'two of you?'
'yes, we have a reservation under springs.'
'springs, yes, we have you here. i see it's a special occasion.'
'yes,' he smiled widely, 'my wife's birthday.'
'wonderful. right this way, please.'
the young couple followed the tall host to a table in the far corner of the restaurant.
'oh dear,' exclaimed the young wife, 'this is where you proposed.'
the table was covered in glittering 'happy birthdays'; a bottle of chilled champagne awaited them. the host poured two glasses of the champagne. and left. the young couple toasted each other and sipped the bubbly.
as they replaced their glasses, the young man glanced the same host escorting another two people to an adjacent table. a woman about his age and a teenager. by the time he knew what was happening, he didn't have time to warn his wife.
'well, i'll be damned,' came the voice from the next table. 'how are you gerald?'
he hated that name. his given name because of that prick of an uncle. he always used peter.
he could choose to ignore the woman. but his wife was looking at him inquisitively. 'hello helen,' he replied.
he glanced back at his puzzled wife who mouthed, 'who is that?'
he smiled and said, 'just someone i knew earlier in life.'
'well that's an understatement if i do say so myself, gerald. still be completely true without being truly complete. i'm guessing this little woman has neither seen a picture nor heard of me. a shame, really. because now it will ruin what i can only guess is her birthday night. because i know it isn't yours.'
the diatribe made him lose all color. he smiled weakly at his wife. apologetically. because he knew what was about to happen.
'it has been a while, gerald. almost twenty years. when my father pulled me out of that private school for fear that i'd be ridiculed. you must remember, yes? junior prom when we got all dressed up and met at your parents' house. a beautiful house. how many cars in the garage? a boat too, i remember. we went to the dance, but you wanted to go with your friends to some after party. i wanted you to like me so i went. when is it, exactly, that you slipped the mickey? was it the first drink? or another one after that? i had enough alcohol in my system that it could have killed an elephant, the doctors told my father. and enough semen in me that i could have filled a large glass.'
'helen, please, can we talk outside?' he asked.
'no, i think your wife should know who she married. and by the look on her face, i don't think she knows. so, did you have sex with me? and how many others? i'd like to know. i couldn't find out then because all of you were excused. a bunch of guys you didn't know showed up, is what you said. and i disappeared with them in some room upstairs. everyone testified to that. everyone. and i became the joke.'
'helen, i'm really sorry about that night. but i had nothing to do with it. my friends and i didn't do that to you.'
'yes, i know, that's what you say. well, i have one question for you then, gerald. can you explain why my son, gerald, looks so much like you?'
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
3WW (Ebb, Negotiate, Random): Feeling Better
the state pays me to make tax payers feel better. the divorced couple who can't keep their 4-year old mutt. the self-aggrandizing grad student who can't deal with the calico that scratches furniture. the recently unemployed family who can't afford the pit bull they had rescued. the middle-aged son who awkwardly carried his deceased mother's tabby.
and i make them feel better. i give them the smile i gave to the brat i babysat when i was in high school. it's a smile found somewhere between mocking and sympathy. a smirk of partial superiority.
each person wants to hear a different story.
that their beloved pet will roam freely on some open range. i envision them thinking about their rosy the rottweiler loping along beside cattle in wyoming.
that even though we're a 'kill' shelter, we only actually kill the ones who really need to die. no one asks what that means.
that nearly all animals left at the shelter get adopted. i asked my supervisor why she was lying about it. she replied that we're never supposed to give a number. and that sometimes lies aren't all that bad, especially told to people who are trying to negotiate their feelings.
i love to exaggerate with these stories. i have one gem i use all the time. a random farm out in eastern connecticut owned by animal lovers. in fact, it's a family of animal lovers that have housed unwanted pets for over a century. that the farm receives donations from around the world to keep such a wide variety of pets housed and fed. in fact, the family is now entirely sustained by those monies. no one ever asks where that farm is.
recently a young couple came in with their cat. they told me that the cat had a problem with hairballs and that said hairballs were messing up the new carpet they had just installed. they wanted to trade him in. the woman went off to search for another pound pet that suited her needs. meanwhile, the guy stayed back and started asking questions about what would happen to the cat. since i was having a shitty day, i decided to tell him the truth. how old's the cat, i asked. what, eight, ten? well, we'll keep him locked up in a cage in the back. and then, if no one shows an interest, we'll kill him. inject him until his eyes close. until his life ebbs. then we get rid of the carcass. he looked up at me angrily. i hadn't given him the experience that he wanted from this visit. as if i were some kind of entertainer paid to provide his illusion.
it just so happened that it was the same day when i watched my dog, bobbie, stare at me while gasping his final breath on the vet's table. because the cancer was just too invasive.
that day, i didn't think they had the right to feel better.
and i make them feel better. i give them the smile i gave to the brat i babysat when i was in high school. it's a smile found somewhere between mocking and sympathy. a smirk of partial superiority.
each person wants to hear a different story.
that their beloved pet will roam freely on some open range. i envision them thinking about their rosy the rottweiler loping along beside cattle in wyoming.
that even though we're a 'kill' shelter, we only actually kill the ones who really need to die. no one asks what that means.
that nearly all animals left at the shelter get adopted. i asked my supervisor why she was lying about it. she replied that we're never supposed to give a number. and that sometimes lies aren't all that bad, especially told to people who are trying to negotiate their feelings.
i love to exaggerate with these stories. i have one gem i use all the time. a random farm out in eastern connecticut owned by animal lovers. in fact, it's a family of animal lovers that have housed unwanted pets for over a century. that the farm receives donations from around the world to keep such a wide variety of pets housed and fed. in fact, the family is now entirely sustained by those monies. no one ever asks where that farm is.
recently a young couple came in with their cat. they told me that the cat had a problem with hairballs and that said hairballs were messing up the new carpet they had just installed. they wanted to trade him in. the woman went off to search for another pound pet that suited her needs. meanwhile, the guy stayed back and started asking questions about what would happen to the cat. since i was having a shitty day, i decided to tell him the truth. how old's the cat, i asked. what, eight, ten? well, we'll keep him locked up in a cage in the back. and then, if no one shows an interest, we'll kill him. inject him until his eyes close. until his life ebbs. then we get rid of the carcass. he looked up at me angrily. i hadn't given him the experience that he wanted from this visit. as if i were some kind of entertainer paid to provide his illusion.
it just so happened that it was the same day when i watched my dog, bobbie, stare at me while gasping his final breath on the vet's table. because the cancer was just too invasive.
that day, i didn't think they had the right to feel better.
Monday, April 19, 2010
It's Personal: A Lion
A new chapter begins...
In Seattle, we were not very good about taking the dogs for regular walks. It was difficult for one person to handle both, and we always had other things happening. We therefore set them upon the backyard to play and run to their hearts content. And if not in the backyard, then they went to a dog park.
Well, I haven't found the dog parks in Connecticut yet. And the back yard here is not as conducive to playing. Not to mention the fact that Buddy no longer has his playmate.
I therefore decided that it would be a good idea to walk the dog. And thus, after work, I proceeded to trot the dog from the house, across the semi-main thoroughfare, and into a nice neighborhood - with sidewalks.
Buddy trotted by my side. Well, more ahead of me, upon which I know the Dog Whisperer would frown since it means the dog is leading me. Nonetheless, we meandered along the sidewalks in that neighborhood at our leisure. Buddy stopped to smell trees and fence posts and random patches of grass. He barked under his breath a few times at passersby. And a few other times at nothing in particular.
We then came to a royal blue house. It was obvious that Italians lived there by the three landmarks that graced their yard. The first was a statue of the Blessed Virgin near the house. The second two were small lion statues placed at either end of their property.
We approached the first lion, and Buddy slowed. He looked at it curiously for a moment before trotting up to it and sniffing it. He was waiting for it to move, which it didn't. Well, I hope it didn't.
We traversed the length of sidewalk between the two lions and approached the second. Across from the lion statue - on the other side of the sidewalk - was a light pole. This meant that we had to walk between the light pole and the lion. Well, Buddy was having no parts of that. He looked at the second lion and immediately backed off. I coaxed him forward, but he pulled backward with all his might. I patted his head and rubbed his stomach, telling him it was okay. We took a couple steps again, and he darted backwards, almost pulling the leash from my hand. At this point, I could do nothing but laugh. Something about the second lion - and not the first - completely freaked him out. But I also wasn't going to cross the street just because he was afraid of the lion. I therefore pulled him a bit more forcefully. He began to understand that he needed to move forward. And when that dawned on him, he took off - with me attached to the other end of the leash - past the lion and light pole until he had at least a ten foot distance from them. He then looked back and let forth a muffled growl to let the lion know his displeasure.
And we were on our way again.
I think we'll take that walk again tomorrow...
In Seattle, we were not very good about taking the dogs for regular walks. It was difficult for one person to handle both, and we always had other things happening. We therefore set them upon the backyard to play and run to their hearts content. And if not in the backyard, then they went to a dog park.
Well, I haven't found the dog parks in Connecticut yet. And the back yard here is not as conducive to playing. Not to mention the fact that Buddy no longer has his playmate.
I therefore decided that it would be a good idea to walk the dog. And thus, after work, I proceeded to trot the dog from the house, across the semi-main thoroughfare, and into a nice neighborhood - with sidewalks.
Buddy trotted by my side. Well, more ahead of me, upon which I know the Dog Whisperer would frown since it means the dog is leading me. Nonetheless, we meandered along the sidewalks in that neighborhood at our leisure. Buddy stopped to smell trees and fence posts and random patches of grass. He barked under his breath a few times at passersby. And a few other times at nothing in particular.
We then came to a royal blue house. It was obvious that Italians lived there by the three landmarks that graced their yard. The first was a statue of the Blessed Virgin near the house. The second two were small lion statues placed at either end of their property.
We approached the first lion, and Buddy slowed. He looked at it curiously for a moment before trotting up to it and sniffing it. He was waiting for it to move, which it didn't. Well, I hope it didn't.
We traversed the length of sidewalk between the two lions and approached the second. Across from the lion statue - on the other side of the sidewalk - was a light pole. This meant that we had to walk between the light pole and the lion. Well, Buddy was having no parts of that. He looked at the second lion and immediately backed off. I coaxed him forward, but he pulled backward with all his might. I patted his head and rubbed his stomach, telling him it was okay. We took a couple steps again, and he darted backwards, almost pulling the leash from my hand. At this point, I could do nothing but laugh. Something about the second lion - and not the first - completely freaked him out. But I also wasn't going to cross the street just because he was afraid of the lion. I therefore pulled him a bit more forcefully. He began to understand that he needed to move forward. And when that dawned on him, he took off - with me attached to the other end of the leash - past the lion and light pole until he had at least a ten foot distance from them. He then looked back and let forth a muffled growl to let the lion know his displeasure.
And we were on our way again.
I think we'll take that walk again tomorrow...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
It's Personal: Returning East Day 4
I am sitting in my brother's basement under a blanket. The dog lays sprawled beside me, utterly exhausted and conked out. I should probably feel the same. But there's an adrenaline rush associated with finishing a journey of such magnitude. Not to mention the fact that it feels like the time that my work laptop still reads: 9:42 p.m.
I first awoke at 5:32 a.m. Eastern. I looked at the alarm clock and chuckled. Then went back to sleep. I awoke again at approximately 7:30 when the brother got out of bed. I didn't feel like moving but knew that the final leg of the journey was calling me. I sat up and told the brother to start getting himself ready while I took the dog to potty. The brother showered. And then went down to get food. He reported back that the breakfast was questionable at best. And thus we departed the Jameson.
The Old Man had, the day before, suggested strongly that we explore the campus of Notre Dame if only for a brief while. In addition, the brother waxed poetic about his missed opportunity to see UCONN play at Notre Dame with his friends. So, we went to the campus of Notre Dame.
Before I speak about Notre Dame, I shall reminisce a tad. When I left for Seattle in 2002, I had planned to race across the country and arrive in the city within three days. That meant no stops, apart from bathroom breaks and the occasional snack. I made one exception. You guessed it, Notre Dame. I must admit that I had always had an interest in ND. Thanks to the Old Man, I've seen Knute Rockne All American about 10 million times. And I enjoyed Rudy. So, there was that. But, more importantly, I had just left the seminary. And I thought I could use a little help from Our Lady. Thus, I saw Touchdown Jesus, the outside of the stadium, and the Grotto when I had been there that once before. And I knelt in front of the Grotto asking God to help me understand myself and my direction.
Today, we parked at Notre Dame at 8:30 a.m. We walked toward the stadium, where there was a private event. We asked if we could see the field. We were turned away. At least we asked. We proceeded to Touchdown Jesus, the brother snapping pictures wildly with his cell. Then we went to the Basilica - a funeral prevented us from peaking in - and subsequently, the Grotto. At the Old Man's request, I lit a candle for our family. Then, I lit another for whatever it is that God wants to be my future. The brother and I knelt for a moment in prayer. I asked God for more help in my discernment. And thanked him for prayers answered since last I'd knelt there. We then walked swiftly back to the car where the dog had fogged up all the windows.
We entered the Indiana Toll Road at 9:30 a.m. Eastern.
Right, tolls. A pain. The idea is to make people pay for roadwork and infrastructure by purchasing the right to be on those same roads. Not a bad idea, theoretically, but in practice, it's questionable. I shan't rant this evening, but I had to go through my share of tolls today. The first was in Indiana. $6.00. The second was in Ohio. From the state border with Indiana to where I-90 splits from I-80. $14.75. Then another $1.50 for crossing the Hudson. We were lucky that those were the only tolls we did pay.
Perfect segue.
Sometime during that drive in northern Ohio, the Old Man texted the brother about another potential route. A bit longer in terms of miles but potentially shorter in terms of time. And an easier drive. Well, it wasn't shorter in time. Close enough at just under an hour difference. (And what's an hour difference in a cross country trip?) But it was an easier trip for the most part.
An easier trip except, perhaps, for Cleveland. I can now say I've driven through the heart of Cleveland, and I feel no cleaner than I did before. Apart from its general disheveled-lookingness, I have one major issue with Cleveland. At some point in I-90, there is a sharp turn in the middle of the highway. Again, I say a sharp turn in the middle of a major interstate in the middle of a major city. Yes, they warn you ahead of time. With those divets in the ground often used to alert cars to slow before tolls. Well, going over those divets scared the bejesus out of the dog, who burrowed his head under the brother's arm and shook uncontrollably. Just Dumb.
We drove up I-90 until we hit I-86 / Rte 17. We then took that road through Pennsylvania and New York. Where it was snowing. Not sticking. But snowing nonetheless. We got to Binghamton at about 7 p.m. And then we traversed the multiple hills in the area to get to I-84. And on into Connecticut we drove. Past the city where the brother teaches. Through Waterbury and Cheshire and into Meriden.
We ate and drank along the way. Subway subs. A few danishes with large iced coffee drinks. Water, always water.
The dog ate and drank too. Finding plastic utensils sturdy enough to unwedge the dog food from the can was a challenge. I'd give Wendy's the highest marks in that arena. Though not in the food arena.
We saw some interesting people. The very fat young man who worked at the Valero gas station. When I went into the small market to use the facilities, I heard him talking at the top of his lungs to his boss or his mother - maybe both - about all kinds of injustices and drama. Reminded me of the main character from Confederacy of Dunces. There was the woman walking her dog at Notre Dame who, when we tried to ask her for directions to the Grotto, avoided us as if we had some kind of communicable disease until she heard Grotto; she then hesitantly pointed to where it was. There were the two ladies in the tollbooth on the other side of the Hudson who saw the dog and wanted the dog to do something that would make their night. And they waited until he did. When he finally barked, they reluctantly lifted the gate for us to proceed.
We entered the brother's abode at approximately 11 p.m. Eastern. 8 p.m. Pacific. The dog introduced himself to the brother's dog and the brother's wife. Everyone seemed to get along.
I texted a few friends to tell them I was safe.
And then I made the call that sealed the deal.
On July 8, 2002 at approximately 5 a.m. Eastern, I departed West Haven, CT to learn some things about myself. I drove for three straight days in a 1996 Mitsubishi Galant. The first night I spent in Rockford, IL; the second night in Glendive, MT. I arrived on July 10, 2002 at 6:30 p.m. Pacific to the open arms of Joseph Fields.
On April 14, 2010 at approximately 8 a.m. Pacific, I departed Seattle, WA to return to the place from whence I came. I drove with the brother, the dog, and the trailer all either in or attached to a 2006 Subaru Forester. The first night we spent in Twin Falls, ID; the second night in North Platte, NE; and the third night in South Bend, IN. I arrived in Meriden, CT on April 17, 2010 at 11:00 p.m. Eastern and called Joseph to say goodbye.
143
I first awoke at 5:32 a.m. Eastern. I looked at the alarm clock and chuckled. Then went back to sleep. I awoke again at approximately 7:30 when the brother got out of bed. I didn't feel like moving but knew that the final leg of the journey was calling me. I sat up and told the brother to start getting himself ready while I took the dog to potty. The brother showered. And then went down to get food. He reported back that the breakfast was questionable at best. And thus we departed the Jameson.
The Old Man had, the day before, suggested strongly that we explore the campus of Notre Dame if only for a brief while. In addition, the brother waxed poetic about his missed opportunity to see UCONN play at Notre Dame with his friends. So, we went to the campus of Notre Dame.
Before I speak about Notre Dame, I shall reminisce a tad. When I left for Seattle in 2002, I had planned to race across the country and arrive in the city within three days. That meant no stops, apart from bathroom breaks and the occasional snack. I made one exception. You guessed it, Notre Dame. I must admit that I had always had an interest in ND. Thanks to the Old Man, I've seen Knute Rockne All American about 10 million times. And I enjoyed Rudy. So, there was that. But, more importantly, I had just left the seminary. And I thought I could use a little help from Our Lady. Thus, I saw Touchdown Jesus, the outside of the stadium, and the Grotto when I had been there that once before. And I knelt in front of the Grotto asking God to help me understand myself and my direction.
Today, we parked at Notre Dame at 8:30 a.m. We walked toward the stadium, where there was a private event. We asked if we could see the field. We were turned away. At least we asked. We proceeded to Touchdown Jesus, the brother snapping pictures wildly with his cell. Then we went to the Basilica - a funeral prevented us from peaking in - and subsequently, the Grotto. At the Old Man's request, I lit a candle for our family. Then, I lit another for whatever it is that God wants to be my future. The brother and I knelt for a moment in prayer. I asked God for more help in my discernment. And thanked him for prayers answered since last I'd knelt there. We then walked swiftly back to the car where the dog had fogged up all the windows.
We entered the Indiana Toll Road at 9:30 a.m. Eastern.
Right, tolls. A pain. The idea is to make people pay for roadwork and infrastructure by purchasing the right to be on those same roads. Not a bad idea, theoretically, but in practice, it's questionable. I shan't rant this evening, but I had to go through my share of tolls today. The first was in Indiana. $6.00. The second was in Ohio. From the state border with Indiana to where I-90 splits from I-80. $14.75. Then another $1.50 for crossing the Hudson. We were lucky that those were the only tolls we did pay.
Perfect segue.
Sometime during that drive in northern Ohio, the Old Man texted the brother about another potential route. A bit longer in terms of miles but potentially shorter in terms of time. And an easier drive. Well, it wasn't shorter in time. Close enough at just under an hour difference. (And what's an hour difference in a cross country trip?) But it was an easier trip for the most part.
An easier trip except, perhaps, for Cleveland. I can now say I've driven through the heart of Cleveland, and I feel no cleaner than I did before. Apart from its general disheveled-lookingness, I have one major issue with Cleveland. At some point in I-90, there is a sharp turn in the middle of the highway. Again, I say a sharp turn in the middle of a major interstate in the middle of a major city. Yes, they warn you ahead of time. With those divets in the ground often used to alert cars to slow before tolls. Well, going over those divets scared the bejesus out of the dog, who burrowed his head under the brother's arm and shook uncontrollably. Just Dumb.
We drove up I-90 until we hit I-86 / Rte 17. We then took that road through Pennsylvania and New York. Where it was snowing. Not sticking. But snowing nonetheless. We got to Binghamton at about 7 p.m. And then we traversed the multiple hills in the area to get to I-84. And on into Connecticut we drove. Past the city where the brother teaches. Through Waterbury and Cheshire and into Meriden.
We ate and drank along the way. Subway subs. A few danishes with large iced coffee drinks. Water, always water.
The dog ate and drank too. Finding plastic utensils sturdy enough to unwedge the dog food from the can was a challenge. I'd give Wendy's the highest marks in that arena. Though not in the food arena.
We saw some interesting people. The very fat young man who worked at the Valero gas station. When I went into the small market to use the facilities, I heard him talking at the top of his lungs to his boss or his mother - maybe both - about all kinds of injustices and drama. Reminded me of the main character from Confederacy of Dunces. There was the woman walking her dog at Notre Dame who, when we tried to ask her for directions to the Grotto, avoided us as if we had some kind of communicable disease until she heard Grotto; she then hesitantly pointed to where it was. There were the two ladies in the tollbooth on the other side of the Hudson who saw the dog and wanted the dog to do something that would make their night. And they waited until he did. When he finally barked, they reluctantly lifted the gate for us to proceed.
We entered the brother's abode at approximately 11 p.m. Eastern. 8 p.m. Pacific. The dog introduced himself to the brother's dog and the brother's wife. Everyone seemed to get along.
I texted a few friends to tell them I was safe.
And then I made the call that sealed the deal.
On July 8, 2002 at approximately 5 a.m. Eastern, I departed West Haven, CT to learn some things about myself. I drove for three straight days in a 1996 Mitsubishi Galant. The first night I spent in Rockford, IL; the second night in Glendive, MT. I arrived on July 10, 2002 at 6:30 p.m. Pacific to the open arms of Joseph Fields.
On April 14, 2010 at approximately 8 a.m. Pacific, I departed Seattle, WA to return to the place from whence I came. I drove with the brother, the dog, and the trailer all either in or attached to a 2006 Subaru Forester. The first night we spent in Twin Falls, ID; the second night in North Platte, NE; and the third night in South Bend, IN. I arrived in Meriden, CT on April 17, 2010 at 11:00 p.m. Eastern and called Joseph to say goodbye.
143
Friday, April 16, 2010
It's Personal: Returning East Day 3
Hello from South Bend, IN. Yes, the home of St. Mary's, Holy Cross, and Notre Dame...
We started the day in North Platte, NE. The dog, the brother, the trailer, the Forester, and I got under way at 8 a.m. Central. We couldn't escape that hell hole of a hotel quickly enough. We didn't even stop immediately for breakfast. We just got onto I-80 and started driving.
We drove due east until we came to Kearney, NE. There, we partook of Starbucks. Yes, I know. A little taste of home in the midst of a foreign land. A veinti white chocoloate mocha and a sausage with egg breakfast sandwich. The brother longed for Dunkin Donuts simplicity and requested an iced coffee with milk and sugar.
We were soon on our way across the very flat state of Nebraska. Thank you God and Subaru for cruise control. And Ralph Teetor, the blind inventor and mechanical engineer who suggested the idea of cruise control in modern vehicles.
The dog slept most of the way with his head on the center arm rest. The brother slept some of the way. And played PSP some of the way. Meanwhile, I drove. And texted a few people from time to time. I was told to beware, for instance, the children of the corn.
We passed Lincoln. Not the man but the capitol city. We didn't get to see the dome.
Then we got to Omaha. Bigger city than I expected. Significant signs of extensive civilization. But we didn't stay long enough to see if they were highly evolved.
We found ourselves in Iowa. And the brother and I, because of our love of baseball, immediately found ourselves talking about the field. You know, the field. Where James Earl Jones disappeared into the corn. And where Moonlight Graham had his first hit.
The next few hours went - what I thought to be - quickly. Iowa's certainly more hilly than I expected. But it has just as much corn as I thought it would. Well, it will. The other thing that surprised me was the amount of wind across the plains. I suppose it makes sense since there's nothing to stop the wind from blowing across those states. But still, there were gusts that almost carried my Yankee cap far away.
Random comment. Saw the name Dubuque. The brother - who enjoys reading every sign and billboard on both sides of the road said, 'DUH buck'. I turned and smiled at him, thinking he was making fun. He looked at me in all seriousness and said, that isn't how you say it? No, it's 'duh BYOOK'. He looked at the name again and said, that's dumb.
We made our way through Des Moines. And then passed near Winterset, IA. I texted a few people and told them I was passing by Marion Morrison's birthplace. Most had no idea about whom I was speaking. But Ashley came back with her favorite quotation from him, 'Life is tough, but it's tougher when you're stupid.' And the Old Man - of course he knew who it was - asked if the brother and I were 'DUKEING' it out.
We passed by Brooklyn and Montezuma. Not to mention Iowa City and Davenport.
We crossed the Mississippi - which the brother loves to spell (I dunno). It was a tad anticlimactic. The brother thought it should have been wider. That's the word he used.
That meant we were in Illinois. Land of Lincoln. Well, not Lincoln, NE. We had just passed. Lincoln, NE. But Lincoln the man. Well, he's not a man anymore. Hasn't been for 145 years and 1 day. Is it strange that we passed both Lincoln, NE and through Illinois the day after the 145th anniversary of his death? Yeah, I suppose not.
On another note, the Old Man was excited to tell us that Utah experienced a 4.9 earthquake yesterday after we had driven through approximately the same part. Hmm... strange coincidences.
Yes, in Illinois. And in Illinois, I came across the strangest road signs I had ever seen. 'Caution Rough Road Ahead'. There were two yellow diamond-shaped signs that told me this. And the road was rough. I said aloud, why don't they just fix the damn road? The brother laughed and agreed. I then followed up by saying it was probably more cost effective to put the two signs on the side of the road.
We passed Peru, Ottawa, Princeton, and Marseilles. The brother quipped that people in the midwest weren't particularly original with their naming. I agreed.
We passed Joliet. He started talking about Juliet Capulet. And Romeo. But we couldn't remember his last name. I came up with Mercutio out of nowhere. And knew there was a guy that had the name 'Ty'. I just looked it up. Romeo Montague. And Tybalt. My Shakespeare is rusty.
Some time after Joliet, IL the brother suggested a game he had learned from his wife. Take a well known real person's name, for instance Meryl Streep. Then take the last letter of the last name and think of another person's name who begins with that letter, for instance Pedro Martinez. Then Ziggy Marley. And Yolanda Adams. Sam Snead. Dwight David Eisenhower. Raquel Welch. And so on. It lasted us through Illinois.
By Indiana, night had come. And there was construction. And the brother was bored and decided to sing and whistle and make random unintelligible noises. The dog continued to sleep. The GPS lady kept telling me to veer left. She was insistent, like an unbearable nanny crossed with a scratched record. We stopped for gas soon after. And I walked into the visitor center to regain some semblance of sanity.
We drove the last hour to South Bend. When we arrived at the exit, the GPS lady - she's buried deep in the recesses of the machine - told us to go and look for the Comfort Suites somewhere opposite the direction of all the hotels. Not a good sign, we thought. She then took us around and about until we discovered that we had gone in a circle. Not at all helpful. The brother started cursing. At her. At long lights. At lights that weren't bright enough. I headed back towards the hotels while the brother had a tiny fist fight with the woman in the GPS. I think he eventually won because we found the Comfort Suites. Except it was full. Just what we wanted to hear. I backed up the trailer all by my lonesome. The brother was surprised at the agility with which I maneuvered the small rig. I told him it was because I was pissed. Yeah, I can see that, he said.
Luckily, the guy at the Comfort Suites had recommended the Jameson Inn. Well, I was damn well not going to spend another night in a Motel 6 type place. So, I approached the Jameson with caution. But I'm pleasantly surprised. Thank God.
Now, it's 1:45. Primarily because we crossed into yet another time zone, the last one. And we'll be up early tomorrow to reach our final destination. And my final destination for now...
Good night all...
We started the day in North Platte, NE. The dog, the brother, the trailer, the Forester, and I got under way at 8 a.m. Central. We couldn't escape that hell hole of a hotel quickly enough. We didn't even stop immediately for breakfast. We just got onto I-80 and started driving.
We drove due east until we came to Kearney, NE. There, we partook of Starbucks. Yes, I know. A little taste of home in the midst of a foreign land. A veinti white chocoloate mocha and a sausage with egg breakfast sandwich. The brother longed for Dunkin Donuts simplicity and requested an iced coffee with milk and sugar.
We were soon on our way across the very flat state of Nebraska. Thank you God and Subaru for cruise control. And Ralph Teetor, the blind inventor and mechanical engineer who suggested the idea of cruise control in modern vehicles.
The dog slept most of the way with his head on the center arm rest. The brother slept some of the way. And played PSP some of the way. Meanwhile, I drove. And texted a few people from time to time. I was told to beware, for instance, the children of the corn.
We passed Lincoln. Not the man but the capitol city. We didn't get to see the dome.
Then we got to Omaha. Bigger city than I expected. Significant signs of extensive civilization. But we didn't stay long enough to see if they were highly evolved.
We found ourselves in Iowa. And the brother and I, because of our love of baseball, immediately found ourselves talking about the field. You know, the field. Where James Earl Jones disappeared into the corn. And where Moonlight Graham had his first hit.
The next few hours went - what I thought to be - quickly. Iowa's certainly more hilly than I expected. But it has just as much corn as I thought it would. Well, it will. The other thing that surprised me was the amount of wind across the plains. I suppose it makes sense since there's nothing to stop the wind from blowing across those states. But still, there were gusts that almost carried my Yankee cap far away.
Random comment. Saw the name Dubuque. The brother - who enjoys reading every sign and billboard on both sides of the road said, 'DUH buck'. I turned and smiled at him, thinking he was making fun. He looked at me in all seriousness and said, that isn't how you say it? No, it's 'duh BYOOK'. He looked at the name again and said, that's dumb.
We made our way through Des Moines. And then passed near Winterset, IA. I texted a few people and told them I was passing by Marion Morrison's birthplace. Most had no idea about whom I was speaking. But Ashley came back with her favorite quotation from him, 'Life is tough, but it's tougher when you're stupid.' And the Old Man - of course he knew who it was - asked if the brother and I were 'DUKEING' it out.
We passed by Brooklyn and Montezuma. Not to mention Iowa City and Davenport.
We crossed the Mississippi - which the brother loves to spell (I dunno). It was a tad anticlimactic. The brother thought it should have been wider. That's the word he used.
That meant we were in Illinois. Land of Lincoln. Well, not Lincoln, NE. We had just passed. Lincoln, NE. But Lincoln the man. Well, he's not a man anymore. Hasn't been for 145 years and 1 day. Is it strange that we passed both Lincoln, NE and through Illinois the day after the 145th anniversary of his death? Yeah, I suppose not.
On another note, the Old Man was excited to tell us that Utah experienced a 4.9 earthquake yesterday after we had driven through approximately the same part. Hmm... strange coincidences.
Yes, in Illinois. And in Illinois, I came across the strangest road signs I had ever seen. 'Caution Rough Road Ahead'. There were two yellow diamond-shaped signs that told me this. And the road was rough. I said aloud, why don't they just fix the damn road? The brother laughed and agreed. I then followed up by saying it was probably more cost effective to put the two signs on the side of the road.
We passed Peru, Ottawa, Princeton, and Marseilles. The brother quipped that people in the midwest weren't particularly original with their naming. I agreed.
We passed Joliet. He started talking about Juliet Capulet. And Romeo. But we couldn't remember his last name. I came up with Mercutio out of nowhere. And knew there was a guy that had the name 'Ty'. I just looked it up. Romeo Montague. And Tybalt. My Shakespeare is rusty.
Some time after Joliet, IL the brother suggested a game he had learned from his wife. Take a well known real person's name, for instance Meryl Streep. Then take the last letter of the last name and think of another person's name who begins with that letter, for instance Pedro Martinez. Then Ziggy Marley. And Yolanda Adams. Sam Snead. Dwight David Eisenhower. Raquel Welch. And so on. It lasted us through Illinois.
By Indiana, night had come. And there was construction. And the brother was bored and decided to sing and whistle and make random unintelligible noises. The dog continued to sleep. The GPS lady kept telling me to veer left. She was insistent, like an unbearable nanny crossed with a scratched record. We stopped for gas soon after. And I walked into the visitor center to regain some semblance of sanity.
We drove the last hour to South Bend. When we arrived at the exit, the GPS lady - she's buried deep in the recesses of the machine - told us to go and look for the Comfort Suites somewhere opposite the direction of all the hotels. Not a good sign, we thought. She then took us around and about until we discovered that we had gone in a circle. Not at all helpful. The brother started cursing. At her. At long lights. At lights that weren't bright enough. I headed back towards the hotels while the brother had a tiny fist fight with the woman in the GPS. I think he eventually won because we found the Comfort Suites. Except it was full. Just what we wanted to hear. I backed up the trailer all by my lonesome. The brother was surprised at the agility with which I maneuvered the small rig. I told him it was because I was pissed. Yeah, I can see that, he said.
Luckily, the guy at the Comfort Suites had recommended the Jameson Inn. Well, I was damn well not going to spend another night in a Motel 6 type place. So, I approached the Jameson with caution. But I'm pleasantly surprised. Thank God.
Now, it's 1:45. Primarily because we crossed into yet another time zone, the last one. And we'll be up early tomorrow to reach our final destination. And my final destination for now...
Good night all...
Thursday, April 15, 2010
It's Personal: Returning East Days 1 & 2
Here I sit in a Motel 6 in North Platte, NE. I've never been to Nebraska. And I hope never to stay in a Motel 6 again. It's true that you get that for which you pay.
Many of you already know that I'm on my way back east. Others of you didn't prior to the preceding sentence. Well, now you know. And here I am.
Because it is late, because I am tired, but mostly because I'm not prepared to discuss the topic, I will not be disclosing the associated whys and wherefores. Instead, I give you a few hows along the way. My trip remembered, as it were.
Before I begin, I will warn you that I have no pictures. It's partially because I don't have a camera. Partially because the camera on my phone isn't up to par. And mostly because pictures of random signs and mountains will not help me to remember this trip. Instead, I give to you a few recollections, most of them true...
With all the stuff - translated books, clothes, and crap - that I've accumulated, I can no longer fit everything into a Mitsubishi Galant. Not to mention I have my brother and the black / brown dog, Buddy, with me. So, a trailer was a must. Which meant I needed a hitch. Well, I did it by the book. A hitch first, professionally installed. Then an appointment for a 4' x 8' trailer. Then got the trailer on Tuesday. Drove it to the house. And acted like I was going to back the trailer into the driveway. Then I realized it was rush hour and pulled forward. And then I realized that I didn't know how to back it up.
So, that's how the whole thing started. After goodbyes had been said (again, not getting into that) I got into the car. With the booklet I had received from UHaul and the advice I had received from the old man through the brother, I slowly but surely backed the trailer and the forester out of the driveway. Yes, I held up morning traffic for 5-10 minutes. But I think Joseph enjoyed telling them to wait.
We were on our way. North on I-5. East on I-90. The brother, the dog, and I. Late, by the way. 8 a.m. You have to understand that when I started towards Seattle, I awoke at 5 a.m. Big difference.
Anyway. We traversed the Cascades. Beautiful this time of year. Don't have to worry about snow too much. And yet you can still see the traces of it here and there. Mountains and lakes and beautiful conifers. Amazing that I hadn't actually visited that road since July 2002. In fact, it's quite amazing that I visited so few places in the immediate vicinity. Once to Portland. Twice to Vancouver. Once to the San Juans. Once to Mt. Rainier. Never to Leavenworth. And still never to California, not that it's in the immediate vicinity.
We followed I-90 to Ellensburg and then veered south on I-82. Through Yakima and Kennewick, our first stop. Nothing really of note during that period. Buddy wasn't sure what was happening. And I felt badly for him. The brother fiddled in the front seat - not literally - and tried to enjoy the scenery. His favorite saying of the trip thus far - except for Seattle and Ogden, UT of all places - there is nothing here; I mean nothing.
We entered Oregon, which the brother insists on calling oar-uh-GONE as opposed to OAR uh gun. We got gas. I forgot it was full service. I hadn't had full service gas since a trip through New Jersey. And then we left Oregon. Not much in that northeast corner.
We entered Idaho and almost immediately passed through Boise. Well, that was after Nampa which the brother quipped was Tampa's cousin. Relatively uneventful. Except for the smell. Not sure what it was, but every so often we caught a scent entirely too similar to raw sewage. Yuck.
Lost an hour sometime in there. Went from Pacific to Mountain. Ugh.
636 miles. 12 hours. Good enough.
Spent the night in Twin Falls at a Best Western. Nice place. Had amenities I wish I had had time to use.
Went to bed. Slept well.
Awoke at 6 a.m. Better. We ate the complimentary breakfast and were on our way by 7.
Made it the rest of the way through Idaho. Then into Utah. Didn't quite get down to the Great Salt Lake. But close. Did go to a rest area just before the Rockies where Buddy left some treats.
The trip through Utah was short. Wyoming came next. Stopped in Evanston for gas. And answered some work email. Yes, there's still work.
Crossed Wyoming to Rawlins. Got gas again. In between, there were buttes and mountains and cows and sheep and lots of trucks.
Tangent. We passed by a small, frail looking creature. It was whitish and had horns. I thought it was a deer and said as much. The brother said, no, it's a cantelope. I turned to look at him. And he started laughing the addictive laugh he's had since childhood.
After Rawlins, we made our way to Cheyenne, Wyoming's capital. We saw the golden top of the capitol building. And we kept going.
Into Nebraska. Sidney was our first stop in the state. Needed gas, after all. So, I insert the credit card and am told to go into the cashier. I pump the gas and then see the cashier. The card has a hold on it. I use the debit card. Why does the credit card have a hold?
I call customer service. In the middle of the call, I get dropped. I am out in the middle of nowhere after all. During the second call, I discover that the card has been flagged as having fraudulent activity on it. Why? Because I'm taking a cross country trip, and that is abnormal. So, the guy removes the hold.
What annoyed me the most about it? Well, I had a hard time understanding the people on the other end of the line. They were all foreign. I'm not against foreigners working in the U.S. But methinks they weren't working in the U.S. Yet more business process outsourcing.
Drove through the black night in western Nebraska. Trucks passed at ridiculous speeds. And then I saw the sign saying we had passed into the Central time zone. Which meant we didn't get into the room at 9:30 as we had intended. But at 10:30.
And I was adamant about writing this entry. So, now it's almost 1:30 Central. That's 11:30 Pacific. Or even 12:30 Mountain, if you'd like. Right now, with everything I've endured of late, it might as well be high noon.
I suppose I should try to sleep. We've another long day ahead tomorrow. South Bend is a reach. More than likely, we'll be somewhere south of Chicago.
Until next I write...
Many of you already know that I'm on my way back east. Others of you didn't prior to the preceding sentence. Well, now you know. And here I am.
Because it is late, because I am tired, but mostly because I'm not prepared to discuss the topic, I will not be disclosing the associated whys and wherefores. Instead, I give you a few hows along the way. My trip remembered, as it were.
Before I begin, I will warn you that I have no pictures. It's partially because I don't have a camera. Partially because the camera on my phone isn't up to par. And mostly because pictures of random signs and mountains will not help me to remember this trip. Instead, I give to you a few recollections, most of them true...
With all the stuff - translated books, clothes, and crap - that I've accumulated, I can no longer fit everything into a Mitsubishi Galant. Not to mention I have my brother and the black / brown dog, Buddy, with me. So, a trailer was a must. Which meant I needed a hitch. Well, I did it by the book. A hitch first, professionally installed. Then an appointment for a 4' x 8' trailer. Then got the trailer on Tuesday. Drove it to the house. And acted like I was going to back the trailer into the driveway. Then I realized it was rush hour and pulled forward. And then I realized that I didn't know how to back it up.
So, that's how the whole thing started. After goodbyes had been said (again, not getting into that) I got into the car. With the booklet I had received from UHaul and the advice I had received from the old man through the brother, I slowly but surely backed the trailer and the forester out of the driveway. Yes, I held up morning traffic for 5-10 minutes. But I think Joseph enjoyed telling them to wait.
We were on our way. North on I-5. East on I-90. The brother, the dog, and I. Late, by the way. 8 a.m. You have to understand that when I started towards Seattle, I awoke at 5 a.m. Big difference.
Anyway. We traversed the Cascades. Beautiful this time of year. Don't have to worry about snow too much. And yet you can still see the traces of it here and there. Mountains and lakes and beautiful conifers. Amazing that I hadn't actually visited that road since July 2002. In fact, it's quite amazing that I visited so few places in the immediate vicinity. Once to Portland. Twice to Vancouver. Once to the San Juans. Once to Mt. Rainier. Never to Leavenworth. And still never to California, not that it's in the immediate vicinity.
We followed I-90 to Ellensburg and then veered south on I-82. Through Yakima and Kennewick, our first stop. Nothing really of note during that period. Buddy wasn't sure what was happening. And I felt badly for him. The brother fiddled in the front seat - not literally - and tried to enjoy the scenery. His favorite saying of the trip thus far - except for Seattle and Ogden, UT of all places - there is nothing here; I mean nothing.
We entered Oregon, which the brother insists on calling oar-uh-GONE as opposed to OAR uh gun. We got gas. I forgot it was full service. I hadn't had full service gas since a trip through New Jersey. And then we left Oregon. Not much in that northeast corner.
We entered Idaho and almost immediately passed through Boise. Well, that was after Nampa which the brother quipped was Tampa's cousin. Relatively uneventful. Except for the smell. Not sure what it was, but every so often we caught a scent entirely too similar to raw sewage. Yuck.
Lost an hour sometime in there. Went from Pacific to Mountain. Ugh.
636 miles. 12 hours. Good enough.
Spent the night in Twin Falls at a Best Western. Nice place. Had amenities I wish I had had time to use.
Went to bed. Slept well.
Awoke at 6 a.m. Better. We ate the complimentary breakfast and were on our way by 7.
Made it the rest of the way through Idaho. Then into Utah. Didn't quite get down to the Great Salt Lake. But close. Did go to a rest area just before the Rockies where Buddy left some treats.
The trip through Utah was short. Wyoming came next. Stopped in Evanston for gas. And answered some work email. Yes, there's still work.
Crossed Wyoming to Rawlins. Got gas again. In between, there were buttes and mountains and cows and sheep and lots of trucks.
Tangent. We passed by a small, frail looking creature. It was whitish and had horns. I thought it was a deer and said as much. The brother said, no, it's a cantelope. I turned to look at him. And he started laughing the addictive laugh he's had since childhood.
After Rawlins, we made our way to Cheyenne, Wyoming's capital. We saw the golden top of the capitol building. And we kept going.
Into Nebraska. Sidney was our first stop in the state. Needed gas, after all. So, I insert the credit card and am told to go into the cashier. I pump the gas and then see the cashier. The card has a hold on it. I use the debit card. Why does the credit card have a hold?
I call customer service. In the middle of the call, I get dropped. I am out in the middle of nowhere after all. During the second call, I discover that the card has been flagged as having fraudulent activity on it. Why? Because I'm taking a cross country trip, and that is abnormal. So, the guy removes the hold.
What annoyed me the most about it? Well, I had a hard time understanding the people on the other end of the line. They were all foreign. I'm not against foreigners working in the U.S. But methinks they weren't working in the U.S. Yet more business process outsourcing.
Drove through the black night in western Nebraska. Trucks passed at ridiculous speeds. And then I saw the sign saying we had passed into the Central time zone. Which meant we didn't get into the room at 9:30 as we had intended. But at 10:30.
And I was adamant about writing this entry. So, now it's almost 1:30 Central. That's 11:30 Pacific. Or even 12:30 Mountain, if you'd like. Right now, with everything I've endured of late, it might as well be high noon.
I suppose I should try to sleep. We've another long day ahead tomorrow. South Bend is a reach. More than likely, we'll be somewhere south of Chicago.
Until next I write...
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
3WW (Deviate, Identify, Saturate): No One
Deviate from good.
Identify with evil.
Saturate young minds.
Deviate from sin.
Identify with virtue.
Saturate young minds.
Deviate from choice.
Identify with balance.
Saturate no one.
Identify with evil.
Saturate young minds.
Deviate from sin.
Identify with virtue.
Saturate young minds.
Deviate from choice.
Identify with balance.
Saturate no one.
Monday, April 5, 2010
It's Personal: Mentors
born, whatever that means.
there are people around
speaking in foreign languages,
telling me what to do
and how to act and where to be.
they say it lovingly,
all of those mentors.
whether in english
or financial speak
or catholic speak.
i listen, more than listen.
i am enthralled, amazed.
i believe all they say.
they speak with such confidence.
they teach the basics
but not all their tricks
of subtle nuance.
i follow where they lead.
i trumpet their arrival.
i proclaim their great deeds from memory.
and then there comes a sad day
when i have learned the nuance,
when i see the subtle tricks
as clearly as through a clean window.
the mentor transforms
from demigod to demagogue.
and i break a little.
a piece of me falls into the ocean,
corrodes from the creeping salt.
all is not as i once believed.
i grope for meaning, understanding.
i find none, only imperfection.
i think i have failed in my contemplation.
it is when we are weakest that we are strong.
failure breeds humility;
humanity wields its noble sword.
mentors are human.
there is a birth around me;
my word suddenly becomes law.
i am telling people what to do.
i am telling people how to act.
i am telling people where to be.
lovingly, of course.
doomed to fail on my path as a mentor,
which means i will succeed.
there are people around
speaking in foreign languages,
telling me what to do
and how to act and where to be.
they say it lovingly,
all of those mentors.
whether in english
or financial speak
or catholic speak.
i listen, more than listen.
i am enthralled, amazed.
i believe all they say.
they speak with such confidence.
they teach the basics
but not all their tricks
of subtle nuance.
i follow where they lead.
i trumpet their arrival.
i proclaim their great deeds from memory.
and then there comes a sad day
when i have learned the nuance,
when i see the subtle tricks
as clearly as through a clean window.
the mentor transforms
from demigod to demagogue.
and i break a little.
a piece of me falls into the ocean,
corrodes from the creeping salt.
all is not as i once believed.
i grope for meaning, understanding.
i find none, only imperfection.
i think i have failed in my contemplation.
it is when we are weakest that we are strong.
failure breeds humility;
humanity wields its noble sword.
mentors are human.
there is a birth around me;
my word suddenly becomes law.
i am telling people what to do.
i am telling people how to act.
i am telling people where to be.
lovingly, of course.
doomed to fail on my path as a mentor,
which means i will succeed.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
3WW (Caustic, Hunch, Sacrifice): In Vain
Roses as red
As the crimson blood
Pouring from the knife wound
To your stomach.
Violets as blue
As your cherub face
Choked from the withered hands
Around your neck.
Sugar as sweet
As the honeyed words
Poured from your caustic lips
When I depart.
As for you
As for your hunches
And your sacrifices
They were in vain.
As the crimson blood
Pouring from the knife wound
To your stomach.
Violets as blue
As your cherub face
Choked from the withered hands
Around your neck.
Sugar as sweet
As the honeyed words
Poured from your caustic lips
When I depart.
As for you
As for your hunches
And your sacrifices
They were in vain.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)