weeds in the toilet

There are times when I sit down at my computer, lay my hands on the keyboard, and thoughts form, words appear on the screen, ideas flow seemingly out of nowhere.

Other times, I stare relentlessly at a blank screen like I’m in a blinking contest. I always blink first. The words just are not there. They do not flow. They do not congeal into productive thought patterns. They do not grace me with their presence at all. It doesn’t matter how long I stare at the screen.

Generally, when that happens, I try to find something to inspire. Or prod. Lately, I have been making jewelry and playing with my new Sony DSLR. While neither of those activities have goaded a decent blog out of me, I have considered the time well spent.

Today, I went out into the back yard and took some shots of the weeds. I like weeds. Actually, it’s the wild flowers that I like. One year, I bought my mother, who is by all accounts the hardest person on the planet to buy for, a wall hanging. I think it was acrylics on an old piece of wood. Across the top it said “Grow where you’re planted.” Below, was a very simple buy lovely garden of wildflowers.

When I gave this piece to my mother I was quite pleased with myself for about a minute and a half. Until she sat it down on the floor, said she’d find a place for it and forgot about it. Ultimately, it ended up on the wall above the commode in the extra bathroom. That was as good a place as any I thought.

Not long after it had taken it’s rightful spot in the throne room, I caught my daughter looking it over quite closely. I stood there waiting to see what her 10 year old appraisal would be. She turned, looked at me and said, “My teacher said weeds are just flowers growing where people don’t want them to grow.”

I’m not sure if that meant she liked the painting or if she meant that weeds in the bathroom were appropriate.

I didn’t ask.

dirt roads and movie stars

Recently I went to Des Moines, Clive to be exact, to teach a couple of classes. I had never been in that part of the country so I began asking clients about what to do, where to go, points of interest. The resounding theme was, Des Moines is a good place to pass through on the way to somewhere else. I thought, surely there’s something fun to do there. I have a new camera, I’m easy to entertain, I’ll find something.

We arrived on Sunday evening, checked into our hotel, and set about looking for a place for dinner. It was 10:20 p.m. Apparently, with the exception of McDonald’s, the good citizens of Clive, Iowa roll up the sidewalks at dusk. We found a brewery who would be open for another half hour and if pizza was ok, we were more than welcome to come in. It was, we did.

I had been told about one Mexican restaurant that had “The World’s Best Margaritas”. We went. They didn’t. The food was good though.

Originally, the plan was to stay an extra day. Instead, we headed home Tuesday afternoon. So we grabbed some lunch at the clown’s drive through and hit the road. It was sunny, windy and warm. The traffic was light as we started noticing the signs for Winterset. Madison County. It’s claim to fame, not only the bridges, but also birthplace of The Duke.

We detoured and for a couple of hours tooled around Madison County, Winterset, Iowa. We visited several bridges, John Wayne’s birthplace, where for $6 they’ll give you a personal tour of the 4 room house, and got sodas and Blue Bunny ice cream at the Kum and Go. Most of that time, we were on dirt roads although Winterset is home to a most charming “Down Town” which looks like it just fell off the page of a book from 50 years ago.

As we were driving through town, back on asphalt, we stopped at one of the few stop lights in town. Facing us was an old, beat up, beloved, cam-fire-am-ish car being driven by a teenager. A boy who looked to be about 12 walking, said to the boy in the car, “Hey Joe! You  missed it last night. We had a bonfire!” The car kid said something I couldn’t hear and the news was repeated jubilantly. “Yeah! a bonfire! It was awesome!” They both smiled and waved at each other just in time for the light to change. It brought rushing back many memories from my high school years in small Clarksville, Tennessee. Clarksville, even then was bigger than Winterset, but still, bonfires, lazy days fishing at the river, hay rides, all qualified as big news along with high school football games and ridin’ on Friday nights down Madison and Riverside Drive.

I haven’t lived in a small town for a long time. I had forgotten what it’s like to know every one, feel safe leaving doors unlocked, allowing children to play outside while I fixed supper. While I do love the city and all it’s civilized trappings, I think I could be very happy in Winterset. With their dirt roads, bonfire’s; ice cream, soda and gas from the Kum and Go. And of course, the tiny four room birth place of The Duke where I would happily pay $6 to see the inside time and again; Where you see more American flags than foreign language signs directing strangers to the nearest rest room and more trucks than Beamers. Where people smile, wave and offer help before you ask rather than avoid eye contact and hurry on with their busy, important tasks.

Where you see people sitting on their front porches rather than burning rubber out of their drive ways and more kids playing outside, video games saved for rainy days.  With skies clear enough during the day to actually  look blue and night time skies blanketed with stars, far from the 24 hour lights, sights and sounds of the city,  I can almost hear the crickets chirping and the wind rustling the leaves lulling me to peaceful sleep.

Yes. I could be very happy in Winterset.