A band of gypsies; one now semi-grounded.

Here's a fun answer to the simple phone question 'what are you doing?'

"Oh, you know... Just driving across America."
"Why? Oh, because I just left what was my dream career, sold all my furniture, sold my car, bought a truck, packed it full with all my remaining belongings and decided to move to Montana to a town I have never been to before to take a job with people I've never met."

"Ya... So, uh... what are you up to?"

I had a couple of those conversations this week with friends and family who didn't get the inside scoop as my life spun through a whirlwind of new directions over the past couple weeks. Admittedly, I should have made a few more explanatory phone calls that would have prevented those awkward "You're doing WHAT?!" conversations, but heck, let's be honest... the youngest child in me kinda likes the shock factor of it all.

But my favorite road trip conversation was somewhere on a never-ending stretch of I-90, as my co-pilot and I each ended phone calls with mutual friends.

Darci, the co-pilot from heaven and most wonderful road trip passenger ever, said, "Isn't it funny that a girl from Texas and another from Wyoming who met during two brief stints living in Ohio are driving across South Dakota on their way to move to Montana while one talks on the phone with a friend from Michigan who lives in Ohio and the other talks to a California girl living in Missouri?"

"Besides being the longest run-on sentence ever? Yes, that is funny. We are somewhat of an eclectic little band of gypsies."

It made me think of how blessed our little gypsy hearts are: a group of young, mostly single friends who have traveled a majority of the lower 48 and some abroad, banded together somehow in a small town in Ohio Amish country to leave a brief but bold mark on one another's lives.

It was hard to say goodbye to all of them, but I know many of their little gypsy hearts will eventually scatter, too. Our paths seem just as likely to cross in national transit as they were living and working in the same town.

My Twitter handle describes me as a "Husker by birth, Wyomingite at heart, Ohioan by career choice." Now, I'll add Montanan by lifestyle choice and couldn't be more excited about it.

Being back in a rural town with more cows than people suits me. Trading in cubicle walls for a mountain panorama just makes sense, and a freshly stamped year-long National Parks pass seems to fit the wallet slot that used to hold my company credit card just fine.

I'll be a bit more grounded here - less airports, less frequent hotel stay points, less six-states-in-five-days hectic work trips. Less conference calls, calendar updates and meeting requests; more appreciating the people, places and circumstances that surround the present moment. More interest in making a geographical location into a home, more writing and photography, more time with family and friends, more scenery that has never seen concrete.

Speaking of living more in the moment...

No iPhones allowed in Yellowstone National Park. 'Cause that's where I'm at right now. It's a sweet hour and a half from my new home. Talk about making intangible job benefits more tangible...

Tweet, tweet tweet!

Big news, folks. You might want to sit down. Pencil out a couple minutes in your Outlook calendar to process this big news.

I joined Twitter this weekend! I'm a tweep. I live in twittersville. Tweet tweet, tweet tweet, tweet. Yes!

I've always thought Twitter sounded pretty obnoxious. I mean, too many people share too much information on their facebook status updates as it is -- there's no way I could handle a constant stream of so-and-so's insomnia or her broken heart for-the-tenth-time-this-month or his terrible grammar.

Then again, I also thought Chinese food was despicable until the fall of 2006. Turns out, grandma was right again. You just never know what you'll like until you try it. I tried Twitter. I like Twitter. I like Twitter a lot. There is such a wealth of information out there folks!

I did some research before jumping in, and the best advice I found was, "Twitter's not about you. It's about the conversation." Basically, avoid the kind of TMI play-by-plays that are annoying on facebook status updates. Instead, join a conversation. Engage people. Seek out new ideas. Share thoughts, not statements. Have fun with it. I am absolutely overwhelmed with interesting people with fascinating information to share.  

All that wisdom about not being so egocentric aside, I've been so focused on tweeting that I just don't have much in me for an interesting blog tonight. Double H Photography tagged me in a little survey today. Since I've been sending my new Tweeps to my blog, this seemed like a good opportunity for them to get to know me better.  So here it goes!

3 Names I go by:
1. Laura
2. Lauria... long story

3. LauraBelle

3 Places I've been:

1. Killarney, Ireland

2. Swansea, Wales

3. Budapest, Hungary

3 Favorite drinks:
1. Fuze Slenderize Cranberry-whatever-other-fruits-they-put-into-that-delicious-concoction
2. Coffee
3. Cattleprods

3 Job's I've had:
1. Industry Information Specialist, Certified Angus Beef LLC
2. Head of Cleaning Operations, LauraBelle's House Cleaning Co. (It was a pretty official business, you know)
3. Editor-in-Chief, Wingspan newspaper

3 TV shows I watch:
1. Dirty Jobs
2. The Sopranos
3. The Office

3 Places I would like to visit:
1. Charleston, South Carolina (Based on reading Charleston by John Jakes)
2. Prince Edward Island (Still in love with the Anne of Green Gables series)
3. Museum of the Shenandoah Valley (Winchesher, VA -- I was there, but didn't have time to go explore the museum. Must go back!)

3 Favorite retro TV shows:
1. The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross
2. Step By Step
3. I Love Lucy

3 Favorite Dishes:
1. Grandma's pecan sticky rolls
2. Aunt Carolyn's Cheesy Potatoes
3. CAB strip steak with avocado salad... well, really any steak with any side. This is just the most delicious meal I had a picture of.

3 Things I'm looking forward to:
1. Mid-year planning meeting at work this week
2. A trip home in August
3. Cuero TurkeyFest!

3 People I'm tagging:
1. Out Past the Pasture
2. Life Be Delicious
3. Caught in the Web

Oh, yes... and to find me on the oh-so-wonderful Twitter, I'm @LBelleoftheBlog. Tweet ya later, alligator!

Fifty Nifty and Grandma's lessons on gratitude

Aren't grandparents the most awesome people on earth? I know mine are. Leland and Irene Nelson have taught me most of life's great lessons and values, and created a family that surrounded me with the same ideals throughout my life. A couple weeks ago, grandma gave me another little tidbit to hold on to. 

I was chatting with grandma, telling her about work, my recent travels, life in Ohio... and that I was homesick and sad that I missed out on a recent family gathering. I found myself feeling envious of my friends and family close to home; they got to spend time together and enjoy all the things I took for granted when I was there. I didn't have to say any of that; I would be ashamed to tell grandma I was being such a baby.

She told me, "Laura, it sounds like you are doing great -- you are a lucky girl! How many people your age get to see all the great things you do? I would love it if you sent me some of the pictures you took so I could see some of the places you go. You know, most people never get to see those things."

Life lesson from grandma: gratitude. Be thankful for what you have; don't dwell on what you don't.

Now, you all know I love the big, open spaces of the Cornhusker State.      

And I love the scenery and the company of fellow Wyomingites.

But it takes a little lesson in gratitude to remember how lucky I am to get to learn about Angus bulls in Arkansas:

 ...or score free tickets to a Black Eyed Peas concert in Arizona (before I really even knew who they were):

Running along a California ocean shoreline at sunset was invigorating:

 A trip to the Colorado mountains with old friends is still worth treasuring:

 The rugged mountains of Idaho's high country... 

 ...the cityscape of Illinois...

...sun beams peeking out of the clouds after an Indiana rainstorm...

... and curious new calves on Iowa pastures were packed into my first year of gainful employment at a job I'm lucky to have and love:

 I clicked my red high heels and passed under more than one Kansas rainbow:

The green chips might not be what Kentucky is most famous for, but they represented great friends and another step in my career:

Louisiana 'gators...

 ...and a Montana hitchin' both packed a little bite (Spend a weekend in Miles City and you'll understand):

Nevada was thankful we were there to keep law and order; I was thankful these were the only badges we saw in Vegas:

 New York City never sleeps,

 ...but the state has a lot more to offer:

 There was a lot of giggling to be grateful for in North Dakota:

 And even squares can have a ball in Oklahoma:

My arteries were thankful to find this Pennsylvania butter molded into art instead of clogging the path to my heart:

Great historic figures in South Dakota,

  ... the Texas Alamo,

  ...and a sunset in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley made me stop and think about the beautiful, heroic and hard-fought histories of our country.

Last weekend, I was particularly thankful for... Ohio. Yes, Ohio.

We celebrated the independence of our great country with an abundance of food provided by American farmers and ranchers, plenty of fireworks to dazzle my little mind and a backyard full of great friends.

We all celebrated our country last weekend, but this little stroll down photographic memory lane was just what I needed to remind me it's worth being thankful for 365 days a year. Wyoming, Nebraska or Ohio: as long as it's within the borders of the good ol' US of A, I'll be grateful to have a home there.

'Fraidy cat, 'fraidy cat

It's no wonder Stones and I are such good buddies.

I'm a little 'friady cat. Always have been. Probably always will be. Learn some of the back history on page 10. I've toughen up a little bit from the days of making friends drive across town to do closet-checks when left home alone, but not a lot. My 'fraidy-cat ways were in full force last week.

I was traveling in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley for work. Round about 5 a.m., I roused myself from my comfy Hampton Inn pillows and set out in the beefy mini-van to capture the sun rise in the valley. You know I don't see 5 a.m. very often, but I just knew this was going to be worth it.

I carefully mapped out the path to Woodstock Tower, which is suppose to be one of the most beautiful scenic lookouts in the area. I crept up, up, up a narrow switchback path, anxiously awaiting the Seven Bends river view. 

It was about a half-hour drive. There wasn't much time to stop along the way; I knew the best photos would be at the top. So I cranked up the radio, rolled down the windows and kept climbing. The necessity of the Tower quickly became clear. You couldn't see the forest for the tress... literally. There were no scenic vistas from ground level.

Finally, I reached the top. Just like my extensive google research indicated, there was a little pull-off to park at near a small path that would lead to the tower. Giddy with excitement over the pictures I was about to capture, I gathered up my camera and jumped out of the minivan and started my half-mile hike to the Tower.

I got about two feet past the graffiti-covered Tower sign and stopped dead in my tracks.

Hiker goes missing on Woodstock Tower Road

Ohio girl last seen eating breakfast pizza at local Hampton Inn, never heard from again.

I often imagine my life as it would appear in headlines. Working in journalism does weird things to the way you think of words.Sometimes I go ahead and write the whole news article in my head, too.

This front page story would be your typical young-blond-ventures-out-alone-and-meets-grizzly-mysterious end-news report.  

I like to think my disappearance would be important enough to make the front page.

It would have quotes from the nice lady at the Hampton Inn who watched me devour the breakfast pizza and three cups of coffee. It was clear to her I was alone that morning and seemed disgruntled and uneasy. My family and friends would confirm that I was in fact not the kind of girl who ever had her whits about her that close to sunrise, which might offer an explanation. Or was I contemplating the inevitable demise ahead? Breakfast lady would certainly recall something seemed amiss the morning the blond girl set out for her fateful journey. 

Stop it, Laura. Stop it right now. Grow up. Those kinds of things only happen in the news... not to girls travelling alone thousands of miles from home who don't tell anyone where they're going when they depart at sunrise to hike into the wilderness. 

Go back to the van and get your cell phone. Keep one finger on 9 and another ready to follow it with 1-1. That will make you safe. 

Laura, that's just creating a false sense of security. A false sense of security only makes you more venerable. Take a picture of your location and the van on your phone. Then if something happens and your murderer steals the van and all the search party finds is your cell phone, they'll be able to piece together what happened.

Deep breath.

You can do this. You want to do this. You're an adult. Stop being a 'fraidy cat.

I turned around and headed back down the trail. I got about two feet past the location that previously sent me running back to the van.

*snap. crack. rustling*

What was that? Footsteps? A bear? I can feel something watching me. Is that a shred of clothing stuck to that branch? Is that all that remains of the last hiker here?

Stop it. Stop being such a baby. Stop being such a 'fraidy cat.

Another branch snapped under the weight of my approaching doom.

GET OUT NOW! NOW! GET TO THE VAN... NOW!

A half hour later, my heart finally returned to beating at a normal rate. I finally got enough courage to stop on the outskirts of town and try to regain a little dignity.

You're OK. This is a nice, peaceful bridge... you have to have something to show photographic evidence of this little venture.

Wait.. what was that? What's under this bridge? There's a truck coming up... it look suspicious. Oh God... those guys look scary. They're eye-balling you.

The van! Get to the van NOW!

Stereotypes in the city

I think it's been well established that I love my home state(s). A lot. I could talk about Big, Wonderful Wyoming or the Good Life in Nebraska for days. Unfortunately for people I meet, sometimes I do just that.

But the one thing I don't love about being from the WyoBraska area is the stereotypes that are often placed on the good folks from that area. Now, don't get me wrong... we do fulfill a lot of those stereotypes. I'd say folks out in my home states are a little old-fashioned, we're about five years behind in clothing fashion and are sometimes a little... um... culturally sheltered.

But if I am asked one more time if we all have this neat thing called electricity out in the wild west or if I rode my horse to school growing up, I will hog tie someone and drag em' through a pasture of yucca plants.

Now how's that for a stereotype?

Ok, it's been a while since I've been asked a truly outrageous question like that, although it has happened. But I do often get, "Oh, ya.... I've been to Wyoming. Jackson Hole!" Or, "You come from a cattle ranch out West? Your family probably run a couple thousand head then, huh?" Then there's, "Nebraska?! I drove across I-80 once... there is seriously nothing there. I mean nothing. You must have been reeeeaaally bored growing up." And then my personal favorite.... "So, how's the trailer court?"

As it turns out, I have no room to judge people who place stereotypes on my home states. A few weeks ago, I visited New York state. I spent a few day on a cattle ranch. Every time I told someone from home I was on a cattle ranch in New York, I got about the same reaction.

"A ranch?! In New York? What do they have, five, ten little pet cows?"

"Oooohh! New York City?! Did you see Sarah Jessica Parker?"

"Hahahahahahahahaha. Hahaha. Haha. No really, Laura. What are you doing in New York?" 

And I didn't blame them. After four trips to NYC over the past seven years, these are the things I knew to be true about New York:

It's a concrete jungle. Sky scrapers, bridges, and brick: it's a convoluted mess of metal and pavement. New Yorkers wouldn't know a natural building material if it gave 'em a splinter.

It's a non-stop hustle-bustle, and you've got to watch your back. It's best to hope you're in a mob of people at a street crossing, because there's no way anyone is stopping for you in any other circumstance... unless it's to rob you.

Speaking of driving... who really drives there, except cabby's? No one really owns a vehicle. If they do, it's not more than a year old, is black, has deep tinted windows and a paid driver in the front.

And thanks to all those crowded cabby's, there's no such thing as a clear, blue sky. A black cloud of smog hangs over New York all the time. I don't think they've ever even seen the stars or a full moon, much less a sky full of lazy white clouds.

Worst of all, nobody cares about a single person there. In a place full of people trying so hard to stand out and show off how unique they are, there's no such thing as really being noticed. You blend in with the masses... just another brick in the wall.

And large animal livestock? Fa-ghetta-bout-it! New Yorkers might as well put their knowledge of cattle and unicorns side-by-side and see what feeds our country faster.

 Speaking of things that don't exist in New York... let's talk about personal space. I feel claustrophobic stepping two feet east of the Mississippi.

Oh, wait... am I being too stereotypical?

Thanks, Rally Farms, for opening up a whole new view of New York to me. Less than 100 miles from the city, I found a place that blew all my preconceived notions of the Empire State out of the water. It was beautiful and idyllic and most of all, functioned like any other great ranch I've spent time at -- with a love for the land, the cattle, family and hard work.

But I'm still waiting to run into Sarah Jessica Parker. And Mr. Big. Jay-Z would be cool too.