Troubled Journeys

There are some journeys no one wants to take.

My wife and I have had a pretty crazy journey just to get married, we are still amazed and thankful that we found each other and love each other so much. Joy was the theme of our wedding and remained a theme of our marriage. Our theme verse is Psalm 126:3. Inscribed on my wedding ring is:

The Lord has done great things for us

And on her ring is the rest:

and we are filled with joy.

Joy filled our lives, especially marrying so late. The only thing that would increase our joy even more would be adding to our family. We both wanted children. Such things are easier to desire and harder to achieve.

It had taken us months with disappointment after disappointment. We saw doctors. We were finding it would be very difficult for us to have a child at all. We went to her doctor. We went to my doctor. My doctor sent me to a specialist. Surgery was discussed.

Then it happened. As we spent days weighing the necessity of surgery, that little test proved positive. The signs started to appear. Her doctor’s office confirmed our home test and sent us to a great obstetrician. There they confirmed with yet another test, they loaded us down with pamphlets and software galore to help us prepare. Even then the thought was overwhelming and exciting. Suddenly there was a whole part of the world opening to us. Things I used to be able to pass over I now paid attention with great interest. Most department stores have a whole section for babies – who knew?! It had seemed God had given us a little miracle of our own.

And how would we tell our friends and family? We didn’t just want to call and tell; we wanted it to be special. A plan was hatched! We had a clever idea and having just gotten a car for my wife, we used that as a convenient excuse to go to Utah and announce the happy news in person.

How often do plans go smoothly, without a hitch? Seriously, I’d like to know…

We were near the Idaho-Utah border when it started. Amanda noted she had some spotting. It wasn’t much, but just the word sent chills down our spines. We called her OB’s office where we were told not to worry unless it got worse. It didn’t quite stop, but it didn’t seem to get a lot worse. Hoping for the best, we continued down to Utah to her grandparents. We announced the news with the book, enjoying the reactions. We were praying the entire time.

In the morning, we got up. My wife said she didn’t seem to be having any trouble. Her grandfather wanted to take me to the small airfield with her cousin so we could take a look at his kit-plane and so the latter could see about getting his pilot’s license renewed. I was wary about leaving her alone – granted her grandmother would be there too – but understanding this was fun for her family, she encouraged me to go. I’ll admit, it was a lot of fun, and if things didn’t get worse, I might have had a chance to fly as well.

Things got worse. Not a lot, but worrisome all the same. She texted me while her cousin was in the air. Suddenly I couldn’t sit down. I started to pace nervously. I couldn’t relax. When would he get back? My worried attitude was readily apparent to her grandfather – which meant I was very worried. I normally don’t show a lot of emotion. That I couldn’t hide it meant I was truly afraid. Though they offered to let me fly, I noted it was more important we get back.

She was worried as well, I could feel it, but we still hoped for the best. After all, it still wasn’t bad. It was just … there. We had a little lunch at one of our favorite places to eat while we’re in Utah – Rib City. We went to One Sweet Slice (they made our wedding cake, the best wedding cake ever) to cash in a coupon. We tried to carry on as if things might be okay, but really that dark cloud was forming. There were two calls to her OB. We were assured we shouldn’t need to go in unless things got a lot worse. They never really did but the shadow remained. At last the fear was too much. We couldn’t delay any longer. We hurried with her grandmother to the emergency room.

I’ll be honest, most of the time I’m just fine in an emergency room. As young asthmatic boys my brother and I went to the emergency room so often that the staff knew our family by name. In those sorts of situations one either gets terribly stressed by the mention of such things or one gets so used to them that it’s hardly a bother, even welcome. I’m amongst the latter. I felt no ease this time. We still prayed. I’ll admit, I was begging the Lord often. “Please, please don’t break her heart. Please let the baby be well.” Again, my fear was readily apparent. My poor wife was terrified as well and needed reassurance. I found a little entertainment in rolling back and forth on the doctor’s stool, doing what I could to give her a smile. It’s not easy to do something like that when inside you feel a shadow growing over your heart.

The nurses took blood, they made her do tests, and they even performed an ultrasound. In the few short hours we kept giving information, and got little back. Smiles from the nurses and doctors did little to reassure us. The dearth of information was more ominous than anything. Waiting in silence was even harder. The door opening to our exam room became one of frightful anticipation. Again, we just wouldn’t stop praying.

After a long evening, the results came in: a completed miscarriage.

For us, there could be few words any worse to hear, but there it was. All that excitement and anticipation were gone in an instant. Even before those words, even when the bleeding got worse, we could cling to the smallest thread of hope. Please, please baby be okay. Please God let the baby be well. But in a few words that thread was cut. It was over abruptly.

There was a baby. We loved the baby. For a few short weeks, we got to enjoy a love that is a pale glimpse of what the Father has for us. Even before we are born He loves us as His own. Even before our baby was even noticeable to anyone, we loved that child with all our hearts. We were filled with joy in the anticipation of its arrival.

I’m not sure where that joy went. It’s gone. I’m not sure I understand why we were allowed to have this anticipation at all. I’m afraid I still get a bit angry with God at times. Why would He do this? If He didn’t want us to have children, why let us believe we could? If He did, why let us go through such a thing? Why did He have to break her heart? It hurt with such an ache I can hardly describe. It still hurts. I am less angry now. I apologizeto Him  for my anger.

Trepidation fills the hole that joy left. What if we can’t have kids? What if we never do? What if this was our only chance? Sadness layers atop the fear. There was a child we loved. When all sense would say we have no reason to love it, we did. Bitterness fills in the cracks. How is it that people entirely unsuited to have children are able to have many and we cannot? It gets worse as I log into social networks and see all my friends and family celebrating their children, old and new. I can only feel a sense of loss. I feel unfairly bitter towards even those I know to be great parents. I may just stay away from Facebook for a while. It seems to remind me too much of what we might have had.

We had a recent visit to her OB. There the doctor gave us a few facts to help us understand. I’ll admit that it probably helped me more than my wife. My analytical mind loves facts, and it clung to those facts as if they were driftwood in the open sea keeping me afloat. It was nothing we did, and nothing we could have done. It is more common than one would think. We could still have children. My wife struggles, as do I. I’ve found I don’t know what she clings to, but it seems she clings to me. I desperately want to find that stable point for her, and some days it just seems nowhere to be found. I’m reaching out to the Lord, but my fears and doubts surround me. Is He reaching back?

Anger and bitterness subside. I hope the Lord can forgive my anger. I know He has plans for us and is still with us. I fear should He return anger for anger; I am thankful I know He is forgiving and loves us. I pray for the comfort we need. In time, I’m sure, the pain will heal some and life will return to normal.

But that’s just the problem. We didn’t want it to go back to normal.

So the other day I’m lounging in Travel Slob HQ¹, enjoying a delicious and nutritious breakfast³ when my Editor rudely interrupts my reverie with more outrageous demands^4:

Editor:  Listen, it’s been ages since you’ve written another travelogue

The Travel Slob:  I’m conserving energy.  I need it for writing my Great American Novel

Editor:  You’ve never started writing a novel.

The Travel Slob:  I’m still saving up enough energy, and you’re delaying the process.

Editor:  Well I’ll delay that more.  We need a new one right away.

The Travel Slob:  Fine.  I’ve got notes on my honeymoon, we can use that.

Editor:  Your honeymoon?  That was almost six months ago.

The Travel Slob:  Yes, but we traveled.  To Maine.

Editor:  Y’know what?  Fine.  Go with it.  I’m tired of arguing.  Besides, that’s the farthest I’ve heard you traveling.  I can’t believe I pay you for any of this.

The Travel Slob:  You don’t pay me at all.

Editor:  And you don’t give me anything, it’s a mutual relationship.

 

So here I am, writing once more for you, dear readers (reader? Anyone out there?  Hello?  Hello?)  And yes, I am recently married to a gorgeous woman.  She even said she’d read my blogs which means that she may now be doubling my readership!  Thank you, darlin’!

After a lovely wedding (which henceforth I shall refer to as the Best Wedding Ever), we enjoyed a limo ride to gather our things, and then to our honeymoon hotel.  Of course, the wrong hotel was given to the driver so we ended up taking a little longer drive – much to our driver’s consternation.  We spend the night in the Little America Hotel where PRIVACY PLEASE!  Sheesh, you people just have no decency.  Except for you, honey.

This is all you get to see.

 

Friday morning we board a plane in Salt Lake City, Utah.  A connecting flight is made in Detroit.  I can now say I have set foot in Michigan but I shall not as I don’t count airports.  I’m fairly certain the Detroit airport is the cleanest thing in Detroit and it is indeed kept rather immaculate.  Of interesting note, the airport sports a tram in one section which is raised above the walkways but visible from the side.  It gives one the sense of being in Disneyland except without the mice or princess parades, and you’re in Detroit.  Food prices match about the same, however.

The next stop, Portland, Maine!  The airport there is definitely made to give one the sense of coastal Maine.  Heck, one can buy live lobster in the airport of all places.  Rocking chairs are among the amenities allowed travelers waiting for planes.  It’s a small airport with a homey feel.  Well done, Portland.

 

Seriously ... lobster at an airport.

 

Mrs. The Travel Slob and I, excited about our recent Best Wedding Ever, check in at Enterprise rent-a-car.  Though I reserved a compact model, they say for just a little more – the price of a mid-size – they’d upgrade us to a luxury car just for our honeymoon.  So, instead of a little Toyota Bucket on four wheels, we spent the weekend driving a Chrysler 300.  Well done, Enterprise.  Our next destination, the mountains!

The Bear Mountain Inn lies near Harrison, Maine only spittin’ distance from New Hampshire (note to the good people of New Hampshire: We did not spit).  It lies within the hills and mountains of Maine, with a lakefront and fine accommodations.  We rented the Sugar Bear Cottage, a small building off the side of the inn which gave Mrs. The Travel Slob and me the privacy we desired because all you people just need to back off already!  The cottage was cozy, sporting a bed, small table and chairs, a kitchenette, a bathroom to the side, and a fireplace that got plenty of use.  Hanging in the bathroom were two Turkish Bathrobes which were long and fluffy and comfortable.  It’s like wearing a teddy bear without the disturbing Furry enthusiast implications.  Win-win!

Mrs. The Travel Slob next to cozy cottage.

 

It was late, but we went for dinner at the Old Mill Tavern in town nearby.  That night they had the Maurer Meals Charity:  All food on their specials menu were grown or harvested by locals and half the price of dinner was donated to a scholarship fund.  Mrs. The Travel Slob enjoyed a delicious Delmonico steak, while I opted for a shrimp meal.  Along with dinner we had Pumpkinhead Beer – a local brewery’s pumpkin spice ale.  Satisfied and tired from travel, we head to bed.

Saturday morning welcomes us.  Breakfast was French toast, turkey bacon and herb potatoes.  Not much happens for us tourist wise because you don’t need to know!  Go away!⁵  We later enjoy dinner at the Black Horse Tavern – which I suspect is our favorite spot in that area now.  Mrs. The Travel Slob enjoyed a Filet Mignon, while I partook of the prime rib.  Mrs. The Travel Slob also tried “The Great Pumpkin” cocktail which took Pumpkinhead Beer, ginger apple vodka, and cinnamon sugar around the rim of the glass.  That coupled with a shared dessert of Mississippi Mud Pie made for a meal so decadently good we felt sinful even though we were just married.

On the way back, we buy a half-rack of Pumpkinhead at a grocery store.

Arriving at back at the inn, the Innkeeper, Jim Kerrigan, offers to start a fire near the outdoor deck.  It being a lovely night we agree.  Jim is a friendly man who clearly loves the area he lives in and loves running his inn.  As he struggled to get the fire to start – and it did take some time – he regaled us with stories of the surrounding area, great places to visit, and some of the experiences of guests in the inn’s past.  Mrs. The Travel Slob and I enjoy cups of Chamomile Mint tea when the fire blazes at last and let time pass as we enjoy each other’s presence and the quiet of our surroundings.  We go back to the cottage, satisfied.  Fade to black.

Sunday, breakfast is a Frittata with sides of herb potatoes and sausage.  Mrs. The Travel Slob updates her social networks as I take notes of our honeymoon.  We decide to go to nearby Bridgton to shop and walk the streets.  Architecture in this area has a certain feel to it that fits the region.  The people in the area are neither standoffish nor overly friendly, and we felt quite welcome and rarely overwhelmed.  We stop at an antique / flea market style store. Strange items and curios were in every section.  We even found a used Moose Menorah.  Nothing says Hanukah like a cartoon moose with candles coming out of his antlers.

“Hey Rocky!  Watch me commemorate the rededication of the holy temple during the Maccabean Revolt!”

We pick up an Arthur C. Clarke Novel, I one by Edgar Rice Burroughs, and a random fifth so we get the 3 books for $5 deal.  We walk down Bridgton Street a bit further and discover a little book store.  Well we’re suckers for books so we go in and enjoy the little shop.  Mrs. The Travel Slob gets postcard for neighbor’s grandson and a magazine.  We soon have a large stack of books including those we brought with us.

Dinner was at Ebenezer’s, which took several passes on the road to find.  It’s nestled in what’s almost the middle of nowhere near a golf course, according to the Innkeeper who proves right.  Ebenezer’s sports a long list of beer like none I’ve seen.  On the west coast we tend towards the heavily hopped bitter beers.  Ebenezer’s had more in the sour variety.  Our waitress was concerned we might not be ready, but Mrs. The Travel Slob and I are no cowards (when it comes to beer)!  She went for one called My Blueberry Nightmare, a blueberry sour beer that we both decided was the best of the evening.  The waitress takes our photo with enthusiastic congratulations for our recent Best Wedding Ever.

This is the beer list at Ebenezar's. At least part.

 

The Best Bride Ever enjoying a Best Blueberry Beer Ever.

 

Back at the inn, Jim informs us that as of that night, we’re the only guests.  He lets us choose a different room if we so decide (we decline), and allows us to choose what time we’d like breakfast.  Normally it’s at 8:30am, but we opt for 10am.

We end the night in the cable with a warm fire and a movie on DVD.  We see “All the Pretty Horses”, a Matt Damon film based on a book by Cormac McCarthy.  I thought it a good movie, but Mrs. The Travel Slob found it too violent, too darkly themed, and lacking in enough horses.  So basically it was a movie based on a Cormac McCarthy book.

Monday we luxuriate in our early breakfast.  Blueberry pancakes are on the menu!  While the innkeeper is out, we tour the rooms out of curiosity.  The inn has a large number of comfortable rooms and even a suite in uppermost floor that was at least twice as large as the space in our little cottage.  Since we’re alone, we check out every room like a pair of burglars casing the joint (note: no joints were cased).  We then explore the grounds around us, taking in the spectacular scenery and peaceful surroundings.

We leave for North Conway, New Hampshire, but first stop at Pietree Orchards.  According to Jim, these Orchards were once doing poorly and a developer almost bought the land in order to build condos.  However, author Stephen King lives not too far from that area and did not want to see the region’s character spoiled with condos and the amenities that condo dwellers are known to expect.  So he purchased the Orchards in his sister’s name.  Good show, Mr. King!

The Unofficial Stepehn King Orchard. Abandon all hope (of eating apples of the non-tasty variety) upon entering here.

 

North Conway is quaint, but we arrive too late to try out the tourist train.  Still, we wandered outside the train station to see what it was like.  North Conway is the largest town we’d been to for any length of time so far, and far busier than any else.  We walk the streets, again enjoying the area before heading home.  We stop at a Starbucks for some coffee on the way.  Big mistake!  For some reason our coffee tasted just weird.  Very weird.  We blamed the water or New Hampshire or aliens or something.  On the drive back we have a sign that specifically forbids “out of state firewood” in Maine.  I have to wonder:  How do they know?

We go back to Bridgton for dinner at Bridgton House of Pizza, a small mom-n-pop operation that was nothing fancy at all, but still simple and light.  We return to the Black Horse Tavern for more of that mud pie and cocktails.  We liked it that much.  We return to the cottage, tired.  Another fire is made and then we Fade to Black.

Tuesday, breakfast is scrambled eggs and turkey bacon.  We decide to take a hike at nearby Hawk Mountain, which is just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the inn.  The hike is easy if a bit rocky and rather wet thanks to heavy rains the previous evening.  There’s a false lookout point with a great view, but we braved a little further out and found the real lookout point at a rocket spot nearby for great rewards.  We ate Pietree Orchard apples at the summit – they were delicious!

 

We're certain the leaves were changing just for our Honeymoon. Look at that view!

 

 

Speaking of Pietree, we return for more apples because dang those apples are good, and a mini-pumpkin pie.  At this point, I think we have a bit of a dessert backlog.  The cashiers informed us that the view from the orchards is wonderful as well, so we brave heavy winds and were duly reward.  No hauntings or monster chasings to speak of, however.

Back at the inn, we get a little tea and pick up Horse-Opoly from the Inn lobby to relax at the cottage to a bit of game.  There is, of course, a vigorous amount of horseplay (hur hur), so much so that my chair breaks mid-game!  Mrs. The Travel Slob is of course, concerned, but no harm was done.  Except to the chair.  And to my pride.  Mid game there’s also a strange rumble and shaking.  Mrs. The Travel Slob feared an earthquake.  I dismiss it, having been in California too long.

 

One of the dangers of playing Full Contact Horse-opoly.

 

Wednesday morning, we watch the news when we get up and discover that yes indeed, there was an earthquake!  Boy is my face red!  It’s our last full day in the area.  We explore the grounds again, enjoying this area and thinking about what a great place this is.  We also head to Norway, Maine to see some more sights.  Norway enjoys a main street that maintains the old character of the town.  As a man from the West, such sights are amazing, and the drive to preserve such is commendable.  We pass a civil war memorial that causes me pause.  There’s a lot of history in the east and they do their best to maintain it.  In the west, we seem quick to replace old things, and often things don’t remain preserved.

 

Our lives are short, brief, a blink of the eye in the passing of history.

 

It’s our last night at the inn, and we enjoy some champagne as we sit near the fire again.

Thursday, we pack our things and get ready to check out.  The innkeeper recommends a lobster shack near twin lamps before we go.  We sign the guest book in the cottage so that others can perhaps share some of our memories.  We also opt to buy a couple of those wonderful bathrobes.  Mmmmmm!

We head back to Portland, Maine.  Our hotel isn’t ready right away for us, but we wait a little, and then afterwards drive to Twin Lamps for lobster!  We both get a lobster meal that they boil up right in front of us.  I thoroughly enjoy my crustacean, but Mrs. The Travel Slob has many issues with the food, in that it looks back and has way too many legs.  The lobster shack is built right next to the shore, so we eat outside at a small table where we can watch the waves crash against the rocks as we enjoy lunch.

I think Mrs. The Travel Slob is inching away slowly from our lunch.

 

At night, we walk the streets of Portland, just taking in the sights and window shopping, then return to the hotel to finish the night with pie, whipped cream, and more champagne.  We fall asleep in a room larger than the cottage but certainly not as friendly and inviting.  Also there was no fireplace.  Boo.

Friday morning is our last day.  We check out and go downtown Portland to walk around again.  We window shop at a comic book store, a toy shop, and other places.  We have a quick lunch, the reluctantly make our way back to the Portland airport to prepare to go home.  It’s been a long week, but so rewarding.  We both will miss Maine and hope to see it again soon.  We definitely want to get back to the Bear Mountain Inn and to enjoy more Mississippi Mud Pie.

 

 

 

 

¹Actually, it’s just an office.²

²Actually, it’s just a cubicle.

³Pop Tarts, Black Licorice, and all the coffee in town

⁴Editor’s Note:  Outrageous demands?  I find occupying a cubicle and doing absolutely nothing outrageous.  Me:  Hey, get out of my writing!

⁵Editor’s Note:  Please don’t go away.  He needs all the readers he can get.

The Water is Rising

I'm afraid I'm lacking the usual levity today...

This has been weighing on my conscience for some time. It's the things on Facebook I see, images, posts, shares that all say the same thing: “You just shut up now, we don't want to hear it.” It's bothered me, really, deep down inside. For the most part I've complied, keep my references fairly personal, letting things out in controlled fashions. I've still felt that nagging inside.

Last night, a dream came to me. I was in a town near a river. I was given a clear task to do. I was told that a flash flood would soon arrive, and that I was to go out to those near the river and let them know it was coming. There were many residents out on the river that day. In my dream some were in boats, other on the river side. It all seemed carefree, but I had to continue with my message. Throughout this dream, that was tantamount. I passed a large trestle-like structure. I called out to a couple amongst the rocks, and some young men below. I told them the flash flood was coming and they should leave the area right away. The couple ignored me. The young men laughed and told me nothing was wrong with the river.

I turned to walk back, doubting my own message. Could it be wrong? Even as I felt the doubts stir, I looked down. The river's edge was higher now, and I could clearly see it climbing. I turned back to the people on the rocks. The couple still ignored me. The young men turned concerned. They could see what I was seeing. Before I woke, I called out to them again, urging them to climb the trestle structure to get to high ground as soon as possible.

The dream stuck with me as I awoke. It brought to my mind the passage of Ezekiel 33:1-9, where God appoints Ezekiel as watchman. Ezekiel is told God has a message for Ezekiel, and it is Ezekiel's task to declare this message. What the listeners do with this message is less Ezekiel's worry than the delivering of this message. If the watchman does not sound the alarm, then those that fall are on his head; if the watchman sounds the alarm, those that fail to take heed are responsible for themselves. Whatever happens to those who hear the message, whether they are saved or fall, that depends on themselves as long as the messenger does his task. What is this message? God goes on to deliver a message of grace, that the exiled Judeans can still return to Him. The apostle Paul takes this role to heart, and notes he has no regrets, as he has delivered that Message faithfully, even as he is sentenced to die.

What is the message? That we are separated from God, in darkness. That God came to us as His Son Jesus, to live amongst us, die for us, and to rise again that we might be reconciled with God and that we might know He has defeated death. That Christ is alive, risen by His great power, and that we can have a relationship with God because of Him. Praise Him!

I can't keep silent about this. I have an obligation, a command, and a desire to let this be known. This is bursting out, I can't keep it down just because it is undesired. We have little time to act. In the span of the universe, our various lifetimes are terribly brief, and our lives are over in a blink of an eye. Should I blink and find an opportunity lost? Should I blink and remain silent? We may not want to hear the Message, but it is there. I need to speak out. I need to act as a messenger. Whether any will listen or not, I can't say. I can't and won't force any to do anything. But I can choose whether to speak or remain silent.

The water is rising.

An Actual Travel Entry!

So here I am, minding my own business at my desk, enjoying a delicious Rob Roy (one and a half parts scotch, one part sweet vermouth, dash of bitters, garnish with cherry), when my editor drops in for another one of his useless “social visits”

Editor: So, the Travel Slob, once again there's a lull in your activity.

The Travel Slob: Hey, I write all the time, stop complaining so much.
Editor: Your last two articles were about comic books.
The Travel Slob: Well, I drove to the comic book store to get them.
Editor: That's not travel.
The Travel Slob: Sure it is. Just not very far.
Editor: I can't believe I'm paying for this.
The Travel Slob: Quality service! That's what I offer.
Editor: Well, I'm not paying for this. Make a real Travelogue or you're fired.
The Travel Slob: So will I get a travel expense account?
Editor: Use that money I can't believe I'm paying you.

Lucky for me, I had a great reason to travel already, as lately I've been seeing a wonderful woman by the name of Amanda, who is not in the same state as me, so I made arrangements to visit and it was off to Salt Lake City Utah and its surroundings! Amanda has joined my regular readers, bringing my latest reader count all the way up to five!

To maximize travel time and minimize travel costs (thanks to cheapskate Editors who don't give their traveloguers expense accounts), I left very early in the morning to leave from Oakland Airport. Since I don't go to the airport often, I had to call upon my nemesis, Delores, my GPS. Yes, once again I called on her for directions. Once again mid-trip she decided I was off course and decided to recalculate right as I approached an important fork fast. Much her dismay I picked the correct fork and made it to the airport with time to spare. Her days are numbered.

Getting up at 3am to drive to Oakland and take an airplane at 6am to get to Utah seemed a great idea, but I spent a good portion of the day sleeping. Though I was excited to see my lovely lady, I was very very tired. So much so that I required the first stop to be a coffee shop. I ordered a large. It was a 24oz cup. 24 ounces! I'm serious! I'm used to stores that stop at 20 but not Utah! They go up to 24! It's the 11 of coffee shops! I like that state already.

Much was not done this day. I met her grandparents – a lovely couple by the way, with a lovely home they graciously opened to me after I swore on a stack of Bibles that I wasn't an ax murderer (I'm making that last part up.) We also elected to see “Prometheus”. It's a terrible movie to watch for story, but a great movie to take your girlfriend to as there's many parts she has to hide from. Oh yeah... I won't review that film. I'm not getting paid enough for these travelogues, so there's no way anyone will expect me to tack on a film review for free.

Lehi is a lovely little town south of Salt Lake City. Yes, for all my curious readers, Utah is Mormon. The rumors are true! Lehi is the most Mormon of part of Utah, with an LDS church as common as Starbucks are in Seattle but without the coffee. There's a certain pride in the common history of the state, of a like I haven't seen even in Oregon which loves to tout the Oregon trail but has few connections otherwise. The common thread ties many in the state together, it seems.

Thursday evening was ended with a walk along one of Amanda's favorite trails. On the way back, the sun was setting, and twilight (the time of day, not the book) hit in a cool evening. A large form flew by to our surprise, silent and quick. We looked about, and in a nearby field spotted four Barn Owls, hunting for mice in the nearby field. Occasionally one would pass by and gaze at us curiously. Sometimes we'd hear one cry in triumph as it would snag its prey. They flew and hunted in perfect silence in the stillness of the evening. One cannot easily capture such a moment in words, and could never plan such a one.

We are a cute couple, and we decided to be cute at Thanksgiving Point, which has many attractions. The ones that attracted us that day were the gardens and the Paleontology Museum. The former were quiet and serene, but the hot day wore us out quickly. After a quick lunch we moved on to the museum, which was so immensely cool. As an red-blooded American boy I thought dinosaurs were the coolest thing ever. In first grade I got a stick book of dinosaur stickers with explanations of the beasties. I was hooked ever since. They had a whole museum for those things! Utah is lousy with fossils!

24 oz coffee, fossil fields … Utah is awesome.

Saturday was trip to the zoo day, which seemed a great idea, save that it was Dori the elephant's birthday. The crowds in the zoo were overwhelming. Worse, nowadays it seems parents drive their children's strollers like snowplows, shoving through crowds to get to where they want to go, pushing people out of the way so their little angels can see the animals and then not move from the spot and then get insulted when the next snowplow tries to do the same. I've never seen a larger group of people so completely oblivious to the presence of other people. We didn't stay as long as we might have liked, but it was for the best, perhaps.

The evening ended with grilled buffalo steaks – a home cooked meal that was delicious as anything could be. A meal with a loved one is great, a meal made by or made for a loved one is even better.

Sunday my lady love and I traveled to Big Cottonwood Canyon for church – two small Protestant churches met in the amphitheater for a special outdoor service there. We spent the morning surrounded by nature. The afternoon we went just outside of Heber City to spend Father's Day with her family, eating steak. I actually cannot eat steak for while now. I have eaten it for several days in a row. I've found I have a steak capacity, and I met that capacity. We arrived at her Uncle's home just in time to miss seeing a moose and her calf. Nature eludes me again. Fortunately, family decided to be entertaining enough.

In all, this was a great trip, made better in that I spent it with someone for whom I love. We'll meet again, soon, and more times as well. The future indeed looks bright.

More Non-Travel Related Stuff. Deal With It.

So rather than talk travel I'm going to review comic books again, because you demanded it! And by "you" I mean "no one". This week, I'm going over the various Super-person titles I've read. Yeah I know, Batman is much cooler, the X-Men are much X-ier, and the Avengers are getting an awesome movie this summer because SHUT UP IT CAN'T FAIL! Anyways, here are my assessments.

Superman -- There's a lot of Superman hate. This guy was one of the originals, and for a while he had so many superpowers (including weird things like super-basket-weaving) that it was a little insane. Or a lot insane. For some time in the eighties, the man (or Superman) could move planets if he needed. Seriously. Planets. There have been repeated attempts to tone that down, fortunately. Since DC hit the "Overcharge" -- er, I mean the "Reset" button on its titles, a few things have changed. Now Clark Kent's love for Lois is unrequited. In issue one she's with some other guy. Superman also has a new outfit, fulfilling the ancient comic tradition: If people get bored with your character, give him, or her, a new outfit. The kick off story, however, was a bit long, lacking, and somewhat confusing. Moreover, the resolution in issue six was based on information released in issue seven of Action comics. DC has been doing things like this more and more, revealing plot points that haven't happened yet. It's not even foreshadowing which is a valid literary device; it's just lazy use of inside baseball facts. Right now, Superman gets a 2 out of 5 whatevers from me.

Action Comics -- Conversely, Action Comics starring Superman takes off for me and doesn't stop. I attribute a lot of this to Grant Morrison, who remains one of my favorite comic book writers in this age. Even if he has a few misses, when he hits it's right on the money. Morrison even states that "Action" is the key word in this title and that's how the writing and art team is playing it. Well done, I say! In issue one; we're quickly introduced to all the important players in the Superman story -- Superman/Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, and Lex Luthor. We even get a few secondary characters thrown. The portrayal of Luthor is one of the best I've seen since Hackman. Seriously, if future writers want to follow a model of how to write Superman comics, this current run of Action is a prime choice. 5 out of 5 whatevers. Booyah!

Superboy -- After the first Crisis in which DC comics pressed the History Eraser Button (and subsequently gave themselves permission to keep hitting that button), the original Superboy -- teenage Superman was scraped. Well done. Thank heavens. However, in the ill-conceived Death of Superman series and aftermath, Superboy was re-introduced. However this time Superboy was a clone. Well now that DC has hit the History Eraser Button again, they've kept that origin more or less, but have hinted at a little more complex origin than before. Also, Superman isn't dead. Or hasn't died. Or ... who knows. Someone get DC away from that stupid button. Superboy lacks compared to Morrison's Action Comics, but it still rises about the Superman title. His modified origin gives him a bit of complexity, and the progression of his origin story has made for an interesting thread. I'm willing to see more. 4 out of 5 whatevers.

Supergirl -- This was another victim of the History Eraser Button's abuse, and though she was established in the last universe's iteration, like Superboy she is returning to comic books as if she's just arrived. Unlike Superman, she did not arrive nor has not been raised on this world as if it were her own. Thus she's a fish out of water. She's unused to this world and what it makes her. She tries to find her old home only to find it gone. There's even consequences involved in her past that is being revealed. And yes, she kicks major super rear. She only lacks Superman's experience. Time will tell if this story keeps and plays on its strengths. 3 out of 5 whatevers.

The differentiation between the Super-persons has been interesting. Each has his or her own unique story and origin worth exploring. Superman's is probably the most well known and thus lacks some leeway, but the others are decent additions. Well, until DC hits the History Eraser Button again.

Justice League -- Technically this isn't a Super-title, but it has Superman in it. The first six issues are essentially an overextended origin story for the Justice League and for Cyborg who was formerly a Titan. Really I'm only reviewing this title because I have this to say: Geoff Johns is the Michael Bay of comic books. His stories lack, his characters are one or two dimensional. He covers all this up with explosions. He regularly blows up plotlines or plot points as well. And some points are just tossed aside because -- well I don't know. Yes, I enjoyed this title a little, but really it's just not all that great. 2 out of 5 whatevers.

In Which I Ignore Travel and Talk Comics

I am a big comic book guy, still, and have been reading them for way too long. About a half a year ago, DC rebooted their universe (again) and canceled all their titles and restarted 52 new titles in a rather shameless scheme to get people to buy comics because they were released 52 Number Ones! People love Number Ones! Well already they are canceling titles, to no big surprise. Here, I give a brief review of each. Looking for travel notes? Tough! I am altering our arrangement. Pray I do not alter them again.

OMAC -- This title had only moderate promise. Though the action has been reasonably paced, the story has not, and in some ways the storyline lurches forward in ways that seem to leave huge gaps. The art of this title has been reminiscent of the Jack Kirby New Gods storyline of DC. In all, however, the characters aren't interesting. The main character isn't all that interesting when he's not OMAC, and isn't all that interesting when he is if there's not enough face smashing going on. Brother Eye has its own motivations, but the computer is such a manipulative jerk I found I really could care less what they were, I just wanted him to leave the poor guy alone.
Personal Title Run: 4

Mister Terrific -- I didn't read this one, but honestly I followed some JSA a few years back and he never was an interesting character then. How they picked Mr. Terrific for his own title is beyond me. I'll be honest here, too: The cover art for this line has blown big chunks. The cover is what draws the buyer in to try the title, and the art just made me want to pass it over. Remember, I actually bought an issue of OMAC so my standards are low, here.
Personal Title Run: 0

Hawk and Dove -- How does Rob Leifeld still get work? There are people more talented than him in this industry. He's more talented than I am, sure, but I'm not applying for a job as a comic book artist. He did the art for this, and the story didn't help either. Hawk and Dove is to DC what Moon Knight is to Marvel. Every so often some editor green lights a few issues of these characters, and every time the title fails. There's no surprise that this one failed here. Let the characters go, already. Shame on me for actually buying an issue.
Personal Title Run: 1

Blackhawks -- So the original Blackhawks were a World War II title about this super elite team of fighter pilots. This worked great until, unexpectedly, peace were declared. Suddenly they had less to do. War titles overall haven't fared well outside their time. Attempts to do otherwise have proven faulty. This most recent attempt made them a multi-national force for some reason and put them up against some enemies that I'd never heard of before. Character relationships and personalities were horribly set up in that first issue. I couldn't even bother to read another.
Personal Title Run: 1

Static Shock -- I watched the TV show for a bit on this one, which was kinda goofy but hey, it was a superhero show and I wasn't going to complain (too much) despite some of the bad stereotypes you'd expect from Hollywood types. I never was interested in the character enough to pick up the title. In all honesty, I couldn't say one way or the other on its merits. Probably like Hawk and Dove, the character will stick around in other titles until someone convinces the editor to let him have another go at a title. Maybe that person will get it right that time.
Personal Title Run: 0

Men of War -- Here's a title I wish they'd done better, but am not surprised they didn't do well enough to keep it going. I doubt putting it under the $3.99 price tag with more pages helped its chances much either. It's one thing to pull that with Action Comics or Justice League; people know those titles well. It's another to pull off with an unknown. Moreover, they split the issue into two stories, every issue. This comic was essentially a revival of old combat comics under the same title from earlier days, as well as the return of Sgt. Rock. The Sgt. Rock story lines were being done halfway well -- the concept of American soldiers being pit against a rise of Super Powered beings. Unfortunately that had too much going against it.

The first flaw is that they split the comic into two stories. The Sgt. Rock was their strongest piece and they always led with that, but the later pieces were always weak. If Rock was stronger, maybe we'd forgive that, but once they split the comic in two, his story was weakened to allow for the weaker story. If Sgt. Rock had more paper, maybe he'd turn out better. However, I doubt it thanks to ...

The second flaw: which is America has been war weary, something even I can admit but reasons why are a completely different discussions altogether. In any case, I can imagine it's hard to take new or revamped soldier characters and excite an audience into embracing them when there's so many who just don't want to hear about it any more.

The third flaw is the flaw of the New 52 altogether: Here's all these superheroes that many of us readers have known since we were old enough to read comics and watch Superfriends. Re-introducing these characters and pretending the world is surprised by their rise takes the skillful hand waving analogous to that of a stage magician. We know what we're seeing isn't the case, but man we're enjoying it entirely. Instead, with the new 52, we're seeing all the wires and strings while the magician says, "Pretend you don't see this." The new 52's relaunch was clumsy and poorly done, and we're supposed to pretend it wasn't. And we aren't buying.
Personal Title Run: 6

So the other day, my editor approached me about my recent (lack of) articles.  The conversation went something like this:

Editor:  Slob, you haven't submitted anything recently.
Travel Slob:  Sure I did.  I did it just last --
Ed:  Year?
TS:  That's the word I was looking for.
Ed:  Unacceptable.
TS:  Hey I work!
Ed:  The only work you do around here is work at eating all the single bags of potato chips and drinking all the free soda in the fridge.
TS:  It's just a sacrifice I make.
Ed:  It's been way too long since you actually worked here.  You need to write something soon.
TS:  You're right!  I'm depriving all of my devoted fans of my rapier sharp wit.
Ed:  I suppose that could be true in a hypothetical sense.
TS:  Are you saying I have no fans?  I won't stand by this insult.  Apologize or I won't write anything for you!
Ed:  You need to submit another travelogue by the end of next week or you're fired.
TS:  You can't fire me! I--
Ed:  You what?
TS:  -- will quit lollygagging around and get up a new travelogue.

Thus I found myself on the road, driving south to sunny Santa Cruz.  Well, sunny in theory.  Crossing over the mountain the clouds that have haunted us in Santa Rosa were hovering about Santa Cruz, a dull and cold haze that foreboded of ill things to come, or maybe snow cones.

Once again I half-depended upon my sometimes turncoat GPS system which I have named Dolores.  Dolores seemed to offer correct directions, save that at some point in time she decided that all roads were Piner Road.  "Drive four miles then exit to the right to Piner Road Interstate 580.  Drive thirteen miles then continue to Piner Road Ocean Road."  Piner is a street near where I live.  Previously it barely got over two miles connecting a few busier streets that emptied into major roads.  Now, through the magic of bugged-GPS programming, Piner extended from my humble abode to Santa Cruz.  If I'd known that in the beginning, I'd never gotten on the freeway.

Of course, Dolores had a final petulant temper when I refused to go the wrong way down a one-way street that she swore led to the hotel I was staying.  After taking a u-turn and driving the way my printed directions instructed, Dolores immediately started giving me the silent treatment and insisted that contrary to my piece of paper, I was dangerously off-course.  Only she could save me from a fate worse than death, and that salvation came from driving the wrong way on a one-way street -- damn the consequences, my life is at stake!  I would say that I hated to disappoint her, but I openly gloated when I arrived safely at my hotel.

The hotel itself had a fresh coat of paint to fool me into thinking it was a well-cared for establishment.  Sadly for whoever owns it, the World's Most Frightening Elevator gave it away.  The doors creaked as they slid ajar, complaining like the lid of an ancient vampire's coffin opening for the first time in centuries.  The smell within offered no relief from this impression.  The car shivered as it approached its destination floor like a spent marathon runner trying to finish that last leg before all his muscles give way and he collapses in exhaustion and agony.  Needless to say, I only partook of this method of ascent once.

The Boardwalk was my ultimate destination, for there my nephew was competing in a beach-soccer tournament.  He has a fascinating super power at the beach, in that whenever he stopped moving, he would become half-buried in sand.  I'm fairly certain that somewhere in his genes, there's residual traits from some beach-going ape that would bury itself in the sand for protection; its light, sandy-blonde hair aiding in camouflage.  Even sitting on the sidelines, waiting for his turn to get into the game, a thick blanket of sand would rapidly cover his legs, making it seem as if some humanoid meerkat was poking out of his burrow to observe the goings-on.

My nieces have managed to gain thrill-seeking traits from their father, as they loved the boardwalk rides like no one's business.  As soon as there was a chance, they'd grab their Uncle Slob and drag him off to the next ride.  Well, perhaps not drag as I went along willingly.  Unfortunately for me, I found that at least for two of the rides, I am much too large.  A healthy diet of beer and brats have left me hefty, and rides that had harnesses that went over head, well I didn't fit in them, much to my chagrin.  Oh who am I kidding?  The Fire Ball looked freakin' insane and I wasn't too keen on dying by amusement park ride.  My enemies would get a good laugh out of that, I'm sure!  Well I'm on to you!  My excess weight saved me from your dark designs!

No one can stop the Travel Slob!  You thought you were rid of me, that I'd no longer write?  Well you are wrong!  The Travel Slob is back, in full swing, and writing in third person!  Muahahaha!