A Wagon-Wheel Tour of the Bluegrass

Howdy! Sorry this has been Lull Lite lately, but I’ve had out-of-town company. On Friday, we nearly made it to Paris; the next day we headed for Versailles—which is pronounced “Vuhr • saylz” for those of you who don’t speak Bluegrass.

Lexington resembles a wagon wheel: The center of town is the hub and the major thoroughfares extending away from it are spokes. With no linear grid system here, the pathfinding can be easily bungled. My friend and I (and sometimes her 70 pound puppy) have been exploring a spoke a day and some of its best-known features—the bourbon distillery, the dog park, the country restaurant, the nearby railroad town, and the thoroughbred farms.

The highlight of the long weekend (besides being with a cherished friend) was going on a trail ride at the Kentucky Horse Park. It was my first attempt in more than 30 years to mount a horse again. It turned out to be both humiliating and rewarding. But that tale will have to be told in another post…

[Pic of Kentucky Horse Park by Mottasu.]

Always Remember to Read the Fine Print

ur new neighbor displays a PETA sticker on her car. When my husband first saw it, he couldn’t wait to tell me. He thought I’d have a new pal to discuss animals and rescue with.

I took a gander at the bumper propaganda and noticed there was small type next to the PETA acronym. Stepping closer, I could make it out: “People Eating Tasty Animals.”

I guess a new friend wasn’t in the cards for me.

[Drop cap courtesy of Jessica Hische.]

The Witching Time of Night

e haven’t had trick-or-treaters since the first Halloween at our last apartment 12 years ago.

We knew little goblins and princesses would be reluctant to approach a six-flat. So we stood in our yard with a candy-filled cauldron—our trusty costumed pets by our sides to prove we were harmless. Our snow-white feline donned pink bunny ears for the occasion and our hound tolerated a devil get-up of cape and horns.

It was a cold and rainy night in a rough-around-the-edges urban neighborhood. We had few visitors.

But suddenly, there were six or seven children lined up at our gate, holding out their plastic pumpkins and bags for goodies. I was delighted.

And then embarrassed. For as I was dispensing candy at one end of the line, the pooch had her long nose in a child’s bag at the other end. It was a perfect strategy: While the children were focused on the treats they were about to receive from me, my hound would divest the children of their previous bounty.

I raced through the line before the children knew what was happening. No tears or scares, thank goodness. But no more Halloweens like that, either.

This year, I wanted to do something for the holiday. The city we’ve moved to has an annual zombie parade that I intended to see yet missed. Nevertheless, I made up for it by joining a neighbor to pass out treats.

We sat on her front porch with her canine and kitty. She’d already run out of 250 pieces of candy before I arrived (which tells you something about the demographics of my new hood). Trends I noticed: Not many children wore masks—another cultural shift for the holiday. There were a surprising number of Star Wars characters, mostly boys, and little girls favored a fairy motif (inspired by the Tinkerbell movies, perhaps?). The children were polite, the weather was lovely, and I managed to meet a few more neighbors.

I finished the evening by watching a zombie comedy with my husband.

Friends, children, pets, and laughter: a perfect combination for happiness whatever the occasion.

[Drop cap by Jessica Hische.]

Stop Smiling

Today's headline is actually the name of a magazine published in Chicago. I love it because just reading the name makes me smile. And the subtitle tickles me, too: The Magazine for High-Minded Lowlifes. That's me! And if it's you, too, then you should check it out. It's a well-designed publication with themed issues—Hollywood writers of the past, the demise of American publishing, interviews with cultural icons.

Our guests have departed, our pooch is sick from "people food" treats, and we're exhausted. But we'll get back in a groove soon enough. It's refreshing to share our small universe with outsiders. It greatly expands said universe temporarily and then leaves it ever-so-slightly, permanently reshaped. We're grateful for the change; the dog was grateful for the new adoration.