Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Journey -- Days 4 and 5 -- Kansas City
 |
| Merry, Alys and baby , Mom, Pippa |
Our original plan included a stop in Columbus, Ohio where my sister, Alys, lives. But, in an exciting change for them, her husband was just offered a position teaching elementary and middle-school orchestra for a district in Overland Park, Kansas and Alys needed to use the weekend we were going to be together to find housing for her family in Kansas. So we changed our plans so that she could undertake her house hunt and we could still see her. I had planned to drive through Iowa, but going through Missouri and Kansas works just as well! |
| Me and the kids with Mom, Alys and Cousin E and family |
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| Playing in the Hotel |
The kids enjoyed our hotel room, which had the unusual addition of a window seat, and, although tornados passed through the area the night we were there, we stayed safe and sound.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Day Three -- Bloomington, Bugs and Bowels
Hurrah for fabulous friends! Our one night in Bloomington was spent with some of my favorite people. We enjoyed good food, good company (Pippa and Merry had a blast with the younger family members while I was blessed to enjoy grown-up conversation time) and, after a rough start, a great night's sleep. Thank you, thank you to the wonderful Jackson family for all their hospitality!
J hoped that while we were in Bloomington that I would take the kids to WonderLab, a children's science museum where J volunteered while at IU. Some of my favorite memories of dating J are connected to WonderLab. One Saturday, just as our friendship was turning into something more serious, J asked me out on a secret date -- it turned out that he had scheduled us to work at WonderLab's annual 'BubbleFest'. We spent the day together helping kids (and a few adults) play with bubbles of every shape and size and I think it was there in the bubbles that I first really fell in love. Later J took me to the museum to introduce me to his favorite hissing cockroaches. He got someone to get one out for us so I could hold it, put his own hand beneath mine and gently kept me from squishing the hideous creature -- who would imagine that I would ever have a fond memory that involved a cockroach? And now our children have had the chance to squirm away and refuse to look at the relatives of that very bug that played a role in their parent's courtship . . .
Our visit to WonderLab was fantastic. The kids enjoyed playing with the bubbles, in the water course, with various building blocks, and, even though they would not even get close to the cockroaches, both kids got to pet a snake. Unfortunately things ended in a bit of a screaming and crying crisis. I spent a month preparing for this trip and I thought I was prepared for everything. I was a bit worried about traveling with a newly-trained potty goer and went so far as to buy a travel potty for our car, but somehow I neglected to think about what would happen when young bowels met up with hours in the car, strange locations and travel food. What happens, apparently, is not much. Merry went just three days without a movement, but for Merry, who has had problems with elimination since he was an infant, even one day is too long. When things finally started moving we were, thankfully, on the last exhibit, but even so, carrying your screaming child out of a museum is never fun. (As an aside, Pippa had problems too and went 6 days without a movement . . . next time we're starting fiber gummies before we leave!)
And so, on that happy note, our Bloomington time was over. Both kids left the museum grumpy, Merry for obvious reasons and Pippa because Merry's bowel movement ended our visit rather abruptly. I was planning on visiting at least one of Bloomington's fabulous restaurants before we left, but there was no way I was dragging two grumpy (and tired) kids with me, so we dropped by Taco Bell on the way out of town, got gas at the gas station around the corner from the house where J and I lived for the first three months of our married life, and drove off into the sunset . . .
Next stop St. Louis . . .
J hoped that while we were in Bloomington that I would take the kids to WonderLab, a children's science museum where J volunteered while at IU. Some of my favorite memories of dating J are connected to WonderLab. One Saturday, just as our friendship was turning into something more serious, J asked me out on a secret date -- it turned out that he had scheduled us to work at WonderLab's annual 'BubbleFest'. We spent the day together helping kids (and a few adults) play with bubbles of every shape and size and I think it was there in the bubbles that I first really fell in love. Later J took me to the museum to introduce me to his favorite hissing cockroaches. He got someone to get one out for us so I could hold it, put his own hand beneath mine and gently kept me from squishing the hideous creature -- who would imagine that I would ever have a fond memory that involved a cockroach? And now our children have had the chance to squirm away and refuse to look at the relatives of that very bug that played a role in their parent's courtship . . . |
| Rose (a long way) in front of cockroaches. |
And so, on that happy note, our Bloomington time was over. Both kids left the museum grumpy, Merry for obvious reasons and Pippa because Merry's bowel movement ended our visit rather abruptly. I was planning on visiting at least one of Bloomington's fabulous restaurants before we left, but there was no way I was dragging two grumpy (and tired) kids with me, so we dropped by Taco Bell on the way out of town, got gas at the gas station around the corner from the house where J and I lived for the first three months of our married life, and drove off into the sunset . . .
Next stop St. Louis . . .
Monday, May 23, 2011
Day Two -- A LONG drive through Ohio and an attack of nostalgia . . .
We had another 6+ hour drive and after today I am really glad that my two longest days were my first two days . . . amazing how much longer 6 hours feels the second time (and, since I am actually writing this post on day 6, I can report that even our recent 4 hour days feel longer than the original 6 . . . of course day one was also driving through the beautiful 'mountains' and valleys of West Virginia, whereas our other drives have been through Ohio and Missouri -- which have their own kind of beauty, but . . . ). I was exhausted after my long nights on Tuesday and Wednesday so, once Pip and Merry fell asleep, I pulled over in the parking lot of an empty gas station and took a little nap myself -- what a difference an hour of sleep makes!
The kids were amazing! Again. No fights, minimal whining, lots of quiet playing, lots of singing, lots of questions.
Our destination tonight was the home of dear friends in Bloomington, Indiana. Jason was the chair of my thesis committee at the University of Oklahoma and later, after I had moved on to the PhD program at IU, joined the faculty there. (I got my favorite professor in two different programs at two different universities, how great is that!) And while I lived in Bloomington I got the chance to know his amazing wife (and to babysit their beautiful daughter). The time I spent myself in Bloomington was one of those powerful, definitive moments of my life. I can't fully explain what those two years meant to me. I have never felt more capable, more attractive, more liked than I did then. I had the BEST roommate (my little sister) and met the best man, who later became my amazing husband! At the same time, after a two-year reprieve, my last year in Bloomington was when my depression really took hold again . . . With these powerful memories in mind, I found the last hour of our drive on Thursday a very emotional experience. Over and over I found my throat constricting and my eyes clouding over . . .
I was so excited to be back, but what I really wanted was to be back THEN -- only I didn't, because I wanted to be here and now.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Journey -- Day One
So I didn't sleep much Tuesday night. It was half Christmas-eve-itis and half abject terror. But, even without a great night sleep, Wednesday came and with it the start of our great adventure.
We began the day with our good friends at the graduation party for Pippa's Little Monkey's Preschool. What a fun year we have had! We mothers took turns teaching our five little monkeys and the kids got a chance to learn and play together.
As soon as graduation was over, I gathered my monkey and her brother (luckily they were very excited to leave), strapped them in and off we went!
Today's trip was a long-ish one -- almost 7 hours of driving through Maryland and West Virginia -- and, because of graduation I wasn't able to get on the road until about 11:30. I had already made hotel reservations in Marietta, Ohio and I wanted to get there before too late . . . all in all, after a long night and a hectic morning, I was pretty frazzled and grumpy by the time we were actually on our way and then, just as we were getting onto I-95, the rain hit -- buckets and torrents and blinding waves of precipitation -- just great . . .
There is something about the open road, though -- the storm moved on and we were on our way. The kids were happily playing on their new travel desks and trying to out-sing each other and, just like the clouds, my mood lifted.
The kids were FABULOUS today. Very little trauma and lots of laughing and singing and sleeping!
The weather was terrible. We passed through blinding downpours about 6 times over the course of the day, but they never lasted too long and we made it safely through.
We reached Marietta at about 6:30 pm -- not a bad time at all, especially considering the weather -- and checked into our hotel. We're staying at the Lafayette -- an old (and supposedly haunted) hotel on the shore of the Ohio River. Our room is tiny -- two twin beds a desk and a dresser with just enough room on the floor for the kids (Pippa decided she wanted to sleep in her sleeping bag rather than on the bed) -- with lots of character. The furniture is all heavy, elaborately carved, Victorian. The bathroom is as tiny as the room with a deep, turquoise-blue, bathtub and a toilet you have to sit sideways to fit on.
Outside there is a little park and a walk along the river. I almost wish we could stay longer!
The kids had a hard time falling asleep -- about 10:30 for Merry and a bit later for Pippa -- but once they went down they both slept well and I slept pretty well too -- until Pip woke me up at 6:50 -- doesn't she know vacations are for sleeping in? (She is probably thinking what I once thought about my parents -- "doesn't she know there are exciting things to do?") And so there are!
We're on our way to Indiana today. Another 6+ hour drive, but we have more flexibility today and the weather looks much better!
We'll check back in tomorrow!
We began the day with our good friends at the graduation party for Pippa's Little Monkey's Preschool. What a fun year we have had! We mothers took turns teaching our five little monkeys and the kids got a chance to learn and play together.
As soon as graduation was over, I gathered my monkey and her brother (luckily they were very excited to leave), strapped them in and off we went!
Today's trip was a long-ish one -- almost 7 hours of driving through Maryland and West Virginia -- and, because of graduation I wasn't able to get on the road until about 11:30. I had already made hotel reservations in Marietta, Ohio and I wanted to get there before too late . . . all in all, after a long night and a hectic morning, I was pretty frazzled and grumpy by the time we were actually on our way and then, just as we were getting onto I-95, the rain hit -- buckets and torrents and blinding waves of precipitation -- just great . . .
There is something about the open road, though -- the storm moved on and we were on our way. The kids were happily playing on their new travel desks and trying to out-sing each other and, just like the clouds, my mood lifted.
The kids were FABULOUS today. Very little trauma and lots of laughing and singing and sleeping!
The weather was terrible. We passed through blinding downpours about 6 times over the course of the day, but they never lasted too long and we made it safely through.
We reached Marietta at about 6:30 pm -- not a bad time at all, especially considering the weather -- and checked into our hotel. We're staying at the Lafayette -- an old (and supposedly haunted) hotel on the shore of the Ohio River. Our room is tiny -- two twin beds a desk and a dresser with just enough room on the floor for the kids (Pippa decided she wanted to sleep in her sleeping bag rather than on the bed) -- with lots of character. The furniture is all heavy, elaborately carved, Victorian. The bathroom is as tiny as the room with a deep, turquoise-blue, bathtub and a toilet you have to sit sideways to fit on. Outside there is a little park and a walk along the river. I almost wish we could stay longer!
The kids had a hard time falling asleep -- about 10:30 for Merry and a bit later for Pippa -- but once they went down they both slept well and I slept pretty well too -- until Pip woke me up at 6:50 -- doesn't she know vacations are for sleeping in? (She is probably thinking what I once thought about my parents -- "doesn't she know there are exciting things to do?") And so there are!
We're on our way to Indiana today. Another 6+ hour drive, but we have more flexibility today and the weather looks much better!
We'll check back in tomorrow!
The Journey -- Getting Ready
I spent the day Tuesday packing. Since I am traveling alone with the kids, I need a packing method that will be as simple to use on the road as possible. I decided that rather than packing our large suitcases I would pack each day in a separate bag -- I used extra-extra large ziploc bags and similar sized bags from Dollar Tree. Each bag contains pajamas, clothes for the next day, and nighttime diapers for Sam. Our toiletries and other items that we need each night (our storybooks and cuddly toys) I packed into a medium-sized duffle bag. There is just enough room left in the duffle so that each day I can switch out the day-bags. That way I only have to carry in one bag each night and it only has the things I actually need in it.
I did a similar thing with our toys for the trip. For each day I packed a ziploc bag with coloring books, small bags of toys, and other goodies that I can distribute throughout the day.
By Tuesday night I was pretty exhausted, and the final stages of my packing were less careful and orderly -- which means I may have to spend some time on the trip re-organizing -- but at least I have the toys and clothing and toiletries under control . . . for now.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The Female Divine
God, the bearded-man-in-the-sky version -- tall, heroic, old, bearded, male. The in-my-mind version of him is (usually) compassionate, kind, loving, good. He is very much like my own father who is, not coincidentally, kind, loving, good, tall, heroic, bearded and male. This God is someone I could talk to (usually). Whose care of me was consistent (most of the time). Our relationship was made in the pattern of my relationship with my father -- full of love, open and positive. I was ok with that.
Sometimes I wondered about my mother in heaven. I was glad my religion acknowledged her existence, yet it bothered me that we couldn't know anything about her. I thought about thinking more about her, but I "knew" that was wrong and I wanted to be right. Besides, if my relationship with God was patterned on my relationship with my father, my relationship with His wife might parallel my relationship with my mother -- constrained, fraught, difficult. And so I didn't pursue it. And I felt discomfort with those who did.
Until last Sunday morning -- She found me.
I spent the weekend at a women's retreat sponsored by the Unitarian Universalist fellowship I have been attending. I went because I had the chance to present a workshop on life histories, my personal specialty, and I was missing teaching. I went excited but soon found myself uncomfortable. I am not a "people person" by any stretch. I worry that my silences not only exclude me from the group, but that they often seem to dampen the sociability of everyone around me. I spent Saturday in a fog of discomfort, from slight to extreme. I felt the awkwardness of my flesh and of my bones, of my smell, of my aloneness, of my speaking and of my not speaking. I felt the awkwardness of my non-place in this circle. As the women around me spoke and hugged and danced and drank and ate I wondered how I ever could fit among them.
And then the "woman sing" began. Dinner was finished and the tables pushed aside. Many women had achieved a glowing state of satisfaction fueled by the company of sisters and the weight of a delicious meal in the belly and the warmth of drink and now to all that was added the joy of song. Guitars and drums and rattles and voices gathered together and sang of Earth and Sky and Woman and Power and Divinity and Joy and Goddesses and Goodness. I sang with them but inside I felt a cringe of displeasure and unease at the way they invoked divinities so different from my Bearded Father.
Outside the wind roared around the retreat center and the rain fell in heavy sheets. Trees bent toward the earth in the wild darkness and inside the women danced and sang and drummed and I sang with them. And still, I held myself aloof.
My bed that night was not in the main building. Down the hill, through the woods, along-side the stream, sits an old farmhouse made of stone and in it I was supposed to sleep. I was so tired when the singing finished, but the rain still fell outside and there was no light. Determined not to expose my weakness, I tried to walk to the farmhouse by myself. I stood at the head of the path, my belongings tied inside a garbage bad, my useless glasses in my hand. In the nearly total darkness I could make out only shadows in front of me. I could imagine, though, the mud and water washing over where my feet would try to step. The path was steep and unpaved. I knew that only a fool would try it. I may be weak and scared, but I am not a fool. I turned back to the dining room where I waited, wet and quiet and foolish-feeling, until I saw I woman, whose name I knew, leaving for the night. I asked and she kindly gave me a ride.
The room was on the second floor, tucked away above the historic kitchen. Ducking my head, I passed through the tiny door and down three steps and stopped to look around me. The floorboards, worn smooth by a thousand footsteps, creaked beneath my feet. Through knots in the wood I could see the room below me. My bed, in a corner between two tiny windows and the huge old chimney, was one of three in the room, but my housemates had not yet left the gathering. It was quiet. A small leak above the chimney let an infrequent drop of water fall, plop, but the wind and rain had quieted. I was alone.
And in my aloneness I began to feel something different.
Among the songs we sang was one that asked, "How can you not see her beauty?" I wondered too why people have such difficulty seeing beauty in our many imperfections. Why, I thought, can they not see her (my) beauty. Then the song shifted and "you" became me. Why can I not see the beauty? Later, in my quiet room I sat (*drip*) and felt my imperfect embodied-ness melt into something new and powerful. My fleshy limbs became, to me, something monumental, something powerful and good. Beautiful.
I woke to a glorious morning. The roar of wind and rain had given way to the soft rush of the river. Light danced into the room from my tiny windows. I walked my hidden path to breakfast breathing in the rich smells of wet earth and green leaves and flowers. The world was new, inexplicably, so was I. I struggled to explain it to myself. But I couldn't. I couldn't even put a finger on it and yet, here I was, encircled in a feeling of powerful belonging. I felt nourished. Loved. Female.
The road home wound in and over hills and valleys. Everywhere I looked the world was full and brimming over with life and beauty. The fields around me were filled with flowers and animals and the beginnings of plantings and I could not, for a moment, imagine how all that bounty could come from a man. This is the work of a mother. My bearded Father seemed lost in the glory of Spring herself. He seemed so small and impotent -- and arrogant to presume to take the credit.
I am still perplexed by my emotions, by the quiet, almost imperceptible power of this spiritual awakening. I am frightened a little too. And cautious about proceeding. I come from a place where these thoughts and feelings are viewed as evil. I cower even as the peace and light and hope I've felt coax me forward.
I have a secret hope in my heart that my bearded Father and my earthy Mother truly love each other. Could theirs be a collaboration of creativity and delight, of joy and music? Of laughter and healing? Such a family I would want for myself, I would want to be a part of . . . That is what I am looking for . . . a laughing Man and a dancing Woman . . . a universe where they dance and laugh entwined.
Sometimes I wondered about my mother in heaven. I was glad my religion acknowledged her existence, yet it bothered me that we couldn't know anything about her. I thought about thinking more about her, but I "knew" that was wrong and I wanted to be right. Besides, if my relationship with God was patterned on my relationship with my father, my relationship with His wife might parallel my relationship with my mother -- constrained, fraught, difficult. And so I didn't pursue it. And I felt discomfort with those who did.
I spent the weekend at a women's retreat sponsored by the Unitarian Universalist fellowship I have been attending. I went because I had the chance to present a workshop on life histories, my personal specialty, and I was missing teaching. I went excited but soon found myself uncomfortable. I am not a "people person" by any stretch. I worry that my silences not only exclude me from the group, but that they often seem to dampen the sociability of everyone around me. I spent Saturday in a fog of discomfort, from slight to extreme. I felt the awkwardness of my flesh and of my bones, of my smell, of my aloneness, of my speaking and of my not speaking. I felt the awkwardness of my non-place in this circle. As the women around me spoke and hugged and danced and drank and ate I wondered how I ever could fit among them.
And then the "woman sing" began. Dinner was finished and the tables pushed aside. Many women had achieved a glowing state of satisfaction fueled by the company of sisters and the weight of a delicious meal in the belly and the warmth of drink and now to all that was added the joy of song. Guitars and drums and rattles and voices gathered together and sang of Earth and Sky and Woman and Power and Divinity and Joy and Goddesses and Goodness. I sang with them but inside I felt a cringe of displeasure and unease at the way they invoked divinities so different from my Bearded Father.
Outside the wind roared around the retreat center and the rain fell in heavy sheets. Trees bent toward the earth in the wild darkness and inside the women danced and sang and drummed and I sang with them. And still, I held myself aloof.
My bed that night was not in the main building. Down the hill, through the woods, along-side the stream, sits an old farmhouse made of stone and in it I was supposed to sleep. I was so tired when the singing finished, but the rain still fell outside and there was no light. Determined not to expose my weakness, I tried to walk to the farmhouse by myself. I stood at the head of the path, my belongings tied inside a garbage bad, my useless glasses in my hand. In the nearly total darkness I could make out only shadows in front of me. I could imagine, though, the mud and water washing over where my feet would try to step. The path was steep and unpaved. I knew that only a fool would try it. I may be weak and scared, but I am not a fool. I turned back to the dining room where I waited, wet and quiet and foolish-feeling, until I saw I woman, whose name I knew, leaving for the night. I asked and she kindly gave me a ride.
The room was on the second floor, tucked away above the historic kitchen. Ducking my head, I passed through the tiny door and down three steps and stopped to look around me. The floorboards, worn smooth by a thousand footsteps, creaked beneath my feet. Through knots in the wood I could see the room below me. My bed, in a corner between two tiny windows and the huge old chimney, was one of three in the room, but my housemates had not yet left the gathering. It was quiet. A small leak above the chimney let an infrequent drop of water fall, plop, but the wind and rain had quieted. I was alone.
And in my aloneness I began to feel something different.
Among the songs we sang was one that asked, "How can you not see her beauty?" I wondered too why people have such difficulty seeing beauty in our many imperfections. Why, I thought, can they not see her (my) beauty. Then the song shifted and "you" became me. Why can I not see the beauty? Later, in my quiet room I sat (*drip*) and felt my imperfect embodied-ness melt into something new and powerful. My fleshy limbs became, to me, something monumental, something powerful and good. Beautiful.
The road home wound in and over hills and valleys. Everywhere I looked the world was full and brimming over with life and beauty. The fields around me were filled with flowers and animals and the beginnings of plantings and I could not, for a moment, imagine how all that bounty could come from a man. This is the work of a mother. My bearded Father seemed lost in the glory of Spring herself. He seemed so small and impotent -- and arrogant to presume to take the credit.
I am still perplexed by my emotions, by the quiet, almost imperceptible power of this spiritual awakening. I am frightened a little too. And cautious about proceeding. I come from a place where these thoughts and feelings are viewed as evil. I cower even as the peace and light and hope I've felt coax me forward.
I have a secret hope in my heart that my bearded Father and my earthy Mother truly love each other. Could theirs be a collaboration of creativity and delight, of joy and music? Of laughter and healing? Such a family I would want for myself, I would want to be a part of . . . That is what I am looking for . . . a laughing Man and a dancing Woman . . . a universe where they dance and laugh entwined.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Yellowstone, Here We Come . . .
Originally I intended our return trip to be more or less a duplicate of the trip out -- only more driving and much less fun every day. When I thought about it, if I thought about it at all, I felt nothing much more than dread. Here we would be, tired of vacation, really to go home, and staring down the barrel of seven days of hard driving broken up only by a visit to J's Mom and Dad, who we love, but who, each in their own special way, are not easy people to visit. And then on Sunday I had something of an epiphany. I had been thinking of adding a visit to Yellowstone to our trip, but it seemed like such a huge extra addition that I just dismissed it. Until I realized that, except for the drive to Yellowstone itself, going there wouldn't add that much to our cross-country timetable while allowing us to take a completely different route home. 
So now, instead of just a boring drive home, our return trip will include Yellowstone, a stop at Mt. Rushmore, an overnight visit in DeSmet, South Dakota, where Laura Ingalls Wilder, of Little House fame, lived as a teenager and married her husband and where her parents both died. Then, as if that weren't fun enough, we're going to take another small detour to have lunch with my best friend from jr. high school. We'll be camping in Yellowstone and at Mt. Rushmore and in Wisconsin. Suddenly our return trip seems as exciting as the trip out to Utah is going to be, plus we'll have Jay with us, so twice as fun. Yippee!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The Planning Begins
The kids and I are setting out on our great cross-country drive sometime during the week of May 20th (I am debating leaving a day or two earlier than I originally planned). That gives me just over a month to get everything ready. It is just me and the kids, who are 2 and 4 years old, so my planning needs to be excellent and so, having put several other big projects on the shelf, I am starting serious travel planning.
Here's what I know so far:
I'll be driving through 11 states: Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming and Utah.
My outbound trip will total just over 2100 miles.
I'll be stopping to visit friends in Columbus, Ohio; Bloomington, Indiana; and Cheyenne, Wyoming.
I'll be staying in hotels in Decatur, Illinois; Osceola, Iowa; and Sidney, Nebraska.
I'll be making stops in Nauvoo, Illinois, to visit the Nauvoo Family Living Center and Lincoln, Nebraska where we'll visit the Lincoln Children's Zoo.
I'll be driving an average of 4 hours a day for 9 days, with my longest day being 8 hours of driving and my shortest (excluding the one day of the nine with no driving at all) only 2 hours, for a total of 38 hours of driving.
I'm still working on my plans for food, but I've found a few restaurants online that look good:
In Decatur, IL, Krekel's Custard and Hamburgers
In Nauvoo, IL, Grandpa John's Nauvoo Cafe and Soda Fountain
In North Platte, Nebraska, either Tempura or Whiskey Creek Wood Fire Grill a restaurant which offers s'mores as a dessert, yum.
And, of course, I have to make the very serious, and difficult, choice of which beloved Bloomington restaurant(s) to visit during my very short stay there . . .
Here's what I know so far:
I'll be driving through 11 states: Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming and Utah.
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| FreeFoto.com |
I'll be stopping to visit friends in Columbus, Ohio; Bloomington, Indiana; and Cheyenne, Wyoming.
I'll be staying in hotels in Decatur, Illinois; Osceola, Iowa; and Sidney, Nebraska.
I'll be making stops in Nauvoo, Illinois, to visit the Nauvoo Family Living Center and Lincoln, Nebraska where we'll visit the Lincoln Children's Zoo.
I'll be driving an average of 4 hours a day for 9 days, with my longest day being 8 hours of driving and my shortest (excluding the one day of the nine with no driving at all) only 2 hours, for a total of 38 hours of driving.
I'm still working on my plans for food, but I've found a few restaurants online that look good:
In Decatur, IL, Krekel's Custard and Hamburgers
In Nauvoo, IL, Grandpa John's Nauvoo Cafe and Soda Fountain
In North Platte, Nebraska, either Tempura or Whiskey Creek Wood Fire Grill a restaurant which offers s'mores as a dessert, yum.
And, of course, I have to make the very serious, and difficult, choice of which beloved Bloomington restaurant(s) to visit during my very short stay there . . .
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