my year in pictures

Nike's all washed up

Never thought you'd hear that, huh? Nike's all washed up? Well, in this case... it's true.

I spent a few days in the Mayan Riviera, yep the Yucatan Peninsula. You got it. Mexico. Hola. And while sunning myself, this teeny, tiny Nike washed up on the beach. I can only imagine the journey it has been through. And where the pair remains.

Needless to say, I saw a photo op. Like all vacations, mind you, I had to force myself to actually carry around my camera, but it's moments like these that I'm glad that I did. Even IF the people on the beach looked at me crazy for laying there photographing this thing. I might even like it enough for it to earn it's place on the wall of vacation photos... we'll see...

Something and Nothing

Maybe I'm just looking for a reason to write or maybe an exhibit actually got me....

Beyond knowing that Charles Allis had a factory in Milwaukee and was an art collector, I don't know much.  The mansion, Charles' home for seven years turned library turned museum and historic site, housed a variety of displays - some his, some not. Though his life was brief within these walls, one exhibit trapped him in this time, this place.

His bedroom was dark. The shades drawn on an already cloudy day. Musty as old houses always are. 100 years of smell in one place. A simple, minimally furnished room. The bed. The fireplace. A few steps to the center of the room and I realize there isn't much to look at. In my periphery I catch a change in light within the attached bathroom behind me. I spin. All seems normal. Again, I take to the center of the room and look towards the mantel. It's hardly seconds before I sense movement again in the same place there was nothing. I can feel it behind me. This room is not about what's there, rather what's not. He's here. He never left.

Startled. A crashing tin sounds the empty room. Loud. The sound rings bigger than the room itself. It's behind me again. And I spin to nothing again. No matter where I am there is something and nothing behind me. The sounds bring me to a derelict factory. Perhaps, Charles own plant devastated by modernity. Run down and forgotten as most factories exist today. Between the echoes of clanging metal, in the silence I hear the machines waiting for life.

He's here and he's bothered by what has come of his livelihood. His ghost has seen today. His ghost has brought today to this room. It haunts him while he haunts me. There's a draw to the bathroom tub and I can't help but feel like he died there. I feel like I could die there. Swallowed by the past. My chest is a little tight and reality seems far away.

It doesn't take long to put the exhibit together. Built-in surround system with localized sound effects. The bathroom light mocked by a projector behind frosted glass creating subtle and sudden changes in the environment. Just enough to make you second guess your sanity. Even knowing that though - I had a moment of being caught in the whispers of the past and the promise of an afterlife, and it kinda creeped me out.

More info: Charles Allis Art Museum

Driving Palette

What about driving excuses your palette?

My usual road trip food is Combos. Nacho Cheese. Pretzel shell. I have never purchased Combos anywhere other than small town, highway exit gas stations. And I have never eaten Combos outside of my drivers seat. Call it vehicular comfort food.

I'm certain we all have them.

I deviated on my route to Milwaukee Thursday, strayed, but not far... from the norm of my poor driving palette.

I stuck with the cheese (maybe it's a Wisconsin soil thing? No... I've done Combos beyond our dairy borders...) and added coffee. Yeah, I added a Starbucks Vanilla Frappuchino to my Bucky Badger Triple Mix Popcorn.

Gross.

At the time it was perfect though. Comfort as I cruised through Fort Douglas.

Can I tell you something else? Wisconsin knows how to do cheese popcorn like no other. There's a "Chicago Mix" at the best Candyland store in Minneapolis, old fashion, been doing it right for years, but their cheese can't stand up to Bucky. Not a chance.

This cheese made the kernels almost feel wet with flavor. This cheese still sits in the beds of my fingernails, thumb and pointer on my left hand, still suggesting the blazing orange glory that was. The kind of cheese, that I actually considering what I would do with my mess of a hand if I were to get in an accident while driving.... I knew the cheese would be my last image before impact.

I could go on and on about this cheese.... but this is on TV:

And I'm finding it hard to concentrate. Too Cute! Animal Planet... dammit, you got me....

Peanuts on a Plane

It was a holiday. The kind of holiday that family congregates and reminisces. I realize that could be any holiday and I suppose that’s why I can’t tell you which one and won’t attempt. Memory serves no indication of location or season, so I’m sticking with “It was a holiday”.

As all familial conversations do, the topics circled and circled and finally landed on travel. I’m sure an aunt was nervous about how her stomach would handle her upcoming cruise, which might have led to the conversation about various methods of vacationing. To this day, I have never vacationed on the water. Cruise ship travel is foreign to me. I might have said that aloud. It’s all together possible that my confession caused another aunt to admit to never having boarded a plane.

But here, here is where I remember. I remember that whatever holiday with whichever aunts (there are many!) in whatever roundabout way of conversation led me to telling them all about the first time I was ever on a plane.

My first flight was MKE to Jamaica with a friend’s family when I was a freshman in high school, in a thunderstorm no less, but that was not the story I told them. I told them the story of the first time I was on a plane. A different story all together.

I remembered being at a very young age, I’m talking pre-school young. I remember walking onto the plane and being greeted by friendly flight attendants. I remember fastening my buckle and how big it felt in my tiny child hands. We had peanuts, I definitely remember that. But this is where my memory ends.

Probably at the sound of my voice and the shape of my story, my mother’s ears perked up and she yelled out across the room to call my bluff. You see, my mom knows that we weren’t the kind of family to travel by plane. Ever. To anywhere. We were always a family of five driving a minivan with a pop-up camper in tow. The thing is... I know this fact too, which is why it came out of my own mouth as uncertain memory. It didn’t make sense. I’ll admit that and my mother thought she caught me. I could tell by the gloating excitement nestled under her tone. The words she yelled out, the words I could hear excitement poking through, were “Mary, you were never on a plane when you were little.”

I shook my head, maybe even slapped my knee and insisted that I had. I described again and again how much I remembered but that I didn’t remember going anywhere. It’s not that it was because we went somewhere and I have a failed memory (though this story may not disprove THAT theory), it’s because we really didn’t go anywhere. I remember we boarded, ate our peanuts and left.

I may have been red in the face at this point, persisting with my mother in front of my 900 aunts as they watched in disbelief. After all, mothers would know whether or not their 3 year old was boarding a plane alone. Minutes (feeling like hours) into my insistence, my mother’s face finally went soft. Her eyes sparkled the sparkle of recognition. She then told me about a daycare teacher that used to take us all on really cool field trips. She realized my memory was one of them.

I think about that memory now and it saddens me a bit. How travel has changed in 20 years, there’s no way a three year old today would be able to sit and eat peanuts on a plane to nowhere. More importantly, that a three year old would never have the opportunity twenty years later to disprove their upbringing to their very own mother.

 Today, I also can’t help to think ….. Which old family friend arrived at the airport that day that my daycare provider just had to pick up mid-shift, kids in tow? “Field trip” Right….

Wait, there's anatomy in my Easter basket

He said it

Notre-Dame

Soaring

Lock me up and throw away the key

I should probably google this before I post it.... I'm not sure why but on many bridges there are locks decorating the fences. I like this tradition even though I don't get it. It's beautiful.

UPDATE: They are love locks. Lovers chain them there as a symbol of their devotion and throw away the key. Note to self, remember to look down at the water below. I imagine a wishing well of keys.

Tower Eiffel

Cologne Cathedral

Or should I say... Koln. No, I probably should since I don't know how to get my keyboard to put the right stresses over the o. It's a double dotter.
I had a brief layover in Cologne from my train ride from Paderborn, Germany to Paris. So I stopped to see the church and window shopped a little.