27 degrees and Serendipity (Ridgeway, CO)

“We never camped as a family growing up. Although I seem to remember my father pitching a tent in the front yard during a sleepover. Yes, yes – and he came up on us with a flashlight when we were telling ghost stories and scared the bejeezus outta us.”

I fondly remember the love and silliness that was Dad: my brother comes by it naturally. It’s difficult to believe this memory places my father at an earlier age than my brother is now with his two boys. His sudden passing has left a chasm in our family that has never been filled.

I recall the camping trips I took another lifetime ago on the Blue Ridge Parkway with four children, their father, and a Chihuahua – experiences encapsulated and carried off with the wind like dandy lion seeds. But unlike my father’s ethereal presence, my former family is out there somewhere, living their lives without me.  One could argue that a wrenching divorce is just as painful and sorrowful as death.

DAYS 10 & 11

Ridgeway, Colorado

“Do you mean everyone is nekkid?!” my mother asks in an incredulous tone. “I mean – don’t they have those little loin cloths like you see in the movies?”

“No, Mom,” I sigh. “That’s Hollywood trying to keep an ‘R’ rating.”

And I am reminded of all of the modesty and inhibitions that I am supposed to have, but somehow it skipped a generation.

When we arrived after three hours of travel, we set up camp for the first time without incident, working together in tandem as if we had been doing it for years. Appalachian picnic tent with our colors flying, and a nice raised platform for the main tent (although I didn’t think it was too nice that night when I didn’t put my glasses on and tumbled off of it).

Our first evening at Orvis Hot Springs was Saturday, and with the first night of the meteor shower it got a bit raucous with the locals as the evening progressed.

There are several pools, each with a different temperature. The stone paths are lit with ground lights and when you reach the large pool, the steam rises in the sub-freezing temperatures. With the uplighting, it is quite a mist-ical scene. You can only see silhouettes of glistening bodies, and no one pays attention when we disrobe.

The stone path is not only freezing, but it is slimy like a slug trail as well as uneven, making walking with the bad foot glaringly awkward. And then there is always the night blindness. But I have the uplighting and a hand from my love.

Unlike Cottonwood Hot Springs, the floor of this pool is gravel instead in mortar and stones, which makes for a wonderful foot massage. In the corner is the main water source flowing like a strong fountain, and to sit under it is glorious until it becomes painful. On the other side is another trickly fountain with cool water. There are shallow wading areas and small pools scattered about. And this is only one of five pools, the hottest at 110 degrees called the Lobster Pot.

There is a quarter moon, and I am now reminded and saddened about the light pollution dilemma. The last time I saw this many stars was when our church group traveled to Arizona to the Reservation (“Rez”) in the early 80’s, pitched camps, dug latrines, and taught bible school to the local children. Unfortunately, the concept of “Navajo time” has stuck with me over the years.

105 degrees – ouch! And we make our way over to the ledge so that we are not completely submerged. Everyone is speaking in hushed tones and there is a calm atmosphere. Until…

“Oh my Gawd, y’all! These stones are cold! Are y’all here? Oh there you are!”

And she arrives like a bat out of hell, disrobes in front of the one source lamp, cackling all the way. Needless to say, that’s when the party begins. All we could do was shake our heads as cheers arose from the steam, and the tone of the evening was forever changed.

And still the stars fell, and wishes were made.

I wake up in the middle of the night. Dear God, I am still in the same clothes I changed into after my shower. At least I have good socks on, PJ’s, t-shirt and new furry hoodie where I can pull the drawstring tight and have this little circle around my nose and mouth, which is how he finds me the next morning. Several times during the night we wake up and laugh about busting our camping cherry in this manner.

Around 4:30 in the morning, someone pulls in behind us with a really bad transmission – at least in reverse. They have a dog and proceed to get settled. The campsite sets on a dirt road that goes somewhere, and there are people all during this evening going to that place. That van is now setting up camp. Damn, it’s cold. And I have to pee. I manage to get the zipper open and the fly open, and PLOP. There I am on the ground, tumbling off the raised platform onto the gravel. My elbow hurts. More falling stars, more wishes.

The sun is up and my love is outside. I am wrapped up like a mummy and can see my breath, smiling because I did the camping thing in sub-freezing temps – but then again – I didn’t really have a choice, now did I? Within minutes, the early morning van guy is outside chatting with Him, and they immediately drum up a simpatico rapport as if they had known each other for years.

I make a move to exit the sleeping bag – but damn! It’s cold and I didn’t dress right so I greet him from the tent. He is a musician; his partner a yoga instructor, and we cannot imagine a more serendipitous meeting of kindred souls.

Lovey makes a breakfast to die for on the grill that even veg heads would die for. We plan to meet for a soak after they go out for breakfast, and then it hits me. The sunshine is out; in the morning, there is no uplighting and silhouettes. And we’re sober.

This is when the modesty and inhibition kicks in.

“Does that mean they’re going to see us nekkid?” to which he shakes his head and giggles.

Well – I had to write this morning anyway (Freud would have a field day), and by the time I got down there, they were walking back up. A good thing too, because they are part of the 8% ers who wear a suit. And then we have my love who is clearly very comfortable in his natural state, even during the day time.

I don't remember much about that day other than messing around at the campsite and taking soaks throughout the day, but the calm atmosphere and kindred souls were totally regenerative.

That evening, we fired up the grill with our new friends and broke bread together. Soon the instruments came out and we had ourselves in an old-fashioned Hootenanny, although my six chords and my love's play-by-ear were no match, and we were happy to listen to his own poetic, melodic music.

They came over the next morning with proper goodbyes and hopes and wishes to stay in touch. But as we all know, circumstantial meetings rarely turn into long-term friendships.

"There is always room for you to stay in Colorado Springs," he offers. And I can tell that it is truly genuine. 

After packing up (which is like putting a million puzzle pieces back together so everything fits just right), we took our last soak and leave for Moab.

Our first two days of tent-camping go off without a hitch, except He lost his prescription glasses around one of the pools. I simply knew they would be found ("Oh no, they grew legs"). Three days later and a half-state away, they were found.

So there. Either a wishing star was granted, or I asked the Universe in the right way.

Neo-Camping (Vail, CO)

"So this would be 'fancy pants camping,'" my friend who shall remain nameless said. "But keep up the writing," he encourages. "It's enjoyably linear, but a wandering linear."

"Hey- we are making our way across the country, and if someone wants to offer us a place to stay in Vail for the cleaning costs, then hey- We are all over it," I say a bit defensively.

OK - So I'm getting my ass chapped by a couple of folks about the tent camping thing that hasn't happened as of yet, but hold on people~ I am a couple of days behind with the posts and tonight we arrive at Orvis Hot Springs in Ridgeway, Colorado.

In the meantime, we are staying in a wonderful condo with splendorous views. It's nice to stay put for several days while we catch our breath before the next push will land us at the Hot Springs, and we finally make good on the camping proclamations.

DAY 8

An incredibly big day, as we set out for Wyoming to visit Brush Creek Ranch in Saratoga (about 3 1/2 hours from here.) Big not as in long and tiring, but important since his daughter worked there over the summer and asked that we both visit.

The pictures on their website do not do it justice. 6500 acres of gorgeous terrain, a beautiful staff, and tranquil atmosphere. I guess for what you are paying you should get all that! There are multiple activities, from hatchet throwing to horseback riding, archery, shooting ranges, and fly fishing. The facility was (literally) over the top with views from every room, incredible artwork, and tasteful furnishings. Even the privies on the back property are pretty.

But it wasn't until our two-hour ATV ride that the magnitude of the owners' vision truly came to light. They are down to four bison now from 17.

"I never really got hunting these guys. It's like shooting a Volkswagon," our guide says, as the beast merely stands up, snorts and gazes at us with a bemused look. We go off road and shoot one ourselves (with a camera). They are more like cattle than tigers.

We stop at a yurt in what seems like the middle of nowhere, where two workers are building a 360 degree deck. With help for the bad foot, I manage to climb a ladder and enter a remote party center, replete with skins and mounts hunted from the land.

NOTE: More pictures to come later when we figure out how to get them off of his camera. My master's in Educational Technology from 1998 is really coming in handy. It doesn't matter that it's from a prestigious university, it might as well be from 1888.

She and her boyfriend want to come back after they graduate which is totally understandable. The staff couldn't say enough nice things about both of them, and I could practically see Lovey bust a couple of buttons during the visit.

Which leads to a lot of introspection. I was that girl once upon a time and here I am at this point in my life. I always struggled for what I got and never caught the easy breaks. When I finally did in show business, that didn't work out either. The whole "Rolling stone gathers no moss," thing gets lonely, especially when you have lived in as many places as I have.

"I'm not going to join this pity party. She manifested that job," he says.

And then we get into a philosophical discussion when he finally says, "Maybe you aren't asking the universe in the right way."

Needless to say it went south from there.

DAY 9

Sunshine on my Shoulders - God's therapy for my aching muscles~

A Low and Slow day. I am catching up with you and laundry (he loves that I fold his clothes). He is giving love to Selena the Sienna who is pushing 180,000 miles. Oil change and fixing the back latch that broke in the ice storm. This is actually her second coast to coast trip out west, in addition to the one I made to Arkansas by myself with four children and a chihuahua (both are stories from a lifetime ago).

"We have been eating out too much. It is time for grocery shopping and peanut butter. And I'm telling you, this is a deal breaker."

(expectant pause)

"Crunchy."

"By all means! But here is another deal-breaker. Choosy mothers..."

"... CHOOSE JIF."

Oh hell yes, and we give each other a silly fraternity high five in the Safeco in Avon, Colorado. Sometimes it's the very small things that puts your perspective  back on track.

All is good with the world.

Recuperation and Regeneration (Buena Vista, CO)

DAY 5

I need to come up with a parallel set of lyrics for 'Tonight We are Young,' because at this age and after that travel, it would read 'Today We are Old.' 

Lovey went out for a long bicycle ride to remove his heebie-jeebies, while I caught up here with you. The second part of the day isn't pretty; I am sure the sheer exhaustion exasperated the drama. But I can say that it involved a very old, groovy saloon that had been around for 100 years - and had no menu.

"We serve steak, baked potatoes, and salad. Oh yeah - and bread." We're riding the rail at the bar and looked at each other with big grins, since I am notorious for studying menus for a lengthy amount of time and finally ordering whatever the waiter gets.

An anticipated phone call arrived at the wrong time with the wrong message, and things quickly went south.

As Forrest would say, "That's all I have to say about that."

(... for now)

DAY 6

I could immediately tell that this wasn't going to be a family vacation like I was used to when growing up: shopping, an occasional museum and noshing in the local restaurants. Just the fact that you were in a different locale made it all worthwhile.

However, he was on a mission today: Cottonwood Hot Springs, traveling up to the top of Cottonwood Pass, and another dip in the Hot Springs on the way back home (which is wherever you lay your head).

http://www.cottonwood-hot-springs.com/hotsprings/

The outside of the hot springs place was very unassuming; however, the colors were quite garish. When you entered, there was a quasi bodega for the long-term guests in the cabins on the property. On the way to the bathroom was a massage area with music and incense and one of those face-down zero gravity chairs. When I was reading the signage, an older man in vintage Indian garb with a long beard emerged and tauted his services.

“If you don’t feel better at the end there is no charge!” he smiles graciously, as if anyone is going to command a free massage in a beautiful place like this. 

There was a daily chart with the temperatures of the four different pools - 92 degrees to 105 (ouch!)

Except for the obnoxious fellow who loved to hear himself talk loudly (he finally left), it was an incredible experience. We even met a lovely couple from the area and imagined a house exchange together.

The lithium in the pools has left me exhilarated: or is it woozy? We leave and continue on the day’s journey.

"My three friends and I drove our bikes up to the top of this pass, and then we drew straws to see who was going to drive the truck down to meet us."

"Who drew the short straw?"

A sly grin crosses his face. "I can tell you it wasn't me. But one of the guys was hefty even back then and crashed on the way down - really hurt his back." 

And when you look around, there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING for miles.

"And I told him he was going to have get back on that bike or die out here. (Pause) OK - I didn't say that - but it was scary."

You Make Me Smile (You're better than the best)

The switchbacks are nothing different than western North Carolina, but we keep going farther into the clouds, and I am lightheaded now. My neck becomes one of those bobble heads, and I am feeling a bit peculiar.

I said hey - "What's going on?"

  

"You look green around the gills," and I haven't heard that since my mom said it right before my brother threw up on a Trailways bus in the late 1970's in Black Mountain, NC.

"I feel so goofy." I feel like I have several shots of Tequila or something else scary like Absinthe. "Wonky" is usually my word of choice, but I am way beyond that. 

"I feel so goofy," I keep repeating like a mantra, and we keep making those switchbacks and increasing in altitude.

When we finally get to the top, there is one other car at the crest with two people. Lovey gets out - and the wind is totally fierce. Between my foot, the goofiness and the wind - I choose to stay inside. When he comes back, he is gobsmacked by the intensity and ferocity of the weather.

We finally started to make the decline and of course my ears began to pop and everything got a bit better little by little. When we finally got to the bottom of the mountain, he stopped at an auto place to get the windshield wipers changed (a genteel, older lady came out and did it for us). Shortly thereafter, I lost it, and fortunately there was Big Gulp cup on the floor of the car available.

"It's the altitude - it affects some people like this. Are you sure you want to go back to the hot springs?" he asks hesitantly.

(I Hope You Had the Time of Your Life)

We are all the way out here in Colorado, and this is part of his history. I am not going to let a little altitude blow this. We soak again, and the queasiness returns. He has to help me to the changing room which smells like mold because it is so warm, so I just sit my goofy ass down.

"Put your head between your legs if you start to feel nauseated," he encourages. (But if I do that, I will keel right over on the concrete floor and bust something else.)

Afterwards, I lose it again in the parking lot... and it is like I have purged myself of all the negativity and toxins. For the first time in days, I have hope and actually feel much better~

And now we are here.

A bottle of Coke and a pack of Nabs and things are good in the gastro world.

sweet dreams and blues (Nashville-Vail in car)

"OK - I have decided that we are going to stop at every brown sign across America. See there? The National Quilt Museum." (which actually sounded pretty cool).

"The world's largest - no second largest - ball of string," I counter.

We spent four days in Nashville with family and friends: a wonderful introduction, full of hope and myriad possibilities. But it was time to leave, and we decided to bust a move all the way to Vail - 1200 miles and 22 hours of putting shackles down and miles under our belt. I guess I should be making flowery commentary about the beauty and splendor of the American landscape, but at some point during this leg of the trip, it becomes rocks and trees, with mountains and rivers losing their monikers in a blur.

1:45 AM is the first time we are stopped by construction - good sign!

"OK - we are at hour 16 - it is time to ROCK," I proclaim. I have hit a stride and have nearly driven 3/4 of a tank, approaching hour 4. "Put on Zep or something with some dirty rhythm section, because this whiny-ass coffee house shite has to go." I was the one who perhaps put it on the first place.

"Bruce Springsteen?"

"That's what I'm talking about," I do my best homegirl impression. I might have thrown up an old school Air Z-Snap, like my alternative high school students taught me in Arkansas in the early 1990's. Anything you can do to stay awake and keep the wondrous momentum going.

And what does he choose?" THE GHOST OF TOM JOAD. If you are a Boss fan, you are in on the joke.

22 hours can get quite boring so there silly games you devise and stories you remember to amuse yourself and pass the time and distance.

"Lynard Skynard is actually the name of their high school gym teacher and coach. They hated him and started one of the best southern rock bands ever. I always wonder who got the last laugh on that one."

"You're making that up. How do you have all of this arcane, useless knowledge?"

"And the guy with the fake stutter in one of his songs? 'You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet.' Dang - and he sings with Ronnie Spector... WHAT IS HIS NAME? Well, he was an NYPD officer. So was Steve Buscmei. The guy on that show you like, 'Boardwalk Empire.' Except he was with the NYC fire department. And what's with the fake stutter thing? Roger Daltry, Mick..."

And of course: NAME THAT TUNE - but it has to be tuned to an oldies station (haha). Now that an overwhelming majority of radio stations are owned by three companies, we seem to be relegated to the same rotation of tunes from the 60's, 70's and 80's. The rules are simple: name the song within the first couple of bars or even when you pop in the middle of the tune. Bonus points to name the lead singer and/or guitarist, album or year it was relelased.

"My family's swing orchestra played 'Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown,' in Asheville back in the 60's and 70's," I tell him when the tune comes on. "My cousins made up half the horn section. Guess my uncle had to adapt with the times, so he threw in a couple of contemporary hits with all of the 30's and 40's stuff. But I wish you could have seen the pianist. She was in her mid 80's, and she would really pound the ivories on that one. You haven't lived until you seen little old couples shuffling to a boogie beat with a full orchestra at the Moose Lodge."

... and so the stories spin~

We finally roll into Vail. I just need to retrieve my computer and knockoff designer pocketbook disguised as a suitcase, except it is like a suitcase now: having accumulated junk across America over the past 22 hours. As I write this I am so tired from the hot springs that I can't figure what our arrival time was - 4 AM?

"I think this thing gained a pound or two during this trip."

"I think I thought I saw that pocket book moving," he quips.

As we are both awaking from a deep slumber many hours later, the first thing I say is "Eddie Money."

ANCHOR DOWN (Nashville, TN)

The Vanderbilt Commodores –  Is this hoighty-toighty maritime or a Motown thang?

Day 2 Part 2

It’s amazing how the condo gentleman intuitively arrives at the car and helps us get all our booty out, and everyone knows each other by name.

A second serendipitous moment, when his cousin is waiting in the entrance for her friend to pick her for the tailgate we are to attend shortly after.

“You know – there are some people who are larger than name tags. They aren’t necessary for people like you,” I tell her when we are in the elevator, to which she demures and then smiles.

After unloading everything, both he and his mom tell me on separate occasions, “Just put the buggy back in the elevator, just press ‘1’ and get out before the door closes.”

“That’s the way we do it here,” she says, as I hobble down the hallway. When will my foot get better? talk about some horrible timing.

Now this wasn’t any tailgate. I thought we had it going on back in the mountains of NC, but this guy had beer backing: we are talking a full set-up with swank stools, a sweet buffet (thanks to his cousin) and TV (yo!) Lovely company and even a couple of Infiltrator Gators invited by an incredibly beautiful cancer survivor.

… who gave us great tickets to the game. However, sometimes the second row isn’t the best row; hence everyone using your seats as a walkway to their seats.

We moved and it was an awesome spectacle – which is what I see when I go to a football game. There is so much more than a ball moving up and down the field - check out the people!

"The movie business is basically 'carnies' with money and all their teeth."

halt die ohren steiff

DAY 2 (part 1)

"Keep your ears stiff," my Euro pen pal advises, which is an old German saying sort of like 'Keep your chin up.' I am shaking my head at the ear stiff thing, still trying to fathom what that means.

His mother's private driver has been fired or retired, I can't remember which, and in this business and at her age, vetting is a difficult venture. Hence our shopping trip. She is now on the phone with her nephew, someone my love has referenced many times over.

"He is downstairs working on the car, unpacking the car and buying ice for their big trip tomorrow, and she's sitting here playing on the computer."

I laugh and furl my brow and interrupt her,"I'm not playing, I working!" shaking my head and laugh some more. ("Did you really say that to my mother?!" he says when I tell him later.)

"Now there are corduroy jackets on sale at Stein Mart, and that is where we are going first. I have decided that all of the men are getting one from me for Christmas."

"Do you really want a cordoroy jacket?" I ask softly at some point when she is meandering.

"Actually, I really like the khaki jacket," he whispers back.

"Can't you just ask her to get the one you like?"

He ended up getting both, because she insisted everyone was going to get a cordoroy jacket for Christmas.

"I got two because she likes me best," he says and winks on the way out.

Next stop was the book store, which was a big bust for me. "My Story, My Song," by Robyn Roberts was highlighted on a segment of THE VIEW, with both mother and daughter in an incredibly beautiful and inspirational interview and a testament to family bonds. Her mother died shortly thereafter.

And the other book? Recommended at a party when drinking liquor. Well the title has one word, and it's about a woman who travels out west. Note to self: even if it is only one word, and you are at a party drinking liquor (whereas I am cheap beer girl myself), you probably won't remember it, so write it down. And I didn't.

Next stop was World Market.

"We can walk there," my sportie boy says.

"How far is it?" she keeps asking. And the joke is, I am thinking the same thing. Not really sure how much I wanna walk with the torn tendon, but hell's bells: if she can do it at 90 years old, so can I. Needless to say, it was much farther, and both of us were pissed by the time we arrived.

"I think your coach sportie son fooled both of us so we would walk a little longer. But I love this place!" (I try to move the mood in another direction). "If I can get out of here without buying anything, you owe me a dollar," I challenge Him, "because this is one of my fave stores ever." And we all concurred.

"Yep. I'll take you up on that bet," she says. We are both wobbling at this point, but we have arrived.

"And you will be fetching the car for both of us after this venture," I shoot a glance to Lovey.

This is where the fun begins, when we point out all of the cool items throughout the store, who we would we buy theses presents for, and where we would put them. It was unbridled great fun, wherein she was able to stuff many of her stockings for Christmas and I was there to help her. She won that bet with the three pop-up birthday cards and the elephant journal I bought.

I can only wonder why she has asked no personal questions other than why I don't eat more.

"How much soap did you put in? There aren't any bubbles~" She doesn't think there is enough detergent in the washing machine.

Inauspicious Beginnings

DAY 1: From the moment I woke up until 5 PM, it was pretty much a nightmare. I can’t even write about anything before Knoxville (even though I have and will share later); Freud would have a field day. 

It was amazing that we got packed for the journey, made the 440-mile trek to Nashville, and finally managed to mingle into a splendid evening with new (and very old friends).

When we first landed at his folks’ place, there was a moment of serendipity when his cousin happened to emerge in the parking lot at the same time we did. Quite a coincidence after 8 hours of sometimes torturous travel. She hugs him with the familiarity that is a close-knit family. And then she turns to me, looks me in the eyes, smiles and says, “It's so nice to see you.” She invites us to the Vanderbilt v. Florida game the next day – AND there is a tailgate! His tail was practically wagging.

Since we arrived much later than we had planned, there was a short, awkward meeting with his mother, who is the family matriarch. She looked stunning since she had let her hair go naturally silver-gray and wore a black velvet pantsuit with sequins. The dapper attire of her long-time companion made them a handsome couple. They were to leave in about 20 minutes for the ballet. Did I mention the nerves?

I took a scalding shower to rub off the morning and the trip and North Carolina: I actually looked forward to going to a party where I knew no one.

This “party” was so much more: it was a celebration of a core group of people who have maintained friendships across time and distance. We can only hope to be so lucky. There was wonderful food, much laughter among old college friends, and some hilarious yesteryear stories that made some blush.

“Y’all remember the squash casserole flying out of the third floor?”

“More like the 10th floor,” too much hoots and hollers. But no only a few could hear, because many boisterous conversations were occurring at once.

I met a beautiful lady who offered me hope in our family dynamic. A high-powered executive who is a fan of the show (“I just did a first season marathon last weekend!”) A teacher in the realm I once was, except country music! The leader of a daycare who hosted this incredible party, and has the gift of having all of these beautiful friends.

By the end of this extraordinary day, the music was loud, the laughter was raucous, and there was dancing.

my muse (amused)

"Just pretend like you are going to a gas station, only it's 3000 miles away."

Another social media mash-up, although this has been an inspirational one.

"I'm not worried about the journey; I have traveled by car across the country on many occasions."

I have strong family ties in Idaho and a yearning for travel. I had to think about that for awhile and of course make a detailed list. Here goes:

1. 1967 - driving cross country with my family in a VW Beetle to visit mom's large family in Idaho. (OK - I was only two, but these adventures leave an imprint.)
2. 1979 - I travel with my cousin and Aunt by plane to the other aunt and cousins (so it doesn't really count, because we weren't on highways :)
3. 1982 - Mission trip with Providence Baptist Church to the Navajo Rez - Pitched military style tents, camped and dug our own latrines - yo!
4. 1985 - Our family of four drives a Chevy Chevette out west to visit the Idaho family. (Note: there are no vintage Chevettes on the road. Worst. Car. Ever.)
5. 1996 - Flew out with my cousins to meet cousins
6. 2007 - Four children, one chihuahua and a future ex-husband drove to meet Idaho cousins.

I sigh and shrug it off - "I am all over this," I tell my Euro pen pal with assurance.

"You and your colloquialisms."

songs to the wa wa

"I wanna see the Wa-Wa movie," my three year-old nephew says plaintively. No one can figure out what he means, so he starts speaking more slowly and more loudly, repeating himself like an old person does to someone who doesn't speak the language.

I can hear Fig scratching at his bowl right now, and dang, I'm pretty sure he was fed two hours ago. 'Scratching' is the way he communicates~ rather commands me to do something like feed him or get him a chew stick. And the joke is, my love might have fed him before he left earlier this morning. This is one smart dog, playing the parents against one another.

"Boy, he has you trained well," many have said when the scratching begins, as I hop up to fetch something for him. Reminds me of the comic's riff on aliens watching Earth and concluding that the dogs are in charge since the humans follow them around and pick up their poop.

He is not a pig, just a nickname. As I type this, I realize this may be canine bullying and should be stopped. But I am telling you people: I have had two chihuahuas, and the first had enough sense to control and self-regulate with a bowl full of food. Not this one. We left him with Mom for a week one time and he gained at least a pound - hey it's 10% of his body weight. Imagine gaining that much in a week! Her goofball Yorkie doesn't gorge, but Fig? Oh no. He was at the All-You-Can-Eat Buffet 24/7 and our gymnast came back looking like a baseball player.

When I started to work on the show, the days were much longer when I was at the school. One of the most liberating gifts my love gave to me (and Fig) was a simple one: the doggie door. Now he can be left for long periods of time, and whenever something needs to be addressed in the neighborhood, he doesn't have to ask my permission to dash out back and bark the heck out of it.

It is comical when we forget to leave the latch up.

"Beverly Hills Chihuahua," my brother finally exclaims. My young nephew practically does a Super Bowl Shuffle in the end zone.

Message received.

62% reality (my head tilts to the left)

One of my besties from sophomore high school (band goobers unite!) - has asked that we meet her on the flip side of the 6000 mile journey, due to family/hosting issues.

"OK - so I am really disappointed now that I know you are not actually camping - like in a tent - across America. But hey. That's social media."

"But we are camping - we'll hit up friends and family along the way. Nashville, Vail and Burley, Idaho where my cousins live - sure thing so we can wash hair and clothes, have a home-cooked meal and chat with loved ones. Other than that, it's all tents, baby."

"Yeah - but you aren't really camping. Across. America."

That is what writers do. Truth doused with a pinch of fiction, but you have to figure out which 38% that may be (which is perhaps more than a pinch).

"I'm just kidding!" she writes back.

Texting is so far removed from an actual conversation - in person, no less! And as my mama always says: Much truth lies in jest.

___

"My head tilts to the left," my engineer friend from the same era happened to chime in during the same on-line coversation. We had just made a joke about the entire "left brain/right brain" dynamic.  "You do know you are taking the long way? Wait - I will google this and get you a better route."

"I think we are perhaps wanting to take the longer way~"

He paused for a moment. Even after 35 years, and several lifetimes ago, he gets it.

"Gotcha."

gang of monkey wrenches

For a temporary moment, it threw everything out of whack.

Our 23 year-old intended housesitter has a stress fracture, is in a boot, cannot work or drive; i.e., we are temporarily screwed, almost like a "sympathy injury" with my broken metacarsels.

We contemplate making a plea to the entire place where he works. I am crying now - who is going to come in here and take care of the pig? And not have parties with kleptos who steal stuff?

"Can you call the show? Since we are so close to leaving, maybe... ?"

"They don't return my calls. One even defriended me. When I sent a couple of hellos on inbox she actually asked if I had a question as if I wanted her autograph."

The pig can't stay with my family with all of their turmoil. Shook my head and swallowed hard, the call has to go through.

When I tell the one friendly fellow in the production office about our cross country excursion, he blurts, "That's so cool!" and for the first time I could hear sincerity instead of patronizing skepticism in his voice. In this business to say it is rare would be an understatement.

I ask how the cast and crew are doing, and I finally confess, "I haven't been able to watch any of the new shows," as I feel my voice breaking. "But please tell everyone I said Hello and congratulations."

... and I can only hope there are cheers and not jeers when my name is mentioned after he hangs up the phone.

chopping at Chopin on sticky keys

"Perhaps you should stop with the social media and start practicing that piano."

The last thing I need is to have my ass chapped by an old high school friend from more than 30 years ago - especially when he is right.

Our first stop is perhaps the most important: my love's family in Nashville.  Some are a bit flummoxed by our relationship, but there is a very lonely baby grand piano and many lovers of music waiting for us.

Whereas a precious few are naturally gifted, my 'talent' has required years of squirming during hours of practice - in addition to grimaces among my family who have had to endure Chopin and "The Entertainer" a million times over. To this day, my younger brother will roll his eyes and groan during the very first measure when I sit down to play from memory.

I can only hope that baby grand is in tune and there are no sticky keys. Or the dreaded dead string - especially if it is a 'C' or 'G.' And perhaps I should start doing finger push-ups, because everyone knows prancing about on an electric keyboard is totally different than banging hammers on strings.

"Maybe music will change her tune," my old friend puns.

One can only hope...

weak of departure

"So.... why is he going out west for a month? And he's camping?" my brother asked. It wasn't so much an incredulous tone but one of wonderment, spiced with a bit of jealousy.

A week earlier, my love told me about his intended month-long Walkabout. Needless to say, I didn't take it well due to the critical juncture in our relationship.

After a good night's sleep and some coaxing from my mother as well as my Euro pen pal, all was good in my world. Green light. We made new plans to meet up in California at the half-way point, whenever that may be. And I fully understood that may not happen. Lovely simpatico compromise.

Two days later he recanted and offered me the biggest compliment in our courtship.

"Come with me. Please."

My heart still stops with those words.

"So - you're both going now?" my brother asks in an incredulous tone.

"Isn't the whole purpose of a Walkabout to... walk... about. By ... yourself?" my pen pal says.

Sometimes it isn't just a language or a lack thereof that divides us, but an entire world view. Sometimes, this even happens with someone you have known your whole life.

"He asked me," I say flatly.

"Oh honey. I am so happy for both of you," my mother says. "Although nothing will be the same once this trip is over."

Precisely.

Still need to venture out and find that penny whistle~

second thoughts?

"This is so exciting you are both traveling to Oregon." (long pause)

"BUT... TENT CAMPING?" 

This is one of those lovely Facebook mash-ups when you see someone from several lifetimes ago: in this case, 30 years ago freshmen dorm.

They have written stories and made movies about this female friendship dynamic. One is restless (listless?) and lives all over the world; the other has a beautiful family, thriving career, and good standing in the community. In midlife, we want to be each other. Or perhaps that is just a fleeting fancy when the grass is greener. 

Gulp~ am I having second thoughts? And then a horse sigh. Hand in chin (wince) scratching forehead. (I can do this! I traveled by myself in China in the 1980's~) OK - right now the self-cheerleading thing ain't happening.  

Time to fetch the list:

Head Lamps (perhaps one of the grooviest inventions ever)

Instruments (ukes, mandolin*)

Food Box with an ample supply of spices

Cook Stove

Winter Gear (Juniper told me to take long silk underwear and an axe)

*need to buy a penny whistle

Now I am officially excited~

By the way my freshman friend: never call yourself "boring" - We will love to meet your family :)

Go West, Young Man! 7 days and counting :)

                                                        An entire country in front of us

"Exactly how many times have you camped?" he asked hesitantly.  

The question was one of those unexpected knife in the gut moments, when you are reminded of a former existence you shared with a family - who now lives in a parallel universe due to a nasty divorce.  

But then again - is there any other kind?

I had to think about it for awhile. "Dozen times on the Parkway?" I offer with arched eyebrows and goofy smile (don't cry; keep those teardrops inside)

As we started to make our lists and itineraries, I realized what could potentially lay ahead: all of the strife, the beauty and wonder.  Nothing will be the same at the end of our 6000 mile cross-country journey.

The Chinese symbol for the word CRISIS is actually two symbols: Danger and Opportunity.

Words shape your reality~