Morbid Romantic

Book Review & Personal Blog

A family member gave me this link because he knows how much I love to send post cards. I love trading cards of any sort. When thefanlistings.org holds their annual Christmas card exchange, I ALWAYS sign up because it gives me an excuse to give and send cards. I’ve done that for the past two years and I have beautiful shoeboxes filled with cards from around the world. I love it.

So, when I heard about Postcrossing, I signed up instantly.

The deal is this. You sign up and put in your information, including your address (how are they going to send you a postcard without one). When you’re ready to send a card, you click on ‘Send a postcard.’ So easy, right? You get the address of a person and a special ID number. When you fill out your postcard, you include that ID number because the person who receives the card will identify it by that number and mark it off on the website that way. This is the sites way of verifying that you sent the card. Once the system has it that you’ve send a postcard, your address is put on the list for someone to get when they want to send a postcard. So, for every postcard you send, you get one sent in the mail.

They also give you the option to upload the postcards that others have sent you to make an online wall. If you have a scanner or a digital camera, that means you can share all of the postcards you’ve gotten. I’m so doing that, too.

It sounds like so much fun to exchange postcards from around the world. I am going to go out and buy tons of cute VA postcards. I can’t wait to put my mail box to good use.

Sign up, guys. I made a blog post about this because I think it’s just such a neat idea.

Title: Savage Kingdom: The True Story of Jamestown, 1607, and the Settlement of America
Author(s): Benjamin Woolley
Genre: Non-Fiction
Tags: 17th century, american history, christopher newport, colonial history, early america, english imperialism, history, jamestown, john rolfe, john smith, king james, new world, nonfiction, pocahontas, powhatan, settlers, slave trade
Summary: This highly readable account of the founding of Jamestown moves from the English throne to the daily struggles of the colony’s first settlers and the experience of Virginia’s Indians as their relations with colonists became increasingly strained.
Finished: October 13, 2008
Rating: 4 Stars
Review:

I was given this book by respected historians, so I felt confident that this book would be good quality, not full of false information or unchecked/invalid sources. It has been a while since I’ve done any study of American history, so what better new start than to begin at the very beginning. This book read as easy as a novel, which is rare in a history book because they can get rather technical, dry and textbook-like. There were times when it didn’t even feel like I was reading a nonfiction book because it was just so interesting and full of adventure and intrigue. You’ll get it all in this book: political manipulations, death, disease, mutiny, war, sabotage, desperation and adventure. This book is neither oversimplified nor overly complicated. There are times, I admit, where you may feel that the book drags. I suffered during the parts about British government and technical arrangements, but they were mere pieces in a book that is largely very entertaining while remaining informative. It’s a far cry from Disney, though. By the end of it, you’ll be well aware of the brutality of America’s early founding… from both the settlers and the Natives. Additionally, this book includes an international scope. While discussing the founding of the Jamestown colony, the author writes about how other leaders in countries like France and Spain felt. If you love history, nonfiction or a good adventure book, this one is definitely for you.

- More can be found in my Reviews section or on my Biblio page. If you would like to see my book list for 2009, go here.

- If you would like me to review your book, send an email to me at morbidromantic@gmail.com. Read my Book Review Policy for more information.

Everyone always speaks of their first memory. This memory can be something half realized or foggy, but certain elements stand out. That is, after all, what makes a memory a memory. Some people claim to remember being a baby, while others insist that they remember certain toddler or adolescent moments first. Yet no matter how hard she thought, she could not recall one memory that was her ‘first.’ Sure, there were tons of memories, but they had no dates or times attached to them. She could not recall when something happened or even relate memories to moments against which things could be put chronologically. Because, for her, time had never been of any importance. She was so utterly apathetic about time and its passage that it wasn’t worth remembering or attaching to parts of her life. Later on, as an adult, this causes all of her memories to jumble into nonsense that becomes not worth remembering either.

State: Utah
City: St. George

I know that it’s September, but I’m not used to waking up to chill 58 degree mornings. I still have a few months left of morning warmth in me. Virginia won’t get that cold in the morning for another month, at least. The cold was biting but also a little refreshing. It felt good to get out of the hotel room and smell the air, which seemed extra clean because it was so frigid.

Our plan was to make it all the way to St. George today. It was a realistic plan since we only had half of Colorado to go and then route 15 along Utah to St. George. We estimated a good 6 hours on the road, but it would all be worth it if we could reach our destination and finally be some place other than a hotel, not looking at more road ahead of us. I mean, seriously, you do sort of get tired of the US when you’ve been staring at it passing by your window for 6-8 hours a day for 5 days. It’s lovely and exciting too, yes, but not something I want to endure longer than, say, a five day period.

For the last leg of Colorado, the trip wasn’t as death-defying. Maybe I had somehow strengthened my disposition over night. That’s what I like to think. In reality, I think the mountains were just a little less terrifying because we were heading towards the end of them into the cliffs and valleys of Southern Utah. Stuff like you see in Western movies. Of course the middle of the Rockies is going to be high and nerve wrecking to the point where your blood pressure rises and all you can do is try to control the ringing in your ears. But what goes up must come down. Hopefully not at 100 miles an hour barreling down the side of a mountain. No. In low gear at a safe and steady speed that won’t at all kill you (unless the person behind you is barreling at 100 miles an hour and rams into you… or is one of those out of control trucks that have missed their ramp).

I admit, though, that I really started to enjoy all of the tunnels and rivers (like the Colorado and White) around or under us. Towards the end of our travels through the Colorado Rockies, we drove through or in between mountains instead of at their edges. This is my preferred way to drive through mountains because there’s no steep drop to look down at. All that there is around you is safe, tall mountains to the left and the right, road before and behind.

Blessed was the moment when Colorado turned to Utah. I think we all felt, at that moment, a sense that we were close to home. The terrain and the state are so familiar to us that we all collectively relaxed and eased through the cliffs and deserts of southern Utah. There’s something about southern Utah that’s really gorgeous, even for its lack of trees and grass. I kept making us all pull over so that I could see the skylines and scenic things. The first one we went to, I am ashamed to say, I didn’t have the courage to climb. We had to walk up this really steep and FAR path to a higher peak, which was intimidating because we were already pretty high up. I couldn’t imagine going even higher. Plus, I was wearing flip flops, which don’t have the best traction. Instead of climbing to the summit to look down, I walked through a bit of the barren trees and plants to find a place to take a picture down into the cavern.

Oh, and the bathroom there was gross. It was one of those holes in the ground. I never, ever want to experience another bathroom like that in my life.

The coolest part of the scenic turn off was that Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch hid in the caverns. The cavern was massive. It was something so big and so deep that it was impossible to scale from where I was standing above it. Because it was so big and so deep, everything looked very small. Does that make sense? That something can be so big that it appears small? I think the cavern appeared as such because I was so far from it and couldn’t put all of the lines and smaller cliffs within into proper perspective. To me, since I was hundreds (thousands even) of miles above, of course it was small.

When I think back on it now, I feel a little sick to my stomach that I stood on the edge of a cliff so deep. All it would have taken was one wrong step or something to unsettle me. I hate stuff like that. I’ve always been terrified of heights, but I’ve worked on recovering from it to the point where heights don’t bother me terribly. But, every now and then it does get to me.

Southern Utah is desert, okay? You see desert and small patches of plants here and there. All around are red and brown cliffs with the occasional white streak here and there. Moab, which we passed, is famous for its natural rock arches. I’ve never been to Moab and seen those arches, but they seem pretty awesome. I’d like to head down there sometime and check them out. And then maybe go over to Zion National Park to see their things, too.

My first impression of St. George was, “so this is a little oasis in the middle of the desert?” And it is. We’re surrounded by red rock mountains. There is one right in my mother’s backyard, close enough that we can see people rock climbing or scaling down. The main part of the city is at the bottom of the valley thing and everything else is up from it. So, St. George is a… concave dome of rock. And HOT like you wouldn’t believe. Not the humid hot I am used to in VA. No. Hot skin baking heat that just pounds down at you from above and makes the paint on the street signs curl. Though I was relieved to arrive at our destination, I was also a little bit bummed because I know that come Saturday, the work will begin anew and we’ll be unpacking from wake to sleep.

State: Colorado
City: Glenwood Springs

So, more Kansas today. We still had half the state to drive through. I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to it because the previous day had been so boring. I knew that what was waiting for us on the road were more hours of Kansas plains. Nothing but endless green rolling hills. We were all complaining about how absolutely dull it is in Kansas and how much we’re looking forward to being in a different state with, hopefully, more interesting terrain. Like a brave line of caravan going to the front line, we prepared for our trial ahead.

That was just what we got. Prairies and hills until we thought we were going to die of boredom.

Until I saw the perfect chance for us to get off of the road. All along the highway, for about 20 miles, I kept seeing signs for something called Prairie Dog Town in Oakley. They advertised to have all sorts of animals, but more importantly, Prairie Dogs. I’ve only ever seen them on television; this Kansas prairie land has to be good for something. There’s nothing that I love more than hard to find and strange local entertainment. My suggestion to stop was met with a little resistance and grumbling, but all it took was a sweet reminder by me that stopping would be a good chance to smoke one cigarette after another. This was all that it took to woo the difficult among us…

It was really all we could do to keep from laughing when we walked into this place full of taxidermy projects and strange nick knacks. The place was dirty, cramped and sold stuff that I can’t imagine anyone wanting to buy… like magnetic rocks and fake vomit. I think I saw a couple of eye twitches when we looked at the stuffed two headed calf (I think that’s what it was) and the cage of real rattlesnakes, but definitely when I pointed out the stuffed Jackalope. I wish that I got some pictures of the inside shop because it was like something out of a movie.

My mood was a little soured by “spoiled sport” when it was brought to my attention that the animals kept there are probably bred, fed and then killed to make things like purses or shoes or fur goods. I didn’t want to admit it, but I think it’s probably true. The owner boasted that he and his wife caught over 1,000 rattlesnakes that year. There definitely weren’t 1,000 rattlesnakes in their little snake cage, so I can only imagine what the fates of those others snakes were. Poor things. All of those poor furry creatures.

Prairie Dog Town was a strange place. The first thing you notice is all of these holes in the ground, but that’s all they were when we walked out. Then all of a sudden, BAM, we’re surrounded by prairie dogs coming out of their holes and watching us or scurrying about. They were soooo cute, but those sharp nails that they have to dig around in the dirt with were hardcore. There were also piggies and Kit Foxes and Coyote and a BIG rabbit that I am sure is going to make a good fur coat one day. Still, thanks to Jerk, I couldn’t help but feel guilty at every animal that I cooed at because I was encouraging their imprisonment, I was part of the problem and not the solution. Because of people like me, this guy keeps animals, makes money off of them, kills them, sells their skin and makes even more money from them post-humorously.

It was a good thing that we stopped because I would have gone insane otherwise. There was still so much more Kansas to go. By the time we hit the Colorado border, I sighed with relief. FINALLY, something different. My relief soon turned to horror when we began to go up and down the high peaks of the Rocky Mountains. The Blue Ridge in Virginia have nothing on the Rockies, no joke. My ears were popping like crazy and I kept seeing signs like, “runaway truck ramp two miles,” which only made a bad situation worse. Runaway truck ramps!? There were those warning signs every seven miles, which led me to the startling and stomach turning realization that trucks must lose their breaks a lot on the Rockies.

What made it worse!? We actually drove through a snow/sleet mixture. Out of nowhere, hard pieces of sleet start to splatter on the windshield.

If Kansas is the boring state, Colorado is the terrifying state. I honestly don’t get how people could speed and go 80+ miles an hour on those winding, high mountain roads. I could never be a trucker, hugging those turns with a massive vehicle set to run out of control or roll off the edge thousands of feet.

For my sanity, I kept my eyes on the road ahead and the mountains above. I didn’t want to start looking around below at the cliffs because then all of my fear would hit me and it would be over for me. The best thing for me was pretending as if I were on solid ground like any other driving experience. I sure do miss sea level where the worst we get is an overpass here or there. But if anything good came out of my near death experience over the Rockies, it’s that I am totally flying when I come out to Utah to visit my mother. No more of this driving for five days thing.

The Rockies takes its toll on everyone and we settle in a city called Glenwood Springs. It appears to be a small ski resort area, which makes sense because we are in the Rockies and close to Aspen. Everything was packed in real close together, like a mini city squished in between high, tremendous mountains. Seriously, we were circled in by mountains and all we needed was within walking distance.

Our hotel was the Starlight Lodge, which had a stuffed bear in the lobby and fake flowers everywhere. Across the way was some place called the Village Inn. The Village Inn was a restaurant. Since it was the closest thing to our small lodge, right across the street in fact, we went there for dinner. My stomach was in an absolute fury after the ride, so I was delighted to see that they had a half portion menu on the back, which was where I got my dinner from. The three ounces of steak, half a baked potato and corn was enough for me, plus the salad and half slice of pie that came with it.

Completely famished but refreshed and enlivened by our meal, we retired to our rooms and watched HBO until we passed out.

State: Kansas
City: Russell

Well, the day didn’t begin too well. The car was packed up, the cats were in place and my mother left the car and me in it to return the room keys. As this was occurring in my world, by a turn of bad luck, we suddenly found ourselves in a ‘keys locked in the car’ incident. All we could do was stare helplessly at the keys, so close but so far away. At first, the maintenance man at the Super 8 tried to jimmy the car door open and unlock it himself with an old fly swatter, but all he did was scratch the paint. He also told us all awful stories about his house, his goat and the tree that made a hole in his roof. I don’t know what was more torture: watching him scratch up the car or listening to his slow drawl as he went through his entire repetitive story about his landlord who won’t come and fix the roof.

I suppose it’s hard to feel true sympathy for someone when you’re currently engaged in your own bad luck moment. Surely we all would have cared more if it were any other day and we weren’t getting a good hour behind schedule.

Fortunately, we all came to the conclusion that the locksmith would have to be called. We felt collectively lucky that there was one considering the small town we were in, which seemed nothing more than a few travel stores, novelty places and truck stops. The locksmith was called, an old man named John or Jim, who informed us that he was going to finish breakfast and then head right down. Maybe it’s the city in me, but really? Finish your breakfast on business hours before you go and help a paying customer? What sort of podunk business practice is that? What sucks about small towns is that you are at the mercy of businesses that can do things their way, no matter how slow or unhelpful, because they are all you have. There’s no competition therefore no need to do things the best way possible.

We are at the mercy of John (or Jim) and his eating schedule.

After 45 minutes of waiting for John (or Jim) to finish his breakfast, he finally arrives. He is easily 75 years old and brings out old medical supplies to pick the lock. What he wedges between the door and frame is one of those blood pressure cuffs that inflates as the rubber ball is pumped. He gets in between there and starts to pump the little bulb so that the cuff expands and slowly starts to separate the door from the frame enough to slip in the unlocker (I don’t know what it’s called) and pop the lock. All the while, he too is telling us a story that I can’t remember for the life of me. I think he was telling us about his breakfast and how he wasn’t even dressed yet when we called.

But, the door was open.

What a relief. And only an hour set back.

It was still an hour never to get back that we had to make up for. The later the start we get, the later we have to drive into the night.

Before hitting the interstate again, we stopped by the post office in Kingdom City to mail off a growing pile of post cards. We all had a stack and threw them in the box, which was located right across the street from a place called Nostalgia Ville. After a little deliberation, we decided not to go in since we were behind schedule though secretly I REALLY wanted to go in and look at some old stuff. From what I could tell, Nostalgia Ville is a store/museum of old pop culture artifacts from the early 20th century. You have Lucy, Betty Boop, Elvis, the Andy Griffith Show, WWI and WWII posters, etc, etc, etc. It would have been a lot of fun to walk around in, but we didn’t have the time and the kitties were in the car ready to go.

We set out and soon said goodbye to Missouri, bidding farewell to the state and to Kansas City before entering the state of Kansas.

Now, I was excited about this because Brown vs. Board of Education is really Brown vs. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas. When referring to the case and its significance, people just shorten it and the location of the landmark case gets lost. I was totally thrilled to get to pass through a city where such history was made, where not only was segregation by color forbidden (there is actually a Brown vs. Board II, but I’ll spare the history lesson here) but students with disabilities were now, with that decision, on their way to mainstreaming and inclusion.

But first, we had to get there. Gas came first. It was in this gas station that I first became aware of how serious Kansas takes the Wizard of Oz. Just this one little travel plaza had all manner of Wizard of Oz merchandise from t-shirts to bookmarks. Of course, when in Kansas, right? So, I bought a bookmark and something for my sister.

It was a pretty straight shot until we hit the area of Wamego. To be honest, Kansas is long and it just spreads and spreads in a straight line as far as you can see. All you see to your left and right is field, front and back is only road. After a while, the ride was mind numbing. It was so, so boring. One would think that endless rolling fields would be peaceful and serene, but after a few hours of nothing but them, you crave big buildings or a minor change in scenery. It was a few miles to Wamego when I saw the sign for The Wizard of Oz Museum. We all needed some reprieve from the road, so we agreed to take a quick look. It would be a fast stop, no more than 15 minutes. But, it would be 15 minutes on our feet bringing life back into our legs.

The Wizard of Oz Museum was surrounded by a variety of Wizard of Oz related shops like Emerald City Gifts and Toto’s Tacoz, a Mexican restaurant. The street was cool as hell. Our destination was the museum itself, which we went into and paid the small entrance fee to tour the place. The lobby itself sold all manner of Wizard of Oz merchandise like lunch boxes and posters and dolls and everything/anything you can think of. It was all there. I bought a lunch box since I collect them before going into the museum itself.

The museum was pretty much made up of old Wizard of Oz memorabilia and merchandise, most of it locked behind glass doors. There were mannequins here and there dressed up as characters from the series. In one or two rooms, you could sit down and watch the movie. All along the walls were signed pictures and facts about the books, the making of the movie and other elements of the series. All in all, it was worth the price of admission and a nice break from the road. I really enjoyed myself and I took tons of pictures of everything I saw. If anything, it was nostalgic. I don’t think there are many people in America, at least, who haven’t seen The Wizard of Oz on television. Since the book and play Wicked was released, new life has sort of been breathed into The Wizard of Oz fandom and there certainly was an ample amount of Wicked memorabilia/merchandise in the museum, too.

We stayed longer than intended. Our 15 minutes turned into about 25. This was even more of a setback, especially since when we got into the car, it was another million miles through the boring flat plains of Kansas. Despite this, we made one more stop to an old historic schoolhouse. I wanted to take pictures of it for my collection. In addition to loving old things, I like broken down and abandoned things.

Our day ended at Russell, Kansas. As luck would have it, our Days Inn was right next to a Sonic, so we ate the crap out of some food there and watched HBO until we all collapsed with exhaustion.