Road Trip

The title speaks to exactly what this was: lots and lots of road.  So much road!  So much road trip.  I made the mistake of not counting the miles, but I would guess... over 4,317.

Driving across the country can be easily romanticized.  I've crossed this country five times now, and can't say I would be excited to do it again: it is a YUGE country (as some might say).

I appreciate Joni Mitchell's take on these roads in Refuge of the Roads off of her Hejira album.  Driving feels existential and ordinary.  Lots and lots of highways taking you from forests to plains to deserts, through canyons and mountains and along seashores.

During this January road trip, I lived in fear of facing a snow storm in my two-wheel drive Ford Focus.  With this in mind, we took a Southern route that dove from New Jersey down to New Orleans, through the Southwest, and up the California coast.  We were lucky.  We meandered through snow clouds of Arizona and New Mexico, the flurries swiftly scampering across the road occasionally.  Cloudy mist surrounded us through Northern California and Mt. Shasta, with watery stripes across the pavement on rt. 97 up to Bend.

Refuge of the Roads

Joni Mitchell

I met a friend of spirit

A drunk with Sage's eyes

As I sat before his sanity

I was holding back from crying

He saw my complications

And he mirrored me back simplified

And we laughed how our perfection

Would always be denied

Heart and humor and humility

He said, "Will lighten up your heavy load"

And they send me then to the refuge of the roads

I fell in with some drifters

Cast upon a beach town

Winn Dixie cold cuts

And highway hand me downs

And I wound up fixing dinner

For them and Boston Jim

I well up with affection

Thinking back down the roads to then

The nets were overflowing

In the Gulf of Mexico

They were overflowing in the refuge of the roads

There was spring along the ditches

There were good times in the cities

Oh, radiant happiness

It was all so light and easy

'Til I started analyzing

And I brought on my old ways

A thunderhead of judgment was

Gathering in my gaze

And it made most people nervous

They just didn't want to know

What I was seeing in the refuge of the roads

I pulled off into a forest

Crickets clicking in the ferns

Like a wheel of fortune

I heard my fate turn, turn turn

And I went running down a white sand road

I was running like a white-assed deer

Running to lose the blues

To the innocence in here

These are the clouds of Michelangelo

Muscular with Gods and sun gold

Shine on your witness in the refuge in the roads

In a highway service station

Over the month of June

Was a photograph of the earth

Taken coming back from the moon

And you couldn't see a city

On that marbled bowling ball

Or a forest or a highway

Or me here least of all

You couldn't see these cold water restrooms

Or this baggage overload

Westbound and rolling taking refuge in the roads

Traveling has changed a bit since Joni or her musical contemporaries were exploring.  A cross-country journey nowadays likely includes podcasts, audiobooks, Google Maps, and Air Bnbs - or at least, ours did.  Fully technologized and less moments of silent wonderings and starings out the open windows of an air condition-less vehicle.  Knowing the traffic and weather patterns make travel easier, or just give you more to worry about ("We have to get to Albuquerque before the snow does!").  The silence is still available though, and the open windows, and the existential questions.  It's up to you.  Go current or go old school.  I personally like to get gas when we're around half a tank, especially when traveling through the desert.  I'd also rather use the bathroom a million times than have to go desperately without a rest stop in sight.  And every time we cross a time zone, it's important to make a noise as if you're going through a time warp ("Whoa whoa whoaaaaaa!!").  Sometimes we have long conversations, sometimes we don't.  Don't forget to take photos.

Despite my reluctancy to drive cross-country again (ever) there are a few things I love about it:

The road.  The road changes gradually.  You pass through time zones but your body has naturally adjusted.  There's no jet lag.  Green leafy foliage are flooded to become marshlands which dry up to tumbleweeds and brush.  The dirt turns to a red sandy mix.  The land flattens.  Palm trees begin to pop up, starting in Arizona until you find yourself at Palm Springs, then Venice Beach.  These disappear along CA 1, replaced by pine trees, then redwoods, mixed with Tuscany-esque farmland beaming bright greens and yellows in the golden hour.  Patches of snow and fog reappear, followed by ice covered lakes and snow-topped buttes, leading you in Oregon.  This road is life; it is always changing it's form.

The music.  Let's see... what did we listen to.  The Tallest Man on Earth Dark Bird is Home with favorite song "Sagres" and "Dark Bird is Home."

Was I ever part of knowing with your hands in mind.  Little screams into the wonder, and a wild set of rides.  Come on... (Sagres)

Sylvan Esso Sylvan Esso.  Oh Wonder Oh Wonder with favorite songs "Livewire," "Midnight Moon," & "Plans."

I've got plans to get to you, you know, don't you know?  Going to make a paper plane and float to you.  You know, don't you know?  We'll be scraping the sky with our fingertips, screaming "This is the life, we were born for this" (Plans)

I drove us from the mountains of Asheville to lightly trafficked Atlanta listening straight through to Oh Wonder and Monica Heldal Boy from the North while Jordan slept, as he was fighting a strange virus most of the trip.  The state of his health also signaled "Doctor" from The Bird and the Bee Recreational Love.

Doctor, Doctor, Doctor, Doctor... Give me pills, or give me love...

Another favorite from this album was "Los Angeles" - played very often during our drive into, around and through the city.

(LA, la la la la la) Stop asking me where I come from (Living in LA, la la la la la) Tell me how to love someone (Living in LA, la la la la la) Stop asking me where I come from (Living in LA, la la la la la) I love you more than anyone

What else.  Those were the favorites, mixed with a few other things I'm sure (coughAdelecough).

The podcasts & audiobooks. We listened to typical NPR-listener-favorites of our generation.  A combo of This American Life, Radio Lab, Fresh Air, The Moth, Serial (!!!), Hidden Brain, and On Being.  I haven't looked at these podcasts since returning but am now just reminded that I never finished Serial... The Moth was particularly helpful once the sun set and we had been driving over 7 hours.  We listened to stories through the winding dark wet/snowy roads from Flagstaff down through Sedona and into Phoenix.  The elevation rise and fall was dramatic, as were the tales of a woman and her boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend of significant years who he still was friends with.

As for audiobooks, we listened to B.J. Novak's collection of contemporary short stories One More Thing through Texas and into Arizona.  These can be tricky to follow, as they can be short and when you're listening you may not realize one has ended and another has begun.  They are clever, witty, and ironic.  Stories connect with each other.  Actually, really I listened to them and watched the widening landscape of West Texas while Jordan played I-pad games.

Please listen to Jim Gaffigan's Food: A Love Story if you're into laughing out loud.  It was particularly appropriate for us since he goes through all the food across the US.  He has chapters devoted to New Orleans, BBQ, Doughnuts, Green Chile... many of the items we had come across ourselves.  It was relevant, hilarious, and important to listen to in the voice of the man himself.  We're still quoting and cracking up about some of his lines.  I remember laughing out loud at this one:

Being southern means liking grits.  Grits are not for everyone.  It's almost as if someone was like, "If you like the taste of biscuits and gravy, but without the taste of biscuits and gravy, then you'll love our man-made wet sand."

He talks about his theory that New Mexicans are actually hoarding all the green chile.  I wish I could find quotes from his piece on the cheap prices of doughnuts ("I guess I'll get 12 doughnuts for a nickel...").  Other lines include:

If aliens studied Earth, they would come to the conclusion that the United States is somehow consuming food on behalf of other countries.

Has peeling an orange ever really been worth it? 

The culture.  The US is a big country.  It is geologically, ideologically, and beautifully diverse.  I am always glad to be reminded of this as I drive across the country.  The strip malls and gas stations look the same, but then you have these pockets so drastically distinct from elsewhere.  You find out what is similar and what is different.  New Orleans.  New York City.  Boston.  Big Sur.  Asheville.  The Rockies.  Utah in general.  When it comes to politics, you are reminded of how difficult it must be to appeal to the majority of these people - how do you even do it?  And why are there only two political parties?

I am also always reminded of the incredibly diverse natural beauty.  Our drive along the California coastline and inwards to the wine regions made me so excited to return to get to know it better (the pinots, the sauvs, and the rest).  Big Sur lived up to its reputation as one of the gorgeous spots on the coastline.  It reminded me of Scotland - as anything with a rocky shore, green hills, and overcast weather does.  But it wasn't just CA 1 - the road into New Orleans was fascinating.  We drove across extensive bridges taking us over marshland and down into the city.  Then there was the city itself.  We stayed in a pocket of the Garden District where the buildings fit my image of what the beautiful deep South would look like: elegant porches with high ceilings, ivy tying up the beams, and colorful window shutters lining the long French windows and doors.  We walked around at night in an air that I can only describe as deep Southern air; a touch of moisture, rich with flowery scent, and draped in moonlight.

Then there was the food (see Jim Gaffigan's chapter on New Orleans, which he describes as the best in the US).  I'm typically sketched out by roadside food.  However, we stopped a couple times in Texas for their BBQ and it was so smoky delicious - I've just never experienced that before.  It was fun to watch the menus change.  Once in Austin, we were starting to see breakfast tacos on the menu, only to be reinforced in New Mexico.  New Orleans offered this incredible fusion of french, spanish, and creole.  I was reminded of South America.  We had ceviche, jerk chicken, and delicious sauvignon blanc.  They served kombucha at the cafe around the corner, along with breakfast bowls with poached eggs, kale, and avocado.  All my favorite things.

the places we went

blairstown, nj / asheville, nc / atlanta, ga / new orleans, la / austin, tx / albuquerque, nm / surprise, az / los angeles, ca / carmel-by-the-sea, ca / redding, ca / bend, or

All i'll say for highlights is: LA on the weekend is lovely.  The traffic is quieter.  I find it amazing that such a city has a beautiful beach right there - NYC cannot make this claim.  LA does feel glamorous, and I'd like to go back.  My picture of Atlanta was redeemed by staying with my friend in her beautifully revitalized log cabin.  Atlanta has cozy neighborhoods and parks; you can live next to your friends.  And it's warmer in the Winter.  The Southwest does not disappoint in the Winter: warm, dry, and just oh-so-sunny.  The waves at Carmel, CA were the largest I've ever seen.  Can't wait to return to the wine country.  Finally driving through Northern CA and into Oregon was just awesome.  Oh and so glad to finally see Asheville.  I can see why people want to live there: the mountains, the beer, the book store.  

Despite all these wonderful places, we're happy to be back in Bend, Oregon - where the natural beauty and beer flow abundantly.  Happy to be in our new home.    

Asheville, NC

Asheville

This is why people live here

Blue Ridge Mountains

Ora and Bethany in Atlanta

Upside downstairs

Hung up in Atlanta, GA

Well Read

Squish

Feathers

Flannel Shirt Day

Bethany and Caleb's Cabin

En route to Louisiana

The bright colors of New Orleans

Magazine Street Feet

The lovely porches of NOLA

The French Quarter

The Square

Down the street of the French Quarter

Sunny doors and window shutters

New Orleans, LA

Sun Sun Sun

Palm Plants

Bathing

Texas

Austin, TX

Breakfast Tacos

Wahoos

The Capital

Pit Stop, TX

Welcome!

BBQ #2

Sunset BBQ

The long trains of the plains

ABQ with Abby + 1

The snowy deserts of NM

New Mexico

Into Arizona

Arizona Sunset & Clouds

Blue Sky & Terracotta

Hello, Palm Tree

Cacti!

Culver City, CA

Venice, CA

California

Palms Palms Palms

Surfers

Carmel by the Sea, CA

Big Sur, CA

Big Sur

Big Sur

Near the wine country!

Hello, PNW.

Across Northern CA

Back in Bend, OR

The Art of Learning

I've gotten in the habit of using Google Calendar, mostly because it's easy, colorful, syncs well, and displays pretty images.  If anyone was curious, I just discovered the complete list of Google Event Images, like these:

This is what I do with my "fun" employment these days.  However, here is the thing: how often do you take the time to actually figure out the ins and outs of an ap, device, program, game, etc.?  How often do you sit and read the instruction manual or actually learn about what you're using?  My grandfather does every time he buy something new (which is once a decade).  He sits with the instruction manual and reads every single word.  I'm not advocating that everyone do this, but maybe think about it.  In my lifetime, technological advancements have transpired so quickly, it has become normal to roll our eyes and sigh, "Ha - I have no idea how this works."  But my grandfather will explore and ask questions that I can't answer with asking Google first.

I believe that it's not expected that we go deep with knowing, unless you're getting your PhD - and even then, how much of learning is skimming?  But let's go back to just our present lives - there are so many devices that I use daily which I am no master of: my car, computer, iPhone, refrigerator, water heater, septic system, speaker, or my camera.  No wonder it's easy to feel a sense of disconnection with our world - we may hardly know much about how it came to be or operates.  We are often far removed from the process and receive the final product in our hands.

I recently purchased At Home by Bill Bryson.  The premise of the book is that he is going to explore history without leaving his home.  He contends that houses are, "amazingly complex repositories... whatever happens in the world, whatever is discovered or created or bitterly fought over, eventually ends up - in one way or another - in your house... We are so used to having a lot of comfort in our lives, to being clean, warm, and well fed, that we forget how recent most of that is."

I sometimes think that the idea of knowledge is often too easily blended with the practicality of getting a job.  What about knowledge for the sake of knowledge, and exploring the backstory of the modern world we live in?  I wonder if that would help us become better stewards of it.  I know for myself, when I take the time (or am forced to take the time) to learn about something, I come away with a different appreciation of it.  I had never fully appreciated Ansel Adam's photography until I realized the camera he was using to capture these images, not to mention he himself developed the film and "filtered" the images in a dark room.  It wasn't until I saw a photo of him hiking - in what looked like sneakers - up a snowy mountainside with a huge camera on his back that it occurred to me the technological context of his photography.

Autumn Moon, the High Sierra from Glacier Point September 15, 1948

Moon and Half Dome 1960

Recently, we saw the Oscar Nominated Short Films for Animation.  Thinking about how we are born so blissfully open to the future reminds me of this character from World of Tomorrow by Don Hertzfeldt:

I imagine we walk around like the little girl does, in the face of complicated technology, stating, "Cirrrrcle" and "Wiggle wiggle wiggle!"  Imagining everything within our grasp being a result of history, makes me wonder where to begin learning about it.

What a rich, comfortable, and fascinating world we live in.

Mountain Winter

 I wrote a lot about Winter last year, because it was right in my face for months.  It was so cold and debilitating - freezing our driveway, caking up on my car, piling on the sidewalk, and breaking one of our pipes.  I was not a fan.

Having Winter stay in the mountains, is one of the most wonderful aspects of living in Bend.  I don't want to speak too soon, because it can certainly creep into our valley location as well, but for now, it is in the mountains.  We went for a jog today on the clear sidewalks.  I can take the dog to the park where there is grass and we can throw the ball.  There is a lack of 20 foot high piles of snow in the parking lots or muddy slush on the sides of the streets.  All of it is sitting in the mountains where we can visit it and then go home.  

The other day, I think I actually began to enjoy Winter.  Winter sports have never been a part of my life; I grew up without skiing, snowboarding, ice skating, snowshoeing, etc.  My extent of Winter athletics consisted of me sledding down the hill in our front yard.  Staying outside felt like survival of the fittest before we could finally head indoors for hot chocolate.  We would push through to make snow forts or tunnels, but then spend the rest of the day recovering and letting our sopping wet snowsuit, socks, mittens, and hats dry out by the fire while our faces defrosted.  Enjoying Winter felt like a great effort both physically and financially: the gear, the stamina, and the ambition.

I have often heard in the West, when discussing winter warmth, "Well, if you have the right gear, you'll be fine."  I have been very curious to see how this opinion holds up.  In the Northeast, Winter seems to seep right into your bones, no matter how many layers of cutting edge outdoor gear you may be wearing - whether the sun is out or not.  I pretty much never feel warm when outside, unless I have loaded my boots with foot warmers.

However, Monday on Mt. Bachelor was blue skies and sunny.  I was so warm - in fact, sweaty - as I learned to snowboard for the first time.  It was tough and fun, but mostly hard.  Partaking of Winter culture was new for me - the lodge, the lift ticket, the people in their snow gear.  It was a whole new world.  And concerning the weather, from what I can tell, it may be true - if you have the right gear, you will be warm.  But we'll see.  There's still a lot more Winter to feel here.

I like you, Mountain Winter.

Winter Solstice

New England Open Air goers and the field at The Browne Center which hosts a mowed Labyrinth in the grass

In all the cultural hubbub of the holidays, I have found - in recent years - this has become a time of quiet.  I find my life tends to slow down to about 5-ish mph, where half the day is over by the time I've finished my coffee, I'm taking showers in the afternoon, eating chocolate for breakfast and spend most of the morning petting my cat.  December happens to be the season where I have the least amount of money and most amount of minutes.  The outdoor season has dwindled, school is done, and the weather outside is... well, mild this year, actually.

Coming home is the best because I am actually warm.  We do not watch TV in our coats and hats and I do not even need my snuggie, or socks.  In fact, sometimes we actually have to open a window because the house gets too warm as the wood-burning stove powers on.  After years of living in drafty New England spaces, I realize I grew up spoiled.

Walking through the labyrinth (think path in the field, not David Bowie) of the Browne Center for New England Open Air last weekend, I contemplated the amount of time it takes to get into something and out of something.  Fairy tales and commercials promote this idea of an instant change or fix - a sudden rescue - but in real life, it takes time to walk in and out of experiences.  Experiences linger, grown on us, change us, and we slowly learn to walk with them.

This particular labyrinth is a path mowed on a small portion of a field, where I walk through twists and turns until I find myself in the center of this cerebral-looking grassy maze.  Once I arrive in the center, I stop and sit down, taking in the 55 degree day and the golden green color of the field and grass surrounding me, before I walk the same path out of it.  Ellen Langor talks about mindfulness this way:

"And so, mindfulness, for me, is the very simple process of actively noticing new things. When you actively notice new things that puts you in the present, makes you sensitive to context. As you’re noticing new things, it’s engaging. And it turns out, after a lot of research, that we find that it’s literally, not just figuratively, enlivening."

I think emotions have a way of pulling us in, better than thoughts might do.  They are motions to slow us down enough to notice ourselves and how we are affected by everything.  My dad showed us the video of Carson and Ernie the UPS deliverer... and well, if you don't think you're a particularly emotional being, try watching that.  Langor goes on to talk about what stress is:

"...when there’s stress, there’s an assumption that they’re making that something is going to happen — number one — and that when it happens, it’s going to be awful.  Both of those are mindless.  You want to open it up, both ways.  First, the belief that it’s going to happen.  All you need to do is ask yourself for evidence that it’s not going to happen.  And you always find evidence for whatever you ask yourself."

"I think that it goes back in some sense to Epictetus, who said, not in English, and not with my accent, but that “Events don’t cause stress.  What causes stress are the views you take of events.'  ...almost everybody is mindlessly driven by these absolutes and part of these absolutes are these evaluations of good or bad.  If it’s good, I feel I must have it.  If it’s bad, I must avoid it.  When it’s neither good nor bad, I can just stay put.  And just be.  So we get a lot more control by recognizing the way we’re controlling our present and our future."

Why wrap presents?  We're just going to throw the paper away.  I venture it's because we value the present (double-meaning intended).  We are bringing attention to that present moment, inviting surprise - creating space for joy.  My mom still loves watching us open presents. 

What I love about this season, is that humans decided to invite celebration, merriment, and gift-giving into the darkest days of the year (well.... if you live in the Northern portion of the Northern hemisphere).  To me, it is somehow reflective of the the human spirit's need for community.  We allow ourselves this time to connect with others, value those relationships, check in on people, and delight in giving.  Even if Adele is really what brings us all together, at least we are making an effort. 

The shortest day is upon us and it will take a few months to fully lengthen that light again. 

Time to take a shower. 

Then We Broke the Internet

Based on Real Events

A world without Internet... what?  Luckily, Jaclyn and I grew up in the 90s, so we are familiar with how to live without it.  Remember those days of phone calls, landlines, TV antennas, Blockbuster, letters, and film cameras?  Us too.

At first, we thought, "Oh no! I was going to do a million things..." and in the next breath, we thought, "Oh... I don't have to do a million things."

So we made ourselves some whiskey ciders and sat down.

There are a million reasons why I love the Internet, the first one being that we were looking forward to watching the most recent episode of Fargo.  This world wide web makes my life as a graduate student, long distance relationshipper, photographer, and just plain human navigating Christmas shopping a million times easier.  We can keep up with others, endlessly socialize, and explore the world.  And, at the same time, when it goes out, I appreciate the reminder that I don't need it for connection.

In Wilderness Therapy, a client might ask, "What do you want me to do out here?" or "I don't think I'm making progress out here.  I want to go home to all my normal coping mechanisms." What is hard for them to do, is to sit with themselves.  "I want you to sit with these emotions," the therapist might say, "To me, that is progress."

And it's so hard to do - particularly in the everyday - especially when combined with the amount of guilt one may feel in certain contexts - for not doing anything.  In a culture that equates not taking your vacation time with being a more promotable employer, it can almost feel awkward and vulnerable to admit how many naps you take (and wonder if you're depressed?).

In a world with so many comforts often at our finger tips, you'd think we'd typically feel really good.  But it seems if you want to prove your value, you may feel a push to speak to a stressfully busy life (often I wonder if this is particularly in New England).  I can see how anxiety and depression have become so pervasive.  Setting up boundaries and saying no is such an art.  I admire those who can truly do it well.

I often try to view these dark Winter months as ideal for slowing down, enjoying a meal with a friend - or tea, or drinks - and indulging in the comfort of my space heater.  Somehow the low-lying sun sets a tone of contemplation.  I imagine I have bonded more with the people I've lived with in these moments when we are forced together, inside, and to sit face-to-face.

And so, Jaclyn and I shared our drinks together, and did nothing.

(And the world did not fall apart.)

Finishing Things

I have a friend who used to say he was good at finishing things, and that this is a skill (finish the bathroom, Dad!).  This was in the context of finishing artwork (graphic novels).  As I am nearing my graduation from graduate school (praise be! hallelujah!) I find myself thinking about finishing things - finishing this piece of work I have been working on for a long time.

I realize that I’m not just finishing graduate school, but I’m moving away.  I’m moving away from the Northeast - this region of the country where I have grown all of my community, from childhood through now.  This is where I grew up, went to camp, went to college, worked, and endured graduate school.  Not only that, my skip across the Atlantic to Scotland will now become a double skip across a country and then an ocean.  I can no longer easily hop the Canadian border to visit my brother.  I am making it harder for myself to see the people I know so well and love. 

Why do we do this?  I know I’m not the only one.  It’s funny how you can feel out of place in a place - how you can travel elsewhere and think, “I like this elsewhere” so much that you move to live there.  That’s how I feel about the West.  I love living there.  And I’m probably idealizing it and romanticizing it - of course.  Because you don’t know a place until you truly live there - and to live there is different than visiting.  We all know that.  

And so, I will finish my time here.  For now.  

Me and my Gloucester friends

Winterrrrrr

Lobstah

Hey Rockport

Hey!

Family Portrait Time

Setting Up

To the Prop Shed

Ropes Course Mornings

My CAT

Montreal <3

Dear Friend and Her Dear Alice