THE PLACE WHERE WILD THINGS GO....
Does anyone remember that kids' book? The place where wild things go? It was about a kid who traveled to a place where there were wild things that most people wouldn't understand, and he became the ruler of the wild things, because he wasn't afraid of them, and The Wild Things loved him for it..............

As I sat in my ABFAB bed this morning, wrapped in my new spring quilt, drinking my espresso naked, and listening to the church bells through my open window, I knew it would be a good day. Maybe because it’s the trend of the weekend thus far. My delightful best friend called me Friday night, and stated that we had plans. Her words “dress cute, and have comfy shoes”. The options that came to mind were interesting. But being Julia, she knew exactly what a good afternoon would consist of. She arrived at my home Saturday morning, embodying the definition of CUTENESS. Again, a clue of the day to come. After a trip to the local greenhouse, which is my idea of a perfect morning, we were off to our favorite town. It was a lunch date. It’s not just a lunch date, but a road trip through the most beautiful part of this area. A drive through the Ozark Mountains, I can’t even describe it to justice. It’s like suddenly being in the post card, instead of looking at it. All of the sudden, spring is here, and there is this road, Highway 62, that represents such a milestone in welcoming the new season for me. It's a slow, curvy drive through so many colors of spring, all the trees in bloom, and colorful flowers......If you happened to be on Hwy 62 yesterday, you would have seen a Jeep with the top rolled down, and 2 AMAZINGLY fabulous women in it. The warm sun, a cold beer, and the perfect shade of berry lipstick…..does it get any better than this? Eureka Springs, or as it’s referred to Little Switzerland, and not because it’s brimming with blond women in braids and corsets, with the distinct smell of Kraut. Quite the contrary. Eureka Springs is traditionally a tourist attraction, a small town of curvy roads, no stop lights, and retired folks in socks and sandals. It earned it’s Little Switzerland nick-name because it’s such a beautiful little town tucked in the mountains. But it’s more a hippie town if you look closer. Artists and musicians, and our favorite, gay couples. It’s almost progressive for a trip over the Arkansas border. Julia and I contemplate moving there to paint and sing for a few months of our lives, just to have good stories to tell. There are portrait painters on the square, a blue grass band playing near by with an oh-so-yummy little banjo player. He was somewhat back woods, with this long hair, and camo ball cap, but with his cowboy boots and blue jeans, it was more than music we enjoyed. Laugh if you want, I’m trying to get you past the “bluegrass” image that comes to your mind: Fat old men in overalls, with no concept of personal hygiene and an empty jug to blow in.
There are shops and places to eat, and best of all, interesting people to watch. After a productive trip to a place called Scarlet’s lingerie and sensual gifts, happy campers were we. It really was a great trip, and one that I will cherish all season, first Jeep sunburn, first good road trip of the season, and one of many great memories in our “Summer O’ Fun”. Julia and I realize that our lives are indeed going to be changing, for the better, but still changing, and we are taking special effort to preserve out time together, and build happy thoughts about our perhaps, last summer together here in our country life.
My current enjoyment, the Re-run DVD of Ally McBeal. Again, I’m sure you’re laughing, but there’s something to be said about a tv series that appears to be about law, but instead is about waif actresses in skirts short enough to make my Mother start in on one of her infamous “didn’t their mothers teach them any better” bullshit. Besides, the episodes always ends in a bar with everyone dancing and drinking. Can it be all bad?