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Spring has grown legs, finally!

larkabouts magnnolia

May has finally warmed things up in the Midwest after a never-ending winter, and now the buds, blossoms and green fields are singing everywhere —  I have even spotted a real live elbow or two (a sure sign of spring) while out and about.  I am on Month Two Point Five of my “time out” from the city and I continue to make good on the promise to myself that I would not get bored. Outside of work and school, I intend to find new people, places and things and interesting things to do.  People live here for a reason, right?

I’ll be honest; Northern Illinois bores me to absolute tears.  I know I am not long for this area because I am here for a reason and I am dedicated to discovering things that I had not known while growing up, nor back for ocassional visits.   I’ve officially made peace with Woodstock, but c’mon you all drive me crazy Illinois.

When I go to grocery stores and ask if they have organic vegetables, they look at me as if I am the Creature from the Black Lagoon.  A produce guy said to me, “I’ve been eating these pesticides my whole life and nothing has happened to me!”  I laughed, said “me too!” and sashayed away. We’ve all been eating them but now it’s time to stop, Bubs!  I don’t expect it to be Organic Town USA here, but I do enjoy the conversations it can encourage.  Northern Illinois has a huge resistance to it.

I have never understood McHenry County and probably never will.  I went to the local community college because I heard they had a map of all the county trails but when I pulled into the main parking lot, I almost fell out of my car.  Literally.  They had created a mock-cemetery in the front yard of all the babies aborted.  There were vicious signs everywhere.  I was aghast.  At the community college.  eeee-gads.  I’ve often commented that it feels more like Texas here than Texas.

There is something about this county that just does not want to be budged.
So be it, I am only a visitor.

My temporary explorations must carry on!  The curious mind has pushed me across the border to Wisconsin, once again.  My ex-sister-in-law Wendy and her family live in Linn Township and we have long considered each other as family, even though technically we are no longer.  Wendy’s oldest son, Jackson, now five, has autism and recently they added Inka, the German autism service dog, to their rowsy family.  Inka was trained in Germany and continues her training locally yet has a fairly substantial bill to support her services.  Wendy and her neighbors are really good about creating events to support each other and a few weeks ago they hosted a partial-walk around Lake Geneva to raise funds to defer some of Inka’s training costs.  The walk ended at Foley’s Bar & Grill where they offered a special Reuben sandwich for the day and sponsored a meat raffle.  yes a meat raffle, say what?!  Tables & tables of meat were raffled off, I’ve never seen anything like it.  I won a huge a Wisconsin salami.

Walk for Autism Inka

So this was not only a great event to be involved in, it totally sparked my memory that there is a 20-something-mile path that goes all the way around the lake and it’s open to the public.  Over the past two weeks, I have hit this trail and it is SPECTACULAR.

As you make your way around the lake, homes that are not visible from anywhere but the lakefront are visible, as are their gorgeous landscapes and lake-faring accouterments.  No two homes are the same and the path is varied and semi-rugged, by going through golf courses, flat beaches, endless green lawns and beautiful lakefront patios and so on.  I recommend remaining very respectful because you are very close to people’s homes, but there certainly are areas you can sit back and take in the views.  I sat at William Wrigley’s boat slip to take in the sunset — very serene indeed.

More information in case you want to plan this thing out a bit more than me:
http://www.makeitbetter.net/entertainment/outings-a-travel/1506-hiking-through-historythe-geneva-lake-walking-path

Naturally I made a Vine:

Vine Lake Geneva
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAF66cbAU_c&feature=youtu.be

I look forward to learning more about Lake Geneva this summer, especially because this is FREE!  Things just taste better when they are free, yahvoh!

I am completely grateful my health has returned (WHEW!) and my legs are strong once again and ready to hike, hike hike.  Ever since I read Cheryl Strayed’s “WILD” when I was in Lake Tahoe a few weeks ago, I am feeling compelled to plan a super-big hike, but not entirely the same as Cheryl Strayed’s hike of the Pacific Crest Trail.

I back-packed through Northern Arizona several years ago and hiking with a monster-backpack is very hard work — I felt very tall and my legs were never stronger. It’s hot and dirty, dusty and smelly but I absolutely loved the experience — even though a mountain lion growled at me and I thought I was going to die right there.  I didn’t.

That was an experience a woman should experience in her twenties, and that’s about when I had mine.  Except I think I was 32.  I am looking to do something different now and will continue to research and plan.

My legs are ready to climb things again, this much I know.  A treadmill will not cut it.

larkabouts biking

Next up, mom’s ashes are going for a swim.
Thank you for reading my words, I do appreciate it. xo

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Juls’ Quilts, Part 1

My mom, Juls, was a wonderful quilt maker and won many awards and accolades over the years for her art — but never really told anyone outside of the family.  Even at her wake, neighbors that she lived next door to for decades had no idea that mom was such an accomplished quilter.  Cousins, aunts, even one of her brothers had no idea that this is what my mom did up in her little condo; in a work space roughly about 6 by 6 feet.  To see all her quilts up on display was really rather moving for me, I had never seen them in this light and it blew everyone away.

Juls was able to blow the room away at her wake because as an ode to my mother, I filled the “wake room” with her quilts and it looked very much like her own personal art gallery.  It was really beautiful if I may say so myself.  Quilts on walls, on chairs, on couches, on podiums, she was everywhere.  Relatives asked all day and night, “What are you going to do with your mother’s quilts?”  My brothers were ready to bring in an auctioneer that night!  I don’t know exactly what I am going to do with her quilts, but I certainly am exploring some options.

A quilt appraisialist said that they should go to either the Illinois State Museum in Springfield or to the International Quilt Study Center & Museum in Lincoln, Nebraska.  This appraisalist never met my mother, not many did, but she certainly was familiar with my mom’s work.  Juls was the recluse quilter that quietly won all the awards at the McHenry County Fair each year and came in to pick up her ribbons on the Monday after the fair — and into the fabric cabinet the ribbons would go.

The reasons why mom hid for so many years are starting to become clear to me as I sort through her things and empty out her life and it’s not always easy because I get upset with her. I wish she had let me in on some of her thoughts and not let them fester.  So stubborn.  Stone Head.

I always threatened my mom that I would expose her craft when she was gone and she would say, “What will I care then?”  Well, ummm true but that time is here and now the first thing I had to do was photograph the quilts.  This is not as easy as it sounds, as her quilts are huge, well most of them at least, and huge means heavy.  Thankfully I was able to use one of the studios at the Institute for Arts Entrepreneurship (where I am now also teaching and studying, but more on that later).

I sold some of my mom’s quilts at her estate sale but have hung on to a good many.  I learned that my mom had quite a following and when word got out that some of her quilts were up for sale, people came from all over the area and her estate was quickly emptied out.  I am pleased about this.  As well as a little freaked out by her empty house that I can now hear an echo when I talk.  I wonder if I made it all happen too quickly and now have very little of her left.

I am not a pack rat.  Now I am preparing to contact the museums as soon as I have them all properly inventoried.  These are just a few.

My mom was never big on talking. It drove me crazy my entire life.  When I saw her quilts up on the walls of the funeral home, I saw that mom said everything through her quilts.  There are layers and layers of her emotions and thoughts in her quilts and I will do what I can to get people to hear my mom.  

Aw Juls. You finally said something.  xo