Weekly Wilson

Ava enjoys the pool at the Royal Sands in Cancun, Mexico, on April 10, 2011.

We’re here in Cancun, our first full day.

The pools and beaches are much less crowded than normal during “spring break” but this could be because “spring break” is over. Or, it could be that people are not traveling to Mexico, due to all the bad publicity. Or it could be because they’ve jacked the price(s) up on things like a massage (formerly $75, now, for three of us $297. (Yikes!). I got him to throw in a pass to the exercise/spa/hot tub room ($50 for the week) and one of our party is responsible for 1/3 of that amount. So, if you deduct the $50, I guess the expense (which is a birthday gift to daughter-in-law Jessica) is the same as last year’s amount, but everything seems more expensive.

Stacey and Scott poolside in Cancun at the Royal Sands on April 10, 2011.

We have two units in play: one is our “normal” 1^st floor digs, with the 23-year-old daughter (Stacey) and her friend Emmie Futrell in residence in the second bedroom with its own bathroom. I love my 2-year-old granddaughters, but it is nice that the people in this unit actually sleep slightly later.

Two-year-old Elise Wilson enjoys the water in the baby pool at the Royal Sands.

Today was the “Welcome Party,” which means free drinks (rum and cokes). I am so over the hoopla of throwing water balloons at one another and refuse to take part, as I have done for the past 10 years or so. The daughter and her father gamely took part, but the winner…believe it or not…was Elise, age 2, who somehow ended up with the only intact water balloon and “won” a bag from the establishment, which is handy for taking things to the beach. I thought ahead and had the spouse pack the “Chicago” bag I bought at the airport last year on our way here. It makes a perfect beach bag, and he said it wasn’t too difficult to get in on the bottom of his luggage.

Just off the lobby, this is the view from the Royal Sands.

The trip here was uneventful. We even had an empty seat between us in the set of 3 on American Airlines, which is unusual. Is this, too, a sign of the economic times?

There was a woman sitting in my aisle seat when we first reached our row, and she seemed very put out to be asked to take her own seat, which turned out to be in the middle. She spent most of her time prior to take-off sulking and turned on her laptop computer and began watching some cartoon or movie that featured dogs barking loudly. Since she had not brought headphones, it appeared that I would have to listen to her dog cartoon for the entire trip, but I was intent on ignoring her obvious pique at being asked to sit in her own assigned seat.

Heaven, thy name is Cancun's beach.

At that point, she summoned the stewardess and began some long involved tale about her husband’s pulled hamstring muscle and how he HAD to be sitting on an aisle. This was odd, because he was never seated on the aisle. He was seated against the exterior of the plane and SHE was seated on the aisle, the seat that was mine, which she really did not want to give up.

April 10, 2011 in Cancun, Mexico (Royal Sands Resort).

The stewardess kindly offered them places behind us so that her husband could have an aisle seat…, which was obviously not the issue, despite the woman’s clever oh-so-sweet explanations to the stewardess.

After their first move, next thing I heard was that they were moving AGAIN.

The first part of the trip was extremely bumpy. Even the stewardesses were told not to get out of their seats. There were storm systems and they buffeted us until we cleared Memphis, which did not seem like that long a time. One small child on the right side of the plane (age approximately 3) knew and shouted only 1 word for the entire trip. “NO!” There was a baby approximately six months old in that aisle, as well. The baby cried upon take-off, but was pretty well behaved, overall.

We arrived at our “home away from home” fairly early (noon) and learned that the shuttle prices from the airport have escalated from $12 per person to $16 per person. You must walk through the airport and outside near the front entrance of the airport to book a shuttle at the information desk. You must not be led astray by the many Time Share sales people standing there ready to pull you aside and book you into a Time Share “pitch.” As owners of 2 time-shares since 1995 or so, with a history of visiting for 3 years before buying (Fiesta Americana Condessa for 2 years and 1 year renting at the Royal Mayan), we know the drill.

This year, our time-share, the Royal Sands, has improved many things. The stove and microwave in our kitchen are new. All villas have wireless. New 32” flat screens have been installed in 3 places inside the units (2 bedrooms and the living room area).

We visited the store within the resort immediately and bought the basics. The “basics” this year cost $300 U.S. dollars. This seemed high, but we were expecting all 10 other members of the family fest to arrive at our unit and expect snacks and drinks. It’s always nice to be warmly greeted with hospitality.  We will be here for 2 weeks, so we will definitely use the eggs, bread, margarine, pop, etc.

After the purchase of the groceries, the husband said, “If I have even one beer, I think I’ll fall asleep.” We had to get up at 5 a.m. in order to make our 8 a.m. flight.

As soon as the groceries (pushed to our first floor unit in borrowed grocery carts) were put away, my husband announced that he wanted to go sit outside by the pool. He had already unpacked his clothes. I had not, so I stayed in the room and unpacked my suitcase. At some point, I decided to just lie down for a few minutes.
An hour later when my daughter and her friend arrived from Nashville, I heard discussions about whether to wake me up. I immediately joined the group.

Soon, the 2 family groups with the young children arrived and now the party is in full swing. More on the rest of the week (today is Sunday), as it progresses.

One bit of good news: “Ricardo” (i.e., Richard), the one continuing presence in our close to 20 years of visiting Cancun, has returned to the Royal Resorts fold and we will see him for either lunch or breakfast on Thursday. Today was the Welcome Party. Tomorrow is the traditional Taco Party.

We spent the night watching “The Celebrity Apprentice” on TV from a Florida station. Gary Busey is obviously nuts. Very entertaining, but obviously a liability for the Men’s Team. Mark McGrath was very articulate and got kicked off. I think Donald Trump is doing all this “I’m running for President stuff” to get publicity for his show, among other pursuits.

Viva, Cancun!

Terrible Toyota Tundra

I decided to post this account of my car accident of March 31, 2011, to warn other drivers who might not want to have their small car crushed by a giant silver behemoth of a truck, simply because they are driving up Kennedy Drive, on their way to Best Buy to purchase 3 flash drives. Not in any particular rush. Just 12 blocks or so away from home.

For those who live in the Illinois Quad Cities, I want to warn you of this “most dangerous” intersection…(or one of the most dangerous)…in the city. I mean, of course, 30^th Avenue and Kennedy Drive, right where the Walgreen store sits. I was driving south toward the Jewel store on Kennedy Drive. I came to the intersection mentioned above and noticed that there were several cars in the left turn lane (which would be a turn to head your car toward Silvis, something I did every morning for 17 and ½ years, so I know that turn well).

I was paying attention. I was only driving 30 mph. You have to pay attention in the East Moline to Moline area, or you will be picked up for speeding. I try to always run radar. The border between Moline/East Moline on 30^th Avenue as you drive towards Wilson Junior High School is particularly problematical.

There is a hill on 30^th Avenue, or perhaps it is more accurate to call it a dip. As your car heads towards Moline (from East Moline) the speed limit drops from 35 mph in East Moline to 30 mph in Moline, with almost no marking. And this happens at the bottom of a hill. So, the police thoughtfully park their vehicles on a side street, wait for you to reach the bottom of the hill and (probably) move above 30 mph, so that they can give you a ticket for speeding.

At the bottom of said hill you are usually  “fair game” to be picked up for speeding, since you may have inadvertently picked up speed as you coasted down the hill (it’s called gravity), and you are entering Moline’s 5 miles per hour slower speed limit, although you have not changed roads or directions. If this seems unfair to you, join the club. In order to be in strict compliance with the change in driving speed between Moline and East Moline, you’ll have to be applying your brake as you coast down the hill. Otherwise, you’ll be facing the music in court. Be aware. Be wary. You could try defying gravity, but I doubt if you’ll have much luck with this approach.

But I was not ON 30^th Avenue this day.

I was merely diving slowly (I only go 30 mph now everywhere to avoid speed traps like the one on 30^th Avenue mentioned above) up Kennedy Drive towards the Jewel store in Kennedy Square (and on past it to Best Buy out near Southpark Mall.)

As I approached the red light at the intersection of 30^th Avenue and Kennedy Drive, heading towards Kennedy Square (i.e., southbound) I stayed on the right side next to the right curb, since it was apparent that the left-turning cars would hold up traffic that merely wanted to go straight down Kennedy. Here comes the rub.
When you go THROUGH the intersection, still heading south towards Kennedy Square, the two-lane road often has cars parked along the right side curb. Not always, but often. This day, I considered myself lucky. No cars parked on the right. Clear sailing in the “right” lane, (which is not really a lane, but will ultimately narrow so that you will have to “merge” into the left lane.)

As I cleared the intersection, I noticed in my rear view mirror that a very large silver truck was tailgating me. The driver was practically in my back seat. He seemed to be going very fast, to me (remember: I’m the one who only drives 30 mph for the reasons mentioned above), but he may simply have been going 35 mph, the speed limit in East Moline (but NOT in Moline).

I glanced in my rear view mirror and commented, to myself, that I was glad I could continue to hug the right hand side curb and didn’t have to “merge” right away, because the person driving the truck was apparently in a much bigger hurry than me and very territorial about being first with a bullet. He was obviously an “Alpha Male” type who must remain in front of all other drivers at all times. Fine by me, I thought. You just go ahead and zip right on past me! I’ll just stay over here on the right, hugging this curb, until you take your giant silver whomper-stomper of a vehicle and head on down the road. Picture me saying, “Dum, dum, de dum”at that point. I also knew this intersection was a “ bad” one because my mother-in-law once had a car accident there when picking up my daughter from her piano lesson, so, no fool I, I would just hug that curb and let old Mr. Silverback or Silver Truck have the whole road for his giant ugly vehicle. No hurry on MY part to “merge.”
Unfortunately, just as I consciously willed this ill-mannered tailgating creep to zoom on down Kennedy Drive and leave me there, a curb-hugger, he hit me.

I heard a grinding, scraping, crushing sound, and my car shuddered violently. It nearly went out of control.  If this idiot pushed me into the oncoming northbound traffic (i.e., the cars coming from Kennedy Square and heading north up Kennedy Drive), I would be hit broadside. I was fighting to control the car and thinking, “This mouth-breathing Neanderthal just HIT me!”

I searched the right-hand side of the road, frantically looking for a place I could pull over and get my car (and me) out of harm’s way. Luckily, the vacant lot and not-very-heavily traveled gravel road at 35^th Avenue and 2^nd Street was immediately ahead on my right. I actually had the presence of mind to signal for a right turn before pulling over and stopping my car. I had already made a note of the license plate of the Silver Toyota truck, as I wondered if he would stop at all, since he had just rear-ended a small car driving ahead of him in traffic, a car he should not have been that close to in the first place.

Mr. Neanderthal jumped down from his silver truck and was waving his arms and screaming. Why was he screaming? Beats the hell out of me! HE had just creamed my vehicle, knocking it so violently that I almost was pushed into the ongoing traffic lane, and now HE was yelling at ME. What’s wrong with this picture?

I glanced quickly at the back wheel well area of my green Prius (“the grasshopper”) and saw that parts of it were sticking out at 90 degree angles from the rest of my car. (Ooooo. That can’t be good, I thought.) One thought I had was this, “I wonder if I can drive this car after he hit me and crushed the wheel well area? It might be that the piece that is totally turn off my vehicle will puncture the tire or something.” I said nothing to the wildly gesticulating elderly male driver so out-of-control in front of me. He had obviously hit me. It was too late for him to UN-hit me, so now we simply must deal with the consequences in an adult manner. Or so I thought. That only works if both of you are capable of behaving in an adult manner. I have learned recently that many MANY adults are arrested at a maturity level of a twelve-year-old. In fact, when I visited the State Farm insurance agency, the young girl helping me file the claim said, after she heard how awful the elderly drive had been, “Yeah. The old ones are worse than the younger kids, usually.” Food for thought. Cranky old person? A stereotype, but one this guy certainly fit. And, keep in mind…THIS guy’s vehicle was not hurt AT ALL. The policeman wrote down ZERO dollars damage to his truck, so why was HE screaming at ME? Seems rather immature and unfriendly and, also, potentially designed to distract attention from the very real fact that he had just rear-ended the vehicle of a woman who was even older than he was old, but was still capable of trying to act like a civilized human being, which, I have learned, to my chagrin, many Control Freak types are not. Get in their way and they freak out.

Mr. Neanderthal was now berating me. (Seems odd, but there you have it….) He was being totally uncivil. I immediately gave him my name. I asked him what his name was.

“I’m not giving you my name, you smart ass.”

Well, this was going well, wasn’t it?  I ask the man who has just ruined my car…(and damn near caused me serious bodily injury) for his NAME at the scene of an accident he has caused and he refuses to give it to me!

I tried a different tack. “I think we should exchange insurance information.” I went to my car to get mine out of the glove box.

Mr. Neanderthal says, “I ain’t giving you no insurance information. I’ll only give it to the po-lice.” (He pronounced police as 2 syllables.)

Since I frequently am in Chicago, a second home, and the Chicago police do NOT want to be bothered by people who are merely randomly running their vehicles into one another UNLESS one of them is hurt (neither of us was, fortunately), I mentioned this fact. “I’m not sure the police want to be called, unless there is personal injury, and we’re both okay.”

Wow! Wrong thing to say! And, I admit, more the way it works in the Big City than in East Moline, Illinois.
”You shut up, you smart ass.”

I think Mr. Neanderthal then also called me a liar or some other uncomplimentary thing for having shared this bit of Big City information about police responses to accidents in big cities which, admittedly, may not apply in what my friend D.J. refers to as “Poopyville.” (D.J. means no harm, and, himself lives in Las Vegas, so people who live in glass houses shouldn’t put down wholesome communities that are in the middle of nowhere, but D.J.said it, not me.)

Since I have endured quite a bit of verbal abuse online recently, which would include the Tea Party members who didn’t like the piece I did praising Eisenhower (go figure) and the ex-collaborator who has been trolling some really questionable sites and lying his ass off to the point that legal action will be taken, and now Mr. Neanderthal, who was being a complete jerk. Mr. Neanderthal didn’t need to admit guilt, but it would have been nice to have heard him say something human or compassionate like, “Gee, this is too bad.”

But no. Mr. Neanderthal, whose large silver truck had NO damage [but did have a number of colorful paint chips on his undented bumper] (makes you wonder how many other cars he has hit with his large ramming speed vehicle?) was going to simply verbally abuse me, waving his arms about and acting like a total child and complete jerk. In fact, I think there are even some rules about HAVING to give your name, if asked, at the scene of an accident, which someone closer to his size should remind him about. But this idiot wasn’t going to provide his name when politely asked.

At no time did I verbally abuse this person or call him names, or accuse him at that time of what he had done (i.e., ram into me while following too closely and driving too fast) but, hey! I could have said, “Look, you jerk! Look at the damage you just did to my vehicle! What-the-hell were you thinking, driving up behind me that fast?” But I did not say any of these things to the rude, unpleasant, 64-year-old creep who rear-ended me and then acted put out at ME! I knew he was working on some story that would make this (somehow) be MY fault. He was the type. I could just hear him now. And I could also imagine that, if I made any effort to speak with him further, Mr. Neanderthal might actually become violent.
True, it was only 3:30 in the afternoon. But I was a woman, driving alone, and an old fart with gray hair was waving his hands in the air in a threatening manner. Perhaps it was time to retreat to my vehicle and call for back up. Which I did.
Back up, in this instance, meant my retired husband, napping at home.

I got in my dented Prius, locked the doors, got out my phone, and dialed my husband, who was approximately 13 blocks away, asleep. He, in turn, called the police. I gave the spouse directions to my location just up the street and, within 5 minutes, the cavalry rode to the rescue.

For one thing, I needed someone with some mechanical aptitude to take a look at my wheel well and tell me if I could drive away from this fender bender.

For another, I might need someone to clock Fart Man if he took a swing at me.

For a third, men don’t really like to listen to “the little woman” and it would be far better if I had a man present, backing me up and telling this guy to shut up. I have known this since the days I spearheaded (some would say master-minded, but, with all the collective bargaining rights in the entire state of Wisconsin going under, perhaps masterminding something that only lasts for 31 years isn’t anything to brag about) collective bargaining rights in Silvis, Illinois. That would be the SEA efforts to gain collective bargaining rights. I insisted that a man stand up with me then, as Co-chairman of our teachers’ group, and I definitely wanted one here with me now.

By now, the police had arrived, which means one officer who seemed to be about 30 years old. Fart Man, the old Neanderthal who would not provide his name or insurance information but felt like a Big Man threatening a 5’ 2” woman whose car he had just ruined while driving like a maniac. Naturally, Mr. Neanderthal insisted on telling HIS story first. I ambled over near where he was bending the cop’s ear, because I just knew Neanderthal Man was giving a creative version of how innocent he was. [HE didn’t drive right up my rear end, practically into my back seat. HE wasn’t going fast. HE wasn’t tailgating. He was totally blameless, of course, and I should be hanged as a witch at sunrise.]

This seems to be quite the refrain of late. I had considered taking out an ad offering to be the “scapegoat” for all the world’s problems, (for a fee, of course.)  Mr. Policeman didn’t want me to listen in on the old fart’s version. He instructed me to go sit in my vehicle, which I did without protest, joining my husband there. He had found my insurance papers for me in my glove box when I became rattled at the prospect of imminent injury from Neanderthal man and fled to hide within my vehicle.

Now the young policeman (who actually said, after taking my statement that he wished we had met under different circumstances) took my statement (and it took him a really long time to write everything up, indicating that there was zero damage to Mr. Neanderthal’s vehicle, but $1,500 to mine.)

We have now taken my poor Grasshopper to the Toyota dealership and filled out claims forms with State Farm and I will be without a vehicle for some period of time while parts are ordered and repairs are made. I am grateful that I was not hurt. I am grateful, also, that Mr. Neanderthal was not hurt… although I wish he would try, for once in his selfish life, to put himself in someone else’s shoes and realize that tailgating someone and hogging the road (I would have had to merge, eventually, but HE was not going to let some little Libtard car push his big ol’ honkin’ Toyota Tundra around. HE was going to be Numero Uno in line and, if you don’t like it, well, I’ll just gun my vehicle and run right over you!) And I wasn’t even at the point of needing to “merge.” God only knows what he might have done if I HAD tried to merge, with him in the left lane. I’m glad I never tried to do so while his silver truck was on the loose.

That, my friends, was my Thursday afternoon (March 31), one day after my wedding anniversary (over 40, so alert the media). It was not the anniversary present I had most desired.

I hope Mr. Neanderthal learns to be civil, polite and courteous and also reads up on the rules about how you MUST give your name at the scene of an accident, something that he flatly refused to do. As for the “let’s call the cops” thing: I needed the cops more than he did, since he had obviously done this sort of thing before (judging from the variety of paint colors displayed on his undented bumper) and he seemed to be a very unpleasant, impolite, poorly raised creep. I’m not going to give you his name. He knows who he is. If there’s any justice an even BIGGER vehicle will tailgate him and cream his car some day, and maybe, if he’s as mouthy and unpleasant as he was to me, cream him, as well.
Whatever happened to the days when, if you rear-ended somebody who was driving ahead of you, it was an automatic ticket. That’s what it should have been, for this guy. But instead, he’s still out there, tailgating unsuspecting small vehicles and probably shouting “ramming speed!” as he hits them. And, of course, telling HIS fantastical story to the police FIRST, because God forbid anyone but Mr. Neanderthal is allowed to go first.
Doesn’t he remember the Beatitude that said, “The first shall be last?” Keep that in mind while speeding up Kennedy Drive in East Moline, Illinois, hoping to be able to, at some point, merge into traffic without having to fight your way in.

Recently, 30 to 50 “Tall Ships” sailed to Chicago and assembled at Navy Pier. It is an event that happens infrequently—-not for at least 4 years or more— and, when these old-fashioned sailing ships all assemble, tourists flock to the site to take their pictures, as I did. I know from my friends in Pub Quiz Trivia Room on AOL that some had set out from England to make the journey.

Unfortunately, to actually stand alongside the ships will cost you $15. To climb onboard, as you see happening with one ship, will cost you even more. To park your vehicle for a weekday in the Navy Pier parking garage will cost you a flat rate of $20 and, if it’s a weekend, it will cost you $24.

Red Sails in the Sunset.

I rode my bike to Navy Pier and you will have to forgive the fact that the shots are from further away on the Pier where we freeloaders could take the shots without ponying up $39 just to park and take a couple of photographs.

You can see the passengers aboard this Tall Ship.

Ship with Chicago skyline in background. A replica of the Mutiny on the Bounty ship was among the Tall Ships, but not on display this day. The ships stayed only 4 days.

Born in 1941 in Tacoma, Washington, Dale Chihuly was introduced to glass while studying interior design at the University of Washington, from which he graduated in 1965.

After graduation, Chihuly enrolled in the first glass program in the country at the University of Wisconsin, a program founded by Harvey K. Littleton. He continued his studies at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), where he later established the glass program and taught it for over ten years.

In 1968, Chihuly was awarded a Fulbright Fellowship to work at the Veninine factory in Venice, Italy.  While in Venice, Chihuly observed the team approach to blowing glass, which is critical to the way he works today.  In 1971, Chihuly cofounded Pilchuck Glass School in Washington.  With this international glass center, Chihuly has led the avant-garde in the development of glass as a fine art.  His work is included in over 200 museum collections worldwide, he has been the recipient of many awards, including 8 honorary doctorates and 2 fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Sylistically, over the past 40 years, Chihuly’s sculptures in glass have explored color, line and assemblage.  His work ranges from the single vessel to indoor-outdoor site-specific installations (Schaumburg main library, for one), and he is best known for his multipart blown compositions.  His lielong affinity for glasshouses has grown into a series of exhibitions within botanical settings, enabling the artist to juxtapose monumental, organically shaped sculptural forms with beautiful landscaping, creating a spectacular integration of nature and art.

Nashville’s Lexus Dealership partnered with the Cheekwood Museum, a 55-acre-site endowed by the Maxwell House Coffee Fortune, to use 8,000 glass sculpture pieces from the Chihuly collection in 18 separate locations selected by Chihuly himself.

In addition to day-time viewing ($17 for adults; $12 for students; $12 for seniors), ending at 4:30 p.m., on Thursday and Friday nights the display is open for night-time viewing, with the spectacular pieces lit up.

This blue glass sculpture appears to be falling, but is actually floating.

Chihuly himself resembles an overweight, overaged pirate, complete with an eye patch he needs since an accident in England put him through the windshield of his car.  A bodysurfing accident also dislocated his shoulder, causing him to become even more dependent on his team approach.

There was even a lawsuit (settled out of court) against former team members Bryan Rubino and Robert Kaindl in 2006. The first HDTV show shown in this country was “Chihuly Over Venice” in November of 1998 and “Chihuly in the Hotshop” was syndicated to American Public Television on November 1 of 2008.

Called "The Sun," this piece stands 13 feet high and, until January of 2006, was exhibited in England's Kew Gardens.

This lavendar piece resembles a floral centerpiece.

Iceberg-like blue shapes, floating in a pond.

Lavender glass amongst foliage at Cheeksworth Estate.

Another gorgeous glass installation at Cheeksworth Estates.

Blue spikes, yellow curlicues and a statue add to the Chihuli effect.

Nashville's scale model Parthenon in Centennial Park.

We’re here in Nashville and have been visiting the Parthenon, a left-over from the Nashville Centennial Celebration and other points of interest.

There was a Friday night beer-tasting event in a park, similar to others held in 14 other cities. It was well-attended, and various beers could be sampled.

After the event in the park, we attended a concert by a group called “Westfolk.”  The band consists of lead singer Oscar Anthony of Chicago, who resembles Abbie Hoffman of the 60′s. On guitars and synthesizer is John Shaw. Brady Surface plays bass guitar, Ross Ridgeman helps with vocals and plays keyboards, Jared Ziemba and Houston Matthews on drums round out the group. We met Houston’s parents, who were in town from Little rock, Arkansas. Dad was frantically trying to Skype the concert “live” to Houston’s girlfriend in Los Angeles. Houston was definitely my favorite of the musicians and the last encore song was the best.

Tomorrow we plan to drive to a glass exhibit by the world renowned Dale Cihuly, whose last name I have probably just misspelled. Wish us luck!

We’re on the road again. This time, we’re driving to Nashville for the Labor Day holiday.

The husband has purchased a brand-new Hyundai Tucson. He seems quite taken with it. I would have kept the Cadillac. I have found one nice thing to say about it: the color he selected looks nicer than it did online where it looked horrible.

We drove for 4 hours and are in Effingham, Illiinois.

You have to wonder, if “Effing” a euphemism, as when ex-governor Rod Blagojevich uses it? If so, how do the city fathers feel about the co=opting of their name by Hot Rod?

We watched “Get Him to the Greek” on the in-room movies. Rather crass, but not much else worth watching, unless we wanted to venture into the documentary about Joan Rivers’ life or “Life in Wartime.” It was a compromise pick.

Tomorrow, on to Nashville, TN.

Grant Park flowerbeds.

When it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, you want to take a stroll to see what is happening in Grant Park, which happens to be in my neighborhood.

Besides gorgeous flower beds, there was a young man preparing to jump over a piece of park equipment on a small bicycle, for reasons that only he could explain.

Beginning of bike stunt in Grant Park.

Bike begins to go airborne.

He had no ramp, but he did have a friend ready to take pictures. I took a few of Trent, attired in his Burt Reynolds shirt, too, as he went airborne with his toddler-sized mountain bike.

Then there was the woman with the fat golden retrievers who, instead of walking the , was actually pushing them in what looked like a baby carriage. (And here I thought when people talked about how you have to “walk” dogs, they meant that the dogs would be actually walking.

And, last, but certainly not least, there was the giant eyeball, a sculpture positioned in Pritzker Park at State and VanBuren that stands 30 feet high and weighs 14,000 pounds. The downtown Chicago Loop Alliance commissioned the sculpture from Oak Park artist Tony Tasset, 49, and he used 24 pieces of fiberglass to produce a giant sculpture based on his own blue eye, but magnified over 1,000 times. The pieces of the sculpture, which was crafted in Sparta, Wisconsin, had to be trucked in on 13 trucks, according to the evening news.

Drury Design, Glen Ellyn, Illinois

On June 19th, the community of Glen Ellyn had its first book fair. I signed up to participate ($25) and was told (eventually) that my signing spot was the Santa Fe Cafe. I both called and sent literature to Olga Jimenez, the charming owner of the Santa Fe Cafe, a downtown eating establishment that has been written up in “Chicago magazine.

I then set about having myself put on the free “Daily Herald” calendar, saying I would be at the Santa Fe Cafe and I sent some hand-outs to Olga, asking her to post same. She did so on her front door.

Less then a week before the June 19th event, I learned that I was being moved to Drury Designs, a kitchen and bath remodel store on the outskirts of the town. I was to share time/space with a writer of romance novels. I mentioned that Olga and I had already agreed that, since she doesn’t open till 11:00 a.m., I would sign from 11 to 2, rather than 10 to 1, and I was told that I couldn’ t do this because it “wouuldn’t be uniform.”

Actually, many other writers were signing at places around town in connection with the book fair at times other than 10 to 1, including J.A. Konrath, who signed at the downtown pub at night, and John O’Donnell, who had Randy Hundley of the Chicago Cubs come in as a celebrity to help him sell his baseball book.

I also learned that the “keynote” speaker was going to be speaking at a gym, which is not near the downtown, and that tickets were being sold for the speaker. However, none of we less-well-known writers were invited to have a table at the back of this gym while the “keynote” speaker did her thing.

I protested that, having just helped run a book fair in Davenport, Iowa, not having the rank-and-file of writers near the keynote speaker (who is, let’s face it, supposed to be the one who will draw a crowd for the smaller fry) seemed somewhat unfair to those of us stuck in the boonies. And, since I had already made some small efforts to advertise my presence at the Santa Fe Restaurant, moving me at the last minute to a place much further away from the action didn’t seem wise. The response was that the committee wanted to “draw people into the downtown stores.”

I certainly have no argument with drawing people into the downtown stores and I, personally, did my part, buying $80 of dresses for the 17-month old grand daughters, but I do think it (the notice that I must move to a different location than the one I had just told the newspaper) came sort of late in the day, and the reason given (“wouldn’t be uniform”) was bogus.

The romance writer and I saw exactly one woman who was not a committee member, during our 4 hours at the Drury Design, which is a lovely award-winning store. There were 3 other people who came in during the 4 hours, but they had appointments about their kitchen or bathroom remodeling jobs. Jim Drury, the owner of the establishment, was kind enough to buy one thing from each of his 2 authors, which was very nice of him, and I, in turn, said I would post an article about this lovely shop.

I also noted that all 35 to 40 authors could have been fit inside the Drury Design, and the downstairs has a place (separate room) where the keynote speaker could have spoken, although admittedly it is not the size of a school gymnasium. I hope you enjoy the pictures of my set-up inside a kitchen display. The lonely ghost welcomes the readers who did not come to the “Ghostly Tales of Route 66.”

Author  to Sign Books in Drury Design  June 19^th from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. During First Glen Ellyn Book Fair

Author Connie (Corcoran) Wilson will be signing 6 of her most recent book releases within Drury Design from 10 a.m. until 1 p.m. on Saturday, June 19^th, as part of the first Glen Ellyn Book Fair. Nearly all of Mrs. Wilson’s books are priced at (approximately) $10, (with the exception of her 80,000 word novel.)  Three  form a trilogy of true ghost stories, including pictures taken during a 2,800 mile journey along Route 66 in November of 2008 that took the author on the Fort El Reno (Oklahoma) Ghost Tour, the last tour of the Fort’s season.

Connie will also be at Table #164 (Quadrant #2) on Saturday, June 12, from 10 to 2, and on Sunday, June 13th, from 2 to 6 p.m., at Printers Row in Chicago, downtown on Dearborn Street.

Wilson is a long-time writer (54 years) of both nonfiction and fiction, with a teaching career spanning 41 years  spent as adjunct faculty at 6 IA/IL colleges. She has published 8 books covering many genres. There’s literally “something for everyone” in her books published by 6  small independent publishers since 2002.

She began writing at age 10 for her hometown (Independence, Iowa) newspaper and continued writing in high school, college and beyond, while studying at Iowa, Berkeley, Northern Illinois University and the University of Chicago..

Connie attended the University of Iowa on a Ferner-Hearst Journalism Scholarship and graduated as an English major with a Journalism minor. She taught writing both to junior high school students and  to college students  in  writing classes at every college in the Illinois/Iowa Quad Cities. She has also interviewed many famous writers for publication, including Kurt Vonnegut,  John Irving, David Morrell, Anne Perry, William F. Nolan, Frederik Pohl and Joe Hill. Recently, she attended the Hawaii Writers’ Conference and she will be at Table 164 at Printers Row on June 12 and June 13. On May 8^th she helped head up the First Annual Quad City Book Fair in Davenport, Iowa.

Wilson’s early writing was primarily for 7 newspapers, including 15 years (1970-1985) spent serving as the film and book critic for the Quad City Times (Davenport, IA) while employed full-time as a teacher at Silvis (IL) Junior High School. In 1987 Connie founded the second Sylvan Learning Center in the state of Iowa (Bettendorf, Iowa) and in 1995, she founded a Prometric Testing Center. She served as CEO of both businesses while also writing humor columns for the Moline (Illinois) Dispatch and raising 2 children with her husband of 43 years, Craig.

Today, she writes regularly for 7 blogs, including Associated Content, which named her its Content Producer of the Year for her political coverage during the 2008 presidential campaign (AC is a Top 50 blog and was recently bought by Yahoo). She also has her own blog, www.WeeklyWilson.com. You can find more information about the author at www.ConnieCWilson.com.

Today, Connie continues to  review film and television for www.GetYourGoodNews.com , an online newspaper in the Quad Cities, and she has written for www.blogforiowa.com (archived); www.speakaboutit.com (archived); www.JollyJo.com (second coming stories); and www.helium.com (archived). On March 20th of this year, Connie was named the Writer of the Year by the (Davenport, Iowa) Midwest Writing Center, receiving its David R. Collins Memorial Award.

With the sale of both her businesses in 2002, Connie (Corcoran) Wilson has turned her attention to writing longer works. She has published 6 books since 2002 and 8, total (none of them self-published).

Her most recent release is the third book (Volume III) in a trilogy of true ghost stories set along Route 66, entitled Ghostly Tales of Route 66. (www.GhostlyTalesofRoute66.com). The books are PG-rated, small and amply illustrated, beginning in Chicago with Volume I and moving along the Mother Road as far as Oklahoma. Volume II picks up in Ft. Smith, Arkansas, site of an earlier version of the route, and takes the reader to Arizona. The final volume (Vol. III) goes from Arizona to California and was just released on June 4th.

On May 27^th, Connie was at  BookExpo America signing copies of her short story collection Hellfire & Damnation (www.HellfireandDamnationtheBook.com), a collection of short stories with the unifying theme of  the sins punished at each of the 9 circles of Hell in Dante’s Inferno. With an introduction by William F. Nolan, the 15-story collection has been widely praised and is nominated for the Horror Writers’ Association Bram Stoker Award this year.

In 2004, Connie collected her previously published Dispatch humor columns to produce Both Sides Now, a collection of David Sedaris-like humorous essays. In December of 2008 Lachesis Published her first collaborative novel, a romantic sci-fi thriller entitled Out of Time (www.OutofTimetheNovel.com), which was pitched to the producer of the Transformers movies in Burbank, California in June.

By August, ARCs (Advanced Reader Copies) of It Came from the ‘70s: From ‘The Godfather’ to ‘Apocalypse Now’ will be released from a small Rhode Island publisher (The Merry Blacksmith). The book is a 250 page nonfiction compilation of 50 movie reviews Connie wrote for the Quad City Times between 1970 to 1979, with an illustration every 3 pages, major cast, and interactive trivia (“Who did the studio really want to play Rocky in the movie of the same name?” Answers are upside down on the page; no fair cheating.)

As she said of the book, “Each review is like a tiny time capsule; the book could never be written this way today, as the reviews were written when  movie classics like The Godfather, Star Wars, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Alien were new. It might mention that Sally Field was on Johnny Carson that night, talking about Alien, for instance.”

Stop by Drury Designs and get a signed copy of Connie’s books. The ghost book trilogy, if purchased as a set of 3m receives a $5 discount from the individual price of $9.95. Check the blogs above, as video trailers appear there for  Hellfire & Damnation and Out of Time.

Since 2004, Connie has also been the owner of a condo in the Central Station District of Chicago (Lakeside on the Park), keeping her in touch with her 14-month old twin granddaughters, who live with her son, Scott and his wife, Jessica, in Bridgeport.

BookExpo America is ending. It is Thursday, May 27, 2010. I’d be barraging you with facts, but I boxed up my notebook and sent it home with my leftover books, from my signing from 2 p.m. on at the HWA (Horror Writers’ Association) booth. I’ve been to this for about 5 or 6 years now. I remember that the first one I attended was in Chicago and my book Both Sides Now was coming out, so that would have been 2004. I took my daughter-in-law (Jessica) that time and we ended up meeting one of the founders of Lightning Source and I arranged a book tour of the Hastings Bookstore chain.

Then, the event was held in Washington, D.C., one year, and this allowed my spouse to accompany me and visit various monuments while I trolled the aisles of this largest-in-North-America book event.

It was held in New York City most times, and, because the publishing industry is here, it was finally decided that it would remain here permanently.

Last year’s BEA was very dismal and scaled-back. People were cutting down on all unnecessary expenses and the entire mood was blacker. I helped man (woman?) the BEA booth and heard Captain Sullenberger. Our booth this year was in a much better, more heavily traveled spot, and I had a signing time from 2 p.m. to 3 p.m. I wondered if anyone would know me or know about my book.
For whatever reason…(and most said it had to do with reading the BEA information in the programs provided online)…I had an abundance of signers. I haven’t counted yet, but I think I easily had at least 50 people come asking for my book, and I got the e-mail information of all but a handful, so they can be notified of future books, which, in my case, will be the third volume of Ghostly Tales of Route 66: Arizona to California, coming out any minute, and, after that, It Came from the ‘70s: From The Godfather to Apocalypse Now. From now on, all dedicated blogs will have PayPal capability, because one never knows if one’s publisher has distributed the book as widely as one would like.

While here, I managed to take in the play “Fences” with Denzel Washington. I was in the middle of the second row and the production was amazing. (It received a standing ovation.) I will write more about this, but not until my boxed-up-and-mailed-home notes are back in my possession.

After schlepping my books to the Jacob Javits Center and dropping them off at the table on Wednesday, I arrived this morning with my trusty dolly (for eventually moving the remaining books to FedEx) and my bookmarks, business cards and post cards, plus the piece I put together that will go out in a mailing to the active, voting members of HWA some time in June. (Probably after the Printers Row Book Fair and the Glen Ellyn Book Fair.)

Because the time was condensed from what used to be a 5-day event, there was not enough time to hit museums, but I did get in a play (see above) and I attended the Breakfast and Lunch today, in addition to signing for 2 and ½ hours.

The breakfast featured Jon Stewart introducing Condoleeza Rice, who has written a new book that focuses on her family and upbringing. I have many notes of the witty things Stewart said, but those will wait until I recap same back in the Quad Cities. John Grisham was also on the panel, as was the writer of Water for Elephants. Her new book features apes that are being communicated with via sign language and computers at the Ape Institute in Des Moines, Iowa, so I’m going to be interested in reading this one. (Water for Elephants is being made into a movie now.)

The afternoon M.C. was the very same comic that Sean Leary has done articles on recently, the co-star of “King of Queens” Patton Oswalt, who appeared at the Hilltop Theater and was accused of (allegedly) using other comics’ material. I noticed that, this year, instead of an entire book, we got a chapter, at best. Jon Stewart provided a chapter only. Likewise, Patton Oswalt provided only an autobiographical chapter that dealt with his appearances in a comedy club near Vancouver, where the owner tried to stiff him on paying for his hotel room. It was not riveting reading, and I have read all of it, since it was only about 10 pages long. (Last year, we were given South of Broad by Pat Conroy, and I still haven’t finished that huge book, one year later.)

At the noon luncheon, Patton Oswalt introduced Christopher Hitchins. I had just entered the stairwell with Christopher Hitchins, who was holding a drink of something at the time. (It reminded me of the time I ended up in an elevator with Mickey Rooney and his 8^th wife, because Mickey took the wrong public elevator on his way to speak.)

Hitchins, who writes for “Vanity Fair” recited limericks. Yes. Limericks. He comes across as a bit of an effete intellectual snob, and apparently this is the way he wishes to be viewed. I do read his stuff, and I occasionally enjoy it. I remember one particular piece about vacationing in Iraq (one particular part that is “safe”) and I remember thinking, “Yeah. That’ll happen…….not!”)  Hitchins left rather quickly to “catch a plan to London” and we were left with a very bright fellow who, in writing about the future, invented the term “cyberspace,” supposedly, and had such a monotonous, droning delivery of what I’m sure may well be a brilliant book that I gave that book to table mate Ellen Datlow

I did keep the ape book and Christopher Hitchin’s, which is entitled “Hitch 22”, but I’m not in the same hurry to read it as I was to read the sequel to “1,000 Splendid Suns,” the author who spoke at least year’s BEA.

I’m at a Holiday Inn on W. 26^th Street that is brand new and very nice. My only complaint: no bathtub.

After I boxed up my unused books and the new ones mentioned above, I took the lot to FedEx to mail home. Then, I went to a nearby McDonald’s and ate a burger, since I couldn’t get a cab for an hour. The cab delivered me back to my room and, after going from 6 a.m. till now (11:00 p.m.) I’m calling it a night.
More later from home.