Birthdays and Beatrice

As the title suggests, it was Kent Wilson's birthday. In spite of this personal celebration, the Wilson's not only welcomed me in on their celebrations, but still took me around and showed me the sites (both circus and non-circus). 


The day began with one of Kent's favorite activities: driving his horse cart. I got the chance to go with him, and he took me on a tour of the area. 

Kent, one of his carts, and two of his horses, Ace and Rex.

It was a beautiful day, the coolest it has been on my whole trip, and I got a little taste of what it might have been like for my main character living in Beatrice.  Dirt roads, 

corn fields, 

open pasture, 

farmhouses. 

According to Kent, not much has changed since then, especially away from Main Street. 

After our ride, we returned to the house and got packed up for a picnic at Homestead National Monument. Although the log cabin on the property is not the original home that had been there, it is an original homesteading log cabin. The museum was small but very well laid out and, while it has no relevance to my novel, it was great to learn more about this important period in our history. Plus, to see an actual homestead was pretty nifty (Oregon Trail, anyone?) In fact, apparently there are still wagon ruts out in some of the fields around here from the original Oregon Trail, which have their own following: the locals call them "Rut Nuts." They're kind of like Dead Heads or Phish Heads, but instead of following jam bands around, they follow early pioneers. 






After the museum, I checked out the cabin, which, as would be expected, is tiny, although perhaps even tinier than I would have imagined. Inside we found a volunteer dressed in pioneer garb (except for her anachronistic nose ring) and she gave us a butter churning demonstration, using a contraption that looked like a large, glass mason jar on the bottom and an old school hand mixer on the top. I turned it a few times but my modern attention span didn't allow me to stick around long enough to make butter.

Little house on the prairie, or one of them anyway

After the Homestead, we headed over to Fairbury, a town about a half hour drive away that served as a home for the Campbell Brothers Circus. Although this circus was prominent during an earlier time period than I'm interested (more around the mid-late 1800s), I figured it would be helpful to check out more local information about the circus. The museum was rather quirky, as it was housed in an old school building. Each of the rooms still closely resemble classrooms, but instead of desks and chalkboards, they're each packed full of objects. Aside from their archival labels, there's really little explanation to the historical context of each artifact. What results is a kind of hodge podge feel, but a place that is full of history and some pretty amazing displays all the same. Also, it's pretty rare to find a museum where what you see is what you get. Usually, museum goers only see at best a tenth of a museum's collection: in Fairbury, it's more like 90%.


Once I explained my interest in the museum, the man working there was eager to show me their circus collection, which, he admitted is rather small. However, he gave me free license to look through all their files of articles relating to circus information, and I learned a great deal from them. They had quite a number of letters from people who had seen the circus back in the early 1900s, which were very helpful. He also offered to open up the museum for me on Monday or Tuesday if I wanted more access, even though they're only open on Saturday and Sunday. Just more examples of the open, welcoming nature I have been encountering through the Midwest. 

Some of the Offerings of the Museum, Circus-Related and Otherwise:

Clown Shoes

Psychologist's office, or Salvador Dali's fainting couch perhaps (re: numerous clocks)

 Beautiful collection of 1920s dresses

Awwww baby lion!

Ahh! Terrifying!

Side note: this apparently was found hidden away in someone's attic. The family considered burning it to hide the shame they felt at the discovery, but instead donated it to the museum to educate the people of the area to the apparent presence of the Ku Klux Klan in the region's history

After spending quite a long time in the circus, the Wilsons and I bid our farewells to Fairbury, and headed back to their home in Beatrice. There we indulged in a delicious birthday dinner of BBQ pork chops, warm German potato salad, fresh sweet corn, Franzia wine, and a chocolate zucchini cake for dessert. After dinner, they showed me their slideshow from their trip to Peru, which gave us all a chance to digest a bit from the feast, before we said our goodnights. All in all, a pretty great day.

Trading Nancys

Yesterday was my last morning in Springfield before my long drive to Beatrice, Nebraska. I left one couchsurfing Nancy (Nancy Rose) for another Nancy (Nancy Wilson).A strange coincidence, but somehow seems just right for this rather serendipitous and magical trip I'm on.


Before leaving Springfield, I had the opportunity to talk with Nancy the 1st's friend, Sina, who was raised Pentecostal. She was very helpful in painting an even more complete picture of the religion and also of the lingering effect it has on someone who was raised in it and has since abandoned the faith. We had a wonderful, long, and lively talk before we had to part. It was a great send off.


A word on Nancy Rose. Nancy Rose was my first couchsurfing experience. I joined the site so that I could try to make this trip more affordable, and had no idea what to expect. I had a marvelous time with Nancy. She made me breakfast(sweet rice with yogurt and fresh, handpicked blueberries...yum!), showed me around, introduced me to friends, and made me feel completely welcome. We joked that I was a couchsurfing virgin when I came to her. Well, Nancy, it was a most wonderful deflowering. Thanks for being so gentle. :)


Anyway, she and I parted with a great, warm hug and then I was on my way, down the road again. Unfortunately, there are not a ton of exciting anecdotes from this part of the journey, and no pictures for two reasons: 1) again, solo photo documentation and solo driving don't mix very well, and 2) my phone's camera decided to be quite wonky. So, I will keep this shortish and sweetish so that your potentially short attention spans won't be tried to heavily from lack of visual stimulation.


A couple of observations:


1) The Return of the Corn
No, this is not a Midwestern B-movie, this is the reality of Western Missouri and Nebraska. Gone are the wooded hills and craggy rocks. Back are the endless flat fields of corn. A hilarious side note: of course I got lost on my way to Nancy Wilson's house. Anyone who knows me will know that this is not a unique beginning to a story for me. I have a terrible sense of direction (like Christopher Columbus-style terrible), sometimes so terrible that GPS can't even help me. In this case, it was the GPS's fault, because it took me to the wrong address. I called Nancy to try to get back on track and she asked where I was. "I don't know," I said, "but there's a lot of corn." To which she burst out laughing and I burst out laughing because, of course there was a lot of corn: there's nothing else. "Welcome to Nebraska," she said between guffaws.


2) Peculiar, Missouri
Nope, this is not a description, this is an actual place name. I had ample warning that I was coming up on Peculiar, Missouri. "Peculiar, Missouri: 6 miles," "Peculiar, Missouri: 1 mile." I watched it approach in eager anticipation. I even took photos of each of these announcements. Peculiarly, these photos didn't turn out. Coincidence? (probably). I didn't notice anything outright peculiar about the town, though (just looked like your average fast food joints and gas stations from the freeway), but who knows?


3) Nebraska...the Good Life
Or so the sign told me as I crossed the state border. Literally: "Nebraska...the good life." I also learned that it is the home of Arbor Day. I'm not sure what that means, but it kind of makes me want to come back for Arbor Day (anyone know when that is?), just to check out the festivities. I saw a sign not too far from this one for a town (the town name escapes me) that bragged that it was the "Home of the Annual Father's Day Chicken BBQ." It's these things that make Nebraska synonymous with "the good life."


Well, as I mentioned, I got very lost. But, after getting set straight, I finally made it to the home of Nancy, Kent, and Darren Wilson (thanks to Nancy's better-than-GPS directions, like "turn right at the horses, they should still be in the far corner of the yard"). Nancy the 2nd welcomed me with open arms and got me set up in my bedroom. The four of us then had dinner and shared stories. The Wilsons love to travel and have been a staggering number of places around the globe. After dinner, they showed me their digital slideshow from their trip to New Zealand,  which whet my appetite for my own travel cravings. After the slideshow and story time, we all parted ways. I headed back to my room, and settled in for the night. Before long, I was drooling on my pillow, totally exhausted after the long drive and the exciting adventures of the last few days.

Saints and Sinners

Or how I learned the rules and regulations of Pentecostalism, and then broke every one.


Well, not all of them. I didn't smoke tobacco. But let me rewind.


Yesterday, was my big day of research in Springfield, MO. And why was I coming to Springfield, MO when they have no real circus history here? Because I needed information on the Pentecostal faith, since my main character's father is a Pentecostal preacher. As I have revealed in a previous post, I am not exactly what you'd call a religious person. I am fascinated by religion, but I didn't grow up in a religious house, and aside from taking a Philosophy of Religion course in college and being tricked into going to church (and even a religious retreat once under the guise of a camping trip) by a particularly zealous Christian friend of mine growing up who was always praying for me to become a Christian, I am pretty oblivious to faith. I appreciate that some people have it, I think it's wonderful that they do, and love discussing it with people, but it's not something that I experience or practice in my own life. I will admit too, that very conservative religions make me a little uneasy. I've never understood the need to tell other people how they should live their life, and while I know that there is much more to some of these religious sects, that's the part that I have a hard time grappling with. Plus my few run-ins with conversion attempts at an early age were pretty terrifying. So, deciding to go the Assemblies of God National Office was a bit of an intimidating venture. 

After talking with Vesta in West Baden, Indiana, who grew up in a very strict Pentecostal house, I was worried that I would do something,or say something,or dress in a way that would be offensive or would ostracize me. She had mentioned that the women who went to her mother's church didn't wear makeup or paint their nails, didn't cut their hair, and wore dresses or skirts down to their ankles. So, I tried to dress as conservatively as my travel wardrobe would allow, which meant a long skirt and the only shirt I had that wasn't a tank top. Of course, I realized that this shirt had a huge cut out in the back, so at the last minute, I put my denim shirt over it all. When I arrived at the Assemblies of God, I definitely received a warm welcome. What I figured out by the end of my trip there was that THEY all assumed I was the conservative Pentecost, since they were all wearing make up and pants and tank tops. I was the one that looked like a sister wife extra(I know, I know, I'm mixing my faiths. I don't mean to be disrespectful...just figured this reference would be a little more widely known). So, lesson number 1: don't assume that the more traditional and extreme factions are representative of the whole.


The Assemblies of God National Office is HUGE. Like national government building huge. Like Pentagon huge (Ok, maybe not that huge, but it had that feel). They even have their own security vehicles that have "Assemblies of God Security" printed in Old English script on the sides (sadly, I didn't get a picture of them). 

Part of the Assemblies of God Complex. This picture doesn't even begin to capture its magnitude.

At the door, my name was taken down and I was give badge. Then I wandered around until I found the Pentecostal Heritage Center. There were no other visitors and no employees in the museum, so I wandered around freely by myself for over two hours, taking copious notes. I learned a great deal about the history of Pentecostalism, including some of the main tenets, and particularly the language people within the faith use to talk about it. For example, Pentecosts refer to speaking in tongues as being "baptized in the Holy Spirit." It is a crucial part of the faith, almost the defining character of the belief system. When someone falls to the ground in a service, that behavior is called being "slain by God." 

My security/welcome badge

The religion is very experiential, and as a result, evangelism and missionary work are very important. In fact, almost anyone can become a preacher. Since the earliest days of the religion's foundation, women and children were permitted to become preachers. Pretty impressive. Gay preachers are prohibited though (not impressive). Sadly, I'm not surprised, but hopefully someday they'll change that so that truly EVERYONE can be a preacher if they want to. 


As I went through the history of Pentecostalism, I started to notice some interesting parallels between circus and the religion. Traveling evangelism is a huge part of the history. Many preachers traveled all around the country, alone or with their family, preaching their beliefs. Their travel schedules seemed very close to the circus route schedules. Also, the spectacle of worship seemed to draw a lot of followers, similar to the draw of the circus. Often times, revivals and services involved music and dance and general celebration, in addition to the drama of tongue-speaking and healings. I'm still ruminating on this and not sure exactly how it'll factor into my novel, but it feels pretty key.

Traveling evangelists and their gospel car

Mediocre picture of tent revival photo. Reminded me of circus camps.

Before leaving, I was fortunate enough to meet the Assemblies of God archivist, who gave me a free copy of a book written by a Pentecostal preacher during the time period in which my novel is set. He also gave some more reading material. This is where I ran into my second bit of trouble. I told him that I was originally from San Diego and he immediately responded, "Oh, you must be part of so-and-so's church." To which I responded, "No." Then he asked me what my background was. Not wanting to say "I was raised without religion," or "I'm a non-believer, an atheist, a heathen," I chose to say, "Well, I was raised Unitarian," thinking that the very, very brief period I spent in the Unitarian Universalist Cooperative Pre-School and church would somehow sound better, and more relatable. He gave me a funny look  and nodded apprehensively. It was only later, after talking to some other Pentecostals, that I realized my faux-pas. "Oh gosh," they said to me later, "it would've been better to say that you didn't believe in anything than to say you're Unitarian." Apparently there's quite a hippie-dippy stigma assigned to Unitarianism. Why it is considered worse is still a mystery to me.

Odds and Ends From the Museum

Terrifying Evangelizing Ventriloquist Dummy

Young evangelist with oil drums full of conversion materials

This book tells the tale of a dedicated young evangelist fighting crime, sin, and general unholiness on the "mean streets" of the inner city. It was also made into a movie. I am not making this up.

Hop on board the S.S. Evangelism 

After my dose of Pentecostalism, I figured it was time for some play time. So, I drove over to Fantastic Caverns, one of Missouri's many underground cave networks. Not only did this hold appeal as a first for me (never been in a cavern before), but for the very crucial attraction of being a cool spot (literally cool, as in temperature). Missouri was hot (the temperature gauge in my car hadn't crept lower than a 102 all day), so a cold, dark place sounded perfect.


Fantastic Caverns is pretty commercialized, with a huge gift shop filled with random and unrelated geodes and gems, but the caverns themselves were very impressive. They have it illuminated for maximum drama too, with spotlights casting warm, orange glows and long shadows over stalagmites and stalagtites. Along the way, our 
guide/tram driver told us the history of the cave. Like many caves, it was discovered in the mid-1800s by accident when a man was out hunting with his dog. Later, the same man put an ad in the paper looking for people who would be willing to explore it, and a women's exploration league answered. These intrepid women were the first to see the cave's interior, and they wrote their names on a wall inside (which still remains).

The rock where the first explorers signed their names, still so clear after so many years.

After its discovery, Fantastic Caverns was used for all manner of things. It was a speakeasy and casino in the 1920s (possible location for interesting new scene in my book?) and a concert hall in the 1960s, hosting the likes of Tom T. Hall and Buck Owens. Now, it is a very popular tourist site.

The stage where Buck Owens and Tom T. Hall performed in the 1960s. This was also the site of the speakeasy's bar (the dance floor was out where our tram was parked). Our guide didn't perform a ditty for us or pour us a drink, but he did do a demonstration on how to make salt peter (a crucial ingredient and gun powder made from particular minerals often found in caves...though not in Fantastic Caverns)

While I was in the cave, I kept thinking of the film "Cave of Forgotten Dreams" by Werner Herzog, which I had the opportunity to see before I left for my trip. The Chauvet cave is so carefully maintained and protected (it was a great privilege for Herzog and his team to be allowed inside and their activity and duration of filming was strictly controlled). It made me wonder about this cave, that is trafficked by so many people. I wonder how it is faring. It looked like it was in good condition, but I'm certainly no cave expert. I wonder what the damage of our presence is. They made mention of the endangered cavefish that makes its home in the lower depths of the cave. Is it impacted by us and our activity far above its head? The cave does serve as a pretty significant educational tool, and it gets so many visitors, that it is certainly doing a service. It also has a long history of human use so perhaps better it than a previously untouched cave. Still, this is a question that always plagues me with historic landmarks or artifacts: should they be hidden away to protect them from the impact of human contact, or should they be shown to everyone always, with the knowledge that that this mere showing will result in its demise over time?

Anyway, after all that caving and soul saving it seemed to be time for a drink, so I made my way over to Mothers Brewing Company, an up and coming local brewery. It's in a former industrial bakery and is a beautiful space, with a modest but open tasting room with a good collection of tables and a window looking into the brew center. Sadly, they weren't doing any tours, but I did get to take my own tasting tour through their collection of beers. Their beers are excellent and very unique (they even have a seasonal called Holy Mole which takes the chocolate and cinnamon flavors of a traditional Mexican mole and mixes them with a darker almost stout or porter base). If you like beer and are in Missouri, try them. They've only been around for a year, so their distribution is low (none in Cali unfortunately), but they are a brewery to watch for.

Ahhh...Mother's milk

As I was hoping would happen, the brewery turned out to be the best place to meet new people. People who like beer tend to be pretty friendly and enthusiastic to talk to fellow beer lovers, and especially with more and more beer consumption comes more and more conversation. I was adopted by a group of locals who themselves had just met at the brewery, and when they found out why I was in town, they all were eager and willing to contribute to my knowledge base. In fact, several of them had grown up Pentecostal, and were still practicing. After some time at Mothers, one of my new friends invited me and another couple to join him, his wife, and his friends for dinner at Farmer's Gastropub down the street. We continued our merrymaking and conversation over there, where I met another Pentecostal man who gave me even more insight into the contemporary practice of the religion. They were so open and friendly, and so willing to talk to me about their beliefs without trying to proselytize or convert, it was wonderful. We talked about all manner of things, but my discussions with them about religion really stick out. Paul and I had very long philosophical conversations about faith and both agreed that it is a shame that dialogue isn't encouraged and engaged in between believers and non-believers in a respectful and productive manner. It leads to so much tension, miscommunication, and stereotype. 


After a long and boisterous dinner, we went our separate ways, and I returned to Mothers Brewery in time to get a call from Nancy Rose, my couchsurfing host. "Where are you?" she asked, and she and her friends came and scooped me up in their car for more merriment. They whisked me off to a slightly divey but welcoming bar to hear some blues. Her friend Amy, back for a visit from Shanghai where she teaches, also grew up Pentecostal and has since left the faith, and gave me some more insight and perspective. Apparently, you can't swing a pint glass around Springfield without hitting a Pentecostal. Lucky me. :) We danced and drank and laughed together until the early hours, when they dropped me off at my car and I made my way back to Nancy's. It was an epic day for sure, and the most welcomed I have felt on my whole trip.


It was also the night that I broke two of the three no-no's of Pentecostalism:


-Don't drink (check)
-Don't dance (check)
-Don't smoke tobacco...safe!


I wonder if the fact that I was doing these sacriligious acts with Pentecostals lessens the sinning impact?

That's what they keep telling me. Only this time, it's in neon.

One More Postponement

Hi all, 


I promise that I will have new blogs tomorrow morning, but I am so pooped after a long day of driving, and a night of little sleep and much fun, that I can't seem to make it all the way through my catch up blog. I'll wake up bright and early tomorrow and bang it out, Scout's Honor.


Thanks for your patience guys! I'll try to make it worth the wait.

This Time Tomorrow

You shall have two extra posts. But for now, today has been too eventful for me to be able to devote an evening to blogging. So, I will hold you in suspense, and only assuage such suspense slightly by reassuring you that I am still alive.

xoxoxoxoxoox

A demain

Missouri Loves Company

After a long drive, I have made it to Springfield, Missouri. Before I backtrack and recount the day's travels, I feel the need to draw attention to the fact that I am writing this from a comfortable bed on a sun porch with the sounds of cicadas and frogs in my ears. I am not in corn land anymore, folks. I feel like I'm in a Carson McCullers or William Faulkner novel. Even though I know I'm in the wrong part of the country for those two and I'm still technically the Midwest. It is definitely a different environment all together from what I've seen so far. It feels like Southern summertime. It's 90 degrees, steamy, with the glow of a near full moon, and a kind of electric activity in the air. But let me rewind...

I woke up this morning in West Baden or technically French Lick, Indiana. I never explained this, but French Lick and West Baden are two communities right up against each other but, until recently, when the state government forced them to consolidate for the purposes of school zoning, they had remained for most of their history as separate, and rather contentious entities. The origins of the two communities are rooted in the mineral springs here, and started their lives as competing resorts and hotels, which then grew into competing communities. 

The hotels in their heydays. Can you feel the tension?

So, technically, when I said I was in West Baden, I was actually staying in French Lick. The confusion is understandable for an outsider, since the area is so small that they only recently acquired a second stop light (not actually sure if that is on the West Baden or French Lick side). 

I learned all of this and much much more at the French Lick Museum (or is it the West Baden Museum?). I had attempted to visit them yesterday, but they were closed for the Fourth of July. So, early this morning, I eagerly packed up and fled Granny's track house in favor of the museum. There, I met the most helpful and friendly woman, Lynn, who gave me and a couple other visitors a detailed and impassioned tour of the history of the area. I got a hold of loads of more circus resources, both literally in the form of primary source documents like circus tickets and letters between performers, and in terms of the references and facts that Lynn bestowed upon me. 

Front and back of a 1918 ticket to a performance of the Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus

Facts like the invention of the seat wagon, used by many circuses during the time, that enabled the seating to be folded out from a wagon base and reduce the set up time for the show. 

Fold out circus V.I.P seats

I also learned many random facts about the area, like for example, that the mineral water that made the area so famous, bottled as Pluto water, is no longer bottled and sold because in the 1970s the FDA shut them down because the water was found to have trace amounts of lithium in it. No wonder it was so popular.

That lady is super high on spring water

Also, that tomato juice was first made here, because the chef at the West Baden Springs Hotel ran out of oranges one morning and so, in desperation, he juiced the tomatoes. After this "invention," they bottled and sold their own tomato juice. So we all have West Baden, Indiana to thank for our bloody marys.

And for all you sports fans out there (and those who know me know this doesn't apply to me), West Baden is the birth place of basketball star Larry Bird. There's a sports bar/restaurant here devoted to him, that is apparently pretty terrible. I never tried it, so I can't attest to its mediocrity.


I spent a long time at the museum, and could have stayed longer, but I still had to drive the sevenish hours to Springfield today, so I bid adieu to Lynn and hit the road again. I drove through the rest of Indiana (more corn). Drove through Southern Illinois (more corn). Somewhere in between I passed Bourbon, Indiana, and, after all that corn, I was tempted to pull over to test out this place's namesake. But I kept going.

Terrible picture of the Bourbon water tower. I swear I wasn't drunk when I took this: I'm just really terrible at multitasking

Then suddenly I found myself in Missouri and saw...NO CORN. I was shocked. As soon as I crossed the Missouri border and passed the iconic St. Louis arch, the terrain changed dramatically.

Ubiquitous St. Louis Arch photo, the taking of which caused me to take the wrong exit and get caught in a labyrinth of road construction and bridges.

 Rolling hills, craggy cliff sides, vast stretches of verdant woods. IN God's Wildness indeed!

This pic does not do Missouri justice. This is some real beautiful country. Soundtrack: classic rock

Now, don't get me wrong. I have nothing against corn. In fact, corn to me signals summertime. But after driving for days and seeing the same cornfields outside my window with little to no variation, it was a breath of fresh air to see a new, and varied landscape. The Missouri roadways have their own quirks that kept my interest piqued on my drive.


In particular, they have the most interesting array of billboards dotting the sides of the roads. Sadly, because of my lack of solo road trip photography skills I was unable to document this accurately, but the first humorous sign grouping I saw began with one billboard that said "RENT ME" in big letters, followed by a second billboard that read "JESUS." Most likely this second sign was not actually affiliated with the first, but their close proximity made it hard not to connect the two. A few miles down the road, another billboard simply said, "Pleasure Zone."

Never found out where that Pleasure Zone was. Perhaps I'll find it in Springfield? (wink wink nudge nudge)

Also, in the midst of many billboards advertising Adult Superstores, including another Lion's Den Adult Superstore, I saw my favorite billboard of the day, which read "Profanity is not Attractive." This sign was made all the more ironic by the fact that I was listening to the attractively profane hip hop mix made for me by my roommate, the DJing dentist, Mr. Maciek Dolata. I guess this girl is going to have to clean up her sailor mouth (and her sailor-tongued soundtrack) before Missouri. The fact that all of the speed signs included a maximum and minimum speed limit only added to the dichotomous climate of peculiarity of the drive. This place sure is pulled in two directions, and just can't seem to decide whether it wants to embark into the realm of hedonistic sin or righteous salvation. Maybe that's the energy in the night air that I'm feeling. 


Another side note, in addition to all the erotica, Missouri seems to grow its fair share of exotica too, as in exotic animals. I saw one field that had several llamas and alpacas grazing alongside a couple emus and a herd of burros. Sadly, I was too slow to snap a picture (also, after my failed attempt to document "RENT ME, JESUS," which almost resulted in me running off the road, I figured I should holster my camera phone).


I made great time on my drive to Springfield, and got to my destination right on time. A little word on my destination: this is the first of my couchsurfing experiments. I have never couchsurfed before, but I took the plunge for this trip because I figured it would save me a lot of money and it would be a great way to meet local types. So far, I am huge fan of this process. I am staying with a wonderful woman named Nancy Rose, who immediately took me under her wing. Although not religious (like myself), she has several friends who are either practicing Pentecosts or who grew up in the church (we are in the hotbed of Pentecostalism after all) and she has offered to introduce me to them. That and she took me to a most delicious Vietnamese restaurant: I almost wept for joy at having something other than fast food, or Amy's frozen organic dinners. We shared stories about travels and our lives, and are getting along quite wonderfully. I would wax more poetically on her and her stories, but I am getting quite sleepy so I will save more of that for tomorrow. We have plans to go to the First Friday Art Walk here, which I think will be a welcome respite after my Pentecostal extravaganza tomorrow. I'm sure some art, a stiff drink, and some good, non-fire and brimstoning company will be a nice antidote.


After dinner, she took me a nice walk around the neighborhood, through gardens and parks. As we neared her house again, we heard an owl hooting in the distance. The air was hot and sticky and, though I thought this weather would make me feel lethargic, it made me feel primed for adventuring. But, my travel worn body got the best of me and after talking a long, lovely, cool shower and finishing the evening with some ice cream, I excused myself to catch you all up on my day before trying to catch some z's. 


And this is where I will leave you, my dears. I hope your dreams are filled with the buzzing lullabies of night critters. I'm sure mine will be. 

Go On with Your (West) Bad(en) Self!

After leaving the EFRC, I headed out to West Baden, Indiana, another former winter quarters for the circus. On my way, I saw more corn, even more churches, and a disturbing number of anti-abortion signs dotting the interstate. I counted seven on the less than three hour drive between Center Point and West Baden. So, word to the wise: don't go searching for a Planned Parenthood in these parts. Yowsa!


By this leg of the journey, I was tired. Like dead tired. I have been having trouble sleeping pretty much every night while away, sometimes due to the time difference, sometimes due to excitement, and apparently, sometimes due to allergic respiratory distress. So, when I rolled into West Baden, expecting to land at the luxurious "Artist's Cottage" that I had reserved, and instead got something more along the lines of Grandma's track home (imagine dead lawn, drab shag carpeting, ugly art, threadbare towels,no soap for taking a shower, and damn near plastic on the sofas), I felt a little disheartened. Not because I am a glamourpuss and afraid to rough it, but because this place was supposed to be where I splurged a bit and treated myself. Add to that the realization that...dun dun dun, there wasn't an internet connection, and I started to feel a bit lower. I tried to buck up, dolled myself up with some lipstick and a nice frock (for those who know me best, these are sure fire ways for me to feel put together and re-energized) and went out to the historic West Baden Springs Hotel for a cocktail and a nice meal. But, as I have mentioned, I was tired-this side of the grave tired-and I just couldn't rally. So, instead, I left, still starving, still feeling a bit blue and homesick. And I found myself at a little Mexican restaurant (thanks Mom!) that proved to be just what the doctor ordered. And when I say doctor, I mean like a Tijuana pharmacist, because the decent carnitas and margarita, the Spanish-speaking waiters, and the Norteno music playing quietly in the background transported me back to California. I left feeling full and whole again.  


I went back to Grandma's and after wrestling fruitlessly with ways to try to turn my smart phone into a modem so that I could update the blog, or at least watch a stupid movie on itunes, I abandoned myself to sleep.


This morning I woke up feeling like myself again. I had coffee and cereal and then prepared for my day. The owner of Grandma's, Ms. Vesta Seville, had promised to show me around a bit, beginning with the West Baden Museum. Unfortunately, because of the Fourth of July, the museum proved to be closed. I plan on checking it out tomorrow on my way out of here.


Instead, Vesta showed me the old Ballard mansion (Ballard was a biggie in the circus) and his old barn, where some of the circus animals were kept. The barn now serves as the office for a local electrician, who unfortunately put vinyl siding on part of it. Still, you can get an idea of what it used to look like.

She then drove me up to the tallest point in Indiana (in contention with one in South Bend, Indiana) and then drove past some of Ballard's old properties. After my brisk tour, she gave me the contact information for her mother, a devout Pentecost, in the hopes that I would be able to meet up with her and attend service today. However, unfortunately, service was canceled, but Helen Hildenbrand was a lovely lady and agreed that it would be alright if I called her in the future with any questions.


After my whirlwind tour of West Baden, I decided that I would try out the West Baden Springs Hotel again, now that I was fortified and well-slept. I have been sitting here at the bar ever since, taking full advantage of their internet connection, their delicious food and drinks, and of course, their beautiful atrium.

A little history on West Baden, and the West Baden Springs Hotel. This area was very popular, especially in the 1920s, for partying. It was conveniently near Louisville for the Kentucky Derby, as well as being an attractive destination in its own right for its mineral springs. The resorts and casinos here were built to accommodate the likes of Al Capone and other notable/notorious types, who would take their private railcars down here, party it up at the resorts, go down to the races, and then come back up here and party some more. The evidence of this lavish past can be seen in this beautifully extravagant building. 

So, that's all the news that's fit to print around these parts. I'm going to go see if there are any Fourth of July festivities going on around here. At the very least I'll try to scare up a burger and a beer somewhere. Maybe I'll even drive out to the circus winter quarters and have a picnic. That sounds appropriately patriotic.