Steamin’ Storytellers on the Delta Queen!! July 24-30 2004
Meanderings by Mary Garrett
What a wonderful step back in time! The Delta Queen, built in 1926 (roaring ‘20’s) is quaint and charming, or as Moriah put it, cute. The atmosphere is magical, service friendly and fine, and the river experience is so special. We found ourselves getting up in the middle of the night if we heard the boat approaching a lock, just to watch the process — the technology at work. This was especially tempting because the door opened right onto the outside deck, just a step out, and the river was there! Sitting on the deck in rocking chairs or swings, just watching the world go by — and it did, a bit too fast. At the end of the week (well, not quite a week, and was it ever a shock to realize that the fun would end on Friday, not Saturday — oops!), I found myself wanting more time to sit and talk with friends, more sunsets to watch, more classtime with Judith, more of everything!
Moriah and I dawdled on the way home, and she stayed an extra night at my condo, but it really is over . . . . sigh! (Tuesday, 8/3 — looking at the paper I notice that part of the Ohio near Louisville is closed for lock repair and that 15 barges got loose on the Mississippi and closed two miles of the river, and I know I wouldn’t have picked up on those items before this trip. I also note that an Underground Railroad Museum has just opened in Cincinnati, so we really should have stopped there to see it — or make a trip back sometime?)
Drive to Louisville
We began with a drive to Louisville (ˇ5.5 hours of actual driving, 7 hours total by Moriah’s calculations) — beautiful, with rolling hills, and not too eventful, except for the 30 minute delay when we exited at Sulfur, Indiana, for a rest stop which took us too far from the highway — no gas available, only a portapotty to use, and a wrong turn trying to get back to the highway — we’ll never stop there anymore (although the gift shop neighbor who gave us directions was very nice, and the response from the gentleman stopping traffic, “fixin’ the road, ma’am” was memorably short). There was very bad traffic around Louisville (accidents on two of three major freeways). I used my “Arlington Heights” trick, opening my window to ask the passenger in a big truck if I was right about which lane I needed for the airport. Not only did I get the information, the driver held back to let me enter the lane in front of him. Then a Prius merged in front of me, the only one I’ve ever seen on the road; we waved and gave each other thumbs-up. Fun little club we belong to!
I left my Prius in long-term parking at the airport, getting wonderful advice (things to do in Louisville, directions back from Pittsburgh) from the driver of the airport shuttle. We waited a long time for the Courtyard by Marriott shuttle, but remembering the traffic jam, we weren’t surprised. This driver informed us of the horse statues around town, and later gave us directions to a camera shop to get help for my obstinate camera (but the shop had closed a year ago . . .)
We decided against rushing to connect with the Belle of Louisville, instead having dinner at the Spaghetti Factory and then taking a carriage ride with a woman who knew all about the architecture (maybe because she was originally from Chicago, where they do love their architecture!). She showed us many of the horse statues, and we saw more on Saturday with Mary Hamilton — Moriah counted a total of 61, all very different and creative. (http://www.gallopaloozaderbÎy.com/)
We did walk down to the water (and again on Saturday morning, to see the Delta Queen after it docked). We also found time for a swim before sleeping, since there wouldn’t be a pool on board. Moriah gave up a morning swim so we could seek camera help (finally bought a disposable camera) and explore Louisville a bit. I sampled bourbon chocolates and bought some nice postcards — Moriah sent one home with a 34 cent Kentucky stamp I’d somehow not used yet.
Visit with Mary
Mary met us at noon, and we saw a bit more of the city, which is quite nice, I could see living there. The Mayan Gypsy was closed (but we glimpsed the decor through the windows), so we ate at Lynn’s Paradise Cafe, a visual as well as culinary feast (Mary has promised me the recipe for curried chicken salad). Then with minimal paperwork, we went on board the Delta Queen, with Mary, who had seen it so many times but never boarded (apparently, they sometimes are quite rigid with security, so we were lucky) . . . dessert on board, some visiting, and then Mary’s name was called to collect her i.d. and go back on shore, so we waved to each other as she left, just like they do on the movies!
It was great fun meeting and visiting, and last night I finally told Moriah a brief version of Mary’s “inappropriate” “Susan Contemplates Murder” (in _Telling Stories: Fiction by Kentucky Feminists_), and made her laugh out loud. I maintain that it has a wonderful lesson on maintaining independence, as does the curtain rod story! It was too late and too dark when we passed the Storyteller’s Riverhouse Bed and Breakfast in Bethlehem, Indiana, so I’ll get a vision of that another time. (Someone asked after Mary departed, “Wait, was that THE Mary Hamilton?” Yes, she was indeed). We had listened to “Stepping Stones” and “1000 Ideas,” so Moriah would know who she was meeting, and listened again on the way home, just for fun.
Saga of the Cabin (stateroom? closet?)
Get-acquainted meetings, dinner, and entertainment all went very well — we even figured out how to fit both ourselves and our stuff into the room (it helped that agile Moriah didn’t need the ladder to climb into the top bunk). A running joke through the week was that various places, crew quarters on the historical tow boat, cells at the prison, were larger than the DQ cabins. When we settled in for sleep, however, I found out that my allergies didn’t like our room. I could breathe on deck, but not in my bed, and after three trips back and forth, I gave up, put on long pants and shirt, and returned to the deck. It was too cold and windy to stay there, so the night watchman Gary found the mate, who suggested that I sleep on a couch in one of the lounges. He brought me a blanket, turned out some of the lamps, and assured me I would be quite safe there. One great relief to me was realizing that the problem wasn’t with the whole boat, just with the room. I had been putting together mental scenarios to allow Moriah to enjoy the cruise even if I had to leave, and chastising myself for ignoring my allergist’s warnings about river cruises — but I really wanted to be with our great group. Moriah postulated that our room was perhaps the one we had been told of that flooded when someone decided to hang clothing from the sprinkler head (don’t ever do that . . .).
The lounge was bright, but the sleeve of my Solumbra shirt made a nice blindfold, and I did catch some rest. My new friends assured me that if Moriah awoke and began to look for me, all on duty would know where to find me. Whenever I awoke, I’d stroll by the room to listen and look for any activity. I also made friends with Susan from Africa, who was doing needlepoint in the front lounge, and saw the sun rise, surprisingly at the back of the boat, such are the twists and turns of the Ohio (heading East . . .?). The beautiful sunrise was a nice bonus.
I also heard some interesting sounds, four knocks about every 30 seconds, as I tried to sleep in the lounge, and I saw a picture of Captain Mary Becker Greene hanging near my refuge. She looked like someone it would be fun to know. The ship’s info sheet the next day featured rumors that Captain Mary’s presence is still felt on the boat . . . perhaps looking out for a female passenger in distress. Travis later helped me find more information on Captain Mary, one of the first female pilots of a riverboat. She allowed no liquor to be served on the boat; after her death, that rule was changed, and the bar section was struck by a boat, the Mary B!
When the purser, Rebecca, came on duty, I informed her of my troubles, and she very graciously arranged a new room. I breathed well the rest of the trip (except perhaps during our tour of the prison) and felt much cared for as everyone involved asked almost daily if everything was all right. Our porter, Aaron, when informed of the reason for our room change, said that he wished they had awakened him (at 2 a.m.!) so he could have taken care of the problem then. Bless his heart! . . .all their hearts! · Everyone was gracious and wonderful, and we got to stay and enjoy a wonderful trip! (though Moriah claimed she missed the bunk bed — she had slept well there, only waking up when the alarm went off). One other commendation for Aaron, Moriah’s little bear with the “I Love Camp” shirt disappeared. We left a note for Aaron to keep his eyes open for it, and on the last day it showed up on her bed. Clever Moriah decided to let the bear hold Aaron’s envelope — with thanks for finding her souvenir of camp.
The mythical 7th floor became a running joke after we distractedly gave our hotel room number to Shelby the first night at dinner. We decided that was where all the other children were (Moriah was the only passenger younger than . . . 40?). It featured an Olympic-sized pool, jacuzzis in very large staterooms, and any other amenity one could imagine. We’re also inventing a story of Camp Bear’s exploits.
Of course, the workshops with Judith Black were the highlight of the Storytelling Cruise, even though they had to be fitted in around other activities. We began in the Texas Lounge — a bit distracting, with popcorn popping and drinks being prepared. Judith demonstrated well how to cope with and incorporate interruptions, “No, there were no alcoholic beverages on the ark, drinking was one of the reasons for the flood,” and pantomiming during the announcements on the P.A. She used biblical stories and showed how the story could stretch to include other possibilities, like Mrs. Noah, who doesn’t have a name (but now we know it’s Flo). We storyboarded our own biblical stories, and then told the story based on the pictures, watching new elements emerge from our drawn versions.
We had the rest of our workshops on deck, with Judith performing in the hot sun and most of the audience cool in the shade. It didn’t seem quite fair, but it was a wonderful setting. I’ve used Judith’s Old Ironsides story “Hell for a Picnic” with my American Lit. classes, but it was so much more dramatic on the deck of a moving boat. (I have made a personal pledge that all those wonderful stories and activities that have been eaten up by the MAP/NCLB monster will be restored to my lesson plans, and hearing Judith’s telling has strengthened that resolve). She told us that historical stories have to engage the heart and imagination of the listener, and hers certainly do that. We were right there with Barbara Fritchie saving the flag and spy Rose O’Neil Greenhouse outwitting Yankees with her charms (and her daughter’s warning, “Momma’s gone to jail” from the treetop). Her story of the children pelting the British soldiers with cranberries was amusing — and we saw that stern British redcoat expression later in the Tecumseh play. (I finished an apple hat on the cruise and gave it to Judith, but left the leaf separate, in case she wanted it to be a cranberry). Charles shared a story of a nurse defying orders by burning unneeded forts to keep 4,000 patients from freezing in Nov. of 1863.
Bits from my notes — (better info at Judith’s site http://www.storiesalive.com) Minorcharacters give more freedom to develop the story. Illuminate a chosen vantage point — the audience enters the story through this window, and sees self reflected in the mirror of the character (traits we share). The heart connects to the heart of the story. Find a unifying theme, why you want to tell the stories (peacemakers in history perhaps?). Dig for interesting details beyond the official records, like the fight for equality in the munitions plants.
Our final day’s workshop was on telling stories for children. First, the journey from door (opening) to door (closing) must take the child from a safe place to a safe place, with adventure (empowerment) in between. The character can be based on the child’s characteristics (what animal/plant/?? would you be?), with a name similar to the child’s (Solomon becomes Solhouse the Mischievous Mouse). The day’s activities become an adventure, with the child’s talents (and suggestions) solving the problems and tasks. Star of own story — memory and learning improve and so does confidence. Stories to help cover curriculum — Moth story teaches facts about butterflies and moths, plus lessons about being oneself, AND it’s fun!! We did a group activity in which we drew a picture illustrating what we got from the week (mine was a kite — fly free — Leigh’s was a beautiful turtle) and used all the pictures to make up a story together — and it was a great story!
Moriah participated in parts of the workshops and caught most of Judith’s storytelling as well. We listened avidly to CDs on the drive home, even enjoying the “Adult Children of Parents” — which I would have thought was too adult, but Judith, to quote a t-shirt I saw, “puts the fun in dysfunctional.” “Glad To Be Who I Am” was labeled for ages 4-8, but we agreed that older listeners would hear the stories “on another level,” and they were fun! We had listened to “Rosie the Riveter” “From Her Arms to His” on the way there — but they were even more fun in person. One aspect I really liked was the use of song in the story — “Our Love Is Here to Stay” unified “From Her Arms . . .” How did people travel before storytelling tapes? Judith’s “Retiring the Champ” didn’t appeal to Moriah, of course, but I’ve found it a powerful, sad and funny tribute to a great woman, (and it brings sweet/sad memories of being with my mom through her final illnesses).
** 2016 addendum, wondering if Moriah, now a nurse working with elders would like Retiring the Champ.
We had one official story swap, plus a small one organized at Sharon Thompson’s urging, plus telling on the bus after Tecumseh, plus I told “One Wish” on the deck to Anne and her mother — and I’m sure there were countless other unofficial tellings. We have vowed that next time there will be more organization of swaps — it’s just so hard to organize around the ship’s activities.
Rosemary Potter had suggested a tandem telling based on the Three Pigs. Moriah
and I had prepared by looking at some off-the-wall variations before we left St. Louis, and we organized our telling in several meetings on board. (Rosemary, Jill, and Lisa had done a successful Cinderella story on the New England Cruise). Rosemary’s new husband, Peter, agreed to play the wolf — he is too funny! We employed some piggy puns — Moriah’s violin shop was Fiddlesticks, and she did save the Pigavarious from the ruins — and allusions to other stories — the wolf came to my knitting shop dressed as a grandmother, wanting to knit a wool jumper (Peter the wolf in sheep’s clothing). Rosemary’s ice cream shop served “The Trough” (inspired by the honeymoon ice cream pineapple served to Rosemary and Peter the first night), but the customers “pigging out” were interrupted when Peter “wolfed it down.” The wolf found Rosemary’s documents and came on board, while Rosemary had to have Leonard’s help to get on board (as Leigh and Harriet had in real life). Finally, Peter made a valid argument that most people present did like bacon, and since the crew had obviously been trying to fatten us up, we decided to make our getaway. It was great fun! (My librarian just gave me three pig puppets, one for each of us — I love my library!)
Pat Baker opened the first (and only official) session with a short story/joke about the little man with no “belly” drinking Guinness, plus the wonderful story of the emperor choosing his successor by giving all the children seeds to plant. Marge Cleary shared memories of Baptist women and tight corsets. Rosemary began our pig story while Moriah and I left so we could enter at the right time. Then Craig told the story of “Slow Joe” who loved ice cream — too funny! Harriet shared some family history around the St. Louis World’s Fair. Peter told of his error in judgment driving his very fast car much beyond the capacity of the police to catch him . . . and remarkably getting away with it. Charles shared another car adventure, on flooded roads, from his soon-to-be-published Never Mace a Skunk. Sharon won my admiration with her harrowing story of riding a mule in the Grand Canyon.
When we had our unofficial gathering, I got my opportunity to share the “Worry Bundles/St. Louis Blues” story (which Leigh had never heard, even though she is the one who bought me the sheet music). Rosemary shared the tongue-twister “Hightopper Mountain,” and Charles followed with adventures hunting Civil War memorabilia on Rockyface Mountain, facing poison ivy and yellow jackets (and the important information that you need to bury yourself in leaves to avoid the yellow jackets . . . and a small branch of leaves, but not poison ivy, over your head will keep away gnats). Sharon told about staying at the Christmas tree farm with no electricity — what a trooper! We invited all passengers to our activities, and some came. I gave an NSN pen to one woman who wanted information on storytelling — I try to have one of those pens with me, as they have all the information and are not likely to get lost. (Of course, I also gave out some of my cards — Dianne would be proud of me).
The food, of course, was wonderful — and constant! Moriah received extra special service, with Maurice fussing over her the morning after our late night out, “I’ll get you some hot chocolate and fix you right up.” Shelby, the maitre d’, brought her some orange sherbet personally the last night. It was a bit like the song from Annie, “Please put us to the test/I think I’m going to like it here.” Moriah became quite good at selecting and ordering, and was adventurous as well, trying frog legs, seafood chowder, fried oysters, and other delicacies. We also found the chef to ask about the dessert she had circled in her brochure — Mississippi Mud Pie. He said it wouldn’t look exactly like the picture (food cosmeticians, you know), but that it would taste as good as the picture looked — and on Wednesday night, the proof was served.
I made it a personal mission to sample all the bread puddings: bourbon, rum and raisin, peach & rum, raspberry & white chocolate, and chocolate chip with whiskey? I missed the one night (apple & cinnamon?), and would be hard-pressed to name a favorite. On the last night we picked up on the Ordis’ comment about “six-day-old bread pudding” and worked up a six-person performance adapted from the “Peas Porridge Hot” rhyme that we were very proud of . . . but which Ordis just ignored. Moonlight snacks were welcome but not ostentatious, and included lots of yummy fresh fruit, including raspberries and blackberries! Yum! I do miss the luxury of those meals and that friendly service, though I’ve been compensating by visiting my favorite St. Charles places.
Cub Pilot Award
The Captain’s Dinner the last night was extra formal, so we dressed up. Moriah wore her Captain’s hat from the river museum, offering to pose with people as the captain had at the champagne reception, no charge. At the end of the meal, we were told to wait for special announcements, and one of those was the presentation of an official certificate designating Moriah as a Cub Pilot. The captain shook her hand, and we started making plans to travel on Moriah’s boat one day.
There was a wonderful variety of things to do (besides the obvious sitting and watching the river). No one could, or should, do them all. We took a tour of the pilot house, at the same time as the daughter of a former captain, who declared Travis “the best riverlorian.” We heard some extra inside stories, I’m sure — like the time the “can” fell from the smokestack, landing loudly over the crew quarters, and sending the captain and (a woman, but my notes don’t say who), “informally dressed” scurrying up to the deck, where they collided and started rumors of half-naked liaisons on the deck of the DQ. We also learned that one does not want to touch the radar screen — so we didn’t. We did go to the Engine Room, while it was quietly docked, and while it was noisily powering up to leave (but not too noisy, really a very genteel boat). We watched the locking procedures, and got to see the smokestacks lying down to go under bridges (not as low as those in Portugal, though, so we didn’t have to lie down).
Musical entertainment was good (despite the lack of a trombonist for “Muskrat Rag”). We especially enjoyed the Sing-along in the Texas Lounge (Marsh and crew were memorable for “Rockytop”) and playing the calliope — we have the certificates to prove it! The calliope concert with colored steam (from left-over jello?) was exceptional. One evening’s show managed to include salutes to every state, and of course, there was plenty of Dixieland. One afternoon we requested “St. Louis Blues,” which was played quite well, with plenty of solos and variations. We decided Banjo Bob resembles Mel Torme, and “Hi, Bob” in addition to making a good Inspector Clouseau, bears a resemblance to the dance captain in “At Sea.”
Flying kites from the deck was perhaps the most fun — the calliope and the paddlewheel made short work of several kites. Everyone was a child again for a while. Moriah took hers onto the bank the next day, but we needed a bit more wind. We played Bingo as well, but forgot to bring the duck call for B2 — nor did we win, oh well. (The deal was, if Moriah won, she would give me back my $5).
The historical presentations were interesting. Travis’ mountain man character, Ike, presented information on Lewis and Clark, as he pondered whether to go west himself. I found it interesting, and Moriah made it a priority to hear the continuing saga. Leigh debated his statement that Seaman belonged to Clark — I hope that issue gets resolved. We neglected to do the Lewis & Clark crossword puzzle and were surprised to hear there was a prize — a piece of paddlewheel from the DQ — we looked for the hole, but couldn’t see it.
Mel Hankla, a very knowledgeable scholar (and collector of powder horns) presented two characters. The first was Simon Kenton Butler, who left home because he thought he had killed a man and survived on his own by claiming kin in various places and working a mill for a pretend relative. He fought Indians and was captured and forced to run the gauntlet many times. He allowed one old brave to stay with him, despite his bad behavior, “because I let you live.” Leigh pointed out that he used his walking stick well as a prop. (We saw more about Butler in the Tecumseh play).
The second was George Rogers Clark, older brother to William, embittered by war injuries and by unpaid debts owed him for the French & Indian War. Drinking (really water and cola in that decanter) was the only way to dull the pain. An older brother, forgotten in the glory of the younger sibling. . . .
Dark Rain Thom’s presentation was impressive. Native American medicine “could cure our native diseases, but not the ones the whites brought.” Indians wouldn’t sell food, as it’s a gift from the creator — holding back from others would be like feeding only some of the children in a family. Water was clean, no need to purify it. Justice — for murder, either kill in return, adopt to take the place of the one killed, or require a payment of wampum. For gossip, two warnings and then death (story of feathers, to be placed on home of all to whom the gossip was told, then to collect them back to obtain forgiveness . . . not possible — like the Jewish story of scattering feather pillow). Living death was banishment. She brought an amazing variety of artifacts to share, including a rock on a string, useful for hunting rabbits, but also, if a man tried to kidnap a woman, “if she didn’t want to go . . . .” (she wouldn’t).
All Ashore! (Shore Trips)
Sunday — Cincinnati (Porkopolis)
We hadn’t booked a tour, and as I was tired and we were moving, I opted for a nap and gave Moriah permission to explore the boat (or go ashore with storytellers, but I think they were all gone). There were good reports on the outing, and Rosemary bought magnets featuring some of the pig statues, very witty. If you want to see more, http://www.bigpiggig.com/pigs/pigs.php
(By the way, just remembered to mention — this cruise featured the most relaxed emergency drill ever, put on a life vest and sit outside your cabin. Leigh said she missed the whistle and light, but it was pointed out to us that if there really were a problem, they would just head for the bank — the same reason they don’t need a ship’s doctor, but they do accompany and properly fuss over a sick passenger, as one of our group found out).
Monday — Portsmouth — to Chillicothe
Resting well on Sunday was a good idea, as this was a long outing. An hour on the bus brought us to Chillicothe for the outdoor presentation of Tecumseh! I’m not sure about accuracy, but I can attest to energy, good will, and enthusiasm . . . and volume! The backstage tour included basic theater terminology and some insight into special effects, like fighting, falling, blood, and shooting. They use grass patches instead of paper, no paper mess, and during the fight scene, the female cast members, in army uniforms, fired the cannons. (Storytell List members will be interested in the fact that loin clothes were worn, quite well, by many of the male “Indians”).
The autograph session afterward was fun — Moriah collected the autographs; I discussed the meaning of it all with cast members. Little brother, the prophet, a crazy leader causing trouble (like now?) should have listened to his big sister — all would be better if everyone listened to the women. We must settle matters between nations, make peace, so the young people have a chance. Rain had threatened for a while, and we had joked around with the “Ain’t Going to Rain No More” song (from the duck on a second floor cabin door), but finally I seriously prayed for the show not to be ruined, and the rain stopped. Hmm? Of course, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. The young man I told this to said, “Thanks, I’m one of the crew that has to spread the tarp.”
The bus ride home was NOT dull — someone started storytelling in the back of the bus, and the time flew. I had bet someone at supper that we could have our dessert on board (the doubter thought it would be too late and they wouldn’t feed us). Of course I was right. They wouldn’t let us go to bed hungry!! Sharon had told a story of a talking clock on the bus, and as we were saying goodnight outside her door, the gentleman in the next cabin politely informed us of the time, so we stopped talking and went to bed. Nice day!
Wednesday — Mutiny in Marietta
In fairness, Rosemary reported that our bus guide was very good once she got to the Rufus Putnam House where she quite ably pointed out features and furnishings. On the bus, however, not so good. The tour of the Fenton Art Glass Factory was interesting, if rushed — in order to spend time in the shop, one had to leave the tour halfway through. I have to admit, though, that I was not sorry to leave the tour — the heat, noise, and smells make me sure that is not a career I want to pursue, and very few women work there. I did shop a bit, though, some glass pieces, and Moriah and I each got a magnetic bracelet/necklace/whatever you want it to be.
Our moment of truth, and parting, was when the guide told us we didn’t have time to see the old tow boat because we had spent too long in the Ohio River Museum (she had allowed 15 minutes for each!) — I took my little stand, “We will see the boat!” and Moriah and I did a quick walk-through. By then Marsh had determined that we could easily stay and walk back to the boat when we were finished, and we did. We thoroughly explored that interesting W.P. Snyder JR, which had electricity way before most places, and mechanized systems for putting coal in the furnace. I liked the speaking tube to carry the sound of the bells back to the captain. The female crew, cook and laundress, shared a cabin near the captain’s so “no one would mess with them.” The docent there was wonderful — “We like tourists!” (so even in tourist season, I guess they don’t shoot ‘em). He walked us to the Campus Martius Museum, where we looked at displays on our own until a docent was ready to take us through the Putnam House. It had been purchased after the fort was closed, and marked with numbers for disassembly and rebuilding, it was quite large and comfortable, and very beautiful. There were numerous beds, including my favorites, trundle beds, because it was a very big household.
We got back late for lunch (but noted the Dairy Queen on shore as a back-up plan — DQ by the DQ). No fear, food was found for us as soon as I mentioned that Moriah was coming as soon as she changed shoes — it’s good to have influential friends. The only lunch left was fried oysters and shrimp, which I thought would be a stretch, but were really quite good. We went back out to fly the kite, stroll a bit, and see the beautiful Lafayette Hotel — but no luck finding key chains for Donna.
Thursday — Wheeling, West Virginia, Moundsville Prison
I kept thinking of Sharon McCrumb’s novels and the statement that mountain boys can’t tolerate being locked up. Prisons are such sad institutions, and I can’t really fathom the minds of those who have to go there. The murals were interesting, a labor of love by the artists, and an expression of what they were missing — family, the mountains . . . even a big truck going . . . somewhere. Inside a cell, with the doors closed, was an eerie experience. Joliet is used as a training site for guards, which explains the “student parking” right next to the razor-wire-topped exercise yard. It is also located right next to very impressive Indian Mounds, worth seeing for themselves. We switched buses on this trip — the guide was terrific, but we wanted to be on the bus with the other storytellers — more fun!
We were very impressed with Oglebay Park, beautifully landscaped, with large swimming pools. It was almost tempting to take an extra day on the way back home just to stay there. We were late getting back to the ship again (not our fault this time), but they still fed us, bless their hearts.
Friday & Saturday — Drive Home
Good-byes at the Airport in Pittsburgh were hard, as we really didn’t want to part! I realized that I had no paperwork on a rental car reservation, so Leonard found an outlet and powered up his laptop; not finding the reservation, he made a new one. We ended up with a Malibu at no extra cost because they had nothing smaller; I avoided tight parking spaces and did fine, and it did hold the luggage well. (A bit of sticker shock when I refilled it, though; the Prius made the St. Louis to Louisville drive on 8.5 gallons of gas).
The drive was easy, and we didn’t get lost . . . much. We stopped at the Kruger Street Toy & Train Museum in Wheeling, located in an old elementary school. It was interesting and a good chance to stretch our legs. Afterward, we passed the entrance to the Wendy’s for lunch and had to double back. (Why do they hide entrances? I guess if you live there, you know where to turn). Later we stopped at a Perkins, for a snack and because it was raining hard, but they use latex gloves, so that was a waste of time.
We made it to the Louisville airport, turned in the Malibu, and shuttled to my car (Moriah bought a keychain at the airport gift shop for Donna). The shuttle driver was a little bitty lady, but did her best to help with my big bag, and she gave Moriah a toy dog. She also advised us the easiest way to find a motel for the night “easy on, easy off” — too bad we got lost from the motel trying to find Cracker Barrel (why do they hide the driveways for these places?) — good thing Moriah has a good sense of direction, and we did get back to the Country Inn, where the rooms were comfortable but the pool room had too much chlorine in the air, even for motivated swimmer Moriah.
The next day’s drive was also easy. We considered a stop at the Evansville Zoo and then at Cahokia Mounds, but lacked information on proper exits, so we made a stop at Forest Park to ride the big carousel before it goes away. It was a refreshing break, and we saw a bridal party join the line — photo op — obviously a marriage with a sense of fun. Joy and Joe were off celebrating their anniversary, and the other kids were with their grandparents, so Moriah spent the night at my place, getting an evening swim and another swim the next afternoon, after dropping off film and library books and having lunch. Joy picked her up about 5:30 and said she had missed her — I’m afraid I’m going to as well.
Notes — I tried taking notes on the Palm Pilot (perhaps I need more practice). I switched to the Storyteller’s notebook from Jackie — she used a spiral spine on the notepad design, so the pages stay put. It worked well, a good size to carry around, and the pictures and quotes inspire. I’m thinking this might be a good item for workshops!!
Books recommended —
True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by Avi
Pigs Is Pigs
Wagon Wheels by Barbara Brenner
. . . and still reading The Education of Little Tree by Forrest Carter, and finding parallels to Dark Rain’s talk
Note from before the trip:
Nancy’s hanging fern had a nest in it. We’ve been watching the babies. Three of the birds flew the nest yesterday; one stayed in the nest. Sam, Nancy’s Siamese cat (my “godcat”) almost got one. He was a bit mad at us for not letting him “play” with them, but they were too cute! (He does seem to have forgiven me . . .)
Chicken Salad, Lynn’s Paradise Cafe
Makes 4 cups
1 cup mayo
2 T. honey
2 T. curry powder
1/2 t. salt
2 cups cooked, diced, boneless chicken (about 1 pound)
3/4 cup finely diced celery
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1/3 cup raisins, plumped in hot water for several minutes and drained.
That’s the recipe I was given several years ago, but it seems to me there
were grapes in what we ate, not raisins? So, you may need to play with it a
bit, but the mayo, honey, curry, salt concoction will give you the curried
base we enjoyed.