Meanderings on writing, reading, walking, bicycling, and life
Author: thedamari
I live in Missouri, a more beautiful place than many realize. I love writing, reading, walking, bicycling, and making lists. I’ve written poetry since I was seven. A few years ago I branched out into short fiction and memoir pieces. I also perpetually have a novel in progress. My brain pursues ideas at a brisk pace, wandering all over the map. This blog represents one of my efforts to keep up with it.
We are still staying at the hotel in the town where my in-laws live. This morning, the hubs and I ventured over to a nearby residential area for our walk.
It was a nice little neighborhood, with mostly standard ranch homes. Several houses were decorated for Christmas or in the process of being adorned.
And then we rounded the corner to the sight of surprise butterflies painted on a privacy fence. What a delight, brightening up the street!
You never know where you’ll find art waiting to be discovered.
Today’s walk involved a fortunate discovery. The spouse and I are visiting some of his family in Oklahoma and staying in a hotel. I really wanted to make sure and get a walk before over—um, eating. Just eating.
Oh, hey, look at this park *right behind* the hotel!
The attractive gentleman below was a value-added component I brought to the experience. Notice anything in the sky? A lot of planes going through the air today.
I maybe have mentioned a time or twenty on this blog that I always enjoy a little footbridge.
Such a sunny day, even the littlest critters around are casting shadows.
Pennsylvania dingy ground beetle
Just noticing the details of the world around is a good gratitude practice. Happy Thanksgiving, all!
A few weeks ago, our neighborhood hosted a day of garage sales, and these two curiosities made their way home with me–tour itineraries for England, Wales, and Contintental Europe, for the years 1913 and 1914.
I assume all went well in 1913, since the tour organizer, Ms. Stella M. Weyer of Washington, PA, decided a repeat was in order for the next year. Perhaps she had begun what she believed would be a years-long career. Who knows?
Looks like a fascinating travel plan:
As an added item of interest, when I opened the 1913 booklet, a packer’s voucher from Phoenix Knitting Works fell out. It was dated 6/4/13. I guess someone mail ordered a scarf or something to wear on their sojourn.
Some of the tour notes telling travelers what to anticipate are a delight to read from a 2025 perspective. “Our motor cars are procured of the best London firm, are high-grade machines…driven by expert chauffeurs. The average rate of speed will approach twenty miles an hour…”
That’s 1913.
Looking at the 1914 itinerary evokes a whole different set of feelings.
The journey was set to begin from New York on July 2, and I’m burning with curiosity to know how far the group actually made it into the trip. Did they even embark after learning of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand a few days earlier? Or were they unaware of the direction things were heading, and figured it would blow over?
July 27th has them arriving in Paris, the day before Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia, the official beginning of World War I. Their plan for mid-August was to visit Germany and Austria. By that time, several countries had been drawn into the fight, including France, Britain, Luxembourg, Belgium and Russia.
Imagine being in the middle of what was to be your vacation of a lifetime only to find yourself witnessing the commencement of the bloodiest, most widespread war the world has ever seen. How do you get the universe to laugh? Make a plan.
I have gone down some rabbit holes trying to find any other information about these tours, specifically the fate of the 1914 venture. But no luck. I have however, learned a bit about Stella Marshall Weyer, the organizer listed in both pamphlets.
She was born in 1876 in Portsmouth, Ohio. So she would have been in her mid to late thirties when all this was going down. And she lived in St. Louis for a portion of her life, which could be related to why I found her travel plans kicking around in central Missouri more than a century later, though she never married or had children as far as I could find.
A St. Louis Post-Dispatch article from 1893 lists Stella as a new graduate of Hosmer Hall, an all-girls’ school. An 1896 society article says she’s traveling to Leipzig to visit her brother and study art. Aha! She was experienced in European travel from a relatively young age. (Sorry, these are behind a pay-walled database through my local library, so I can’t link to them.)
Most significantly, I discovered she volunteered as a Red Cross canteen worker in France during the war, returning to the U.S. in 1919, after the Armistice of November 11, 1918. It’s possible her group was in France at the outbreak of hostilities, and she just stayed there, helping. She only lived a few more years, dying in 1923 of glioma of the brain.
In the past few years, we have seen for ourselves what it’s like to live inside of history. I know I’m still reeling from the world changing virtually overnight when the pandemic hit in 2020. But coming across these artifacts and learning a little about one single person who was caught in the maelstrom of world events has added a new layer of introspection.
Maybe what I’m learning is that we, in our current time and our place, just aren’t special. We’re not exempt. Anyone anywhere can find themselves in the middle of some kind of troubles. Our choice is whether and how to do some good anyway. Stella Marshall Weyer appears to have risen to an astounding occasion and volunteered in a way that was available to her. I’m going to keep that in mind this Armistice Day/Veterans’ Day.
I attended a conference this week where the organizers arranged a screening of the newly released documentary The Librarians. In a room of ~400 people, at least 200 of us shed tears during the viewing.
Working in the profession in one of those states, I have been well aware of the growing attacks on books, libraries and librarians. But it was an extra level of intense seeing actual interviews and footage of people who have served their communities, for decades in some cases, slandered and under attack for working to preserve access to literature, for dedicating their lives to igniting a love of reading, for insisting on inclusion for every person who comes through the door.
Some have lost their jobs. Some have fled the homes they loved to start over in a new place. Some have had to hire security (on librarian wages!) One was pictured driving through her hometown saying something like, “I have made sure everyone here knows I do own a gun.” This in response to death threats she has received. All because they want kids and adults to have access to books that combat racism or affirm the dignity of LGBTQ individuals.
I very nearly ugly cried (mild spoiler alert) when the filmmakers interviewed the gay son of a woman who has crusaded in the most vile way against school librarians for having books with diverse characters and messages of acceptance. He ultimately decided to go speak against his mother’s message at the same school board where she had been showing up and making a spectacle.
Mixed in with the tears in the room were cheers for these folks who have been thrust into the role of intellectual freedom warriors, a battle they didn’t anticipate. Importantly. the documentary pulls back the curtain on some of the behind-the-scenes funding and organization behind the pro-censorship groups.
If you get a chance, I highly recommend a viewing of this movie. But have your hanky ready.
“You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.”
― Jane Goodall
Photo from the Jane Goodall Institute
I assume everyone has by now heard the news of Jane Goodall’s passing. Like many others, I found inspiration in her achievements. I admire the work of anyone who helps us deepen our understanding of life on this planet and our place within that web. The older I get, the more my philosophy and sense of ethics boils to down to “everything is connected.”
But Goodall inspired me in another way. Several years ago, while I was creating my own unorthodox educational path toward my personal goals, I went to hear her speak. And she told the story of how she got started in the study of chimps in the wild, which is that she went to secretarial school.
As a young woman, she already knew her dream was to travel to Africa and learn about wildlife. But she didn’t have the money for college, and pathways were not created for women of modest means. So she and her mother together cooked up a plan that Jane would qualify as a secretary so that she could find work anywhere, save her money to travel to Africa, and hopefully get a clerical job with someone who was doing the research she dreamed of. A foot in the door at the right place.
Through hard work, lots of brain power and the support of her mother, the plan was stunningly successful. Goodall first worked for Dr. Louis Leakey at a natural history museum. But he was so impressed with her, he decided she would be the perfect candidate to send out to observe the chimpanzees. When she eventually did embark on PhD studies many years later, she did so without ever having done any formal undergraduate work.
Hearing this story at that time in my life meant more to me than anyone could have imagined. It’s a vast understatement to say my own personal accomplishments pale in comparison to Dr. Goodall’s, but they mean a lot to me. I believe a lot of us should take her lesson to heart. If you feel a strong calling but don’t see a road to it, get creative, come at it sideways, build a road.
I’ll wrap up with another of my favorite Jane Goodall quotes: “It actually doesn’t take much to be considered a difficult woman. That’s why there are so many of us.”
My firstborn came to visit recently, staying for eight days. Due to the fact that I rarely call out from work, I had abundant PTO in my leave bank and was able to take off the entire time for a staycation. The spouse was also able to use vacation most of the days. And son the younger works from home, so was able to flex his hours.
We did a lot of nostalgic activities and generally had a blast playing tourist in our own area. This included a day trip to Onondaga Cave, a place I haven’t visited in at least 15 years, though I did write a poem about it once. It had been long enough that the tour was fresh and new to me, for the most part. And even the bits I remembered were still awe inspiring, well worth a revisit.
walking paths/handrailsstairs
Onondaga cave is immense. Though there are a couple of places where adults need to duck a little, there’s no crawling, climbing or ropes involved in the exploration. Trails and handrails have been put in, and there’s an option to sit out the steepest part of the tour. Still, you need to be able to do some hills and stairs and to be on your feet for quite a while. If you’re able to do that, it’s a fascinating place to visit.
Since it’s operated by the Missouri Department of Conservation (incidentally, one of the top state conservation departments in the country), it’s well maintained with an eye to preserving a healthy ecosystem. That means there are no tours during bat hibernation season. A piece of good news we learned from our guide is that bat populations are starting to rebound after being nearly decimated by white-nose syndrome.
Some of my favorite spots on the tour:
The Twins (cave pillars)Fancy curtain!More fancy curtains!
Saving my very favorite for last — the Lily Pad Room, where mineral deposits sitting in a pool of water take the shape of lily pads. It’s breathtaking.
This race is indeed not to the swift and is not a race. Today we like speed. The whole world in an instant with a keystroke. Third-graders: do 100 addition problems in five minutes. Speed proves competence. Service so quick you’ll quake, or something like that. Nobody should wait. The gravest sin is to slow others down. That’s above ground.
Enter this cave and the standards invert. Muse upon the mighty stalagmites. Take in the tightly clinging stalactites. Marvel at the pace of growth, an inch per hundred years. One. Inch. Per. One. Hundred. Years. That’s where the awe comes in. If they formed at a fast clip, we’d chop them out, carry them off, stack them in our garages, intending to use them in a craft someday. There would be no sense of wonder. The slowness makes it so. Speed wins the day, persistence the millennia.
This has been a great house for us. I love hating working on it.
I am trying to show up here again, both reading and writing. I won’t get too long-winded with what has been occupying my time instead, but I will share my latest old home misadventure.
The husband and I have never broken free of the find out phase of choosing to live in a 124-year-old house. Though in our defense, it was only 102 years old when we bought it. It’s been a 22-year fix-up adventure, including adding missing gutters, getting rid of the dangerous knob-and-tube wiring, planting raspberries and pollinator plants, adding a carport with solar panels, and seemingly endless repairs.
Often, our next project choose us by announcing itself in dramatic fashion. The latest was back in May when we woke up to find a water pipe in the bathroom above our kitchen had sprung a leak overnight and dripped through the ceiling for hours while we slept. Then the shut-off valve at the sink broke when Mr. Damari tried to turn it. So whole house water shutdown it was until he could enact a temp fix.
We already had not been using the tub in that bathroom for similar reasons, thinking that repair would rise to the top of our to-do list at some point. Welp, might as well get it all done at once. Get the plumber in for an opinion, and then a second plumber. And then learn we had bigger problems — namely our main water intake was leaking and needed to be replaced at the foundation of our home.
Which required removing this neglected-for-years bush to provide access. I didn’t think to take a before pic until it we had it half cut away.
It needed to come out anyway. Why not keep adding project upon project?
Once the main intake was replaced, work could proceed on the pipes for the bathroom, which of course involved cutting away part of the kitchen ceiling. And then as the contractor followed the maze created by previous workers, also involved removing a bit of one wall in the kitchen. The spouse decided to add another light switch while we were at it, so holes in two walls. May as well replace the old, janky light fixture/ceiling fan in the kitchen while we were spending all our money and time anyway.
Meanwhile, this happened in the living room. I tried to clean the fan blades with an extendable brush, and it just…fell, missing me by inches.
We’re in the zone. Why not replace two light fixtures?
We experienced multiple delays for multiple reasons. Example: Hey, says the contractor, they don’t actually make valves like the ones in your ancient tub anymore, and I can’t find one locally anywhere. So we’ll have to wait until we can get one shipped.
But eventually, around mid-July, all plumbing was done, light fixtures replaced, ceiling and walls patched. Time to touch up the paint on the kitchen walls. The walls I had painted purple 19 years ago. Guess how much success I had finding a color match?
All right, I can roll with painting two entire walls. We’ll only have to unbolt and remove the rack for our pots and pans along with getting a refrigerator out of the way. And it will only expand a two-hour job into a whole weekend project.
Did I mention we have ten-foot ceilings? We have ten-foot ceilings. The good news is that I’m still well able to go up and down a ladder. I move a lot more cautiously than I did two decades ago. But I do take joy in a purple kitchen.
Now the only remaining detail is deciding what to plant in the bare patch in front of our house where the huge bush used to be. Maybe something large enough to hide the evidence of how much the sunroom that was added to the original structure at some point is now separating from the rest of the house.
Despite all this, the spouse and I talked it over and agreed we made the right decision moving in here. It’s a great location and provided a lot of space for our kids when they were growing up.
A direct quote from my husband: This has been a great house for us. I love hating working on it.
I’m trying to get out on my bicycle at least a little every weekend, even when I don’t have a great deal of time. Today’s ride wasn’t all that long, but I got to see some barn swallow babies at a shelter house.
After a brutal, snowy winter followed by an exceptionally wet spring, Freida and I are hitting the trails again. I was able to add a new experience to my new experiences list today thanks to the city adding a new section of trail into the network.
The Perche Creek Trail branches off from the MKT and eventually will extend to allow easy travel.
Oh, look! One of my favorite things–a bridge!
Scan the QR code to learn more. Phase 2 is scheduled to be complete in 2027.
Anticipated opening of phase 2, Fall, 2027.
But for now, if you don’t want to lift your bicycle over a guardrail and continue on the road (which I know people have and do), it’s kind of a dead end.
But it’s a pleasant ride, and I got to see a blue heron.
Pondering
I hope to get out for a ride at least once a week and build my stamina back up. Today’s ride was 13-14 miles or so roundtrip. Not too bad. Here’s to more pedaling adventures!
Nomadic Noesis 