them.

Before going to bed we talked about all the places we wanted to see during our very short trip. Lindsey had a whole laundry list of things she wanted to do, but I know we wouldn't be able to hit them all. I knew more than she about how long it would take to travel from one part of the city to another, and also had a realistic expectation of how much energy she would have for seeing all of these things.

Her sleep that evening was interrupted by a terrible stomachache, a known latent side effect of high anxiety for her. Which meant that there would be no morning tourist stuff for us, sleep is critical to her mental health and she doesn't function well without it.

Truth 2: Vacationing with SWA means planning light schedules with plenty of time between outings to rest. Heavy itineraries are anxiety-inducing. 

Once again back to the bodega for breakfast which we ate in the condo, then we took a Lyft down to Lincoln Center to re-create a photo of her chasing pigeons from when she was in New York at age 2. We cabbed it over to the Met but the line to get in was incredibly long and snaked all the way to the end of the block. Lindsey said she wasn't up for the long wait in line and didn't want to do anything else, so we cabbed it back to the condo.

Truth 3: Vacationing with SWA means paying for transportation to go places only to turn around because the crowds are too much. Flexibility and patience are needed. 

We chilled back at the condo. I took a nap before we had to get ready for the show. We decided to eat at a restaurant near the condo, then take a Lyft down to the theater district. The restaurant we chose had a problem with their wood oven, which meant the menu was cut in half. We managed to find things to eat anyways, but this little glitch in our plans meant Lindsey was nervous that something else was going to go wrong. And, eating out makes Lindsey anxious, so she was ready to get the bill and go as soon as our meal was finished.

Truth 4: Dining out with SWA means meals are sometimes rushed and you never ever eat dessert out.

Our Lyft driver to the theater district was so nice! A lovely lady named Clara, whose calm demeanor and careful driving helped Lindsey. We got stuck in traffic on the way there, but because we left super early it didn't matter.

Truth 5: Traveling with SWA means anticipating delays and always leaving plenty of time. 

We arrived at Winter Garden Theater a full hour and 10 minutes before the show, plenty of time to walk around Times Square before curtains went up, which we had talked about doing. And yet, once we got there Lindsey didn't want to leave, she was concerned something was going to happen to us and we wouldn't get back in time. So we stood in the lobby for 40 minutes until they opened the doors, and sat in our seats for 30 minutes before the show began. We had time to get a poster before sitting down, use the bathroom and get a drink.

The opening act was incredible, and then there was a delay for technical difficulties. I've never seen a delay for issues in a play of this caliber before. Of course I was catastrophizing in my head as the minutes ticked by, hoping they would be able to figure it out and not cancel the show. I'm sure Lindsey was doing the same. After about 10 minutes they figured it out and the show went on.

We finally explored Times Square after the show, when Lindsey was less anxious about missing it. It was filled with lights and people and it was a great 15-minute experience, at which point Lindsey had enough of the crowds and we went back to the condo.

Truth 6: Some tourist experiences will be shortened or avoided because crowds are exhausting to SWA.

The next day we decided to try the Met again. There was no line and we were able to walk right in and begin exploring. We ate lunch there, then felt refreshed enough to keep going. I let Lindsey lead, seeing whatever she wanted, moving along when she was done and staying to absorb where she wanted to spend more time. I could've spent a lot more time in the galleries of the Impressionists. There were entire rooms of Monet, Renoir and Matisse, and we glanced at them as we walked through.

Truth 7: Sightseeing with SWA means putting your own interests second to theirs, especially since waiting and boredom increases anxiety. 

After four hours in the Met, I convinced her to walk through Central Park a bit since we were right there. After about 15 minutes we grabbed a cab and headed back to the condo.

It was New Year's Eve. We ordered take out from a nearby Italian place and had the most amazing homemade pasta. We watched a movie and were in bed by 10 p.m. while a million people gathered in Times Square just a few short miles away to watch the ball drop. (See Truth #6).

We never went south of Times Square. We did few "typical" tourist things. We never saw the lower Manhattan skyline, 30 Rock, Empire State, Statue of Liberty or the World Trade Center. We spent more time than most tourists would snuggled up on a couch with a blanket, watching shows.

I was relating our successful trip to a relative of mine, who is looking forward to our family being able to take more trips in the future. We are, too. But one successful trip does not mean her anxiety is "gone" or that this is over — it is one success in a journey toward a better life living with anxiety.

Start Spreading the News....

Lindsey is a big fan of Broadway musicals — she's already seen Wicked, Jersey Boys, Kinky Boots and, of course, Hamilton, all in Minneapolis. This past fall she came across the music of "Beetlejuice the Musical" and immediately loved it. She started looking into the musical itself, which has won a few Tonys this past year, and discovered that it's currently playing on Broadway and nowhere else.

"If we get tickets to see Beetlejuice on Broadway, I'll totally get on a plane to get there," she said to me out of the blue one day this past fall.

"Really?" I queried. Lindsey has a significant phobia about flying after our last disastrous spring break trip. After discussing the possibility of this trip, Wayne and I said, "You're on!"

Thus our trip to NYC was planned. We decided that it would just be Lindsey and I, as Wayne and Marissa had gone to New York two years before. We would be able to stay in Laurie's condo in Washington Heights, as Laurie was in Europe on holiday.

Long story short, the trip was a wild success. The flight out went beautifully, even though it was delayed by 2 hours. (Extended waiting increases Lindsey's anxiety.) She was practically giddy when we landed, she was so thrilled that it went well.

Lindsey was in New York when she was 2. I like to joke that Marissa was there too, but I was pregnant with her at the time so she couldn't see much. Not sure why she doesn't remember it. Anyway, we have a series of photographs of Lindsey at age 2 chasing pigeons in front of Lincoln Center. We decided to try to re-create those photos. It was a little challenging since it was raining out and there were hardly any pigeons. But we did find one willing participant. I would say we were successful at the re-creation.

Unfortunately it rained most of that day and was expected to be clear the day we were supposed to leave. So we called the airline and changed our flight to leave a full day later, giving us two full days in New York.

Beetlejuice was amazing. We had just spent $52 on a glass of wine and a bottle of water for Lindsey and shortly after Beetlejuice was singing "Enjoy your $50 wine." We thought he was joking about how expensive wine was, but apparently not!

Before curtains went up.

After the show we walked through Times Square, which was filled with all the theater-goers whose shows had just ended. It was energetic, full of light and crowds and vendors and tourists.

Crowds in Times Square.

Lindsey in Times Square. 

The next day we spent the afternoon at the Met, taking in an exhibit of armor and one of vintage dresses. We had tried to go the day before and the line to get in wound around itself and all the way to the end of the block, probably because it was raining and all of the New Year's Eve tourists were looking for something to do that was indoors. This time, we walked right in and spent four hours walking from gallery to gallery, taking in all kinds of paintings we had no idea were at the Met. We happened across "Washington Crossing the Delaware" and were blown away by the size of the painting.

Lindsey in front of the "Washington Crossing the Delaware" painting. 

Armor that Maxamillian I had made for his 12-year-old son.
He must've thought a lot of his son's manhood.

That night was New Year's Eve, and over a million people were gathering in Times Square to watch the ball drop. On the other hand, we were curled up with blankets on Laurie's couch, watching a movie called "Leap Day," appropriate considering that 2020 is a Leap Year. We ordered take-out from a nearby Italian place and it was amazing. Homemade pasta and delicious sauces, we both deemed it a grand way to ring in the new year.

Selfie attempt in Central Park.

The next morning we went back to LaGuardia for the flight back home, which went as well as the flight out. Lindsey entertained herself watching "Maleficent 2" on the plane and was surprised when it was time to start descending from the clouds.

All in all, it was a fantastic return to air travel for Lindsey.

The Trials and Tribulations of GPS

Last night I took Lindsey and a friend of hers to a counter-protest in downtown Minneapolis. I'd heard and read that traffic was going to be challenging. All the roads around the Target Center were closed to make room for the protesters, we had to get down there around rush hour, so leave extra time or plan alternate transportation.

My plan was to park in a ramp far away from the action and walk to the Target Center. That way we would also be away from all the traffic and could leave downtown relatively easily. It didn't exactly work out that way.

We parked in the first ramp I saw and I dropped a pin on the map to note that I had parked there. We walked to the Target Center no problem with just a few quick turnarounds when we first made it out of the ramp. I hate it when pedestrians exit parking ramps on different sides than where you entered, I always get a little twisted around at first.

We went to the protest, had a great time, ate dinner at The Local (also a great time), and then headed back to my dropped pin....which looked nothing like the ramp I had parked in. We found a staircase, went up a flight and looked around. No car, and not familiar surroundings.

So we went across the street to another ramp that looked more like the one I had parked in. Nope, no there either.

We all remembered coming down a blue staircase that was marked "2B," because we were laughing about "to be or not to be." The staircases we were trying were marked by a letter or a number, not both. They were also either purple, orange, brown, or a variety of other colors, not blue.

What. On. Earth.

Lindsey, Ava and I walked from ramp to ramp in a four-block radius for nearly an hour before Lindsey finally collapsed after yet another staircase. "I think my feet have had it, Mom," she said. It was now way past Ava's requested time to be home and getting late to be lost in downtown Minneapolis.

I ordered a Lyft and decided to try to find my car the next day. The driver told me how he always takes his parking stub with him when he parks because it has the ramp address on it, that way he always knows where he parked. This told me two things: 1. That's a really smart idea and I should do that in the future. 2. He's lost his car before or he wouldn't do that, so I'm not the only numskull who's done this.

We went home and I slept fitfully, wondering if I'd remembered to lock my car, if I had anything valuable in there, if someone had broken into it...my mind went wild with catastrophizing. My brain is good at that.

As soon as my sister got off work the next morning she came over to my house, had a little breakfast, and we went back downtown to search for my parked car. Both Google and Apple maps marked my car in the same place they reported it the previous night, so I was interested in seeing where they hell it was and how many ramps we'd have to check before we found it. Kristi drove the same route into downtown as I had the previous night, hoping we'd come across the ramp from the same direction and it would jog my memory.

We found it immediately — the first ramp we checked. The ramp was under construction and the previous night I had gone in on a side that was dark and had many roped off spaces. The pin had dropped on the opposite side of the block, where it was well-lit with multiple ways in and out, which was why the ramp didn't look familiar to us when we searched it the previous night. Plus it was divided into two separate parking areas that did not connect. No wonder we hadn't found it the previous night.

Kristi and I left and were driving our separate ways when she called me.

"You're gonna laugh," she said.

After I'd found my car, she set her GPS to get out of downtown and head back home. After exiting the ramp, the GPS system was having her take all kind of winding side roads, not the main roads of downtown. It was making her turn this way and that, and she couldn't figure out where it was having her go until it gave her a detour for Cedar Lake Trail. Cedar Lake Trail? That's a bike path! It thought she was biking so it was having her take the less traveled streets of downtown! She pulled over, re-set it to know she was driving, and it safely and quickly directed her out of downtown and back on her route home.

"Some day we'll laugh about this," we said last night when we were taking the Lyft home. I already am.

Pinnacle of Skating Season: North Shore Inline Marathon

I have not been skating much this summer, like last summer. Last year I developed plantar fasciitis which meant my feet were in extreme pain for two days after skating. This year, my feet are a bit better, but still not great.

I've only been out on my skates a few times this summer. I did the Minnesota Half marathon the first weekend in August, and it was exhilarating. I had forgotten how awesome it feels to skate on an open road, without having to worry about bikers or others on the trail. Before I knew it I was at mile-marker 7; I couldn't believe the race was halfway over! I finished in a little over an hour and was surprised at how quickly it had gone by.

That weekend I signed up for the North Shore Inline Marathon, six weeks after my half marathon.

I only got on my skates once more between the half and the full marathon. I was not well-trained, but I didn't really care, I wasn't going for a certain time, I was going for the thrill of it. Kristi and the girls came up with me for support; my own cheering section!

The thrilled started a little early. The drive up Friday night was awful. About 20 miles outside of Duluth we hit fog that got thicker and thicker. Soon I was peering straight in front of the car, hoping to not lose sight of the lines on the road. There was no exiting the highway because I couldn't see where the pavement began or ended, and could not tell if other cars were nearby. That was not the kind of thrill I was hoping for. We made it safely to the hotel, nearly 1 1/2 hours after we should have arrived.

The morning of the marathon looked no better. We drove to the shuttle pick-up in dense fog. Once there, it began to pour. Lots of skaters were consulting with others on whether or not they were going to do the race. I had braved such terrible driving to go there, there was no way I wasn't going to try. I figured that unless they canceled the race, which they would only do for lightning, I was going to skate it.

By the time the bus got to the start line the rain had stopped, the fog lifted and there was no discernible wind. The pavement was wet but in good condition. Road improvements over the past year meant that the majority of the 26.2 miles was on smooth pavement -- no cracks or "tar snakes" to gum up wheels. Due to the wet pavement course marshalls were recommending no drafting, making what is usually a very social event one of solitude instead.

The first two miles are almost completely downhill. It felt wonderful to just tuck and go. The storm had churned up Lake Superior, which was visible to my left, angry and gray.

I had forgotten that for much of the course, skaters have to climb up and then the terrain flattens out, then climbs again. There's no coasting downhill for several miles. And then there was mile 11, a long, slow downhill, curving gently to the right.

The lake was practically in front of me as I began, sounding like an ocean in the crashing of its waves. I tucked low and began down the hill, gaining speed. Faster and faster, until I checked my watch and saw that I was going 24 mph. Cool air, crashing waves and speed=exhilaration.

The rest of the race felt wonderful until about mile 21, when my lack of training became apparent. I felt like I was using every last bit of strength and was moving in molasses. There are a couple of big hills near the end when we get off the interstate -- a volunteer walking along the side of the race course was going faster than me. How embarrassing.

Finally, the finish line! Kristi and the girls were cheering me on and I couldn't let them down. I completed the race in 1 hr 57 minutes, beating my goal of 2 hours by a few minutes. It was such a wonderful feeling, knowing I had made it through the sludge of the last few miles to finish with gusto.

I've already signed up for next year's marathon. This time, I'm going to train for it.

Just minutes after finishing. So great to see my cheer team at the end (including the one behind the camera).

Not the Real Mexico

The view from our balcony.

When our family took our trip to Mexico, we all were more than a bit nervous about traveling to another country. It's been years since Wayne and I had been to Mexico, and we all wondered about the language barrier.

As I expected, everyone working in the resort spoke English. We got to practice saying "gracias" and "por favor" a lot, but otherwise all transactions occurred in English. We didn't even have to change our money, we paid for any cash transactions with US dollars and tipped in dollars.  Can you imagine someone from Mexico coming to our country and trying to use pesos?

Early on in our stay Lindsey asked if Mexicans who vacation in the US can stay in places that only speak Spanish. I said, "If they vacation in an area that has a lot of Spanish-speaking people possibly, but for the most part they need to know English."

"But that's not fair!" she said., You are correct, it is not.

One day when went shopping in Playa del Carmen and had a taxi take us to "5th Avenue" (which is actually on 5th Ave), with blocks and blocks of vendors with tables out, stores and restaurants. The drive to leave our resort was a boulevard lined with lights, sculptures and palm trees. The driver then took a left and we were on a city street lined with half-tumbled down buildings and ramshackle lean-tos. A clothesline hung under a bridge held tiny t-shirts for boys and dresses for little girls. The heat was oppressive and there was no escaping it -- no pool to dip your toes into, no one to offer you a cool drink.

I felt like we had been living in Capitol City in the Hunger Games while District 13 was right outside our door.

Our luxurious bathroom.

Our family talked about it for some time after our shopping excursion. I would like to think that our visiting the country, going to a resort that employs local people and tipping generously throughout our trip helps. Yet the poverty we saw in a few blocks was no different from the poverty I saw in Honduras 15 years ago. Of the thousands of dollars we spent on our vacation -- airfare, the resort, food and shopping -- the majority of that money went to Melia, the company that owns the Paradisus line of resorts, and the airline. How much of that trickled down to the employees themselves? I can't imagine very much.

Our girls got a glimpse of how extravagantly Americans live compared to people in other countries. We talked a bit about the girl our family sponsors in the Philippines and how we can't help everyone living in poverty, but we can help one girl. And that has to count for something.

Mexico

The view when you enter the resort lobby of Paradisus La Esmeralda.

I never in my wildest dreams imagined we could ever do a family vacation to Mexico. We never took exotic vacations like that when I was a kid, and when Wayne was a kid -- well, they didn't take vacations.

The four of us had an absolutely fantastic time. The weather was balmy and sunny every day. The resort was absolutely incredible -- top-notch service everywhere we went, amazing restaurants, and delicious food. Our room was breath-taking and perfect for our family, with a swim-out into the pool right from our deck, perfect for our little fishy Marissa who always wanted to go to the pool. She could swim straight from our room while we sat on the deck, reading a book and having a cold one.

Marissa on the steps of our swim-out balcony. 

 But the best part of the vacation wasn't where we were (though that certainly helped), it was who we were with and what we did.

On one of our first nights there Marissa tried to cut a steak and managed to keep one little piece and lose the entire rest of the steak under the table. Lindsey laughed so hard that the rest of us were in giggles the rest of the night.

One morning Lindsey sneezed and the cough drop that used to be in her mouth skittered across the marble floor in the lobby of our hotel, to be heard stopping against a potted plant. Again, I don't know why all these things were so funny to us, but they were.

We all tried snorkeling for the first time. Lindsey and Wayne went parasailing. We lounged around the beach, the room, the pool, the lobby. We read, journaled, listened to music, giggled at Spongebob Squarepants in Spanish, and napped most every afternoon.

Reading.

Writing a letter to Grandma Horsman.

We are already planning next year's vacation. The Paradisus was an incredible resort and we would go there again, but we're thinking about visiting the one in Costa Rica. Or Belize. After all, we've only got 5 more years until the oldest one graduates high school.

Gulp.

Enjoying one last view of the mangroves before heading home.

From Lincoln to Today

Over seven days of our spring break our family drove for 27 hours in the car and covered more than 1,500 miles. There was not a single fight in the backseat, thanks in part to the "Frozen" soundtrack which our girls LOVED to sing along with. At the top of their lungs. So while the peace was held, parental sanity was not.

One of the stops on our whirlwind spring break tour was Springfield, IL. Wayne had been there as a boy on the only vacation his family ever took. The initial reason for the trip was to see family, but while in Springfield they stopped by the Abraham Lincoln home in Springfield. Since we were heading south to Arkansas from Wisconsin and had to swing through Illinois anyway, this seemed like the perfect diversion.

What a diversion it was!

The most photographed angle of Lincoln's home.

His writing desk where he wrote many speeches.

Our first tour was of the Lincoln home. This is the 3,100 sq ft  home Lincoln the lawyer made for his family, an unheard of size for the time period. He worked late into the night as a lawyer and politician in order to give his family all the things he didn't have as a young boy:  An education.Sufficient food and clothing. Opportunity. Ironically, his eldest boy, Robert, was distant from his father, as his memories are of Abe saddling up to serve on the judicial circuit and never being home. By the time Robert's younger brothers came along, Abe's work was in town and he was home most days, so they were closer with their dad.

We then went to the Abraham Lincoln National Museum in downtown Springfield, where we spent the majority of the day. You don't have to love Abe Lincoln or history to find this museum and its presentation moving. Humbling. Respectful. Pick your adverb, it was an incredible and somber experience.

Except for this part. This part wasn't quite so somber.

I learned some things about old Abe that I didn't know.

1. He was not a popular president. As a matter of fact, between the time he was elected president and he took office 12 states had seceded from the union, they were so infuriated with his being elected. (Hmmm....I remember some politicians threatening to secede if they had to buy into this "Obamacare" business...)

Lincoln's physical features made him a favorite of political satirists.

2. Once in office, his detractors were many. He appointed some of his fiercest political foes to his cabinet. While this helped him understand what others' positions were on slavery, it was also fatiguing to constantly defend himself among his closest "advisors." One of his advisors only agreed to join him in his anti-slavery stance because he thought all the blacks would sail back to Africa after being freed, even though most of them were American-born.

This scene is seared in Marissa's head. It was very impactful and emotional.

3. Only one of his four sons lived to adulthood. Guess which one? Yep, Robert, the oldest who did not have a close relationship with his dad. The tragic deaths of the other three sons from what are now preventable disease took an emotional toll on Mary. Robert had her committed to an insane asylum after her third son's death, which occurred two years after Lincoln was killed. She wrote letters of protest which were printed in the Chicago Tribune and other newspapers. The public embarrassment of having "shut away" his mother when the asylum stated she was well enough to leave forced him to petition for her release just months after her commitment. She and he never reconciled.

Scenes of Willie's illness in the White House and Mary's grief at his passing.

 4. The Emancipation Proclamation was a heavily debated and disputed document by both sides. Abolitionists said it hadn't actually "freed" anyone: blacks in the north were already free by previous legislature; states in the south said they did not have to follow the law of a "foreign" country, so it made no actual difference in the lives of slaves. It wasn't until after his death that the importance of the statement of that document was recognized and respected.

Representing the reaction to the Emancipation Proclamation

5. Lincoln was assassinated just months after the end of the Civil War. John Wilkes Booth was fine with blacks not being slaves, but when he heard the idea that they may become landowners -- or even have the right to vote! -- he was pushed to the edge. Even though his signature was on it, Lincoln did not get to see the 13th Amendment which abolishes slavery become law as not all the lawmakers had signed it at the time of his death.

The devil snuck in the back way.

The presidential portraits of Lincoln -- one for each of the four years he was in office -- showed him visibly aging what seems like decades every passing year from the heavy responsibility of war. He felt the weight of hundreds of thousands of deaths on his shoulders. I do not think he slept.

The wax figures, scenes, documents, lighting, and audio effects made history literally come to life. No one got bored. Okay, so Marissa kept trying to push me along to see the next room because it was SO COOL, but she definitely was not bored.

The White House and Civil War displays were dark. Somber. Moving. It seemed odd to go from there to the children's shop where the girls could try on period clothes and make dinner from the log cabin kitchen. That was our final stop of the day, and the following day we stopped at Lincoln's tomb before heading south on our journey.

Statue of young Lincoln on the left, and President Lincoln on the right. The heavy mantle of war is on his shoulders, weighing him down.

Ironically, we happened to arrive on the first day of it being re-opened after a 4-month closure for remodeling. Visitors could walk through the circular hall, admiring statues along the way, and eventually view Lincoln's sarcophagus. His wife and first three sons are buried in the tomb with him. His eldest and longest-living son is buried in Arlington National Cemetery, due to his stature as a politician and ambassador during his own lifetime. Many times friends tried to convince him to run for the presidency but he always turned it down, saying that there was something "fatalistic" about wanting to become president.

Considering the assassination attempts on those who followed his father in that office, there's something to be said for that. And, he had some really big footsteps to follow. I'm sure he knew that no matter how good a president, he would never measure up to his father. I don't believe many today would.

A Marathoner's Life

Sometimes I swear it's me who runs the marathons.

From tempo to interval runs, bonking, "junk" miles and negative splits, I'm all into the jargon.

I tell people that Wayne goes out to run a "quick" 7 or 8 miles. Because to him, that's a short run. Never mind the fact that I've never run anything over 4 miles, and that it took me nearly an hour to do. (That's practically walking, in case you were wondering.)

My perspective on running is a bit jaded, especially as a self-described non-runner.

So you probably can't understand why I was looking forward to getting up at 4 a.m. the Saturday before Mother's Day to drive to Brookings, SD, to watch Wayne run his 9th marathon. I have come to love spectating at these events. This one was no different. Actually, it was different, which is what made it all the more fun.

We arrived in Tracy, MN on Friday night and hit the road early the next morning to complete the trip to Brookings. It was 37 degrees out and as a seasoned marathon spectator, I knew to dress for the weather, since I probably wouldn't be hanging out in my car. Lined tights and four layers of shirts and fleeces did the trick. Wayne, on the other hand, donned a sleeveless shirt, arm warmers, and shorts. I got cold just looking at him.

I dropped him off at the start and went to McDonald's for my secret love: Egg McMuffin sandwiches. I haven't had one in years. And because I know my dad's an early bird, I called him and had a nice chat at 6:45 a.m., uninterrupted by kids and household chores. What a treat!

Pretty soon it was time to start spectating, so I grabbed the race map, my GPS and went on my way.

The Brookings marathon only allows 300 people to run the marathon distance, so it's a very small race. There is a half marathon and a 5k distance for a total of 1,000 runners, still small by comparison to others.

The course wound through town, and was well marked by volunteers with flags and orange cones. They didn't have to close any of the roads, so as a spectator it was easy to drive around to see Wayne run. I think I saw him 8 or 9 times along the route. I would park at an intersection, get out and watch him run and cheer him on. Then I would get back in my car, drive north five blocks, park and cheer him on as he ran the next mile. I may have only driven 5 blocks, but the race course had wound around a whole mile through city streets.

Drive park cheer. Drive park cheer. Get cold and go for coffee. Drive park cheer.

It never warmed up the entire race -- 37 degrees for 3+ hours. And because it's the plains the wind never let up, with gusts up to 30 mph. In May. Yeay for a northern climate!

It was so much fun. For me, that is. Wayne said the wind really sucked. Or at least, he used words that sounded like that, he may have said something else.

I could tell when he'd be coming because I would recognize the runners just ahead of him, who I would cheer on as well. But by mile 19 I could tell that the people who used to be ahead of him had faded and he was out in front of the majority.

Doesn't this look exciting?! Yep, it must've been pretty quiet out there for him, running by himself with no music for over 3 hours. Just the way he likes it.

He ended up finishing 12th overall and 2nd in his age group. His particular age group was incredibly fast -- the winner of the marathon was 52 and completed in a time of 2:38. The winner of the age group younger than Wayne's took 1st place for his division with a time a whole 15 minutes slower than Wayne's.

But still, he ran his 2nd fastest marathon in gusty, windy conditions. We celebrated by going out to a local place for a brew and a good meal before driving back to Tracy.

What a fun day. I must be a marathoner's wife since that's my idea of fun.

Traveling with the Team

I have a glimpse of what it would be like to travel with an athletic team. Not a group easily recognizable by 90% of Americans, but maybe a team locally known but somewhat recognizable by a wider subset of people.

The security line on the way to Boston was filled with people wearing five-fingered shoes, carrying workout backpacks with gels stuck in the outside pockets, studying the latest weather forecast for Monday in Boston. Which got worse every day, by the way. But more on that later.

One piece of luggage took longer than the others to get through the security screening. Lindsey and I stood there and patiently waited and waited for it to come through, and finally the TSA agent, who was looking at the contents of the bag on his screen, looked and us and said, "What are you doing with cowbells in your luggage?" He smiled as he let the luggage finally slide all the way out to where we could reach it.

We had a layover in Chicago, and nearly everyone on our flight to Chicago had a final destination of Boston. We ran into other people from Wayne's running club who also had layovers in Chicago....but were not on either of our flights. The airport was filled with people wearing blue and yellow finisher jerseys from prior years, or with the orange and black gear from the 2012 marathon.

Reverse this on the way back.

Everyone's big event is complete. Even more orange and black or blue and yellow is seen throughout the airport. From the security line to the shuttle bus to the people sitting in the terminal, anybody would come up to someone else wearing the colors. The camaraderie was incredible.

"How'd your run go?"

"Congratulations on your run."

"How was the heat?"

Oh yeah, back to that.

The week before we left for Boston the forecast for race day was a high of 78. Unseasonably warm, but doable.

Crowd shot of runners and spectators at mile 17.

A few days later it was adjusted to a high of 82. Then 84. Then eventually 87. Only on Monday, of course, it was going to be a bit cooler the day before AND after actual race day.

Wayne's hopes of running a fast race went out the window. He adjusted his plans, wisely, to simply enjoying the experience and stay hydrated.



Wayne at mile 17, grabbing some coconut water and ice.

He completed the race in 4:04, his slowest marathon ever. It was 84 degrees at the start and 89 degrees at the finish. But he finished on his feet and was able to function later in the day, which was more than others could say.

Wayne said that some of the best help on the course came from the spectators. For much of tbe race the runners are going through small towns, running right in front of people's houses. They were setting their sprinklers out to spray the runners, handing out oranges or popsicles or beers. (Not that the beer would help hydrate runners, but at least you wouldn't CARE you were in the med tent.) Where we were standing at mile 17, homeowners had pulled out their garbage and recycling cans for everyone to pitch into.

It was fantastic to be a part of something so big, even if from the sideline.

Hannibal, MO

On the way back from my dad's place in Arkansas we stayed over once more in Hannibal, MO, boyhood home of Mark Twain, or Sam Clemens, as he was known as a kid.
I had wanted to tour Mark Twain's home on our way down, but the desire to arrive at our destination by dinner hour was more pressing, so we spent time on the way back to Minnesota.

Last year I read Mark Twain's autobiography...Volume 1. And in case you didn't know, Mark Twain's works today continue to stir readers up, with some parents and other groups advocating to change the most derogatory word in his classic books (it starts with an "n") with more acceptable terms, while purists believe we should leave well enough alone.  He insisted that his autobiography not be published until 100 years after his death, out of concern that his progressive ideas would bring retribution to his family.

Outside of his views, Mark Twain had a way to paint a picture with words, and his witticisms were intelligent, satirical and are widely quoted yet today. As he aged his sentimentality over his boyhood roots grew.

The introductory plaque before entering Mark Twain's home

I loved that his home was presented with Mark Twain's own words when he toured his own home as an adult. He had already become famous, his works well-known and his company in great demand. He had become a confidant to President Grant, had met world leaders and toured the nation and the world speaking. But he was brought to tears by the sight of his old home and of the streets of Hannibal, MO.



I love this quote -- don't we all feel like this as we move through life?

Hannibal has remained a small river town, though they have clearly capitalized on their renown as Mark Twain's hometown. The streets slope down to the river and are met by a large berm to hold back the flood waters (that part is probably new since Mark Twain's time). While cars have replaced the horse and buggy, the streets are still lined with many of the original buildings built in the 1830's and 40's, all now on the historical register and well-preserved, home to businesses that would have made Mark Twain chortle.

This building was erected in 1839...and is now home to Groomingdale's, a pet boutique.

Huck Finn's home was preserved as well -- wait, you say, wasn't Huck Finn a fictional character? Yes, but he was based very closely on Mark's boyhood friend, Tom Blankenship. The Blankenship family was poor and lived in a small one-room house on the edge of town. It's hard to believe that a family with 9 children resided there.

Huck Finn's home

Inside Huck Finn's home. So tiny!

The Mark Twain museum brought to life five of his most famous novels, and on upper floors of the museum you could view the original collection of art that Norman Rockwell completed depicting scenes from his books. Some became Saturday Evening Post covers, others were done simply to honor a great American author.

The museum did a great job of creating interactive parts for kids, but Mark Twain's fame and works are still lost on our girls. Some day they will understand his importance in American literature, and hopefully they will go back.

Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn

I'll close with one of my favorite quotes, still relevant today.

Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.

Four States South

On our way to my dad's place I realized I have never crossed the Minnesota border into Iowa.

Hard to believe, isn't it?

Guess what -- it looks a lot like Minnesota. We drove through Mason City, Waterloo, Keokuk and then to Missouri. We stayed over in Hannibal, Missouri, boyhood home of one of my favorite American authors, Mark Twain.

After two days of driving we reached our destination -- a little log cabin in Paragould, Arkansas.

It was such a change of pace for us -- so peaceful and quiet. I loved hearing the birds in the morning, the crickets in the evening. The cabin was always filled with a woodsy scent, mingled with coffee and cooking smells.

My dad and stepmom were such gracious hosts. My stepmom stocked the trailer where we stayed with art projects, crayons and paper for the girls, and we enjoyed many home-cooked meals.

We went to the nature center in Jonesboro one day, and learned about Crowley's Ridge, a geological area covering miles of Missouri and Arkansas. We saw snakes in terariums and in the wild, and the girls got to try their hand at duck and goose calls.

The girls played with the dogs. They explored the property with my dad, which was so sweet to see. They rode around the property on Turfy, a golf cart Dad and Terry own, and swung in the hammock.

On our last day the girls took individual trips in to town with one of the grandparents, during which time they were utterly spoiled and got just about anything they asked for. (Thank goodness Terry knows where the Dollar General store is.)

Best of all, our kids got to know their grandparents. Lindsey chatted her grandpa's ear off one day, and Marissa naturally gravitated to Terry, asking her about her favorite color, holiday, hobbies, etc.

It was a visit well worth the drive. We'll be doing it again, I'm sure.