Which Way Is Up??

The past week has been crazy and left me with little time to document for posterity. My schedule for work was altered and made into a 4-day work week in the office instead of my 5-day with one at home. I prefer that since it allows me the time to clean house while I work and catch up on other tasks.
I have packed this week with making treats for work in honor of Halloween. Being as I have so little time at home, I feel more put-upon than giving and it is my own damn fault.
Work, projects, cooking and trying to get a good night’s sleep – keeping me busy.

Updates and some fabulous recipes will be coming soon, but as of now this is the only post I can muster.

Sat Morn Haikus

Weedwhacker rhythm

Howling mutts corral high notes

Saturday’s bird song.

Jet clouded skid marks
Tests over suburbia
Fade into blue skies.

Birds bitch and nag tunes
Choral notes in black and blue
squawks to wake squirrel babes.

Warm shaded stillness
Wrapped in wandering breezes
Fall may be coming.

Ripe green smelling lawns
Squirrels curious of coffee
I am now alive.

Project RunAway

“Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.” Oscar Wilde

Oh the agony of finding not only what to wear, but how to wear it.

I would never declare myself a fashion diva. I have always been one of the misfit wanna-bes when it comes to style. I reflect on childhood pictures and see a kid of the 70s with bellbottoms and peasant shirts on a chubby little frame. My hair was blonde then and my skin even fairer than it is now. The confusion I think came from the conservative household I resided in. My sisters, teenagers at the time, were my first fashion influence. I believe my mother, a regular in silky polyester mu-mus, used them as a template for my hippie-influenced wardrobe. When not in the staple shorts and tee-shirt, I had all the glamour of a Woodstock child with moccasins on my feet and braided locks. I thrived on the scent of Herbal Essences shampoo, Phisoderm and Charlie cologne.

“Fashions fade, style is eternal.” Yves Saint Laurent

My love of bubbly started early. I still believe the taste and affect of champagne is accentuated by wearing a night gown.

My elementary years were easy when it came to savoir-faire. I went to a private Catholic school and woke each morning to the white blouse, plaid jumper and black and white saddle shoes that the nuns required. Before this was a discussed fashion trend in itself, I was considered a dork among the other neighborhood kids not knowing that adopting this at a more voluptuous time would get me plenty of sexy offers. When not in said uniform, it was back to shorts and tees and the occasional dress for going to funerals, weddings and dinners out for Chinese food. I was the only kid in the neighborhood who went to private school and this left me with fewer choices when it came to weekend jaunts, but that was OK since keeping up with trends was considered a grown-ups worry, not a kids. My anxious thoughts were concerned with my Barbie’s wardrobe, Charlie’s Angels and getting good grades in school. Boys were full of cooties so there was no need to impress them with my charms, which I only used with the intention of getting another piece of candy or the must-have Christmas gift of the year.

“Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening.” Coco Chanel

The 80s mullet - party in the front, business in the back.

When I did enter the unforgiving world of pre-teenhood I was amazed by my ineptness at keeping up with the Jennifers. Thrown into public school for the first time, my lack of worldliness left me open to ridicule and contempt from the other girls who knew the proper “uniform” of this violent environment. My stepmother refused to take me shopping for anything that would have classified me as “normal” so I was stuck with handmade clothes in clown colors and motifs, as well as old-lady shoes and a bare face. She was a whiz at sewing, but knew nothing about fashion (her own wardrobe encompassed the realm of crop pants, knit tops and caftans along with a variety of house slippers.) I was lost. My hip friends, of which I only had a couple, had cool moms who dressed fresh and stylish teaching their offspring how to pull off designer jeans and Nikes in a way that I never could. All I wanted was a pair of Calvins and Nikes (leather), but when I finally got them, they weren’t me at all. Calvins were made for girls with no asses, in fact all designers seemed to turn their noses up at the voluptuousness of the behind so all those pants made my rounded derriere look that much bigger (where was J-Lo when we needed her?) I was left to wearing no-name denims and knock-off Keds since there was no way my parents were going to spend a dime on helping me transition into the world of acceptance.

“There is a level of cowardice lower than that of the conformist: the fashionable non-conformist.” Ayn Rand

Past the mullet, we have the swooshed look with the high collar - trying for a bit of Russian Socialist chic.

High school emptied my soul of trying to keep up and I went the other route, being as odd as I could be. Artsy and smart, I straddled two worlds with cool punk friends and being the apple of my teachers’ eyes. I had a mullet, which at the time was more inspired by Paul Young and Robert Smith than Billy Ray Cyrus, I wore thrift store clothes from a variety of eras and I dreamed of being Chrissy Hynde. I also wanted to be Ally Sheedy in the Breakfast Club, but hated admitting to desiring the Princess garb at the end of the film. I wore tee-shirts and cut-up jeans with ratty loafers and an embroidered handbag, but wanted to be like the cool kids with “Feed the World” emblazoned on their chests and rows of Madonna black O-ring bracelets. My limit was not so much creativity, but money and the psychological bonds it put upon me. My friends all had it and I didn’t which left me a bit shell-shocked, along with the aspect that they were all thin and I had curves in what I considered all the wrong places (if only I knew then, what I know now – watch out). Pink or purple hued hair completed my rebellion which was only accepted at home if I kept my grades up – straight A’s baby, except for math.

“Fashion is what you adopt when you don't know who you are.” Quentin Crisp

Starting to take charge of choices, though bland. My first NYC trip and dressed like a comfortable tourist. This is when I realized in some parts of New York (the Village here) no one cares.

Moving away from home and going to college left me even broker, but did help me start coming into my own. The realm of fashion at college was all over the spectrum and I tried my hand at almost everything from the Polo-wearing prep to the black-laced Goth to my hippie roots and New York chic. I learned to alter thrift shop finds to make them my own, wear sexy things like stockings (more punk inspired than streetwalker) and high heels. This continued through the decade as I struggled to find who I was inside and out.

“Fashion condemns us to many follies; the greatest is to make ourselves its slave.” Napoleon Bonaparte

Audrey Hepburn at an Oscar party - I now take a lot of my creative energy for fashion and access it for the right occassions.

Over the past ten years I have come into my own and finally come to the conclusion that fashion should be fun and not hard work. I find it hard enough to keep up with my own whims much less the whims and worries of others. Nicely not fitting into any group, my style is finally all my own. I learn from those that I watch and make the choice over what is hot and what is not. Like the people I keep company with, my sense of fashion is refreshed on a daily basis by mood, setting, weather, occasion and whimsy. From Ann Taylor to thrift store finds to handmade scarves and diamond jewelry, I have finally accepted that all those things that made me different and odd fit me when I don’t work so hard fitting in. Sexy lingerie under soccer mom gear or a blue wig with a little black dress are just parts of all the women that are crying to get out and strut their stuff. So be it. Like a friend said to me on turning 40, “You no longer give such a shit about it all. What is important is how you feel, not how you look. What’s funny is when you feel this way you look great – all the time. If only I’d known this sooner.” Amen.

“The only rule is don't be boring and dress cute wherever you go. Life is too short to blend in.” Paris Hilton

My glamour shot - who is that hot babe!

Femme de Fleurs

I went to a convention out of town a couple of weeks ago. The gardens at the hotel mesmerized me. Here are just a few wonderful sights I beheld that day. Enjoy.

Hold Me Bat Boy

Saturday night I had a date. A very handsome man asked me to the theatre. OK it wasn’t a real date, but I had a great time going to see Bat Boy: The Musical with Chris. There was a lot of draw for this play since a) I love reading about Bat Boy in the Weekly World News, b) our friend Darryl was in it as Farmer Ned, and c) I was getting to go with Chris.

After a day of trying on clothes at the Naked Lady Party, it seemed only appropriate in my weird world to go see an off-beat musical. I was looking forward to it since Darryl told me about his part in the play. An actor at heart, as well as teacher, writer, comedian and all-round fun guy, Darryl has taken to the acting bug and this is was the first time I have ever seen him act …. On stage.

It was housed in the auditorium at the Cuban Club in Ybor City, one of my favorite places with Escher-esque floor tiles and an air of old-world charm. You can almost smell the old cigars wafting their perfumed tobacco odor around the room. We got there just in time and took our seats with Rusty and CF (another CF than from the one previously mentioned in the Naked Lady blog).

Overall the play was good. Not Phantom or even Rent, but fun. I have been a fan of Bat Boy since the mid 90s and followed his career from car thief, to freedom fighter, to interstellar superstar. With everything that he has done, I was a bit disappointed that this tale only covered his early years. Found in a cave in Virginia and taken in by a vet and his wife, the Bat Boy learns etiquette from watching BBC America and develops a strong religious tendency. That is all I will give away.

The music was cool, but the sound was a bit rough so I didn’t catch all the words. The actor portraying said Boy was magnificent and even I wanted to take him in. Darryl stole the show a couple times as Farmer Ned with his drawl and backwoods charm. Maybe it was the proximity to my trip to North Carolina, but in a way these simple townsfolk really broke through my sensibilities. Guns and God!

This evening out sparked something in me though. Chris loves plays as much as I do, a culture hound he is, so I suggested we make this a habit with no real timetable. St. Pete, Tampa and Sarasota all have great theatres and The American Stage has had some wonderful productions. I’ll keep tabs to let you know what I think and you can share your thoughts as well. For now, I will try to get the “Hold Me Bat Boy” song out of my head.

A Room Full of Naked Ladies

During these times of financial crisis we are all looking for ways to save some dough. Misty and Melissa are way ahead of the curve. Though neither have any issues with money, since they are two of the most successful women I know, they created the bi-annual Naked Lady Party. Lesbians and men relax. Unless you are a fashionista you would not find this the least bit erotically exciting. However, if you are a lover of women as it stands, and smarts one at that, then you may be enticed to look … just a little bit.

One of our hostesses with the most - Always stunning and oh so fashion savvy!

In Spring and Fall, the two big fashion seasons, these two smart and well-dressed ladies invite a plethora of other smart and well-dressed ladies (take that last one lightly since I am involved in the lot) to a party where we can trade in our old, but loved and still wearable clothes to get new ones. At least new to us.

This was the third one I have been to and was pleasantly surprised that there were some women there that weren’t a size 2. We ran the gamut from 0 to 18 and all looked smashing in our new duds. Not only a great way to get new clothes, this event also brings the best out in all of us as sisters who don’t needle or gossip, but coax and cultivate those around us. Brutal honesty the likes of “What Not To Wear” are coated in encouragement when the right garment is modeled.

Ladies, we all know what a great joy it is to find the perfect pair of jeans.

For instance, I tried on a dark rose-colored wrap shirt that had flecks of sparkling Lurex thread throughout. I modeled for myself and then asked Misty what she thought. With a wave of her hand and a brief regard of my torso she stated with an air of authority, “No, too old.” and went back to checking the rack for something else she could wear.

You may see this as rude, but if you knew Misty you would understand that she is too the point when asked her opinion and really only has your best interest at heart. Let me add that no one else said anything about the shirt which is another bad sign. On the other hand, when I tried on a full-length dark blue silk Asian-inspired dress, I was greeted with “That is so beautiful,” “You look great in that.” “As soon as I saw it I knew it was you” from a variety of half-dressed ladies. There was even the “You have to model this for everyone.” What encouragement.

But I wasn’t the only one to make a scene. Our rounded runway included a fabulous cocktail dress on a very voluptuous woman who was complimented by the donor with “Baby, your ta-tas are just loving that thing. Mine never acted that excited when I wore it.” There was the attendant who hadn’t worn jeans is more than 10 years and found the perfect pair to accentuate her curves and behind. In fact, her friend recommended a name change from Tia to TNA for how great they looked on her.

Perfectly dressed from head to ... toe!

This kind of swap meet allows women to also try things they would never pay good money for, but that could open up their worlds. I got a black shirt with a small pink bow in the front, not my normal style, but they gushed at how slimming it looked and at work I was complemented all day. CF, usually a denim girl with jeans, a jean jacket and a Steelers tee (in pink) as her favorite outfit was enticed to try on a slinky fuchsia top that left nothing to the imagination. In fact Misty called CF’s husband to let him know that there was a treat when his lady got home.

Misty’s mom, a beautiful woman that is in her …. I just can’t give her age since if you ever saw her you would never believe me, tried on a slinky top that met with whistles and “Hot Ma Ma” from the crowd. All in all it was a great day.

Breaking out of the shell and finding a new voice, CF you look great in that shirt and I know your husband wouldn't disagree!

And we’re not talking old hand-me-downs with worn spots or missing buttons. Everything there was high quality, with some being from boutiques and fine department stores and others spectacular finds from Ebay or choice thrift stores. I ended up with the above mentioned items, as well as a lime green top which when paired with a black suit really shows off my rosy complexion, a red and beige knitted sleeveless top that fits my form just right, a red suit with 3-button jacket and long skirt (which I will have tailored to fall just above the knee), a little black purse, a sparkling navy tank which I wore out that night to a play and a white sleeveless wrap cotton top that is crisp to the touch. The items that are left will be donated to CASA so even our leftovers will have much fan fare.

It may be Fall, but in Florida a sundress is always a great wardrobe addition.

I’m already recruiting people for the next event and have started my bag of goodies. For now, I am enjoying a week’s worth of clothes, coming up with new accompaniments for my other wardrobe items and feeling really pretty.

Ya'll come back now, ya hear

The last time down the mountain.

I sometimes remember weird things. Like October 9 is John Lennon’s birthday. I also remember the last time I saw the World Trade Center still standing was October 10, 2000 when Mich and I took her mom to NYC for a long weekend. On the 9th we had martinis with Uncle Salvi (very Godfather moment) and then flew to the Big Apple. We drank on the way up there since you could still take “special water"– aka vodka on the plane and we ate at a diner near Washington Square. She took a black and white photo of the Imagine mosaic in Central Park and hand painted it for me as a Christmas gift. I still have it on my bookshelf for everyone to see. Now, eight years later I am finishing my vacation and wishing for more.

On the NYC trip I was pining for a guy I was introduced to by Heidi, his name long-lost from my memory, but for some reason I had a crush on him. I recall he turned out to be a bit too messed up for me, but I remember searching that trip to see what trinket I could win his affections with. Last year Mich and I went back to New York and Strawberry Fields. It was different. She was working so she was very high-stressed, I was antsy also and it all melded into a moment worth forgetting.

I hope I don’t forget a thing about this trip. Even the drive home was worthwhile with a stop at a diner and a nice waiter and apple pie. We even got caught in a traffic jam only an hour away from home when we followed a semi figuring he wouldn’t stop for anything nor lead us astray. The anxiety of returning to work, if only for one day was numbed by the need for change.

A welcome chewing out from Misha made me feel right at home as Lassie took a cue and kept at arm’s length but close enough so I could see his contented expression. I was home. My house looked big and full, but nice and I wasn’t sure where I was in the middle of the night. C’est la vie – until next time.

It’s Raining Money

This is how I felt about us leaving this little bit of paradise - Bound up by a world I just don't want to be in anymore.

Up to this point every day was sunny and bright with a perfect temperature, but a little rain was due. Even rainy days are needed and on our trip it gave the perfect excuse to spend the day indoors. At the cabin it was only dripping through the trees, but the creek was rushing with a loud dose of white noise. From the front porch swing it sounded almost violent and mechanical like streaming cars on a freeway. I could have stayed there all day taking brief interludes in the hot tub when the rain allowed, but we decided to get going since it was our last day.

The contrast of the rushing water, the cool air and the slowed pace of this hovel in the woods made me feel like I belonged.

We took this opportunity to go to Harrah’s Casino, on the reservation. I have only been to two gambling places; Vegas and a boat somewhere in Indiana. Now Vegas is fun with lots to do and see. This was more subtle. The clientele were experts at this kind of gambling and I was a complete novice so when I lost my first $1.50 on video poker I stopped since I didn’t have anyone to ask how to play and make it worth my while.

Striking out on new adventures against a bright blue sky, I still have hope when it comes to overwhelming happiness and know one day I will find my place.

I like watching people gambling when it is all there in your face, but this was video blackjack with no sound or smell of cards which made it a bit boring. I wandered around the casino and hotel killing time.

The rain and the thought of the last day really gripped me and I broke out in tears as we watched TV that night. I didn’t want to pack or leave. The self pity raged through me and I wished that I had a different life where I could take my time on vacation and just be. Don’t get me wrong, I love my home and kitties, but I wanted to stay just for another day or two, but that wasn’t to be.

Like tears, rushing away, but pooled to feed.

Resigning myself that this time I had to go back, I started working on a plan for my next trip and for all the ease of those trips after that one since I hope to not be on anyone else’s timetable by then. Wish me luck!

Paint Me Down

This was from the highest point on the Blue Ridge Parkway - over 6,000 feet. We were almost at the top of the mountain. We sat on the grass and were silent in our awe.

I have become partial to Fall, even living in a place where the leaves usually change color from green to dead brown. But lately I’ve become more interested in colorful plants like Crotons and wild grasses. The reds, oranges, yellows, purples and greens elevate my spirits.
It wasn’t always like this. I used to really dislike this time of year. The first cool licks created a fierce loneliness that I can only suggest was because of the void left by my mother. I would listen to music in my room growing up, and later as an adult, and cry over the sorrow I felt at the end of summer.

The sea of color below me and the endless tease of the blue moutains sparked something that had been waiting to come alive, now I will have to learn how to contain it.

But not anymore. I appreciate the reprieve from the heat and the hope for longer evenings. And this year I was blessed with the wonders that are a true sign of Fall for many people, the stroked paintings of trees. Tuesday was Blue Ridge Parkway day, a treat from Ronn who gave me just a taste on Monday. Traveling along the winding roads, through tunnels, past dripping waterfalls and stopping at observation points really brought the season to life. Looking from a vantage point of 6,000 feet only made me more in tune with the beauty that God, the Universe, insert deity here – had in mind when he/she/it made this world.

Living in Florida, we don't see much in the way of yellow ferns, unless they are dying - these looked so vibrant and happy I kept smiling at them as they smiled back.

As I rested on the edge of the mountain looking out at the double exposure ghostly image of these blue wonders, I realized it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. I was smiling the whole time without even realizing it until Ronn pointed it out. I have seen the rolling hills of Tuscany, the crowded streets of Paris, the fireworks over Manhattan and flowers from all over the world, yet this by far was the most intense experience I have yet to witness.
No picture could ever capture the awe and the feeling of completeness I experienced. This will not be the only time I capture a moment in this place. I have my sights set on traveling the entire length of the parkway and taking my time about it. We went about 90 miles that day from Cherokee to Asheville and it took us 3-1/2 hours, but I still feel like I went too fast. To hike, walk, ride a bike, read, write, cry there is my goal and soon. Plus I saw my first woodchuck and I want to see more.

Tinged with brown, or is it russet, a yellow leaf grabs attention away from of the more showier plants, and holds its own nicely.

As clouds rolled in we left the parkway for civilization and Asheville where there is a magnificent farmer’s market. Spectacular sights and food canned and bottled with love – that is heaven. I stocked up on sauces, jellies, veggies, rubs and spices plus a wonderful loaf of sourdough bread.
My trek back was on the modern highway and time was made pretty fast especially since I kept trying to drop minutes from the GPS, without getting a ticket – success. As the sky grew dark, and even darker on the mountain, I settled in for the evening.

Not letting anything, including a rock wall stop it, this plant is following the cue and peeking out some golden hues.

This was when I started feeling our trip coming to an end, and heartache set in. I felt exiled from the utter joy I felt on the mountain and spent a while just sitting on the swing, alone weeping. I hate getting ahead of myself, especially on vacation, but it only lasted for a few moments. I sipped my wine and went back in to the warmth and made plans for next time.

Wow - just wow!

Heinzelmännchen and the Ten Commandments

It makes sense why it is called "The Blue Ridge Mountains". They seem to go on and on like ghosts of those pioneers long past.

I was still searching for rubs and sauces and other canned goods to keep me for the winter. Like a pioneer, I wanted my pantry full when the temperature dropped below 60 and I was too lazy to get up and go to the store. So I piddled around Sylva and Dillsboro, two little towns near the cabin. Unlike Bryson City, these quaint hollers had an abundance of shopping and nice people to chat with. Dillsboro used to be pretty hoppin, but recently, like a lot of places that rely upon people with disposable income, some of the shops have had to close up and the locals leave town to do other things. I shared the wealth of our preplanned shopping budget and I set about finding yummy food stuffs. My basket runneth over with Bar B-Q sauces, marinades, jellies and jams, honeys and rubs. I was in heaven. I even got a couple jars of pickled beets and pickled green beans.

Being in the woods had a strong sense of wonder. Everything is fresh and yet, so much at this time of year is getting ready to die or hibernate, interesting.

The shop keepers were sweet and informative, chatting with us either out of boredom or just being neighborly. One woman was very old school and told me about her trials when it came to leaving the mountains and moving to the east coast of NC. It was during Vietnam and her husband was in the service. They lived off base, but she was perplexed on how to cook for her spouse. The other wives made steaks, pasta and such, yet she had never learned to make such things. She had to stock up on her frequent trips back to her grandmother’s house on side meat, bacon, beans, pickled veggies and such country things to keep her and her husband from going hungry. Eventually she taught those “city folk” how to eat country and they just couldn’t get enough of her corn bread. She invited us to dinner, but I know it was just a sweet gesture, though if I could I would have taken her up on it.

I have never seen such a sea of color and it is everwhere. We were told that we really were early watching the leaves change, but I think we did OK. I know it gets more vibrant, but I think I need to baby step this one.

It’s funny how small the world is since we ended up running into a guy who had a restaurant in St. Pete and now a doggie bakery in Sylva. I got some treats for my babysitter’s mutts and he suggested a smokehouse for lunch. This is what I had been waiting for. The sauces were luscious; sweet, smoky, spicy all melded perfectly and the pork was lean and full of flavor. Brunswick stew and sweet potato fries accompanied the main course and it washed down perfectly with a local ale from the Heinzelmännchen brewery. Golden, sweet with a slight hint of onion, these balls of fried goodness made me want more and more and I even suggested getting a couple dozen to bring home, but Ronn was against it. Damn.

Unfortunately the brewery was closed on Mondays so I didn’t get my souvenir of ale to share with the girls back home, but now I just have another reason to visit again.

Just in one leaf, a lifetime. Then think of all its brothers and sister around it and the plethora sweeps over you. At least it did me.

The day wasn’t done yet, and with our bellies full we ventured out to do more shopping. I scoped out apples and veggies while Ronn kept looking for a bear paw pendant to match his new earring and ring. At one place I found a plaque with the Native American Ten Commandments on it and wanted it so badly, but it had to wait. (Check below and you can see why I appreciated them so much – even more than the Judeo-Christian variety.)
1. The Earth is our mother, care for her.
2. Honor all your relations.
3. Open your heart and soul to the Great Spirit.
4. All life is sacred; treat all things with respect.
5. Take from the Earth what is need, nothing more.
6. Do what needs to be done for the good of all.
7. Give constant thanks to the Great Spirit for each new day.
8. Speak the truth; but only of the good in others.
9. Follow the rhythms of nature; rise and retire with the sun.
10. Enjoy life’s journey, but leave no tracks.

Mingo Falls outside of Cherokee. Lazy streams flowing in no hurry down the mountain. Gives a true perspective about how nature handles things. Why rush when you can feel every little crevise and enjoy each piece of lichen.

What was his hurry that I missed a purchase? He had a treat for me. The Blue Ridge Parkway. I only got a taste of it (We ventured further on Tuesday), but it took my breath away. The colors, the double-exposure expression of the endless mountain ranges and the essence of a place in our country that someone saw fit to preserve. Hills of maples, oaks, balsams and other foliage speckled along the mountains and the simple roadway.
Our trek was short this time, but I ended it with a visit to Mingo Falls. I love waterfalls, and after having a taste of the Oregon ones, I wanted more. These were impressive, though not powerful (I like them not so rushing, but more lazy and natural). I hiked up the mountain, and I took it slow thanks to the ankle and the lack of exercise in recent months. I wept at the beauty and felt at home in this wonderful place.
The aura was not broken all night as we ventured home, ate, snuggled and planned to see more of this public park and the beauty it had to offer. I highly recommend this trip to you, the parkway is a sight to behold.

Indian Taco – and I’m not talking curry baby

Probably a great place to stay when all you have left from your gambling winnings is a few bucks and lots of t-shirts and leather goods.

I headed on out to Cherokee, the Reservation and home to souvenir shops, gambling and colorful bears. I picked up a warm jacket (which I wore every night the rest of the trip), some cool sterling and stone earrings, a sticker for my computer (Life is Good), a Cherokee cookbook (of course)and other kinds of trinkets and treasures. I also took a few pictures of bears.

There is always a touch of beauty everywhere.

The bears are painted with different native motifs showcasing the philosophy and endeavors of these people. Like the signs throughout the town, the descriptions are listed in English, as well as the native alphabet. I wanted to see them all, but since they were spread out we only drove past most of them, not enough to save for posterity. No biggie.

I am not sure about the name of this bear, but it gives an idea of the intricate detailing these native artists put into the renditions of their scopes. The bear is a totem creature, powerful and wise and the perfect host to the inspirations of these people.

The main event of the day for me was trying the local food, specifically Cherokee-inspired treats. We went to a place called Paul’s diner and I had what is known locally as an Indian Taco – fry bread smothered in beany chili, lettuce, tomato and onions. Topped of course with the accoutrements of salsa and sour cream. It was an OK meal, but nothing really to write about – I pretty much already said it all.

This is the "Harmony of Life" bear. He was the only one I came face-to-face with. Such beautiful colors and they shone so nicely under the sun. I love when cities do this kind of public art. New York had cows, Safety Harbor had manatees and now bears. Do you have any cool public art in your town??

Satiated for the rest of the day we headed back to the home-away-from-home for a nap and hot tubbing. But this was not before I took us on an excursion that had me in tears. I took the long way home, first missing the misleading signs of the GPS bitch and going in a circle when I knew full well there was a better way to get back to the cabin.

Bears and bees - while we vacationed, this fella kept up working and could have been the reason I dreamed about going back to work so soon, still makes me sad now thinking of it.

Then I missed my street and we ended up at a dead-end on top of the mountain. I was scared and cried incredibly with the fear of being lost.

One of the many shops to get your fill of spending money. We visited several and found only a few actually had goods crafted by the locals, most of the Cherokee stuff was made in China. This really disappointed me.

It was an odd night, but I made it through – though a dream made me think I was at home and had to go to work on Monday and that really aggravated me.

(Note: Recalling these days is making me a bit heart sick for NC. As I sit at my kitchen table, I find it hard to live in the moment and enjoy the day at hand, instead I feel a bit empty in my memories of just a week ago. Maybe I have found a new part of me, a more sensitive part that needs something more. But I guess that is another story.)