The Power of Getting Away: Postcards from the Northeast

Today I gave myself what every soul, young and old, needs at least once in a while: a good, old fashioned snow day, complete with napping, pajamas, carrot ginger soup, hot tea, quality time with my doggies, reflection, and what our spirits all need in these harried times: rest.

I've always longed to do one of those Northeast autumn road trips. Like my snow day, it does a soul good. I really believe in the merits of getting away, even if it's just for the day or overnight. One of my favorite memories? A day filled with apple picking, a scenic walk, and pumpkin ravioli in New Paltz, New York. Reflecting, on this snowy day, on my late September trip. For the first time, except for our first stop, we had no agenda or plan.  It was just, "Where to next?"

Fortunately, I have a husband who doesn't think his wife is nuts when she proposes driving five hours north to visit the Wilder Homestead in Malone, New York, the boyhood home of Laura Ingalls Wilder's husband Almanzo. I've often told Steve he's my Almanzo, to which he says, "Who?"

I think we've strayed too far from our agrarian roots.

Butternut squash is a fall dietary staple for me. At Donovan's Steak and Ale in Malone, the daily soup was a divine creamy butternut squash.

They had just changed their menu from what I saw online, but the chef agreed to make the vegetarian risotto. I got three meals out of this!

Black  raspberry soft serve at a roadside ice cream parlor down the road from Donovan's.

The Kilburn Manor in Malone. Mrs. Bucket (pronounced Bouquet!) of Keeping Up Appearances would love this stately home turned bed and breakfast.

 

The shades of green in the room we stayed in were so soothing. On the bed, a copy of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass from their library.

A regal library. Browsing through a book of Ansel Adams, bringing back cherished memories of my Southwest travels.

Next stop: Burlington, Vermont. Does it sound strange for someone who works in New York City and lives in congested northern New Jersey to say that Burlington was almost too big of a city for me?

I love a French bistro, and taking time to savor good food. During the week, I eat lunch almost daily in front of my computer checking news and email, even though I always vow to treat myself to lunch at the French bistro nearby more often. Cookbook author Dynise Balcavage who pens the blog Urban Vegan said it so well commenting on her reverse culture shock after a trip to Paris,

"Reentry to the US was particularly hard for me this time. Why? I miss the little nothings – les petits riens, For example, generally speaking, in France, people sit down to eat meals, with – gasp! – other people at actual tables sans TV and cell phones, mais avec an awareness of the food they are consuming and an appreciation for the companionship they share. Their lives are real, three-dimensional lives that don't center on social media."

With that in mind, having a social media-less lunch at Leunig's Bistro and Café.

A platter with fruits, crackers and local Vermont cheese.

An autumn salad with roasted butternut squash, cranberry goat cheese, toasted nuts on spinach with a yellow curry dressing.

Maple crème brulee with mint tea.

Bikes outside the Peace and Justice store, which sells a variety of fair trade goods.

Strolling along the waterfront. Two men were here enjoying white wine and playing some old French music and their appetite for life and enjoying the moment was infectious.

Nestled behind these trees was our lodging for the night, the Beal House Inn in Littleton, New Hampshire. I'll take towering trees over towering skyscrapers any day.

A dramatic four poster bed. Rose wallpaper is in the room here, and I don't know why wallpaper gets disdained so often. I love it.

When we drove by the Wagon Wheel restaurant in Jefferson, New Hampshire, we quickly turned around. I love these wonderful Americana restaurants I find on road trips.

A pancake (one was plenty!) with cinnamon apples, red raspberry herbal tea and orange juice.

I loved the landscape of New Hampshire at once.

Off to Mount Washington. My Honda Civic doesn't go into the right gear to drive up here, so we got a free trip paid by Honda to go via a van tour.

Reaching the top, I felt at once like a bird.

The trains here...

 ...look like toy models when viewed far away.

 

 

Taking a break from the wind and cold, breathing in fragrant balsam fir which fill these pouches. I picked up a small pouch adorned with bears and trees earlier at the Wagon Wheel gift shop. The woods really did smell of it.

 



 

Since the Tip Top House was for dinners of travelers past (love the red-checked tablecloth)...

 

we enjoyed nourishment in the cafeteria. A hummus sandwich, vegetable soup and pumpkin tea.

Our view. The "Sound of Music" song is so right,

"The hills are alive with the sound of music

With songs they have sung for a thousand years
The hills fill my heart with the sound of music
My heart wants to sing every song it hears
My heart wants to beat like the wings of the birds that rise from the lake to the trees
My heart wants to sigh like the chime that flies from a church on a breeze
To laugh like a brook as it trips and falls over stones on its way
To sing through the night like a lark who is learning to pray
I go to the hills when my heart is lonely
I know I will hear what I've heard before
My heart will be blessed with the sound of music
And I'll sing once more."

Spending time in nature makes me want to be a better caretaker of the Earth. In daily life, I'm a big believer in old fashioned energy conservation, like turning off the lights or hang drying laundry.

One of my favorite sonic storytellers from youth, and even today, is the band R.E.M. People know them for more showy songs like The One I Love, but I've always loved best their more quiet songs. From Maps and Legends off of Fables of the Reconstruction, I could relate to the need for solace and road less taken. In the landscape here, I found my own yellow, red and green.

"On his own where he'd rather be.

Where he ought to be he sees what you can't see.
Can't you see that.

Maybe he's caught in the legend.
Maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends have been misunderstood.

Down the way the road's divided paint me the places you have seen.
Those who know what I don't know what I don't know refer to the yellow, red and green.

The map that you painted didn't seem real.
He just sings whatever he sees.
Point to the legend, point to the east.
Point to the yellow, red and green."

We had a night and day left, and decided we overlooked Stowe, Vermont. On the way there, we happened upon the Fisher Bridge in Wolcott, Vermont. I often hear sky blue bells ring when hear the trains roll by, or think about the ghosts of trains past, thanks to the poetic take of R.E.M.'s Driver 8 from Fables of the Reconstruction.


"The walls constructed stone by stone.
The fields divided one by one.
And the train conductor says take a break, driver 8.
Driver 8, take a break, we've been on this shift too long.

And the train conductor says take a break, driver 8.
Driver 8 we can reach our destination, but we're still a ways away.

I saw a tree house on the outskirts on the farm.
The power lines have floaters so the airplanes don't get snagged.
The bells are ringing through the town again.
The children look up all they hear are
sky blue bells ring."

Taking the time, for we all have the time for it if we make it, to observe the beauty of flowers by the bridge, recalling what one of my favorite painters, Georgia O'Keeffe, said,

"When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it's your world for the moment. I want to give that world to someone else. Most people in the city rush around so, they have no time to look at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not. I decided that if I could paint that flower in a huge scale you could not ignore its beauty."

 

 

The real reason for going back to Stowe. My impulsive urge to dine at the restaurant of the Trapp Family Lodge!

 

 

We were lucky enough to have a merciful maître'd get us in for an early dinner on a Friday night before the restaurant filled up.

 

  

After sharing a Caesar salad with garlic croutons and Vermont Cabot cheese and having some hot apple cider to drink, I had the pumpkin ravioli appetizer with sage brown butter and pumpkin seeds. 

 

 

The Linzertorte (spiced walnut crust with raspberry and currant preserves), and of course, we had to get the crisp apple strudel!

 

 

Edelweiss vases adorn the table.  Edelweiss is one of my favorite songs from the musical. Which is yours? Did you see the NBC broadcast of The Sound of Music? I have it recorded to watch soon. Whatever the end result (no one can fairly fill the shoes of Julie Andrews who has the voice of an angel), I say three cheers for the potential of drawing a new audience to this story, a major network bringing back a musical to prime time television, and some family entertainment. On this front maybe I'm getting more conservative as I age, but so much of today's entertainment seems dumbed down or tabloid-worthy.

 

I also think this line in a Washington Post article sums up so much of what's wrong with society since social media overtook our worlds.

 

"Some viewers hoped it would be worse because that would have been more fun to mock on Twitter."

 

In addition to the loss of language, I'm not sure why so many comments online need to be snarky and mean spirited in nature. Much like those gentlemen sipping on their white wine in Burlington, I want to surround myself by positive forces and see the beauty in life, not the negativity. Like the simple beauty of these flowers by a glowing candle.

 

 

 I love this photo of the family enjoying story time. Let's bring back story time!

 

If I turn it on at random, a lot of time spent in front of the television feels like time wasted. Time spent in a garden never conjures that feeling.

At the gift shop, I couldn't resist picking up this copy of My Favorite Things, a beautifully illustrated children's book. A reminder to delight in the simple joys.

The Trapp Family Lodging is very pricey (dinner there was a splurge), so we stayed at the more reasonable and very lovely Northern Lights Lodge in Stowe, so enjoying their indoor swimming pool and partaking in the complimentary hot breakfast. Blueberry pancakes, apple juice and coffee.

 

 

A nearby diner getting ready to dive into a good book.

 

 

I love these beautiful churches. One of my favorite hymns is "For the Beauty of the Earth," something I felt like signing during my trip here. This hymn from 1864 reminds me to not only observe the beauty everywhere, but give thanks for it.

 

"For the beauty of each hour

of the day and of the night,
hill and vale, and tree and flower,
sun and moon, and stars of light....

For the joy of ear and eye, for the heart and brain's delight,
for the mystic harmony
sinking sense to sound and sight"

  

Quite possibly the best cider donut I've ever eaten at Cold Hollow in Stowe with some hot apple cider. Does autumn get any better?

 

 

For the ultimate fast food, turn to nature.



A cheese tasting at Cabot.

 

My chef husband Steve is always interested in behind the scenes of food operations, so we did the tour of Ben and Jerry's. The decadent triple caramel chunk was our free sample at the tour's end.

 

  

My berry berry (raspberry and blueberry) sorbet. If this is a small, what does the large look like?!?

 

 

You can tour their flavor graveyard. The Rainforest Crunch sounded right up my ally.

 

 

Pumpkins at a roadside farm stand.

 

 

Travel time: just a few days. Memories: enough to last a lifetime. 

 

Seeking solace in nature, away from the maddening pace of modern and city life, recalling some favorite passages from R.E.M.'s Find the River from Automatic for the People" and wishing for you to find a quiet place.

"Hey now, little speedy head,
The read on the speed meter says
You have to go to task in the city
Where people drown and people serve
Don't be shy
Your just deserve
Is only just light years to go.

Me, my thoughts are flower strewn
Ocean storm, bayberry moon
I have got to leave to find my way
Watch the road and memorize
This life that pass before my eyes
Nothing is going my way

The ocean is the river's goal,
A need to leave the water knows
We're closer now than light years to go

I have got to find the river,
Bergamot and Vetiver
Run through my head and fall away...

We're closer now than light years to go
Pick up here and chase the ride
The river empties to the tide
Fall into the ocean

The river to the ocean goes,
A fortune for the undertow
None of this is going my way
There is nothing left to throw
Of Ginger, lemon, indigo,
Coriander stem and rose of hay
Strength and courage overrides
The privileged and weary eyes
Of river poet search naivete
Pick up here and chase the ride
The river empties to the tide
All of this is coming your way."

Reflections on Storytelling: A Visit to the Wilder Homestead

"On a day when she was particularly blue and unhappy, the neighbor to the west, a bachelor living alone, stopped as he was driving by and brought a partly filled grain sack to the house. When Laura opened the door, Mr. Sheldon stepped inside, and taking the sack by the bottom, poured the content out on the floor. It was a paper-backed set of Waverly novels.

 

"Thought they might amuse you," he said. "Don't be in a hurry! Take your time reading them!" And as Laura exclaimed in delight, Mr. Sheldon opened the door, closed it behind him quickly and was gone. And now the four walls of the close, overheated house opened wide, and Laura wandered with brave knights and ladies fair beside the lakes and streams of Scotland or in castles and towers, in noble halls or lady's bower, all through the enchanting pages of Sir Walter Scott's novels.

She forget to feel ill at the sight or smell of food, in her hurry to be done with the cooking and follow her thoughts back into the book. When the books were all read and Laura came back to reality, she found herself feeling much better.

It was a long way from the scenes of Scott's old tales to the little house on the bleak, wintry prairie, but Laura brought back from them some of their magic and music and the rest of the winter passed comfortably." - From the chapter, "A Year of Grace" from Laura Ingalls Wilder's "The First Four Years."

While Laura was trying to escape the isolated prairie with the outlet of a book, I read Laura Ingalls Wilder and other storytellers to escape what feels like suffocating crowds as I rush about New York City's Port Authority bus terminal, the maddening pace as I make my way to and from work, and the congestion of the area I live in. In this season of gratitude, I'm giving thanks to storytellers. I need storytellers in my life for my mental soundness as much as a doctor for my physical well-being. They walk with me in my life, their words become part of my spirit.

Remembering Laura's words as I reflect on my visit in September to the Wilder Homestead in Malone, New York. This is the boyhood home of husband Almanzo Wilder and is the setting for her book, Farmer Boy, based on his childhood spent there.

"In the corner between the window to the east and the window to the south was a small stand-table with an easy armchair at one side and a small rocker at the other. Above it suspended from the ceiling was a glass lamp with glittering pendants. That was the parlor part of the room, and when copies of Scott's and Tennyson's poems were on the stand it would be complete. She would have some geraniums growing in cans on the windows and then it would simply be beautiful." - The First Four Years.

Geraniums outside the boyhood home. I will always have geraniums. Maybe love of flowers gets passed on. My grandmother in Switzerland kept geraniums, as did my mother, and I do too.

I couldn't take pictures in the home, but so admired the Willow ware. Here, Willow ware from the Pioneer Farm Museum in Eatonville, Washington, and also thinking of the red-checked tablecloths Laura referred to. We'll visit here at a later time.

We hear about the loss of the American dinnertime when families ate together, but I think too of the storytime. It was a constant thread in Laura's life and books, whether it was reading favorite novels or poetry, serials in the paper or latest news events. Even in commercials today, Americans are portrayed as sitting on their couches glued to their devices without interaction. Is dinnertime and storytime part of your family and was it part of your childhood?

In the parlor, recalling this scene from "Winter Night" in Farmer Boy,

"Mother knitted and rocked in her high-backed rocking chair. Father carefully scraped a new ax-handle with a bit of broken glass. Royal carved a chain of tiny links from a smooth stick of pine, and Alice sat on her hassock, doing her woolwork embroidery. And they all ate popcorn and apples and drank sweet cider, except Eliza Jane. Eliza Jane read aloud the news in the New York weekly paper.


Almanzo sat on a footstool by the stove, an apple in his hand, a bowl of popcorn by his side, and his mug of cider on the hearth by his feet. He bit the juicy apple, then ate some popcorn, then he took a drink of his cider."

Flash forward to Almanzo and Laura as a young married couple with daughter Rose,

"While Manly ate his evening bowl of popcorn and Rose worked her arithmetic sums by the light of the kerosene lamp, Laura read to them all. During those evenings they read The Leatherstocking Tales, Five Little Peppers and How they Grew, Pride and Prejudice, Ben Hur, The House of Seven Gables and Martin Chuzzlewit." - from William Anderson's Laura Ingalls Wilder: A Biography"

Charles Ingalls made sonic stories with his fiddle. Laura said,

"How it made merry with us when we were glad and sympathized with us when we were sad. It gave us songs of praise when we had been good or successful and acted as confessor when we had been bad. Whatever religion, romance and patriotism I have I owe largely to the violin and Pa playing in the twilight." - Laura Ingalls Wilder: A Biography

Some 127 songs are included in the Little House books, and musicologist Dale Cockrell was the force behind "Pa's Fiddle"  a PBS special that is available on DVD and CD and three other CDs. I love the seed was planted simply by Dale reading the books to his young son at night. This is not just a series for girls. His goal is admirable, trying to "change the music consciousness of the nation with the legacy of the music that has been left behind." He says he has been pushing this rock up the mountain for several years, and I think many of us who hope for richer American culture than what is in the mass media now feel like they are pushing a rock up too. Let's push together.



After her visit to San Francisco in 1915 to visit Rose and attend the world's fair, Laura's love of her country home life was reinforced. My soul is so tired of working life in New York City, and can appreciate her words, "We who live in quiet places," Laura wrote in the Ruralist, "have the opportunity to become acquainted with ourselves, to think our own thoughts and live our own lives. " - Laura Ingalls Wilder: A Biography. I want to live in a quieter place, and seek a less harried life.

Laura's mother, Caroline Ingalls wrote in a composition as a schoolgirl, "Who would wish to leave home and wander forth, in the world, to meet its tempests and its storms? Give me a place at home, with a seat at the fireside, where all is happy and free."

There's a whole home industry that tries to convince people their home isn't modern enough. When I watch the HGTV channel, I think how did we come from a nation of this hardy stock who made everything to complaining about walking all the way to their basement to do laundry (imagine), not having a double sink vanity or granite countertops? Oh the suffering. I even saw a commercial suggesting one updates their kitchen for the holidays! Steve and I have been in every house imaginable during our estate sale visits and I've concluded home is about the people in them, not the finishings. Besides, there is always a certainty about anything "modern." Given enough time it will be outdated.

All I want is a place that's snug and cozy.

 

The New York Public Library issued a list of the 100 Great Children's Books of the past 100 years, and I couldn't believe that none of the Little House books made the list. She has so much wisdom to share. Her words to schoolchildren in 1947 are as relevant as ever,

 

"The Little House books are stories of long ago. The way we live and your schools are much different now, so many changes have made living and learning easier. But the real things haven't changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures and to be cheerful and have courage when things go wrong." - From Laura Ingalls Wilder: A Biography.



 

 

Those timeless simple pleasures are recalled in Laura's stories. Pioneer families delighted in blueberry season just as I look forward to New Jersey blueberries each summer.

 

"Before dawn next day they were all riding away in the lumber-wagon, wearing their oldest clothes and taking pails and bushel baskets and a big picnic lunch. They drove far into the mountains near Lake Chateaugay, where the wild huckleberries grew.

 

The woods were full of other wagons, and other families berrying. They laughed and sang, and all among the tress you could hear their talking. Every year they all met friends here, that they didn't see any other time. But all of them were busily picking berries; they talked while they worked." - from the chapter, "Summer-time" - Farmer Boy.



 

Laura: "What's that sweet smell, Pa?"

Charles: "It's the smell of the prairie, mixed with the smell of cut wood."

Laura: I'll never forget this smell as long as I live." - Little House on the Prairie - the television miniseries.

 

So much of the Little House books and films to me are about nudging the memory. Of scents, sounds, places and faces. We live in such materialistic times so focused on excess and the next new shiny toy, we get away from what's most essential. Leaving you with Laura's memories of childhood, none of which involves any "thing".

 

"The early memories of home were images that Laura always loved to recall. Later in life she began calling them "the pictures that hang in my memory." The snug, cozy feeling of warm evenings, the voices of Ma and Pa and the soft firelight on the log walls made pictures that never faded for her."

 

"The first remembrance is of my Father always," she wrote. "My first memory is of his eyes, so clear and sharp and blue. Those eyes could look so unerringly along a rifle barrel in the face of a bear or a pack of wolves and yet were so tender as they rested on his Caroline, my mother, or me when I was sick....His arms were so strong...and they carried me many a night when I was sick and restless. I can hear his measured steps yet, back and forth across the floor, feel the comfort of those strong arms and hear his soothing, 'There, there.' And also his kind voice saying, 'Now Caroline, you lie down and sleep'." Of Ma she writes, "lessons learned at Mother's knee last all through life. But dearer than Mother's teachings are little personal memories: Mother's face, Mother's touch, Mother's voice." Laura Ingalls Wilder: A Biography.

 

The Sweet By and By, the song Charles Ingalls requested be played at his funeral.



 

Grateful for the Bountiful Harvest: A Season of Thanksgiving

As Not Seen on TV: I live in New Jersey, which is the "Garden State."

I paid a visit to Abma's Farm in Wyckoff in September, one of the many wonderful farms in our state. My soul feels much more content when I visit farms on a regular basis. This past weekend, I feasted at Demarest Farm in Hillsdale on some specials - butternut squash ravioli in alfredo sauce, string beans, and a pumpkin scone with apple cider before it soon closes for the winter season. The apple and pumpkin picking masses are now gone, and business seems so quiet compared to the packed supermarket parking lots.

At Abma's, my farm to table lunch feast of pumpkin soup, a pretzel roll and hot cider with cinnamon.

Fresh donuts from their bakery.

Fresh herbs to delight the nose and tongue. These are nature's best perfume and really are a gift. I have a little wooden pumpkin I got at a garage sale in our kitchen that says "Give Thanks" on it and a little thrifted book beside it, "A Gift of Herbs: An Illustrated Garden in Miniature" by Peg Streep.

It's hard not to feel cheered here.

It is a very cold, rainy day as I write from the comfort of my home in New Jersey. I'm thinking of minor complaints, like the temporary discomfort I'll feel in the cold while walking the dogs. But the farmers read the weather for their livelihood. As Daisy so wisely said on Downton Abbey, "No farmer's his own boss. He takes his orders from the sun and the snow and the wind and the rain."

I do not want to silently be a witness to the transformation of Thanksgiving into yet another shopping holiday. This is the season of gratitude following the harvest time. I am remembering and have a grateful heart for our local farmers who march on against the tides of big agribusiness, and all the farmers who produce food for our plates. Thank you farmers.  I loved how Laura Ingalls Wilder in The First Four Years put it despite struggling with multiple crop failures and hardships,

"It would be a fight to win out in this business of farming, but strangely she felt her spirit rising for the struggle.

The incurable optimism of the farmer who throws his seed on the ground every spring, betting it and his time against the elements, seemed inextricably to blend with the creed of her pioneer forefathers that "it is better farther on" and only instead of farther on in space, it was farther on in time, over the horizon of the years ahead instead of the far horizon of the west....

Manly was coming from the barn and he was singing:
You talk of the mines of Australia,
They've wealth in red gold, without doubt;
But, ah! there is gold in the farm, boy -
If only you'll shovel it out."

 

How much better it is now versus then is an age-old subject for debate, but I don't think it's better how disconnected we are from our food supply since few of us produce much (or any of it). How much are the retail shoppers thinking of where their items are produced? Is all this materialism better?

"Give us this day our daily bread." One of the few possessions salvaged from a fire during the early years of Laura and Almanzo Wilder's marriage was a plate they purchased for their first Christmas with this prayer. I don't think of it as much in the religious sense but as gratitude for the food we receive.

Let us also remember the forgotten farm animals. I don't consume meat (chicken, beef or pork), but animal by-products are in my diet and once in a very blue moon, fish. Pigs living as they should, basking in the sunshine. I'm so saddened by factory farms conditions most animals have to live in. In a passage in her 1913 novel, O Pioneers! (Part 1, The Free Land) Will Cather seemed to be giving modern generations a warning. Alexandra consults old Ivar, seen as eccentric by some but with so much wisdom, for the elders often have so much of just that to share, if we only listen.

"We have a bunch of hogs, Ivar. I wouldn't sell in the spring, when everybody advised me to, and now so many people are losing their hogs that I am frightened. What can be done?"

Ivar's little eyes began to shine. They lost their vagueness.

"You feed them swill and such stuff? Of course! And sour milk? Oh yes! And keep them in a stinking pen? I tell you, sister, the hogs of this country are put upon! They become unclean, like the hogs in the Bible. If you kept your chickens like that, what would happen? You have a little sorghum patch, maybe? Put a fence around it, and turn the hogs in. Build a shed to give them shade, a thatch on poles. Let the boys haul water to them in barrels, clean water, and plenty. Get them off the old stinking ground, and do not let them go back there until winter. Give them only grain and clean feed, such as you would give horses or cattle. Hogs do not like to be filthy...

That evening, after she had washed the supper dishes, Alexandra sat down on the kitchen doorstep, while her mother was mixing the bread. It was still a deep-breathing summer night, full of the smell of the hay fields. Sounds of laughter and splashing came up from the pasture, and when the moon rose rapidly above the bare rim of the prairie, the pond glittered like polished metal, and she could see the flash of white bodies as the boys ran about the edge or jumped into the water. Alexandra watching the shimmering pool dreamily, but eventually her eyes went to the sorghum patch south of the barn, where she was planning to make her new pig corral."

Western Time Diary: Berkeley, California

One of my favorite scenes in the 1967 film The Graduate is when Simon and Garfunkel's Scarborough Fair comes on as Benjamin drives to see Elaine at school in Berkeley. I can almost smell the greenery of the forest he is driving through. Tori Amos gave a feminine voice to Scarborough Fair, another favorite.

Berkeley was a date of serendipity. We were there the last day of the semester's clothing swap.

I have co-organized clothing swaps at my workplace for several years, and the secondhand market is near and dear to my heart to help keep items out of landfills, not support low wage labor, and empower ourselves financially. I would rather give my money to neighbors in my community at a garage or estate sale, a charity thrift shop or a main street consignment store.

Keep in mind this New York Times article, "Shopping, Before the Turkey Gets Cold,"
"Teenagers and college students can spend only so much time cooped up with their families on a holiday like Thanksgiving.

This year, some retailers are betting that this target spending group dashes out the door after dinner, perhaps dodging dishwashing or other duties, and in all likelihood ditching their parents.      

Destination: the mall.       

 

Teagan Marshall, 20, of New York City, said shopping on Thanksgiving definitely had appeal. As she stood in a Forever 21 in Manhattan, she added, “That seems like a good way to celebrate to me.”

Also consider an op-ed piece in The New York Times this month about the minimum wage by clothing factory workers in Bangladesh, $38 a month, with proposals to raise it to $68 a month. It is estimated that it costs $67 to feed a family of three. These factories supply stores like the ones that shoppers like Teagan will be patronizing.

 



Giving my money to the clothing swap instead: my Charlotte Russe peace sign shoes (how appropriate for Berkeley!), $2. You can read more about the peace sign history which I knew little about myself here.

Voting as often as possible with my dollars and actions for a reuse market. Good news to celebrate: you can support the America you want to live in today.

A peppermint tea at The Musical Offering, a classical music cafe just across from the college. I sat by Bach, and pondered classical storytellers from hundreds of years ago. I wish I had been taught about classical music in the course of my grade school or higher education. This is something I hope to learn about. What do you want to learn about?

We were lucky enough to get same-day reservations at the cafe of Chez Panisse on a Thursday at 1:30. Their $30 prix-fixe was vegetarian, so I went with that. Chez Panisse founded by Alice Waters and a group of friends, was, according to the website, named "in honor of Honoré Panisse, a character in Marcel Pagnol's 1930s movie trilogy about waterfront life in Marseille (Marius, Fanny, and César)."

A garden lettuce salad with Navarro grape juice. I loved all of the interesting non-alcoholic beverage options I kept finding in California if you didn't feel like imbibing. Usually it's just soft drinks or iced tea.

House made bucatini with chanterelle mushrooms, garlic, thyme and breadcrumbs, so simple but so comforting.

Cannard Farms grape sherbet with moscato d'Asti with raspberries, and elderflower nectar tea, all a garden delight for the senses.

Let's go to the farmers market. We're here on the right day, and Alice would want us to.

It's all organic!

There is nothing like in-season, local strawberries. Organic, even better.

Even apples have their stories.

A rainbow of flowers. I was proud to hold a bouquet of flowers on my wedding day from a local farm, Old Hook Farm in Emerson, New Jersey.

We stumbled on a Goodwill, and I found the perfect souvenir from the San Francisco Music Box Company for just $2.99. A touch of California, French living, fruits and vegetables, and the reuse market - all very me.

Key words to describe my California honeymoon I'd use: garden, zen, vegetarian feasts, national parks, trees, books, tea, history lessons and good living. All my most favorite words to start my married life.  Let the adventure continue...