Every summer, for the past four years, my daughter, Anna, and her good buddy, Sydney, have taken a day and gone on a Weird Wisconsin Roadtrip.  Sometimes it’s just the two of them and sometimes they take along a friend or two to search out weird and wonderful sights in our state.  This year, the girls decided on something really wild.  They took their moms.  Yes, Beth and I were privileged to be chosen for this annual event and we couldn’t have been happier!  A whole day of gallivanting with our girls!  Here’s how the WWR worked:

First, we went to the bakery, where sour cream donuts, a blueberry danish and a banana were purchased.  Coffee in hand,  we walked down the block to the bookstore.  We sat on the bench on the sidewalk and munched on our pastries while we waited for the bookstore to open.  The owner of the store saw us sitting out there and opened up early for us.  Ah, how I love small towns.  We picked up the book “Weird Wisconsin” and paged through it, looking for an interesting destination.  Beth offered to buy the book and the girls exchanged wide-eyed smiles as they suddenly realized that this will be a Roadtrip like no other.  This time they have people along with money in their purses and a penchant for indulging their children. 

We strolled to the town square and sat on the grass while taking a vote on which direction to head.  Northeast was agreed upon for various reasons, but mostly we just decided to take off to see what we could discover.  Our first stop was at the “La Rue World of Miniatures” in Pardeeville.  (Who wouldn’t want to live in PARDEEVILLE?)   We drove right by it at first, but Anna spotted the attraction amidst the overgrowth.  Evidently, LaRue’s is no longer in operation and hasn’t been for quite some time; but no one was around and trespassing on an abandoned world of mini-statues seemed an appropriate way to start the Weird Wisconsin Roadtrip.

From there we continued down the road to Princeton where a huge flea market is held every weekend in the summer.  I bought three old yardsticks for just $.21 per inch.  As we were leaving, a man called out to me, “Do you collect those?”  He told me he had a bunch of them in his workshop he’d sell me cheap.  Then he proceeded to tell me how to get to his place a few miles out of town and what barn his shop was in and to go in the door on the east side of the barn and just to the right of his bench is a pile of those yardsticks I could have cheap.   We turned down that adventure.  Trespassing once was enough for one day.

Continuing northeast, we found ourselves in Oshkosh, b’gosh.  Since it was well past noon, and we were dangerously close to that hot-grumpy-hungry state, we stopped at the New Moon Cafe for refreshment.  They were kind enough to prepare something off-menu for some of our special dietary needs and we all felt rejuvenated for our next stop: the Oshkosh Public Museum.  Evidently, this was the home of a very special clock called the Apostle’s Clock.  Every hour on the hour, this 114 year old clock would spring into action.  Jesus would come out the top door and the twelve apostles would pass by Him and bow their mechanical heads.  All except Judas, that is.  When he would come out the little door and go by Jesus, Judas would turn his back to the Lord.  That 30 seconds of drama is what we came 90 miles to see. 

However, squeals of delight came from the backseat when the girls saw an unexpected sign out in front of the museum: PotterFest.  I couldn’t believe it when I realized Harry Potter was just about to trump Jesus and the Apostle’s Clock.  I also couldn’t believe it when I paid for two $7 admissions to Wisconsin’s rendition of Hogwart’s.  Harry and his friends were there and even though I’ve never read any of the books, their presentation was quite entertaining.  After being “sorted” and having our tea leaves “read”, I did feel a twinge of guilt when the clock struck the hour and Jesus walked out of the little door.

On the way home, we drove through the beautiful Green Lake Conference Center resort area.  Unfortunately, the prayer tower was locked so we couldn’t climb up to take in the panaramic view of the lake.  To their credit, the girls tried like the dickens to pick the lock with three bobbie pins, but to no avail.  Further down the road, a little town was kicking off its 4th of July parade, so we plopped down on a blanket and soaked up some small town patriotism.  We clapped for the middle school band with one lone trumpet player trying his best to carry 12 squeaky clarinets in “America the Beautiful”.  We picked up candy and gave it to the little boy next to us, except for the Tootsie Roll that Beth made a dive for.  We cheered for the Shriners on their little scooters and bought the girls a brat. 

There were still three sites on our list to see in Montello: the waterfall, the tombstone of the boy who would not lie, and the state’s biggest tree.  We saw the waterfall, passed on the cemetery, and pulled up beside the tree, but only Beth wanted to get out and see if the four of us could reach all the way around it.  I admired her energy; she could have kept going for another 90 miles, I think.  Instead, the three of us looked at her with tired, sad eyes and she took pity on us.  We headed home and enjoyed nice conversation down the highway.

This was declared “the best Weird Wisconsin Roadtrip ever”.  Thanks, girls, for inviting Beth and me to join you on your  summer day adventure.  As if being your moms wasn’t adventure enough!

Anna and Sydney found the long lost World of Miniatures.

A mini Washington Monument.

Anna finds MyLittle Ponies at the flea market. 

Sydney wonders what the white container is.

New Moon Cafe – a cool place to eat lunch.

Anna being sorted by Harry and the talking hat.

The Apostle’s Clock

The lock that would not be picked.

Last stop: 4th of July parade.

A very good day.

There’s a house in our neighborhood that has a gorgeous display of spring beauties: daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips of every color.  When I’m out walking, I just love going by this yard. As I stroll back to my house, I try to imagine a lavish flower bed bursting with color and fragrance outside my front door.  In my reverie, there is a lady walking by, envious of my display of spring beauties. …

But when September and October roll around, I’m not thinking about planting tulips.  By then, I’m wishing I had planted a pumpkin patch.  I’m dreaming of cattails and Indian corn and gourds: things I should have planted in the spring.

But when spring rolls around, I’m not thinking about pumpkins….

So the vicious cycle continues.  I can’t buy sweaters in May and tank tops in October.  I just can’t do it.  I know it’s the wise and frugal way to go and I am part Scottish, so that truly appeals to me.  If it’s right, then why does it feel so wrong?  Christmas in July?  My mind refuses to go there.  But on December 15th, I’m enticed to start crafting intricate holiday decorations and gifts.  Time runs out, of course.  As the 4th of July fireworks fill the sky, the last thing I want to think about is the quilt I’ll be piecing as snow fills the driveway in January.

I’m not exactly a “live for the moment” type, either.  I plan out my menus every week, have a schedule for paying bills, and never miss appointments; I have a retirement plan and even know what songs I want sung at my funeral.    How’s that for planning ahead? 

But it never fails.  Every spring I knock myself on the head and say, “Darn!  Too late for tulips again this year.”

The Cold War is supposed to be over, but it’s still going strong at our house. 

Every year about this time, the battle over the thermostat begins.  Finally, the winter temperatures climb out of the negative digits and spring into something more reasonable.  I wouldn’t call it “hot”, not yet.  But a welcome warmth is definitely in the air.  The furnace is shut down, the space heaters in the bedrooms are shoved into a closet, and the gas fireplace goes on summer vacation.  In the midst of all this loveliness, wars and rumors of war are brewing.

I am married to a fair-haired Norwegian who thinks sixty degrees is balmy.  I am a fair-haired-due-to-highlights English-Scottish-German-Cornish gal who basks in eighty degree heat.  Thus, when PB walks by the thermostat, he sets it low; I follow close behind and crank it back up.  If I go to bed before he does, I will inevitably wake up in the night shivering, having had a nightmare about Antarctica.  If he retires first, the bedroom is, well, toasty, and he is thrashing about dreaming of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. 

Sometimes we go to great measures to ensure our temperature of choice.  For instance, we might be going somewhere so I’ll get in the car because he is taking his time in the bathroom.  He comes out to the car with a little grin.  “Hmmm,” I think.  “Honey, I forgot something!  Be right back!”  I come back out and his grin is gone, but I’m whistling a little tune.  This can go on for a while. 

It’s not a big deal; we’ve lived with each other for thirty-one years.  If this is the worst of our battles, we’re doing ok.  I’ll just keep the electic mattress pad plugged in.  And he will just have to keep the ice cube trays filled.  Maybe we can meet in the middle, like at seventy degrees.  Brrrr.

Congestion:  1) overcrowding; clogging  2) an excessive or abnormal accumulation of fluid in a body part.

I am congested.  Stuffy nose, sore throat, pounding head, aching sinuses, ringing ears.  I have an excessive and abnormal accumulation of fluid in every cavity of my head.  Ugh.  It is a fitting picture of what is in my heart today as well.  So many thoughts and memories, reflecting and remembering: my mind is clogged and overcrowded.  Words don’t come easy right now.  So I’ll rest my weary head and heart, let the healing do its work and wait for the day I can breath again.

Last week, my dad’s obituary was in the State Journal.  I’ve never paid much attention to that part of the paper.  But when my loved one’s smiling face was on the newsprint followed by several paragraphs that summarized his life, it made me pause and soak up every word.  On that particular day, there were maybe fifteen other obituaries listed.  I read every word of every one, just out of respect.  They were real lives, after all; they were all people who had loved and worked and struggled and celebrated.  The few paragraphs allotted to them couldn’t contain their entire stories, but the words gave a glimpse into the lives they lived.  Everyone has a story.  Everyone’s story deserves recognition.

I am reading the obits every day now.  And at the end of each one I say, “Thanks, Lord, for this person you created.  Good job.”

“Naked came I out of my mother’s womb and naked shall I return: the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”  Job 1:21

Never was this truth so poignantly displayed as in the wee hours of this morning.  Family members were gathered around the hospital bed of my father, who was struggling to take his final breaths on this earth.  As we watched the numbers on the monitor drop and the heartbeat become more sporadic, it was clear his 88 years were coming to completion.  Slowly and peacefully he drifted off, leaving us to wonder what he was experiencing and with whom he was reuniting. 

Within minutes of the straight line on the monitor, a sound from down the hall:

a newborn baby cry. 

My dad: January 10, 1923 – March 29, 2011

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

There’s been a lot of crud going around: sore throats, headaches, stomach flu.  Unfortunately, my office computer caught a virus, too.  This morning my screen flashed a big red warning that I was under attack.  I was a little suspicious when I saw “Your’re at great risk!!!”  Your’re?  I’m no computer wiz, but I am a pretty good speller. 

A kind soul came to my rescue and spent several hours trying to undo the damage.  The kind soul promised to come back again tomorrow to continue the battle against the demon in my pc.  I asked my friend where these virus’s come from.  Evidently my eyes glazed over as the explanation became technical, so he simply said, “There are people on the other side of the world sitting in dark rooms coming up with ways to infect your computer.” 

Huh.  People in some foreign country are sitting in windowless rooms driven by the goal to frustrate a 51-year-old Christian Education Director at a church in a small midwestern town?  I’m not that important, really. All I want to do is download the Sunday school curriculum and print out a sign up sheet for VBS.  Not exactly earth shattering stuff here. 

I feel a headache coming on…..must be the virus.