April 29, 2009 Bloomington. It is almost a week since I arrived home. I have had time to reflect a little and I realize that maybe no one is still paying attention but I have a few more things to say.
It is hard adjusting to a “normal” life. I am really missing being on the go every day, reacquainting with old friends and meeting new ones. The drive towards adventure is still strong and will become a part of my life again. Someone asked me how I thought it would be to come back home. I kind of knew what to expect, I told them that having “hours” again in my business would be kind of like being in prison. It’s not quite that bad, I love being in the moment of photographing people but I become very restless when not in the moment.
Seeing my family was wonderful. I saw Noah the evening I got home and was very emotional, he has grown so much. Waiting several more days to see everyone else was hard. I look forward to being with them in the “normal” course of things but I feel a little different than when I left and I don’t want to give that up. For the first six months after Sue’s passing my home was my refuge, I was glad to live and work here and often didn’t leave for days on end. I still like the feel of home, I’ve always been a homebody, but I don’t need it to be a refuge as much as I once did. The healing that has occurred is unmistakable. Where once I could rarely talk about Sue without crying, it is now about 50/50. I can actually think into the future without feeling as much of the overwhelming sadness that a future without Sue once held. Getting away was crucial and the adventure of my experiences created some new pathways within my brain as I got used to being on my own outside of my little environment. Also crucial was honoring Sue with the things I did and allowing her thoughts and behaviors to become mine. I may need to find ways to do both of these things within the structure of everyday life. Old habits are very easily reassumed.
One additional thought is a bookend to my second entry about men and women. I now realize the tremendous amount of time, effort and energy it takes to nurture and maintain relationships within the social fabric. I think some men are better at this than most but most of us have relied on women to do the weaving. This whole trip was about the heavy lifting of relationship building and maintenance. It is hard work and stretches your mind and emotional capabilities but is enormously rewarding. I have always been about my little family and that will not change but stretching my relationship boundaries is now VERY important to me. The endless hours Sue spent on the phone sometimes seemed wasted to me in the past, but no more. She was a relationship maintaining genius and when she lost the hearing in one ear this past summer, I would kid her that she just wore it out on the phone. It was a worthy sacrifice.
Over a year ago I wrote a prayer that has proved prescient. I am not in the habit of writing prayers but wrote this one that kind of foretold of my journey since last summer:
“God grant me the courage to face what I must face in an honest and true manner. Let me be loving and generous to my family and friends, kind and fair to my customers and help me show due respect to all others I encounter on my journey”.
It is a lot to live up to and not that I always do but it is a good goal to have.
One final thing and then I think I am done, at least for now. I conducted a survey/contest, during my long ride through Montana and North Dakota, about music and I would like to share my results. As usual this occurred strictly within my nefarious mind. As I passed towns I would tune into a radio station and see how long I could listen to the kind of music it played, so I have created a hierarchy of music based on how many songs I could listen to from a particular genre. Starting from the bottom: As I listened to country music I determined the themes of the first three songs I listened to were: “I loved her but she was messing with me, playing with my emotions”, “guys want to go drinking and have a good time”, and “I’m gonna wear a short skirt, lots of makeup and go out and have a good time”. After these three, the subjects started repeating themselves. At three songs country was the genre I could listen to the least. At first there was a three way tie for second to last, the genres being: Christian, Rap and Irish music. But after thinking it over I decided that without all of the stomping (as in riverdance) I could only listen to about four Irish songs, so they slid down to second to last. I also thought it would be appropriate for Christian and Rap to be tied. Christian music has really only one theme but has such a wide array of talented singers and styles that it is possible to listen to five or six songs before the one theme seems too repetitive. Rap has many themes but only one style so it depends on how long your body can withstand heavy bass and lots of swearing. Again about five of six songs. The next up my list is the official genre of “Sue’s style of easy listening”. Now for the last ten or fifteen years I have been forced to listen to more than 5 or 6 songs at a time and came to either love or hate certain artists. If my 7 or 8 songs were Enya or Eva Cassidy I would be OK but I don’t think I can ever listen to Nora Jones again. Next up is classical, which when I am in the right mood I can listen to for 10 or more songs. For the next two it was tough to choose but I think the next one up is Jazz. If it was too mellow it would be in Sue’s easy listening category so this is, you know, Jazzy jazz. Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Weather Report and Herbie Hancock. I can listen to quite a bit of these guys. The second from the top is 50’s and early 60’s pop/rock. There is such an endless array of great music from this era that you could go on for a very long time without getting tired of it (Buddy Holly being one of my favorites). The only caveat being that you probably couldn’t do it every day. You can only take so much nostalgia. That leaves only one genre, yeah baby, Rock and Roll. It covers so much ground and I listen to music from many era’s, from Beatles and Jimi to Depeche Mode and Metallica. During the trip, though, I got turned on to Coldplay and John Mayer who are more current and good rockers but easier on my 60 year old ears. Sometimes the hardest stuff is just too hard. Have I ever told you about Spooky Tooth. . . . . . . . .? Jon
Disclaimer: if I have offended anyone with my list, too bad, it’s my list. Make your own list and see who cares. There is some music I have purposely left off and it stinks, it may not even be music. If you don’t like rock and roll what are you doing reading this blog, you should be in bed sleeping.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
April 23rd, the last day of my journey.
I stop in beautiful Beach, No. Dak., not an ounce of water within 50 miles. I have a very nice visit with my second cousin Gene Skoglund, the county treasurer for Golden Valley County. We had never met before but had found each other on the internet doing family research. He has a lovely wife and eight children and he says he should have had more. I think he has been out to repopulate North Dakota, the western part which is vast and desolate in a grand and semi beautiful way. As I leave Beach with the intention of going to Turtle Mountain, I am seized with the sudden and intense desire to get home. I feel like I am physically and emotionally exhausted, that my quest is finished and I need to see my family. So I 86 Turtle Mountain and head for Fargo, where I am now.
So the question is: did I find myself? If not what did I find? I will partially answer the question, with the caveat that in a few days I may have a slightly different perspective.
I found parts of myself that have been partially hidden. I found out how important is my intense need to love and for love. I found out how important is my need for artistic expression, and beginning to develop an outlet for that was huge. I found that I love telling stories, even if some of them occur only in my imagination. I want to learn how to write. Sometimes I like driving fast. I have a wondrous extended family, which I will continue to reach out to. But mostly I found out how much it meant to me to pay tribute to Sue’s memory in ways I had and hadn’t planned. Through these I found a little certainty in an uncertain world.
I didn’t ask for this life, I wanted to grow old with Sue. This life was thrust upon me and I feel compelled to do something with it. Something to nurture her within me, to nurture myself and my family and to honor the life of a great woman. I have faith, Jon.
I stop in beautiful Beach, No. Dak., not an ounce of water within 50 miles. I have a very nice visit with my second cousin Gene Skoglund, the county treasurer for Golden Valley County. We had never met before but had found each other on the internet doing family research. He has a lovely wife and eight children and he says he should have had more. I think he has been out to repopulate North Dakota, the western part which is vast and desolate in a grand and semi beautiful way. As I leave Beach with the intention of going to Turtle Mountain, I am seized with the sudden and intense desire to get home. I feel like I am physically and emotionally exhausted, that my quest is finished and I need to see my family. So I 86 Turtle Mountain and head for Fargo, where I am now.
So the question is: did I find myself? If not what did I find? I will partially answer the question, with the caveat that in a few days I may have a slightly different perspective.
I found parts of myself that have been partially hidden. I found out how important is my intense need to love and for love. I found out how important is my need for artistic expression, and beginning to develop an outlet for that was huge. I found that I love telling stories, even if some of them occur only in my imagination. I want to learn how to write. Sometimes I like driving fast. I have a wondrous extended family, which I will continue to reach out to. But mostly I found out how much it meant to me to pay tribute to Sue’s memory in ways I had and hadn’t planned. Through these I found a little certainty in an uncertain world.
I didn’t ask for this life, I wanted to grow old with Sue. This life was thrust upon me and I feel compelled to do something with it. Something to nurture her within me, to nurture myself and my family and to honor the life of a great woman. I have faith, Jon.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Forsyth, Montana. I’ve already driven through the beautiful part of Montana, I guess this is what’s left. I want to make it to Beach N.D. this morning to see if Gene Skoglund, a shirttail relative I met on the internet, will meet with me. These last two days are more about heritage and just getting home. I will also stop at Turtle Mountain.
I met a couple of sort of interesting people. There is a large coal fired power plant in Forsyth and boilermakers from all over the country come here for a couple of months to clean it while it is in “shutdown”. I almost didn’t get a room because of this. The boiler is 10 stories high and they have to erect scaffolding on the inside to effect the cleaning. My neighbor Anatoli is a Russian living in Portland, Oregon, of all places, who is here to work on the boiler. Someone said there were many Navajos here also.
After breakfast I meet a young man coming off the night shift working security at the power plant. We discuss Socrates, Plato, Greek and Roman history, The Illiad and the Odyssey and his time in the 1st Gulf war. He says he was discharged due to being in a war trauma induced psychosis and having Gulf war syndrome. He is well now and wants to rejoin the military as an MP. I, of course, tell him of my days as an MP guarding rusty tanks and old paint in Kaiserslautern, but I decide not to tell him about SIDIPO. He might be carrying a gun.
On the road to Beach I begin to think about a movie I saw called “The Beach”. It stars Leonardo DiCaprio as a young man who stumbles upon paradise in the guise of a commune of young free spirits who live on a remote island off of Thailand. The other star is the chick who plays the Ice Queen in “The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe”. She is the queen of the commune and instills an iron discipline to keep their paradise secret. They share (uneasily) the island with some violent illegal Marijuana growers. As with most human utopian dreams, this one ends badly as paradise lost.
I want to write the sequel to “The Beach”, only I will have to rename the original “A Beach”. That is so the sequel can be titled “Son of A Beach”. It will be the story of Leonardo’s son. He grows up and eventually hears the story of his father’s flirtation with paradise and is smitten with the idea of finding out what happened. He travels to Thailand and discovers that the ice queen has made a pact with the devil and now lures rich tourists to “paradise” and then enslaves them in cultivating and processing marijuana for the illegal drug trade. In their down time, the tourists are kept in a drug induced stupor to keep them compliant. He goes home and remembers an uncle’s tale about PUA superheroes who did wondrous deeds when the uncle worked with them on 7a at St Mary’s in Minneapolis. He calls the retired head PUA and entices him to perform one last deed. So the head PUA comes out of retirement and recruits his former sidekicks, Anne and Don, to join him in one last quest. They take a leave from their jobs as: psychiatric nurse/teacher and head of corrections to become again doers of deeds. The son leads them to the island and the superheroes swoop in and smite the evil drug lords and capture the ice queen. The rich tourists are released and return to their former lives living in a money induced stupor. The ice queen is thrown into the locked unit where she is injected with Thorazine and lives in a legal, drug induced stupor. The superheroes return to their former lives, retired once again. Anne and Don will play themselves. I can’t tell you who the head PUA is/was but I can tell you he is a wise looking man with white hair who thinks he’s an Indian and looks ridiculous in a “Billy Jack” style hat. Maybe if I add a religious theme Adam will make the movie. Almost home, Jon.
I met a couple of sort of interesting people. There is a large coal fired power plant in Forsyth and boilermakers from all over the country come here for a couple of months to clean it while it is in “shutdown”. I almost didn’t get a room because of this. The boiler is 10 stories high and they have to erect scaffolding on the inside to effect the cleaning. My neighbor Anatoli is a Russian living in Portland, Oregon, of all places, who is here to work on the boiler. Someone said there were many Navajos here also.
After breakfast I meet a young man coming off the night shift working security at the power plant. We discuss Socrates, Plato, Greek and Roman history, The Illiad and the Odyssey and his time in the 1st Gulf war. He says he was discharged due to being in a war trauma induced psychosis and having Gulf war syndrome. He is well now and wants to rejoin the military as an MP. I, of course, tell him of my days as an MP guarding rusty tanks and old paint in Kaiserslautern, but I decide not to tell him about SIDIPO. He might be carrying a gun.
On the road to Beach I begin to think about a movie I saw called “The Beach”. It stars Leonardo DiCaprio as a young man who stumbles upon paradise in the guise of a commune of young free spirits who live on a remote island off of Thailand. The other star is the chick who plays the Ice Queen in “The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe”. She is the queen of the commune and instills an iron discipline to keep their paradise secret. They share (uneasily) the island with some violent illegal Marijuana growers. As with most human utopian dreams, this one ends badly as paradise lost.
I want to write the sequel to “The Beach”, only I will have to rename the original “A Beach”. That is so the sequel can be titled “Son of A Beach”. It will be the story of Leonardo’s son. He grows up and eventually hears the story of his father’s flirtation with paradise and is smitten with the idea of finding out what happened. He travels to Thailand and discovers that the ice queen has made a pact with the devil and now lures rich tourists to “paradise” and then enslaves them in cultivating and processing marijuana for the illegal drug trade. In their down time, the tourists are kept in a drug induced stupor to keep them compliant. He goes home and remembers an uncle’s tale about PUA superheroes who did wondrous deeds when the uncle worked with them on 7a at St Mary’s in Minneapolis. He calls the retired head PUA and entices him to perform one last deed. So the head PUA comes out of retirement and recruits his former sidekicks, Anne and Don, to join him in one last quest. They take a leave from their jobs as: psychiatric nurse/teacher and head of corrections to become again doers of deeds. The son leads them to the island and the superheroes swoop in and smite the evil drug lords and capture the ice queen. The rich tourists are released and return to their former lives living in a money induced stupor. The ice queen is thrown into the locked unit where she is injected with Thorazine and lives in a legal, drug induced stupor. The superheroes return to their former lives, retired once again. Anne and Don will play themselves. I can’t tell you who the head PUA is/was but I can tell you he is a wise looking man with white hair who thinks he’s an Indian and looks ridiculous in a “Billy Jack” style hat. Maybe if I add a religious theme Adam will make the movie. Almost home, Jon.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Lochse River experience. I left Orofino fairly early this morning, I wanted to get as far into Montana as possible. The early drive was pleasant but my thoughts, as usual, went to Sue as they do so often in the morning. As I moved down the road, something that pleased me very much began to take shape. I have had in my mind for a long time the germ of an idea. I have wanted to write a short story about my thoughts, feelings and experiences in the months following Sue’s passing. I have had the title since shortly after acquiring the germ, it is to be called “100 Days of Tears” and the outline and structure began to take shape in my mind. Pleasing thoughts alternated with tears as the ideas moved forward. But the terrain began to change and my thoughts were brought to another place.
The environment around me was becoming increasingly more spectacular as I moved into the gorge of the Lochse river. This is in a remote part of the Bitterroot wilderness and something had drawn me here despite having absolutely no knowledge of the area. I could have taken a slightly longer route that was all freeway but didn’t. The river follows a tortured route as it carves it’s way through the mountains. The scenery is becoming more spectacular by the moment, the water glinting with the light of the early morning sun. The road has more curves than an army of belly dancers, one curve blending into the next. Pretty soon I am taking on two personas. One part John Muir as I am absorbed into the stunning beauty around me. Other part Mario Andretti as I begin to tightly hug the inside of every curve. Soon I am taking the 35mph curves at 50 and the 45mph curves at 60, gradually becoming more Mario than John. I am pushing myself toward my 60 year old limit as the road continues its long path uphill. Beside me the river has rapids almost all of the time and I become mesmerized by the process of driving, very quickly, through a small piece of heaven (with no guardrails). I feel all of my senses becoming increasingly more alive and concentrated on the task at hand. My attention is heightened and my visual, tactile and spatial powers are brought into acute focus. After 60 or 70 miles I am feeling euphoric in a way brought on by intense and prolonged sensual stimulation. I feel more alive than I have in a long time. This continues for mile after mile and I knew I had been led here for a purpose, which in that moment was not entirely clear to me.
Eventually the road leads off of the river and crosses the Lolo pass at about 6,000 feet. Before I cross though, I have an interesting moment. I am driving along a creek and I feel like I am going downhill. As I look at the creek it is also flowing downhill but in the other direction. This is a moment where up seems like down, which I think can happen when in a euphoric state and experiencing lots of ups and downs. I also see a little white cross on the side of the road and decide that on the way down I will be Jon Bushard and not Mario Andretti.
On the way down I do have an intense moment of absolute clarity. This experience has brought me to the realization that I want to write. Not just someone who writes for fun as I have on this trip, but someone who will take this germ inside of him (like the one of Sue and Skip that has grown inside of me) and actually learn HOW to write. It is a very emotional realization. Where this will lead me I have no idea but combined with another need I have realized (the need to push myself toward my limits) it could prove to be an interesting path.
I covered more miles today than any other day of the trip, about 650. Lots of time to think, and I realized that I have way too many thoughts. If I tried to write everything down you’d really think I was crazy.
Item: The Yellowstone river is the longest undammed river in the US. How we missed that one is beyond me. I think it might be related to the amount of people along its course. I think it is also because the people are undead.
Observation: Outside of Billings are buttes that are called mountains, outside of Butte are mountains but no buttes. No sense to be made from that one. More tomorrow, Jon.
The environment around me was becoming increasingly more spectacular as I moved into the gorge of the Lochse river. This is in a remote part of the Bitterroot wilderness and something had drawn me here despite having absolutely no knowledge of the area. I could have taken a slightly longer route that was all freeway but didn’t. The river follows a tortured route as it carves it’s way through the mountains. The scenery is becoming more spectacular by the moment, the water glinting with the light of the early morning sun. The road has more curves than an army of belly dancers, one curve blending into the next. Pretty soon I am taking on two personas. One part John Muir as I am absorbed into the stunning beauty around me. Other part Mario Andretti as I begin to tightly hug the inside of every curve. Soon I am taking the 35mph curves at 50 and the 45mph curves at 60, gradually becoming more Mario than John. I am pushing myself toward my 60 year old limit as the road continues its long path uphill. Beside me the river has rapids almost all of the time and I become mesmerized by the process of driving, very quickly, through a small piece of heaven (with no guardrails). I feel all of my senses becoming increasingly more alive and concentrated on the task at hand. My attention is heightened and my visual, tactile and spatial powers are brought into acute focus. After 60 or 70 miles I am feeling euphoric in a way brought on by intense and prolonged sensual stimulation. I feel more alive than I have in a long time. This continues for mile after mile and I knew I had been led here for a purpose, which in that moment was not entirely clear to me.
Eventually the road leads off of the river and crosses the Lolo pass at about 6,000 feet. Before I cross though, I have an interesting moment. I am driving along a creek and I feel like I am going downhill. As I look at the creek it is also flowing downhill but in the other direction. This is a moment where up seems like down, which I think can happen when in a euphoric state and experiencing lots of ups and downs. I also see a little white cross on the side of the road and decide that on the way down I will be Jon Bushard and not Mario Andretti.
On the way down I do have an intense moment of absolute clarity. This experience has brought me to the realization that I want to write. Not just someone who writes for fun as I have on this trip, but someone who will take this germ inside of him (like the one of Sue and Skip that has grown inside of me) and actually learn HOW to write. It is a very emotional realization. Where this will lead me I have no idea but combined with another need I have realized (the need to push myself toward my limits) it could prove to be an interesting path.
I covered more miles today than any other day of the trip, about 650. Lots of time to think, and I realized that I have way too many thoughts. If I tried to write everything down you’d really think I was crazy.
Item: The Yellowstone river is the longest undammed river in the US. How we missed that one is beyond me. I think it might be related to the amount of people along its course. I think it is also because the people are undead.
Observation: Outside of Billings are buttes that are called mountains, outside of Butte are mountains but no buttes. No sense to be made from that one. More tomorrow, Jon.
Orofino, Idaho. I left Annie’s this morning after we had called our old friend Don Ilse. He of the famous Criminal defense attorney story. Anne pretended she was from the Oregonian newspaper but he saw through it right away, he is the head of corrections for Anoka County and isn’t easily fooled. We visited and then agreed that he and I would go to a Twins game when I return. I was hoping to get to Missoula, Montana today but it was overly ambitious. The drive through eastern Oregon and Washington was brand new for me and very beautiful as an austere rolling landscape of alternating dirt and green fields. This eventually gave way to higher hills with a few trees and led me into the spectacular Snake river valley.
I am sitting on the patio of a wonderful Best Western in Orofino, Idaho. I am listening to the sound of rushing water because I am at the confluence of a small and large river. They have plaques saying that they are the BEST Best Western and I believe them, especially Sissie at the front desk. I just got back from a drive into the hills surrounding Orofino. I went with some trepidation as I passed two guns and ammo stores as I drove out of town. There is also Idaho’s reputation as a haven for survivalists and Neo-Nazi, skinhead, Aryan brotherhood, steel booted, kick your ass if you look at me, guns and ammo toting, dog kicking and baby hating, you know. . . . .people. I drove up and up until I was on a very narrow road and my feet started tingling. A sure sign that I was a little nervous. I took some shots (with my camera) and started to head back down when I noticed I was being followed by a very large pickup truck. All I could make out were two figures with baseball caps pulled low and something hanging in the back window. We were kicking up a large amount of dust, which was glowing in the late afternoon sun. I pass a farm with good looking cows and I am taken back to the time in Switzerland when we watched a cow being rescued by helicopter as we waited for the tram to leave Walter’s mountain. Someone yelled “hey look at the flying cow”, so we all ducked. All of the cows in Switzerland are a beautiful brown with shiny coats and large attractive eyes with a come hither look. If I ever come back as a bull let it be in Switzerland. Oh yea the two guys in the pickup, they passed me as I was daydreaming and waved as they went by. Not necessarily a good ending to this story but I have to tell the truth sometimes. On to Montana. Jon
I am sitting on the patio of a wonderful Best Western in Orofino, Idaho. I am listening to the sound of rushing water because I am at the confluence of a small and large river. They have plaques saying that they are the BEST Best Western and I believe them, especially Sissie at the front desk. I just got back from a drive into the hills surrounding Orofino. I went with some trepidation as I passed two guns and ammo stores as I drove out of town. There is also Idaho’s reputation as a haven for survivalists and Neo-Nazi, skinhead, Aryan brotherhood, steel booted, kick your ass if you look at me, guns and ammo toting, dog kicking and baby hating, you know. . . . .people. I drove up and up until I was on a very narrow road and my feet started tingling. A sure sign that I was a little nervous. I took some shots (with my camera) and started to head back down when I noticed I was being followed by a very large pickup truck. All I could make out were two figures with baseball caps pulled low and something hanging in the back window. We were kicking up a large amount of dust, which was glowing in the late afternoon sun. I pass a farm with good looking cows and I am taken back to the time in Switzerland when we watched a cow being rescued by helicopter as we waited for the tram to leave Walter’s mountain. Someone yelled “hey look at the flying cow”, so we all ducked. All of the cows in Switzerland are a beautiful brown with shiny coats and large attractive eyes with a come hither look. If I ever come back as a bull let it be in Switzerland. Oh yea the two guys in the pickup, they passed me as I was daydreaming and waved as they went by. Not necessarily a good ending to this story but I have to tell the truth sometimes. On to Montana. Jon
Monday, April 20, 2009
Protland-2. Anne took me to an upscale, hip, young part of town, just the sort of place a couple of ageing hipsters could fit into. We walked the streets and eventually made our way into a cool looking house that had been turned into a shop housing Polish pottery. Don’t ask what led us there but we met a very interesting young lady who told me her story. She grew up in Bielsko-Biala, Poland and her name is Ania Kocourek-Williams. Her great grandgather joined the anti-Nazi crusade in Romania after the fall of Poland. He was captured and spent the rest of the war in slave labor camps in Germany. Although married and not having seen his wife in years, something about the terror of his experiences caused him to find his way to America. He called his wife and asked her to come but she refused. He was in Portland and was working in a monastery. After many years she finally said she would come to America but arrived just in time to see him die. She returned to Poland and much later when Ania heard his story she felt compelled to come to America. She was told it could never happen. But she believed in never saying never, in fact to say never was to inspire her to do things. She was poor and needed to get a drivers license and learn English in order to travel. For a while this was out of reach for her until her grandmother won a small lottery and helped her finance her learnings and trip.
She found a host family in Portland and came. She works at a school for Iconography at the monastery where her great grandfather is buried, one of the few non monks buried there. I don’t know much about iconography but would like to. She said the images are mysterious and are made to draw us into the mystery. As my journey would have it, she is married to a Native American but I sensed from her that I shouldn’t go there. Although she was very ebullient throughout our discussion, when it came to talking about her husband and potential family (she has no children) there seemed to be a little sadness to her. Most of the Slavic old world people I have met seem to have moments of this world weary resignation. These thoughts and the irony of her working where her great grandfather is buried kind of haunts me. It is a mystery I won’t solve in reality or my imagination.
The next day Anne and I go to the Saturday market, despite the fact that it is Sunday. We see a lot of stuff, including more tattoos than I’ve ever seen in one spot. I also saw Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley hanging out with pirates and other performers. Later we have ice cream at a Ben and Jerry’s. While there we strike up a friendship with three children and a mom, one child is hers and two belong to her boyfriend. She is a teacher and is holding a weeks old miniature Pug. After having fun acting stupid with the kids (I sure miss my little ones) we promise to send the photos we took to her facebook site. I taught them one of my very best ugly faces and they were impressed. In the evening I cook dinner for Anne and we talk more of our days as superheroes. In the morning it is time for the beginning of the long trek home. I am a little weary, I miss my family more than I can say. I have learned and experienced so much that I am sure most of my time driving will be spent synthesizing.
Anne: We were young once and operated in a unique place in the time-space continuum. There were fun times, hard times, crazy times and you have helped me face a hard truth from those times. To see you again was to feel I had just seen you last week and I am so pleased I came. You are still the Anne we knew (a little more aged like me) and your zest for life is undiminished. Our moments together of pure immature silliness are going to become a priceless memory to me. We will see each other again because we are forever friends. Jon
She found a host family in Portland and came. She works at a school for Iconography at the monastery where her great grandfather is buried, one of the few non monks buried there. I don’t know much about iconography but would like to. She said the images are mysterious and are made to draw us into the mystery. As my journey would have it, she is married to a Native American but I sensed from her that I shouldn’t go there. Although she was very ebullient throughout our discussion, when it came to talking about her husband and potential family (she has no children) there seemed to be a little sadness to her. Most of the Slavic old world people I have met seem to have moments of this world weary resignation. These thoughts and the irony of her working where her great grandfather is buried kind of haunts me. It is a mystery I won’t solve in reality or my imagination.
The next day Anne and I go to the Saturday market, despite the fact that it is Sunday. We see a lot of stuff, including more tattoos than I’ve ever seen in one spot. I also saw Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley hanging out with pirates and other performers. Later we have ice cream at a Ben and Jerry’s. While there we strike up a friendship with three children and a mom, one child is hers and two belong to her boyfriend. She is a teacher and is holding a weeks old miniature Pug. After having fun acting stupid with the kids (I sure miss my little ones) we promise to send the photos we took to her facebook site. I taught them one of my very best ugly faces and they were impressed. In the evening I cook dinner for Anne and we talk more of our days as superheroes. In the morning it is time for the beginning of the long trek home. I am a little weary, I miss my family more than I can say. I have learned and experienced so much that I am sure most of my time driving will be spent synthesizing.
Anne: We were young once and operated in a unique place in the time-space continuum. There were fun times, hard times, crazy times and you have helped me face a hard truth from those times. To see you again was to feel I had just seen you last week and I am so pleased I came. You are still the Anne we knew (a little more aged like me) and your zest for life is undiminished. Our moments together of pure immature silliness are going to become a priceless memory to me. We will see each other again because we are forever friends. Jon
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Portland, Oregon. A final thought from Donna’s. We discuss Sue a lot. She felt “Suzie” was special, that there was something about her that most children don’t have, particularly children with her specific experiences. Sue was a bright, lively, active and talkative child whose youthful innocence was stolen from her. Donna knows. Sue had hopes and dreams and only through the tremendous efforts of her absolute determination was she able to begin to rise above her childhood. She rose above it to create the circumstances for our little family to thrive. Donna is one of the few who know what a truly great woman Sue was. Without her sacrifice, I could not be me.
I take the shortest jaunt between two stops of my entire trip. It takes me about 20 minutes to make my way to Annie’s in Portland, ably assisted by Garmin. This is Anne McNeely, an old friend of ours from the days at St. Mary’s Hospital. Sue worked maternity and I worked on the Psych unit with Annie and an unbelievable cast of characters that we talk about throughout the day, which goes by in a flash. The names and experiences cascade from us in a rush of memories. This had been a truly unique time and place to be in. I started there in 1972, Annie in 1971,it was still wartime and the intensity that comes with that. I was 1 and 1/2 years removed from the Army and had finished one year at the U and decided I wanted to study psychology and work in “psych” as we called it. The psych unit was undergoing a pilot program to introduce “group therapy” to the unit, which at that time was a novel idea. They decided we should actually talk to people to see if we could help them. In these days of Oprah it seems like an “of course” idea but back then it was revolutionary. People didn’t talk about their problems to strangers.
We were PUA’s, Psychiatric Unit Assistants. We were superheroes, who were out to change the world and we led groups and cured people without any idea of what we were doing. The psychiatrists were on the periphery and “directed” us in our efforts. But we were in the trenches in the new war against mental illness and could and did do anything we wanted to without any real credentials at all. It was a brief moment when a group of actually highly educated young people who believed in possibilities worked in a menial job, were given outsized responsibility and made a difference, assisted by many hours at the Tempo peanut bar on Franklin Avenue. This could never happen today, I don’t think there are any peanut bars left.There are so many stories, but one we both vividly remember is the one about the manic-depressive criminal defense attorney. At the change of shifts one afternoon we got word from admitting that a real crazy guy was on his way up to 7a, and he was starting to take his clothes off. The elevator doors open and the admitting nurse runs off the elevator, charging down the hall toward the locked unit. She was being chased by a guy with no clothes on, in a very “excited” state. He had half a beard on one side of his face and half a moustache on the other. Our head nurse, who was about 8 and ½ months pregnant, was chasing after him holding up a hospital gown to protect other patients from this unusual sight. He chased her all the way into the locked unit where I happened to be working that day. What do you say to a naked, excited and crazed man looking to tackle a nurse? HELP! Don Ilse and I eventually replaced the nurse and a broken piece of pottery replaced his excited state as he chased us around the locked unit until reinforcements arrived (medical orderlies) and we could tackle him and inject him with massive amounts of Thorazine. Some solutions to problems could not be handled with mere talk. Enough for now, more stories from that day to follow. Jon
I take the shortest jaunt between two stops of my entire trip. It takes me about 20 minutes to make my way to Annie’s in Portland, ably assisted by Garmin. This is Anne McNeely, an old friend of ours from the days at St. Mary’s Hospital. Sue worked maternity and I worked on the Psych unit with Annie and an unbelievable cast of characters that we talk about throughout the day, which goes by in a flash. The names and experiences cascade from us in a rush of memories. This had been a truly unique time and place to be in. I started there in 1972, Annie in 1971,it was still wartime and the intensity that comes with that. I was 1 and 1/2 years removed from the Army and had finished one year at the U and decided I wanted to study psychology and work in “psych” as we called it. The psych unit was undergoing a pilot program to introduce “group therapy” to the unit, which at that time was a novel idea. They decided we should actually talk to people to see if we could help them. In these days of Oprah it seems like an “of course” idea but back then it was revolutionary. People didn’t talk about their problems to strangers.
We were PUA’s, Psychiatric Unit Assistants. We were superheroes, who were out to change the world and we led groups and cured people without any idea of what we were doing. The psychiatrists were on the periphery and “directed” us in our efforts. But we were in the trenches in the new war against mental illness and could and did do anything we wanted to without any real credentials at all. It was a brief moment when a group of actually highly educated young people who believed in possibilities worked in a menial job, were given outsized responsibility and made a difference, assisted by many hours at the Tempo peanut bar on Franklin Avenue. This could never happen today, I don’t think there are any peanut bars left.There are so many stories, but one we both vividly remember is the one about the manic-depressive criminal defense attorney. At the change of shifts one afternoon we got word from admitting that a real crazy guy was on his way up to 7a, and he was starting to take his clothes off. The elevator doors open and the admitting nurse runs off the elevator, charging down the hall toward the locked unit. She was being chased by a guy with no clothes on, in a very “excited” state. He had half a beard on one side of his face and half a moustache on the other. Our head nurse, who was about 8 and ½ months pregnant, was chasing after him holding up a hospital gown to protect other patients from this unusual sight. He chased her all the way into the locked unit where I happened to be working that day. What do you say to a naked, excited and crazed man looking to tackle a nurse? HELP! Don Ilse and I eventually replaced the nurse and a broken piece of pottery replaced his excited state as he chased us around the locked unit until reinforcements arrived (medical orderlies) and we could tackle him and inject him with massive amounts of Thorazine. Some solutions to problems could not be handled with mere talk. Enough for now, more stories from that day to follow. Jon
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Vancouver, Washington. The home of Donna Peterson, one of the unsung great characters of all time. Most of this character comes out of her mouth. I arrive before noon and she talks nonstop for the next three hours. We finally go out to lunch, my head is spinning and my ears are falling off. Donna was a second mother to Sue and many in the Lovlein clan. She was (and still is) a sounding board and moral anchor to the group of busy bodies (when they were young) known as the Lovlein children. She loves them dearly, and provided them with not only her moral guidance but with many worldly needs that a poor family with eight children couldn’t. I could never do justice to the plethora of stories, one blending seamlessly into another. She reminds me of an older more charming, more religious version of Marge in Fargo. She even says things like: “so, yah you know” and “happy as a bug in a rug” and “gosh sakes alive” and “more fun than a bushel of monkeys” and I could go on and on, and maybe will later. The cast of characters in her stories include Uncle Mugs and Tanner Joe and I just can’t believe a woman of 79 can remember so much stuff, in such detail.
Observation: There is one other element that seems to go with older, religious people a.k.a. Norma and Herman and Donna, a fascination with Bill O’Reilly. They watch him as if he is the second coming of Walter Chronkite. This comparison causes my body to shudder violently. I don’t necessarily dislike O’Reilly but he and other political commentators on both sides of the political spectrum such as he and Bill Maher are primarily entertainers with very little intellectual heft. Just the thought of two Irishmen representing an intellectual spectrum causes me to wonder about America’s future. Jokes and bullying now seem to represent political commentary, which older people seem to mistake for NEWS! Or is it all of us? No wonder we have a crisis. We are no longer rational, pragmatic doers of deeds like the greatest generation. Where is Will Rogers when we need him? Or at least Groucho Marx, now THERE was an entertainer who understood what was important (making fun of Margaret Dumont).
It is time for me to leave the Brewed Awakenings coffee shop, I’ve been here so long the sun has come out and there are all new workers behind the counter. I have posted my blogs, except this one, and must return to Donna. I think my ears are ready for another encounter. During my stay at the coffee shop I visit with a guy who is trying to break into the teaching game but is struggling with a coffee addiction and has a hard time keeping appointments because he has to go to the bathroom all of the time. I observe two women wearing baseball caps who are visiting. Their body language tells their story. They are leaning way forward aiming themselves at each other and are extremely expressive in their talking. This usually means they are discussing another woman and can’t hold back their insights. Two guys with motorcycle helmets are talking about a Christian movie they want to make. I think it is called “Jesus Rides the Wild Wind”, it is the story of a boy who gets shanghaied into the priesthood and is running across Mission San Luis Rey. . . . .I think I will call Adam and tell him their idea.
Donna’s daughter Debbie joins us for dinner and I just watch and listen as these two wonderful women tell stories. Debbie is politically active in the Republican party and ran for office as state representative in the last election. She seems caught between her career as a teacher and a more active political career. Although we disagree about many things, I tell her I would vote for her if I could. Her positions are always thoughtful and come out of her caring for people and their welfare. We do have a couple of lively debates about the war and global warming and I am struck by the fact that the majority of people I have visited are quite conservative. I had never really thought of them this way, they are just people I care about. I have mostly stayed away from politics both in discussions and in listening to the news and I think I am better for it. One thing that comes through about Debbie is that she is fearless. Donna is always telling her to be careful and be sure to look in the back of her car before she gets in and Debbie says “I do mom but I am always disappointed”. She is calm, talented and intelligent and has built a new life for herself and I get the impression that there is nothing she can’t do.
Donna: You are everything Sue talked about. I’ve known you briefly over the years but to spend this time with you has been a revelation. You know the Lord and you walk with the Lord but you can face any difficult knowledge and take it head on with a steely resolve. You are funnier than a bushel of monkeys and you say things like “murder in the old red barn” or “good night nurse” with a Polyanna like innocence. You know what's hapennin’ but you smile and laugh your way through life.
I am going all the way across the river to Portland and “Annie”. Jon
Observation: There is one other element that seems to go with older, religious people a.k.a. Norma and Herman and Donna, a fascination with Bill O’Reilly. They watch him as if he is the second coming of Walter Chronkite. This comparison causes my body to shudder violently. I don’t necessarily dislike O’Reilly but he and other political commentators on both sides of the political spectrum such as he and Bill Maher are primarily entertainers with very little intellectual heft. Just the thought of two Irishmen representing an intellectual spectrum causes me to wonder about America’s future. Jokes and bullying now seem to represent political commentary, which older people seem to mistake for NEWS! Or is it all of us? No wonder we have a crisis. We are no longer rational, pragmatic doers of deeds like the greatest generation. Where is Will Rogers when we need him? Or at least Groucho Marx, now THERE was an entertainer who understood what was important (making fun of Margaret Dumont).
It is time for me to leave the Brewed Awakenings coffee shop, I’ve been here so long the sun has come out and there are all new workers behind the counter. I have posted my blogs, except this one, and must return to Donna. I think my ears are ready for another encounter. During my stay at the coffee shop I visit with a guy who is trying to break into the teaching game but is struggling with a coffee addiction and has a hard time keeping appointments because he has to go to the bathroom all of the time. I observe two women wearing baseball caps who are visiting. Their body language tells their story. They are leaning way forward aiming themselves at each other and are extremely expressive in their talking. This usually means they are discussing another woman and can’t hold back their insights. Two guys with motorcycle helmets are talking about a Christian movie they want to make. I think it is called “Jesus Rides the Wild Wind”, it is the story of a boy who gets shanghaied into the priesthood and is running across Mission San Luis Rey. . . . .I think I will call Adam and tell him their idea.
Donna’s daughter Debbie joins us for dinner and I just watch and listen as these two wonderful women tell stories. Debbie is politically active in the Republican party and ran for office as state representative in the last election. She seems caught between her career as a teacher and a more active political career. Although we disagree about many things, I tell her I would vote for her if I could. Her positions are always thoughtful and come out of her caring for people and their welfare. We do have a couple of lively debates about the war and global warming and I am struck by the fact that the majority of people I have visited are quite conservative. I had never really thought of them this way, they are just people I care about. I have mostly stayed away from politics both in discussions and in listening to the news and I think I am better for it. One thing that comes through about Debbie is that she is fearless. Donna is always telling her to be careful and be sure to look in the back of her car before she gets in and Debbie says “I do mom but I am always disappointed”. She is calm, talented and intelligent and has built a new life for herself and I get the impression that there is nothing she can’t do.
Donna: You are everything Sue talked about. I’ve known you briefly over the years but to spend this time with you has been a revelation. You know the Lord and you walk with the Lord but you can face any difficult knowledge and take it head on with a steely resolve. You are funnier than a bushel of monkeys and you say things like “murder in the old red barn” or “good night nurse” with a Polyanna like innocence. You know what's hapennin’ but you smile and laugh your way through life.
I am going all the way across the river to Portland and “Annie”. Jon
Friday, April 17, 2009
Albany, Oregon. I am leaving the family phase of the trip and will be entering the friend phase. These are Sue’s friends and it is important for me to spend some time with people who knew her differently than I. I leave Crescent City around 9am and drive up the coast. It is spectacular scenery and I stop numerous times for photos, if I continue like this I will never get to Joyce’s. Soon both the weather and the road intervene, clouds move in and the road moves a little off the coast. It is now dreary and drizzling so I step on it. I arrive at the former Joyce Lundstrom’s, a friend of Sue’s and a very brief love interest of mine in the summer of 1967 as the three of us hung out at “Trudy’s”. Sue babysat Trudy’s kids in the smallest house in St. Louis Park. It was also a refuge. For me it was a place where I could get away from mom and grandma, the women were much younger at Trudy’s. For Sue it was a refuge from a chaotic home life and the money she earned gave her some independence. For Joyce I think she also needed to get away from her home. For Trudy it was a refuge from the police. We didn’t know it at the time but she was a prostitute and she would often run in the door as if people were chasing her. She often took the money and ran from visiting businessmen without performing her craft. But she was usually running from pimps or the police. It was pretty exciting.
We reminisce until it is time for bed. In the morning we get into some discussions, which ultimately lead to “ultimate reality”, a topic I have brushed against several times during my trip. For Joyce, ultimate reality is the bible. It has guided her through healing and led her on the journey toward a wonderful life with her husband Ward and her family. It is a rock solid base to operate from. I still struggle with ultimate reality. I have not been given the gift of absolute sureness. I search and doubt and yearn to learn. The only true certainty for me is love. As I said in Sue’s funeral oration: if God is love then I believe in God because I believe in love. All that is good in my life has come out of my need to love and my need for love. This trip is motivated by my love for Sue and my need for healing love. Love always aims me in the right direction, and right now that direction is Vancouver, Washington and Donna Peterson.
Joyce: You have a bright, lively mind and a way of defining things that brings them into clear focus. You were kind and loving to Sue for which I will always be grateful. You are also a rascal, which endears you to me. Ward is a good man and your love for each other is evident. Jon
p.s. I still haven’t done my taxes, I think the tax police are following me. Where is Trudy’s when you need a place like that?
We reminisce until it is time for bed. In the morning we get into some discussions, which ultimately lead to “ultimate reality”, a topic I have brushed against several times during my trip. For Joyce, ultimate reality is the bible. It has guided her through healing and led her on the journey toward a wonderful life with her husband Ward and her family. It is a rock solid base to operate from. I still struggle with ultimate reality. I have not been given the gift of absolute sureness. I search and doubt and yearn to learn. The only true certainty for me is love. As I said in Sue’s funeral oration: if God is love then I believe in God because I believe in love. All that is good in my life has come out of my need to love and my need for love. This trip is motivated by my love for Sue and my need for healing love. Love always aims me in the right direction, and right now that direction is Vancouver, Washington and Donna Peterson.
Joyce: You have a bright, lively mind and a way of defining things that brings them into clear focus. You were kind and loving to Sue for which I will always be grateful. You are also a rascal, which endears you to me. Ward is a good man and your love for each other is evident. Jon
p.s. I still haven’t done my taxes, I think the tax police are following me. Where is Trudy’s when you need a place like that?
April 15, 2009, Crescent City, California. Here it is, tax day and I haven’t sent in my taxes. I’ll see if I can get ‘em done after breakfast. Yesterday as I was heading down the road, the wind was howling again. This has been the one consistent thing throughout this journey. No matter what direction I am going in, there is a 40mph wind in my face. I’m just glad I am not a land sailor, all of that tacking and ticking and toeing into the wind. I think I have a new title for my musings: Jon Krakauer has his “Into Thin Air” and “Into The Wild”, now I have “Into The Wind” or “How I Broke Wind” or “Rode The Wild Wind”. I guess that one has been done. Maybe I can be the new Jack London, I’ll call it “How I Broke Into The Wild Wind”. It will be the story of a boy who is Shangheied into the military and spends his time as a trailblazer running across rice paddies and aircraft carriers on the Turkish border while listening to the Viet Cong in their MIG jets as they strafe the Miller family who are testing Saturn V rockets. I can’t wait to write the exciting part about standing on a deserted beach being sandblasted by the howling wind trying to photograph secret documents that will soon be picked up by trained hawks who are gliding above me, just waiting for the deed to be done or to pick at my carcass should the wind get the best of me, whichever happens first. It is a story that MUST be told.
I come back from breakfast after hearing a man’s story. He is 76 years old and has survived cancer, quintuple bypass surgery, two wives, a girlfriend, numerous jobs and many other encounters with death (including one on dead mans curve) to reach a point in life where he is starting a new job on Monday as a census taker because his two disabled sons have moved in with him. He says “what do you do”? Keep moving, which is what I plan to do soon, those hawks are looking very ominous.Before I leave I hear another story about a guy who escapes from the high tech, maximum security prison in Pelican Bay, just outside Crescent City. It is poring rain as he hides out in the redwoods but he runs across a work detail from the prison. He sneaks up to the prisoners to bum a smoke and gets caught. The lesson: even if you are an escaped convict, smoking is bad for you. Jon
I come back from breakfast after hearing a man’s story. He is 76 years old and has survived cancer, quintuple bypass surgery, two wives, a girlfriend, numerous jobs and many other encounters with death (including one on dead mans curve) to reach a point in life where he is starting a new job on Monday as a census taker because his two disabled sons have moved in with him. He says “what do you do”? Keep moving, which is what I plan to do soon, those hawks are looking very ominous.Before I leave I hear another story about a guy who escapes from the high tech, maximum security prison in Pelican Bay, just outside Crescent City. It is poring rain as he hides out in the redwoods but he runs across a work detail from the prison. He sneaks up to the prisoners to bum a smoke and gets caught. The lesson: even if you are an escaped convict, smoking is bad for you. Jon
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Carmichael, California. The ancestral Goligowski family home. This is my aunt Norma, one of the triumvirate of favorite aunts in my life. This place feels like home, aunt Norma and uncle Herman have lived here for 45 years. We arrived here yesterday to a cacophony of sounds, noises and boisterous activity. It was their Easter gathering and there were about 42 people here in all. They have raised a family of 6 and now have 18 grandchildren and 7 great grandchildren and assorted hangers on. Her children here (5) are all my 1st cousins, some I haven’t seen in 40 years. I think some I have never seen. Her 6th is Jeanne who I visited in Ft. Collins earlier in my journey. After everyone has left we talk late into the night about her family and the wider Loegering clan. She has some illuminating insights into people and events. One conclusion we make is that we both had the privilege of being raised and spoiled by the same woman: my mother Zita. It is not too often people of different generations can say this. My mother was almost as much older than her as she (Norma) is of me. Norma and my Aunt Chris (Connie) were my mothers first two children, albeit only partially and not by birth. Only when she first began school did Norma learn who her real mother was.
In the morning we visit more until Herman says he hasn’t visited in the morning so much in a long time, he finally says it is time to set the chickens free and went outside to his acres of many living things. Some of these include a 40 year old blind goose, every kind of cherry tree you can imagine, flowers, plants and vegetables in a profusion of life. Interesting fact: he has a single tree that grows plums, apricots and peaches. This is due to grafting, a mysterious process where humans wave their enchanted wands over plants and they perform magic feats. Only here can you in one afternoon sit at a computer, rototill, feed chickens, play cribbage, do a crossword, learn horticulture, listen to polish polka music on an old 8 track player, get chased by an aggressive gander, watch a hawk come in for the kill and discuss world history.
We just received the sad news that my first cousin once removed, Brian Ihnken, was killed in a motorcycle accident on Holy Saturday. The shock of sudden death is all too familiar to me and is part of the human condition. I know the impact to those closest to him, their lives will never be the same. In saying this I also know that I am becoming more acclimated to the knowledge that I don’t want to be the same person I was. The pain of loss is more bearable as I move within the protection of the love of my extended family but will be tested again when I am home and alone. I can stand the pain but in beginning the process of reaching out and healing, I think there will be breaks in the darkness.
Mary and Brenda: I didn’t have much time with you but you seem like younger more outgoing versions of Jeanne. Which is a very good thing. I now am seeing Jeanne in a little newer light. She is kind of an artistic, mystical searcher getting back to our family’s horticultural roots.
Chris: A big former Navy man who is in the last scene of “The Deer Hunter” with Robert DiNiro. They used newsreel footage where Chris is running across the deck of an aircraft carrier as helicopters are shoved off into the sea. They were the last helicopters from the rooftop of the American embassy after the fall of Saigon. Did I ever tell you about SIDIPO. . . . . . .? A good man with a fun wife: Kelly.
Jon: I won’t say you are named after me but I don’t usually believe in coincidences. Your story of ministering to the wayward youth of Washington DC is a wonderful, difficult and tragic story. You obviously had the charisma to build a group of 30 into 150. But five suicides, one of them before your eyes, are too much for a 22 year old studying to be a priest. Your life has taken a different turn and your girls obviously adore you.
Herman: A more perfect patriarch could not be imagined. At 85 you run rings around most men, but you hug like most men of your generation don’t. You were the last man standing at the Security Park facility of McDonnell Douglas in Rancho Cordova. A place where Saturn IV and Saturn V rockets were tested. You sacrificed your hearing to America and helped Kennedy keep his promise that we would be on the moon by the end of the 60’s. I love your hunting stories: searching canyons until finding one, then moving downwind and keeping below sight lines so the Muledeer can’t see you, sometimes crawling hundreds of yards.
Norma: I’ve already said most of it because your family is your work of art. You drive like my little woman used to, as if you own the road, just not as mouthy as she was. Your reactions are still excellent. Your home and Anne’s home are the ancestral homes of the Goligowskis and Millers but they are run by Loegering women, who like running things, have steely resolve and other than you, tried to clear the world of hard drinking men. As your sisters age, they all begin to look the same except you, you are different. And I love you. Jon
In the morning we visit more until Herman says he hasn’t visited in the morning so much in a long time, he finally says it is time to set the chickens free and went outside to his acres of many living things. Some of these include a 40 year old blind goose, every kind of cherry tree you can imagine, flowers, plants and vegetables in a profusion of life. Interesting fact: he has a single tree that grows plums, apricots and peaches. This is due to grafting, a mysterious process where humans wave their enchanted wands over plants and they perform magic feats. Only here can you in one afternoon sit at a computer, rototill, feed chickens, play cribbage, do a crossword, learn horticulture, listen to polish polka music on an old 8 track player, get chased by an aggressive gander, watch a hawk come in for the kill and discuss world history.
We just received the sad news that my first cousin once removed, Brian Ihnken, was killed in a motorcycle accident on Holy Saturday. The shock of sudden death is all too familiar to me and is part of the human condition. I know the impact to those closest to him, their lives will never be the same. In saying this I also know that I am becoming more acclimated to the knowledge that I don’t want to be the same person I was. The pain of loss is more bearable as I move within the protection of the love of my extended family but will be tested again when I am home and alone. I can stand the pain but in beginning the process of reaching out and healing, I think there will be breaks in the darkness.
Mary and Brenda: I didn’t have much time with you but you seem like younger more outgoing versions of Jeanne. Which is a very good thing. I now am seeing Jeanne in a little newer light. She is kind of an artistic, mystical searcher getting back to our family’s horticultural roots.
Chris: A big former Navy man who is in the last scene of “The Deer Hunter” with Robert DiNiro. They used newsreel footage where Chris is running across the deck of an aircraft carrier as helicopters are shoved off into the sea. They were the last helicopters from the rooftop of the American embassy after the fall of Saigon. Did I ever tell you about SIDIPO. . . . . . .? A good man with a fun wife: Kelly.
Jon: I won’t say you are named after me but I don’t usually believe in coincidences. Your story of ministering to the wayward youth of Washington DC is a wonderful, difficult and tragic story. You obviously had the charisma to build a group of 30 into 150. But five suicides, one of them before your eyes, are too much for a 22 year old studying to be a priest. Your life has taken a different turn and your girls obviously adore you.
Herman: A more perfect patriarch could not be imagined. At 85 you run rings around most men, but you hug like most men of your generation don’t. You were the last man standing at the Security Park facility of McDonnell Douglas in Rancho Cordova. A place where Saturn IV and Saturn V rockets were tested. You sacrificed your hearing to America and helped Kennedy keep his promise that we would be on the moon by the end of the 60’s. I love your hunting stories: searching canyons until finding one, then moving downwind and keeping below sight lines so the Muledeer can’t see you, sometimes crawling hundreds of yards.
Norma: I’ve already said most of it because your family is your work of art. You drive like my little woman used to, as if you own the road, just not as mouthy as she was. Your reactions are still excellent. Your home and Anne’s home are the ancestral homes of the Goligowskis and Millers but they are run by Loegering women, who like running things, have steely resolve and other than you, tried to clear the world of hard drinking men. As your sisters age, they all begin to look the same except you, you are different. And I love you. Jon
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
April 12th. Judyann, Neil and I leave Marin County to go to Aunt Norma’s for Easter dinner. It is about an hour and a half away in Carmichael, in an older suburban part of Sacramento with large lots, horses etc. On the way I am thinking of adding another subtitle to this ambling narrative. I may call it the Mysterical Imagining Tour. Mysterical because I hope to be imparting the mystery of the people I encounter in a humorous way. Imagining for the reason that in every encounter I have, there are events based both in reality and in my imagination. I am sure you can figure out the tour part, but then maybe I am expecting too much of the vast assemblage known as my followers.
The only interesting person I meet is a cashier at a Walgreens. She is a person of color with a very resonant voice who uses it to proclaim “next in line” each time she is finished with a transaction. Within the time it takes for me to pay for some Skittles, she tells me her life story. It involves being the fifth of five children, the only girl. She grows up with the expectation that she take care of her OLDER brother who transforms from being just a busy and rascally boy to a potential gang member. It is a big job. Toughened by four older brothers, she finds she can do anything she sets her mind to and is now studying to be a Dog Whisperer. Her voice alone is enough kick some serious ass if you add some attitude to it. She is very good at what she does and I am anxious to be on the road and get into my “skids”. Dang, I forget to get her name.
After a few hours at the Easter gathering it is time for Judyann and Neil to go. We laugh we cry, we say goodbye.
Judyann: You move in mysterious places, but you always act out of caring, love and responsibility, kind of like Sue without the edge. I have never known a proper woman who is so easy to be with. We have connected later in our lives in ways I never thought would be possible in earlier times and it is wonderful. You are my soul sister and I think your present life is your best.
Neil: You have a strong quiet reserve. This reserve holds so much, there is an old saying that quiet water runs deep. You go about your work with no fanfare, no noise or foolish ego to you, just a “real” man. Jon
The only interesting person I meet is a cashier at a Walgreens. She is a person of color with a very resonant voice who uses it to proclaim “next in line” each time she is finished with a transaction. Within the time it takes for me to pay for some Skittles, she tells me her life story. It involves being the fifth of five children, the only girl. She grows up with the expectation that she take care of her OLDER brother who transforms from being just a busy and rascally boy to a potential gang member. It is a big job. Toughened by four older brothers, she finds she can do anything she sets her mind to and is now studying to be a Dog Whisperer. Her voice alone is enough kick some serious ass if you add some attitude to it. She is very good at what she does and I am anxious to be on the road and get into my “skids”. Dang, I forget to get her name.
After a few hours at the Easter gathering it is time for Judyann and Neil to go. We laugh we cry, we say goodbye.
Judyann: You move in mysterious places, but you always act out of caring, love and responsibility, kind of like Sue without the edge. I have never known a proper woman who is so easy to be with. We have connected later in our lives in ways I never thought would be possible in earlier times and it is wonderful. You are my soul sister and I think your present life is your best.
Neil: You have a strong quiet reserve. This reserve holds so much, there is an old saying that quiet water runs deep. You go about your work with no fanfare, no noise or foolish ego to you, just a “real” man. Jon
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Sam Franks Disco, there is an old joke about a guy who left his harp in Sam Franks disco, an extrapolation from the Tony Bennett song. Judyann and I didn’t leave anything in San Francisco except a few bucks. We took the ferry from Tiburon and I had fun photographing the gulls that were following, their sleek bodies outlined against the stark blue sky was beautiful. The area lining Fishermans Wharf was utter chaos, one loud noise competing with another. We went through one store with very expensive stuff and a bronze I was looking at cost $32,500, a foreign sounding guy said “you could have this today for $4,500”. This would look really great sitting in my passenger seat the rest of the way home but I said “I don’t think so” and he turned his nose into the air and I thought ‘another one of THOSE guys’. The only interesting person of note to cross my path was a young man I asked for directions from. He had an accent and said “I have no idea, I’m from far away”. He is from Ireland, so I told him about my Irish cousin (by marriage) who tells great stories, he said “Irish stories sound even better after you have a pint of Guiness in you”. I’ll remember this next time I see Lew.
We have lunch and I ask about Judyann and Neil’s courtship. It is a story about his pursuit of her and then her pursuit of him. It is an old human story and I suggest a title to her memoirs of “Two Doors Down”.
I was drawn to a beautiful church and knew that Sue was working through me. In our travels together, if we passed a church, we had to either photograph it or go in it. I am not sure of the appeal for her but it was strong and consistent. As I look at the shops I know which ones Sue would have liked, her power over me can’t quite get me to go in. I photograph architectural stuff and then we head back and have a pleasant evening.
Some observations: On my trek I have passed four prisons. Some in desolate deserts and some in choice locations (San Quentin). I love America, it has given me a great life but one of our greatest failures is the amount of people we put in prison. It is a social and cultural failure where we put a much greater percentage of our citizens away than any other western country.
Judyann and I came to a stoplight on our way to Tiburon and a homeless man is sitting on the corner, we both instinctively reach for our wallets but the light changes before we can get some money out. As I pass by I look him in the eye and he gives me a knowing nod. That vision will be with me for a long time: Jesus said that if someone asks, you give. Unspoken is the assumption that you don’t ask why. Jon
We have lunch and I ask about Judyann and Neil’s courtship. It is a story about his pursuit of her and then her pursuit of him. It is an old human story and I suggest a title to her memoirs of “Two Doors Down”.
I was drawn to a beautiful church and knew that Sue was working through me. In our travels together, if we passed a church, we had to either photograph it or go in it. I am not sure of the appeal for her but it was strong and consistent. As I look at the shops I know which ones Sue would have liked, her power over me can’t quite get me to go in. I photograph architectural stuff and then we head back and have a pleasant evening.
Some observations: On my trek I have passed four prisons. Some in desolate deserts and some in choice locations (San Quentin). I love America, it has given me a great life but one of our greatest failures is the amount of people we put in prison. It is a social and cultural failure where we put a much greater percentage of our citizens away than any other western country.
Judyann and I came to a stoplight on our way to Tiburon and a homeless man is sitting on the corner, we both instinctively reach for our wallets but the light changes before we can get some money out. As I pass by I look him in the eye and he gives me a knowing nod. That vision will be with me for a long time: Jesus said that if someone asks, you give. Unspoken is the assumption that you don’t ask why. Jon
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Marin County, California. Judyann and I spent the morning walking the streets of the old fishing village of Tiburon, now a place of upscale shops. Our topic: how did we get to where we are and where are we going. I tell her I have studied History, Theology and Science for 30 years in an attempt to understand the human condition and how we got to where we are today. She has spent 30 years studying and getting in contact with the spirit world in order to understand herself and others around her. It was a meeting of great minds and our heads didn’t explode. We discuss the missions we have already been on in life and how we each feel there is at least one more mission left in each of us. We have been put here for some very specific reasons and it is our responsibility to discover and pursue. The one area that seems to coincide with science is the idea that spirits don’t operate in just "A" spirit world but in multiple worlds with many dimensions. This coincides with cutting edge theories in science which postulate the multiverse and where string theory predicts about 18 dimensions of existence. We conclude (and I think string theory predicted this) that my humor is more prominent from past times and I feel my brother Skip is responsible for this and is becoming more present in my life.
Just to prove that those with their head in the clouds should not take themselves too seriously, while taking a photo of the bay and the golden gate bridge, I step in dog crap and we spend a ridiculous moment spraying it off my shoes in Heathers back yard so we don’t get thrown out of Devan’s club where we are going for lunch. This seems like a scene out of Pulp Fiction where they are trying to get rid of the blood in a car from an accidental killing. I feel like I should be Samuel L. Jackson, quoting the bible before I pull the trigger.
For the afternoon we are going to Sonoma, land of beautiful vistas and eternal warm sunshine. Of course you also have the wine. We belly up to a very nice wine bar. Not wanting to be wandering in the wilderness when we are done, we share the tasting. A very interesting cast of characters eventually reveal themselves to us: The swishy young man in farmers clothes who calls me “honey”, I say “don’t call me honey, I ain’t sweet”. The 25ish host who works 5 jobs, including; Vineyard manager, winemaker, host, construction and handyman. I guess he can’t make up his mind who he is. The old floozy in the cape with too much makeup who is visiting with Heinz, a German ex pat who is living in California for the weather. My take: Heinz is wanted in Germany for running a ponzi scheme and escaped to America, the land of ponzi schemers, with plenty of money and is now hanging out with floozies. Come on, there is great weather all over the Mediterranean. The floozy regales us with stories of her days as a young floozy hanging out with Whitey Litchfield, the muscle for a shady character in Oakland, a place of shady characters. She staggers out of the wine bar when she forgets what she has to say, thanking me for being a kind man after I lay some charm on her (I am always kind to dogs, kids and old floozies). We stop and visit with the proprietor of The Lonesome Cowboy shop and he tells us his story of going to film school and then working on the set of Northern Exposure. He has the wings from the totem pole used in the episode where Marilyn's family has trouble with what a new totem pole says. He also has a fabulous array of reconditioned boots and the most interesting cowboy hats I have ever seen. They look used but are actually new. They have auto mechanics come in and handle them so they look used. I see a hat that is “Billy Jack” style with the round top and flat wide brim. I think that one is for me, I look in the mirror and I see a really ridiculous looking old guy looking back. Judyann almost buys a tricked out high school band leaders top because she has a fantasy about directing Neal in his guitar picking (just kidding Millers).We finally come out of fantasyland back to the real world and had pizza with Neil. Jon
Just to prove that those with their head in the clouds should not take themselves too seriously, while taking a photo of the bay and the golden gate bridge, I step in dog crap and we spend a ridiculous moment spraying it off my shoes in Heathers back yard so we don’t get thrown out of Devan’s club where we are going for lunch. This seems like a scene out of Pulp Fiction where they are trying to get rid of the blood in a car from an accidental killing. I feel like I should be Samuel L. Jackson, quoting the bible before I pull the trigger.
For the afternoon we are going to Sonoma, land of beautiful vistas and eternal warm sunshine. Of course you also have the wine. We belly up to a very nice wine bar. Not wanting to be wandering in the wilderness when we are done, we share the tasting. A very interesting cast of characters eventually reveal themselves to us: The swishy young man in farmers clothes who calls me “honey”, I say “don’t call me honey, I ain’t sweet”. The 25ish host who works 5 jobs, including; Vineyard manager, winemaker, host, construction and handyman. I guess he can’t make up his mind who he is. The old floozy in the cape with too much makeup who is visiting with Heinz, a German ex pat who is living in California for the weather. My take: Heinz is wanted in Germany for running a ponzi scheme and escaped to America, the land of ponzi schemers, with plenty of money and is now hanging out with floozies. Come on, there is great weather all over the Mediterranean. The floozy regales us with stories of her days as a young floozy hanging out with Whitey Litchfield, the muscle for a shady character in Oakland, a place of shady characters. She staggers out of the wine bar when she forgets what she has to say, thanking me for being a kind man after I lay some charm on her (I am always kind to dogs, kids and old floozies). We stop and visit with the proprietor of The Lonesome Cowboy shop and he tells us his story of going to film school and then working on the set of Northern Exposure. He has the wings from the totem pole used in the episode where Marilyn's family has trouble with what a new totem pole says. He also has a fabulous array of reconditioned boots and the most interesting cowboy hats I have ever seen. They look used but are actually new. They have auto mechanics come in and handle them so they look used. I see a hat that is “Billy Jack” style with the round top and flat wide brim. I think that one is for me, I look in the mirror and I see a really ridiculous looking old guy looking back. Judyann almost buys a tricked out high school band leaders top because she has a fantasy about directing Neal in his guitar picking (just kidding Millers).We finally come out of fantasyland back to the real world and had pizza with Neil. Jon
Friday, April 10, 2009
Mountain Home Village 2. It has been a very busy day, I follow Tim around as he takes care of stuff. Our conversation traversed a range of subjects from the very personal, to the scientific/political to our youthful adventures together and apart. One of the bottom lines is that there are parallels to our lives on so many levels, from our current economic risks and status in a difficult economy to an uncanny sequence and number of similar experiences.
At Panera Tim asks me how I got from being a boy without a father and with a very troubled older brother to the point of having raised the wonderful family that I have and having had a successful career as a photographer. That’s a BIG question. As with any big question there is no easy answer. How do you get through the dark times? In my youth there were so many dark times, particularly when a boy looks to become a man and there is nothing to hang your hat on. You just wander in the wilderness, hoping for a break in the clouds. But there are guiding hands seen and unseen. A loving mother who despite her own limitations is a rock that I can lean against. And the unseen hand that is there at critical moments to keep me from falling into the abyss. My great education at the foot of the Christian Brothers, who taught me to be the critical thinker that I am today (this education sometimes came at the end of a stick, generously and lovingly applied). A patient and loving wife who administers a soft and caring kick in the ass when necessary. These things help me on the path to my saving grace: parenting a son. The first positive male relationship of my life. Josh and I grew up together. The last element was love, when in doubt as to what to do as a father and husband I acted out of love. It is the overriding theme of my life, if I was going to make a mistake it would be in the direction of love. The rest, as they say, is history - for another time and place.
At lunch with Adam (Tim’s son) and his friend we discuss movies. Adam has been in the process of getting ready to make a movie for quite some time. For Adam, what makes a movie is a story well told, for Tim it is a mystery as long as there is little or no gratuitous violence to get through. I guess I need to be challenged by a movie, their consensus is that I like kind of weird, eclectic movies. What do you mean? I thought “A Clockwork Orange” was a family movie. All the funny outfits and men wearing makeup like Pee Wee. There WAS that big stick and the red stuff. . . . . The tale of Adams movie is a tale of intrigue on the Turkish border with MIG jets. . . . . . .woops wrong story. His is a story of intrigue on the Canadian border with movie moguls flying MIG jets and waving their magic wand as to whether a movie will be made or not. Layers upon layers of people to see, things needing to get done, money to spend, commies to listen to. It is a tale that will be told and I want to be there at the opening.
It is time to leave the womb of the Miller clan, but first a few observations. At a gathered meal I enjoy the conversation taking place. I don’t think science has an instrument sensitive enough to measure the infinitesimally small amount of time between the end of one spoken comment and the beginning of the next. This is considered very polite in the wider Loegering clan where, like my family, we rarely wait for the end of one comment before beginning our own. WE MUST BE HEARD. You vill take that hat off you dumkopf! If this were a few years ago Anne, with her rapier wit, would have hurled some zingers like a MIG jet on a strafing run. But today she takes it all in and basks in the glow of her loving family. In her hurling days she was very kind to this wounded child and I have nothing but warm memories of Mountain Home Village.
Tim: You are my friend, my soul brother and we are connected through time and space. You have taken good ideas and turned them into great enterprises, you have taken other ideas and taken them to the brink of failure only to add a little sugar and make lemonade out of lemons. It is all about the horizon for you but we have been receiving messages that we need to live in the moment more and maybe there is a coming time to pursue non economic enterprises (a la Bill Gates).
Laurel: The mountain girl, a lovely and true woman. You put the “home” in Mountain Home Village. Your cookies are wonderful and for that moment in time when eating one, time and troubles dissolve into pure pleasure. You have unexpected but good changes coming.
Maribeth: You of the warm embrace, the easy grace, to be held by you is to be folded into the nourishment of love, you do what you do and you don’t look back, sure of your place. You have the natural beauty that doesn’t take time.
Jim: I’m not so sure you aren’t on “rotation”. But you have mellowed with time into a fine Italian wine. A little ornery at times, but a “Cattle” baron needs to be.
Ted: you continue on the recurring military theme. You marched in one direction while the rest of the Army marched another, did I ever tell you about SIDIPO? . . . . . . You blazed your own trail, unfortunately the military hasn’t needed trailblazers for a long time. You remind me of a cross between Tim Allen and Dr. Watson in the Granada production of Sherlock Holmes.
Missy: You are glowing with the radiance of new love, you have such a great smile. I am sure Kendall is a good man because you are a great woman. But the name thing . . . . . with his deep, resonant voice, big mustache and hands like men in Kearney Nebraska, I see him as a Waylon, Willie or a Kris.
Connie: As usual we didn’t have much time together, it’s all Tim’s fault. But I promise when I come to California next, I will come to you and only you first. We will renew our youthful friendship. As a 17 year old I have such warm memories of your beautiful, young smiling face.
In the morning I got a tour of Mill Creek Cattle Company, Maribeth and Jim’s restaurant. So much stuff it is unbelievable, you are taken to another time and place. Maribeth called Judyann and handed off responsibility for my welfare to her. Next stop: Marin County, California. Jon
At Panera Tim asks me how I got from being a boy without a father and with a very troubled older brother to the point of having raised the wonderful family that I have and having had a successful career as a photographer. That’s a BIG question. As with any big question there is no easy answer. How do you get through the dark times? In my youth there were so many dark times, particularly when a boy looks to become a man and there is nothing to hang your hat on. You just wander in the wilderness, hoping for a break in the clouds. But there are guiding hands seen and unseen. A loving mother who despite her own limitations is a rock that I can lean against. And the unseen hand that is there at critical moments to keep me from falling into the abyss. My great education at the foot of the Christian Brothers, who taught me to be the critical thinker that I am today (this education sometimes came at the end of a stick, generously and lovingly applied). A patient and loving wife who administers a soft and caring kick in the ass when necessary. These things help me on the path to my saving grace: parenting a son. The first positive male relationship of my life. Josh and I grew up together. The last element was love, when in doubt as to what to do as a father and husband I acted out of love. It is the overriding theme of my life, if I was going to make a mistake it would be in the direction of love. The rest, as they say, is history - for another time and place.
At lunch with Adam (Tim’s son) and his friend we discuss movies. Adam has been in the process of getting ready to make a movie for quite some time. For Adam, what makes a movie is a story well told, for Tim it is a mystery as long as there is little or no gratuitous violence to get through. I guess I need to be challenged by a movie, their consensus is that I like kind of weird, eclectic movies. What do you mean? I thought “A Clockwork Orange” was a family movie. All the funny outfits and men wearing makeup like Pee Wee. There WAS that big stick and the red stuff. . . . . The tale of Adams movie is a tale of intrigue on the Turkish border with MIG jets. . . . . . .woops wrong story. His is a story of intrigue on the Canadian border with movie moguls flying MIG jets and waving their magic wand as to whether a movie will be made or not. Layers upon layers of people to see, things needing to get done, money to spend, commies to listen to. It is a tale that will be told and I want to be there at the opening.
It is time to leave the womb of the Miller clan, but first a few observations. At a gathered meal I enjoy the conversation taking place. I don’t think science has an instrument sensitive enough to measure the infinitesimally small amount of time between the end of one spoken comment and the beginning of the next. This is considered very polite in the wider Loegering clan where, like my family, we rarely wait for the end of one comment before beginning our own. WE MUST BE HEARD. You vill take that hat off you dumkopf! If this were a few years ago Anne, with her rapier wit, would have hurled some zingers like a MIG jet on a strafing run. But today she takes it all in and basks in the glow of her loving family. In her hurling days she was very kind to this wounded child and I have nothing but warm memories of Mountain Home Village.
Tim: You are my friend, my soul brother and we are connected through time and space. You have taken good ideas and turned them into great enterprises, you have taken other ideas and taken them to the brink of failure only to add a little sugar and make lemonade out of lemons. It is all about the horizon for you but we have been receiving messages that we need to live in the moment more and maybe there is a coming time to pursue non economic enterprises (a la Bill Gates).
Laurel: The mountain girl, a lovely and true woman. You put the “home” in Mountain Home Village. Your cookies are wonderful and for that moment in time when eating one, time and troubles dissolve into pure pleasure. You have unexpected but good changes coming.
Maribeth: You of the warm embrace, the easy grace, to be held by you is to be folded into the nourishment of love, you do what you do and you don’t look back, sure of your place. You have the natural beauty that doesn’t take time.
Jim: I’m not so sure you aren’t on “rotation”. But you have mellowed with time into a fine Italian wine. A little ornery at times, but a “Cattle” baron needs to be.
Ted: you continue on the recurring military theme. You marched in one direction while the rest of the Army marched another, did I ever tell you about SIDIPO? . . . . . . You blazed your own trail, unfortunately the military hasn’t needed trailblazers for a long time. You remind me of a cross between Tim Allen and Dr. Watson in the Granada production of Sherlock Holmes.
Missy: You are glowing with the radiance of new love, you have such a great smile. I am sure Kendall is a good man because you are a great woman. But the name thing . . . . . with his deep, resonant voice, big mustache and hands like men in Kearney Nebraska, I see him as a Waylon, Willie or a Kris.
Connie: As usual we didn’t have much time together, it’s all Tim’s fault. But I promise when I come to California next, I will come to you and only you first. We will renew our youthful friendship. As a 17 year old I have such warm memories of your beautiful, young smiling face.
In the morning I got a tour of Mill Creek Cattle Company, Maribeth and Jim’s restaurant. So much stuff it is unbelievable, you are taken to another time and place. Maribeth called Judyann and handed off responsibility for my welfare to her. Next stop: Marin County, California. Jon
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Pretty soon I was on my way to the Millers in Mountain Home Village; if ever there was a homey, Norman Rockwell sounding name, this is it. It actually IS a Norman Rockwell sort of place. A very small enclave set among the high green (most of the time) foothills of the San Bernadino Mountains.
I decided to give Garmin another chance. I plugged him in (he let out a little squeek) and put in the address and was on my way. I followed his directions and got myself onto the 261 toll freeway. As is usually the case, my mind started wandering and I took the wrong exit and found myself heading south on another toll freeway (an anomaly, as a freeway by definition should be free). Pretty soon both garmin and I were getting confused as I took more wrong turns. I finally had to pull to the side and look at a map. I had almost come full circle (a usually positive Indian thing). But in this case I was pissed. If you don’t give garmin all of your attention, if you don’t worship garmin, he can be a tyrant and lead you into the wilderness. So I took garmin and threw him out the window (just kidding Chuck). But I did do it metaphorically and returned to an old technology and skill of mine: map reading. I had spent 45 minutes and $3.50 to get back to where I had started, so I plotted a route avoiding the toll “freeways”.
I was in need of gas so I took the Van Buren street exit in Riverside, my mind thinking of the Van Buren Street gang in an old Seinfeld episode. I pulled up to a thrifty gas station (being a thrifty sort of guy). There were a lot of cars but I found a spot and looked at the pump, no credit card slot. I knew from a previous experience that this means they only take cash or debit cards. What is America coming to? NO PLASTIC? I looked around and saw several skinny guys with bandanas and scars waiting and had visions of a new era Van Buren Street gang so I decided to make my escape. I drove to the other side of the freeway (an actual free one) and found a nice clean Minnesota style station. I pumped gas and went inside to do an evacuation. I also picked up a Pepsi and went to the counter to pay for it, a guy in a Brooklyn sounding accent asked how I was, I said “wonderful”, he said “you can’t be wonderful I’m mister wonderful” I said “I was given the name mister wonderful a long time ago” he said “well I was born in ’55 how about you”? I said “I was born in ‘48” and he said “well I guess you ARE mister wonderful”, we laughed and I headed down the road. I arrived at the Millers at about 1pm and visited with Laurel and her four lovely grandchildren until Tim arrived. He changed and within minutes we were walking the rock strewn wash near their home already deep in philosophical musings. The afternoon passed in a blink and we had to finally climb out of the hole we had dug, Laurel reminding us that it was time to go to “moms”. This is Auntie Anne to me, one of my favorites. We visited for awhile at her home, she reminds me so much of my mom (her sister) that I am again reminded that the Loegering women all look the same as they age and seem to fulfill the Lake Wobegon ideal of strength. They have created the fabric that has allowed the men of my generation to do the things we have done. Then we were off to the Mill Creek Cattle Company for dinner. I was the recipient of so much love, hugs and kisses from the Miller women that I was thinking ‘I’ve got to do this again very soon’. I love you all so much and you are enriching my life at a time when I am in need of enrichment. Jon
I decided to give Garmin another chance. I plugged him in (he let out a little squeek) and put in the address and was on my way. I followed his directions and got myself onto the 261 toll freeway. As is usually the case, my mind started wandering and I took the wrong exit and found myself heading south on another toll freeway (an anomaly, as a freeway by definition should be free). Pretty soon both garmin and I were getting confused as I took more wrong turns. I finally had to pull to the side and look at a map. I had almost come full circle (a usually positive Indian thing). But in this case I was pissed. If you don’t give garmin all of your attention, if you don’t worship garmin, he can be a tyrant and lead you into the wilderness. So I took garmin and threw him out the window (just kidding Chuck). But I did do it metaphorically and returned to an old technology and skill of mine: map reading. I had spent 45 minutes and $3.50 to get back to where I had started, so I plotted a route avoiding the toll “freeways”.
I was in need of gas so I took the Van Buren street exit in Riverside, my mind thinking of the Van Buren Street gang in an old Seinfeld episode. I pulled up to a thrifty gas station (being a thrifty sort of guy). There were a lot of cars but I found a spot and looked at the pump, no credit card slot. I knew from a previous experience that this means they only take cash or debit cards. What is America coming to? NO PLASTIC? I looked around and saw several skinny guys with bandanas and scars waiting and had visions of a new era Van Buren Street gang so I decided to make my escape. I drove to the other side of the freeway (an actual free one) and found a nice clean Minnesota style station. I pumped gas and went inside to do an evacuation. I also picked up a Pepsi and went to the counter to pay for it, a guy in a Brooklyn sounding accent asked how I was, I said “wonderful”, he said “you can’t be wonderful I’m mister wonderful” I said “I was given the name mister wonderful a long time ago” he said “well I was born in ’55 how about you”? I said “I was born in ‘48” and he said “well I guess you ARE mister wonderful”, we laughed and I headed down the road. I arrived at the Millers at about 1pm and visited with Laurel and her four lovely grandchildren until Tim arrived. He changed and within minutes we were walking the rock strewn wash near their home already deep in philosophical musings. The afternoon passed in a blink and we had to finally climb out of the hole we had dug, Laurel reminding us that it was time to go to “moms”. This is Auntie Anne to me, one of my favorites. We visited for awhile at her home, she reminds me so much of my mom (her sister) that I am again reminded that the Loegering women all look the same as they age and seem to fulfill the Lake Wobegon ideal of strength. They have created the fabric that has allowed the men of my generation to do the things we have done. Then we were off to the Mill Creek Cattle Company for dinner. I was the recipient of so much love, hugs and kisses from the Miller women that I was thinking ‘I’ve got to do this again very soon’. I love you all so much and you are enriching my life at a time when I am in need of enrichment. Jon
I slept in this morning, all the way to 6am. I am staying in the Laguna Hotel, right on the beach. It is a hotel that once catered to the upper middle class but is starting to show its age. The carpeting is fraying around the edges, the bathroom mirror casing and the sink have rusty spots (who actually uses metal anymore). The tile is the teeny octagonal ones that haven’t been installed in 50 years. There is one faded fake painting in the room. The elevator clangs and bangs as it heads uphill. I think the place still has upper middle pretensions, (some of the staff are haughty, with no reason). In other words, I think its great (Skip would have loved it) none of those modern ultra clean, sterile environments for me, ya sure you betcha (I’ve hung around many Norwegians in my life, even some from Norway but that’s another story). Just to prove their pretensions, I was able to negotiate a lower price for the room. Now where is their self respect?
I head out of Laguna thinking of Sue of course, we spent many wonderful hours on the beach at one of the coves. At the morning light I am always more sensitive and I feel desperate to reach out and touch her warmth and feel her loving touch. My spirit is nurtured by the growing seed within me but you can’t replace living presence. Even when they are away but alive you can feel them within you. I can only hope the seed will help to heal the terrible pain. I stop at Newport Beach, no false pretensions here. It is all Mercedes, BMW and Jags here, no fraying edges. I walk a block and a half and I pass three chi chi clothing stores, two fitness centers, two framing stores and three coffee shops. My conclusion: Newport Beachers like to get up, dress well, have coffee, work out and get to work having their art framed and then they drive down their enormous palm lined streets in their Beemers impressing each other as they go. Even the shop workers all seem to be blonde. With the coffee and blonde part, this could be Minne-so-tah. More later. Jon
I head out of Laguna thinking of Sue of course, we spent many wonderful hours on the beach at one of the coves. At the morning light I am always more sensitive and I feel desperate to reach out and touch her warmth and feel her loving touch. My spirit is nurtured by the growing seed within me but you can’t replace living presence. Even when they are away but alive you can feel them within you. I can only hope the seed will help to heal the terrible pain. I stop at Newport Beach, no false pretensions here. It is all Mercedes, BMW and Jags here, no fraying edges. I walk a block and a half and I pass three chi chi clothing stores, two fitness centers, two framing stores and three coffee shops. My conclusion: Newport Beachers like to get up, dress well, have coffee, work out and get to work having their art framed and then they drive down their enormous palm lined streets in their Beemers impressing each other as they go. Even the shop workers all seem to be blonde. With the coffee and blonde part, this could be Minne-so-tah. More later. Jon
Monday, April 6, 2009
Escondido, California. 04/05/09 A time of storytelling. I arrived at Maryann and Lew Culkins’ about 6 pm. They live on a hill overlooking Escondido and the many more hills of the North San Diego area. They fed me a wonderful meal and the storytelling began. Maryann and I sat in her hot tub, which soothed my weary body, and talked late into the night. We told tales of wisdom gained and lives lost, the ebb and flow of family and school. We came to the conclusion that our shared experience of advancing through Catholic education is the account of “same story, new nun”. I think I will write a play called “Nun on the Run with a Gun having Fun”, it will be a tale well spun. I went to bed utterly exhausted.
The next day we went to the Mission San Luis Rey and the Oceanside Pier. We shot the breeze while we watched the surfers shoot the pier. It was a beautiful day, the ocean breezes competing with our spoken wind. We watched two tiny children holding hands, peering and scooting excitedly at the wonderment before them. It is a moment of taking in the pure beauty of Southern California and the human condition on a Sunday afternoon. It seemed as if nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment in time. But of course to get back we have to partake of the jarring reality of “the freeway” and aggressive, angry drivers ready to run us over at a moments notice.
Before and during dinner, Lew rounded into form as a master storyteller. His tales of Ireland, his heritage “by Dod grandma there is somebody on my acre” and military experiences are replete with details that amaze me. He calls them forward at a moments notice and they flow in a manner only an Irishman can achieve (I have to BS a lot to have the same effect). My stories of driving a jeep in Germany and starting the group SIDIPO (The Society for the Institution of Democratic Ideals through Peaceful Overthrow) in Fort Campbell pale before his stories of secret intrigue on the Turkish border with Russia, listening for any nugget of information that might give us the slightest advantage over the Russkies and dodging MIG jets as he hangs from an intelligence antenna. His assumed identity as Gaza Pasha Mahlahassi and living in Turkish quarters with bad cooks seems right out of John Le Carre. My night ended early as this old guy got tired fast, assisted by a nice dose of good German wine.
04/06/09 I got up way too early again, @4:45. I took a photograph of their beautiful living room and then created a painting of it. Maryann had made an appointment for me with the owner of an Indian shop in Escondido. He is a really good guy and helped me with a couple of important things but his business is down and he's not buying. We had lunch at an Irish pub and solved a few more of the worlds problems, an important Irish tradition. We got back and it was time to leave the Culk-Inn. Maryann you are a kind, gentle, humble and strong soul who has a lot to say and I thank you for helping me sharpen my focus. Sweet Lew from South Sioux, the prince of Cannaghanally, you are a very fun storyteller. The two of you make a great couple, thanks for the hospitality. It is off for Laguna Beach and the high life.
Actually, it is just the beach life. As I arrive at Crescent Cove, a young man is leaving, an accoustic guitar in hand. Nothing has changed in the 43 years since Tim and I cruised SoCal beaches (guitar in hand). Young men still think they can attract young women with guitars on the sand. When will they ever learn, when will they eevveerr learn. I guess it still works.
I stopped at the Bushard Drug Store and visited the owner, the daughter of Joseph Bushard, the founder. She thinks her ancestors have French Canadian Indian blood and someone has done a lot of reasearch so she promises to send me a copy. If I leave my windows open tonight, I will be able to listen to the sound of surf as I fall asleep, which is going to happen very soon. Jon
The next day we went to the Mission San Luis Rey and the Oceanside Pier. We shot the breeze while we watched the surfers shoot the pier. It was a beautiful day, the ocean breezes competing with our spoken wind. We watched two tiny children holding hands, peering and scooting excitedly at the wonderment before them. It is a moment of taking in the pure beauty of Southern California and the human condition on a Sunday afternoon. It seemed as if nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment in time. But of course to get back we have to partake of the jarring reality of “the freeway” and aggressive, angry drivers ready to run us over at a moments notice.
Before and during dinner, Lew rounded into form as a master storyteller. His tales of Ireland, his heritage “by Dod grandma there is somebody on my acre” and military experiences are replete with details that amaze me. He calls them forward at a moments notice and they flow in a manner only an Irishman can achieve (I have to BS a lot to have the same effect). My stories of driving a jeep in Germany and starting the group SIDIPO (The Society for the Institution of Democratic Ideals through Peaceful Overthrow) in Fort Campbell pale before his stories of secret intrigue on the Turkish border with Russia, listening for any nugget of information that might give us the slightest advantage over the Russkies and dodging MIG jets as he hangs from an intelligence antenna. His assumed identity as Gaza Pasha Mahlahassi and living in Turkish quarters with bad cooks seems right out of John Le Carre. My night ended early as this old guy got tired fast, assisted by a nice dose of good German wine.
04/06/09 I got up way too early again, @4:45. I took a photograph of their beautiful living room and then created a painting of it. Maryann had made an appointment for me with the owner of an Indian shop in Escondido. He is a really good guy and helped me with a couple of important things but his business is down and he's not buying. We had lunch at an Irish pub and solved a few more of the worlds problems, an important Irish tradition. We got back and it was time to leave the Culk-Inn. Maryann you are a kind, gentle, humble and strong soul who has a lot to say and I thank you for helping me sharpen my focus. Sweet Lew from South Sioux, the prince of Cannaghanally, you are a very fun storyteller. The two of you make a great couple, thanks for the hospitality. It is off for Laguna Beach and the high life.
Actually, it is just the beach life. As I arrive at Crescent Cove, a young man is leaving, an accoustic guitar in hand. Nothing has changed in the 43 years since Tim and I cruised SoCal beaches (guitar in hand). Young men still think they can attract young women with guitars on the sand. When will they ever learn, when will they eevveerr learn. I guess it still works.
I stopped at the Bushard Drug Store and visited the owner, the daughter of Joseph Bushard, the founder. She thinks her ancestors have French Canadian Indian blood and someone has done a lot of reasearch so she promises to send me a copy. If I leave my windows open tonight, I will be able to listen to the sound of surf as I fall asleep, which is going to happen very soon. Jon
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Observations during the long drive:
Arizona is a land of contrasts, in two days I had been in a sandstorm of biblical proportions, seen snow in Flagstaff and enjoyed the 76 degree warmth of the valley of the sun. Interesting names as you drive toward Phoenix: Big Bug Creek, Bloody Basin Road and Deadman Wash contrast with Bumble Bee, the Carefree Highway and Happy Valley.
On the drive it is obvious that it has rained recently as there is a lot of greenery and a profusion of wildflowers where in the past there was mainly brown lifeless plants strewn with Saguaro Cacti..
I pass the Surprise Stadium exit and imagine that a stadium just grew in the middle of a suburb and people said "what a surprise" hense the name. A few miles down the road is an exit to Surprise, Arizona, (imagining shot down). You figure out how the city got it's name.
As I approach Phoenix, which has no hold on me, I imagine that I am a positive charge in the electromagnetic force and Phoenix is a negative. That adds up to repulsive energy, so I have to take the route around to avoid exploding into a million pieces.
Road constuction: In Arizone you can work on the roads all year round, unlike Minnesota where there are two seasons, Winter and road construction and winter actually lasts forever. I expect that Arizona will, at some point in the future, perfect the art and science of the American highway. The part between Gila Bend and Yuma are best traversed at Autobahn speeds.
Gila bend: This has to be the true armpit of Arizona. The typical highway business district is even more garish, kitchy and rundown looking than usual, with several crazy themed, crappy, 50's motels. We put up with these for their supposed convenience and because out cities and towns have other redeeming qualities. There is no redeeming godforsaken Gila Bend.
Todays music is Coldplay, John Mayer and Regina Spektor. John Mayer is someone I really like a lot. He's good when he plays pop but is great when he plays the blues.
I made a lot more observational recordings but they sound more stupid than usual right now.
Arizona is a land of contrasts, in two days I had been in a sandstorm of biblical proportions, seen snow in Flagstaff and enjoyed the 76 degree warmth of the valley of the sun. Interesting names as you drive toward Phoenix: Big Bug Creek, Bloody Basin Road and Deadman Wash contrast with Bumble Bee, the Carefree Highway and Happy Valley.
On the drive it is obvious that it has rained recently as there is a lot of greenery and a profusion of wildflowers where in the past there was mainly brown lifeless plants strewn with Saguaro Cacti..
I pass the Surprise Stadium exit and imagine that a stadium just grew in the middle of a suburb and people said "what a surprise" hense the name. A few miles down the road is an exit to Surprise, Arizona, (imagining shot down). You figure out how the city got it's name.
As I approach Phoenix, which has no hold on me, I imagine that I am a positive charge in the electromagnetic force and Phoenix is a negative. That adds up to repulsive energy, so I have to take the route around to avoid exploding into a million pieces.
Road constuction: In Arizone you can work on the roads all year round, unlike Minnesota where there are two seasons, Winter and road construction and winter actually lasts forever. I expect that Arizona will, at some point in the future, perfect the art and science of the American highway. The part between Gila Bend and Yuma are best traversed at Autobahn speeds.
Gila bend: This has to be the true armpit of Arizona. The typical highway business district is even more garish, kitchy and rundown looking than usual, with several crazy themed, crappy, 50's motels. We put up with these for their supposed convenience and because out cities and towns have other redeeming qualities. There is no redeeming godforsaken Gila Bend.
Todays music is Coldplay, John Mayer and Regina Spektor. John Mayer is someone I really like a lot. He's good when he plays pop but is great when he plays the blues.
I made a lot more observational recordings but they sound more stupid than usual right now.
Escondido, California. The day (March 4th) began with clear skies and bright sunshine in Sedona. After yesterday I thought I might make a call this morning but in thinking what else I had planned, I said F it, the first phase of this trip is now officially over and I need to do other things. My plan is to hike the Cibola pass, so off I went to the trailhead, it is a trail Sue and I had done several times. I packed my backpack with the bear I am going to leave up there. The walk through the forest is a feast for the senses. Visually there is the red earth, the green trees and plants and the bright blue sky, primary colors. I can smell the intensity of the pinon and juniper and hear the birds in their morning activity. It is a relatively short hike to the Cibola pass, I break off to a remote side of the hill and find the spot under a gnarled old tree facing east. I am leaving one of Sue's bears under the tree so the morning sunshine will shine in her face. I say a few prayers, perform a small ceremony and start to head back. Mental note: when I come back, bring tissues.. On the way back I seem to be floating again, the intensity of the moment melting away and for the first time since her passing I feel a seed of her beginning to grow back inside of me. The symbolism of the moment is something Sue would have loved and appreciated. She is present for me at this time and it is not as painful as her presence has been for me in the past.
The rest of the day is a very large collection of thoughts, feelings and observations that take up the long drive from Sedona to San Diego but I will write them as an addendum to this as I think this should stand alone. Jon
The rest of the day is a very large collection of thoughts, feelings and observations that take up the long drive from Sedona to San Diego but I will write them as an addendum to this as I think this should stand alone. Jon
Friday, April 3, 2009
Sedona, Az. The day began with a wonderful breakfast at the Inn in Zuni. They serve some awesome food, including blue corn pancakes. The meal is communal, and the people who stay at Halona are always really nice. There were two men named Mark and David (new and old testament) and two women named Gert and Wilhelmina. Now those aren't old testament, just OLD! As you leave Zuni you climb through pleasant, pine forested hills and then drop down into Gallup, New Mexico, part new and upcoming and part lost in Route 66 time. I stopped at the Indian Art Plaza, Mariann Eaton's idea, and it has been closed for a month. The thread was broken. Many art sellers in Gallup are struggling mightily. So I called Marcus and he answered the phone in Michigan, I was kind of stunned. Back in January he said his Michigan show was the second weekend in April. He will be back Tuesday, I mumbled something like " I'll see what I can do about coming back". But I knew I didn't have the time or schedule to wait or come back. After hanging up I thought for awhile and decided I needed to keep moving forward and set out for Flagstaff.
As I flew west of Gallup at 80mph (still disappointed I was not going to Hopi) I decided this was the time for some real rock and roll. At moments like this there is nothing like some hard driving rock to clear the brain of any thoughts and challenge your body to withstand the onslaught. Since Chuck was no longer present to offend, it was time for Godsmack and Metallica, who have two of the best growlers in rock with a little of Beatles and Doors thrown in (thanks Josh and Renee'). Heading down the road the car was shaking but it was not just the music, the wind had really picked up from out of the south. I was seeing semi's start to weave and shudder ahead of me and as I looked forward past the desert prairie of faded yellows and sage greens, I noticed that for about 180 degrees of horizon the sky was turning a brownish red. The closer I got the more of the sky became obscured. The 40 to 50 mph sustained wind was blowing the soil thousands of feet in the air. Soon I saw a sign that said the freeway was closed at Winslow, about 55miles short of Flagstaff. Only in the desert can a major freeway be closed when it is 60 degrees and sunny. I got off at Winslow and found my two choices were a detour of about 110 miles or sit and wait. Patience not being one of my virtues, it was off to the longcut only the bad guys know.
Upon reaching Fagstaff, I immediately hit the streets with my stuff, . . . .no not that kind of stuff. I had a couple of connections from previous forays in Flag. After several polite rejections, the consensus of the shop people I know was that "The Painted Desert" was my best bet. A pleasant but wary manager looked at my stuff, and seemed to be warming to it when she stated that she can't make decisions and the owner is ill. My consensus was that the worm had turned and this was becomming a lost day. I had a connection in Sedona (hi Corinne) so I headed South. My connection was wonderful and interested but guess what? The owner is in Mexico, stressed out that she had to close one of her shops. The economy has definately intervened in my adventure. If there is one thing I have learned in 60 years it is that there are always bumps in the road and the key is not so much that you may feel bad for awhile but how you get up and keep fighting. There is always tomorrow (or maybe next year) and I still have faith. Jon
As I flew west of Gallup at 80mph (still disappointed I was not going to Hopi) I decided this was the time for some real rock and roll. At moments like this there is nothing like some hard driving rock to clear the brain of any thoughts and challenge your body to withstand the onslaught. Since Chuck was no longer present to offend, it was time for Godsmack and Metallica, who have two of the best growlers in rock with a little of Beatles and Doors thrown in (thanks Josh and Renee'). Heading down the road the car was shaking but it was not just the music, the wind had really picked up from out of the south. I was seeing semi's start to weave and shudder ahead of me and as I looked forward past the desert prairie of faded yellows and sage greens, I noticed that for about 180 degrees of horizon the sky was turning a brownish red. The closer I got the more of the sky became obscured. The 40 to 50 mph sustained wind was blowing the soil thousands of feet in the air. Soon I saw a sign that said the freeway was closed at Winslow, about 55miles short of Flagstaff. Only in the desert can a major freeway be closed when it is 60 degrees and sunny. I got off at Winslow and found my two choices were a detour of about 110 miles or sit and wait. Patience not being one of my virtues, it was off to the longcut only the bad guys know.
Upon reaching Fagstaff, I immediately hit the streets with my stuff, . . . .no not that kind of stuff. I had a couple of connections from previous forays in Flag. After several polite rejections, the consensus of the shop people I know was that "The Painted Desert" was my best bet. A pleasant but wary manager looked at my stuff, and seemed to be warming to it when she stated that she can't make decisions and the owner is ill. My consensus was that the worm had turned and this was becomming a lost day. I had a connection in Sedona (hi Corinne) so I headed South. My connection was wonderful and interested but guess what? The owner is in Mexico, stressed out that she had to close one of her shops. The economy has definately intervened in my adventure. If there is one thing I have learned in 60 years it is that there are always bumps in the road and the key is not so much that you may feel bad for awhile but how you get up and keep fighting. There is always tomorrow (or maybe next year) and I still have faith. Jon
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Inn at Halona, Zuni Pueblo. I dropped Chuck at the airport at about 11:15 am today and was off for the rest of my adventure alone. Thanks Chuck, you have been a great friend, a tolerant sidekick and a good luck charm. Hang on to that purple jacket, it may be responsible for the good luck. Chuck was with me for the most physically challenging, emotionally difficult and work oriented part of my journey. On to phase two.
After pushing Chuck out the door, I headed west out of Albuquerque. As I passed the Coors Drive exit (wondering if I was still in West Denver) I remembered that that is where a woman we met in Madrid (at an ice cream shop next to Jezebels) said she lived. I thought "gee I should have stopped". I was a couple of miles down the road when I thought "you know, this trip is supposed to be about people". How many times do we meet someone on a trip we really like, take their number and then promptly forget about it? I had visited with her while Chuck visited with her husband, they gave us their # and said "if you are ever in the area blah blah blah". I decided to stop, so I did what I yell at other people for doing; a U turn through the center median that the cops use. And it was back to Coors Drive. I called her up and she gave me directions to their house. We visited for an hour, they were very gracious and invited me to spend the night next time I am in the area. He said he cooks a mean breakfast and I said "just what I need to start a mean day". She recommended I stop at this Native Arts shop in Gallup, New Mexico, and I'm thinking "could this be part of the thread leading back to homeless dude"?
Next stop was sky city. An ancient Pueblo atop a mesa in west New Mexico. It was beautiful in a stark, crystal clear, windswept sort of way. Ancient (rebuilt) ruins still in use. On the way out of Acoma I had a meltdown, Sue and I had just missed the last tour three years ago and I couldn't help thinking she should have been here. Nuf said.
Tomorrow it is off to meet up with Marcus Coochwikvia at Hopi. Jon
After pushing Chuck out the door, I headed west out of Albuquerque. As I passed the Coors Drive exit (wondering if I was still in West Denver) I remembered that that is where a woman we met in Madrid (at an ice cream shop next to Jezebels) said she lived. I thought "gee I should have stopped". I was a couple of miles down the road when I thought "you know, this trip is supposed to be about people". How many times do we meet someone on a trip we really like, take their number and then promptly forget about it? I had visited with her while Chuck visited with her husband, they gave us their # and said "if you are ever in the area blah blah blah". I decided to stop, so I did what I yell at other people for doing; a U turn through the center median that the cops use. And it was back to Coors Drive. I called her up and she gave me directions to their house. We visited for an hour, they were very gracious and invited me to spend the night next time I am in the area. He said he cooks a mean breakfast and I said "just what I need to start a mean day". She recommended I stop at this Native Arts shop in Gallup, New Mexico, and I'm thinking "could this be part of the thread leading back to homeless dude"?
Next stop was sky city. An ancient Pueblo atop a mesa in west New Mexico. It was beautiful in a stark, crystal clear, windswept sort of way. Ancient (rebuilt) ruins still in use. On the way out of Acoma I had a meltdown, Sue and I had just missed the last tour three years ago and I couldn't help thinking she should have been here. Nuf said.
Tomorrow it is off to meet up with Marcus Coochwikvia at Hopi. Jon
April fools, Matt got me a good one yesterday despite my determination to "not be fooled again" like The Who. Jessica called me to tell me that Matt was in jail, that he and his boss Kevin had gotten into a fight on Kevin's last day. This was somewhat believable because Matt has told me many times he and Kevin disagree about work and of course Matt has been known to blow his top a time or two. I was in a vulnerable position: on my way to the Art Institute of the American Indian with my arms full of images. Needless to say I bought it long enough for them to get a good laugh. Bottom line: people in advanced middle age will believe almost anything about their children for just a moment because of our concern for them and our knowledge of the twists and turns life can take. Say, did I tell you Chuck fell off a cliff today. . . . . . . . . .? Jon
I just got back from walking two miles but getting nowhere (treadmill) and as I came out of the office I saw my car driving by with a white haired guy driving. It had no front liscense, just like mine (I had a disagreement with my garage door before I left), so I kept wathching as it passed by just to be sure it wasn't me leaving too early. I then saw New Mexico plates and heaved a sigh of relief. But I made a mental note: get a new sportier car in the future so when I drive by people look at that old guy in the cool car and say "he must be a cool guy".
I just got back from walking two miles but getting nowhere (treadmill) and as I came out of the office I saw my car driving by with a white haired guy driving. It had no front liscense, just like mine (I had a disagreement with my garage door before I left), so I kept wathching as it passed by just to be sure it wasn't me leaving too early. I then saw New Mexico plates and heaved a sigh of relief. But I made a mental note: get a new sportier car in the future so when I drive by people look at that old guy in the cool car and say "he must be a cool guy".
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Truth. . . . . . . . . . . .what is it? How do we know it when we see it? What difference does it make? Where does it take us? Is there a universal truth? or many universal truths. Is something always true or sometimes true? Can we be absolutely sure anything is true?
If you expect me to answer any of these questions you are dreaming. But truth was a topic of discussion today and it is almost impossible to reach a consensus, even between two people who often think alike. What is amazing is that humans are driven together by elemental forces only to split apart like atoms exploding into their requisite parts in the new Large Hadron Collider in Cern, Switzerland. What is even more amazing is that people can learn to live together and harness the elemental forces that drive us together and apart. Over 90% of the Zuni people live within one mile of each other despite living on a fairly large reservation, there are 250,000 Navajo living on a reservation the size of Connecticut and they are so spread out they don't have one town the size of Zuni. The key of course is finding your balance as an individual and a group and the ability to walk in someone else's shoes.
I walked in my own shoes today but not much happened. It is probably a good thing, a time to reflect and determine if we can figure out truth. I drop Chuck at the airport tomorrow and then it is on to Zuni. Jon
If you expect me to answer any of these questions you are dreaming. But truth was a topic of discussion today and it is almost impossible to reach a consensus, even between two people who often think alike. What is amazing is that humans are driven together by elemental forces only to split apart like atoms exploding into their requisite parts in the new Large Hadron Collider in Cern, Switzerland. What is even more amazing is that people can learn to live together and harness the elemental forces that drive us together and apart. Over 90% of the Zuni people live within one mile of each other despite living on a fairly large reservation, there are 250,000 Navajo living on a reservation the size of Connecticut and they are so spread out they don't have one town the size of Zuni. The key of course is finding your balance as an individual and a group and the ability to walk in someone else's shoes.
I walked in my own shoes today but not much happened. It is probably a good thing, a time to reflect and determine if we can figure out truth. I drop Chuck at the airport tomorrow and then it is on to Zuni. Jon
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Santa Fe day 2. You know there are times in life when you just feel like you have been led someplace. Put in another way, I sometimes like to think of it like this: at important times in life the solutions to our problems or the direction we need to go in, are put before us. We just need to have the wisdom, awareness and determination to see those solutions or direction. And I don't think it will come to us if we just sit and wait, we need to seek. We need to get out and do, like nike says "just do it". I have come to believe that that statement "can" have a spiritual essence to it as that which we need to experience or the direction we need to go will appear before our eyes.
Today I had such an experience. After washing all of the dust and crap off my car, we went downtown to visit some shops and galleries. First I got shut down by a German guy selling Indian stuff, so we went into a shop so Chuck could look at a gift for Nancy. I got bored in about eight seconds so I went to look for another shop. Of all things, I stopped in an upscale hat shop and asked the proprietor if he knew of some places I could show my work. A wierd looking old guy who I could best described as a very funky and well dressed looking homeless person was sitting in the corner brushing hats (yes I believe his job was hat brusher). He spoke up and said I should go to Madrid, not Spain but New Mexico, about 30 minutes South. It is an artist colony (interpretation: an old abandoned mining town taken over by hippies who long ago decided to actually earn a living). I put the thought in my back pocket and headed to another shop, I went to a place where I had bought a poster three years ago. I asked a very young lady who said she was a co-manager of the store if she would be willing to look at my images. She did and ordered an 11x14 matted and framed print and 10 matted images. I was feeling pretty good so I thought I would go where the real art is: Canyon Road. After getting looked at as if I am some sort of bug by a couple of nose in the air types I thought: homeless dude I'm giving you a shot. So after a great fajita that ended up all over us, it was off to Madrid. We stopped at the first shop we came to and a very nice woman from Louisiana, who is living in the house part of the shop while the owner is away and the shop is for sale, looked at my images and directed me to Jezebels! where the good stuff is.
I know this is beginning to sound a little biblical but bear with me. This Jezebel was a very interesting woman, come to think of it, the biblical one was also. I walked up to a desk where a woman was looking at a computer, nursing a baby, directing men around and talking on the phone all at the same time. I thought "this is some kind of Jezebel". She has an easy , straightforward and assertive directness about her and can't be more than in her early thirties. I liked most of the art in her gallery and I think there is only one other photographer there. We spent about an hour together and she took two framed and matted images and ordered 5 more unframed. She said she was going to clear one short wall for me. This is where I had been led, by homeless dude, Louisiana woman and a higher power. I again feel very humbled. I have packed so much in one week, I don't know where I can go from here. But I have faith. Jon
Today I had such an experience. After washing all of the dust and crap off my car, we went downtown to visit some shops and galleries. First I got shut down by a German guy selling Indian stuff, so we went into a shop so Chuck could look at a gift for Nancy. I got bored in about eight seconds so I went to look for another shop. Of all things, I stopped in an upscale hat shop and asked the proprietor if he knew of some places I could show my work. A wierd looking old guy who I could best described as a very funky and well dressed looking homeless person was sitting in the corner brushing hats (yes I believe his job was hat brusher). He spoke up and said I should go to Madrid, not Spain but New Mexico, about 30 minutes South. It is an artist colony (interpretation: an old abandoned mining town taken over by hippies who long ago decided to actually earn a living). I put the thought in my back pocket and headed to another shop, I went to a place where I had bought a poster three years ago. I asked a very young lady who said she was a co-manager of the store if she would be willing to look at my images. She did and ordered an 11x14 matted and framed print and 10 matted images. I was feeling pretty good so I thought I would go where the real art is: Canyon Road. After getting looked at as if I am some sort of bug by a couple of nose in the air types I thought: homeless dude I'm giving you a shot. So after a great fajita that ended up all over us, it was off to Madrid. We stopped at the first shop we came to and a very nice woman from Louisiana, who is living in the house part of the shop while the owner is away and the shop is for sale, looked at my images and directed me to Jezebels! where the good stuff is.
I know this is beginning to sound a little biblical but bear with me. This Jezebel was a very interesting woman, come to think of it, the biblical one was also. I walked up to a desk where a woman was looking at a computer, nursing a baby, directing men around and talking on the phone all at the same time. I thought "this is some kind of Jezebel". She has an easy , straightforward and assertive directness about her and can't be more than in her early thirties. I liked most of the art in her gallery and I think there is only one other photographer there. We spent about an hour together and she took two framed and matted images and ordered 5 more unframed. She said she was going to clear one short wall for me. This is where I had been led, by homeless dude, Louisiana woman and a higher power. I again feel very humbled. I have packed so much in one week, I don't know where I can go from here. But I have faith. Jon
Monday, March 30, 2009
Santa Fe. We arrived in Santa Fe about 4:30 today. I woke up about 4am and couldn’t get back to sleep, the result, I am sure, of my experiences of the previous day. The best part of today happened right away. Donna Frank of “A Shared Blanket” is a woman I first met 3 years ago traveling through Durango with Sue. She showed some interest in my pow wow photos and asked me to send her one. She sold it very soon, I emailed her several times asking if she wanted more but I never heard from her again. I walked into her shop this morning and she acted as though I had just been there a few months ago. She remembered my stuff well, in fact she said she sold the one image to the director of homeland security and it is now hanging in a hall in Washington. She wondered why I hadn’t sent her more stuff. You might deduce from this that she is a little flaky, at least I did. She is a very dramatic, highly successful (and somewhat flaky) wholesaler of Indian art. She bought one of my canvas images and ordered three more. I don’t want to get too excited but things seem to be working well. Watch out Ray, I might be a salesman after all.
Items:
- When traversing the Valley of the Gods, we observed many dangling rocks, I suggested that maybe someday I will come here and hang out for about five years hoping to shoot one of them falling. Chuck thought we could maybe pry one loose, but we decided against it, as we would then be perpetrators of a premature ejection in getting our rock off.
- Chuck suggested that his memory lapses are not due to anything like predementia but that his mind is actually breaking through into a new dimension.
More marketing tomorrow. Jon
Addendum to yesterday. A couple of things I couldn't quite finish yesterday. When I was done with my hike into Road Canyon, I was walking across the mesa top with the smell of the Pinon pine and Juniper wafting through my tired brain. I briefly wandered off the path and there before me was something I didn't know I was looking for. It is the perfect thing to include in Sue's remains. I have been putting off deciding what to do with her ashes and now I know why. I needed something symbolic to put with them, and now I have it. I feel I was led to that spot.
The day ended with a wonderful dinner in Durango. Our server is from Shakopee and is about 1/3 Native American, she is going to school at Fort Lewis College because they have Native legacy help with costs. I'll have more later tonight, in the meantime it is off to Santa Fe and more adventures. Jon
The day ended with a wonderful dinner in Durango. Our server is from Shakopee and is about 1/3 Native American, she is going to school at Fort Lewis College because they have Native legacy help with costs. I'll have more later tonight, in the meantime it is off to Santa Fe and more adventures. Jon
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Durango, Colorado. What a day! I was up at 5am, excited to spend another day on Cedar Mesa. My original plan was to go back to McLoyd Canyon, (Joe, this was the scene of my failure three years ago when I chickened out halfway down and climbed back out). But the owner of the Recapture Lodge told me a story about Ted Danson's father in law having a heart attack and dying right at the spot I stopped at. I decided that McLoyds Canyon had bad juju. A woman at the lodge told me about a ruin near the head of Road Canyon. So it was off to Road Canyon, but I had neglected to do what I usually did and get exact mileage to critical points (there is no signage and the locals want to keep tourists confused). Chuck and I ended up confused, lost and wandering aimlessly for about three hours. Very tired at this point and pissed at myself for not doing my job properly, I eventually found the right spot. Chuck waited at the top while I took the hike. I just had to do it, tired or not.
Down another canyon wall and about a mile or so of sometimes rough stuff and I could see the ruin way up, almost to the rim on my left. Not a difficult climb if I was 30 and in perfect conditions but I am 60 and the wind was howling. Up to the ruin I went, took a few shots and decided I didn't want the hawk to take me off the ledge and send me a couple of hundred feet to the canyon floor below. So down I went and started the trek back upcanyon. About halfway back I was thinking of my family and suddenly burst into tears, I continued to cry off and on back to the rim. Despite meeting the mental and physical challenges I had set before myself, I was humbled by the vast beauty of nature and the intensity of my feelings for my family and my loss. At the top I was absolutely and completely, physically and emotionally exhausted. I had given my all and had nothing left. I felt I had honored Sue's memory.
I have some stupid things to say but they don't seem appropriate at this time, I'll save them for tomorrow. Jon
Down another canyon wall and about a mile or so of sometimes rough stuff and I could see the ruin way up, almost to the rim on my left. Not a difficult climb if I was 30 and in perfect conditions but I am 60 and the wind was howling. Up to the ruin I went, took a few shots and decided I didn't want the hawk to take me off the ledge and send me a couple of hundred feet to the canyon floor below. So down I went and started the trek back upcanyon. About halfway back I was thinking of my family and suddenly burst into tears, I continued to cry off and on back to the rim. Despite meeting the mental and physical challenges I had set before myself, I was humbled by the vast beauty of nature and the intensity of my feelings for my family and my loss. At the top I was absolutely and completely, physically and emotionally exhausted. I had given my all and had nothing left. I felt I had honored Sue's memory.
I have some stupid things to say but they don't seem appropriate at this time, I'll save them for tomorrow. Jon
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Bluff, Utah. Got up fairly early and had breakfast at Denny's, where we were terrorized by one of the most energetic and cheerful servers I have ever encountered. He has come to symbolize the "just want to have fun" Moabites in my mind. We left Moab and about 20 miles before Bluff we turned west for our first encounter with a Canyon. Fifteen miles west is Mule Canyon and my goal of Firehouse ruin. After some preparation we started down the side of the canyon, very debris filled. About halfway down Chuck had to turn back (issues: balance, vision and bad knees). I continued down to the bottom and headed upcanyon to Firehouse ruin. I looked up after rounding a bend, climbed up and was soaking in the beautiful brisk day and the home of some ancients, when I was completely overwhelmed with emotion. This was one of my primary goals in life since my failure three years ago and I couldn't share it with the one person I wanted to. The full impact of being truly alone in this life washed over me but, unbelievably, I also felt exhilarated and full of power and energy. I have some thoughts about this but don't really want to discuss it further at this time.
After a hike further up the canyon, I returned to the point of entry and almost floated up the slope. After meeting up with Chuck I found out he had his own adventure of getting lost in the walk back from the rim. Somehow he ended up two miles down the road from our car and was wandering out in the noonday sun like mad dogs and Englishmen (I've always wanted to use that phrase). He found his way back and we shared our separate adventures.
Items:
After a hike further up the canyon, I returned to the point of entry and almost floated up the slope. After meeting up with Chuck I found out he had his own adventure of getting lost in the walk back from the rim. Somehow he ended up two miles down the road from our car and was wandering out in the noonday sun like mad dogs and Englishmen (I've always wanted to use that phrase). He found his way back and we shared our separate adventures.
Items:
- While having dinner Chuck had a beer with the name "Polygamy Porter" whose catchphrase is "Why have just one". We ARE in Utah.
- After dinner I sold some of my greeting cards to the owner of the restaurant/gift store.
- Chuck is officially a redneck after his wanderings in the noonday sun.
- We photographed in the Valley of the Gods before dinner and I saw a Butte that I thought looked like a "hiker dude" but as we came around to the side there was a front protrusion the turned the dude into a dudette. Chuck thought it looked like a parachutist with front and back chutes (he is much older than I am you know).
That's all I've got, back at you tomorrow. Jon
Friday, March 27, 2009
Moab, Utah. We left Denver at 7am today. HOORAY. The going was a little dicey to start, a lot of ups and downs on snowy roads. After a couple of tense hours we broke out into sunshine and better driving but my car was shimmying as if it were a contestant on dancing with the stars. I had heard a clunk when we stopped to relieve our old guy, bloated prostate induced, frequently happening liquid extraction. I called Matt who immediately deduced it was ice buildup on my rims and prescribed a power washing of the wheels. I was envisioning a complete rearrangement of my front end costing thousands of dollars and many more lost hours. An exit ten miles down the road and $3.50 worth of high pressure water and we were moving fast and smooth. Thanks Matt, you are invaluable in moments like this.
The one incident of note was when we almost panicked when our Garmin lost satellite contact upon entering the Eisenhower Tunnel and we worried that we might get lost before we could reach the exit. But daylight eventually showed it's face and we were much relieved. The only subject of note during west Colorado was a discussion about the biology of taste. It was brought on by my experience the night before of eating a few barbeque potato chips after our difficult blizzard thing. They tasted so good I couldn't believe it, so I was wondering why some things taste fabulous at one moment in time and ordinary another. We prattled on for about 15 minutes, none of our theories worth mentioning here except to prove how deranged one can become when brilliant minds are given too much time in an enclosed space.
We arrived in Moab, you know, that place just across the Jordan river from Israel. The Moabites of the modern era just like to have fun. There is a restaurant called "Eddie McStiff's" which I imagined being run by a retired porno star. And there is a great shop in Moab called the Hogan Trading Company and it would be my first opportunity to show my stuff. I think I caught the owner in a weak moment and he agreed to take one of my matted and framed prints on consignment, yea my first minor success. Consignment means I take all of the financial risk and he doesn't really worry if it doen't sell. Everything has to start somewhere, so I guess I have started. Jon
The one incident of note was when we almost panicked when our Garmin lost satellite contact upon entering the Eisenhower Tunnel and we worried that we might get lost before we could reach the exit. But daylight eventually showed it's face and we were much relieved. The only subject of note during west Colorado was a discussion about the biology of taste. It was brought on by my experience the night before of eating a few barbeque potato chips after our difficult blizzard thing. They tasted so good I couldn't believe it, so I was wondering why some things taste fabulous at one moment in time and ordinary another. We prattled on for about 15 minutes, none of our theories worth mentioning here except to prove how deranged one can become when brilliant minds are given too much time in an enclosed space.
We arrived in Moab, you know, that place just across the Jordan river from Israel. The Moabites of the modern era just like to have fun. There is a restaurant called "Eddie McStiff's" which I imagined being run by a retired porno star. And there is a great shop in Moab called the Hogan Trading Company and it would be my first opportunity to show my stuff. I think I caught the owner in a weak moment and he agreed to take one of my matted and framed prints on consignment, yea my first minor success. Consignment means I take all of the financial risk and he doesn't really worry if it doen't sell. Everything has to start somewhere, so I guess I have started. Jon
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Journey, middle of day three. We are at a kind of dumpy Howard Johnsons just west of Denver. We left my cousin Jeanne's at about 8:30 this morning (Mountain time) despite the fact that an expected blizzard was just beginning. We wanted to give it a shot, and kept repeating a mantra that has become our theme to the trip "you gotta have faith". But after an hour sitting still on Highway 70 with the wind howling, the snow blowing, the road very icy and with a big accident ahead of us that had completely stopped traffic, we jumped across to a frontage road and careened down the road, the windshield was full of ice and in a complete whiteout. Can you say "idiots"? With Garmin's help (a close personal friend of Chuck's) we were able to find this "wonderful" hotel. We had gone 59 miles in three hours. This was not a recipe for getting across the Rocky Mountains. Evidently faith can only get you so far in a blizzard. There is always tomorrow or as Rick said "we'll always have Paris".
Jeanne was a wonderful and gracious hostess. We spent yesterday afternoon talking, sharing and catching up on what has happened in the last 15-20 years. She has a beautiful home with a great view of the north Colorado prairie. Despite only seeing her a few times in the last 45 years, I feel connected in ways only possible because of our youthful friendship. Her obvious devotion to home and family has been greatly rewarded. Her husband Dwayne is a good man, a wonderful provider, a straight talker and kind of a smart ass, just my kind of man. The food and accommodations were worlds ahead of where I am right now. Thank you Jeanne, you are a kind and loving woman.
If we don't get on the road tomorrow, I am sure I will have a very bad attitude. There is nothing stimulating about a hotel room, right Ray? It feels a bit like prison to me. Who the heck could have expected that the vector of my first trip across the Rockies in four years would coincide with the worst snowstorm in the area in three years. I think I should buy a powerball ticket.
Observation: in Wyoming I saw a cowboy, in Colorado I saw the Rockies (through a lot of snowflakes) but in Nebraska I never saw a Cornhusker, just a lot of dead grass and roadkill. What the hell is a cornhusker anyway and why should I care?
Jeanne was a wonderful and gracious hostess. We spent yesterday afternoon talking, sharing and catching up on what has happened in the last 15-20 years. She has a beautiful home with a great view of the north Colorado prairie. Despite only seeing her a few times in the last 45 years, I feel connected in ways only possible because of our youthful friendship. Her obvious devotion to home and family has been greatly rewarded. Her husband Dwayne is a good man, a wonderful provider, a straight talker and kind of a smart ass, just my kind of man. The food and accommodations were worlds ahead of where I am right now. Thank you Jeanne, you are a kind and loving woman.
If we don't get on the road tomorrow, I am sure I will have a very bad attitude. There is nothing stimulating about a hotel room, right Ray? It feels a bit like prison to me. Who the heck could have expected that the vector of my first trip across the Rockies in four years would coincide with the worst snowstorm in the area in three years. I think I should buy a powerball ticket.
Observation: in Wyoming I saw a cowboy, in Colorado I saw the Rockies (through a lot of snowflakes) but in Nebraska I never saw a Cornhusker, just a lot of dead grass and roadkill. What the hell is a cornhusker anyway and why should I care?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Tuesday march 24th, 2009 7:45pm
Day one of my journey is almost in the books. This is also exactly seven months since Sue's passing.
As with almost all journeys, today began with enthusiasm and high spirits. I was up at 5:30 and Chuck and I were on the road by 9am. We didn't let the clouds and rain dampen our mood. Lots of discussion and philosophical musings, more about that in the observation section. Minnesota went by pretty fast but a few miles into Iowa I felt an unmistakable tug to the side of the road (this was not my usual highway wanderings). As I looked to the side I saw an exit sign that seemed to be responsible for the tug. It said Manly 1/2 mile. I soon realized that being a couple of manly men,that we were being drawn to the exit for Manly, Iowa. Through a very manly effort I was able keep the car on the road headed toward the cosmopolis (I'm sure this is a word) of Des Moines. I was soon hoping there is not a town of Studly, Iowa.
Since there is no corn growing at this time, the only thing of interest that seems to be growing in their fields are windmills. Holy sh__ there are a lot of windmills in Iowa. I felt like pulling out my sword and telling my sidekick Sancho that it was time to attack. They kind of remind me of some of the weird machines in Star Wars. I was wondering if they were going start walking away or shooting laser blasts. We have made it to Kearney Neb. and had dinner with a lot of guys with big hands who walk with a limp. There was a group of teenage girls wearing football helmets, not quite like Bloomington.
Observation: Amoung many topics discussed, the one I would like to mention is what I call "the curve of life". In all life, whether a person, a career, a country, a civilization or anything else in nature there seems to be a curve that describe it's birth, growth, maturation, decline and death. This seems to be hard wired into nearrly everything we experience. This seems to even affect things like ideas, since they take birth in the minds of the human organism and come to fruition in our behaviors. When we are beginning high school, a career or a trip, we have enthusiasm, energy and vigor. In maturity we are at the height of our powers and experience our greatest achievements. The decline can be managed and offset by experience but it is often difficult and plays havoc with confidence and desire. At 60 I feel I am undeniably in decline and despite the tragedy of the last year, I feel I still have things to accomplish, puzzles to solve, bridges to cross. Jon
Day one of my journey is almost in the books. This is also exactly seven months since Sue's passing.
As with almost all journeys, today began with enthusiasm and high spirits. I was up at 5:30 and Chuck and I were on the road by 9am. We didn't let the clouds and rain dampen our mood. Lots of discussion and philosophical musings, more about that in the observation section. Minnesota went by pretty fast but a few miles into Iowa I felt an unmistakable tug to the side of the road (this was not my usual highway wanderings). As I looked to the side I saw an exit sign that seemed to be responsible for the tug. It said Manly 1/2 mile. I soon realized that being a couple of manly men,that we were being drawn to the exit for Manly, Iowa. Through a very manly effort I was able keep the car on the road headed toward the cosmopolis (I'm sure this is a word) of Des Moines. I was soon hoping there is not a town of Studly, Iowa.
Since there is no corn growing at this time, the only thing of interest that seems to be growing in their fields are windmills. Holy sh__ there are a lot of windmills in Iowa. I felt like pulling out my sword and telling my sidekick Sancho that it was time to attack. They kind of remind me of some of the weird machines in Star Wars. I was wondering if they were going start walking away or shooting laser blasts. We have made it to Kearney Neb. and had dinner with a lot of guys with big hands who walk with a limp. There was a group of teenage girls wearing football helmets, not quite like Bloomington.
Observation: Amoung many topics discussed, the one I would like to mention is what I call "the curve of life". In all life, whether a person, a career, a country, a civilization or anything else in nature there seems to be a curve that describe it's birth, growth, maturation, decline and death. This seems to be hard wired into nearrly everything we experience. This seems to even affect things like ideas, since they take birth in the minds of the human organism and come to fruition in our behaviors. When we are beginning high school, a career or a trip, we have enthusiasm, energy and vigor. In maturity we are at the height of our powers and experience our greatest achievements. The decline can be managed and offset by experience but it is often difficult and plays havoc with confidence and desire. At 60 I feel I am undeniably in decline and despite the tragedy of the last year, I feel I still have things to accomplish, puzzles to solve, bridges to cross. Jon
Sunday, March 22, 2009
An observation on men and women
Before I leave on Tuesday I have an observation and then I will give some background for those who don't know me well.
Observation: In trying to make sense of a world that hasn't made sense to me since Sues passing, I have had many thoughts and feelings that I wouldn't normally have had and there is one that keeps coming back to me. It helps me make sense of my loss, not in the realm of "why me" but more in the area of what makes the world tick with regards to men and women.
Women are the fabric upon which our (western civilization) world operates. They create the social and cultural milieu in which we live. Their relationships and emotions are the cross threads of this fabric. Men tend to think that we create the world we live in and this is true only in our work world. Once we leave work we enter a different place. Our egos encourage us to believe that we create everything but the ego is a devious fellow. He fools us. Women create the overall structure that allow us to have meaning and purpose to what we do.
This fabric is like the fabric of space/time that Einstien envisioned. Planets dent the fabric of space/time as they move though space thus creating gravity. Men dent the social fabric in which we live and when this gravity attracts others to us, we believe we are creators (with a small "c"). It is an illusion, for without the fabric there would be no space to move through.
I always wondered why girls are more difficult to raise than boys. When thought of within the above framework, it only makes sense. Women have an enormous job and it takes a long time and a lot of mistakes for girls to learn what it takes to weave the relationship and emotional fabric that gives meaning and purpose to life. This fabric holds the world together and women so often give selflessly in moulding the next generation, for they teach the girls how to weave and the boys how to operate on the fabric. They also often need to mold their mates to the needs and responsibilities of social life.
I had a lot to learn when I married Sue but she was a persistent and patient teacher and many times I complained rather than thanking her. She created the life I lived in and this journey is about finding my bearings in an unfamiliar world.
Observation: In trying to make sense of a world that hasn't made sense to me since Sues passing, I have had many thoughts and feelings that I wouldn't normally have had and there is one that keeps coming back to me. It helps me make sense of my loss, not in the realm of "why me" but more in the area of what makes the world tick with regards to men and women.
Women are the fabric upon which our (western civilization) world operates. They create the social and cultural milieu in which we live. Their relationships and emotions are the cross threads of this fabric. Men tend to think that we create the world we live in and this is true only in our work world. Once we leave work we enter a different place. Our egos encourage us to believe that we create everything but the ego is a devious fellow. He fools us. Women create the overall structure that allow us to have meaning and purpose to what we do.
This fabric is like the fabric of space/time that Einstien envisioned. Planets dent the fabric of space/time as they move though space thus creating gravity. Men dent the social fabric in which we live and when this gravity attracts others to us, we believe we are creators (with a small "c"). It is an illusion, for without the fabric there would be no space to move through.
I always wondered why girls are more difficult to raise than boys. When thought of within the above framework, it only makes sense. Women have an enormous job and it takes a long time and a lot of mistakes for girls to learn what it takes to weave the relationship and emotional fabric that gives meaning and purpose to life. This fabric holds the world together and women so often give selflessly in moulding the next generation, for they teach the girls how to weave and the boys how to operate on the fabric. They also often need to mold their mates to the needs and responsibilities of social life.
I had a lot to learn when I married Sue but she was a persistent and patient teacher and many times I complained rather than thanking her. She created the life I lived in and this journey is about finding my bearings in an unfamiliar world.
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