Esther Naomi Hines

My grandmother, Esther Naomi Hines, died on December 4th.  She was exactly one month shy of her 92nd birthday.  Yesterday I officiated at her memorial service.  Esther was a wonderful grandmother and I cherish many fond memories of our time together.  Thanks be to God for Esther and all the saints in light!

Proverbs 31:10-29, Luke 1:26-38, 46-55

Memorial Service for Esther Naomi Hines

Delahunt Funeral Home, Loves Park, IL

Katie Hines-Shah

It is good that we can all be here, together today.  In an ideal world perhaps it wouldn’t be funerals that would gather us.  In an ideal world perhaps we would be gathered to celebrate happier occasions.  In an ideal world we be able to be together not here, in icy Illinois, but in the warm summer sun at the farm in Minnesota.  I know that’s what we would have all liked to do to celebrate the life of Esther Naomi Hines, our mother, our grandmother, our great grandmother, and friend, but for all kinds of very good reasons we can’t.  But I know that Esther would understand.  She was a very practical person and she knew how to make do.

Growing up on the hardscrabble farms of Northern Minnesota knowing how to make do was a necessity.  Everyone had to do it.  But what was special about Esther was that she also knew how to have fun at the same time.

Esther had a marvelous sense of humor.  She knew how to tell a funny story and she savored a good joke.  She never told a joke to hurt someone’s feelings.  Once when Grandpa’s pants fell down around his ankles at the ice cream social Grandma said nothing.  Late that night Pam found Grandma sitting at the dining room table, crying she was laughing so hard.  “I had to wait to laugh until he had gone to bed,” she explained. 

Esther’s sense of humor was something that would stay with her.  Even in her later years in the bonds of dementia, she still could be funny. 

The last year that she celebrated Thanksgiving in her own home Joan, Jill, and Tom had done everything possible to make things nice for her.  They set up the house; they made the turkey, the noodles and all the trimmings.  My father told me that his sisters made eleven pies for the assembled party.  Grandma was brought back from the nursing home, she was seated in the place of honor, her daughters fixed her up a nice plate of food.  Everything looked perfect.  But after grace, Esther wasn’t eating.  “Mom,” Joan asked worriedly, “is there anything you need?”

“Well,” said Esther pleasant as pie, “my teeth would be nice.”

Everybody laughed.  That is, of course, the best part of family get togethers.  That is the best part of celebrating the holidays.  The food is good, the stories are important, but the jokes are what hold us together. 

As we prepare to celebrate Christmas in a few weeks, perhaps we ought to be mindful of the importance of humor like Esther’s.  I can hear refrains of Esther’s jokes in the mouth of another poor girl out of a hardscrabble existence.  The Angel Gabriel in the Gospel for today comes to visit young Mary to tell her that she’s going to give birth to Jesus, and what does she say?  Is she profound or wise?  No – she makes a joke.  There’s just one problem, much like Esther’s lack of teeth at Thanksgiving.  “Me have a baby?”  Mary asks,  ”Well it’s going to be hard, because I’m a virgin.”

But this isn’t a problem for God.  God is always taking small things and making them grow. One small mustard seed, two fish and five loaves, a little bit of yeast, become fodder for Jesus’ greatest parables.   One family, one people, one nation, becomes the bearers of God’s promise.  God will use Mary, even in her smallness, and make her great.

I think that this is also a truth about Esther.  Esther knew how to take a small thing and make it great.  She knew how to make something out of nothing.  A little scrap of fabric could be doll clothes, a bulb or a cutting could become a garden, a little bit of shortning and flour could be a piecrust.  And if something went wrong, well, you could, in Grandma’s words, “Just go and bury it in the garden.”

But more that that, she knew how to make even the littlest things into delights.  Little things like baby ducks or an empty matchbox or a plastic biting alligator toy delighted her.  And she taught her children and grandchildren to be delighted by them too. 

I remember once coming to the farm with my sister late after a whole day’s drive.  “Girls,” Grandma said eagerly, “Look behind the stove.”  Behind the stove was a thermos lid.  I looked up at Grandma quizzically.  “Look inside,” she urged.  And when I did I saw there a hummingbird, stunned by a late summer cold snap.  Under her watchful eye, Allison and I fed the little hummingbird, and when, the next day he had recovered enough to zip around the living room, we opened the window and let him go.  It was a wonder to be so close to something so small.  It was always the smallest things that Grandma shared and bloomed largest in my heart.

Tiny shells from Florida.  Clothes for Allison’s toys sewn at midnight.  A ketchup packet sent through the mail to Joan and Tom and Jill to show them what big city life was like.  A china cabinet full of tiny treasures.  Grandma delighted at all these tiny marvels of God’s creation.

The marvelous works of God delighted Mary, so much so that she wrote her hymn of praise, the Magnificat.  We heard today Mary’s vision of God who lifts up the lowly and the humble.  We heard of how God values the seemingly small and simple.  We are reminded that people as overlooked as young virgins or ordinary housewives are the people God uses for God’s work.

In God’s greater vision the work of a wife and mother is praised.  I don’t know that Esther every really knew how important her work was, but we knew.  We knew that the cooking and cleaning and clothing, the gardening and growing were vital.  We knew that her efforts that keep a family running smoothly so that she needn’t fear, as the poet says, even if it snowed, made all the difference.  In this Christmas season, Esther’s work will be remembered.  By my fireplace hangs the stocking she made for Tom.  In our kitchens there will be noodles and pies.  In our gardens raspberries and tiger lilies sleep, dreaming of a spring to come.  We will tell funny stories and share found memories, just as she did with us in years gone by.  In these seemingly small ways Esther’s memory will remain with us.  It will inform and bless future generations, Erin and Lauren, and John and even those who come after them.

Our small service here in Illinois perhaps is not an ideal one, but from it larger hope can grow.  God always uses such small things to bring light and life to a cold and hurting world.  In this Christmas season we remember how Jesus came as a small an insignificant child who would one day grow to be the light of the world and the savior of us all. 

Jesus is the light of the world.  Jesus promises that those who know his light need fear no darkness, not even the darkness of death itself.  Esther knew the love of God and in death she shines eternally.

Until that great day when we join with Esther and all those we love in the light of heaven, let us keep the light of Esther’s life warm in our hearts.  Let us grow the light of her life through our works and deeds so that the little things she taught us might be lights to others.  May our kitchens, our gardens, our stories and especially our jokes be a credit to her life.

Thanks be to God for the life of Esther, our mother, our grandmother, our great grandmother, and friend.

Amen

Promises in the Snow

The first snowfall has finally come – so what better thing to do on a Sunday than celebrates our Swedish heritage?  John and I head for Ebenezer Lutheran Church in Andersonville (a neighborhood of North Chicago) and afterwards to the Julmarkrad at the Swedish American Museum.

Now aside from Swedish Chicago and our first real snowfall, there are two more things you ought to know about Ebenezer and this week in Illinois.  First, Ebenezer is well known in Chicago Lutheran circles for being a church where gay and lesbian people and their families are welcome.  And second, this week in Illinois the legislature voted to allow civil unions of same gendered couples and the governor of Illinois has vowed to sign the bill.

On with the story.

This Sunday at Ebenezer the couple sitting immediately in front of John and me (Matthew and Brian) came forward to have their marriage blessed.  The interim pastor at Ebenezer commented on the civil union law, saying that while it was a step at progress, it wasn’t all the justice we seek.  We blessed Matthew and Brian’s marriage (who cares what the state says!) and the service went on.

On the second Sunday of Advent we hear the words of the Prophet Isaiah.  He speaks in God’s voice promising that a messiah will come, one who will judge with “righteousness.”  Under his reign, Isaiah proclaims that there will be peace. 

But the people are in despair.  They look around and know that the messiah isn’t in their midst yet.  Isaiah tells them not to worry about how things seem now; something new is coming: “A shoot will come our of the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.” 

I thought about Matthew and Brian and how there isn’t justice for them yet.  Civil unions in Illinois do not fix marriage law in our country.  They do not fix Don’t Ask Don’t Tell or stop the bullying of gay teens in schools.  But it is a start – a shoot, a branch, a promise.

At the Swedish American Museum John and I were reminded how the growing of a shoot takes work, and how promise does not come easily.  We looked at exhibits on Swedish immigration to America in the 19^th century.  How people left behind farm and family for a new life.  They took with them noting but their trunks, 20 salted herring per person, and a bag of potatoes.

And when they got to America they did not find streets paved with gold.  They did not find good jobs and warm homes.  Instead they started from nothing, working as domestic servants and common laborers.  Holding on to their faith, they believed in the promise of new life, for themselves and for their children.  They worked to make that promise grow.

Each of us has a stump of some sort in our lives.  A place that seems abandoned by hope, a place where new life seems unlikely to bloom.  The Gospel promise, the promise of Advent, is that God grows life exactly when and where it seems most unlikely – in a Swedish immigrant community in a new land, for gay and lesbian people where justice seems far off, in a manger in Bethlehem in your life and in mine.

This Advent watch for signs of life and work to help them grow.

Thanks be to God!

Snowflakes

As St. Paul says, there are a variety of gifts, some are called to be preachers or teachers, others are gifted in healing or speaking in tongues.  My gift?  Cutting paper.

I discovered my gift back in third grade when my teacher noticed I had a slight lisp and sent me to speech therapy.  For some reason, speech therapy included a craft element.  I remember making thanksgiving turkeys, Christmas ornaments, and, most importantly, snowflakes.  Perhaps crafts were really my therapist’s strong suit, because, as you may well have noticed, I still have my lisp.  But boy can I cut snowflakes. 

I cut snowflakes every Christmas for the windows of our house and for the windows of the farm.  I cut snowflakes and used them as templates for spray painted Christmas cards.  (Note – while red is a perfectly appropriate Christmas color, on a spray-painted Christmas card it tends to look a little Fargo-esk.)  A couple of years ago I cut over 100 snowflakes (and laminated them all on fishing line) to decorate the church.  But I have never made snowflakes for any of the homes Jay and I have lived in.  Pastoring is busy work.

So this year I am making snowflakes for our windows.  It’s a good project that forces me to sit down and take a break from unpacking.

And look – this morning, there was snow!  John says, “I’ve been waiting my whole life for this,” which actually may well be true.  We’re really in Chicago now!

First Day of School

John started school on Monday.

Actually, in the interest of being precise (and what kindergartener is not precise) John started kindergarten “Two months ago in Kensington which is near to Berkeley on the Arlington.” But Jay and I say that it’s not really worth celebrating until we’re not paying for it.   So Monday was a special day, break out the Champaign, John went to public school.

John was a little anxious, understandably so.  But his teacher, Mrs. Poper, was very friendly, and his locker (!) was number 109 – auspiciously the same number as his classroom, a fact which Jay and John noticed right away.

And so, you may wonder, what did John have to tell me about school?  What was he eager to share, after a whole day away?  What deep insight did he have about Montessori vs. traditional teaching models, Chicago vs. Berkeley sensibility, walking to school vs. driving?  “Mama, they have oranges in jello if you want to buy them for lunch.”

Ah well.

I did manage to get out of him that there were laptops for all the children to use “You have to have a password.”  “What’s your password?” “I forgot.”  That there is gym class, “We dribbled balls!” And that there are kids to play with “Sam says I’m his best friend.”  “Did you play with him?”  “No.”

In other words, John was just as forthright about school as he was at home.  I think he’ll make an easy transition.

Thanksgiving

We had a lovely Thanksgiving.  I did a test run of the oven roasting a chicken on Tuesday last week and before I set it in the oven moved the racks (as I would in Berkeley) to accommodate the bird.  I shouldn’t have bothered.  My new giant oven could have fit 6 with ease.  I should have bought a bigger turkey just to take advantage of the space.

And so I made all the traditional feast items.  Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce, brussel sprouts with bacon, jello, and, of course, noodles and pie.  Jay’s parents drove in from Pittsburg, PA to join us.  Even though they arrived on Wednesday night after Jay’s mother had had a full day at court, she still made sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie as well as an alternative cranberry sauce to accompany the meal.  I found my pilgrim candleholders and we scattered turkey sparkles courtesy of the Flaths across the table.  We had a fine feast and ran the dishwasher three times.

Now the Hines-Shah family is not one that usually celebrates the day after Thanksgiving by shopping, but the temperature was dropping, and we needed coats.  Laurie Holland, a friend from church who once made the transition from California to Chicago had advised us not to buy coats before getting to the mid-west:  “They don’t have the selection or the heaviness you need here.” So on the day after Thanksgiving we headed downtown to the Watertower Macy’s to buy coats (60% off!)

Needless to say, it was a madhouse.  Grandpa found a bench in the shoe department and just stayed there.  John asked, “Can I have a piece of gum since it’s a holiday, you know mama, Black Friday?”  Jay and I tried on every coat imaginable.  John did his best sales job trying to convince Jay to select a particularly garish plaid coat, “Daddy, look how warm it is.  You would like it.”  Jay resisted, opting for black instead.

We finally immerged with three coats and earmuffs to supplement our hat, mitten, and scarf collection.

The rest of the weekend was mostly spent eating leftovers, watching football games, and setting up Advent and Christmas decorations (no tree yet – we’re waiting for Papa).  Though I sent good beeswax Advent candles with Jay from Berkeley, we can’t find them anywhere.  Blue candles are hard to find, but Whole Foods came through in a pinch.  John’s been watching a lot of football and playing a lot of pretend games is the long hallway.

Our hallway is extremely long. Between the sun room and the kitchen is a vast expanse far enough to require an Internet repeater and an extra phone.  Jay didn’t even hear the commotion when I was setting up Christmas lights and dropped a desk lamp right on my foot.  (RIP desk lamp.)  John loves the space between “goals” or “end zones,” or whatever else his pretend sporting requires.  We set up his Nerf basketball hoop on one of the hallway closet doors and John couldn’t be happier.  Grandpa and Jay got roped into endless hallway games.  Thank goodness we have no downstairs neighbors!

Jay and I did take advantage of willing babysitters and got out for a date night.  We found a tiny Mexican place in Skokie started by one of Anthony Bourdain’s underlings near enough to the movie theater.  The food was good, the service was excellent, and the BYOB policy was a pleasant surprise.  We got to Harry Potter on time, even though Jay had to park some ways away.  Our new coats were put to good use on one of the coldest nights in Chicago since February. 

We are reminded in so many ways how much we have to be thankful for.  Good health, a loving family, a warm house (steam heat!), our church family (both here and in Berkeley), plenty to eat, and, of course, a job for Jay.  And over it all, the faithfulness of God who guides and preserves us through whatever has been and whatever may come.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Home at Last!

I hear that my adoring fans want to know the rest of the story.  Did I make it to Chicago?  Am I trapped somewhere between Bloomington and Evanston in perpetuity?  Rest assured, gentle reader, we are here, settling in to our own apartment and into urban life.

First, let it be said, that Jay did an amazing job of unpacking.  The kitchen was completely unpacked when we got here including the tricky drawers (baking, Tupperware, and candles), the furniture was all in the correct rooms, and all the beds were made.  Even so, with my in-laws coming on Wednesday, there has been plenty for me to do.  Particularly since as soon as we came Jay’s run of work-free weekends was over and he ended up working past midnight both Saturday and Sunday.

On Saturday we ordered a real Chicago-style pizza.  I should have taken a picture, but you probably wouldn’t believe it.  Zachary’s does what it can, but the amount of cheese, butter, and over-all cholesterol levels are WAY OFF.  Needless to say, this was a wonderful, but only sometimes treat. 

Sunday John and I dropped Jay off at the office in the loop and I faced my first Chicago driving dilemma.  Some of you may know that I never actually drove in Chicago when I lived here in graduate school.  This was not because I didn’t have a car.  It was because I didn’t have LICENSE.  Jay taught me how to drive in California.

So here I am in downtown Chicago trying to follow GPS instructions on five-lane, one-way, three-tiered (that’s right, upper, lower, and other?) streets.  By the time John and I got to Lake Shore Drive I was so relieved without thinking I looked at the lake, and (thinking San Francisco Bay) decided to go LEFT for South rather than RIGHT.  “Mama!!” John shouts frantically, “You are going the wrong way!”  A quick loop around Navy Pier (Hello WBEZ!) and we’re back on track, and to church 10 minutes late.

Ah to come to church 10 minutes late – I can hardly even imagine it still.  Given the texts, and the holiday (Christ the King) I think I would have preached on the gatherings nation-wide this week to celebrate the story of one who came to his people, marked as a savior, yet who gave up his life to destroy evil and save them all.  You know who I’m talking about – Harry Potter of course!  Maybe it was good that Pr. Elizabeth Palmer was preaching and not me….

Pr. John Gorder, Augustana’s senior pastor and my mentor, and his wife, Gordeen, invited the Hines-Shahs over for a lunch party.  Invited were all the University of Chicago interns that have served under Pr. Gorder’s supervision over the last 11 years (I was the first).  We ate well and had a great visit.

After lunch John and I went to our first Chicago Target.  In case you are wondering, the only major difference between Bay Area Targets and Chicago Targets is that Chicago Targets carry a lot more sports branded clothing.  This would be the first of many Target runs, as we needed new shower curtains, school supplies, light bulbs, paper towels, etc.

The next day John and I brave the Whole Foods and Jewel grocery stores and, after driving incident-free over 2000 miles, managed to knick BOTH of my side view mirrors getting out of (left) and into (right) our new garage.  Jay says he’s so glad we’re here he doesn’t care if I knock them off completely.  It may be coming in the next couple days.

I also got John enrolled in school.  There were no issues at all, in fact, the secretary volunteered that he could start on Tuesday.  John was elated.  But then, thinking it over, since the Thanksgiving Holiday starts Wednesday, we decided to wait until next week.  I’m sure the disappointment will quickly abate when Grandma and Grandpa get here.

The weather has been very strange.  Yesterday it was 70 degrees, today it was 30 – the coldest it’s been in Chicago since February.  We hardly notice because with steam heat the apartment is positively balmy during the day.  I actually leave the back door open in the kitchen when I’m cooking even with the cold.

We have all our groceries, so I think we’re set for Thanksgiving.  After a little more unpacking, we’ll be ready for company too.  The apartment is very spacious – bigger than our house in Berkeley.  I’m still figuring out how to fill all the kitchen cabinets, what to do with all the closets, and how to furnish our sunroom.  I’m sure in the next few days it will all come together.

Your letters have been arriving (thank you!).  John has been thrilled to have so much mail – we’ve pinned the kids’ drawings up in our kitchen.  It helps to make Chicago feel more like home. 

We miss you and will post pictures soon.

One More Day

We aren’t in Chicago yet.

It isn’t because anything bad has happened. We decided that it would be a shame to get all the way to St. Louis only to have to leave the next morning without seeing anything.  So we decide to plan only on driving as far as Bloomington, IL.  I have an aunt in Bloomington who we'd love to see, and a stop won't delay our trip much.  We'll get to Chicago early Saturday morning.

Thus freed, we can enjoy at least something of the many splendors St. Louis has to offer, and that Gail is eager to show us.

We settle on the St. Louis Zoo.  Now we consider ourselves to be something of Zoo connoisseurs.  We’ve been to the Oakland Zoo, the San Francisco Zoo, the Sacramento Zoo, the Zoo of the Living Desert, the Houston Zoo, the Central Park Zoo, and, of course, the greatest of them all, the San Diego Zoo and Wild Animal Park.  We had heard good things about St. Louis’ Zoo, but we really were amazed with what we saw.

Next to San Diego, these were some of the best and most interesting exhibits we had seen anywhere.  A hippo enclosure, a grizzly bear on display, takins - weird goat like ox things from central Asia to behold.  

We spent a full four and a half hours at the zoo and did not see it all.  Gail was wonderfully game, acting as tour guide and adult conversation keeper.  We are most grateful.

As I pack up John plays wooden trains with Gail, setting up the Canadian railway system (O Canada!) based on a National Geographic Atlas.  

John is reluctant to go (as am I – delicious food, wonderful tours, extra grandparents…) but go we must.  Cliff and Gail escort us to the freeway so we have no more GPS mishaps.

The drive to Bloomington is uneventful, and, at its end, are my Aunt Joan, my Uncle Jerry, my Cousin Chris and his girlfriend Alex.  Jerry has been out fishing and there are fresh fish for dinner.  John is amazed.

He doesn’t realize the half of it, because in the den where John will retire to watch sports there are a good dozen mounted deer heads, all hunted by Jerry and Chris.  Chris, currently studying to be health teacher notes that after watching Food Inc and learning how beef is processed, deer is the only meat he wants to eat.  I can see he has a point.

Joan and I catch up reading old letters and pamphlets found at my grand parents home.  My favorite warns of the evils of alcohol:  Did you know that there are 17 million cars on US city streets?  Can you imagine what would happen is prohibition were not in force now?  It would not be safe to drive on any street or even to walk as a pedestrian.

Only a few more hours left of our drive and we will be back with Jay.  I can hardly wait.

Golden Arches (Making our way to St. Louis)

John and I can’t turn down a National Park touring opportunity, but we don't have a lot of time.  So we grabbed a quick breakfast at "Old MacDonalds" (As he calls it) and walk the historic grand promenade behind the bathhouses, and then saunter up bathhouse row.  Hot Springs National Reserve was first set up to make sure the public would always have access to the curative waters of the springs. 

Now I seem to have picked up John's cold, so if anyone ever needed curative waters…

I actually end up mixing my cold medicine with steaming water from the public taps.  John and I tour a bathhouse, which included “vapor closets” and “needle showers” which seem kind of awful.  Our time is up because we have a very long drive ahead.

This is to be our longest driving day – a full 7 and a half hours by the looks of the GPS readout.  And at first I am grateful that the GPS so automatically plots a quick and efficient route.  But then the drive would come.

I must say, that GPS has been good to me.  With my terrible sense of direction, I have been grateful to have every twist and turn managed for me, even in the simplest of towns.  But in this case GPS failed me.  For while route 67 might technically exists on maps, in real life it is a road in the making and much of it is two lanes going in opposite directions sometimes at 70, sometimes at 80, and sometimes at 45 miles per hour.

It only really dawned on me that there might be another way when we called up Gail and Cliff, the parents of a college friend with whom we would be staying in St. Louis.  When Cliff found out what road we were on and how far we had come all he could say was, ‘Be very careful,” in a kind of wary way that said he wasn’t just being polite.

We don't really stop at all.  So lunch is at Wendy's and we get a snack (and some play time) at Burger King (I feel like we've hit some kind of a road trip triple crown).

It was with great relief that we finally arrived at the Saxtons.  Not just because we could stop driving, but also because Gail had left us real food - chicken and casserole and cranberry sauce and VEGETABLES!!!!

But the best was yet to come, because after dinner there were trains.

Ah the trains.  Mere words do not describe the great assembly of tracks and engines, electric signs and model people, houses and farms, and stations and cars.  John’s eyes just about popped out of his head.  At one point he was so overwhelmed he just ran around the room – trying to take it all in.

Gail and Cliff have a series of December open houses for friends and neighbors, and so Cliff claimed that our visit was a good dry run of the trains, and would John please help him test them? Boy would he ever! 

John ran every sawmill and cattle car, every mail delivery system and milk truck.  I began to wonder who would tire out first, Cliff or John.  It seemed hard to decide which of them had the greater child’s heart.

It was actually me who declared bedtime first and shuttled the lad off to bed.  After a cup of tea with Gail I was to bed too, ready to see St. Louis in the morning.

Hot or Not Springs

Hot Springs + National Park – what is there not to like?

At least that’s what I thought as we hurried to hit the road this morning.  While the breakfast in Oklahoma City was just fine, when I asked if their waffles were Oklahoma shaped the desk clerk just looked confused.

John and I sped away on the turnpike (toll $1.15) and were on our way to Arkansas in no time.  Now there are many things I would have liked to have seen in Oklahoma, but this road trip has purpose, and lest we keep daddy waiting forever some things will just have to wait.

Our first stop was Fort Smith Arkansas for lunch, which was …. pho.  That’s right, Vietnamese noodle soup. In Arkansas.

I found PHO Vietnam on Yelp during a brief rest stop, and, seeing its 14 four plus star ratings decided to give it a go.  But when we first approached the restaurant, I had my doubts.  It was definitely a hole-in-the-wall.  But the dingy tables were more or less occupied by young professionals and actual Vietnamese people, so we decided to give it a go.

When our pho finally arrived, and boy did it take forever, I was skeptical.  It didn’t look like any pho I’d ever had before – white onions?  A broth with some color?  So I didn’t take a picture before I tasted it.  Which is too bad, because by the time I decided that this was the best pho I had ever eaten, it was too late.  My bowl (and John’s) was empty.  Ah well.

Back to the road.  We drove through the Ozarks on twisting two lane roads lined with deep forests.  The occasional crystal rock shop or Baptist church beckoned, but we could not be tempted.  Hot Springs!  National Park!

And then we arrived.

Now my tendency is to try to see everything in its best light, but in this circumstance, I have to confess – I feel a little let down.

Yes, yes, Hot Springs National Park is the oldest of America’s protected areas (designated a reserve in 1832).  Yes, it was among the first places to use penicillin.  Yes it is where the first Park Ranger was killed in the line of duty (this is actually an official fact on the web site).   If you must know – bootleggers 1927.  But all this seems to be trying to hard.

The fact of the matter is that Hot Springs National Park was once a thriving site for wellness and now that doctors no longer prescribe bathing in hot springs (penicillin is an ungrateful mistress) it really is a tourist trap past its prime.

Aging and abandoned hotels line the main strip.  Most of the bathhouses have been turned into museums or malls.  Our hotel, circa 1920, I’m pretty sure is haunted.  

Whole floors are closed off by double hospital doors Shining-style.  

At least the water runs hot and heavy in our cast iron bathtub.

This is important because this is the only bathing we will get to do.  There are no more public baths in Hot Springs National Park, and children under the age of 10 are not welcome in the two spas available.  The sight of steaming 145-degree fountains on Central Ave does not comfort John. 

So we head off to the Alligator Farm and Petting Zoo.

As we enter this 80-year-old roadside attraction we are handed a half a loaf of white bread and told we can feed the goats and the deer but not the lemurs.  Lemurs?  We do feed the goats and the deer, but elect to stay outside their pens (although we are encouraged to go in).  I don’t think there are many tourists in November, and we come close enough to being trampled outside the chain link fence.

The winter quarters of the semi-hibernating alligators comes next on the tour.  As soon as we enter, a young man catches us a young alligator to pet.  He holds it by the snout while John strokes him.  “Don’t worry, we bleach them,” the handler says.  Great.

We pass a pool full of snapping turtles, and then the first of a series of alligators segregated by age.  (30-60, 12-30 “Perfect for purse and wallet making”, and assorted pools of 12 and under).  A sign proclaims, “Alligators don’t attack people, crocodiles do.”  That’s what they must tell the lemurs, sitting contentedly in the cage near the young crocodile pen.  I think if I spent the winter in that kind of alligator proximity I would be one stressed out primate.  

We didn’t stay and said goodbye to Charlie, the taking parrot at the entrance.  (And Charlie said goodbye back.)

Dinner.  Hot Springs National Park (this is the actual name of the town, just to make things confusing the residents changed it after the Park got its status) new claim to fame is that it’s the boyhood home of Bill Clinton.  As such, there are many places where the former president ate and, er, slept.  We stuck to the former and went to Bill’s favorite ribs place.

Say what you will about President Clinton, the man does know his barbeque.  

It was truly excellent, good enough, perhaps, to redeem Hot Springs in my eyes.  But I am looking forward to St. Louis tomorrow, even with the long drive ahead.

Panhandles

Breakfast is the important start of any day, which is why we look for hotels that provide it for free.  The Sleep In in Amarillo had a breakfast buffet and we came downstairs hungry.

Now all breakfast buffets have bagels, yogurt, oatmeal and fruit.  And the better-appointed ones have eggs and breakfast meat.  But only in Texas do they have Texas shaped waffles.

I am not making this up.

How could I resist?

We sadly then took Deena to the airport.  Let me now just take a moment to laud the goodness of Deena, who voluntarily accompanied us for so much of the journey, sharing in not just the driving, but also the hauling, and the child tending.  Not to mention the radio tuning, evening drink making and conversation keeping.  God bless you Deena Prichep!  May everyone read your blog! Mostly Foodstuffs

John and I then had an errand to run.  Somewhere on the left side of the car a lamp was out.  I could tell from the “blinkedy blink blink blink” of the turn signal.  Jay might not be able to accompany us here, but he sure can use the Internet.  Jay found us a Toyota dealership in Amarillo that would look at our Lexus, and in a flash I was there.

As soon as I pulled up I was greeted with a friendly “Can you pull over here, Ma’am?”  Four mechanics surrounded my car, check the lamps, fixed a loose interior light cover, replaced a rear bulb, and gave me a bill for a whopping $6.51.  I didn’t even get out of my car.

Then off to Cadillac Ranch.

Now, some of you may, like worried Jay, confuse the Cadillac Ranch with the Chicken Ranch, a well-known brothel in Nevada.  Gentle reader, trust me when I tell you that the Ranch we were headed to was the more benign sort.

The Cadillac Ranch is perhaps the most famous outdoor pop art installation – a row of Cadillacs half-buried sideways in a field full of actual cows.  People spay paint them periodically, and I think the cows have eaten all the upholstery.  What it means is up for debate.  Is it the evolution of the car (the Cadillacs are stacked in model order)?  Is it a statement about mobility and stability (the stable roadside attraction coupled with the mobile automobile)?  Does it mean that cows will one day lord over us all?  Who am I to say?

I will say this.  The Cadillac Ranch is VERY HARD TO FIND.  You would think that Cadillacs on the roadside would be easy to spot.  Not so, my friend.  In the great vastness of Texas even a dozen Cadallacs are a mere speck on the horizon.  When GPS and Yelp failed, we consulted a gas station attendant.  And we finally made it.

After a great deal of fussing – “It is too windy!  The sun is in my eyes!  There is COW POOP!!!!” we got our picture.  

Then off we go.

By 1PM we were starving – a Texas-shaped waffle only takes you so far – so I looked for a place to stop.  For five days we had been attempting to avoid meat, I figured it was best to surrender.  And so we stopped at Ed’s Steakhouse and I ordered filet mignon, medium rare.  And it was good.

After lunch John and I explored the little town of Shamrock we’d stumbled into.  Shamrock is one of those towns completely built around the old Route 66.  Now it stands as a sort of a gas station museum.  John and I took some pictures, mailed some postcards, and hit the road again.

Oklahoma greeted us with brand new paving – an insult to Texas?  We drove quickly into the land of Cherokee shopping attractions, only stopping briefly for gas.  In no time we were in the land of toll roads, Oklahoma City, and at our hotel.

Deena had recalled that the famous food blogger Orangette, is originally from Oklahoma City, and had found some posts on dining in the city.  John and I ended up at the closest, openest of the recommendations, Tokyo Sushi, which of course was something Deena would have loved.  Sigh.  

John and I ate well, came home for a swim, and started planning our next day: On to Arkansas.

Land of Enchantment

The morning dawned bright and cold in Santa Fe and we were glad for our fireplace and for the breakfast burritos awaiting us in the dining room.  All the requisite Santa Fe options were there, eggs, potatoes, tortilla, meat, and two kinds of salsa (red and green).  As a Californian I am always hoping for guacamole, but made do with too much cream cheese.  After our hearty breakfast we made our way to the famous plaza.

Flanked by St. Francis Cathedral at one end, the historic plaza of Santa Fe is a mix of museums, shops, restaurants, and the usual high-end amenities a modern traveler of a certain age has learned to expect (Starbucks! Eileen Fisher!)  We focused on window-shopping; although in a fit of indulgence (stupidity) I bought John a drum.  The rest of our tour was punctuated by a fluxuating rhythm.

We then headed for Ten Thousand Waves, the greatest Japanese bath on earth.  I must say, Ten Thousand Waves in and of itself is a reason to come to Santa Fe, but I assumed that children would not be welcome and thus we would be unable to go.  Much to my delight, the Ten Thousand Waves web site declared that they are an “inclusive” community so children are welcome and that if people don’t want children to be part of their bathing experience then they ought to consider renting a private bath.  I’ve never seen this anywhere else.  It’s the sort of thing that makes you love New Mexico.

So off we went.  Our $18 per person (half price for people under 4 feet tall), got us everything we needed for unlimited bathing including robes, sandals, shampoo, towels, tea, and use of all the public spaces (women’s bath, common bath, foot bath, saunas, relaxation room, fireplace room, and the like).

I have to start the description of how heavenly this place is with a tour of the toilets.  A well-known fact is that the Japanese people have taken the toilet to a whole new level.  Never mind the duel flush – Japanese toilets also have heated seats, a variety of built in warm water cleansing functions (front, back, different pressure settings and warm air-dry afterward).  John had to try it.  “Yikes!  Help! Oh!  Let’s do it again, Mama!”

Then to the baths. 

All the baths are outside with open-air seating and ample towel service.  We elected to use the women’s bath exclusively and enjoyed the tub and sauna about as well as we enjoyed cooling off on the deck wrapped only in towels.  Only John braved the cold plunge, much to the approval of the local women enjoying the baths alongside us.  I felt right at home when one woman saw my #8 locker key and commented, breezily “You have infinity.”  They have hippies in Santa Fe too!

We tried out the foot bath by the koi pond and the relaxation room (John loved the goose-necked light fixtures), and after picking up a few Japanese necessities, we headed back in time for lunch.

Actually, we weren’t in time for lunch.  Having left the baths at 1:50PM we missed everyone’s lunch closing time. Especially the Japanese places that Deena wanted to try.   In fact, the only place we could find that was open was the La Fonda buffet.  Deena gamely suggested I get a margarita since she would take the first driving shift, and proceeded to eat the three meatless things available. 

We hit the road.

A Santa Fe local at the bath suggested an alternate route to Amarillo, which was both hauntingly beautiful and disturbingly devoid of people.  I think we saw less than a dozen cars the hour and a half (and 110 miles) we were on it.  “Who lives here?” Deena wondered.  “Zombies” I concluded.  But that couldn’t be.  Zombies would starve to death in that vast, beautiful, unpeopled landscape.  While we enjoyed the drive, we were glad to finally rejoin the 40 and proceed into Texas.

Deena was determined to find vegetarian food, and did locate Calico Corner, a well-rated southern cooking eatery.  We arrived an hour before closing and were greeted enthusiastically by a young waitress who called us “Ma’am” as she gazed at us through cracked glasses.  Deena was eager to try any and all vegetables – alas – almost all of them contained meat – the turnip greens, the cabbage, the beans, even the mashed potatoes which, our waitress told us, “Are roasted with the meat.”  Needless to say, everything was exceptionally delicious and real.  Deena did find some vegetables she could eat and was suitably impressed.  I ordered the turnip greens on the side of my potpie.  John declared the corn the “best I ever ate.”

Well fed, we went home to bed.

Day of Rest

Sunday we find a little bit of rest.

 John and I went with Kris and Sanjay and the girls to Kris’ church.  Now when I say Kris’ church, I really mean it.  Kris grew up Dutch Reformed and attended Rehoboth Church and school in Gallup.  Up until recently her parents lived there and her sister and brother-in-law (who sat behind us at church) are also in town.

This Sunday there was a special guest preacher who had just published a book containing some of the stories of the Navajo members of the church.  Back in the days when the “Heathen Mission Board” sent emissaries to the nearby Navajo nation some Navajo children came to the Rehoboth School.  While the preaching was a great deal more of the service than I am used to, the stories were heartfelt and moving.

John got to go to Sunday School with Daya and returned at the end of worship (75 minutes later) with stories of Joseph and his dream interpretation and some very detailed drawings of football games. 

While we were at church Deena thoughtfully stayed behind and did laundry.  We picked Deena up after church and went on a brief driving tour of Gallup.  Sanjay showed us the hotels he’s rehabbing for homeless veterans and for clean and sober living as well as the new green low-income housing.  Sanjay told us that he doesn’t build green because of his deeply ingrained Berkeley nature but rather because utilities are such a large proportion of poor people’s expenses.  By building in such a way that homes retain heat in the winter and stay cool in the summer people can save money.

After seeing the sight of a gun battle between rich landowners and the people who really lived there.  In Sanjay’s words, “the last stand against American imperialism” (that’s why we love Sanjay) we headed off for lunch at Ed’s, a Gallup institution.  Ed’s was unique even from the parking lot.  Silver and turquoise jewelry making is a mainstay of the Gallup economy, but most artisans make little money.  At Ed’s the artisans themselves set up booths and tour the restaurant offering their wares.

The kids had predictable children’s food (chicken nuggets and corn dogs) while the adults enjoyed posole (puffed corn and beef chili) Navajo fry-bread, and Navajo tacos.

At this point, it might be worth noting that Gallup is not a vegetarian-dining destination.  Deena learned the hard way after her “vegetarian” breakfast burrito that morning came doused in cheese and meat sauce (but no meat INSIDE the burrito).  When Deena ordered her Navajo taco she asked for it to be vegetarian.  “Okay,” the waitress said.  As she was about to leave, Deena stopped her.  “Does the sauce have meat in it?”  “Yes” “Then make it with out the sauce.”  “Okay,” the waitress says, making a note.”  As she is about to leave Deena again says, “Wait!  Do the beans have meat in them?”  “Usually,” the waitress replies.  “Then make the taco with beans with no meat.”  “Okay,” the waitress says making another note.

We weren’t surprised when Deena’s burrito came to the table half way through the meal.  I think they had to keep sending it back.  Daya was the hero, asking until Deena got her lunch.

We said goodbye to the Kris, Sanjay, Daya and Lyse and hit the road for Albuquerque. 

The drive wasn’t long, but it happened to overlap with John’s favorite time of day, 4:00PM.  This has always been John’s favorite time.  I don’t know why.  Nothing special happens at school, there is no cartoon show or snack at this time.  Yet John often notes 4:00PM, particularly when driving.

At 3:58 I hear from the back seat, “Mama, at 4:00 there will be dancing.”  And lo, at exactly 4:00PM John did a spirited car seat-based dance.  Well done.

We got to town and met up with Deena’s friend Patty from the Baker’s Café in New York.  Many people from Shepherd of the Hills have sampled their treats.  Those delicious lemon cheesecake bars, the berry coffee cake, and the black-eyed Susan bars that Pr. Katie brings to coffee hour are all from the Baker’s Café Cookbook.  While the Baker’s Café is now closed, their cookbook is available online here: Baker's Cafe Cookbook  It was great to see Patty (Deena - “She’s just as fun and pretty as I remembered.”)

We then were on our way to Letta Gorder’s house for dinner.  Letta Gorder is the daughter of the pastor who baptized Jay when Jay was 30 and who married the Hines-Shah’s.  Letta is a cook of her mother’s own pedigree and made a feast of stewed beef (and mushrooms for Deena), handmade noodles, spicy corn and zucchini, and homemade brownies.  Delicious!

Of course, John was mostly interested in playing with Letta’s boys, Finn (10) and Aiden (6) and Letta’s iPad.  John couldn’t even been tempted by talking soccer with Letta’s husband Chris, a coach for the college team in Albuquerque.

We said goodbye and headed out to Santa Fe.  After a few twists and turns we arrived at our hotel, the Old Santa Fe Inn, and our fabulous room.  Last week I got a call saying that the queen room we had reserved was unavailable.  Would we mind being upgraded to the king suite?  Why no, we would not.

Our room has a kiva fireplace, a comfortable living room (with queen sized pull out bed), a generous bedroom, and a whirlpool tub.  John went right to bed, but Deena and I stayed up, enjoying the fireplace and catching up on the Mad Men finale.

Today we plan on going to Ten Thousand Waves, the greatest Japanese bath in the world, and will also have a great lunch in Santa Fe.  Tonight we sleep in Amarillo!

A Grand Day Out

There is no denying the greatness of God standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon.  On waking up in our dorm room hotel John commented that it was much greater than the place in Phoenix with the waterslide, “because this place is at the Grand Canyon.”  Too true.

After watching the dawn break, we had a breakfast of cold cereal pilfered from the Phoenix Sheraton.  Deena cleverly cut the boxes along the dotted lines, we poured in milk and were good to go.  Thus stated, we headed for the ranger talk at the Geology Center.  Somehow we missed the talk, but we didn’t miss the view.  John could not get enough of the maps or the binoculars.  We picked up the Junior Ranger project for John and got to work.

Junior Ranger projects are about the best thing ever invented.  John went from being “too tired” and “my stomach hurts” to eagerly engaged in filling out worksheets.  “Use your senses to observe the canyon.  How does it smell?”  John’s answer, “Cold.”

It was cold, but we were well bundled and spent some time gazing out at the wonder.

We caught a shuttle back to Bright Angel Lodge, one of the historic buildings in the village.  We made it just in time to be among the last people admitted to breakfast.  Ed, our host, offered that John could check off “coyote” on his nature bingo page because they had kept “Uncle Ed” up all night. 

We were utterly charmed by Bright Angel Lodge (too bad they were booked to capacity the night before.)  While we had hueveros rancheros, fruit and yogurt, and pancakes, we saw old menus on the wall.  Mackerel for breakfast?  Pineapple or sauerkraut juice for accompaniment?  It’s just as well we are eating now and not in 1950.

After our hearty breakfast we headed down the Bright Angel Trail.  We planned to make it to the first rest house a mile and a half down into the canyon (1000ft of descent) provided John was a willing walker.  John proved a formidable hiker – I think he would have gotten to the Phantom Ranch 9 miles in if we would have let him.  Still, hiking down is easier than hiking up, so at the rest house we turned to ascend.  Ice, Europeans, and the occasional mule train attempted to thwart our ascent, but we were unstoppable.  In a little over two hours we were back at the top, our hike complete.

To celebrate, we stopped at the Bright Angel soda fountain where John had, what else in the Grand Canyon, “Grand Vanilla” ice cream!  We headed over to the Van Kemp’s Visitor Center porch for the ranger talk, the last project for John’s Junior Ranger merit badge.

John, of course, was a very enthusiastic participant in the “Most Dangerous Creatures in the Park” talk.  We learned about tarantulas, rattle snakes, scorpions, mountain lions, and then, the park’s most dangerous creature: 

The ground squirrel!

The ground squirrel is the most dangerous creature because they carry rabies and the plague and people insist on feeding them all the time, thus making them very eager and aggressive.  John told our hosts, Kris and Sanjay, that the squirrel was the most dangerous creature because “They have the plague and they will eat your Cheetos.”

John got earned his badge and off we went.  After a quick stop in Flagstaff for soup and coffee, we sped off to Gallup.

Kris and Sanjay and their daughters Daya (7) and Lyse (4), had prepared for us an Indian feast.  The table was set with handmade Christmas place cards (‘tis the season!).  John and the girls played famously while the grown ups enjoyed dinner and conversation.

The Hines-Shah’s know Kris and Sanjay from Berkeley where we all attended University Lutheran Chapel together during its Indian family heyday.  Kris and Sanjay moved back to Kris’s native Gallup (“As a kid I wondered why all the pollsters wanted to know our opinion about everything”) five years ago.  Now Kris is a hospital chaplain here and Sanjay runs a non-for-profit start up.  Sanjay has been very successful getting affordable green housing built right here in Gallup and has a number of future expansion plans.  I think there’s a story for Deena to pitch to NPR in this!

After dinner and putting the kids to bed, Deena and I tried out Kris and Sanjay’s wood heated redwood hot tub.  I have no idea how hot the water was, but we alternately soaked in the warm tub and sat on the icy ledge surrounding it.  It at 14 degrees here last night, but we were warmed through and through.

In a few minutes we’re off to church with the family (Sunday School for John!).  We’ll hang out in Gallup for a while, do laundry, and rest up.  Tonight we’ll eat dinner with my friend Letta in Albuquerque before heading for Sante Fe.