Mysteries in the Museum

The Nancy Drew side to me has always been intrigued by Ancient Egypt. The hieroglyphics, the pharaohs, the pyramids, the mysteries behind it all are fascinating. It sounds lame, but I have seen every Indiana Jones movie more than once, I consume books about Cleopatra and I often speculate how the pyramids came to be.

While in Kansas City, my little brother mentioned there was an Ancient Egypt exhibit at the Nelson-Atkins Museum.

Be still my beating heart.

The 7′ hand-painted coffin of the noble woman Meretites is breathtaking.

It’s perfect, but imperfect.

And who doesn’t love a good mummy?

If this guy was guarding my tomb, you’d better believe there would be no grave robbers. That is, if he could move….

After only an hour at the museum, the two of us had to head back home. But, I was satisfied-for now. Watch out, mummies and golden coffins, for I will return.

The X Factor and Britney Spears

I had the rare opportunity to spend this past weekend solely with my little brother, Daniel. (Although, my little brother is not that little. At 6’2″, he pretty much dominates any sort of crowd situation.)

Daniel, a.k.a. “Average Dan“, works for Fox television here in Tulsa and was sent to the X Factor auditions taking place in Kansas City.

And wouldn’t you know he asked me to go along with him? I felt so stinkin’ special.

As kids, Daniel and I traveled to the most exotic midwest small towns with my parent’s ministry. We became so accustomed to traveling the back roads that now traveling on interstates seems almost sacrilegious.

We still appreciate 2 lane highways, slower speed limits, weird sightings such as the world’s largest prairie dog, ball of twine or pen collections, roadside fruit stands, and cowboys hanging out the DQ.

We chose the circuotous route, stopping in Coffeyville, Ks. to act like morons and climb all over this train and relive old memories.

We learned long ago that even in the tiniest town, most mexican restaurants offered edible food. If there isn’t a mexican restaurant to be found, Plan B was always chicken fingers. You can’t really screw up either of these food sources, for the most part.

So, we stopped for mexican in Iola, KS and ate at El Charro’s. It did not disappoint.

After a quick change at our hotel, we walked to the Sprint Center to watch the X Factor auditions. The place was packed, the emotions were high, the weirdos and the talented alike stepped on and then off stage.

The judges were Britney Spears, L.A. Reid, Demi Lovato and what should have been Simon Cowell but ended up being the British X Factor’s judge Louis Walsh. I was concerned Britney might freak out and jump on the table, or threaten someone with an umbrella, but she was rather composed and gentle when it came to crushing someone’s dreams.

I saw three promising vocalists out of the 10 or 15 that tried-a 40 something year old male who went country, a 12 year old R & B female that blew us all out of the water, and a 16 year old chick with pipes that tore the house apart and then down.

We speculated what Britney was doing while we were eating fish tacos and drinking a dark beer. I just hoped it didn’t involve her hair, a razor and crazy pills.

But, it probably did.

Log Cabins, Mile High Pies and Mom-Kimmswick, Mo.

History is one subject that I can’t get enough of. My mother is the same way-after all, she majored in History at the University of Arizona. So, I blame her for my bad habit of asking inane questions that most wouldn’t dare say out loud.

For example, Mom and I went to a tiny town called Kimmswick, Mo. It’s known for its pioneer era buildings and mile-high pies. Each cute little shop is bedecked with pretties that would make most women break the bank. You can buy tutu’s for your little girl, ceramic figurines, sparkly shoes, chocolates, stuffed sock monkeys and most anything else that you “must have”.

But, instead of shopping, I ask these types of questions while we walk around the town.

“How old do you think this building is? What was it’s original purpose? Who built it?”

To which my sweet mother typically responds very kindly to my 5 year old questions: “I don’t know. Are you hungry yet?”

I press on, curiosity getting the best of me. “Do you think those wooden gutters were original or an addition? How many times was this added on to?”

My mother states that pioneers wouldn’t be concerned with gutters and no, they weren’t original.

I ask how she knows that, and she says, “I don’t know, I just do. What should we eat? Oh, shoot. Where’s my phone?”

A cute little teenage bird calls to me, its fluffy head feathers waving in the wind. “Do you think he fell out of his nest? Do you think he knows that he’s hanging out on a 200 year old porch?”

“Nope,” mom says to both questions, probably wondering when her adult daughter is going to quit asking inane questions. She walks towards a tiny shack of a building, just behind this one.

I follow her to the tiny shack-which was a homesteader’s home in 1876. The bed was lofted above the kitchen/living/dining room and the entire thing couldn’t have been more than 100 square feet.

“I can’t believe that a whole family lived here in 100 square feet. No wonder everyone frowned in their pictures and died around 45. Everyone was sick of each other!,” I said and laughed my hearty, embarrassing laugh.

“They frowned because they couldn’t move in the pictures and they died early due to disease, childbirth and unsanitary conditions,” mom said.

I liked my explanation better.

This building sat vacant, but used to be the “fancy” restaurant in town. I guess it was too fancy and the prices were its demise. That didn’t stop the two curious kittens (mom and I) from pressing our noses against the glass to get a good look.
The linens were still on the table, a mop propped against the wall, spiderwebs caking everything.

“I think this must have been a stage coach stop or something, originally,” mom said.

“Really?”

“I don’t know. I just think it’s too big to have been a home.” Mom led me to go look at the menus that still were still behind a glass display case-although most of the glass was broken.

“So, why do you guess it would be a stagecoach stop? Is this indicative of what they looked like-you know-since you were alive then?” I said.

I got a punch in the arm for that one.

By this time, I had started to annoy even myself with my questions. There’s no point in asking questions that cannot be answered-unless you’re me and you just can’t help yourself.

We gave up our historical search of Kimmswick and decided to go grab lunch at the Blue Owl-the famous mile high pie maker and the best restaurant in town.

“Do you think we’ll get pie?,” mom asked.

“Definitely. You’ve earned it.”

Thanks for putting up with me and my inane questions, Mommy. I love you.

The Case of the Missing Half Banana

This past week, I flew off to St. Louis to visit my parents and Grandmother. I left behind a sad Biceps and two kittens, but that’s another story for another day.

My parents moved in with my widowed 94 year old Grandmother years ago, allowing our visits to encompass a multi-generational fun fest.

She is quite the character-often praying for the squirrels “swollen bellies” and asking God to provide enough food for them. Little does she know, my dad scares the squirrels off the bird feeder with his BB gun-“motivating them to go into another yard”.

It’s quite the sitcom around that house.

Grandma is notorious for rising in the middle of the night and having a little snack. But she often won’t admit to it, or conveniently forgets she’s done so, when the next morning Mom tests her sugar levels and they are too high or too low.

I woke up one morning to Grandma and Mom already bustling around the kitchen and to this question posed by my Grandmother, “Did you eat half a banana last night?”.

Of course my answer was “No”. I like green bananas-not the bananas Grandma keeps that are on the verge of meltdown.

“Well, someone did,” Grandma responded. I looked at Mom who rolled her eyes.

So, I posed the question back to Grandma. “Did you eat half a banana, Grandma?”.

“No, or at least I don’t think I did,” she said and dug into her watered down cereal.

Hm….

“Well, if I didn’t and mom didn’t and dad didn’t…,” I said, pausing for her to come to her own conclusion.

“It must have been the cat!,” she said, victoriously. And took a bite from her toast, confident she had solved the case.