All fifty

As of last week, I’ve set foot in all fifty states. Doesn’t exactly make me unique but still, it was cool. (In case you care, these last two were Delaware and Rhode Island and I picked them up during the Kazoo Tour with Two’s amour.)

Still have some goin’ to do . I’ve been to Guam, the Marianas, Wake Island and American Samoa but not Puerto Rico, the Palmyra Atoll or the U.S. Virgins.

This sort-of milestone got me to thinking about some of my favorite sights and sites.

The Grand Canyon, of course, and Half Dome. Mt. Rainier from Paradise, Mt. St. Helens as a boy from the former Spirit Lake and much later of what’s left of it from the tourist viewing stand.

Fumaroles. If you’ve not been to Yellowstone, why not?

It’s the places that fewer people know about that tend to catch my fancy. Not because I feel proprietary about them but rather because in most cases, they were unplanned and frequently, unexpected. And so, especially pleasurable to experience.

The International Ice Carving Festival in Fairbanks is something to see. Try to be there the night before judging so you’ll get to gawk at the almost finished carvings and also the frantic last-touches process.

Both a moose calving (Alaska) and brown bear fishing (Montana) – the Discovery Channel is cool but in person, wow.

Virga backlighted by an incredible sunset in Wyoming or the Aurora Borealis from Chena Hot Springs – these two are in a dead heat.

The cemetery on a recent trip that made me think of Our Town.

The kazoo factory in Eden, NY.

A docent at the John Brown House on a slow day who was thrilled to have a couple of rump-weary travelers with whom to share a few minutes in friendly conversation.

The hill country of Texas – specifically, Fredericksburg.

Any fresh water lake, from its middle, seated in a kayak.

New parents taking their baby on a flight to see the grands for the first time are frequently priceless (but damn, they do carry a load of crap nowadays).

Farm country in Nebraska as seen from a section road.

The old guy in Oto, Iowa (pop: 108) who watched my every move while I drove slowly into town, stopped, got out and took a picture of the ‘veterans’ wall’ inscribed with the names of my Dad and two of his brothers, then – just as I turned to leave – raised his hand in a salute without changing expression.

The last orange stand on old Hwy 99 in the Central Valley.

Many of the sites along the Natchez Trace.

The World’s Largest Pheasant outside Huron, South Dakota.

The waters around Peaks Island and Great and Little Diamond in Casco Bay, Portland Maine (Again, from a kayak – due to a cancellation, I had the guide all to myself that day and it was glorious! His wife was supposed to be my guide but wanted to hang with a friend so to entice him to trade with her she made us a killer box lunch – total win all around!)

The UFO Welcome Center in Bowman, South Carolina. Don’t believe me? Google it if you must, then apologize.

The Badlands. Can’t understand going to Rushmore and Crazy Horse but failing to drive the extra hour and see one of the truly remarkable natural sights on the continent.

“Winged Victory,” the memorial to fallen soldiers in Vancouver, B.C. – the one with the angel. It’ll make you tear up. I’m not a big statue guy but dang, this one got me. And yes, I know this Vancouver is in Canada. Go see it, anyway.

The Devil’s Backbone in Colorado. Very cool and walkable, even for an old coot like moi.

Herds of antelope and other critters on the road from Blackfoot Idaho to Grand Teton National Park.

And Marmots on Hurricane Ridge in Washington.

The same blue heron that’s nested in that one place on Lake Washington for years.

Cue Julie Andrews, because these are truly a few of my favorite things. The moral is, you gotta get off the interstates if you want to actually see the states. 

Why

One of life’s greatest questions is ‘Why?’ Or at least, one of the questions most asked when folks find themselves in reflective mode.

For me, it is the most fascinating and yet paradoxically, unimportant of the Great Questions.

‘Why’ leads us on a search for that which is unknowable. The quest for an answer to ‘Why?’  is a fool’s errand but one for which many (most) of us can’t help saddling up and sallying forth. It compels us to seek that which explains all but for which there is ultimately no satisfactory answer.

I suppose you might wonder whether this is truly what I believe – it is – and if so, doesn’t that lead me inexorably to a bleak dead zone in which all things, all conditions or endeavors are ultimately pointless. I have been told by well-meaning people that I need to reconsider my citizenship in what they view as a land of hopelessness.

And yet, I maintain that I am one of the most hopeful people you could ever want to meet. I need not have a spiritual reason for all I do and see and experience. But those things and ideas I embrace must fit a cosmic structure which I find believable. And so, the search for a reason is (almost always) defeated by reason.

I do not claim to be incurious. I am driven to know how, for what purpose (no, not the same as why), when, where. A road trip with me is an adventure in noticing and wondering at that which is observed. I can drive a trip-mate wild with my constant, verbal contemplation of the purpose of a piece of machinery or the straightness of a farmer’s tilling.

I want to know everything I can about the farmer’s methods and equipment. But as to the origin of the farmer, I find myself utterly uninterested.

I simply don’t choose to explore questions for which there is no provable answer. 

Road trip

I love road trips. No surprise there for anyone who knows me.

This one was special. I spent a week in a car and hotel rooms and diners with a young guy just starting out in life. And it was one of the best weeks of my life.

The purpose of the trip was to collect his ‘stuff’ from Miami and Boston and transport it and him to Chicago, where my daughter – his amour – awaited the big arrival. And as you can tell from my last post, we saw a few things along the way, some goofy and some magnificent.

By far the best part of the trip for me was just talking. Sharing. Discussing and agreeing (or sometimes, not), then talking some more.

I’ve never had many male friends and fairly recently said goodbye to one who turned out not to be the friend I thought he was. I’m just more comfortable in the company of women.

But now I think I’ve found a buddy.

It was a great trip. But more than that, it was a wonderful visit.

Thanks, Louis!

On the road again

Currently in Wauseon, OH.

Tomorrow, Chicago, then home.
Recently,
-UFO Welcome Center in Bowman, SC
-Moses Cone Park in Boone NC
-Foamhenge
-Kazoo Factory
-Blue Ridge Parkway
Etc.

Details soon

Dawn at SLC

Getting stuck overnight twice in two weeks doesn’t happen very often. Not to me, at least. But when your flight from Seattle to Salt Lake arrives twenty minutes after the last connector to Casper has departed and everything except your computers resides out of reach in a checked bag, it’s time to roll with the punches.

The airline provided a hotel and it was actually a decent overnight stay, friendly people, clean room. There was a drug store within walking distance where I found the essentials – toothpaste, etc.

I even found a clean shirt. Well, sort of… if you count a hoodie emblazoned with the logo of the local high school sports team.  Lovely. But given a choice between putting on a dirty shirt after my morning shower vs. acting as a sports billboard, I’ll swallow my pride. So, second day in the same shirt, until I get to my hotel in Casper. I’ll pawn the hoodie off on a family member.

Long story short, I now find myself watching the post-sunrise flurry of activity at the airport. And it’s actually sort of lovely. For those who’ve not been here, Salt Lake City sprawls across the alluvial fans of one mountain range with a view across a desolate valley to another mountain range. Lots to look at for a confirmed noticer.

Even better noticing is to be had in the terminal itself. A women just walked by totally oblivious to the people around her as she pantomimed her own private script. There’s a story there.

Clearly, it’s migration season for Mormons, as evidenced by the many small flocks of youngsters in suits and dresses, each proudly displaying a black badge identifying him or her as ‘Elder (insert name here)’. I mentioned this to Daughter Two, who in her response opined that perhaps the rapture requires TSA clearance.

It always amazes me how abruptly an airport goes from somnolence to frenzy as the people-shipping day begins.

I know this is blasphemy of a sort, since air travel has come to be a major pain in the caboose, but I have to admit I love spending an hour or two sitting out of the way watching a concourse come alive.

Gotta go now – the sun angle is just starting to reveal the folds in the mountains and I need to get back to my noticing. 

What do you say?

What do you say to a daughter, already dealing with the aftermath of violence against her body and soul, who learns that among the 38 so far identified, 3 were friends?

Really, what do you say?

What do you say to the woman whose son died this year but part of whose legacy lived on in the joy and community at this gathering place where he once worked, now forever linked to a historic mass murder?

What do you say to your wife, spending her last night ever alone in her mother’s house, who has so much else on her mind and now, this?

What do you say to the parents of Sandy Hook and Columbine who must have thought, ‘Surely, now action will be taken?’

What do you say to the parents and friends of the murdered and maimed when the news brings them tidings of hatred from ‘Christians’ spouting Leviticus?

What do you say to your friends among Muslims who are once again painted with an unfair brush? 

Or your friends among Christians who understand that the hateful mob from Westboro et al who don’t represent them will nonetheless be identified as Christians?

And what do you say to the many who believe in their hearts that access to firepower is a crucial right of citizenship?

Seriously…

…what do you say?

As I’ve shared before, the murderous intent is on the perpetrator. But access to obscene levels of firepower – that’s on all of us.

So…what do we say? 

Norma

I’d like to thank those of you who’ve expressed such kind thoughts on news of the passing of Mary’s mom.

This week’s news cycle is full of what to the world must seem like larger issues. Muhammad Ali passed and I view him as a great guy who will be sorely missed. Hillary Clinton has emerged as the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee, which presents a conundrum for many of us who don’t like to face voting for her (the lesser of two evils still being, you know, evil). An inconceivably light sentence for a despicable crime, college and high school graduations, changing weather, business news – all of these affect more than a few people.

But it is the few people whose concerns have occupied my thoughts this week. The six who have lost their mother, the few who have lost their sister, or their grandmother or mother-in-law.

I don’t have anything profound to say about Norma except that I liked her and she was a kind and caring friend to me. And goofy, in her own way.

Perhaps the most profound thing I can share about Norma with folks who never met her is that when she passed, all six of her adult children were in attendance. Because they couldn’t not be. Because she was and always had been Mom.

A body could do worse than to raise six kids who become the adults who made sure she was never alone these last months.

Goodonya, Queenie!

The blame game

                It’s easy to dislike and even ridicule the businessman-turned-politician whose name rhymes with dump (as in, take a…) and I admit I do dislike him.

                I dislike him for his ludicrous ‘birther’ campaign, for his baseless claims to superiority in all endeavors, for ridiculing a reporter for his disabilities, for his attitudes toward women, for “…my African-American…,” for cheer-leading the thugs who attend his rallies, then cringing behind his security folks when someone tries to return the favor.  His abject failure to present a single fully formed and intelligently expressed idea for making ‘America great again’ is laughable. His ‘…bleeding from…” comment displays not only his hatred of women but his incredibly bad taste.

                This guy’s ascendant candidacy is making us a laughing stock the world over. Serious people of good will can only view it as a failure of this country to make good on the promise of representative democracy.

                He represents everything I dislike about big-money politics. And he exposes the atrocious state of political reporting these days as reporters and pundits who prefer sensationalism over sober reflection and blather over insightful commentary grant him the most extensive free coverage since Neil Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface.

                He is a buffoon, a bully and a bigot. But because he’s also a billionaire, he can buy a platform and as long as what he says is sufficiently outrageous, what passes for the press these days will continue to guarantee him as much publicity as he desires.  He has nothing real to say, which explains why so many of his pronouncements take place through a platform that limits comments to 140 characters.

                It’s fair to say I am not a big fan of this overblown nincompoop.

                It is also fair to say I don’t blame him for his fame or even for his standing in the primaries.

                I don’t blame him for the same reason I don’t blame a neighbor’s dog for crapping on my lawn. Crapping is a central skill for dogs and understanding appropriate social context or cultural rules of civility is not.

                This guy does what he is inclined to do, based on an upbringing and business climate that has encouraged him to believe that his way is by definition the right way.

                I don’t blame him and if he’s elected to the highest office in the land, I still won’t blame him.

                Should that happen, I blame us.