Oh Hells! Bells ...

This, people, was my Waterloo. Observe the nifty wrought iron staircase. Note that it rapidly climbs to quite a height.

This staircase challenged me, and I had to cry "uncle", I'm sorry to say.

On the first day of my trip, I got my rental car and drove a few hours to my reserved room in New Ulm, Minnesota. After checking in and getting a quick shower, I set out to see the sights. One of these attractions is the Hermann Monument, a memorial to the large German population of New Ulm and to their many contributions. It's pretty nicely situated atop a hill, overlooking the town, and surrounded by a really beatiful park that's studded with picnic pavilions.

Since I was feeling full of bravado (and traces of the adrenaline I'd mustered to board two planes that morning), I decided that I'd cough up the admission fee and climb to the top. Paralyzing fear of heights? Pfft! I was an adventurer. A bold player on the prairie stage! I wouldn't let a little thing like open, wrought-iron steps hold me back. Not me. Nosiree!

And with this attitude, I got pretty far. About three-quarters of the way up, in fact.

Then? The inevitable happened. The triple whammy of plunging stomach, jelly knees, and wavery tunnel vision laid me low. Or, well, high. I paused, afraid to go any farther and terrified to go back down. What to do, what to do. I had visions of a frantic rescue by the New Ulm fire company - I could picture them rolling up with a ladder truck, in full gear, and having to pluck me from those stairs like a kitten from a tree. Oh! The shame!

Fortunately, nobody else had ventured up the monument, and I was there by myself. In fact, the only people around were a large picnicking group in a pavilion to one side of the tower. So I did what any poised, dignified adult would do: I ass-crawled down a few steps. Some small molecule of shame made me turn around and walk (sort of) as the stairs curved me into the line of vision of the picnic people, but the instant I was no longer visible to them I was right back on my hindquarters. Then up again, looking somewhat pulled together. Then down. Using this method, I got myself back on the ground.

Yes. I know. I'm a woman of courage and class.

I wandered back into the town proper. It was rather late in the afternoon, and I hoped to get a chance to catch the glockenspiel in action. I checked it out, and I was just on time for the 5:00 demo. I sat down on a bench, and waited for it to do its thing. Which it soon did.

Bells began to ring, and a door on the side of it opened up to reveal figurines. They slowly rotated as the bells chimed away. A Native American. Pioneers. A beer guy lifting a wooden barrel. They rotated. And chimed. And rotated some some. I rushed to take pictures, but I shouldn't have knocked myself out, because that glock spieled for a good fifteen minutes. I sat back down for the last few minutes, and, suddenly, I noticed that the random melodious chiming had turned into "The Happy Wanderer". I found it oddly touching, but that may just have been sheer exhastion rearing its ugly head at that point.

And I was tired, completely wiped out. I'd been going since 4:00 am. So I grabbed a quick dinner and retreated to my hotel room. I called a few friends and family to let them know all was well, spent a little time on my journal, and hit the sack. The remaining Teutonic charms of New Ulm would just have to wait until the next day.

Prairie Pictures

New Ulm, MN slideshow

Walnut Grove, MN slideshow

De Smet, SD slideshow

Well, it's a start. I've got many, many more photos, but these really are the highlights. The titles on the pictures are pretty self-explanatory. There are a number of items from my visit to New Ulm, a really fun detour that had absolutely nothing to do with Little House on the Prairie. But there was a brewery! And a glockenspiel!

Stay tuned. Check back. I'll be reposting many of these photos with thrilling, white-knuckle explanations. You'll laugh. You'll cry. It'll be better than Cats!

Or, well, you know ... at the very least, it will be a good time-killer for a long afternoon at work. There's always that.

Weather, Channeled.

Again, I've stalked and captured a computer complete with internet connection. Really, I impress myself with my innate cunning and my deft lasso skills. Kidding. Actually, I had to wait a few hours for the computer at the hotel to free up, and this process involved much muttering and gnashing of teeth. At any rate, here I am.

There's a rainstorm rolling through right now, but no lightning or thunder. We were under a tornado warning this afternoon, a fact that's likely a common occurrence to prairie folk but was rather unnerving to me. As I headed eastward on Route 14, I kept imagining a tornado coming out of nowhere and sweeping both me and my rental PT Cruiser away. So I'd spend one moment wondering if I'd look like Miss Gulch as the storm whisked me aloft, and the next wondering how I'd explain tornado damage to the high-strung fella at the rental car company. Perhaps I could combine the two and use my best Miss Gulch face to subdue him. I may still try that, funnel cloud or no funnel cloud.

I saw the coolest thing on Friday night. I'd expected the Walnut Grove pageant to be the highlight of the evening, and it very nearly was; however, as I drove back to my hotel afterwards, I saw lightning in the distance. Now, it hadn't occurred to me that lightning on the prairie would be any different that Northeastern Pennsylvania lightning, but, really, it is. The stuff I saw was so far away that I could see its path both upwards and down to the ground. When it struck, a patch of the sky became luminous with shades of yellow and grey. Except for random Dead show backdrops in my crazier days, I'd never seen anything like it. It was absolutely hypnotic. Add the fact that it was too far away for me to hear the thunder, and it was outright surreal.

Coming out here, I was all set to immerse myself into the Little House stuff. I even expected a certain amount of emotion at seeing so many of the places and details from the books. What I really hadn't expected, however, were the little things about this part of the world that have made me understand Laura's love of the prairie. I hadn't known, hadn't appreciated, how spot-on so many of her descriptions are, even one hundred and twenty years later. The lightning was the most striking (har!) example, but I also noticed it in the way the sun shines on the waving grasses and in the feel and sound of the wind. I didn't expect it, and there's no way I could have prepared for it, really. It was a delightful surprise.

So Speaketh The Leaf Thief

I managed to wrangle a computer, so I thought I'd give a quick update. Right now, I'm in De Smet. It's been amazing. I toured the Ingalls home, the Surveyors' House, the school and I visited both the Ingalls and the Wilder homestead sites. I just got back to the hotel from the De Smet pageant. It's all been incredible, but the most moving part of the trip, for me, has been the chance to see the cottonwood trees that were planted by the Ingalls family. I stopped by early this morning, and while I was there, I took a few leaves. I couldn't help myself - I was kind of blown away that these trees were the very ones mentioned in the books. Yep. You got that right ... I've sunk to the level of leaf thief. Foliage felon. And worse? I returned to the scene of the crime ... I just had to see the trees and the surrounding prairie at sunset. I did refrain from stealing more leaves this time, though. My time in Walnut Grove was also incredible. I think the best part was my visit to the dugout site. Because of the hour time difference and its interesting effects on my circadian rhythms, I was up early enough to be able to visit the site when nobody else was around. It was awfully nice to be able to check it out in solitude, to have time to poke around at my leisure. It was the first time I'd really gotten a chance to walk around on the actual prairie. I've managed to write something like fifty pages of notes, information, and impressions. Never fear, though - I won't bore you with every little tidbit here in the next few weeks. Okay, I lie. I'll probably bore you a tiny bit, but I'll try not to. And hey - there's pictures to accompany my ramblings. Better yet, I was unafraid to make a total ass of myself, so I made small movies with my digital camera. I even narrated some, which drew interesting looks from passerby. Heh.

Twenty-four Hours To Go ... I Wanna Be Sedated

At this time tomorrow, I'll be in the air between Detroit and Minneapolis.

I've been thinking like this for the past few days. A week from now, I'll be doing this. Three days from today, I'll be doing that. Of course, I picture myself full of poise and grace in all circumstances, but I'm sure it won't be entirely the case; when my plane is preparing to land at this time tomorrow, I'll probably be gut-rollingly nervous. There may even be a touch of the Philadelphia effect going on. I'll be worried that I'll get lost in the airport, worried that there's a mistake and there'll be no rental cars left for me, worried that I'll have problems driving out of Minneapolis. Because, you know, I think I might cease to exist if I didn't have something to worry about.

Here's the thing, though: most people travel. Some of them do it all the time! I don't, really. It's not that I don't want to, I just ... don't. Because of money. Because of time. Work. Distance. I keep telling myself, "Someday, I'll go here. I'll check out that." But the day never seems to come because I don't really believe that I can do it. That, my friends, is the most important part of this trip, methinks. But it's also the scariest part - what if that little part of my brain that doubts is, well, spot-on? I guess we'll see, right? Right.

I'm packed. I did, indeed, manage to get my stuff into a tiny little bag that's unquestionably small enough to be a carry-on.

After a bad set of circumstances, I'd been really, really concerned about money. Between sudden, costly car repairs in early June and the vet bills and subsequent deaths of two pets (and cremation ain't cheap, folks!), I am completely serious when I say that I was concerned that I might spend a night or two camping out in my rental car. But then a funny thing happened. I'd switched auto insurance, and the company I'd left immediately reimbursed me the remainder of the term I'd paid. Then I got a long-forgotten rebate check in the mail. When I called about a tiny dividend check I hadn't recieved, I found that the unreceived checks - individually less than $50 - had piled up over the last few quarters, and I was mailed the sum of $147.20. All told, something like six hundred dollars showed up unexpectedly.

Sure, $600. is small potatoes. But I'm not wealthy, so it made a huge difference to me. I mean, I live comfortably within a budget, but (like many) all it takes is a car repair or injury to put me in hot water. So I'm grateful about the odd confluence of cashola. It's a nifty little counterbalance to my self-doubt - like the universe is giving me a thumbs-up.

I've taken so long to write this that, well, at this time tomorrow? I'll be landing in Minneapolis. Wish me luck!

S&M (aka Sundry & Miscellany. Gotcha!)

Folks, I'll have you know that I reserved my seat for the Walnut Grove pageant back in January. I did this for several reasons, mainly because my eyesight is terrible. And I'm very short. I got it into my head that I'd get shuttled to the back of the audience and Carmen Miranda, with signature headdress, would be seated directly in front of me. More reasonably, I figured it might behoove me to get even some little expenses out of the way beforehand. I have, in my possession, one reserved ticket. Seat #5, in fact. In the red section. It may be my one shining moment of VIP-ness.

I was checking out the Walnut Grove pageant page, and I discovered that there are Pageant Suppers. Of course, I imagined a heartwarming scene of friendly folks sitting down to break bread together - something akin to the New England Suppers mentioned in the Little House books. I suppose, though, that it's highly likely that the supper will be more like the High School spaghetti dinner fund raisers that occur around here every spring. You know the drill: echoey cafeteria, decent food, a constant stream of diners. I guess, though, that I won't know until I get there. Either way, I think it's a great idea.

I'll be attending the Pageant Supper scheduled for Friday. I even checked out the menu. Hot beef? Hot turkey? Decisions, decisions. At the moment, I'm leaning toward beef, but it's a wild card.

The whole phenomenon put a rather interesting notion into my head. I know that there's a Little League/Boy Scout/church fundraiser nearly every weekend in the small town where I grew up, not to mention several events during the week. I began to wonder if the same wasn't true in these little towns, especially during the height of the Little House tourism season. I mean, if I were a church group in need of funds, I'd try to strike while the iron is hot.

I foraged around the internet, hoping to find information in local newspapers, but no dice. I think I'll still take a gander once I'm there. I like the idea of an inexpensive dinner that supports local organizations. Believe me, I spent years shilling cookies, and I hated every minute of it. If I can spare the members of a Girl Scout troop the same horrific fate? I'm all over that.

I had an odd dream last night. I dreamt that my trip was really part of a modern-day Homestead Act. However, instead of claiming vast acreage for farming, prospective homesteaders had to live in those little sample rooms at Ikea for a set amount of time in order to own one (we discussed Ikea/small living on one of my messageboards, so I guess that prompted this particular notion). Anyway, I was camped out in a room that seemed to have a secret space attached to the back of it, so I was excited that I'd claimed a particularly choice spot. I was a little concerned about the open plan of Ikea and the lack of privacy that my place afforded. My Mom then showed up with a plaid shower curtain and Harley, my cat. She helped me hang the curtain over the "open" wall, and laughingly told me that Harley really wasn't dead, he just wanted to live at Ikea.

So do we all, Harley, so do we all. It's my idea of Heaven, too, buddy.

I've been staging a few un-dress rehearsals lately. And, no, it's not as exciting as it sounds. Perhaps I'd be more in line to call it drying trial runs, but that's simply too much of a tongue twister. To my delight, I've found that most of my favorite clothing air dries overnight, if not within hours. It's appearing more and more possible that I could travel with nothing but one carry-on bag. In light of the recent instances of terrorism in Great Britain, I wouldn't be surprised if there are some pretty strict guidelines implemented for U.S. air travel. It would behoove me, I think, to have very little with me.

Oh, did I mention that I hate to fly? I do. I really, really do. Somehow, the fact that I'll have to actually board some (likely small) aircraft was something I've been busy not thinking about. I haven't been airborne since a trip to Florida five years ago. I remember thinking it was odd that US Airways would list the type of plane for the second leg of my trip (Pittsburgh to Tampa) but not the first (Scranton to Pittsburgh). Stranger still, we got to the airport, checked our bags, got through security ... and noticed that there was no plane in sight by the gate. I looked out of the plate glass windows, scanning the tarmac, but no plane. A little bit later, we were directed to step out of the building, go around a corner, and there it was: the smallest, shakiest-looking propeller plane that I'd ever seen. I'm convinced that they hid it around the corner so that people like me wouldn't see it and panic.

So take heed, Avoca International (hee!) Airport ... I'm on to your little tricks. I'm wise to the old hide-the-plane maneuver.

-----------------------------
Days until trip: 8
Money saved: $435.00

Cookie? Monsters!

I promised myself that I'd document the last month before my trip daily. I thought I'd write about my questions, my keen observations, my profound discoveries. But you know what? Everything I'd write just kept reminding me of that fortune cookie game. You know, the one where you add "in your pants" to the cookie's prediction:

You can be full of surprises ... in your pants.
Silence is golden .. in your pants.

Granted, these truths are self-evident, but I digress ...

*ahem*

Anyway, everything I'd write had the same kind of ring to it:

I ponder the weather ... on the prairie.
I can't wait to make my journey ... on the prairie.

Yuck. Dull. I didn't dare subject my four faithful readers to such crappy prose! Worse yet, it was tiresome to even type. I bored myself. Certainly, I am excited about my trip. I'm nervous, I'm curious. Am I counting the days? You bet.

But the whole thing did make me think about fortune cookies.

I went through a bit of a crisis a few years ago when I kept getting blank slips of paper in fortune cookies. My dining companions would get delightful quips, tidbits of advice, or lucky numbers. Me? Nothing but a little white wisp of paper, completely blank. This happened more than a few times. Now, I'd wager that some people might assume this was a good thing; perhaps the cookie Powers That Be felt I was on the right track and that I needed no shreds of wisdom. However, being the pessimist that I am, I was certain that it was a portent of doom, misery, and plagues by the score.

I tried to rationalize the whole thing. I reminded myself that in all the times I'd gotten a prediction, I had never gotten any kind of concrete, useful advice. My cookies never clued me in to the fact that I was dangerously close to bouncing a check. Hell, they never even had the courtesy to impart such wisdom as "Your fly is unzipped". Frankly, I'd always been the lonely loser of the fortune cookie circuit.

But, indeed, it got worse. One ominous day, I got a fortune cookie with nothing in it. Forget the blank paper angst ... this cookie had no paper at all! Nothing. It was simply a hollow confection. I'd like to say that this was a turning point in my life; that this was the moment I seized the reins of my adulthood. That I achieved full self-actualization. That the scales fell from my eyes and I became a woman of courage and integrity. If I said these things, however, I'd be lying. But I did the next best thing: I avoided fortune cookies for years.

Recently, I returned to the choppy seas of cookie prognostication. I'm glad that I did, because the fortune I got was kind of cool:

Replace your scars with stars.

... on the prairie?
... in your pants?

I'm not sure. But I love the mystery and intrigue. And the challenge!

---------------
Days until trip: 29
Money saved: $215. (Thanks, car! Did those fortune cookies give a heads-up? Nope. Damn cookies.)

Badlands! Bad! Bad!

You know, it's really hard not to be able to do everything.

Lest you fear that I'm waxing philosophical ... I'm not. Not a bit. I'm just kvetching about all the wonderful things there are in South Dakota that are just a little bit too far away for me to see them.

Sure, I'd like to see Mount Rushmore. And Deadwood. And the Badlands - especially the Badlands. However, all of these are at least a 5+ hour drive from De Smet. I suppose that I could have structured the trip in another way that would allow for westward movement, but I was afraid that I'd end up trying to jam waaaay to much sightseeing into a one-week visit. And, to be honest, that instinct is probably spot-on. I planned this trip to check out a few of the Little House sites, and I deliberately tried to give myself time to really explore each thing. I like to think that I'll be glad I did.

But .... the Badlands. The goddam Badlands. The more I read about them, the more I really want to go. The pictures I've seen are amazing, and the descriptions I've read are compelling. I just don't know what to do. Even if I were to set aside a day ... well, it's a five-hour drive there and a five-hour drive back to De Smet. That leaves precious little time for actual, well, Badlanding, you know? It's really the sort of thing that would require quite a bit of time to adequately see. Days. Maybe even a week. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to back-burner the Badlands.

Too bad. It's sad. But to try to squeeze it in? I'd have to be mad.

------------------------------

Days until trip: 40
Money Saved: $485.00

The Girl's Got Baggage

I'm a worrier. I worry about paying my bills. I worry about car wrecks. I'm one of those people who can never remember if I've locked a door or turned off the stove. Even though I've never failed to lock up or shut down, that simple fact doesn't allay my fears. I'll think to myself, "Sure, you got it every other time, but what if this time isn't a false alarm, huh? What about that, champ?" And so it goes.


Another of my sterling traits is that I'm a keeper of all stuff. That's not to say that I'm a slob, because I'm not remarkably sloppy ... well, except for my car (I subscribe to the Rhoda Morgenstern school of thought: my car is a purse on wheels). I'm just always afraid that I won't have something that I really need when I really need it. This, my friends, is why I carry toothpaste in my purse (and *ahem* my glove compartment).


At any rate, the convergence of these two tendencies has an unfortunate result: I bring everything with me when I travel somewhere. I mean, everything - with a capital E. Because, God knows, a trip to the shore just isn't complete without several Lipton Cup-O-Soup packets. Should you find that you're in dire need of a suncatcher or some Q-Tips while touring a major city? I'm your gal. I'll likely be able to provide tweezers, too.


I know. I've heard all the jokes about women and the seven hundred and forty-six pairs of shoes they must take with them on vacation. I just do it in a different direction; instead of a plethora of shoes, I'll bring a smorgasbord of random things that I just might, maybe, possibly need.


Anyway, my point is that I'm going to nip this in the bud. I'm planning to take this trip with only one carry-on piece of luggage. I know it can be done. I've been reading up on it, and, to be honest, it's not a crazy goal. I mean, most of the websites about traveling light address things like packing business suits or dealing with long hikes through the rain forest. Me? I'll be in t-shirts and shorts, traveling in a rental car, and staying at a few chain hotels.


I do, however, reserve the right to bring safety pins and a few plastic forks. My threshold for minimalist travel is only so low, folks.
--------------------------------

Days until trip: 41
Money saved: $485.00

Deutsche Post

Achtung!

Yeah. That's me, practicing my rusty German. I began my high-school language studies with lofty aspirations - namely, Honors Latin I. Which was followed up by its breathtaking, thrill-a-minute sequel, Honors Latin II, Decline Harder. Despite the white-knuckle Ablative-O-Rama that that class was, I dropped the Latin pursuit and switched to German. See? I can't even nerd consistently.

Now, my German teacher, upon hearing my surname, was thrilled to have me join the group. He seemed to believe that I had German in my very soul, that I'd be spouting forth jewels of Teutonic poetry in no time. The man was a singer (and not a bad one, either), and he'd sing out my last name to demonstrate the sound of "o" without its common umlaut tophat. I didn't have the heart to tell him that my name's really shortened Polish. Or that I was taking German for far more shady purposes than a search for my ancestry.

You see, I was powerless against the umlauts.

No, I kid. I initially took German because I was preparing to spend a year in the Netherlands. I had a keen desire to avoid the "dumb, unworldly American" tag, so I hoped to get a small grip on a language that might be a bit useful. Since Dutch is a derivation of German, I also thought it couldn't hurt to get my hooks into the basic sentence structure and pronunciation. So, German it was. And, upon my return to American shores, I continued the German, throughout the rest of High School and into college. Unfortunately (or not, depending on how you look at it), I'm pretty decent with Dutch to this day, but my German? Ha! Beer steins and German Shepherds the world over snicker in my wake. It's that bad.

At any rate, I've been ruminating about Deutsch since I made a hotel reservation in New Ulm, Minnesota for the first night of my trip. It looks like such a nifty little town, and I'm incredibly drawn to it for some reason. I'd like to say that it's my interest in German coming full circle, but I suspect I'm especially attracted by the brewery and the promise of Bratwurst und Wienerschnitzel. And there's a Glockenspiel! Who could resist a Glockenspiel?! Not me, I'll tell you that much.

So the first two days of my adventure are shaping up pretty nicely. I'll be in Minneapolis rather early Wednesday morning. I'll grab my rental car, and trek to the Spam Museum. After an informative afternoon of canned meat product and kitsch, I'll scoot on over to New Ulm, where I'll spend the first night of my journey. I'd like to spend most of Thursday bumming around New Ulm, and then I'll head westward to the next night's reservations in Tracy, Minnesota.

And Tracy, my friends, is where the Little House Odyssey begins. Wunderschön!

----------------------------------

Days until trip: 49
Money saved: $460.00

The Today Show ... With A Little Navel-Gaving.

Alert! Alert! I've just discovered that some members of the Little House on the Prairie cast will be featured on the Today Show tomorrow morning.

I have *ahem* already set my alarm to make sure that I'm awake on the day that is generally my catch-up-on-elusive-sleep day. I mean, it's Little House! Sure, it was a feel-good 70's adaptation of the series of books, but I'm not going to claim that it had no influence on me and my Little House obsession, because, well ... it did. Big time. I watched that series with alarming fidelity, even when presented with such unpalatable (and out-of-the-blue) topics as mime rapes and blind school fires.

The thing is, after having read a number of biographies of Laura Ingalls Wilder, I think she'd be mortified. About the television series, mostly - I mean, come on ... she'd be aflame in shame at the misrepresentations! But, most importantly, I think her basic sense of privacy and decency would be violated by her fans' scrutiny into her personal life. Granted, Laura was kind and responsive to her readers and fans, and she did appreciate them, but I see her as a woman with an incredible sense of dignity. She shared her life's experience in her books to some degree, but we've sort of of run with it and added all sorts of sentimental filigrees . The long-running TV series completely convoluted her relationship with Almanzo, never mind the major changes (both physical and psychological) to her family.

I'd always related to Laura throughout my childhood, and I'd thought I would as an adult. To be honest, though, I hardly think she'd approve of me. Sure, I'm independent. I value education, and I'm an avid reader and researcher. I've got a strong work ethic, and I pride myself on my ability to be pretty self-sufficient, to do without when needs must, to be able to survive and save on a minimal budget. Still, though .. I'm weak, whiny, self-centered. I frequently feel sorry for myself. I'm vain, on occasion. And I willingly share my thoughts and experiences, both good and bad, on this very blog and others. I can't imagine she'd respect that.

Recently, I've read Becoming Laura Ingalls Wilder. Surprisingly, I found the family dynamic familiar; however, I realized (with a shock!) that it's a pretty spot-on analysis of the relationship that I shared with my now-deceased mother. I was amazed to find that I related, to an unnerving degree, to Rose. Previously, I hadn't felt either way about Rose Wilder Lane, but I could completely subscribe to her relations with her strong, self-confident mother - her overwhelming love for the woman (both as a person and as a parent), her frustration at their differences and the inevitable comparisons, shame concerning her repeated bouts with severe depression, personal disappointment about her diffused sense of direction. I really hadn't expected my paradigm to shift in such a way, but it has.

I'd always wished that I could have met Laura. Now I'm wishing that I could've met Rose, too.

*cue Little House theme music* Anyway, though, I'll be checking out the Today Show tomorrow morning. If nothing else, Alison Arngrim's a gal I really respect for a thousand reasons, and - dammit - I've got a personal attachment to Nels and Harriet! And some friends (you know who you are, ladies) might just get into a mud-wrestling match over Dean Butler (Almanzo Wilder on the show). Really ... who could pass that up?

Peep Show

You know what I really get a kick out of? Peeps. I have a unholy love for those little marshmallow chicks. Especially the yellow ones. I find them hysterical in a way I can't define. But is has to be the chicks. I'm not too fond of the bunny shapes. And the Christmas trees? An abomination. But I really do love me some classic yellow Peeps.

I'm not a tattoo person, but if I were, there'd be a small Peep somewhere on my body.

I don't like to eat them, really. I mean, I give them the old college try every Easter, but I generally end up snarfing back just one or two and feeding the rest to the dog (or sticking them to him. Try it! It works!). I just happen to be more of a salty snack kind of gal. So it's a good thing that Peeps are available for purchase in small packages (the dog thinks so, too).

Since I like to spend my internet time on sophisticated and weighty matters, I found the Peeps home page and joined the Peeps fan club last week. I did this in order to get unfettered access to exclusive Peeps avatars and e-cards. Because, really, nothing says "I've got important information to impart" quite like images of frolicking marshmallow chickens, right? Right.

While Peeping around, I found that fate does, indeed, work in mysterious ways. There are, apparently, raving masses of people out there who share my Peep fixation. And, surprisingly, some of them have a similar fondness for Spam. Yes, that Spam - the kind that was a Monty Python muse. Even better? There's a Spam museum.

Best of all? That museum happens to be in Austin, Minnesota. I'm going. I have to.

When I look at my schedule, I have the first day of the trip pretty much open. I'll be landing in Minneapolis rather early, getting my rental car, and hitting the road. With my mad Mapquest skillz, I find that I can proceed directly to the museum, spend some time among the cheese of it all, and have plenty of time to get my sunbonnetted ass to the town where I've reserved a hotel for that night. It's a little out of the way, but not much. And, well, it's a Spam museum. how could I resist?

You might ask yourself this: how can our gal reconcile a trip to a Spam museum with her planned prairie pilgrimage? Well, the truth is ... I can't, really. There's no spiffy way that I can tie it in with my mission. It's like apples and oranges. Or Peeps and canned meat.

But it's my destiny. The little marshmallow chicks showed me the way.

Days until trip: 96

Money saved: $425.00

Hey! Get a room, already. Sheesh.

Hotel room in Walnut Grove vicinity? Booked
Hotel for two nights in DeSmet? Booked
Reservation to camp in a "Covered Wagon" on the Ingalls Homestead? Pending.
A cheesy mix of Prairie and Queen? Priceless.

(Bohemian Rhapsody)

Is this the real life?
Is it just fantasy?
Full steam ahead
For my trip out to the prairie
Traveling west
Doing my best to see -
I'm just a spinster
A spinster who's read the books:
Little House, Little Town
(Got the whole series down)
Now I want to see it,
Now it's time for a look-see
Prairie!

First off, I tried DeSmet
What an easy-peasy day -
Lots of places I could stay
But trouble came with Walnut Grove
Any hotels were a little drive away
Tracy (oooooh - Tracy, Minnesota)
Seven miles to the west
It seemed to be the best that I could do
So I called, and I booked
For Tracy, Minnesota

My last move?
The Homestead spot
I've called there several times, but the phone just rings a lot
Dammit! I'm kind of getting scared
That they might have filled their July 13th slot
Homestead? (oooooh - please answer the phone, guys)
A "covered wagon" stay
Might be the most important part of all ....

(guitar solo)

I booked a little internet hotel room
In DeSmet! In DeSmet!
On the South Dakota prairie
Booked it quick as lightning,
The way I got my flight - online!

Minnesota, Minnesota,
Minnesota, Minnesota,
Minnesota ...Walnut Gro-oh-oh-ove
It's just a small town, tiny, I assume -
It's just a small town, without a hotel room!
Got out a map, then I Googled, and - boom!

Found a place to rest my head, now for the Homestead -
It just rings - No! They won't answer the phone! (Get the phone!)
Goddammit, No! They won't answer the phone! (Get the phone!)
Goddammit, No! They won't answer the phone! (Get the phone!)
No, no, no, no, no, no, no -
They won't answer, they won't answer, they won't answer the damn phone
It's evident there's no Little Answering Machine!
On the!
Prairie!

So you think you can be a "covered wagon" tease?
So you think you can answer the phone as you please?
Oh, Homestead - can't do this to me, Homestead
Just gotta' reserve, I just wanna' reserve that camp site

My plans are almost wrapped up -
Anyone can see ....
Despite this blog commotion
The wheels are all in motion -
Whoo-eee!
Counting down the days, now ......

Days until trip: 163
Money saved: $350.00

Jenny's Got A Gun (Or the Cash Value Thereof)

Well, I did it! I booked my flight and reserved my rental car. I'm really going!

You may ask how I was able to accomplish this in one fell swoop (or even one swell foop), especially considering the recent holidays and my shamefully small savings account. Well, it's all possible because of two things: the tonsils that ate Cincinnati and ... well, a gun.

I'd bought some of those raffle tickets where you win if one of your ticket numbers matches the Pennsylvania Lottery numbers within a given month. Frankly, such things are tantamount to donations for me, since I never, ever win anything. Anyway, I only bothered to check the numbers in the first week of January. And it certainly wasn't a fevered, excited checking. It was more like a ho-hum-I've-already-checked-my-usual-sites-and-nothing's-shaking kind of internet check. Imagine my surprise when the nightly drawing number for December 17 matched my ticket! My prize? A rifle, and quite a nice one from what I gather. I did, however, have the option to receive my award in the form of cash.

Oddly enough, the cash value of the rifle was within ten dollars of the cost of a round-trip plane ticket from Avoca, Pennsylvania to Minneapolis.

So, of course, I opted for the gun.

Okay. I kid. I chose the cash prize, deposited it pronto into my checking account, obsessively checked the account until it cleared, and reserved my flight the moment that it did.

And the tonsils? What a pleasure they were. I apparently contracted Dengue fever (or a reasonable facsimile) in the middle of December. By December 19th or so, I was running a high fever, had glands so swollen that my hearing was shot, and my immediate environs had begun to look, to me at least, like the nifty psychedelic backdrop from a Grateful Dead show. Good times. I took a day off to rest up, but the illness only seemed to get progressively worse.

Somehow, in a fever-induced haze, I decided that the only sensible thing to do was get out there and get my Christmas shopping done. I figured that I'd either be comatose or dead by the big day, so I might as well leave my loved ones with some carefully-chosen trinkets to remember me by. Unfortunately, The Clapper was hard to come by this year, so everybody got lesser mementos. But get that shopping done, I did.

The upside of my infirmity was that I had finished my elven duties before I got my Christmas bonus at work. To be honest, I'd forgotten all about the bounty of Christmas bonuses, so ill was I. The result was that I was able to stash the money in my checking account, to spend as selfishly as I pleased.

Some of that money went to buy a to-die-for pair of heeled suede boots. And some of it paid for my car rental.

So, friends, the wheels are in motion. I'm really, really doing this! I mean, I knew I was, but now it's actually happening. I think I may spend this week (and the remainder of my bonus plus other residual cash in my checking account) on hotel reservations. As crazy as it sounds, I think I may have this trip bought and paid for by Valentine's Day. Then I'll concentrate on stashing spending money in my checking account.

A gun and a set of swollen glands. Huh. Who knew?

Days until trip: 171
Amount Saved: $335.00

I fancy myself Madam Curie. Or Martha Stewart. Or something.

Slow drain? Fruit flies circling the kitchen sink? Looks like it's time for the Brady Bunch Volcano solution! (Or BBV, as it's known in some quarters.)

Well, really it's more like the vinegar/baking soda solution, but it's so much more fun to pull a '70s sitcom into the equation, dontcha think? Besides, who knew that clearing drains could be such fun?

I guess that it's pretty common knowledge that if you dump some baking soda into the drain, then follow up with a little vinegar, you'll end up with crazy, fizzy awesomeness, but it's a relatively new discovery for me. Yeah, I could cloak this observation in a profound commitment to the environment and a lofty attempt to oust caustic chemicals from my home, but I won't lie. I just like playing mad scientist with the bathroom sink.

So why bother to write about it? No reason really, except that it's my awkward segue into my latest foray into prairie housekeeping.

I blame it all on Amazon's "Super Saver" deal; that is, if you order more than $25.00 worth of certain goods, Amazon will ship your order for free. It all began with the innocent purchase of a flannel duvet cover, and, before I knew it, I'd included a copy of The Little House Cookbook with my order. Please don't fool yourself into thinking that I'm some kind of culinary genius; I mean, I'm more like the Countess of Cup-O-Soup. However, even for devotees of *ahem* squeeze cheese and off-brand Triscuits, this book, written by Barbara M. Walker, is a great read.

The roast suckling pig and rye'n'injun bread, however, still remain unbaked. Shocking. I know.

Still, I think it would be fun to try a few of the things in the book. From reading it, I gather that the tastes and textures of the foods are very different from the things we're familiar with today. I also like to think that I'd get an appreciation for the day-to-day pioneer experience. If I take the time to create "Long Winter" bread sans the convenience of my breadmaker, I might have more appreciation for just how difficult the Long Winter really was. I may even try grinding up some of the grain in an antique coffee grider that I own ... although, to be honest, I suspect my enthusiasm will dim after a batch of two. Or even a spin or two of the crank. Heh.

I mean, if nothing else, it would be interesting, right? Yep, I'll keep telling myself that. I'll repeat it as a mantra while an ill-conceived attempt at sourdough starter begins to grow like the Blob, devouring both my cat and the local diner. Interesting. An experiment. Hoo doggies!

What especially caught my fancy? Vinegar. There's a recipe for creating my own vinegar. In fact, this is a rather important one to try, as vinegar was a staple, and modern store-bought vinegar has been pasteurized so it won't work properly with a number of the recipes. So, yes, I am considering becoming a vinegar alchemist. Who doesn't? I figure I'll either create a tasty garnish or a smelly, fermenting apple-core bomb. Only time will tell, I suppose.

At any rate, I could dump any shameful fermented outcome down the drain .... and test the limits of that Brady Bunch Volcano effect.

Days until trip: 291
Money saved: $245

The Millinery-Industrial Complex

Boy howdy! We got us a sunbonnet!

Funny how things work. I looked for the bonnet. I craved some more travel stuff. I paced, I whined. I pissed and moaned. Then today - just when I was really feeling at loose ends - my mailbox contained untold riches! Well, all right. Okay. Maybe not untold riches. Rather, a Travel South Dakota! book (A book! With a command for a title!) and a spiffy manila envelope from the Laura Ingalls Wilder Memorial Society. It made my day, it really did.

So, natch, I immediately tried on the bonnet. It fit! It even looked rather fetching. I'd originally decided to order a red bonnet because I thought that it would stand out in pictures and even seem a little sillier than, say, a pink or lavender one. Now I'm glad I got it in red because of the patented H.A.R.D. B.A.R.F.Y.* theory.

(*This stands for "Had A Rotten Day? Buy Anything Red For Yourself!". I'll credit my mother as the wise soul who introduced me to this simple theory, and it's served me well over the years. It works like this: basically, if you're having a rough time of things, spring for something for yourself and make it something bright red. It doesn't necessarily involve much cash - the red pick-me-up could be as simple as a 99-cent tube of lipstick or even a cherry freezer pop. All that matters is that it be something red and something you don't buy/see/do every day. I mean, red is the color of confidence! Of panache! By motivating my miserable self to change the course of a somewhat unpleasant day, I can often rearrange my state of mind. And ... well, it's also my rationalization behind the burgeoning Scarlet-hued Fiestaware collection ... butanyway ...)

This can only mean one thing: time to fire up the camera! Just think - I'll be able to show myself in all my prairie glory on this very blog! I'm very nearly getting the vapors from the excitement of it all.


Days until trip: 307
Money saved: $245.00

A Simple Twist of ... Plates? Or: Our Heroine Soothes Her Impatience With Dinnerware

I'll huff, and I'll puff, and ..... dammitI'moutof patiencewhere'smygoddamsunbonnet?! Grrr.

*ahem*

As you can probably guess, I've not yet received my bonnet. The slow trickle of travel brochures also seems to have ground to a halt. I got information from the Laura Ingalls Wilder Memorial Society (yay!) and from the South Dakota Department of Tourism (many thanks!). That's all. What I want to know is this: who the hell does Minnesota think it is? Denying me. Playing hard to get. Pulling some sort of mystery act. Sheesh.

I was so disappointed and heartbroken that I built myself a sod house in my backyard and subsisted entirely on radishes and my own bitter tears. Nah - I lie. In all honesty, my computer decided to act up, and I've had no internet access for nearly a week. I suppose the timing wasn't too bad, as I've really not had much to report. Besides, I used the down time to indulge my passion for Fiestaware and visited the nearest outlet ... not once, but twice! Ole! Heh.

Days until trip: 314
Money saved: $240.00

A La Carte

No sunbonnet yet. Also, no more travel brochures. *sigh*

Lately, I've been thinking about doing things solo. I've gotten adept at going places alone in the last few years. Mainly, it's because I've been with a guy who really doesn't like to do much. In addition, I'm at an age where most of my friends have recently become moms, so they're far less available. As a result, I've begun to get rather comfortable with going to the movies alone or going out to eat by myself. I've become good at it.

I know. I'm treating solitude as a skill. You know what? I think it is.

We all do stuff by ourselves; tasks like grocery shopping and walking the dog are often done without accompaniment, and nobody thinks twice about it. Still, some other things are really group activities, and, initially, it feels strange to go it alone. The first time I went to the movies by myself, it was to see Immortal Beloved; I lucked out that time, because I found a theatre full of other chicks like me whose boyfriends/husbands had no interest in a historical romance about Beethoven. In fact, I met a few of the other moviegoers before the film started, and we had a good time making small talk and joking around. Since then, I've occasionally gone to see several films by myself, the most recent being The Devil Wears Prada. I kinda like going to the movies by myself, actually.

Still, I wonder - what is it that makes me feel a little odd the first time I try something sans accompaniment? Is it that I'm afraid that there's an unspoken indication that nobody likes me enough to come along? I know that this isn't the case, and - really - why should I care what any strangers might think? Odd. Maybe it's just me ... a lack of confidence or something.

I do wonder, though, if there isn't a widespread fear of being alone - the sheer number of people on cell phones sometimes makes me sure of it. For example, if I felt strange about waiting for a table alone at a restaurant, the simple act of conversing publicly on my phone would be a social signal that, indeed, I'm a vital and beloved person. It would also keep me from truly being alone, because I'd still be interacting with someone in my social circle - know what I mean?

Ah well. Just my thinks.

Since I'm already wildly off my usual topics, I'd like to mention that the downgrade of Pluto from planet status is rather sad. Poor Pluto! I composed a lament (sorry, Billy Joel!) ...

Always a Planet
( Always a Woman)

You made no big stinks, if you did I just missed 'em
A small number nine in a big solar system
Just doing your thing, unencumbered and free -
You may be downgraded,
But you're always a planet to me

You're just rocks and ice, so I know you won't melt
As you rotate around next to the Kuiper belt
A victim of the whims of astronomy -
Remember, dear Pluto -
You're always a planet to me

Oh - they're rescinded your name
You're a planet no more
Just some lump in the fog
Oh - if I call out your name
I guess that it now refers
To some dumb Disney dog

Another concern that is leaving me speechless:
My Very Educated Mother Just Sent Us No Pizzas!
That mnemonic trick's now an antiquity -
But, pizza aside,
You are always a planet to me.


Days until trip: 319
Money saved: $210.00

A Woman Corned ...

I really, really want to make some, uh, corny jokes about today's discovery, but I'll try to restrain myself: The Corn Palace. How cool is that?

Unfortunately, the building is actually constructed of concrete (the outside is completely covered/decorated in maize). When I saw the pictures of it in my brochures, my heart leapt at the possibility that it might be a whole building made entirely of corn. Sure, go ahead and tell me that such a thing would be structurally impossible (never mind unhygenic), but that reality would fall on deaf ears. I mean, the physics of Tinker Toys is beyond me.

This thing of beauty is in Mitchell, South Dakota. Which is, according to my shaky calculations, is about 70 miles from De Smet. I'd really like to check it out.

A friend of mine helped me to concoct a crazy scheme. It all began when I decided that I wanted to add a picture of myself to this blog. Since I really don't photograph well, I asked her to help me get a picture that wouldn't scare puppies and small children. We joked about it, drank a little wine, and then decided that any photo really ought to show me wearing a sunbonnet, all bad-ass prairie-style. Then we took it a step farther: maybe we ought to begin a small collection of pictures in which I sport one. I mean, pictures are pictures, but who could resist pics of some random gal in a bonnet? Of course, the notion evolved into the idea that there ought to be a sort of introductory travelogue that shows me in my natural environment wearing it: in the supermarket, near various Scranton landmarks, at my jobs ... you get the picture (heh). After all, Ma in the Little House books was always on Laura's case to wear hers, why shoud I be any different? The evening culminated with the online order of a red sunbonnet. So we'll see where that goes.

So, kids, what have we learned today? Well, that there's a Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota. Oh - and that Jen has no shame. To the chagrin of ZZ Top:

Red Sunbonnet
(Cheap Sunglasses)

When you want to journey westward and have a little fun,
The first thing to consider is protection from the sun
Ma'd call you "dark as an injun" if you didn't get right on it
And order yourself a red sunbonnet
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah!

You can bust that bonnet out and make random photo ops
Wear it to the vet when the dog goes for his shots
On forays to the bank, as you make some deposits -
You'll knock the tellers out with a red sunbonnet
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah!

Wear that prairie sucker as you check into hotels
Wear it on the plane, and in the rental car as well
What subtlety you have? Methinks now's the time to pawn it:
Every photo's better with a red sunbonnet
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah!

Days until trip: 322
Money saved: $197.00

Oh! Prairie! My love ... holds on, holds on.

But you shoulda' been gone -
Long ago, far away
You shoulda' been gone
After Mr. Sunshine had his say ...

Grrr. Brr. Bleh. My delight at receiving information about my trip has been dampened. Somebody thinks my idea to roam the prairie is stupid. Somebody got outright mean about making fun of it. But that's okay in the end, I guess. Somebody just won't get any ice cream. Heh.

Among the treasures which did arrive this weekend, I got a rather large highway map of South Dakota. Which, I suppose, is a good thing, considering that no local bookstore had any information whatsoever about the region. There were books about Ohio. There were plenty of guides detailing Chicago. And then .... nothing. If I didn't know better, I'd assume that there's some sort of vast chasm between the Midwest and Vegas. It just surprised me, somehow, that there was nothing to be had about, say, Mount Rushmore. Not even so much as a flimsy map in the so-called travel section! Sheesh.

My car has requested that I mention its delight that I finally, finally emptied out all the change from its various nooks and crannies (read: drink holders). Twelve bucks! Who knew?

Days until trip: 323
Money Saved: $197.00