The Best of Humanity

From their far off locations away from the noise and jostling, I am tagged in a post or mentioned in a comment.

The next few minutes together is not going to be a pro & con debate about social media. Very boring and overdone. However, that form of communication has always been like a delightful cocktail party to me.  I have never typed a comment I would not deliver face-to-face at said garden party or soiree.

Continue reading “The Best of Humanity”

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A Day Dream Made of Glass

I was shelling on a beach yesterday. I kept finding bits of plastic – a lid, part of a pail, a grocery sack – and it struck me, what would happen

I was shelling on a beach yesterday. I kept finding bits of plastic – a lid, part of a pail, a grocery sack – and it struck me, what would happen if manufacturers woke up one day and stopped making plastic items? Just simply stopped.

I am pretty sure that the world would not come to its demise. Actually, it may even slow our demise. Although the reports I read tell a grim tale of how it is too late.

I like my food, drinks and such in glass. It seems more civilized somehow. But, I am bit old fashioned.

It was a passing day dream. I kept walking in the waves picking up gifts of nature that I collect, take home and sort into glass jars.

Shell on Beach by Casey Simmons

Casey

PS. Any item needed in the medical world made from plastic makes sense. But, prescription bottles could be glass.

PPS. I have stated very clearly that when I die my shell collection should be returned to Mother Ocean (after my daughter chooses what to keep of course).

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To Each Their Own

I remember the day my grandmother asked me to take her to New York City. By the end of our second abbreviated conversation that day, she all but said she wanted me and my husband to join her in “the biggest city I’ll ever set foot in.”

I’m not a fool. We went to New York.

Towards the middle of my grandmother’s second battle with breast cancer, she realized she was never going to see Europe. My grandfather had recently died, she was weakened by treatments, but her urge to travel kicked in again on a morning in September. She had, for all my life, always been a woman in constant and focused motion.

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I remember the day she asked me to take her to New York City. She called me and immediately upon my answering started in. “What does a room actually cost at the Waldorf-Astoria?” This query had to have been founded from my sister Casey and me telling her about our discounted adventures during a market we had attended a month before at the hotel she was asking about.

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I didn’t really know where she was heading with this line of questioning, I figured she might just be nosy. But whenever she started with a question and not a “hello”, I knew she had been chewing on an idea for hours or days. I was intrigued and willing to play along. I didn’t really know what the room rate was, but I jumped online after hanging up and found out. By the end of our second abbreviated conversation that day, she all but said she wanted me and my husband to join her in “the biggest city I’ll ever set foot in.”

I’m not a fool. We went to New York.

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We ended up sharing a room – her in one double bed and us in another. I think she wanted us close – and, if I remember correctly, the room rate was steep. She never intended on staying in any other hotel. Without ever having been to New York, the Waldorf was “her New York”. The hotel of queens and presidents and movie stars. Fancy balls, galas, and weddings. And her dreams.

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I let her choose our agenda, but, seeing my once-vibrant grandmother lessened by disease, I knew we would need to hit the highlights and see the breadth and width of the city in ways that impacted the body softly. Looking back, the only thing we didn’t get done was a subway ride. Taxi rides, tour boats to Staten Island and around Lady Liberty, top-level seats on a double-decker tourist bus, three Broadway shows, a hot dog from a street vendor, and one special dinner after a show near Times Square. We accomplished a great deal. We went in early October, and the weather was delightful. Blue sky days and crisp nights.

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The greatest memory from the trip happened in our room. She was in her bed, the one closest to the bathroom. She was on her right side facing away from me and the bedside light. I had seen her in this position every time I ever entered her bedroom as a child. My husband was sitting beside me reading in our bed, and we were both still dressed from our afternoon matinee. She had already declared herself “in for the night” an hour or so earlier.

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Many minutes passed in the city that never sleeps, and night darkened outside our single window facing Lexington Avenue. I thought she was sleeping because her hand-knitted cap – to cover chemo-ruined hair – was firmly in place and she was still.

Out of the blue, I heard, “We need pizza.”

She was right, and my husband was delighted. It is his favorite food in any city, but “street pizza” in NY is the delicious pinnacle. I forged ahead with questions about specifics – toppings and sauces – and she said, “Get five pieces, all different, and we’ll share.”

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We loved every bite, and she marveled at the size of the slices – each in its own box – and wondered how we would ever finish them. It really wasn’t a problem any of us spent much time contemplating.

Pizza may not have been the wisest decision for late night food for a survivor over 70 years of age – or for her descendent and her husband. Ours was the smallest room the Waldorf offers, and we filled it with the wonderful smell of pizza. And probably the hall as well.

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Today I walked alone from a borrowed apartment in New Jersey. I traipsed to the ferry and made my daily move into Manhattan. Every day before this one on this trip, I have been in motion with a member of my family – husband, sister or friend. I was never alone. Until today. It didn’t last, the alone part. Somewhere in the watery region between New Jersey and New York, I was with my grandmother again. She joined me on the ferry, and the memories of five days spent in this city ten years ago overwhelmed me. It was the last trip she ever took.

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I believe we all have our own New York, whether we live there full time or live in it as visitors. Places we must visit every time we can. Neighborhoods we move through because they take us back to the first time we were there. Routes considered and re-considered depending upon the time of day.

My son’s New York continues to hold awe and discovery.

My sister’s New York has the Twin Towers in it.

My mother’s New York gifted us fancy truffles every time she returned to her children.

And her mother’s New York was the Waldorf-Astoria.

My New York? I’m still trying to figure it out. But I’m willing to come as often as it takes to solve the mystery. It’s probably all of their New Yorks combined with mine.

Sloane

p.s. All of these photographs were taken on my daily walks to and from the ferry on this most recent trip to New York. On the last day, there was a parade. You can’t beat that with a stick.

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Sometime

Several years ago, we stayed home from Spring Break. Actually, our little family has seldom traveled at Spring Break in the 13+ years it has been an option. Time of year, maybe. Lack of funds, probably. It always sounds great, and I talk a lot about it after Christmas, but all the plans peter out as March arrives.

Several years ago, we stayed home from Spring Break. Actually, our little family has seldom traveled at Spring Break in the 13+ years it has been an option. Time of year, maybe. Lack of funds, probably. It always sounds great, and I talk a lot about it after Christmas, but all the plans peter out as March arrives.

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So that year, I spiced up our Kansas City staycation by looking at the list my son and I had been compiling on a notepad in the car of all the places about which I had said, over his lifetime spent in the back seat, “Yeah sweetie. That’s X. We’ll go there sometime,” or, “Oh. I’ve always loved that place. We’ll go there sometime,” and, “Wow. I used to take your Aunt Lindsay and Robin Parks there when they were little like you. I’ll take you there sometime.”

 

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On that staycation we slept late, ate lunch at restaurants new and old, and visited places that we had never been with our son. Browne’s Deli, John Wornall Home, Kearney House Museum, Thomas Hart Benton Home Museum. We did it all. The list was depleted. My husband and I were able to work in fits and starts during that week, and, when the break was over, we all felt like we’d really been somewhere and seen lots of new things. Because we had.

 

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Currently, our son is traveling in China with my husband’s family and we (my husband and me) are in our home alone – with the dog, of course – for three weeks. We both have loads of work to accomplish but have much more flexibility to get it all done without the pull towards wanting to be with our son. Given his busy teenage existence – work, volunteering and goofing off – our times as a threesome have little footing in his regimen this summer.

 

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While he is gone we are having a “foodcation”. Our son has been gone for 6 days, and not one meal has been prepared in the home. I am not a breakfast eater, and lunch is easily acquired from the huge bowl of organic fruit in the kitchen and hurriedly stashed in my bag as I wing out the door for work.

 

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But dinner is another matter. My husband and I had a list much like the “Sometime” list my son and I kept in the car. This list has been growing on my husband’s cell phone/electronic notepad and includes places new and old. We don’t really dine out all that much, and this has been a real treat. So far, mostly dinner. A few lunches.

 

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One of our lunch adventure was to Werner’s in Mission. We sat outside and had a great conversation with one outstanding staff member who was working the grill. She spoke of the butcher and the sausage maker. She mentioned her work and how she hand ties sausages and does additional duty cooking them outside over the grill. She explained to me what the different sausages were on the grill and, in particular, why one was so darned pale. (That was the German bratwurst. It isn’t made from cured or smoked meat.) Inside, one woman behind the counter made our sandwiches from scratch on soft bread and another woman checked us out on an oldish cash register.

Tonight we are off to another restaurant with good friends. A place we haven’t been. An adventure.

Sometime is now.

Sloane

Note: All photos above are from our time at Werner’s.

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Beach Stones

Shortly after Christmas my daughter and I went camping in coastal California. It was peaceful. It was also nice to be outside (although a bit colder than we had wanted) all day, every day. We spent most of one day on this beach.

California Coast photo by Casey Simmons

It was the perfect way to spend a day.

Casey

A couple of days ago I posted this blog. When I came across this image today, I thought it was a great addition to the stacking stones images.

 

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Instagram #2

I wrote recently that I am pretty smitten with Instagram. Here is my second Instagram photo blog. These images are from our summer vacation to the beach in Florida. Sorry it took a while. My life kind of ran amok recently.

I wrote recently that I am pretty smitten with Instagram. Here is my second Instagram photo blog. These images are from our summer vacation to the beach in Florida. Sorry it took a while. My life kind of ran amok recently.

Casey

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Vacation Epiphany

It has taken entirely too long to pinpoint why I love vacations near the ocean. I am 47 years old and have loved the water my whole life. I have reverence for the power of large bodies of water but no fear of them.

It has taken entirely too long to pinpoint why I love vacations near the ocean. I am 47 years old and have loved the water my whole life. I have reverence for the power of large bodies of water but no fear of them. I love swimming and can find great solace floating on water or diving under and holding my breath. Oceans. Pools. Lakes. Streams. Waterhoses. Doesn’t matter. Water makes me happy and makes me want to be a part of it. (Except bathtubs. I’ve never enjoyed them in the least, and it’s probably just about the temperature. But I digress.)

 

Yep. The requisite sunset photo.

 

I love water-based vacations because, if I plan my day well, I can wake up and go directly to my swim suit from my pajamas, and then, at the end of a water logged day, I can move gracefully back to my pajamas or another form of lounge wear that doesn’t involve any form of undergarments. Right there. The pinpoint. After 47 years.

 

My son and me.

 

I have never had to suffer under the daily strain of panty hose. I have never lived in an era where girdles were de rigueur. But I am fed up and done with bras and most forms of underpants. Unfortunately, they are a necessity at my age, and I do miss my “commando” days. I am, however, tired of being confined, and, for two weeks a year, I make sure “foundations” have no part of my life.

 

Dramatic sky before sunset.

 

I am the queen of fashioning a cover-up for trips to the grocery store and casual restaurants. That’s what scarves, old cotton skirts, and T-shirts are for. This last vacation was on a beach, and trips away from the house had me sporting my favorite oxford cloth button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled way up over my strapless swimsuit with its attached skirt. That’s the whole outfit. (OK. The suit has one detachable strap, but I despise tan lines, so I save the strap for special occations. Like boutique shopping, because that demands a level of stylishness, for heaven’s sake.)

 

The view from my towel on day one. Possibly my favorite shot this year.

By the time I get to vacation each year, I have tired of feeling cooped up and locked down. And vacations, if done right, are about feeling exactly opposite. And, for two weeks, I am free as a bird and loving every minute of it.

Sloane

 

p.s. These photos were taken on Anna Maria Island over the past two weeks. A trip off island to the fishing village of Cortez warranted the oxford cloth coverup and swimsuit strap you see here.

My son, me, and the stylish swimsuit strap under oxford cloth.

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Pursuing Good Stuff

Yep. It’s what I do. I truly pursue good stuff every day. On our recent trip to Colorado, I used one of our little buttons to remind me of what is fun and makes my life a bit more exciting.

Yep. It’s what I do. I truly pursue good stuff every day. On our recent trip to Colorado, I used one of our little buttons to remind me of what is fun and makes my life a bit more exciting.

And I also use these opportunities to brush up on my skills in the photographic arts with my Canon PowerShot SD1300 IS. I’m all over that sweet action.

This thistle and aster combination was lovely at breakfast. And tiny.

 

The rest stops in Kansas leave much to be desired. However, when you gotta go….

 

Right outside our room the day after the region’s first rain in a long time. This was one of many mushrooms that popped up and wilted by day’s end.

 

My son helped with the art direction on this shot. He was in charge of placement.

 

I loved the button against the texture of the bedspread in our room. Yes, we actually needed a bespread at night in Colorado!

 

I love to drive, and my husband caught this shot. I love how the turquoise in the necklace makes the pin seem bluer.

 

I’m a driving machine. The steering wheel was my friend for 11 hours over and 11 hours back.

 

Pursuing good stuff can take it out of me. But these three put it right back!

Sloane

p.s. If you want to see last year’s Pursue Good Stuff pin on the road – once with Casey and once with me – click here and here.

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Change of Plans

I have never really liked the “when life hands you lemons, make lemonade” saying. It has always bugged me, and it doesn’t sit right.

I have never really liked the “when life hands you lemons, make lemonade” saying. It has always bugged me, and it doesn’t sit right. I like a good motivational saying – my Pinterest board “Sayin’ Something” is full of them. But that one, not so much.

Yep. The camera is on the roof of the car. The only way to get a good family shot!

When life, parades, business and commitments stepped in a few weeks ago and blew the plans my family and my sister’s family had made for Spring Break, we didn’t pout; we just changed our plans. Well, the youngest among us cried her eyes out, but the rest of us remained relatively calm. We were to have skied in Steamboat, but, instead, we took a road trip to Dallas. See? Nothing like lemonade.

My view from inside the huge Richard Serra piece at the Nasher Sculpture Center.
Great art placement at the Nasher Sculpture Center.
My favorite shot of my husband at the Nasher Sculpture Center.

And it was fantastic! What a great American city. The night before we were to leave, I typed my new favorite combination into Google “boutique hotel in (choose city name)” and happened upon the Belmont Hotel. Just over the Trinity River from downtown Dallas, and the view from most rooms was unstoppable; the view at night from the pool was a picture postcard.

We did our part as tourists – and those who like to spend money with locally owned businesses – and stayed in a locally owned hotel, ate meals in 4 locally owned restaurants, and, visited two tourist destinations located downtown. The Dallas World Aquarium and The Nasher Sculpture Center have found happy homes in urban settings.

Everything about the Hotel Belmont was understated and well appointed. Even the courtyard.
My sister and her daughter takin' in the views of Dallas from the second floor.
Too good a shot to pass up.

We left much to go back and see, but that has been the way we’ve traveled with our son. You must always leave one thing undone in a destination so that you always have a reason to go back.

Sloane

Lookin' pretty good after 8 hours in the car!

The Dallas World Aquarium was nice. The best part was when my husband decided to call it a terrarium after we had walked through the three floors of animals, spiders, and cougars, and finally made it to the lower level…where the aquarium part was. The whole building was packed to the gills with humans – never the best way to view nature – so we paced ourselves and took it all in. However, there really wasn’t enough sea life to put aquarium in the name.

I live with a funny man, and every time I think of the aquarium/terrarium comment I smile.

 

Extras and details:

My son turned 15 the day before we left for Dallas. He thought this trip was his birthday gift.
Too many breakfast choices at Bolsa Mercado. Decisions, decisions.
Sh*t eating grins at the Nasher Sculpture Center.

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Copyright Casey Simmons and S. Sloane Simmons. People who steal other people's words & thoughts are asshats. Don't be an asshat.