Is it Just All About Football in Lincoln, Nebraska?

My first impression of Lincoln was that it was a town obsessed with football. When I went to the Haymarket district for the farmer's market on Saturday I found a neighborhood of about eight square blocks of historic warehouses converted to drinking establishments gearing up for the community experience of watching the Husker's games together on big screen TVs. Oh, while wearing the obligatory gear in red and white. (I can't even imagine what it must be like for a home game!) 

OK, so maybe I'm not a big football fan, but I appreciate the spirit of the town and the community commitment to the University of Nebraska team. But was that all there was to Lincoln?

I'm happy to report that it is not. While wandering around the Haymarket I stumbled upon an alley bedecked with art - a clue as to the stealthy alternative identity of Lincoln.

We had only three must-do things on our list for Lincoln, which did not include the obvious Huskers Stadium and Huskers' souvenir stores: The Nebraska Capitol, the Sunken Gardens and the Quilt Museum.  

The Nebraska Capitol

After lunch downtown at the best known steak house in Lincoln, Misty's, we headed over to the capitol building. Approaching the building on foot required a little creative navigating through reconstruction of the streets surrounding the building. Evidently it will be a large pedestrian mall with lawn, fountains, sculptures, etc.  

The finial sculpture atop the building is "The Sower," by Lee Lawrie, reflecting the importance of grain production to this prairie state. 

The exterior is decorated with symbols representing native American culture and Western philosophical principles of law, freedom and governance.

Sculpture by Lee Lawrie with Native American poem

The building is a remarkable Gothic structure, that feels more like a medieval European castle or cathedral than an American capitol. Although it is expansive like most capitols, it is dark and almost gloomy. Rather than containing artwork of religious symbolism like a cathedral, its walls, floors and ceilings consist of powerful and fascinating representations of cosmic, pioneer and agricultural themes.  

"The Homesteader's Campfire" by James Penney

"Gifts of Nature to the Man of the Plains" by Hildreth Meiere on the vestibule dome

Warner Chamber native themed doors

Hildrethe Meiere's evolution themed floor

The tiniest ancient elevator, tucked away in a dark corner of the main floor carries visitors up to the observation deck and Memorial Chambers on the 14th floors.  

Contemporary murals representing heroism of various sorts adorn the Chamber walls.

Stephen Roberts' mural depicting heroic people

Gothic observation deck like a castle's battlement

Ceiling of the Memorial Chamber, 14th floor, represents the night sky

This is the kind of building that deserves hours of time, and the tour would clearly be a fascinating and educational experience.

The Sunken Gardens and more

It's been a long time since we visited a garden, and it was such a pleasure to be amongst these thriving plants, juicy with life and practically dripping with chlorophyl.  The desert and the plains are grand places, but now that we've crossed over into the part of the country the gets enough rain, we're again appreciative of these botanical beauties that are the gifts of abundant water.

The Sunken Gardens are a 1.5 acre municipal garden originally created in 1930 and renovated in 2004. It is primarily designed with annuals, which were peaking during our visit, but also has  perennnials and water lily ponds.  Among the annuals were some of the largest specimens of taro I've ever seen - some must have been at least ten feet tall.

Lily pond with gazebo in background

Gazebo roof representing four seasons with Lincoln skyline

Across the street from the Sunken Garden are the Hamann Rose Garden, 

Rick really appreciated these benches, aesthetically of course

A fountain that captured the giddy joy of children playing with water

...the Rotary Strolling Garden, which the butterflies and bees loved...

...and the Bicentennial Cascade, or Teacher's Fountain.  

The Quilt House

My last artistic exploration in Lincoln was the International Quilt Study Center and Museum.  We'd visited the Quilt Museum in Paducah, KY and I was eager to see how this one compared. 

The Quilt House that houses the Center was opened just a few months ago and is quite impressive.

The Center hosts contemporary and traditional exhibits and has the largest publicly held collection of quilts in the world. It is part of the University of Nebraska, and offers a unique master's degree in Textile History. Currently there is an exhibit of Michael James' quilts that reflect a period of personal and intense mourning.  I found it to be a moving example of the current state of quilt art.

Ambiguity and Enigma: Recent Quilts by Michael James

Most of the exhibits are historical in nature. 

Some of my favorites are the crazy quilts made of scraps of clothing that quilters collect and exchange for generations then use with an aesthetic that escapes formulation or repetition. This is the kind of quilt that my mother and grandmothers made. They just say comfort and cozy to me, while preserving the memories of a family in the scraps of their clothing.

One of the exhibits was of African America quilts. This one is called "Mules" but looks more like pigs. Reminded me of Piglet.  Such a simple and powerful pattern.

This next one was my overall favorite. I love its seeming haphazard and erratic pattern that nonetheless holds together as a complete and meaningful whole.

It reminds me of our life on the road - a rich, joyful, colorful collection of images and experiences that seems to defy the patterns of normal or predictable life... yet somehow it works. 

Radical Adult Transitions

I guess there comes a time in every blogger's life when they feel uninspired about their blog. I've been trying to muster the interest in blogging about something - the campground, our RV necessities, my latest hike, the sights of San Diego, the past, the future ... but nothing is coming, and I think I know why.

I have a confession to make. I've been keeping a big secret from my blog, because I couldn't figure out how it fit in. Oh well, here I go breaking the mold.

Readers may or may not know that I'm a retired dance/movement therapist and educator. About seven months ago I got an invitation from the Marian Chace Foundation of the American Dance Therapy Association (ADTA) to give the "keynote" lecture that they sponsor at our annual professional conference. I was flabbergasted. I had actually just decided not to attend the ADTA annual conference for the first time in my memory. It's a huge honor to be invited to do this lecture, and of course I accepted.

So, for the past six months I've been writing that address. My mind has been possessed by the process needed to create the lecture, and it has been difficult to think about much of anything else.  The lecture ended up being about an aspect of adult or professional development that I called radical adult transition.  I defined it as a voluntary major change made after a significant period of stability in an adult’s life that affects relationships, identify, and life direction.

Some readers, especially those who are full-time RVers, may recognize themselves in the concept. I can't tell you how many people of all ages (not just retirees) we've met who've made radical adult transitions in their lives in order to live full-time on the road, like we are doing now. (So thank you fellow full-timers for the inspiration!)  

Interestingly, the adult development literature does not identify this phenomenon. Adulthood is seen as a period of stability, and radical change is seen as either a threat to the functions of adulthood, or something that happens to you, like an accident or some unforeseen event. Yet radical adult transitions seem to be happening more and more. People choose to make major changes in their occupations, locations, family status, religions, etc. that end up changing almost everything about their lives. Adulthood just doesn't seem to be as stable as it used to be.

So anyway, a month ago I delivered the address at the conference in Chicago. It was a true peak experience, both professionally and personally. Now I am feeling a sense of emptying out of what I'd been working on for the past half year. Certainly after the emotional high of giving the lecture itself and all the incredible feedback I received, I am feeling something of post-high recovery and emptiness. It's not a bad feeling, but it does feel odd being back in this life without that lecture running around in my head all the time.

Emptiness can be a kind of blessed quietness and a good place for something new to grow. So I'm waiting to see what comes.  I'm concerned that it may not fit with the theme of the blog thus far and I guess I'll have to deal with that when it comes up.  (We've been parked for awhile, and I do think when we get to traveling again that my enthusiasm for the road, new sights and photography will probably return full force. But we'll see.)

In a few weeks I believe the lecture I gave will be published online in the American Journal of Dance Therapy. I'll post a link when that happens.

Thanks for reading.