quinnkdotme

According to Mr. David Hodges, I have 25.4 million in British Pounds waiting in a bank account in London… if I agree to let the money go through my account I get to keep 40%.  Life is so easy.  And here I have been counting pennies and being fiscally responsible.  Turns out I can take us all out for a steak dinner.  If only….

Today I ventured out of the valley – and we are talking Happy Valley not the San Fernando.  Evidently to get most places you have to drive over seven mountains… that is according to my father.  In Los Angeles, everything is 20 minutes away.  In State College, the magic number appears to be “about 3 hours.”  How far is Pittsburgh?  About 3 hours.  How far is Philly?  About 3 hours.  Baltimore?  3.  NYC… a little over 3.

So driving 1.5 hours to reach a Costco is a bargain.  And driving over 7 mountains and along and across the Susquehanna River is beautiful, even in the pouring rain.  The river is very wide and right next to the highway.  And at one point there are rocks, boulders actually, strewn throughout its path.  And on one of the square boulders is a replica of the Statue of Liberty, which is as pretty as it is unexpected and odd.

When driving 1.5 hours for bargain bulk food, it’s important to find a couple other stops along the way as rationale for driving that far.  At least that’s my family’s philosophy.  So we hit a store called Gabriel Brothers.  It’s sort of like a Big Lots for clothing ranging from utter crap to astonishing bargains.  I found two fab long underwear shirts for $2.99 ea.  I also found a black sweater and a bunch of socks.  Will the excitement never end?

On the way back we stopped off in Reedsville because my mother had read about a BBQ joint.  A cute town with a bunch of old houses and old fashion looking shops… not quaint but more functional and stuck in time.  The BBQ joint happened to be outside of town on the outskirts and the directions said it was in the Super Shoes building.  It was, although there didn’t really seem to be anything super about the shoes.  The BBQ was good.  The proprietor seemed a little baffled that we would drive so far for BBQ… Lest he become to big for his bridges, we let him know he was just a stop along the way for us.  We had gone further for important things like toilet paper and allergy pills in bulk, and the crazy Gideon socks I got on sale.

As we returned driving over the last mountain and looking down on Happy Valley, the rain had stopped, the mist was lifting and the sun was setting casting rays of late afternoon sun on the farms of the valley.  “What  a beautiful evening we will have,” I mused.  Not five minutes from unloading the car of our purchases, the sun set and the skies unleashed a downpour that is now pounding the rooftop.  So much for red at night, Sailors’ delight.

Only a few days to Christmas and I have a Buche de Noel to conquer tomorrow.

As ever,

K. Quinn

Than go shopping for a winter coat.  As many of you know, I don’t tolerate cold well.   Actually, I don’t tolerate cold at all.  I turn into a miserable, bitter person and my teeth chatter so hard that I start sounding like a stereotypical Minnesotan because I am chomping on my vowels as I speak.  It’s truly pitiful.

So, given that my leather jacket has been deemed not quite suitable to sustain me throughout a Pennsylvania weather, I have two choices.  Get a new job in a tropical climate or buy a decent winter coat.  While I wait for job offers from Bermuda, I decided to trek out to the department stores to investigate winter coats.

Some criteria:

Try not to look like the Michelin Man.

Try to look like I have a waist, appendages and some sense of style… as opposed to looking like Jabba the Hut… also similar to the Michelin Man.

Try not to have a dead carcass, i.e. fur, on my back… I already am in trouble for the leather jacket.

Try not to look like I am wearing my grandmother or mother’s coat… no offense, mom.

Must be warm in snowstorms.

We start with the wool coats… a classic – and fairly traditional… and we run into the first problem.  I am shaped somewhat like a Christmas tree… I anticipated this, but a giant wool coat helped to confirm this.  By the time we find a coat that fits my hips…. I should have been born in the 50s…. I have disappeared into Jabba the Hut on top because it’s way too big.    And I refuse to pay $150+ for a coat that then has to be brought to the tailors where I can pay handsomely to have it made to fit.  Also, most of the coats have a serious detail of buttons which make me suspicious that I will look like a Sgt. Peppers wanna be.

Moving on to the down coats, and this is serious Michelin Man territory and also carcass territory, so I am already proving irresponsible.  Short coats all puffa and the sort, make me look like one of the Starbuck’s doughnut holes on a stick.  Not the look I am going for.  And the long coats… well they are starting to look ok….maybe it’s that I have hit maximum capacity on the threshold for pain in coat shopping?  A charcoal, below the knee, down jacket with a belt so that I don’t look like a charcoal Douglas Fir….we are getting somewhere. Marked down 50% and Mom has a 20% off coupon, thanks mom.  Houston, we have a coat.  And I am outta here!

So my new coat combined with my new snow boots – and I am ready for winter.  Bring it on!

And Bermuda, I am still willing and able and wholly desirable for a posting on your lovely island.  The coat will always be useful for trips back home.

As ever,

K.  Quinn

This morning I thought of Shakespeare’s “hoary headed frost,” because frost is what covered the ground this morning as I walked with Verbal along the parkland path by my parents’ house.  The grasses and bushes were covered with frost that made the grass look like exotic spikey blades with a fuzzy shimmer from the frost in the early morning sun.  The ground and grass crunched under our feet as we walked down the butterfly path and headed toward the bike path.  It was too cold to do the whole loop this morning, and Verbal didn’t seem to mind the walk cut a little short.

Back to my workout routine, finally.  I suffered through an hour of cardio  barre on DVD and then went to help my mother put together the grocery list for Christmas cookies.  (Zero irony = workout… cookies…)  We are on a mission this week to bake a zillion cookies of various shapes, sizes and varieties to greet my siblings when they arrive this weekend.  As of 3PM this afternoon, we had completed the shopping and errands, and I had managed to get the sugar cookie dough done (in the freezer), marinate olives, make cheese balls, and set up bonbons to chill in the freezer…. dipping in chocolate will happen later tonight.  And most importantly…. I didn’t sample taste all of these… so I may actually manage to maintain my weight as opposed to gaining pounds and pounds for the holidays.  Can one weekend of wine and beer really be that damaging?

Because I am now feeling like a total sponger being at home with mom and dad, I spent the rest of the afternoon working the job circuit… and will be writing wonderful cover letters extolling my virtues and talents for the rest of the evening.  And I also managed to wrap up a grant for the theatre company that I am on the board of… so not feeling like a slacker…. at least not so much.

No goofy stories today… – clearly I need to get out of the house more.

Wish you could all be here to eat up the cookies – because I know we will have way too much once I finish.

Miss my friends in LA – and my friends along the way.

As ever,

K. Quinn

Well, I arrived in Pennsylvania and proceeded to go into a vegetative state.  I shall blame it on the cold.

My last night on the road, I stayed in a hotel in Ohio – my room was the “Business Place Room”  as described by the sign on my door.  It was huge and had hardly any furniture – I could have held a soccer match in the room.  It was 25 feet long and 15 feet wide… a bed, a table, a mini fridge and 1 metal chair… oh and an ironing board.  What were they thinking?

The room was noisy, the television was terrible and after seeing several billboards about bedbugs on the road… I couldn’t stop itching.  It was all in my head, but ugh I felt creepy crawly all night long.  Finally at 5AM I got up, packed up and hit the road.

Just as well, snow flurries along the way made for sort of dicey drive over the first set of mountains.  Had one moment of surreal in a Sheetz gas and go along route 22 in the middle of nowhere.  When I arrived, no one was there except for me and the attendant in the shop.  One restroom break and purchase of coffee later and all hell broke loose – it began when, as I was washing my hands, a man walked into the restroom.  He looked confused upon seeing me in there, and we both sort of stood there like deer in the headlight.  He finally said, “Oh, whoops.”  And I being quite verbose said, “Yep.”  Stepping out to get my coffee and the place is buzzing with a bunch of winter travelers panicking about the snow flurries and buying maps, microwaveable breakfast sandwiches and creating a run on coffee.

As I paid, a woman burst into the store and pushed in front of me saying quite franticaly, “The pump isn’t working… my husband has tried and the pump isn’t working.”  The attendant asked her what number pump they were using and told her that they had used up all but a dollar.  The woman harumphed, “That’s impossible!”   She looked out the window and realized she had given the wrong pump number and started all over again.  In the meantime, I left the coffee money and slinked out of chaos.  All the gas pumps were busy and people seemed to be racing about because of the flurries.  It was all very strange.  Especially since the flurries amounted to less than an inch of snow.

As you can tell, if the stop at Sheetz was the most exciting thing that happened…it was a pretty slow day.  Woke up this morning with sinus headache – a gift of the cold outside and the dry inside, no doubt.

So, my blog is short and quiet today, as I will go and nurse my head some more.

As ever,

K. Quinn

Like when you go to a restroom, in a restaurant, and there is a sign telling you not to throw paper into the toilet and a basket is provided next to the bowl.  It’s times like this that I really hope and pray that the staff washes their hands before serving…cooking… preparing or handling anything that I am paying to put into my mouth.

Yesterday, aside from courting food poisoning, I wrapped up my visit with my grandmother by “detailing” her car.  I use the word loosely, but I did windex the entire inside to remove dirt, dust and as she put it… “all of the mud.”  And I chose to do this when it was 46 degrees outside and the wind had picked up.  I also vacuumed the inside with a vacuum that is probably older than me, and I would have been more successful if I had just held the hose to my mouth and sucked.  At one point, I was picking up the crumbs and putting them into the hose.  However, by the end of my efforts, the car looked marginally better.  And, for those of you who know me, this was penance for my lack of car washing, detailing or otherwise to my forgiving Xterra.

This morning, we entertained my grandmother’s neighbors – a farmer and his son- with the ridiculous sight of my car packed to the gills as I left for Pennsylvania.  How to explain it?  I really couldn’t… it’s just beyond words at this point.

My journey is getting shorter – but some of the sights still amuse… for example, just east of Evansville, IN, there is a house with a crazy-ass display of whirlygigs.  They are all on huge poles and they are fighter planes, helicopters and other military craft – a whole fleet poised and ready to attack Interstate 64.  Later on… somewhere in Ohio… they advertise “This exit – One mile of terror!”  And I ask you, “why?”  Seriously, does one really need a mile of terror?  I don’t even need 6 inches of terror much less a mile.  And what could a mile of terror consist of?  And would you really want to walk that mile?  I can’t imagine getting behind the wheel is wise if you are going to be driving through a mile of terror.  Is that safe?

Lastly, as I was driving through Ohio – I was thinking that Ohio is kind of like Missouri but with ugly license plates.  This was painfully obvious when I passed a barn whose entire roof was painted as the rebel flag and they featured a massive rustic wooden cross in their barnyard.  Really?  In this day and age?  We’re north of the Mason Dixon line – what gives?

Oh, and one more thing – a  moment of desire met and simple pleasure.  As I was leaving a personal mecca, otherwise known as Trader Joe’s, in Louisville, KY, I was thinking to myself… I have four more hours ahead and it would be really fun to listen to Maroon 5 about now.  Turn on the radio, and I kid you not, on pops Maroon 5 and I am groovin with moves like Jagger (if he were sitting and driving an SUV through holiday traffic) on my way outta Louisville.

As ever,

K. Quinn

And the day after a storm.

Last night we had big thunderstorms which was a little unnerving.  I admit that, in the city, I love thunderstorms.  In the country…. not so much.  The weather yesterday was strange all day – it was warm… the high 50s and there were periods of extreme wind and then extreme calm.  And then right after dinner, a huge flash of lightning which lit up the whole sky.

When I was younger and staying at the farm during the summer, we would sit out on the screened-in porch and watch summer storms come and go.  The back of the house, where the porch is, faces a small lake with fields behind it and behind them a long row of woods.  We often take walks around the lake or to the woods.  During summer storms, the sky would become dark.  I would watch the small lake with whitecaps slapping against the little square raft in the center of the lake.  When lightning hit, it would light up the fields and the woods and absolutely terrify me.  I confess to a vivid imagination.  I always thought it would be horrible to see a roving band of indians or British Red Coats stealthily making their way through the fields only to be seen when the lightning flashed.  And we were so vulnerable on the porch.  Or worse yet, to have the lightening flash and a murderer appear at the window holding a knife, a gun….or even a severed head!  With my imagination run away, I would sit pole-axed on the porch and wait for my doom.

I remember a more recent memory – about a storm, thankfully with no lightning that was funny at the time and now more sad than funny.  My grandfather had suffered a stroke and was just beginning to recover some sense of normalcy, but he would still get worked up over little things.  My siblings and I had come to the farm for a few days to help out, and one of the things we were charged with was to put the row-boat away for the winter.  My sister and I said we would take care of it, but we wanted to take it out one last time before putting it in the barn.

Having that boat out just agitated my grandfather and he kept mentioning the boat.  Patiently, my grandmother reminded him that the girls wanted to take it out for a ride before putting it away.  My grandfather lost his patience and stormed that, “If they are going to take a boat ride, then they should DO IT!”  Bree and I skidaddled out the door and jumped into the boat just as it started to rain.  I rowed out onto the lake and the wind picked up as it started to pour.  Bree looked back and my grandfather was sitting on the porch watching us.  We both started to giggle as we realized how ridiculous the situation was.  And we took turns rowing around the lake in the pouring rain.

This was also the trip where my sister and I, out of guilt and sheer stupidity, tried to eat most of the contents of the fridge. … it’s a long story.

We are off to senior aerobics again today – I think.  Some question as to whether Grammy is up for it.  I mentioned the other day the depressing feeling of being at a senior aerobic class, but I neglected to mention that I also have been wearing my grandmother’s rain coat which is too small for my, apparently, freakishly long arms.  She is concerned that because my winter coats are buried in the depths of my car that my fleece isn’t warm enough.  So she had me try on all of her coats and my grandfather’s till we found one that, well it really doesn’t, fits.   My sister and I remember my other grandmother foisting little plastic, fold up rain bonnets on us when it rained, so perhaps a too short coat is the least of my worries.

Missing you all, but enjoying the time with my grandmother.

As ever,

K.  Quinn

Mind you, the weather is dreary not the company.

Yesterday, I went with my 87-year-old grandmother for senior aerobics.  We joined 5 other women and the teacher for a rousing 45 minutes of movement.  It was great to see my grandmother kicking butt with women 20 years younger than her.  I enjoyed being there with her, but I have to admit there was a part of me that felt like I was in a movie.

The exercise room is located at the county health department.  It looks like it is used for meetings, classes and this exercise class.  The walls are sea-foam green painted cinderblock, and it’s carpeted in blue.  The room was filled with cheap foil blue and white snow flake decorations and a Christmas tree was in the corner.  And here I am a single 42-year-old woman marching in time with my grandmother and a handful of seniors to a crappy video of a woman who has frighteningly penciled in eyebrows.  The woman on the video marches us a mile and moves us side to side.  And I think to myself, “What am I doing here?  This is too depressing if this is my life at 42.  However, then I snap out of it and think how great it is to be here with my grandmother and support her being healthy and in-shape in her late eighties.  Not too bad, and something to be grateful for.  Funny how you can go back and forth from despair to grateful.

Grammy and I headed to Evanville, IN after class – about a two-hour drive to do some shoe shopping.  Actually, I stand corrected; we went to Kentucky.  So really Kentucky is where people in the know go to get shoes.  Unfortunately, we were uninspired and left empty-handed.  So to make the trip worth while, we had the early bird dinner at Yen’s Chinese Restaurant in Evansville.  Even at 4:30 p.m., dinner was delicious and I have leftovers to look forward to today.

Last night we arrived tired after driving all the way back through sloppy weather.  My grandmother’s dog Ginger was thrilled to see us and wouldn’t leave our sides once we settled down to watch Nutcracker wars on TV.   A piece of leftover birthday cake, the Nutcracker, and whoof, time for bed.  Hey, it’s kind of nice taking it slow.

Today is another dark, cloudy day, and we expect rain this afternoon.  So we are doing indoor chores today, and right now we are both just hanging out on the computers.

I have one more day at the farm and then journey continues onward to PA.

Missing all of you back in LA, and my friends along the way.

As ever,

K. Quinn

I think about this birthday every December 12th… and I know I’m a day late, but yesterday  morning – that’s what I thought.  Don’t know where he is, but he is a kid whose birthday was the day after mine in grade school.

It is day 3 here in southern Illinois, and I am enjoying staying in one place.  I arrived here Sunday after a fairly short road trip of 6 hours.  The trip was fairly uneventful, with the exception of seeing a bald eagle dive bomb my car on the highway.  That was incredible – he was so close up and then whoosh!

Sunday and Monday were beautiful days in the high 40’s… sunny and no wind.  I could almost fool myself into loving winter weather.

My latest entertainment, aside from the fact that the Nutcracker wars started on Ovation TV, is the Wayne County Home Bureau Party – Game Book, circa 1950.  It has fascinating hints and ideas that I am pondering how to apply in the future.

Let’s start with the anniversary shopping guide, which according to the book is the latest approved classification.  Approved by whom, it doesn’t say.  The first year anniversary a suitable gift would be plastic dishes or a lazy Susan.  Oh, I think we can all agree that both of these items would be terrible gifts for a first anniversary a sure guarantee of making it a last anniversary.  For the second year, how about aprons for Him and Her, or perhaps bun-warmers…. we’re talking bread here.

Let’s skip to the eighth year, back in 1950 the blender was the gift to amaze your friends after making it through eight years of marriage.  And for possibly the most anticlimactic of all, for the tenth year… a cookie sheet.  This list makes me grateful for 2011 as does this nice little saying that I found at the end of the list, “Don’t save all your smiles for the parlor.  Use a few in the kitchen.”  Oh dear.

Also in the book are a number of party theme ideas that I can’t believe were popular back in the 50s.  They range from tedious to boring to downright in appropriate:

• The Good Neighbor Tour – an international progressive dinner (OK, not so bad, but wait) – the suggestions here are dated, so it’s just good clean fun:  Begin with cocktails of spiced fruit juice and canapes to start your guests off in high spirits.  Yep, spiced fruit juice really gets me going.  Follow that with a Scottish meat pie and a whispering palms Hawaiian salad (international?  Yes, because remember, Hawaii wasn’t a state until 1959).  And then travel to Paris – using lots of flowers to decorate your dessert. Hmmm, flowers surrounding a cake equals Paris?  I am missing something.
• What about a Barefoot Party?  Your guests arrive and must throw their shoes in a communal bag. Later games will include, “Guess whose shoe,” etc.  BOR-ING and kind of ick.
• A Hobo Party – Invite your guests to come dressed as a Hobo.  “Remember, Hobo’s don’t work, so make your entertainment effortless.”  Send your invitations on scraps of brown paper bags using wording such as, “Kum Irly and Git a Gud Sete.”  Vittles can be cooked out-of doors or it could be  a basement party…. Um, in a word…wrong!

Despite the above examples, there are some fun or interesting ideas that may be put to use at a future family camp or group gathering.   I will go on record by saying that I am still scratching my head about the Hatchet Relay Race.  Sounds like a bad idea.

Well, today is an excursion day.  We head to senior aerobics and then driving to Indiana to shop for shoes.  Doesn’t everyone head to Indiana for shoes?  Just me?  Ok.

As ever,

K. Quinn

I’m not sure which – but I am super tired from driving yet another day… and it’s my birthday – so I am taking the night off.  I will be posting tomorrow with the update from the fab weekend in I-O-W-A.

For just a little preview….

I learned how many states no longer include cursive writing as part of the school curriculum.

I learned all about a POW camp that was in Iowa in WWII.

Plus a grizzly axe murder story… still unsolved.

A panic moment driving down a tiny ice covered road… ‘down’ being the key word.

A bald eagle sighting.

And breaking my ban on eel – Koni, if you are reading this… you know my issues with eel.

As ever,

K. Quinn

I will catch you all up on my Kansas and Iowa adventures tomorrow – but just a quick note before heading to Iowa City…. yesterday morning, I pondered while at the reststop 40 miles north of Wichita…

If you are going to take the time and energy to immortalize yourself by defacing public and/or corporate property… how do you really want to be remembered?  Someone calling themselves Mother Goose – might want to reconsider their moniker.  And for the person who described themselves as “Feisty” – I get it, you’re on the road, feeling a little pumped up, maybe a little horny, but as you pull out your keys to gouge out your feelings on a bathroom stall, maybe you want to consider your spelling… because it came out “Festy” with the I squeezed in as an obvious afterthought.

Forever Festy,

As ever,

K. Quinn