when i was sick as a kid i got to stay home in bed and watch cartoons on a small T.V. i seem to have developed a permanent cough so i'm thinking that tomorrow might have to be spent in bed watching things from my childhood (journeying to a land where the air is always clean):
Cinderella, a British piglet, won't walk through mud unless she is wearing her specially adapted Wellington boots. The little piggy lives with owners and pig farmers Debbie and Andrew Keeble.
(thanks megan, this maybe made my whole life better)
1. first snow (light, feathery, airborne, quick to melt) 2. orange maple leaves 3. buttermilk/sour cream/banana pancakes while the fog is still rising 4. perfecting my backwards writing during a boring lecture 5. tropicana pure raspberry acacia juice on sale 6. haunted everything (corn mazes, houses, forests) 7. double sweater weather 8. dances that require costumes and loads of awkwardness 9. nostalgia 10. old mix cds + long drives
To kick off our Tuesdays With Iowa program (involving bi-monthly field trips around this great state--all on Tuesday, of course) we decided to hit up the number one tourist destination in Iowa: the Field of Dreams. And it was glorious.
The gift shop fits right in, what with its folksy barn-red paint job and signed baseballs (none by Kevin Costner, all by the owner of the farm, who apparently is very important. Only $9!)
Some prize gift shop gems (all under $5--it is the most modestly priced gift shop I have ever seen!)
This is what it looks like when dead baseball players--I mean, adorable old couples towing oxygen tanks--come out of a cornfield:
This is what happens when we (Kendra, Nicki, and I) decide to explore said cornfield for ourselves:
I could almost feel Terrence Mann's spray of insecticide and hear him shout: "Out! Back to the sixties! Back! There's no place for you here in the future! Get back while you still can!" Sigh...
Take home message straight from the mouth of our enterprising Terrence (sounding an awful lot like a Don DeLillo character): " They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come."