The Joy of Spontaneity

While drinking our morning coffee, my hubby suggested we do something spontaneous.  Since spontaneity isn't in his vocabulary, I was a little leery of the suggestion.  "Let's head up to 104." Route 104 is a northern route running east and west across the top of the New York State near Lake Ontario.

Since we were already planning to drive to our son's place in upstate, I figured he wanted to go, immediately.  I was both right and wrong.  "We can take our time driving and stay somewhere along the way." 

"And, I can stop and take pictures along the way?"  He nodded and smiled which made me a very happy camper. We hurried, threw a few things in the suitcase, arranged for our neighbor to get the mail, and headed north. 

As we drove, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that surrounded us.  Having only been back for under two months, there was a freshness all around.  "The one thing I pray is that none of this will ever become mundane," I shared.  More than anything, I hoped that taking pictures would keep that from happening.  I wanted that sense of adventure always to stay alive.

I knew I couldn't stop for everything that caught my eye, but I wanted to.  The small town architecture, the fruit orchards, and the quirkiness that comes with small town living, kept this photographer on her toes.  My hubby even made several efforts to turn around, so I could take a picture of something he saw.

We finally turned off 104 and made our way, northward towards the St. Lawrence Seaway.  We pulled off the main road in hopes of catching a scenic view. It was nothing more, but a boat slip that didn't offer anything of real interest.  That is, until I looked down.

We continued on towards Alexandria Bay, and decided it was a good stopping point. We settled on a small hotel near the main street, and then to find a place to eat dinner.  

On the way into town, we'd seen a banner advertising music in the park.  It took us a little searching to find it, but when we did, we were offered a gorgeous view of the St. Lawrence.

In the distance, the Boldt Castle was fading into the early evening shadows.  As we left, and headed back to our motel, the words of Steven Stills, Pure Prairie League, and the Allmans Brothers lingered behind.  

Those Little "Inklings" of Thought

Since my daughter and her family have been home in the states, finding mother-daughter time isn’t always easy, especially with a six month old.  Yesterday, we were able to do just that.  Except, it didn’t quite turn out as we planned.

She and her husband stay in a nearby recreational community where we own a park model.  I drove over to pick her up.  Her husband agreed to watch the baby for the afternoon.  We were looking forward to some clothes shopping.  A change in season is always a good excuse for a new wardrobe.

As we drove away, I felt this sudden urge to swing over to a friend's place who also lives in the park.  “I want to run by Val’s, if that’s okay.” It had been two years since I’d seen her.  At least ten for my daughter.  She and Val's son had gone to high school together.

The Louisiana tags told me Val still lived there.  I told my daughter, Lori I would be right back.  I knocked on the patio door.  I could hear the television.  No answer.  I knocked, again.  Maybe she was in the shower.  No answer.  Hmmm.  I ran back to the car and rummaged in the console for a piece of paper to write a note on.  “Maybe she’s gone out,” my daughter suggested.  “Oh, that’s right.  She’s probably out and about with her girlfriends.”  I folded the note and stuck in the handle of the patio door.  Off we went.

Just as we approached the stop sign at the end of her street, two women in a golf cart approached.  At first, I didn’t recognize either of them.  Then, the one on the left looked familiar.  Quickly, I hit my window button.  Val caught sight of me, "Shelley!"  At the same time, I hollered, “Hey! I’m coming over!”  “C’mon,” she hollered, waving her arm in the air for me to join her, as the golf cart rolled on.

Once again, I pulled in behind her car.  Val was running from her friend's house across her yard.  “Just c’mon in.  I’ve got to go the bathroom.” 

My intention was to stay for a few minutes, enough to say hello, and plan for a future get together.  After all, my daughter and I had shopping to do. But, it wasn’t to be.

We went in and waited for her return.  We greeted each other with a hug and she invited us into the kitchen. Immediately, three stone paintings caught my eye.  I was captivated.  “Oh, Val!” was all I could say.  All of a sudden, I felt as though I had been transported from one world into another.  

There was a certain spirit (if you may) that drew me in.  I almost forgot how much I enjoyed being with Val and being surrounded by her creativity.   

The conversation between the three of us began to energize.  After oogling over the various artwork in the kitchen area, we moved into the living area.  Her creative spirit was evidenced throughout.

Val began to tell us about a friend who wanted her to make a few more things to take to one of the craft fairs.  While she was talking, it reminded me of the last time I was with her.  I had mentioned she needed to put her art on Facebook.   “You’ve got to have a Facebook page designated for your artwork. You’ll reach far more people than you would at a craft fair.”  

 “I don’t know how to do that,” she said, to which I was more than happy to help.  And, so I did.  Once, the page was set up, I invited all her friends to “like” her.  I did the same for my friends, too.  

Our conversation circled from friends and family to searching for more smooth, flat stones to the kind of acrylics she used.  We agreed to join her Monday at 1:00 for the park’s craft time.  “I don’t do their stuff.  I just bring my own and work with them.” That’s what we’ll do, too.

Four hours later, our conversation was slowing down, and so was I.  I’m sure if I had a little bit more energy, our visit could have spilled into the evening hours.  After my daughter and I arrived home, we kept checking Val’s page.  Her beautiful work was traveling the world.

It had been months, maybe years, since I’d had a conversation of the likes, not to mention with someone I had an artistic kin with.  It was wonderful.  That night, as I lay in bed, a feeling of elation welled up inside of me.  My day had been better than I could have ever planned or dreamed: all because I allowed myself to get sidetracked.   In the dark of my bedroom, I smiled to myself.  Every bit of my being lit up.

Do you allow for those little "inklings" of thought to disrupt your plans? Were the results something you were glad for?

(Side bar: these are just a few of the things Val does.  She also does gourd painting, and makes jewelry. Visit her on FB at Native Art by Val T)

Seven Thousand Plus Steps

Now that my husband has retired, we've done our best to take a three mile walk each morning. Because we have to pass a house with six or seven dogs, he carries a shovel handle - just in case.  Sometimes, like this morning, the dogs were no where to be found.

We've come to learn a bit about these dogs. Among them, there are two hounds.  One is usually tied up, the other loose. When we hear a hound howling alone, it means the others are gone.  The road is clear.  When we hear a hound barking in the distance, it means the dogs are all hunting.  Again, the road is clear.  If we don't hear anything, it means I move to the other side of the road and my husband grips the shovel handle a little tighter.  So far, so good.

Along the way, our conversation turns to how well Reynolds keeps his acreage mowed and how badly he needs a new roof.  We chuckle at last year's Christmas wreath (which is now brown) with the red plastic ribbon still hanging on his front door.  

We can't help but notice the abundance of black walnut trees along the road and how we'd like to come back and dig up a few to transplant in our yard, and what we should do for the remainder of the day.  

Farther along, we point to the trampled grass along the roadside where the deer have crossed; and, let our eyes scour the fields for evidence. A doe and her fawn cross not far from us.

It takes us about an hour to complete the trek.  Sometimes, a little longer, depending if we stop to notice something in particular.  Today, we noticed there were several more televisions and a set of tires to add to the pool pump, all the beer cans, and a few other items strewn along the road.   Regardless, it's good to be home.  

To quote John Denver, "the place where I belong."