Back and In Business

After a quick road trip to visit my awesome little brother Joseph (aka Joe, Joe-Joe, Broseph, Yosef, Josephina -- come on, he's nine years younger than me, I can get away with these things), I'm back up north and exhausted from the humidity and heat of South Carolina.

Lots of fun pictures to come! Any blog post requests?

The Roadtrip in a Nutshell

I'm back in New Jersey after a whirlwind week-long schlep to Nebraska and back. Our trip included some interesting stop-offs like Antique Archaeology (a.k.a. the home of TV's "American Pickers"), the World's Largest Wooden Nickel, a former bank robbed by Bonnie and Clyde, Freedom Rock, and, of course, Ken's Diner in Skokie, Ill., for a bit of kosher nosh. We visited the Omaha Zoo, which was amazing and included the Skyfari -- a ski-lift style ride over the expanse of the zoo, and we spent a bucketload of time hanging out with my nephews Oliver and Owynn. I made my parents dinner, and I got to spend some time with a few of my best friends from high school. And I can't forget to mention the beautiful sunsets and the 360-degree view of fireworks on the Fourth of July.

For oodles of photos from my trip, check out my Facebook Album! And check out this very brief video of the sleepy ones in action!

I have a lot to say about the trip, especially how it made me feel. I can't lie: the trip left me feeling kind of sad, but not in a nostalgic way. More like, why haven't I tried harder to keep in touch with people and keep up on their lives? When did I stop being a friend to my friends?

Growing Up & Getting Older.

This is a photo from ... maybe 2005? 2006? I don't remember. It's old. Just like us, now!

I hit the road to South Carolina around 5:45 a.m. on Monday from Teaneck, beating the early-morning traffic around the city. I turned the music up loud, chugged my Skinny Vanilla Latte, and watched the world fly by in my rearview mirror. I drove through Delaware and Maryland and North Carolina and part of South Carolina, and I knew when I had entered G-d's country: Ronald Reagan quotes on billboards and the "Pull off for porn here" billboards juxtaposed with "Have you been saved today?" ones just across the highway.

I stopped at a large Outlet Mall somewhere in North Carolina, popped into the local Lane Bryant and nabbed a new skirt. While checking out, I had to explain to the woman the difference in names on the cards and all that and she queried, glancing at my head scarf, "Did you change your name for religion or somethin'?" with a thick, curly twang. "Yup," I said, "I got married and converted to Judaism." Without much interest, but with a hint of "well, then ... " she said, "Well, isn't that just nice," handed me my bag, and wished me no pleasantries on my way out. It's easier for me to express the tone in person, with the language and the tone, but, well, perhaps you get the drift. As I left the store, two Muslim women were entering, and I almost issued them a "steer clear!" I almost wonder if my name gives off a hint of Middle Eastern-ness that doesn't say "Jew" to a non-Jewish or non-Muslim crowd. It's not an Esther or Miriam or Sarah or Elisheva or anything. Chaviva sounds to many like Habibi. Anyway ...

So I'm here in South Carolina, where I've been for the past two days, and tomorrow I pack up and ship back off to Teaneck. I am here visiting my little brother, although calling him that feels really strange now. Yes, he's nine years younger than me (surprise!), but he's not little anymore. I resisted a long time seeing him as a teenager, and now seeing him as an adult is even more difficult. He and his awesome girlfriend are sharing an apartment in town until they're able to move into campus to start the school year (which will happen in a few weeks), and at first I wanted to quip, "So how is playing house?" but after being here for two days and watching them cook each other dinner and clean up and do dishes and everything, I realize they're not playing. They're grown up. They buy groceries and watch movies and hug and snuggle and cook pasta in the meager pots and pans they have, but they make it work. And most importantly? They're happy. They're really happy. I'm almost jealous of their happiness. It's simple happiness, but they're really happy.

And it's about 5 million degrees and humid here -- not sure how anyone can function in those temps, but they do. And did I mention they're still happy? Sweaty and snuggly, they're happy.

If anything, being here with my brother and his girlfriend has made me miss my husband more than ever (this is, after all, the first time we've spent nights apart since being married in May). Yesterday we went to Myrtle Beach and roamed the beach, we watched fireworks, we schlepped the boardwalk. And the entire time I was thinking, Tuvia would love this. Vacations without your beloved kind of suck.

I never thought I'd be okay with Joe (that's the brother) getting older, but I think this short trip has helped me cope. I'm beaming with pride and joy in his accomplishments. He's a smart kid, he's always been smart, but his smarts have landed him some pretty sweet stuff here in South Carolina (a scholarship with a FREE computer attached!?), and he's living his life. He's doing his thing. He's living. He's grown up now. And I think that finally -- sof sof -- I'm okay with that. I love my little brother more than anything in the world, more than life itself. For all the hell I put him through as a child, he clung to me and nothing has ever come between the two of us; he is my closest relative, my most special soul. I don't know if he knows how much I adore him, but I think he has an idea. After all, I drove 12.5 hours just to see him.

And buy him sheets and a pillow for school, of course. What are sisters for, after all?

Life is a funny thing. I feel so old around him now. This kid, a man now, with a long-term girlfriend and name on an apartment lease and his own things and life. He's growing up, and I'm getting older. But I'm okay with it now. I have the pride of a million mothers for this boy-turned-man.

Now if I could just get him to cut his toenails ...

Stay tuned for lots of trip photos and me letting you know what it's like keeping kosher around non-kosher/non-Jewish family in a state with very, very, very few options that are not convenient at all. As a preview, check out this gigant fried flounder I got at Cafe M in Myrtle Beach!

My Trip Timeline, with pictures behind the links!

An Abe Lincoln Look-A-Like Enjoys the Celtic Festival

So here's the timeline of my trip south, the videos will come later, so this is just a teaser. There are photos behind some of the links, so be sure to click. I'll be putting up all my photos at some point, but there's a LOT of them.

Friday, May 16, 2008
> Leave work and head to the airport to pick up my rental car. It took me 2 hours to get there, and I drove away with a 2008 Vibe, headed home, grabbed my bags, and headed out of town.
> Arrived in Springfield, Illinois, around 10:30 p.m. and promptly went to bed.

Saturday, May 17, 2008
> Got up at 8 a.m., headed off to Godfrey, Illinois, and happened to get lost on the way. I ended up in po-dunk Illinois where I pulled into a gas station. After getting the attendant's life story (something about rent and her landlord and the electric bill), I asked how to get where I was going. Everyone in the gas station promptly came over and offered their tips and advice. Eventually, a nice fellow in a Silver Chrysler offered to drive me the whole way there. So we hopped in our respective cars and I followed him for about a half-hour through the beautiful country and pure Americana into Godfrey where we stopped at a fruit stand and he sent me on my way. (Note: before the gas station incident, I drove through a small town where I stopped and purchased a fake poppy from a few Veterans selling them for $1 on the side of the road; the old men reminded me of my grandfather -- they, too, were WWII veterans; it made me sad.)

> Found my way (after a quick nosh) to my great-grandfather's old house, behind a restaurant as my mom and aunt had said. I took some photos, and moved on.

> After a brief bit of being lost (again), made my way to the Valhalla Memorial Park cemetery in Godfrey, where after picking up the directions/obit the office lady left me (she's on vacation now), I ended up in the vicinity of the plot. Since they're all flat, it took me about 10 minutes of walking around to locate the grave of my great-grandfather and his last wife, Edna (not my blood relative). It was a simple headstone. I sat down on the grass in the warm sunlight and talked a bit to the great-grandpa I'd never known. I analyzed his neighbors, placed my stones, took some photos, and left.
> From here I headed into Alton, where I was hoping to go to the cemetery some great-great-great something or other relatives are buried. The cemetery has no records of them, but some useful sources said they *are* buried there. I arrived at the cemetery in beautiful Alton, which is really hilly and from which, perched upon the brick-red cobblestone streets, you can see the river. But it would have taken days wandering around to find their stones, so I took some photos of the vast, historic cemetery and went on my way.
> I drove over to the tallest-man statue, which was pretty snazzy. I took some photos, read the information, and departed.
> From here I left Alton and headed over to the World's Largest Ketchup Bottle, which was actually pretty anti-climactic, but I took a photo and called my mom to gloat where I was. I sent a copy of a picture to a friend, as, well, it might have not been that exciting, but it was amusing.
> Headed off to a mall outside of St. Louis on the Illinois side where I partook in some delicious Chick-Fil-A -- the delicacy of my youth -- and sent some friends a note gloating about my meal, since, well, in Chicago we have no Chick-Fil-As. I bought a couple necklaces (including a hamsa one, which I'd been searching for) and then took off for the cemetery in St. Louis.
> My aunt's instructions were perfect to find the plot of the Weilbachers in the New (formerly Old) St. Marcus cemetery. There were more graves in the plot than I expected, including some people I'd never heard of. I called mom and she told me about her "aunt" Alma, though she can't be mom's Aunt. She must be a great-Aunt, or something. I took some photos, meandered around and checked out some of the graves (saw a Hitler one, actually), then took off.

Note: Having been done with my tasks a lot quicker than expected, I toiled with what to do with myself. So I left the area and headed back to Springfield, where I was staying, in hopes of finding something fun to do for the evening.

> On the way back to Springfield, I saw a sign off the road for a Mother Jones memorial, so I took off the highway into this small, small Union town and went to the Mother Jones memorial in this tiny little cemetery full of union workers out in the middle of nowhere.
> Back in Springfield, I drove around for a while, analyzing the map, and spotted a Drive-In movie theater, which absolutely thrilled me. I called mom to look up the theater and tell me the hours and everything. I decided that I would head back in the evening for the 9 p.m. showing of Iron Man; not because I wanted to see Iron Man, but because I wanted to BE in the drive-in since it was such a part of my childhood. To buy time, I went back into downtown in hopes of spotting some historic stuff.
> Unfortunately, everything was closed at 5 p.m., so I wandered over to where a Celtic festival was taking place. They usually have games and a fest, but the games were canceled because of some problems at the fairgrounds. Thus, I drank beer, watched live performances, and took lots and lots of photos and video. Around 7:45, I took off back to the drive-in to guarantee my place.
> At the Drive-In, I bought nachos and a large soda. I tuned my radio to the right station, and sat, excitedly, while the lot filled up and the sun set. The movie started, and it was probably the happiest day of my life. The Drive-In is a lost and taken-for-granted art.
> I went back to the hotel, watched some SNL, and crashed.

Sunday, May 18, 2008
> I got up at 8:45, knowing that nothing really opened until 10. I took my time, got some breakfast, and headed out.
> I arrived at the Lincoln Depot super early, right as the park's officer was getting there. It was about 9:30 and it opened at 10, but he let me in early (thanks!). I took some pictures, then headed over to the Old Capitol Art Fair, which started up at 10 a.m.















> I spent nearly 2 hours at the art fair, looking around, taking photos, noshing and watching a live band perform. I didn't want to leave, because I was so at peace, but I knew I needed to hit a few more spots before heading back to Chicago.
> I took off for the Lincoln Tomb at a local cemetery -- the second most visited in the U.S. after Arlington National. Unfortunately there was construction, so I couldn't rub the lucky nose, but I did get to see the new, old, and holding tombs for Lincoln and his kin.
> I wanted to hit the Museum of Funeral Customs, but it didn't open until 1, so I took off toward Shea's Gas Station museum, but it wasn't open either ... so I headed toward the 55 and north toward home.

Note: It took me about 2.5 hours to get home, but then I hit Chicago and there was traffic. I then went out to the mall off Touhy to pick up some tickets, but showed up 10 minutes late for Ticketmaster, and then hit more traffic on the highway out to O'Hare to return the car and arrived there with 10 minutes to spare. It then took me 2 hours to get home (whoo hoo Blue Line construction), at which time I discovered my apartment had no hot water (and none this morning either).

I just want to say that I'd kill to be back in Springfield right now. Things in the city are so complicated, so delayed, so irritating. The city reminded me a lot of Lincoln (where I spent my teen years and went to college), but I'll go into that with my reflective post, mmk?

In Search of the Past: A Roadtrip.

I've decided to go on a two-day roadtrip this weekend. Initially it was simply to seek out and enjoy some Chick-Fil-A (don't ask), but then I needed something more solid, a real reason to rent a car and make hotel reservations and get on the road.

Listen, I just want to get out of town, if only for a few days.

Not having a car in the city limits you to where you go, and sometimes I just need to break out and get away. Now to get me wrong -- I love living in the city, and I love not having a car. But last week was a really stressful, upsetting week, and despite the efforts of those around me, it just didn't get better. I mean, now I'm okay, but it's time for me to take a tiny break and get out of town. I've rented a car, booked a hotel room (Red Roof Inn -- tres classy!). I'm mapping out spots to stop along the trip down historic Route 66, various oddities and my ultimate goal, my reason for really going, is to visit Alton, Illinois, to visit the grave of my great-grandfather John Edward Baskette.

You see, I never met the man, and he died in 1984 when I was less than a year old. My parents didn't drag us babies to the funeral, and even if they had, I promise you I wouldn't have remembered anything. For those of you keeping score at home, you'll remember that this man -- my great-grandfather -- shares the name of my grandfather who died in April 2007. Grandpa was a junior, who evidently sometimes went by Eddie. This became news to me this week after an interesting connection was made.

I did a lot of genealogy work many months ago, and hit a dead end with a relative whose last name I just couldn't connect to anyone else. I found a guy who had posted in a lot of genealogy forums trying to find information about the same person, so I e-mailed him multiple times with no luck. So this week, bam! This fellow e-mails me back and we discover lo-and-behold, we're second cousins. We both share that great-grandfather, but since he had three or four or five wives, we have different great-grandmothers. But the really interesting part of the family comes from that Baskette-Duval side of the family tree. These folks were related to the great colonial greats, and rumor has it I might be a something-or-other cousin of George Washington. Exciting, nu? (Then again, just about everyone is related to Washington it seems.) But this is the family line that hits Philadelphia DuBois and great French civil servants and state leaders. It's the side of the family that intrigues me.

So inspired by a need to get outta town and this now-found cousin of mine, I've decided to go pay a visit to our great-grandfather, and in the tradition of my family, take a picture of the grave for posterity. The funny thing is that he's not buried with my great-grandmother, nor is he buried with the cousin's great-grandmother -- he's buried with his last wife. So it turns out that my actual great-grandmother is buried in St. Louis, which isn't far from Alton. So I'm hoping to head into St. Louis (and not get lost) and visit her grave as well.

I'm hoping it's sort of a spiritual/healing/destressing trip. The thing of it is, earlier this week when I was looking at some of the genealogy stuff to refresh my mind, I was on the Social Security Death Index looking up "John Baskette" to make sure I had Alton, IL pegged right. There listed, of course, was my grandfather. Deceased April 2007. Even typing it right now, I'm getting all teary-eyed. I can't explain it. Grandpa and I were by no means close. We didn't share inside jokes or close memories and he didn't take me to the park or the carnival or do any of the things a lot of grandparents do. But I idolized him. He fought at Pearl Harbor, he ran across the golf course as Japanese plans shot at him. And he survived. He raised several children, he managed to smoke for more than 60 years and never die -- and that fact made me hate him in some ways. But he was this enigma to me, a man of honor and prestige. I read his survivor story over and over again. And over the past few years before he died, I'd send a letter every now and again and he'd send a typed letter back. I still have those letters. I didn't go to his funeral, because of scheduling and stupid things. I should have made it there. I don't think it really hit me that he was dead until I saw his name and former Social Security number listed on the Index.

Then it was real. In print on that catalog list, it's real.

So I'm going to go visit his father, and perhaps, hopefully, the cemetery was able to pull up an obit on his death so maybe I can know who he was and what he did. I wonder why he lived in Alton, Illinois, and what he did there. Did he commute to St. Louis to work? Or did he move to Alton after he was retired? Did he live most of his life in Nashville like the rest of the family? How did he meet his last wife? Why did he divorce all the other wives? And how did my great-grandmother die, and did she die while they were together? Or after?

I guess a lot of people don't ask a lot of these questions. It was searching for a Jew a lot before, but now it seems I'm trying to figure out how I got here, and try to predict how my children and their children will be, with the genes and tendencies and histories and memories that I will bestow upon them. I don't know how anyone would *not* want to know the answers to all of these questions. Even if they're the stuff of legends, they're the things that define our lineage, that somehow shape who we are.

So I'm going to hop in a car after work on Friday, spend my Shabbos evening driving to Springfield, Illinois, where I'll light my candles in a hotel room and get up the next morning to drive to a cemetery in some city I've never been and will probably never go to again. And I'm hopeful, if anything.

Oh -- and you can bet there will be documentation. Photos. Video. You'll see where I went and what I did. Why? Because by blogging and sharing these stories of my life, I'm documenting so that my children someday won't have as many questions as I do now. I want them to know who I am, who I am becoming.