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“Two dreams and a cup of coffee later…..”
F.K. PrestonKopi Time
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the crystal bell inn – wabeno, wisconsin
My back was killing me from the four-hour drive. I listened to a book on tape, took about a hundred pictures of the sunset, drank a chocolate malt from McDonalds, but I was definitely ready to be out of the car.
The sound of the gravel under the tires when the car turned onto the driveway immediately awakened my childhood, my grandparents cabin on the lake, when crunching gravel meant the thrill of company, because we were at the end of a dead end road.
But this wasn’t a dead end road. It was a destination – the driveway of the Crystal Bell Inn. I would not be exaggerating to say I jumped out of the car and sped up the sidewalk to rap on the back door. Then I walked in, and called, “Anyone home?”
Donna came out of the kitchen, arms spread wide for a big hug, and said, ”Welcome home, kids!”
By the end of a long vacation, you’re exhausted from travel, constant sensory input, slogging suitcases, fighting crowds, and getting where you are supposed to be on time with all the correct paperwork. Walking in your door at home is the time you let out a deep breath and allow all those tense muscles to relax. That’s how I felt, falling into Donna’s hug.
After a long couple weeks of life, I was ready for a break from the responsibilities of work and family. Ready to go “home.” Although I had visited The Crystal Bell for only one weekend in April, it felt like a long awaited home coming after an arduous, exhausting trip.
Donna said, “You chose room seven this time, kids. Go on up. Would you like a cup of warm chai and some cookies Mike just took out of the oven?”
“Yes, please!” Ahhhhh. “Where’s Mike?”
Donna said, “He went to bed – you’ll see him at breakfast.”
Donna and Mike Ver Voort purchased the majestic but slightly bedraggled lumbar baron’s mansion in 1997. They then tackled the huge task of giving the beautiful girl a complete makeover. All the woodwork was stripped and refinished, including the floors and stairways. An enclosed porch was winterized and made into the “pampering room.” The kitchen was torn out and a professional kitchen went in. Bathrooms were added, as well as a shiny, bright laundry room in the basement.
The town of Wabeno, population about 1,500, is also slightly bedraggled. The days of “going up north” aren’t over, but travel styles have changed, and to rely on tourism as the main source of income means the death of a small town. One can still see remnants of the old days: the logging museum, “Bates” Motel in the center of town, and the little ice cream stand (not McDonalds or Dairy Queen).
From the Wabeno newspaperWe had chosen room seven for this visit because it is the only room out of eight that has a porch. On the porch there are chairs and a table, and a picnic bench with umbrella if it gets too hot. Towels hang in the closet to wipe the table down if it should be dew covered in the morning. There are blankets in the dresser drawer to snuggle in when it gets chilly after sunset. Donna thinks of everything.
Although the bathrooms are shared, it isn’t an issue. There are six bathrooms in the house, and if one is taken, you can just find another. The closets are full of thick, white, luxurious towels. There are also brown washcloths for ladies to remove their makeup! I told you, Donna thinks of everything. All you need to bring with you is a toothbrush. Everything else is in the cabinet.
With eight rooms to choose from, you might have a hard time. I am bringing my mom and sister later in the summer for “girl’s weekend” and we’ll stay in room two. It faces north with windows across the breadth, and it’s bright and cheerful.
There is a honeymoon suite, and a single room in the corner of the second floor that is small and delightful for a lone traveler (otherwise known as “The Sewing Room”). There is also “The Old Library” on the first floor for anyone who has trouble climbing the sweeping grand staircase that is punctuated with Donna’s hand woven baskets.
The grounds of the Inn are also beautiful with mature maple and pine trees. The fire pit in the back yard is a gathering place for the owners and guests on summer evenings. On the edge of the large parking lot is a huge contraption which was obviously a conveyor belt, but the purpose of which had me stumped, so I asked Donna.
She laughed. “That’s for all the crafters coming in so they don’t have to schlep their stuff up to the third floor. They back up, unload their sewing machines, boxes of paper, irons, and ephemera and put it all on the belt with Mike’s help. I wait at the top and help unload right into the Ballroom.”
Ah ha. The Ballroom is now crafter’s paradise. Crafting clubs have their set weekends here, year after year. Donna has conceived of every problem-solving device for them. There are recently designed wall hung ironing boards that flip up and down to save space, with hooks on the bottom for either right or left handed ironers. There are cup holders at every seat so no one has to worry about tipping over their cup of chai onto a recently created work of art. Scrap bookers, quilters, and other crafters are in seventh heaven up here in this brightly lit room with tv/dvd, music, and a bathroom. The massage room is also located on the third floor, so the women can take breaks and be pampered during the day.
This coming weekend is “The Romantic Trillium Weekend” at The Crystal Bell Inn. Donna has created picnic baskets for each couple to take on the trillium walk (with waterfalls along the path). Everything you need for a picnic is in the basket. A lavish dinner is being catered at the Inn on Saturday night for all of the guests. And of course breakfast is included every morning.
Speaking of breakfast! One morning we had Belgian waffles with freshly roasted pecans, maple syrup and whipped cream. A bowl of fresh pineapple graced the side of the plate, and there was also the choice of eggs and/or sausage or bacon. Coffee, juice, and milk glasses are never empty.

When you are ready to drag yourself away from the table, Donna asks, “What kind of puff pastry do you want? Raspberry, cranberry, blueberry?” These little delights go in a box for you to take with you and enjoy later. A little puff pastry with custard at the bottom and a fruit topping drizzled with a shiny, thin frosting. Mike’s specialty, they are delicious mid-afternoon while sitting in a sunny spot in the woods.
Wabeno is definitely an excellent destination, or a great place to stop on the road to somewhere else. I suggest you call Donna and make a reservation as soon as possible. You will probably have better luck getting in mid-week, because the crafters tend to fill up the weekends, but there are some weekend dates available too.And did I mention pampering? You can make a reservation for a massage, a pedicure, manicure, or a variety of other pampering services while you visit.
I made good use of our private porch that weekend. I was sitting with my feet up Sunday morning, sipping a cup of coffee, when I looked up from my book. High above the trees, three golden eagles were gracefully floating on the wind currents. They were so high it was difficult to imagine they probably had a wingspan of six or seven feet. I was so pleased to see there are places not too far from the city where wild life can flourish despite human efforts to eradicate it.
While I walk the dog across the park tomorrow morning, I’ll be thinking about those beautiful eagles floating in the cloudless blue sky above me, and my next visit “home.”
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You were bit by what kind of bug?
Short stories are pretty low on my list of favorite things to read. I can’t remember ever purchasing a short story anthology. So picture my surprise this evening, when I realized that I have been reading short stories voraciously.
Travel is what started it all. I have been journaling about travel experiences and about dreams of travel experiences. Somehow it came to me that other people write about their travel experiences, too. So I went to the library and checked out some travel anthologies. The first one I read was The Best Women’s Travel Writing 2009: True Stories From Around the World, edited by Lucy McCauley. Being a woman, sometimes it is simply enjoyable to read work only by women. There were a couple stories in the anthology I skimmed, but overall it was great fun to read. The Globe Corner Bookstore wrote a perfect review:
Since the publication of A Woman’ s World in 1995, Travelers’ Tales has been the recognized leader in women’ s travel literature. This title presents stimulating, inspiring, and just plain wild adventures from women who have traveled to the ends of the earth to discover new places, peoples, and facets of themselves. The common threads connecting these stories are a woman’s perspective; fresh, lively storytelling; and compelling narrative that makes the reader laugh, weep, wish she was there, or be glad she wasn’t.
Contributors include such luminaries as Frances Mayes, Barbara Kingsolver, and Diane Johnson. Kathleen Spivak’ s From the Window, a bittersweet, beautifully written memoir of lost love in Paris, typifies the book. The points of view and perspectives are both personal and global, and the themes are as eclectic as in all of this series, including stories that encompass spiritual growth, hilarity and misadventure, high adventure, romance, solo journeys, stories of service to humanity, family travel, and encounters with exotic cuisine.
The next anthology I read was The Best American Travel Writing 2008, edited by Anthony Bourdain. One essay really stood out for me, not so much because of the writing, but because of the subject. Hope and Squalor at Chungking Mansion by Karl Taro Greenfeld, was the epitome of how strange and exotic our world can be. A whole science fiction novel was written in my mind immediately after reading the story. Have you heard of Chungking Mansion? I was amazed I had never heard even a whisper about it, prior to reading this travelogue. It is located in one of the busiest districts of Hong Kong, has five blocks (A, B, C, D, and E), and is seventeen stories tall. Once a residence building with apartments, it has been divided, subdivided and jerry-rigged into low budget hotels, hostels, sari stores, tattoo parlors, sweat shops, curry restaurants, African bistros, and foreign exchange offices. A little world unto itself, it is estimated there are now 4,000 people living in the mansion. A tiny room in one of the “hotels” can be rented for just a few dollars. If you are intrigued, watch this youtube video that gives a pretty good idea of the flavor of the place. I so want to go there.
Then I read was The Best Travel Writing 2006: True Stories From Around the World, edited by James O’Reilly, Larry Habegger, and Sean O’Reilly. This is a great collection. Knowing these stories are more fact than fiction made them even more attractive – oh, the possibilities! I wrote a post about wanderlust a little while ago, and I still have the disease. Far from easing the symptoms, reading these anthologies just exacerbated the itch.
My upcoming travel adventure: Next weekend has been set aside for a trip to Lily River. We’ve reserved a room in the bed and breakfast where we lodged on our last visit there.
I will write a longer story about The Crystal Bell when I return from our next visit, because it is such a wonderful, restful place, with such an interesting history. I’ve included here a picture of the living room, where we enjoyed tea and warm chocolate chip cookies in the late afternoon sun, after our arrival.
And here is a picture in Dublin, last June. What would Ireland be without a spot of rain? Actually it poured and we had to buy an umbrella, after a breath-taking look at the Book of Kells. We were still absolutely sodden by the time we reached home.
It’s not raining in Milwaukee today, however. The sun is shining, and I am heading out to take a few photos, before the afternoon’s agenda gobbles up all my free time. Happy Spring!
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How my life went to the dogs
Lists are the way I normally accomplish things that need to get… accomplished! I have been unable to make a list for the past two weeks because I knew reading it would put me over the edge. This blog is misnamed; it should be So Many Chores, So Little Time. Books? Who has time to read at all? Looking at the stack of filing that has been mushrooming on my desk for months, I can’t even begin to imagine how much time it will take to go through. My file drawers aren’t even big enough to hold what’s stacked on top, which means I will have to go through everything and weed out trash. I should go through clothes and jackets and put away the winter and get out and wash the summer. Just what I want to do on a lovely Saturday. There is the new camera I need to read up on and get out and practice with. Sure. And the manuscript. And the query letter. And the synopsis.
Now, if I didn’t have to go to work, I could probably catch up. So guess what has gotten the ax for a couple weeks? You guessed it. And it makes me very sad, but I can’t read and comment on yours and write on mine too. So I am catching you up on the puppy and the very patient Terra who only bites Zoë now and then when she just can’t take it any more. Walking them three times a day takes a lot of time, too. And there are children, and the job, the basement, and……. I better stop now. It is starting to look like a list, and I might cry.
Her other name is imp! Remind me not to get another puppy, please.
I’ll be back. I will keep reading your blog! Check up on me in a week or so, please.
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wanderlust and lily river
If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.
Henry David Thoreau
When you are young, time seems to crawl, winding along in slow circles, no rush, no worry, no pressure to get things done. Youth is like riding a bicycle in the highest gear – you press hard on the pedals and you move along, wind lightly blowing your hair, the scents and colors of the world float past, tantalizing. You can afford to rest, coast for a moment, and experience. But life calls, and you must start pedaling again. As your feet push in those circles, the momentum begins to carry you, faster and faster, and soon the wind has plastered your hair back, and the scenes around you are a blur of color and light and you peddle furiously to be on time wherever you are going.
And then suddenly, you find yourself where I have found myself. It is time to get off of that bicycle before I plow into the sea, still pedaling, until the force that has carried me runs out, and I sink under the waves with the weight of my life carrying me down. Bubbles raising to the surface the last sign I have been here, and then nothing.
How did I get to this place so quickly, in the middle of my life? I am trying to not let it frighten me. I have simply decided to coast, and get off that bicycle whenever and wherever I please. I suppose that is called “living in the moment” which one does without thinking and to great extreme, in youth. Somehow I seemed to have forgotten that as I matured. I suppose I was lucky, in the right place at the right time, and it has come back to me. Along with wanderlust.
Elizabeth Eaves said in an article she wrote for WorldHum.com,
I’ve met people who can’t separate love and lust; for me the tricky distinction is between love and wanderlust. They’re both about wanting and seeking and hoping to be swept away, so lost in the moment that the rest of the world recedes from view.
Wanderlust, the perfect German word that cannot be coined in any better way, knowing there is more out there; an “ache for the distance.” It might be about people, it might be about being alone in city or in nature. It means all of those things to me. The second verse of Bjork’s song, Wanderlust:
Wanderlust! relentlessly craving
Wanderlust! peel off the layers
Until we get to the coreDid I imagine it would be like this?
Was it something like this I wished for?
Or will I want more?Lust for comfort
Suffocates the soul
Relentless restlessness
Liberates meI feel at home
Whenever the unknown surrounds me
I receive its embraceRelentless craving, aching, lusting, liberating, wanting, seeking, hoping. It’s that desire to drop out of your regular life, responsibilities, routines. To float without tether of laundry or carpool or any other mundane albatross of everyday. That is wanderlust.
That craving took me away for a few short days, “up north” to Lily River. Everyone in Wisconsin, Illinois and Michigan, at the very least, knows what up north is. It’s the boat, the cottage, the woods, campfires and swimming. Each family has its own variation. My family had my grandparent’s cottage with a row boat, a lake to swim in, woods with deer trails to follow, and no tv or telephone. Imagine that. Once my grandparent’s cottage was gone, I had no more up north. I did not provide it for my children, other than the occasional camping trip. Last year I decided I needed up north in my life again, so I started looking. I wanted a few acres, water, trees, within a four-hour drive from home, and no motorized water vehicles.
The search didn’t take too long. Forest County, the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest blankets much of the county, along with a number of Indian Reservations. Paper companies had leveled the forest years earlier, and reforestation along with mother-nature had replanted. Rivers and lakes are plentiful, and many do not allow gas run engines to play on them.
Someday there will be a home on Lily River, but for now, just walking in the woods is enough. I am a caretaker more than an owner. Signs have been posted so hunters do not disturb the wild life that lives there. A path, of sorts, now leads to a clearing with a view of the river, and the sound of the water tumbling over rocks.
I’ve stopped pedaling for the moment.

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The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.
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