I have been home for nearly two months, and autumn has fallen hard on Seattle (pun intended). The skies are grey, usually stormy; the air is crisp and cold on my face. My smaller appendages are in a constant circulatory battle to stay warm, and they tend to lose. Cold hands and cold feet will, once again, carry me into the winter months. I have lodged myself comfortably into a routine of making coffee and taking care of small children. I nanny one day a week and am a barista for another four. I live alone in a tiny studio apartment in Wallingmont, a neighborhood that I was unaware even existed on a map until a friend of mine pointed it out shortly after I moved in. My apartment building used to be a Funeral Parlor, and this is one of my favorite things about it. I live in what was once the basement in a well-lit cave that is now all-things-Kendall. I love it. Gazing out windows at peculiar neighbors, and horrendous weather while drinking peppermint tea is becoming a beloved pastime.
Despite my recent love affair with my new home, I still find myself disoriented by the consistency of my routine. Every week has days with repeating hours from the weeks before. Every day has goals. These days have windows of time within which to accomplish said goals. Sometimes I make it. Sometimes I fall short. Time vanishes with a quickness that I have not seen since last winter; it is crushed by the weight of earlier sunsets and frozen sunlight.
I spend a lot of time considering my options. Graduate School? Not yet, but taking the GRE is a good idea. Career? Not yet, can’t stay in one place long enough. Then What? Study for and take the GRE. Find an internship that has something to do with what I love- writing- take it, and go from there. Ok. Rough outline of future materializing. Where would I like to intern? For curiosities’ sake Australia, or New Zealand, and after a bit of research, possibly South Africa.
The romanticized need to be somewhere else is still running through my veins. I am growing up; perhaps I am grown up. Who knows. I want to create a future for myself, but I don’t want to have any idea what it looks like until I get there. Too much thought gets misplaced when I think about what 33 might look like, so I don’t think about it. For now, I want to stare out my window with a hot cup of tea, consider all my options, daydream about other countries, think about the amazing potential of love and let the pieces fall as they may.
This cold season in Seattle, during my 23rd year of life, I can be found doing nothing particular. I will drink peppermint tea while milling around my tiny apartment trying to figure how best to protect my outerwear from the rain. If not that, then maybe I am playing cards with my mom or Collin. If not that, then maybe I am at work. If not that, then maybe I am studying for the GRE, or researching internships. If not that, then…
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Fuck you, Hooray for me.
It has been a while. Lack of a home, and limited internet access will cause these types of gaps between posts. Here is a story that I have been meaning to tell for the last... four weeks, or so:
My lovely accomplice, Callie, and myself drove for nineteen hours, went through ten different states, and put over 900 miles on the car in the span of one day. It was epic. It was cramped. It was uncomfortably wired by red bulls, accented with patches of severe hunger and an intense need to pee. Stops were made in the most random of towns, some of which I have already forgotten the names of. Frustrations of limited personal space and a desire to stretch out our limbs were dealt with in as best a way as we could manage- we were silent. Save for a few carefully chosen comments about how long we had left to go. The I-Pod was incapable of satisfying our ears because it had been on repeat for two months. We opted for romantic tunes by Steam Boat Willie, which we had on repeat for the final five hours of the drive. To say it was a long day is an understatement. Duh.
Around the 15th hour, we entered New Jersey, and a whole new world of highways and toll booths opened up to us. We immediately got lost. New Jersey's roadways consist only of highways and interstates from what I can gather, and I don't like this one bit. We exited Interstate-95 in search of a place to take an emergency bathroom break at 8pm, and didn't make it back on track until after 9pm. We desperately tried to find our way onto I-95 north and managed to do so a few times only to have it mysteriously become I-295 and start heading south. Holy fuck, was that confusing. We eventually ended up on rural highway 553 (or something), with deer and sparsely placed homes lining the roadside. In desperation we pulled into an unknown driveway and proceeded to knock on the door hoping that a kind stranger could guide us back to the light. No one answered. Fair enough. I wouldn't answer either if I lived in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.
It was time for plan B: we started driving again. Finally, we found a grocery store. At this point we weren't sure if we were still in New Jersey. Turns out that we were, and for some absurd reason there are two separate I-95's that run north-south. Why this is, I don't know. It's over now, and I will not go back to New Jersey by car ever again if it can be helped.
Feeling as though we had conquered the world, we continued our trek north up the east coast. We made it to New York and hit stand-still traffic at eleven o'clock at night. This traffic slowly but surely guided us through a series of toll booths that cost us nearly $20 in total. It had been a little over 17 hours. We had left Charleston, South Carolina at 6:30am with the intention of making a mere 16 hour drive to Providence, Rhode Island. What a joke. We called our dear friend Seth from New Orleans. He had recently returned to his second year of law school at Yale in New Haven, Conneticuit. Bless his heart, he offered us a place to stay and promised some delicious pizza, one of the few things that New Haven has to offer besides Yale. It helped. Pizza gave us hope. Melted cheese became a saviour that night, and I will be forever greatful.
The evening ended with a cuddle pile in some obscure apartment building a few blocks from Yale. It is home to Seth when he is on the grind, bad-assing his way to lawyerdom. We watched a few espisodes of Eastbound and Down and went to sleep. Morning came, and we were off and away to Providence. It was only an hour away by car. What a beautiful concept. Music to my ears. The sun was out, the longest driving day ever was behind us, and we had nothing to do but keep on exploring.
And that is exactly what we did.
My lovely accomplice, Callie, and myself drove for nineteen hours, went through ten different states, and put over 900 miles on the car in the span of one day. It was epic. It was cramped. It was uncomfortably wired by red bulls, accented with patches of severe hunger and an intense need to pee. Stops were made in the most random of towns, some of which I have already forgotten the names of. Frustrations of limited personal space and a desire to stretch out our limbs were dealt with in as best a way as we could manage- we were silent. Save for a few carefully chosen comments about how long we had left to go. The I-Pod was incapable of satisfying our ears because it had been on repeat for two months. We opted for romantic tunes by Steam Boat Willie, which we had on repeat for the final five hours of the drive. To say it was a long day is an understatement. Duh.
Around the 15th hour, we entered New Jersey, and a whole new world of highways and toll booths opened up to us. We immediately got lost. New Jersey's roadways consist only of highways and interstates from what I can gather, and I don't like this one bit. We exited Interstate-95 in search of a place to take an emergency bathroom break at 8pm, and didn't make it back on track until after 9pm. We desperately tried to find our way onto I-95 north and managed to do so a few times only to have it mysteriously become I-295 and start heading south. Holy fuck, was that confusing. We eventually ended up on rural highway 553 (or something), with deer and sparsely placed homes lining the roadside. In desperation we pulled into an unknown driveway and proceeded to knock on the door hoping that a kind stranger could guide us back to the light. No one answered. Fair enough. I wouldn't answer either if I lived in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.
It was time for plan B: we started driving again. Finally, we found a grocery store. At this point we weren't sure if we were still in New Jersey. Turns out that we were, and for some absurd reason there are two separate I-95's that run north-south. Why this is, I don't know. It's over now, and I will not go back to New Jersey by car ever again if it can be helped.
Feeling as though we had conquered the world, we continued our trek north up the east coast. We made it to New York and hit stand-still traffic at eleven o'clock at night. This traffic slowly but surely guided us through a series of toll booths that cost us nearly $20 in total. It had been a little over 17 hours. We had left Charleston, South Carolina at 6:30am with the intention of making a mere 16 hour drive to Providence, Rhode Island. What a joke. We called our dear friend Seth from New Orleans. He had recently returned to his second year of law school at Yale in New Haven, Conneticuit. Bless his heart, he offered us a place to stay and promised some delicious pizza, one of the few things that New Haven has to offer besides Yale. It helped. Pizza gave us hope. Melted cheese became a saviour that night, and I will be forever greatful.
The evening ended with a cuddle pile in some obscure apartment building a few blocks from Yale. It is home to Seth when he is on the grind, bad-assing his way to lawyerdom. We watched a few espisodes of Eastbound and Down and went to sleep. Morning came, and we were off and away to Providence. It was only an hour away by car. What a beautiful concept. Music to my ears. The sun was out, the longest driving day ever was behind us, and we had nothing to do but keep on exploring.
And that is exactly what we did.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
10,000 miles and counting...
New Orleans will surprise you. It surprised me in ways that I can't possibly fit into a blog entry; so I wrote a story about it. I'll post it here, or add a link to it once I get home again...
Last night I met a man who went by the name of Peanut. I was sitting on the porch of our place in Savannah, Georgia, and he wandered up to talk politics. He introduced himself and said "Na list'n here" and proceeded to enlighten me to the trials of the unchanging "dirty south." Peanut, the sidewalk preacher of Hazard neighborhood, as he so eloquently put it, said that the south "ain't never changed, and it ain't never gon'change. Na' you go on n' get yoself out the dirty south, and when you do, stomp that dust off yo feet n'be done with it." Peanut is a well spoken man of fifty. He knows a painfully great deal about politics and all the cracks in the system. He knows all of this, not because of a college education, but because he reads the papers, and mostly because he is often the guy that gets pushed into the cracks. I would be lying if I said I didn't notice the often extreme separation between people whether it be race, class, or other. It exists in a forceful way down south. Peanut is a poor, black man, and our worlds are drastically different. The south is beautiful, but I will take his advice and get the hell out, and when I do, I will stomp the dust off my shoes and think of him. There is an old fashioned charm to this part of the country, and a beauty unlike one I have seen before, but Peanut might have a point.
From Savannah, we went to Charleston, South Carolina. Intriguing city. A lot of wealth. Beautiful beaches. Same old-fashioned charm; as if I could see the past ten decades strolling down the sidewalks next to me. We only had a half of a day there, so the future is going to have to lend itslef to another, more leisure trip to Charleston.
Tomorrow we leave for Rhode Island, and intend to make it there in one fell swoop. Sixteen hours on the road, here we come. I am tired, and in need of some serious sleep.
Last night I met a man who went by the name of Peanut. I was sitting on the porch of our place in Savannah, Georgia, and he wandered up to talk politics. He introduced himself and said "Na list'n here" and proceeded to enlighten me to the trials of the unchanging "dirty south." Peanut, the sidewalk preacher of Hazard neighborhood, as he so eloquently put it, said that the south "ain't never changed, and it ain't never gon'change. Na' you go on n' get yoself out the dirty south, and when you do, stomp that dust off yo feet n'be done with it." Peanut is a well spoken man of fifty. He knows a painfully great deal about politics and all the cracks in the system. He knows all of this, not because of a college education, but because he reads the papers, and mostly because he is often the guy that gets pushed into the cracks. I would be lying if I said I didn't notice the often extreme separation between people whether it be race, class, or other. It exists in a forceful way down south. Peanut is a poor, black man, and our worlds are drastically different. The south is beautiful, but I will take his advice and get the hell out, and when I do, I will stomp the dust off my shoes and think of him. There is an old fashioned charm to this part of the country, and a beauty unlike one I have seen before, but Peanut might have a point.
From Savannah, we went to Charleston, South Carolina. Intriguing city. A lot of wealth. Beautiful beaches. Same old-fashioned charm; as if I could see the past ten decades strolling down the sidewalks next to me. We only had a half of a day there, so the future is going to have to lend itslef to another, more leisure trip to Charleston.
Tomorrow we leave for Rhode Island, and intend to make it there in one fell swoop. Sixteen hours on the road, here we come. I am tired, and in need of some serious sleep.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Heat, Thunderstorms, and Soul Food.
We made it to Tucson, and far beyond. The weather has lent itself to impossible heat, humidity, and thunderstorms unlike any I have seen. I'll start with Tucson.
We arrived in Tucson and were warmly welcomed and taken in by Robin and her dad. We lounged around in the living room catching up on life post college and figured out what to do the next day. We decided that it would be a great chance to see the old Spanish Mission, and The Lost Barrio as long as we got to it before the hottest part of the day. We managed to make it before the hottest part, but in Tucson that doesn't mean much. Walking was more difficult than it has been at any point on the trip, before or after. It was impossibly hot. The Mission, the Barrio, and a stroll through the hippie part of town were lovely, but in the end the sun got the better of me and sitting indoors was all I could think about. The Mission's architecture was something to remark at and the spirituality calming, but the heat trumped my thoughts. Robin laughed at me, and rightfully because Arizona kicked my ass like there was nothing to it. I was down for the count and doomed to slug around in the beautiful surroundings for the rest of the day. Don't get me wrong, Robin, if you are reading this, I had an absolutely wonderful time, but I am a wimp when it comes to heat.
So, as you can imagine, when I saw thunderheads forming on the horizon I was thrilled. I knew that this meant a break from the heat and a big storm. Both of which I was more than ready for. Callie and I had planned to hit the road to New Mexico, but instead we posted up on the front porch with Robin and the dog to watch the rain and lightning pass overhead. It poured a bone-soaking kind of rain and the skies groaned with thunder. To say the least it was breathtaking. It was a little after five when it ended, but Callie and I decided to leave anyway and drive the four hours to Las Cruces, New Mexico. On the way we collided with thunderstorm number two, which was bigger and louder than the first.
We made it to Las Cruces around 11pm Mountain time and began a late night hunt for the cheapest accomodations possible. We rang a series of different night bells and asked for the cheapest available rooms only to discover that no one spoke the same cheap dialect that we did. At least not in Las Cruces at eleven o'clock at night. Next option: camping. We had passed signs along the highway before we got to town and decided that this was our best bet. By the time we got to the campsite, it was midnight and the office was closed. We opted to take the cheapest possible route: We payed nothing, used the showers, set up camp, and were gone by 6am before anyone could have known we were there. Clean, somewhat rested, and proud of ourselves, we were on the way Austin. Ten hours lay before us of driving through the vast nothingness of Texas. Mesas, hills, and openess were on all sides. It was gorgeous. I thought about the old westerns with cowboys and indians roaming around the hills. This was one of my favorite drives.
Austin, Texas. Cool place. Lots of different types of people. Easily navigable, and very cheap if approached from the right angle. We landed in Austin around 8pm on Saturday night. We did the standard search for cheap accomodations and weren't satisfied. We asked a few motels about availability, and several had multiple available rooms. The next step was to head downtown to 6th Ave where the night life was in full force. Here we thought we could meet some people that would to take us in, if not it was back to one of the available motel rooms. Within an hour we had a place to stay. Night one: a handful of very attractive party boys that had little concept of how to land a lady. They were hospitable, but had a hard time grasping the concept of No.
Very attractive party boys, if you read this know that I appreciated everything you did and was flattered by how hard you tried. Two Callie's don't make a right, but they sure look good. If you know what this means, good for you. If not...
In total, we stayed four nights in Austin. The second night was spent at a youth hostel along the river. The final two nights were spent with our first couch surfing host, Paul. Paul is kind, well spoken, funny, and damn good at scrabble. In our days in Austin we witnessed the emergence of a bat colony one million strong, road in a pedicab, ate some phenomenal icecream, swam in Barton Springs, and explored a magnificently beautiful, and immensely haunted hotel. This in combination with good people made for a lovely and lasting impression.
We passed through Houston, but there really isn't much to say about that so I won't say anything.
Now, I am all too pleased to say that I am sitting on a comfortable couch in New Orleans, Louisiana. We are staying with our second couch surfing host. His name is Seth and he took us out to have some soul food. Delicious. We are within a five minute walk of the French Quarter. We will be here for four nights. We will canoe through the swamps, talk to some cajun old man while he tells nearly incoherrent stories about alligators over some beer. We will eat fried chicken to the point of stomach aches. We will wander aimlessly. We will see what a real hurricane leaves behind. We will run from roaches. We will laugh. We will chat. We will have the time of our lives.
We arrived in Tucson and were warmly welcomed and taken in by Robin and her dad. We lounged around in the living room catching up on life post college and figured out what to do the next day. We decided that it would be a great chance to see the old Spanish Mission, and The Lost Barrio as long as we got to it before the hottest part of the day. We managed to make it before the hottest part, but in Tucson that doesn't mean much. Walking was more difficult than it has been at any point on the trip, before or after. It was impossibly hot. The Mission, the Barrio, and a stroll through the hippie part of town were lovely, but in the end the sun got the better of me and sitting indoors was all I could think about. The Mission's architecture was something to remark at and the spirituality calming, but the heat trumped my thoughts. Robin laughed at me, and rightfully because Arizona kicked my ass like there was nothing to it. I was down for the count and doomed to slug around in the beautiful surroundings for the rest of the day. Don't get me wrong, Robin, if you are reading this, I had an absolutely wonderful time, but I am a wimp when it comes to heat.
So, as you can imagine, when I saw thunderheads forming on the horizon I was thrilled. I knew that this meant a break from the heat and a big storm. Both of which I was more than ready for. Callie and I had planned to hit the road to New Mexico, but instead we posted up on the front porch with Robin and the dog to watch the rain and lightning pass overhead. It poured a bone-soaking kind of rain and the skies groaned with thunder. To say the least it was breathtaking. It was a little after five when it ended, but Callie and I decided to leave anyway and drive the four hours to Las Cruces, New Mexico. On the way we collided with thunderstorm number two, which was bigger and louder than the first.
We made it to Las Cruces around 11pm Mountain time and began a late night hunt for the cheapest accomodations possible. We rang a series of different night bells and asked for the cheapest available rooms only to discover that no one spoke the same cheap dialect that we did. At least not in Las Cruces at eleven o'clock at night. Next option: camping. We had passed signs along the highway before we got to town and decided that this was our best bet. By the time we got to the campsite, it was midnight and the office was closed. We opted to take the cheapest possible route: We payed nothing, used the showers, set up camp, and were gone by 6am before anyone could have known we were there. Clean, somewhat rested, and proud of ourselves, we were on the way Austin. Ten hours lay before us of driving through the vast nothingness of Texas. Mesas, hills, and openess were on all sides. It was gorgeous. I thought about the old westerns with cowboys and indians roaming around the hills. This was one of my favorite drives.
Austin, Texas. Cool place. Lots of different types of people. Easily navigable, and very cheap if approached from the right angle. We landed in Austin around 8pm on Saturday night. We did the standard search for cheap accomodations and weren't satisfied. We asked a few motels about availability, and several had multiple available rooms. The next step was to head downtown to 6th Ave where the night life was in full force. Here we thought we could meet some people that would to take us in, if not it was back to one of the available motel rooms. Within an hour we had a place to stay. Night one: a handful of very attractive party boys that had little concept of how to land a lady. They were hospitable, but had a hard time grasping the concept of No.
Very attractive party boys, if you read this know that I appreciated everything you did and was flattered by how hard you tried. Two Callie's don't make a right, but they sure look good. If you know what this means, good for you. If not...
In total, we stayed four nights in Austin. The second night was spent at a youth hostel along the river. The final two nights were spent with our first couch surfing host, Paul. Paul is kind, well spoken, funny, and damn good at scrabble. In our days in Austin we witnessed the emergence of a bat colony one million strong, road in a pedicab, ate some phenomenal icecream, swam in Barton Springs, and explored a magnificently beautiful, and immensely haunted hotel. This in combination with good people made for a lovely and lasting impression.
We passed through Houston, but there really isn't much to say about that so I won't say anything.
Now, I am all too pleased to say that I am sitting on a comfortable couch in New Orleans, Louisiana. We are staying with our second couch surfing host. His name is Seth and he took us out to have some soul food. Delicious. We are within a five minute walk of the French Quarter. We will be here for four nights. We will canoe through the swamps, talk to some cajun old man while he tells nearly incoherrent stories about alligators over some beer. We will eat fried chicken to the point of stomach aches. We will wander aimlessly. We will see what a real hurricane leaves behind. We will run from roaches. We will laugh. We will chat. We will have the time of our lives.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Regroup and get going again...
Last night I learned how to shoot a pellet gun. This came around after a hefty serving of burger and fries from Hodad's, and some beer. Hodad's is a world famous burger joint in Ocean Beach in San Diego, California. With bellies full of grease and beer, it was time to shoot at the garbage can in my Uncle Bob's backyard. Why we felt this necessary, I can't tell you, but the absurdity of it was somehow required to soothe the kinks and blisters from a near month on the road. We are no doubt having the time of our lives, but the strain of a constantly changing horizon can sometimes ware away at my energy. This time, shooting at a garbage can while mildly buzzed was perfect. A few small explosions and some laughter did the trick.
Yesterday started with several flying leaps off a cliff into the ocean below, followed by cave explorations that have entirely redefined my concept of darkness. Dirty feet, and salty hair were washed away with a shower. Callie and I sorted through our repetetive wardrobe and traded shirts in order to feel like we looked a little different. In the end, same basic outfits with a few new colors. Hair done, makeup on, and a few drinks just in time to go to dinner at Hodad's.
Today started with a haze that lingered within and without; the sky was cloudy and so were my thoughts. I went for a jog. The clouds burned off, and my mind sharpened. I am seated at my uncle's dining room table attempting to pound out another draft of my first travel writing piece. The heard of dogs that live here are lounging around at my feet. The wind chime is tinkling in the breeze. The afternoon is slipping past at a windy, oceanside pace. I am trying to fully grasp how amazing this roadtrip has been. So many new people have entered my life, and left quietly the next day. Some of them I look forward to knowing longer, some of them have already been categorized as a once-on-a-sunny-day memory. All of them exquisite pieces to my most recent adventure. We have reached a transition; the rest of the trip will take us to the east coast, through the south, and home again. I feel like a whole new chapter is about to begin. Our stop in San Diego has been refreshing; a bit of a refueling before the next leg of the journey.
Tomorrow we head to Tucson, Arizona. After that we plan to follow the coast as closely as possible all the way to the top of Florida. Maybe we'll see some aligators, we will likely want to die in the heat and humidity, and I fully expect to get lost and found by complete strangers that will quite possibly become friends. This has tended to be the case. I have no idea what will happen next, but at least I am well rested and ready to get going again.
Yesterday started with several flying leaps off a cliff into the ocean below, followed by cave explorations that have entirely redefined my concept of darkness. Dirty feet, and salty hair were washed away with a shower. Callie and I sorted through our repetetive wardrobe and traded shirts in order to feel like we looked a little different. In the end, same basic outfits with a few new colors. Hair done, makeup on, and a few drinks just in time to go to dinner at Hodad's.
Today started with a haze that lingered within and without; the sky was cloudy and so were my thoughts. I went for a jog. The clouds burned off, and my mind sharpened. I am seated at my uncle's dining room table attempting to pound out another draft of my first travel writing piece. The heard of dogs that live here are lounging around at my feet. The wind chime is tinkling in the breeze. The afternoon is slipping past at a windy, oceanside pace. I am trying to fully grasp how amazing this roadtrip has been. So many new people have entered my life, and left quietly the next day. Some of them I look forward to knowing longer, some of them have already been categorized as a once-on-a-sunny-day memory. All of them exquisite pieces to my most recent adventure. We have reached a transition; the rest of the trip will take us to the east coast, through the south, and home again. I feel like a whole new chapter is about to begin. Our stop in San Diego has been refreshing; a bit of a refueling before the next leg of the journey.
Tomorrow we head to Tucson, Arizona. After that we plan to follow the coast as closely as possible all the way to the top of Florida. Maybe we'll see some aligators, we will likely want to die in the heat and humidity, and I fully expect to get lost and found by complete strangers that will quite possibly become friends. This has tended to be the case. I have no idea what will happen next, but at least I am well rested and ready to get going again.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
6,000 miles and counting...
It has been far too long sine I last wrote. A lot has happened, and it is difficult to recall just how the last two weeks have played out, but I will do my best to remember.
Claire left for Michigan to say a painfully anticipated goodbye to her grandpa, Clair Dickinson. May he rest in peace. In her absence, Callie and I took a weekend trip to Los Angeles to visit some family and friends. Night one landed us at Riley's house. Riley is Callie's cousin and he lives in a huge house full of 9 college students. They have one of the largets cactus that I have seen in the front yard. When we arrived we were given two of the highest loft beds we have ever slept in (a bit nerve racking) followed by a tour of the house. A few rooms in we stumbled across a group of Riley's roommates lighting 100 tea candles and preparing for a round of Quija. I was skeptical of participating due to some uncomfortable experiences with the unseen a few years back, but Callie jumped right in. I watched from the couch. About twenty minutes later when I was nearly asleep, things started to happen. I won't go into too much detail, but I will say that I am a believer; someone spoke with us for a while that night and I will never forget it.
The next day was spent roaming around LA's version of chinatown, which was a bit dissappointing. The upside was some cheap produce; the downside was an undeserved parking ticket. After that we headed to Venice beach to eat dinner and have some uncomfortable views of poorly trained dogs trying to go to the bathroom. Enough said. After a few laughs we removed ourselves from the fecal matter and walked along the boardwalk for a while. Also in this time frame we managed to drive over some spikes going the wrong way and got a flat. I had thankfully recently been trained in the art of changing tires and was able to temporarily fix the problem. Lots of people watched, some sat to chat; we had an excellent introduction to the people of Venice Beach. Turns out that California's Venice has its own version of crazy going on, and it's significantly less classy than Italy's. California's Venice is grimey and young, beautiful in a southern cali way, and worthy of a good wander. Two worlds, two different crowds, both of them worth spending some time in.
That night we landed at Hannah's house, a friend from Seattle. Hannah lives in what can only be described as an absolutely adorable dwelling. It is the garage of a house turned apartment and is surrounded by gardens, lights, and a comfortable patio. Conveniently, she was dogsitting for her boyfriend and we were able to spend some precious time with Effy, one of the cutest designer dogs I have ever seen. Effy is a mix of a poodle and a golden retriever; if you have not seen this animal, you must look it up. I love dogs, and as it tuns out, Effy loves me too. Perfect.
We had a ladies weekend that involved beach volleyball, a small pub crawl, and a morning recovery trip to a farmers market. We laughed a lot, and had the luxury of a readily available shower.
After LA, it was back to Vegas to pick up Claire Bear. We stayed one night with my aunt and uncle, and headed to Zion National Park in Utah the next day. Zion is full of breathtaking views of sandstone cliffs that hover over the Virgin river. We camped two nights along the river and stayed in constant awe of the surrounding canyon walls. The red, sandstone cliffs were accentuated by the hot sun during the day, and beautifully outlined by the milkyway and thousands of stars at night. We saw shooting stars, hiked to the Emerald Pools, stacked rocks in the river, and basked in just how good it is to be alive. Seriously though, all corn aside, these are some of the best days I have had.
After Zion, we headed back to Vegas for the third and final time. This time was the real deal, the big shebang. We stayed at Summer Bay Resort a half a block from the strip and semi-gracefully transitioned from the freshness of the great outdoors, to the bright, hazy confusion of Las Vegas. I won't go into much detail, because as we know what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. I will say, however, that despite our efforts, and better judgements, and all such things, we didn't manage to make it home before 7am either night. We met lots of people, I shouted Sweet Home Alabama into a microphone, got lost more times than we care to keep track of, and watched the sunrise glisten on the Trump tower each morning as we dragged ourselves back to our hotel room.
Claire flew away to San Francisco the third day, and we returned to my aunt and uncle's house to recover. My aunt Jenny brought us back to life with some good old fashioned southern hospitality. We slept in big, comfy guest beds and hit the road this morning. I am currently sitting in a warehouse-turned-loft-but-still-warehouse space in Santa Barbara that belongs to my friend Ryan. We are still tired from Vegas, and can't wait to go to the beach tomorrow. There is a band playing on the other side of the thin, warehouse wall, and a precious dog named Herbie lying next to me. The woman singing on the other side of our wall has an absolutely beautiful voice. It's been another good day, and that's all I have to say about that.
Claire left for Michigan to say a painfully anticipated goodbye to her grandpa, Clair Dickinson. May he rest in peace. In her absence, Callie and I took a weekend trip to Los Angeles to visit some family and friends. Night one landed us at Riley's house. Riley is Callie's cousin and he lives in a huge house full of 9 college students. They have one of the largets cactus that I have seen in the front yard. When we arrived we were given two of the highest loft beds we have ever slept in (a bit nerve racking) followed by a tour of the house. A few rooms in we stumbled across a group of Riley's roommates lighting 100 tea candles and preparing for a round of Quija. I was skeptical of participating due to some uncomfortable experiences with the unseen a few years back, but Callie jumped right in. I watched from the couch. About twenty minutes later when I was nearly asleep, things started to happen. I won't go into too much detail, but I will say that I am a believer; someone spoke with us for a while that night and I will never forget it.
The next day was spent roaming around LA's version of chinatown, which was a bit dissappointing. The upside was some cheap produce; the downside was an undeserved parking ticket. After that we headed to Venice beach to eat dinner and have some uncomfortable views of poorly trained dogs trying to go to the bathroom. Enough said. After a few laughs we removed ourselves from the fecal matter and walked along the boardwalk for a while. Also in this time frame we managed to drive over some spikes going the wrong way and got a flat. I had thankfully recently been trained in the art of changing tires and was able to temporarily fix the problem. Lots of people watched, some sat to chat; we had an excellent introduction to the people of Venice Beach. Turns out that California's Venice has its own version of crazy going on, and it's significantly less classy than Italy's. California's Venice is grimey and young, beautiful in a southern cali way, and worthy of a good wander. Two worlds, two different crowds, both of them worth spending some time in.
That night we landed at Hannah's house, a friend from Seattle. Hannah lives in what can only be described as an absolutely adorable dwelling. It is the garage of a house turned apartment and is surrounded by gardens, lights, and a comfortable patio. Conveniently, she was dogsitting for her boyfriend and we were able to spend some precious time with Effy, one of the cutest designer dogs I have ever seen. Effy is a mix of a poodle and a golden retriever; if you have not seen this animal, you must look it up. I love dogs, and as it tuns out, Effy loves me too. Perfect.
We had a ladies weekend that involved beach volleyball, a small pub crawl, and a morning recovery trip to a farmers market. We laughed a lot, and had the luxury of a readily available shower.
After LA, it was back to Vegas to pick up Claire Bear. We stayed one night with my aunt and uncle, and headed to Zion National Park in Utah the next day. Zion is full of breathtaking views of sandstone cliffs that hover over the Virgin river. We camped two nights along the river and stayed in constant awe of the surrounding canyon walls. The red, sandstone cliffs were accentuated by the hot sun during the day, and beautifully outlined by the milkyway and thousands of stars at night. We saw shooting stars, hiked to the Emerald Pools, stacked rocks in the river, and basked in just how good it is to be alive. Seriously though, all corn aside, these are some of the best days I have had.
After Zion, we headed back to Vegas for the third and final time. This time was the real deal, the big shebang. We stayed at Summer Bay Resort a half a block from the strip and semi-gracefully transitioned from the freshness of the great outdoors, to the bright, hazy confusion of Las Vegas. I won't go into much detail, because as we know what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. I will say, however, that despite our efforts, and better judgements, and all such things, we didn't manage to make it home before 7am either night. We met lots of people, I shouted Sweet Home Alabama into a microphone, got lost more times than we care to keep track of, and watched the sunrise glisten on the Trump tower each morning as we dragged ourselves back to our hotel room.
Claire flew away to San Francisco the third day, and we returned to my aunt and uncle's house to recover. My aunt Jenny brought us back to life with some good old fashioned southern hospitality. We slept in big, comfy guest beds and hit the road this morning. I am currently sitting in a warehouse-turned-loft-but-still-warehouse space in Santa Barbara that belongs to my friend Ryan. We are still tired from Vegas, and can't wait to go to the beach tomorrow. There is a band playing on the other side of the thin, warehouse wall, and a precious dog named Herbie lying next to me. The woman singing on the other side of our wall has an absolutely beautiful voice. It's been another good day, and that's all I have to say about that.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The Evolution of the Road.
Brentwood, California is where we landed. There resides Nammy and Boppy, my grandparents. Time was spent eating fresh, home-grown tomatoes under the buzz of ceiling fans, and playing cards in a beauitfully lit dining room. After this visit, a few things of old have become clear again: I have my grandmother's legs, and my two best friends really are like family. We lounged, slept in beds, swam in a pool, picked some peaches, and smiled a lot. Time well spent.
This morning we left for a back country adventure in Yosemite, that transformed into a pleasant cruise through the park along highway 120 East. This evolution of plans is due, tragically, to the loss of a grandparent (not mine, but Claire's). We all knew it was coming, but did our best to work with what we had for plans. Right before we commenced our long awaited hike, she recieved the news; Grandpa Clair had passed away. Ravens started squawking, but it was a welcomed and oddly comforting sound. Much like death, ravens are never wanted as company, but when seen in the right circumstances they become magnificent and beautiful. We drove a lot after that. All the way to a town called Keeler: population 50. No place to sleep there, so we turned around and landed in a comfy wester-style hotel in Lone Pine, California. Here we are, weary, sitting on a couch, watching Seinfeld, and fiddling with our cameras. Today was a good day. The Sierra Nevada is beautiful, and I doubt that any of us would have wanted to see it in any other way, or under any other circumstances.
Tomorrow we are off to Vegas.
This morning we left for a back country adventure in Yosemite, that transformed into a pleasant cruise through the park along highway 120 East. This evolution of plans is due, tragically, to the loss of a grandparent (not mine, but Claire's). We all knew it was coming, but did our best to work with what we had for plans. Right before we commenced our long awaited hike, she recieved the news; Grandpa Clair had passed away. Ravens started squawking, but it was a welcomed and oddly comforting sound. Much like death, ravens are never wanted as company, but when seen in the right circumstances they become magnificent and beautiful. We drove a lot after that. All the way to a town called Keeler: population 50. No place to sleep there, so we turned around and landed in a comfy wester-style hotel in Lone Pine, California. Here we are, weary, sitting on a couch, watching Seinfeld, and fiddling with our cameras. Today was a good day. The Sierra Nevada is beautiful, and I doubt that any of us would have wanted to see it in any other way, or under any other circumstances.
Tomorrow we are off to Vegas.
Monday, August 3, 2009
The Adventure Begins
Week one and the outdoors have become my bedroom. We started in a campground in Ashland, Oregon for a few nights, then to Lake Shasta for a night, and then up and away into the giant Redwoods. We climbed some big trees that towered out of my view range. We rested on fallen logs that could have been thousands of years old. We clapped loudly around corners to avoid surprise run-ins with black bears.
A week ago I was working, attending class, and rushing to the bank before it closed; my days were scheduled away to errands and duties that have since ceased to exist. The rough feel of summer dirt has become increasingly more comfortable with each sleep. My tiny thermarest, two-man tent, and pillow of t-shirts are becoming some of life's greatest luxuries. The fresh air, and over heated morning sunshine are better than any cup of coffee I have ever had when it comes to waking up. Babbling streams, and raindrops on nylon tents are the sounds of my dreams. Aimless wandering through woods, through meadows, or through small, northern california towns are on each day's to-do-list. Cliff bars, and blackberries from the roadside serve as a meal. On the hot days we have stopped at rivers for a swim, sometimes three times over just to free ourselves up from the 100 plus weather. It is all a part of the flow; each activity a special piece of the experience. Feeling content is as simple as starting the day, starting the hike, starting the drive, starting the adventure all over again one day at a time.
A week ago I was working, attending class, and rushing to the bank before it closed; my days were scheduled away to errands and duties that have since ceased to exist. The rough feel of summer dirt has become increasingly more comfortable with each sleep. My tiny thermarest, two-man tent, and pillow of t-shirts are becoming some of life's greatest luxuries. The fresh air, and over heated morning sunshine are better than any cup of coffee I have ever had when it comes to waking up. Babbling streams, and raindrops on nylon tents are the sounds of my dreams. Aimless wandering through woods, through meadows, or through small, northern california towns are on each day's to-do-list. Cliff bars, and blackberries from the roadside serve as a meal. On the hot days we have stopped at rivers for a swim, sometimes three times over just to free ourselves up from the 100 plus weather. It is all a part of the flow; each activity a special piece of the experience. Feeling content is as simple as starting the day, starting the hike, starting the drive, starting the adventure all over again one day at a time.
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