Finding Baby Sugg’s Holy Clearing in Iowa

After a year in the desert, I desperately needed to walk among trees.  From my mother’s farm, we drove 90 miles north into Winnebago County, along Highway 9 to Pilot Knob State Park.

And the trees welcomed us.

We climbed to the highest summit, the top of a glacial kame, and turned to look in every direction.  The entire landscape was a patchwork of green under the blue summer sky.

We continued an easy hike along the trail to Dead Man’s Lake.  Swans trumpeted and frogs jumped back into the sphagnum moss when we walked by.

We followed the signs to the amphitheater where I found myself transported into Toni Morrison’s novel Beloved.

“When warm weather came, Baby Suggs, holy, followed by every black man, woman and child who could make it through, took her great heart to the Clearing – a wide-open place cut deep in the woods nobody knew for what at the end of a path known only to deer and whoever cleared the land in the first place.”

Sitting at the edge of the circle at the bottom of a tree, I recalled Baby Suggs’ sermon in the woods.

“She did not tell them to clean up their lives or to go and sin no more.  She did not tell them they were the blessed of the earth, its inheriting meek or its glorybound pure.

She told them that the only grace they could have was the grace they could imagine.  That if they could not see it, they would not have it.”

For a moment, I saw Grace among the trees.

Oprah Picks Julia’s Pigeon Pie

My Life in France by Julia Child and Alex Prud’homme

During one sleepless night while I visited my mother in Iowa, I re-read My Life in France by Julia Child to improve my mood.

The next week as we vacationed in Santa Barbara, the SB Independent wrote Julie Child would have been 100 this year.  Dearie, a new biography about the city’s former resident was scheduled for release on her August 15th birthday.

Trying to keep our luggage light until the final leg of our journey, I waited until we arrived in Newport Beach to shop for books.  The Barnes and Noble entry table was piled high with the summer releases.

Next to Dearie sat my friend Julia Stuart’s newest release, The Pigeon Pie Mystery.

My relationship with Julia Stuart began when a friend gave me a signed copy of her first book, The Matchmaker of Perigord, for my birthday.

I picked up both books and during the sixteen hour flight from Los Angeles to Dubai, I finished reading The Pigeon Pie Mystery.  Between The Hunger Games and a documentary on Woody Allen, I thought about why I loved her book.

Arriving home, I discovered others agree with me.  I opened my email to a message saying The Pigeon Pie Mystery was one of Oprah’s two new book picks of the week.

“Good for Julia,” I thought.  But I wished I had beaten Oprah to the posting.

Oprah’s LifeLift blog summarizes Pigeon Pie’s plot but there is something I must add.

Julia Stuart tells stories as if she is the village raconteur who knows the history of all parties involved.  Instead of being embarrassed by her neighbors, she delights in filling her listeners in on their eccentricities – making mountains out of molehills, or a short story long with delicious tidbits.

Her characters swim in life’s tragedies – lost love, dead children, loneliness, regretful deaths, and losing parents.  Yet in-between sorrow, she finds laughter, imagines unexpected friendships, fulfilling dreams, and finding love usually at home, in our own backyard.  And just when it seems like the story is nothing but one novelist’s over-active imagination, she slides in a historical fact, proving the cliché that real life is stranger than fiction.

Her books are described as “witty” or “charming” because she sees life for what it is and instead of focusing on the darkness or negativity, she chooses to write lightly with humor, delighting in people’s diversity of experiences and interests.  That’s what I like about Pigeon Pie.  It’s a matter of style – how to tell a tragic story with humanity.

It is Julia’s positive outlook on life which landed her book on Oprah’s LifeLifts.

Congratulations to Julia Stuart.

A Huck Finn Day

As I scanned my stack of Departures magazine reading articles on the “New Asia” and the Maldives, I noticed that although the editors did add London’s 2012 festivals, they failed to include any articles on Iowa.

When you are done with Namibia’s Skeleton Coast, I suggest driving to Seven Oaks Recreational Park outside Boone, Iowa.

For a mere $43, the young tattooed attendant will load up your rented kayak and canoe.  And within ten minutes you will be deposited on the riverbank seven miles upstream from the pickup ramp.

Minnesota may be known as the land of 10,000 lakes but Iowa has about eighty rivers.

Like half of the US, Iowa was hit by drought this summer.  Despite the Des Moines river’s water levels being half their usual depth, there was enough water that my 71-year old mother and 11-year old Ace and Mark could easily manage either kayak or canoe.

Completely surrounded by trees on both sides of the river, the boys agreed kayaking on the Des Moines was better than Atlantis’ Lazy River and more exciting than Disneyland.

Like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, the children enjoyed bobbing down the river in afternoon sun.   A half mile downstream, we could hear their laughter above the chirping cicadas.  Along the way we saw a group of teenagers swinging from a rope tied to a tall maple tree and splashing into the water.  We anchored and they generously held out the rope so our three kids could all have a go.

I heeded the guides’ warnings and did not bring my camera.  In hindsight this was good because less than a mile to our rendezvous point, I insisted the boys paddle our canoe and while changing spots, I managed to tip the canoe over and dumped everyone into the river.

The canoe completely filled with water as our icebox and shoes floated around our knees.  Luckily the water was only a foot deep.  Unluckily I lost my wits and could not figure out how to get the water out.  Using our Dixie cups, we started bailing with the intention of lightening the canoe and dragging it to shore.

But because it was Iowa I did not have to do this alone.  A young man and his girlfriend pulled over to help us.

However the next morning as I retraced the day’s events, I realized the nice man was as much of a novice as me.  Instead of pulling the water-filled canoe to shore, we should have turned it over and lifted it out, upside down.

As soon as we got home, the boys gleefully called Mojo to tell them I turned over the canoe.

“See, I told them “if that hadn’t happened you would not have had a story to tell.”

Seven Oaks is family owned.  In the summer you can rent tents in their summer camp sites, hike trails, play paintball or have a great day floating on the river.

Their land includes a small hill which – believe it or not – supports six ski lifts that operate all winter.  You can learn to ski and snowboard on their easy to reach slope then head out to Park City or Aspen and show them what you learned in Iowa.

A Mojo Two Degrees of Separation Story

We cruised the Fiesta food stalls contemplating the Mexican fare.  When Mojo was told “we are out of shark jerky”, the dedicated carnivore set out to track down the beef ribs.

By the time our fish tacos were ready, Mojo was sharing a table and chopping on ribs.  The other diners scooted closer together to make room for our plates.

We started chatting and discovered the Filipino couple lived in Al Khobar, Saudi Arabia.  They worked for the same oil company Mojo had worked for many years.  Like us, they were vacationing in Santa Barbara to escape the summer heat.

Of the 20 odd tables Mojo could have chosen to sit at, he gravitated to the one most connected to him.

Summer Color In Santa Barbara

Vendors selling cartons of colored eggs lined State Street.

For months the women patiently opened the tips of eggs letting the yolks and whites dribble out.  They carefully cleaned, then painted the shells, before filling them with confetti and covering the hole with tissue paper.  These were not Easter eggs.  The women prepared them for LA FIESTA.

The official name was Old Spanish Days.

But in mid-summer, everyone in Santa Barbara called out “Happy Fiesta” and asked whether your outfit was ready for the celebrations.

Created in 1924 by a city council trying to attract tourists to Santa Barbara, the festival honors the area’s Spanish and Mexican history.

Religion and culture are mixed together for five days of parades, church services, dancing, eating, drinking and shopping for all things Mexican.

Mexican Ponchos labeled with favorite team colors

Even Hello Kitty gets a little jalapeno.

Men dressed in their black mariachi uniforms can be seen carrying their vihuelas along the crowded streets.

A colored version could be found in the market.

But I thought the people having the most fun were the locals who planned and practiced all year for La Fiesta.

And anyone who loved cracking eggs on their friends’ heads.

Cheers to the British People

London Eye

A huge Congratulations to all the British people who worked and volunteered for the Olympic games.  It was superbly run.  The venues were beautiful.  And there were few stories about problems.

It was a terrific event with many inspiring moments.  I am certain XXX will be remembered as a highlight in Olympic history.

It’s been quite a year for Queen Elizabeth.  Thanks for hosting the Olympic games.

On the Way to the Emerald City

While in London, it was Father’s Day and Mojo wanted to see Wicked.  Susan and I saw it three years ago in LA and loved it.

Mojo’s college roommate and his family were traveling with us.  We took the Tube to Leicester Square to find tickets.  Rows of shops advertised discounted tickets but we didn’t know whether they were legitimate so we walked to the main ticket kiosk in the Square.

Turning the corner, Spiderman’s London Premiere stage was being set up.  This remake promised to tell how Peter Parker became Spiderman after losing his parents.

Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone were scheduled to arrive around 6:30.  We thought Wicked was playing at the Apollo Theatre two blocks from Leicester Square.  We had time to change clothes, get back to see the red carpet walk-by and get to Wicked by 7:30.

At 6pm, Leicester Square was full of people.  Large TV screens had been set up to show the stars’ arrival.  But that wasn’t good enough for our little friend Max.

An adventurous ten-year old, he shouted “I’m going in” and dove into the crowd.

We stood on the outside of the mob only seeing the actors on the big screen.  A half hour later, Max reappeared having met Garfield.

Looking more carefully at our tickets we realized Wicked was at the Apollo VICTORIA which was quite a ways away.  With only twenty-five minutes before the show, we decided the Tube was the fastest way to get there.

Wrong.

The entire platform was filled with people.  When the train arrived, Max like the Artful Dodger led his family onto the train, leaving us stranded on the platform.

We arrived late.  The ushers let us to stand behind the sound engineer where we waited for an appropriate break.

The performance was fantastic.  This cast was much better than the one we saw in Los Angeles.

The Irish Rachel Tucker shined as Elphaba.  Gina Beck was a superb Glinda. Unlike his LA counterpart, Matt Willis was convincing as Fiyero.

When Elpahba and Glinda sang “I hope you’re happy now that you’re choosing this” tears came to my eyes as I watched the friends say good-bye.

I felt Elphaba’s power when she defied gravity and flew into the rafters singing,

“And no one in all of Oz, no Wizard that there is nor was, is ever going to bring me down!”

Leaving the theater we saw a small crowd standing outside the backstage door.  The door swung open and out stepped Rachel Tucker in her street clothes.

 

In Oliver Twist’s London, we met two reluctant antiheros in one day.

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