Finally, Chihuly In The Forest, plus a delightful dinner

First stop on the forest trail

In late October, I packed the car for a 4-day trip to Eureka Springs. BFF Dot-from-Beebe  took vacation days to go along. A poetry "do" was the instigating motive, but I'd discovered that the nearby Crystal Bridges' CHIHULY IN THE FOREST exhibit was still in place. Bucket list!

Parking was a problem and we finally drove to the upper lot and hailed a shuttle. After standing in line for quite a spell, buying tickets, getting directions, we rode down (or up) an elevator that showed the workings of the thing. Finally, we were on the trail. We took our time and stopped to snap photos of the glass installations.

Dot

Pat

We caught the shuttle back to the car and drove back to Eureka Springs to rest and refresh before a drive to Berryville for dinner at Dan and Susan Krotz’s home. Warm hospitality for strangers-cum-friends, a delicious dinner with delightful conversations about all four of us and our creative activities and output made for a wonderful experience.

Once again, back to Eureka Springs for our second night. You know how it is the first night away: not such a sound sleep. But this night, we slept soundly, partly because of how tired we were from all that walking. What a great day. Two--TWO--great experiences in one day. How lucky can one get at our ages???

               

Another week in the Ozarks: writing/ critiquing/ basking in autumn’s ambiance

 

 

                OCTOBER 24, Saturday, 9 a.m. – Couchwood.  Leaving—again--for a week at Eureka Springs by way of Beebe to pick up b-f-f Dot. To hit Hwy 65, we cut across Hwy 64 to Conway, stopping in Clinton to “sell” a book, then to Marshall for gas. After a must-stop at Ferguson’s for coffee and a huge cinnamon roll, we rolled into Eureka Springs around 3 p.m. One more leg down the twists-and-turns of Scenic Highway 62 to Spring Street--our home for the next week.

                We settled into our suites, Dot in Spring Garden at the Main House of Dairy Hollow; moi in Muse 1 of 505, the Usonion house in the Frank Lloyd Wright style.

Dot went out with her daughter and granddaughter. They had driven over from Edmond, Oklahoma, to see their mom and grandmother since they hadn’t been able to visit Dot on her recent birthday.

                OCTOBER 25 Sunday. The trio invited me to join them for brunch at Myrtie Mae’s restaurant, after which Linda and Amy headed back west. Dot and I worked separately on our writing goals—her’s was to write a new chapter every day. Mine was to finish last week’s Halloween column, finish “Dazey’s Dilemma,” a short story-in-progress, and to begin on a possible memoir inspired by May Sarton’s “Coming Into Eighty.” I would tentatively call mine “Edging Past Eighty.”

OCTOBER 26, Monday. We met the other residents, Cynthia from Springfield, Judi from Cincinnati, and a new writer from D. C. a young, Jewish man who worked at the Library of Congress.

At 7 p.m., a Haymaker poetry critique session was scheduled across town. At 9:30, the 8 poets who had--as one guy said, “tortured” (critiqued) each other’s work--“limped away” to rest for the “onslaught” of a second session the next morning. All our poems were equally discussed, dissected or divided. Fun, fun, fun!

OCTOBER 27, Tuesday, 8:30 a.m. The poets met at the Forest Hill Restaurant, and then to the Express Inn for another session. The glassed-in breakfast room jutting out from the building had served as a meeting place for several years and most of the group lodged at the Inn. I began the meeting with a “lesson,” or “sharing,” called “Genesis of a Poem.” Then we sparred through another poem from each.

At noon, we traveled to Sparky’s, fortifying ourselves for the final afternoon session. After it ended at 4 p.m., we hugged and kissed those friends we won’t see again until spring.

OCTOBER 28, Wednesday. I revised the Haymaker-critiqued poems as per suggestions, then returned to Dazey. Rain fell gently, confining us to our rooms. Looking out my window, I noticed . . . “a squirrel/ up and down the wet pine . . . sometimes/ lost in the grayness”.

OCTOBER 29, Thursday. We struggled to get enough internet access to check our email. We later discovered that the entire town went down that night. But at 1 p.m., we left for our flea-marketing excursion. First, to the Purple House, the hospital’s thrift shop. Then to The “doggie” store—the Humane Society’s thrift store, then to the Barn Shoppes.

At dinner, we discovered the cook’s faux pas: She served pork. Ahron had to go without meat.

OCTOBER 30, Friday. The last full day. Judi left early, we were leaving tomorrow, Cynthia, on Monday, but Ahron had two more weeks of residency. Dot and I spent two hours at the last flea market, the Echo, whose merchandise is all donated, and whose monies go to the free medical clinic.

OCTOBER 31. We left at 10, stopped in Marshall for lunch and ice cream, then pulled into Beebe at 3, into Benton at 4. It was a thoroughly wonderful week. The two cats even “spoke” to me after leaving them with only an every-other-day check-in.

May November be full of inspiring nuggets for you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother Nature doesn’t always accede to our plans

Google image: Ozarks

            

                 BFF-Dot-from-Beebe and I have spent the past few days “on vacation.” Planned ‘way back in early August, Navarre Beach, Florida was to be our destination. An off-season, half-price rate made it ultra enticing.

 

               But as the time neared, Karen, the tropical storm, threatened. And came closer. Then closer. Predictions were dire.

 

                The condo owner called and cancelled us. With the rain they’d already had, he said, plus what would come with Karen, Navarre would flood and more than likely cause evacuations. Who wanted to spend an anticipated (Dot had never been to Florida) vacation holed up in some hotel with (possibly) the power off? Even if one’s son lived in the area?

 

              Dot was ready to go somewhere. We lobbed possibilities back and forth: Eureka Springs and Branson were two of them.

 

               “What about the Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow?” I asked her. She was accepted earlier through an application process that included ten pages of writing samples, a list of publications and two references.  But, because at that time they required a 2-week minimum stay, she backed out, not needing to leave her place for that long.

 

                I’m an alumna of the writers’ colony, so I said, “Let’s call Linda and see if perchance she has two suites unoccupied/unscheduled. SHE DID!  And for the entire time we intended to be away! Serendipity! The rooms were in separate-but adjacent buildings, which was fine with us.

 

                I boarded Greye and Boots at the animal clinic, and we Taurus-trekked northward to the Ozarks (4 hours) instead of southward (10 hours) to the Florida panhandle.

 

              Even with the next-day’s rain, we both were happily warm and dry in our suites, complete with writing space, wireless hookup, coffeepot, snacks, good lighting—everything a writer needs for a productive getaway. Oh, and our laptops.

 

              Dot slept longer than usual the first night due to the extra walking, climbing and descending stairs, excitement, etc. Plus, she didn’t need to get up for work or to get Son off to work with a lunch. I usually sleep as long as I can anyway, having nothing but cats to cater to.

 

            We wrote and read and emailed and Face-booked. At mealtimes during the weekend, we ate from the residents’ refrigerator that held culinary leftovers—cauliflower, rice, soup, pasta, dilled potato slices, white cake with a lemon curd layer—plus sandwich makings, juices and milks. Or from food we’d both brought along.

 

           By Sunday night, the Corvette Club members had returned to where they were from—or were on the way home. The previous day’s rain had cooled temps down to jacket weather. I’d packed shorts for the beach, but did have two pairs of jeans amongst them. A windbreaker and one long-sleeved blouse were my only warmish duds, so Dot loaned me a denim shirt.

 

          Six other residents have moved in since we came, so this week at the common dinner hour, there were 8 writers around the dining table. Such sessions of good food, fellowship and sharing added to the serendipity of the alternative vacation—

 

                                                    ---the mountains instead of the beach.