This morning, on nytimes.com, I saw a link to an article which is being updated all day today, as the journalist liveblogs Thanksgiving. I thought liveblogging was corny before (mostly because I am picky about which internet/blogging trends I fall for), but now liveblogging has gone too far. To out corny them (because that’s what we’re about here at Wanderful, corny), I’m going to take it one step further and liveblog MY THANKSGIVING! But not like that, no - see, I always wanted to keep a list of all the things I am thankful for on Thanksgiving, but I usually forget or fall asleep for most of the afternoon. This year, whenever something comes to mind that I am thankful for, I’m going to liveblog it right here on Wanderful. Perhaps this isn’t really liveblogging - I think liveblogging is supposed to have something to do with following your own or someone else’s actions for a day. I don’t care, I’m liveblogging my thoughts, that’s what I’m liveblogging. Here we go:
I am thankful for…
9:13PM
Wine.

9:00PM
THE DINNER WE JUST ATE!
 

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Walking into a crowded bar on a Friday night can be an unpredictable experience. This particular bar was called The Chieftain, in the Mission District of San Francisco. It was an Irish pub, but the bouncer on this particular night was a plump, redheaded Brit. He cracked a joke as he asked to see our ID’s.
“Huh?”
He smiled and his lips moved again, giving voice to his musical British inflections; however, I couldn’t make out a single word. People were talking all around. Couples had to yell at each other across their tables just to be heard. Being somewhat hard of hearing and largely unfamiliar with non-James-Bond British accents, I had to pretend to understand his joke. Thinking quickly, I said “Hahaha!!” He let us in without incident.

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Our pal Kate (aka Ms. Dawes) is teaching in a 5th grade class this year. They’re following our road trip on Wanderful and have their own blog, Wanderkids, where they’ll be posting their Wanderful related findings, projects, and questions for us to answer.

This is in response to their post from October 9, 2008.
Do you get homesick for your families ever?
Katie: I haven’t lived at home with my family for four years, so I don’t feel homesick, I just miss their personalities.  I’ve had a few dreams where I go back home to visit my dad.
Mark: I think about them often, but I’m glad to be on my own.

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It was only a week ago that Katie and I sat at the dinner table with my Grandma, looking over black and white photos in her dusty albums. There had been times in the past where Grandma would show me colorful, forgotten pictures of my childhood. Often, she would remind me of the songs we sang together in back of the car, or whisper how my parents felt about my behavior at a certain moment, forever captured in a photograph. Last week was especially dear to me because Grandma clasped my hand and told the story I hadn’t been lucky enough to hear: the story of her own life.
The three of us spent hours flipping pages in photo albums as Grandma’s memories sparked and came to life. Though Katie and I learned many things we’ll never forget, it was the tale of Grandma’s travels to Devil’s Lake 68 years ago that inspired us to travel to the most popular State Park in Wisconsin. We wanted to see if the setting of Grandma’s memories had sustained the test of time. According to the story, she had gone with her husband, Monroe, and her two daughters at the time, Louise and Sharon. They had planned to spend a whole week canoeing, hiking, and camping, but on the third day Grandma fell ill and the vacation was cut short. She woke that morning with half her face paralyzed. It didn’t regain feeling for ten long days.
The end of the story was sad, but the pictures taken before illness struck attested to a young family having a wonderful time together. Katie and I knew we had to check it out for ourselves. We, of course, brought along our chihuahua “son,” Mister.

Let me tell you, Devil’s Lake is awesome!

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That’s what I sang as we drove past the Illinois state sign this weekend. It actually made Mark laugh, he only laughs at one out of every twenty songs I come up with so I thought I should share it with you. The ’s’ is silent of course.

As you read in Mark’s Sunday post, we’re in Illinois visiting his family. Everyday I think “Oh no, what am I going to write about to make the readers think this is the most exciting time of my life?” You see, I imagined that by this point of the trip we would have mountain climbing, horseback riding, finding hidden waterfalls where we camp for days, and discovering delicious restaurants in cities we never visited before, all under our belts. Sure, we have found some good restaurants (Cleveland was surprisingly delicious) but we haven’t done much of the other romanticized road trip activities. Well, we haven’t done those yet, but believe me, if mountain climbing, horse back riding and waterfall camping do not happen on this trip, I’ll continue road tripping until it does. So far it’s been a drive through Amish country, a drive through RV country (apparently lots of RVs are built in Indiana) and a visit to Mark’s family (both sides of his family, to be exact). All of these destinations were planned out before we ever left Montclair, and have forced us to rush past peach orchards, winery tours, and Saugatuck, Michigan to arrive on time. Well, we’re left Monticello, Illinois and Mark’s family this afternoon and we’re headed towards Chicago, but believe me when I say that hanging out with Mark’s family beats waterfall camping any time!!! I mean, really, how could we sleep with a loud waterfall crashing down behind us anyway? I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe we’ll just opt for a day trip to a secluded waterfall we stumble upon after throwing Samantha out the window and getting lost (Just kidding Samantha, I love you and need you).

I believe Mark told you about our first day or two here in Monticello. In my story, we open after a night of sleeping at Uncle Lee’s country house. Originally we were to stay in the ‘Little House’ over at Aunt Louise and Uncle Larry’s, but the basement flooded (come on rain, leave Illinois alone already) and we moved to higher ground. We slept in the T@b and it felt pretty damn awesome waking up with a red barn and horses in the background the next morning.

This is Rosco, a handsome mutt with his own super large dog run, shed/house and pool. Before we met I heard he was a huge dog who would eat Mister. It turns out he’s not as huge as that other Rosco I know, and is as sweet as his twin Lennon (Kate’s dog).

I think they might have been Mules. That white one and one of those brown guys are in love, and it’s also a little creepy because the white one is so small, she’s got to be too young for him. But a couple of serious cuties nonetheless.

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Mmmm, there’s nothing like waking up to the fragrance of freshly fallen horse manure. We weren’t exactly immersed in Amish culture in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, but, for one day, we did get to experience a quieter, more natural lifestyle than we’re used to. Katie and I wriggled out of our sleeping bags as the sunlight poured into our tent. Horse poop odor, it seems, is more powerful than any alarm clock.

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It took all day yesterday to simply pack up the car (Katie’s mom’s Jeep Grand Cherokee — soon to be updated to a Saturn Vue, oh how we hope) and say goodbye to family & neighbors.  The night before had been spent vigorously working to get the website up and running, so neither of us had been lucky enough to sleep in a few days.  As I write, though, we have just woken from a nine hour snore-fest at the Holiday Inn Express in Milford, Massachussetts.

There is not a single inch of unused space in the Jeep, save for a small soft cubby hole between blankets in the backseat, where Mister alternately snoozed and watched helplessly as Katie and I ate Doritos in the front seat.  It was a solid four hours of continuous driving — not something we plan on doing too often, but Milford, Massachusetts is one of a handful of stops that was planned out far in advance.  This is where Katie’s dad has been spending his time for over a year, courtesy of Saint-Gobain glass company, where he is the quality control expert.  When we pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot at 10:30 last night and couldn’t open the hatch on the Jeep to get our stuff out, he trotted outside to help us.  It was that darn bike rack which put so much weight on the hatch, making it impossible to open.  It took so long to disconnect the bike rack, and we were all so delirious from sleep deprivation, that instead of putting it back on the car afterwards, we chained the bikes AND the bike rack to the guard railing behind our parking spot.  I’m sure there will be pictures to prove this bit of laziness soon.

Today we’re headed for Providence, RI.  What will we do?  Who will we meet?  I don’t know, but I’m hungry.