Jennifer's Story: Adventures in Irony

Introspection 2010

2010-12-29T07:01:00.000-08:00

The ending of a year and some somewhat lazy days off (albeit not guilt-free) leave me in a state of introspection. What is it about the holidays that brings that out? And I look back at The Great Year of 2010 and think. Wow, it was, well, it WAS.

It is hard to believe when I think back, how this year transformed and transformed me in the process. The first few months brought me about as much darkness as I have ever had. Fighting for a child is like no other fight imaginable in this more privileged part of the world I happen to live in. I know there can be worse, but it was, for me, like spending months walking a tightrope across a long, deep, seemingly bottomless chasm. Fear of losing the child, fear of not losing the child but not being able to even provide food and shelter for the child as I watched what little savings and salary I had rapidly dwindle into a debt so deep that I couldn’t even imagine ever overcoming it in my life. I’m a positive person, but I’ll admit, even I am not completely impervious to life’s sometimes-realities.

But, in these times, when the winds blow and the storms reign and there is just not enough to grow upwards, I grew my roots. They twisted around all the of the lessons of my history, the things my parents taught me, the stories about my grandparents, the lessons of so many of my life’s teachers, and the core of who I am and what I truly believe in. In the end, like a great storm, when the winds die, what is left is the great cleansing. The attic cleared, the sun shines and we return stronger; it was only the weaker branches that were ripped away. I learned to grow my skin a little thicker, so that the insults and criticisms hurled don’t penetrate quite so deep. I learned a little more patience for weathering a storm, and a little more beauty in the anticipation of waiting to see what remains, and a little more tolerance because of the love and support that I had. I know that I owe so much to that.

Out of the great cleansing of the storm, I look back and see little silver strands of silk, glistening in sunlight, winding their way out amongst what was left, slowly stitching a new world together. This is a beautiful thing. Those strands grow out of the people, present and past, and myself and the strength of holding fast; the constant love of family, friendships found over understanding and support for our children, friendships rooted deep into the history with an endless well of stories filled with laughter, bonds formed over constant output atomizers and condensation particle counters and molded over brilliant people willing to share their brilliance about life as well as particles; new friendship found over glasses of cheap boxed wine in lexan camp glasses in an empty house. There are the refound bonds, forged from the memories of walking up ridges in Tennessee, late night coffee, listening to stories and poetry, sweating, ceremony, and the memories of hawks and eagles riding thermals into the great blue.

This year, I survived. And somewhere midway through, fortunes turned completely. I have a somewhat secure job, it pays well and I enjoy it and I feel truly good about the way I spend my days working for what those roots dug into. It is tough, but it is rewarding. I can take care of my son and we are more than comfortable. And I am learning about balance. I no longer spend sleepless nights worrying over our fate. And more than surviving, we live in a beautiful setting, where the long unbroken stretches of land can lay out before you and fill the heart with the quiet, settling joy of just being. Yes, my heart is in this earth.

And that is not to say that I have not been blessed throughout the year with happiness and pure joy. It has been quite full. And all through the stories, the new friends and the old ones, there is the laughter that rings with all its beauty and wraps itself around like a soft blanket. I giggle often to myself over those times, generally at inappropriate times and inappropriate places.

I cannot write about this year without acknowledging that this year I lost a great teacher, my grandmother, and a great spirit, named Spirit. Some day, I will write more about them, but right now, there is still more thinking swirling.

Of course, I have read enough of the classics to believe that beauty is found in surviving the struggles, inward and outward, of men, so this year’s story is not new. But, seeing is believing, as it is said, and living is something more powerful and it transforms those beliefs into knowing.

Yes, Ishmael, you and I could sit down and talk over a beer. This year, I am a little closer to knowing that epic journey.

Rapid City or Bust!!!

2010-09-04T11:31:00.000-07:00

This trip involved the following (none of which I have ever had on past road trips): brand new Kia Sorrento, equipped with satellite radio, Bluetooth, AC, automatic rear view mirror headlight dimmer, CD, IPOD/USB (Ok, I don’t use either of these. I can’t buy an IPOD out of principle. Who has the time to sit around downloading music on a computer? Not me. I’ll just stick in a good ole’ fashioned CD, thank you), multiple adaptor outlets (allowing simultaneous cell phone charging and beverage heating travel mug), Skybox 18, Space in General, etc… Okay, I had the Skybox 18 before, but it was ridiculously packed, and I have nightmares of rooting around in it in the dark, being blown by the cold winds of death while looking for a swimsuit in Fargo (which, logically, was not packed on top) and then fighting for about half an hour with frozen fingers to shut it again. That didn’t happen this time. Opening and closing the Skybox was easy on this trip and there was no threat of losing fingers.

So, the 3 dogs and I departed…a little later than planned, at 6:45 am on Sunday, August 15, 2010. I know, this move is a little less romantic than it could be: the reality is that my household belongings are being shipped and I fit whatever was left in the car, but still…it is a road trip, and the feeling of freedom, the anticipation of the unexpected and unknown returns. It is actually incredulous to me that I have this love deeply ingrained into my psyche; why would a rational adult be happier when their life if reduced to whatever fits into their car for a week or several weeks than in a settled home? I blame this love of adventure on my mother’s parents: that couple that traveled to all 50 states, camping, biking and fishing in every single one of them. Arda and Maurice thoroughly planted the seed for a love of adventure in their children and grandchildren. It is a love we share, and a cross we bear, I think.

I had thought that I’d stop at Tudors Biscuit World (oh, the whitewater memories held in breakfast at Tudors) on the way out, but it was hard to judge the spacing of those and coordinate one with my hunger. So, instead, I stopped for bathroom, dog walk, and browsing at the Tamarac (for those who aren’t familiar, this is a huge center for Appalachian arts and is from where NPR broadcasts its Mountain Stage “from the beautiful hills of WEST Virgninia…”); a sort of a farewell to the Appalchians and the Appalachian Culture that I love (and I was specifically looking for a regional children’s book so that Owen would remember his home, which I did find, A is for Appalachia). Then…I saw it… my perfect last breakfast in the South. The Appalachian Biscuit. Featuring: biscuit, egg, swiss cheese, fried green tomato, and red-eye ham. Mmmmm.

West Virginia, again, is full of topography and a complete lack of cell phone reception; though I did look for a building that I was supposed to look for in Charleston, the backdrop of a dark tale told by a friend who supposedly sold his soul to the devil, i.e., was a lawyer representing coal companies, for which he is now still working out his redemption. Kentucky, well, was Kentucky, and I was glad that I had no reason to stop anywhere in the state and run the risk of potentially striking up a conversation with a Kentuckian (as those never go well). Indiana…hmmm…what to say about Indiana? Oh, it suddenly blasted its way in to the running for Places Known As Hell By Jennifer (in league with the following: Danville, Virginia; Mis-er-y (Missouri); The Red Eagle Campground in Montana (later renamed The Wretched Eagle); North Dakota; and Saskatchewan). But, life after Indianapolis became suddenly lovely, as the traffic slowed to a mere trickle of an occasional vehicle and the rolling plains became the rolling plains. Sky, beautiful Sky! The breadbasket of the Nation, all that food growing as far as the eye can see! Lovely!

I watched the sun set on the Mississippi. I have been there and seen that before. It is a spectacular thing about the road. When you watch the sun set, or watch the sun rise after having driven straight through the night, you will always remember that exact moment and that exact beauty and that exact feeling when you pass through that stretch of road again. Years may have passed, but that memory will always remain as beautiful and as starkly vivid as if it were only moments ago. The beginning of hope on a quest for adventure? The simple joy of life as life has always been since life began? (And here, I inject a quote from the book, Peace Like a River: “I have the substance of things hoped for. I have the anticipation of things unseen.” So beautiful a sentiment, so very apropos.)

Illinois, by the way, still has the most fabulous rest stops ever. Playgrounds, nature walks, prairie trails and other interesting things to see (except be wary of rest stop attendants who yell at you for “setting bad examples” for children when you attempt stupid playground trick contests with friends).

I had no plan, when I began the trip, on where I would spend the first and only night of the trip. Ideas tossed around, and I finally settled on the thought that when I got tired, I’d just start calling friends and try to convince someone with internet to go online and find me a place to stay. Ah, the conveniences of modern travel! But, when I mentioned this plan to my parents, they became zealously involved, produced a list of campgrounds along the way along with phone numbers and directions, and finally offered to call my Uncle Merlin, on my behalf to scope out the potential for spending the night there, at the family farm in Waverly, Iowa (which is, at a decent pace, 15 ½ hours). When they called though, the plans became set, and I heard that I was “expected” to arrive there and spend the night. It is a wonderful offer, the kind that only family would make, and so, I staved off sleep and pushed that first day. It took me slightly over 16 hrs, but I made it there, got to chat with Uncle Merlin and Aunt Rhonda, the dogs had a pen to stay in, and I had a bed to sleep in and coffee and a shower in the morning. And in the morning, I got to walk the dogs on the farmroad through the cornfields and in the front of the house, along the row of Grandpa’s Cedars. It was wonderful to be there, where my father and his siblings grew up. That place where that picture was taken of my grandfather holding me as a baby and my big sister, Lori, standing beside in the wheatfield that Grandpa was so proud of (“not a weed in it”, or so the story is told). And so funny too, because after so many years of not seeing the family in Iowa, I have now seen them twice in the span of a month!

The second day was a short one. Roughly 9 hrs in total. But, I was tired, so it was rough. I was very thankful for the phone calls from friends and family helping me to stay awake. Again, uneventful. But, lovely. I wished that I could have slowed down and stopped at so many unexpected places. And taken pictures. Mostly, I wanted to photograph dilapidated barns. They are beautiful and mysterious, and I have no idea what the pull is, but it is and it is strong. Instead, I have a series of photographs in motion, framed by the car, steering wheel, rear view mirror, bugs smeared on the windshield; half of them show mostly the interior of the car, because you can’t be bothered to look at what you are pointing the camera at. I laughed at the silliness of it. But, it is a snapshot of life on the road. That is exactly what the world looks like from behind the wheel and perfectly framed still shots would not do justice.

Eastern South Dakota is flat, dry, and seemingly undernourished as compared to those corn states. But, the world opened up into a stunning landscape of hills and geologic features (that I can’t name, but look really cool) as I crossed the Missouri River. And then, there is the sight of the badlands and then the Black Hills. I had complained that the east was too crowded and developed for me. I will not have that problem here. Here, there are vast undeveloped lands and the occasional sighting of a few cattle was a welcome sign of life from the largely uninhabited stretches.

I gained one hour per day on the road. So, I am again younger by two hours. I felt the 4 hours older when I moved to Virginia and it never really went away. As I have said before, I believe I should stay this way.

I am learning what South Dakota is about. That is all I can really say about that. I was a little overwhelmed and unhappy about the house I had signed a lease for without ever having seen when I arrived, but by morning, the place had won me over. Sunrise does that. Changes what we see when we look at the same scene. Life dawns again and the next adventure begins to unfold and take shape. At 5:30 am, I got up to check on the dogs and found a flock of wild turkeys in the yard. And Spirit, now half blind, mostly deaf and mostly lame, chased the hell out of them through the fields and treed every one of them more than once. It was an inexpressible joy to see the return of that Spirit that earned The Girl her name in her younger days. An unexpected glimmer of something beyond life. Then, we walked down to the river and she immediately dove in and swam. South Dakota will be good for her, I believe. And good for me.

For the Record (and because I sometimes I just like to hear myself think)

2010-08-02T05:55:00.000-07:00

Several months ago in the midst of the whole ridiculous saga that is divorce court, at some point, I googled "bitter divorce" and found a woman's blog about her experiences. Her blog was poignant, humorous, and insightful. Reading her story was actually enlightening to me at the time, and so, I thought that maybe I should write my own commentary on this ludicrous, but life changing event. You never know, right?

There are two important things about my recent divorce to note. One: is that many people seem to feel the need to apologize when I mention it. And it always seems like an embarrassingly awkward comment. And it occurred to me that, if you haven't actually lived through it, it possibly would be really difficult to understand a perspective that regards that event with happiness. Why? It is not something to apologize about. Life changes. Evolution is real. That is a simple fact. Understandably, some people find true meaning and happiness in continuing their bonds with a single person for their entire lives. I see that in my grandparents, in my parents. But, there is no prefabricated mold for life that makes us all as individuals happy; and of course, we all can imagine how boring would life be if there were. We are all unique individuals and my happiness is not now, nor will ever be, equivalent to anyone else’s sense of that in this world. We all should live our lives in our own ways. And I will find my own.

Einstein said, “The world will not evolve past its current state of crisis by using the same thinking that created the situation.” While I keep reading that statement lately in light of sustainability, I think that it applies to relationships too. When the union no longer makes sense, when no one is happy, and there is no way to forge ahead without someone becoming unhappy, then the line of thinking just needs to evolve. I don’t mean that to sound callous. My ex told me in the throngs of the separation that I should stop being so rational. Possibly. But, the thing is that I am not unemotional, as he took it to mean (and truly, anyone who really knows me could testify to that fact).

True to my Libra sign, I am, in reality, as indecisive as a person can get. The problem is that the debate is internal and so, if you miss the signs, there is no way to comprehend that it exists. I can (and regularly do) create an internal debate with myself over what to eat for breakfast (I could use some calcium. Maybe yogurt would be good. But, should I eat yogurt? The problem with yogurt is that it is always sold in plastic containers. I don’t want to buy plastic containers. I should start making my own yogurt so I could eat it without feeling guilty. If I eat a banana, I can compost the peel. But, what about all the transportation required to bring me a banana. What about the pesticides? Are the banana farmers being paid a living wage, is there a social injustice involved with eating a banana?...seriously, you could probably write volumes on my daily internal debates) So, yes, when I come to a decision, all of the pros and cons have been weighed, reweighed, analyzed, and reanalyzed, and yes, at that point, it is decisive. At that point, there is little room for more discussion, because I have already done all of the debate that could possibly be done on the subject. My ex also used to tell me that I would be happier if I just stopped thinking. That may be true too. But, I’m not sure that I would really prefer comatose. I kind of like my brain and my life within it. It makes me laugh.

I believe that change is good. Some people don’t; it was a striking difference between me and my ex and one that is difficult to resolve. And that is fine. It is a choice. And none of us really have any answers anyway. But still, I am thinking about Paulo Coehlo’s book “By the River Piedre, I Sat Down and Wept,” and the heroine’s lament as she wished her life could find the stability, strength and peace of the mountains over that of the tumultuous river’s. And she is reminded what a horrible fate that would be, destined to always look at the same scenery. That speaks to me. Truly, I see the value in both. In my reality though, I talk to God on mountains, but it is in the rivers that I find life’s rhythms.

The second is about regret. I don’t have any. I don’t see this as a reason to look back and see what I did wrong. I don’t think I did anything wrong, and I do not regret any of my decisions, either before or after or it starting or ending. And despite the difficulties that I have had with my ex (and all of the complaining I have done lately regarding what turned into a battle; that is just venting), I don’t find any fault in him, or reasons to place blame, or reasons to look back bitterly, or a reason to believe that I made the wrong choice. When life changes, it doesn’t necessarily mean that there is any reason for fault. It just is. The simple, resounding fact is that Owen came out of that defunct situation. And, admittedly, I am very biased, but he is a wonderful little human. How could I ever regret anything that resulted in him? How could anything leading up to that precious little child possibly be a mistake? This is not about how I could choose better next time or fix any mistakes (Why do so many people seem to believe that I need there to be a next time anyway?). I think I prefer to just move forward and live life. I love every day that I am alive. Life. That is just enough.

Though, I will say, that what I have learned through this is a deep, deep regard, love, and appreciation for the friends and family who have so graciously offered their support and love. I have had the time and need to really, really develop friendships and to genuinely give daily thanks for those that have strengthened and the new ones that have developed “out of the ashes.” Ha. Like phoenixes, y’all are.

when longing for a place...

2010-07-07T08:12:00.001-07:00

I believe that I have been, both by design and fortune, very blessed in life to live and have lived in some of the most beautiful places on earth. And not just beautiful, as in the sense of the natural beauty of the world (though my favorite places in this world are full of those), but beautiful in spirit. Fairbanks, Alaska and the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia are home and are amongst my favorite places on earth. I have had and probably always will have a longing and desire to be in them, no matter where I happen to be.

So, as I am nearing my return to Fairbanks, I am amazed at how strong the pull and the longing for a place loved has become. It almost brings tears to my eyes. Part of that, I think, is because due to circumstances of an ongoing divorce and custody battle, I have been more or less unable to return. So, I don't know...is this the tears of glory at a long battle won? Or is it just the simple joy of a sense of freedom returned? Or is it the places themselves and their special beauties lodged deep into the spirit? I actually have no answer for that. But, whatever it is, it leaves a sense of happiness beyond words. A-ho.

Mattaponi

2010-03-29T08:28:00.000-07:00

So, last weekend, we took a mini roadtrip to Richmond, VA, where I ran in my first 10k race ever, the Ukrops Monument Avenue 10k. The race included 37,000 runners, people cheering the entire length of the run through downtown Richmond, and a band set up playing every couple of blocks. It was fantastic and fun...and I finished in 59 min 39 sec, to boot. Not bad for a non-runner. While I was doing that, Owen was playing with Jackie, daughter of one of my closest friends, an old martial arts buddy, Chris Falls. The Falls family is AWESOME, so that was the big motivator in going to Richmond. The race just pushed me to do it and set a date for the visit. From Richmond, we decided to make the one hour drive to Gloucester, Virginia to visit another old martial arts buddy, Warren. Gloucester is a beautiful little town, quaint and full of wonderful historic buildings. And Warren is a gourmet chef; so needless to say, lunch in Gloucester was fabulous. Good company, sunshine, good food, flowers,...life is good. To get to Gloucester, we crossed the Mattaponi and Pamunkey Rivers. These rivers flow through the 2 oldest Indian Reservations in the country; established through treaty with the King of England. And I have spent quite a bit of time at Mattaponi, so that is what this post is really about.

As we crossed the bridge over the Mattaponi River, it was a flood of memories. Rivers amaze me that way. What is the retention time of a drop of water in a river? Short. Yet the rivers hold memories and feelings forever. I thought of time spent repairing a beautiful old canoe with wooden gunnels, eventually painted a bright turquoise; Sun Eagle and Gentle Wind's happiness at the finished canoe, their feeling of freedom spread; fighting the currents and tides of the brackish river to cross; walks along the river, learning about The Old Ways from Gentle Wind; the beauty of all her paintings, all of them inspired there, on its banks; fishing in the quiet places on the other side of the river; the shad hatchery; missing old friends and loved ones and a sense of longing mixed in with the flooded feelings of happiness and beauty. I love that river. It is home. It is the home to generations. It is life.

Some estimates suggest that every drop of water existing on this earth is over 2 million years old. Maybe this is how the stories and memories are held.

Mass Transfer

2010-03-05T19:39:00.000-08:00

So, it has been a long time, my friends...but here I am!

Last summer (?, I think? it has been a while), I was assigned the task of giving a seminar to my small (but brilliant) research group, Air VT. I presented the then-slim results of my research project (and if you are curious, on the emissions of phthalates from vinyl flooring: interactions with airborne particulates), but with my idea of a nerdily humorous title, "Mass Transfer: From Alaska to Virginia (of course featuring silly touristy pictures of Owen and I in Alaska)" (And to explain what might be painfully obvious, my dissertation research is essentially on mass transfer - aqueous transfer of molecules through rock through the process of diffusion. My new research, mass transfer of molecules from flooring, to air, to particles. Mass transfer. Central theme. And moving 1 4-yr old, 3 dogs, and one adult on the epic road trip, which was the inspiration for starting this blog, is also: Mass Transfer. haha. Science nerd, I know, but it was funny. Dammit. Now laugh.) So, here I am, a few months later, contemplating my newest future of mass transfer: from Blacksburg, Virginia to a faculty ("A real professor. Damnation." That's from A River Runs Through It, and in my head, it is a smiling Brad Pitt who delivers that line of congratulations to me on my new prospects) position at the South Dakota School of Mines and Technology.

One. My journey to my interview was epic. Sheer determination got me there, because I saw this posting for a faculty position in Sustainable Engineering posted, for Rapid City, in the middle of Paha Sapa, which is a place that runs a deep chord in my heart anyway, and despite mechanical problems, a canceled flight, a surprise snowy/freezing-rain 8 hr road trip that started after having already been awake and functioning for over 13 hrs, a possibly lost bag,...there was no way I was going to turn around and blow my shot at what seemed like my dream job. So, grit, lots of solo hours previously logged on the road, an inherited ability to ignore the need for sleep, and bad coffee in Nebraska (but free...but really bad. I mean really. Like they took 10 mL of a cup of my coffee and squirted it into a mug of hot water kind of bad) got me there. Oh...and the real version of K-REZ radio (another movie reference, Smoke Signals, and here, the real DJ resembled John Trudell in my head) to listen to (and for all you school kids, you'd better eat your Wheaties. Because the school bell rang an hour ago).

Two. It's Paha Sapa. Sacred, beautiful. Home to bison and elk. Harney Peak, at over 7,000 ft, the highest peak east of the Rockies. The Badlands. I have thus far, passed by Mount Rushmore, refusing to go look at the destruction of the sacred into a monument to old white men. I understand, they each contributed uniquely to our country. But, still...it is representative of an exclusive club. And I do not agree with that in principle. And I still remain faithful to a Mark Twain quote: "Loyalty to the country always. Loyalty to the country when it deserves it." I wonder how long I can keep that protest up when I live as close as I will be to it (insert giddy, excited giggle).

Three. On the morning of my long day of job interview, I had breakfast with a wonderful professor there (who specializes in concrete and his contribution to sustainability in that realm, I found fascinating: fly ash concrete mixes, recycled glass concrete, and permeable surfaces...I am already dreaming of its potentials). As he was giving me a quick tour of campus, he mentioned his work in Mongolia. I nearly stopped dead in my tracks. Mongolia? Really? My dream travel destination (for those who have known me for long, you should know, I dream, and try to plan travels through Mongolia. I have no idea when or why I initially became so interested in this country, but it is there. I mean, really, people who invented the wonder of the yurt deserve some tourism cash back). And, as it turns out, there is a cooperative agreement between the university and the Mongolian University of Science and Technology. Really? Really. How bizarrely compelling is that?

Four. Bizarre roadside attractions. Rapid City itself is divided by a large ridge upon which reside a conglomeration of depression-era reconstructed dinosaurs. And apparently, you can never get lost in Rapid City, because you only need to look up to the ridge and note that the Brontosaurus (depression era, as I said, I have a 5-yr old and am up-to-date on the sad, sordid tale of the poor Brontosaurus) always looks north. http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/10514 From Giant Beavers to the world's largest teepee, to an enormous Moose, we all know, there is nothing more appealing than a bizarre roadside attraction. And this region of South Dakota apparently has more than it's fair share. I already envision weekend road/camping trips to visit these bizarre scenes.

Five. I was told that I use too many exclamation points in my seminar. This is true. I do. I've noticed that when I type emails to friends, nearly every sentence ends with an exclamation point. I can't help it. I love life!!!!! And nearly every silly ironic crazy thing in it...all its challenges, tribulations, and trials...and all its beauty and triumph and wonder!!! But, then, the consensus seemed to be that I should go ahead and leave them in. My personality coming through. And so, I did. And it turns out that the search committee was looking for someone "with energy." I guess I fit that bill.

Six. It's sustainable engineering. A unique challenge, because of course, I have no training in this subject. I have, however, in my backpocket, a lifetime of dedication and passion to saving (yeah, yeah, I know...naive, but I'm sticky with naivety because it makes me happy) this beautiful earth. And maybe that is enough. But, it is hardly believable right now that I will be able to actually (finally) earn a decent income doing work that I love and believe in. Wow! How's that for a modern day fairy tale? Mass Transfer: A Fairy Tale.

Life in The South

2009-07-30T18:50:00.000-07:00

I still promise to sometime post the remaining writings from Africa someday. Now I have to find them. So, in the meantime, we have settled into life here in Blacksburg, Virginia. As with anyplace, the world is full of beauty if you take the time to notice it, but still, I think that this is one of the more beautiful places in this world.

We live in town, a quick bike ride to work, stores, the awesome Farmer's Market, and yet on two sides of our house, our neighbors are a big open field. The comforts of town, without town. We watch the haybaling when it happens and observe... There is a horse farm just down the road that we like to walk to. The walk reminds me of my youth - early mornings smelling of honeysuckle, a feeling of freedom, and watching horses - exactly a favorite pasttime of my high school years. There are cherry trees, pear trees, and all kinds of special finds in nature. There are lighning bugs that light the fields and make you feel and believe in magic. There are big old trees with branches grown to be climbed. And we do. There is a grape arbor and the excitement of waiting for something that will be turned to jellies and wine. And it is something to hide under - like a secret fort for kids. It is a return to childhood. And I love it.

However, as much as I love it, and as much as I love my job and the people I work around, I am already antsy and looking forward to something new. I don't know what will be next, but I have all the faith in the world that it will be good.

My little sister and my new brother in law are coming from DC to visit this weekend. I am so excited. Of course, they are family...and I adore them and believe that my time with them is absolutely precious. Funny though, as I was thinking about my feelings of restlessness, I was remembering our older sister, Lori's, toast at their wedding this June. She talked about Alyssa and how, in our family, what she was known for was her resistence to change. And that holding on quality of Alyssa is what has given her a happy, wonderful relationship with Paul and a successful career doing what she loves. She is a gem, and there are so many ways that she and I are similar - but this, is not one of them. Funny how different we are in that...I had just been noticing that my life had begun to fall into a routine. For me, routine is bad. It works for a while, but I get bored with it, no matter how good it is, and end up feeling like I'd rather scratch my eyes out with a ball point pen than to have one more single day that is just like the day before. Which probably explains why I am not married (in principle at least) and have only a quasi-serious commitment to my career, which I love right now, but I know me, it will change again someday. So there it is...irony, huh? I have no idea why I am hardwired to feel that way...

I am not lost in Africa...

2009-04-30T07:07:00.000-07:00

After moving from Alaska and traveling to South Africa, as well as some massive car repair bills, I am fairly completely in debt. As such, to save money, I do not have internet, phone, cable (whatever, I don't like tv enough to pay for that even if I have money, but I'm making a point, so no quibbling over it! My points don't have to make sense. They are mine.), etc. So, my current home internet connection is patchy and solely present at all due to the kindness of an unknown neighbor who has an unsecured wireless account. That said, I keep trying to post the rest of what I did write about our travels in Africa, and before it can go up, the internet connection disappears. So, to answer the recent inquiries regarding my whereabouts, no, I am not still wandering in Africa. I am as settled down in our new home in Blacksburg, Virginia as an unsettled girl can get, enjoying spring and an exciting new job. But the remainder of Africa babble and the wanderings after that will indeed get posted...some day...I'm not committing to when though.

Kruger National Park

2009-03-21T22:14:00.000-07:00

Kruger National Park, to me, seems like a kind of a do-it-yourself safari. I think of it as the Denali of South Africa. It is utterly teeming with wildlife and gorgeous scenery and vast open lands around the roads. You can drive your personal vehicle through the park, but the big rule there is that you are not allowed to get out of the car once on the road for your protection from the dangerous animals: lions, hippos, crocodiles, etc. I have to mention, that while I love Denali National Park, and would be happy to go back there to visit anytime, in terms of the variety of wildlife, it actually pales in comparison to Kruger.

We spent two days driving through the park. And during those days we saw: lions, zebra, countless impala (which I learned are refered to by South Africans as “alweerbok,” which means “not again buck.” It became almost tiring to see them… “oh, look, more impala…”), giraffes, warthogs, bushbuck, duiker, hippopotamus, white rhinocerus, elephants, buffalo, baboons, blue wildebeest, ostriches, crocodiles, a monitor lizard, African fish eagle, saddlebilled storks, an unidentified snake or two, hornbills, rollers, and a huge list of other birds. Unfortunately, no kudu, cheetah, or leopards were on our list. However, the list is undoubtably impressive and the experience unforgettable. And either the lions, the rotting giraffe carcas that they had been feeding on, or both really stunk.

On the first day driving in Kruger, Walter stopped the car so we could watch a dung beetle rolling his dung ball across the road in front of us. However, just as he was passing our car and into the next lane, we saw another vehicle approaching and worried that our little friend was going to be mushed. So, we sat, nervously watching, and cheering the little dung beetle along, “Go, dung beetle!!! Go! Go Go!!!!” He made it, and we all cheered.

I should mention that I am trying to improve my Afrikaans vocabulary. It also now includes the names of several animals, butcher shop, good night, and a few other random words. Though, this surprisingly did not help me much when Owen and I walked to the local butcher shop to look for ostrich steaks. I had no idea what much of anything in the store was because I can’t read the labels, so I had to just resort to asking for help. We did get the ostrich steaks, which were delicious. And my limited vocabulary was also not of much use when we went to see a concert by Nataniël, a South African performer, who apparently beyond being a talented singer, is also just hilarious. But, I enjoyed the performance anyway, despite not being able to understand much of it. I think he made some joke between his songs that refered to an ostrich. Oh, and chickens. I know that word too.

Zebras

2009-03-21T22:06:00.001-07:00

There are moments in life that are timeless. When put to words, they sound trivial, insignificant. But remembrance is alive with all the senses and the senses are not dulled with time. It is this that makes those moments powerful beyond words. They burn themselves onto the soul and forever leave their mark. Instantaneously, there is the feeling of knowing; like knowing that a dream is more than a dream, the way a vision comes. For me, these moments are always associated with solitude in nature. They are moments during which thoughts disappear into the wonder of the world around me; like reaching a higher spiritual plane through medidation, without the medidation (what a gift for someone as undedicated as me to experience those moments without the dedication!). I believe that the universe sends us those moments of clarity for reasons that will remain a secret for now; but, as such, they are rare. Perhaps the rarity is what allows them to remain so vivid in the mind through time, because they are not overly clouded by trying to retain far too many of them.

I have a handful of those experiences in my life. Two of them are associated with two of my favorite places in this world and part of the reasons that they are my favorite places: Alaska and southwest Virginia. And now, life has seen fit to send me one to associate with South Africa. On a hot afternoon during our weekend “in the bush” with Walter’s parents, I took a walk so I could look around one last time before hitting the road. Owen was happily playing in a sprinkler, so I left him in the care of Walter, An, and Okie, and went out. During the walk, I saw several zebra standing in the road ahead of me. While walking in to get a better look, the rest of the herd ran in and I stood in the midst of them. And at the same time, a family of warthogs jumped up from their afternoon nap and ran into the middle of the scene. That is one of those moments, and as I said, it sounds trivial when put to words, but there it is, and it is one of them. Zebra are truly beautiful animals and warthogs, well, they are just adorable.

Speaking Akrikaans

2009-03-15T23:27:00.001-07:00

Apparently, I learn slowly and my pronunciation is abhorrent. Or I am just enjoying my lazy vacation-mode, sipping coffee all morning and alcohol in the afternoons through evenings. Owen's pronunciation, in contrast to mine, is perfect and he seems to remember new words in volumes as compared to me. I wish we retained the sponge capacity of our brains as we aged.

After about 5 days in South Africa, I added three words to my Afrikaans vocabulary: bug, liquor store, and butterfly. Useful, huh (well, the liquor store term really is undeniably important)? I feel more than slightly pathetic.

After about one and a half weeks, I have added several animal names, a few odd other words, butcher shop, and goodnight to my vocabulary. So has Owen.

Owen's favorite Afrikaans word seems to be volstruis, or ostrich. We stopped at a butcher shop one afternoon to buy some lamb (Walter makes fabulous lamb steaks on the grill and Owen absolutely loves eating it) and I pointed out that there was ostrich meat for sale. Since that moment, Owen has been telling me over and over, "Mommy, I really want to eat volstruis. I've never tried volstruis yet." He's an adventurous boy, with an adventurous appetite. I'm proud of that.

On Being Ill-Prepared

2009-03-11T22:35:00.000-07:00

It completely goes against the nature of my upbringing with my being the product of excessively prepared parents, but I flew halfway around the world with Owen, with not the slightest idea of what we were going to do once we got here. And not only did I have absolutely nothing planned, but I hadn't taken the time to learn anything about the history and/or culture of the country I was going to stay in, learned no more than 3 words of the language, and hadn't even remembered to write down Walter's phone number to put in my bag in case of something unexpected happened. The weeks before the road trip had been just beyond hectic, and there were a lot of things that suffered. Planning for the international vacation was one of these things.

On our first day here, Walter went off to work, and Owen and I slept in and basically just bummed around, spending most of the day sitting on the deck and enjoying the sun. We load up on sunscreen everyday (I at least prepared for that one), and Owen has taken to telling people that he meets that "Our Alaskan skin isn't used to the sun, so we wear lots of sunscreen." At least he hasn't yet forgotten where he's from.

At some point during the day, we decide to walk outside of the "compound" (Walter lives in a high security community, enclosed with electric fencing and complete with security personnel who patrol the community, day and night) to the nearest convenience store to buy Owen some juice. I brought my camera to take pictures of flowers and Owen and anything else interesting that we came across. One of the community guards actually stopped me during the walk, pointed to my camera, and informed me that I am not allowed to take pictures of the houses. I smiled, told him that I was only taking pictures of flowers and the kid, and we walked on. Still, it was a curious encounter to me.

At this point and during the course of this walk, I became aware of how ill-prepared I was several times. First off, people are very friendly here and everyone smiles, waves, and often stop to chat. They generally seem to start the conversation in Afrikaans too. I was wishing that I had at least learned simple friendly greetings and responses. One man laughed and told me, "I just asked you how you are doing." I really should have learned something other than the Afrikaans words for: chicken, thank you, and hangover (hoender, dankie, and babelas). So much for my communications. Luckily though, everyone generally speaks English here as well.

The other thing that I had no clue about was the currency here. I had at least picked up somewhere on the term "rand," but I had not bothered to look up the exchange rate and had no idea what a rand was worth. So the 5.80 juice that I bought for Owen seemed outrageous, but later Walter told me that it was equivalent to 58 cents. I am seriously amused at myself over this.

I should mention that the highlight of the walk home was that as we walked past the golf course, there were some golfers sitting at a table next to coolers of beer and sodas. They stopped me and asked if we'd like drinks, so Owen got to try his first soda ever (an orange soda) and I got a Castle beer. Castle beer is The National Beer of South Africa, as it says on the label. I'm hooked. So, we finished our walks with soda and beer in hand and sat on the deck at home and consumed our treats. I like this place.

Getting to Nelspruit

2009-03-09T03:16:00.000-07:00

Our African Adventure story begins, of course, with the first flight, which took us directly from Dulles, DC to Johannesburg, South Africa. Obviously this is an excessively long flight. But, to kill the pain, the booze is free. I tapped into this method of pain relief. Owen handled the flight very well, drawing and coloring, watching movies, and eating. As usual on our travels, I was told by several people that I am very lucky for having such a well behaved and quiet boy. I do appreciate this fact very much, though usually there is a spell of roughly a half hour every time where I am not convinced of this fact. But, realistically, this is a really small percentage of a 17-plus hour trip, given that Owen is only 4 years old, and has just dealt with an excessively long road trip, so I should really just quit my inappropriate whining. Things could always be worse (and as I frequently say, this is the greatest form of beauty in the world: the fact that things could always be worse).

I realized during the course of this flight, the potential dangers of traveling internationally as a single parent with a young child. At some point during the flight, I had some sort of an attack that included dizziness, nausea, heart palpatations, sweating, and the general feeling like I was near passing out. Owen was asleep at this point, but as I tried to focus on breathing as settling my racing heart, all I could think about, other than trying to control my heart, was that I had no idea what would happen to Owen if something happened to me. That is a very scary thought. At least on this trip, we have "family" where we were headed, but it is something that I will be very mindful of in the future. I did manage to sleep through the attack and it went away, so I think in some way, it was just a message from the gods to remind me to be very careful.

When we got to Johannesburg, I also realized, for the first of many times to come, how completely ill-prepared I was for this trip. I had no idea what I had to do when I got there and different airline employees kept giving me different information. Plus, the flight was late and the connection to Nelspruit was tight anyway, so what this meant was that I had roughly 30 minutes to get my luggage, go through customs, go through security, and find the flight gate. And the Johannesburg airport is huge and confusing, and I had to navigate all of this while dragging a sleepy 4-year old around. We managed all this, just barely, thanks in no small part to South Africa's excessively lax customs and security. And as I proudly ran up to the gate, just barely on-time, and showed our boarding passes, we were then informed that the flight was late and would board in 20 minutes. Oh irony, you appear in my life yet again. But, this gave us time to change out of our winter clothes into more summer appropriate clothing. So, thanks South African Airways for your late departure, but it would have been nicer if I hadn't managed to work up such a sweat in getting to that point.

Arriving in Nelspruit, was, of course, wonderful, mainly because Walter was there waiting for us. And he, of course, had plenty of alcohol waiting at his home. It is so good to see him again!

Washington DC

2009-03-05T22:58:00.000-08:00

After an all too brief settling in at our new home in Blacksburg, Owen and I drove up to DC to visit with my little sister, Alyssa, before flying out to South Africa. We enjoyed the short visit there, so I think it is worth some mention. Alyssa lives near Dupont Circle, in the middle of the gay part of the city. It's a great neighborhood to walk around, because it is full of "eye candy." The streets are full of beautiful men. Who doesn't enjoy great scenery?

Owen got to experience several jaunts on the Metro and has learned all about walking around cities and how to read the crossing lights. Experience is always good. We walked through the National Zoo, though it was slightly cold and there were nearly no animals out, except for the red pandas. Red pandas are exceptionally cute, so we have about 40 pictures of them...and nothing else. But, still, walking is always nice. Alyssa and PJ (Paul) took us out to a great Ethiopian restaurant for dinner. All that really needs to be said about that is "YUM!!!!" And Harar is a good beer. Sushi will have to happen on the return visit. And more Ethiopian.

The next morning we had breakfast at Ben's Chili Bowl. Again, YUM! Ben's Chili Bowl is a great little restaurant, and we have now joined the ranks of all the famous people who have enjoyed the food there, including Barack Obama and Bill Cosby. The atmosphere of the place is fantastic too, and I enjoyed the cultural experience of being the only white people in the joint that morning. It's good for Owen to experience that too. I apparently found myself a new boyfriend while there. Actually, I had no idea what he was talking about most of the time, but, it's in my nature to smile and nod, so I now have the guy's phone number and I think he was offering to pick me up sometime and make cheesecake for me. Well, there's a weak spot for me, because, well, I LOVE cheesecake. However, I'll just add that to the list of phone numbers I'll never actually call. Still, the guy put some money in the juke box there and let me help him pick a great selection of music - Jackson 5, Sam Cook, and Bob Marley - so it was fun. I can't wait to go back to Ben's when we return to DC! We also enjoyed walks through the Air and Space Museum and the Museum of Natural History before we headed back to Alyssa's place to get ready for the long, long flight.

HOME??

2009-03-01T20:44:00.001-08:00

And then, enter…Virginia!!! Owen and I hooted and hollered and high-fived…the end of the journey! Owen, being an enlightened little 4-year old, knew full well that the journey was an epic one and he is proud to have made it. I am proud that he has gotten to experience it and hope that it will forever leave something of a badge of courage and a mark of experience on him. He was an absolutely amazing companion.

We stopped and bought produce at the little gas station at Newport, Virginia, on the corner of Route 460 and Route 42 (which winds out to the little area known, by virtue of its little general store, as the community of Sinking Creek, and is the place where I made my home on that 300+ acre farm for four years). The produce is cheap, fresh, and everyday sits outside under the awnings of the little market. Owen picked some peppers and cucumbers, and I bought a bag of those wonderful little Stayman apples that I have been longing for over the years.

The new home is little, old house with a grape arbor and a huge field. It is a good little house.

Though I joke, every place (aside from a handful of cities) between Fairbanks, Alaska, and Blacksburg, Virginia and a few side-journeys, holds its own sense of beauty, every part of it wonderful and special in its own right. The journey leads me to one final thought of self discovery…I am a wanderer.

Almost South

2009-03-01T20:44:00.000-08:00

Kentucky has its own beauty. It is full of rolling hills and horse farms. The scenery is beautiful. However, I was painfully reminded of the reasons that I am not all too crazy about Kentucky, when, overtired and desperate, I stopped at the Super 8 of Dry Ridge, Kentucky. First off, the place was dingy and it was one of those hotels where everything smells like smoke. Secondly, when I inquired about taking pets into the room, the conversation with the woman at the desk became unpleasant, to say the least. I was not at all in the mood to be criticized for the number and size of the dogs that I was traveling with. At this point, I had already been thousands of miles with them and only hundreds from the end of the journey, and I responded with, something along the lines of “well, I suppose I should have shot one of them before I left…” I’m not usually that rude to total strangers, but it’s something that only a Kentuckian can bring out. I thought of adding, “Well, no one in Canada said anything about it,” but I bit my tongue on that one. I did, however, appreciate the reappearance of the Southern politeness, listening to a young man who was checking in before me, as he used “m’am” at the end of every sentence. I had at some point, taught Owen to refer to adults as “sir” and “m’am,” but then realized that since he was not growing up in the south where this was custom, it would probably have the effect of making him seem a little weird to his peers. And since weirdness is already a strong genetic trait in this family, I really feel like I should do my best to not add more to it and force him into a life of suffering. I’ve already doomed him by teaching him to use a pipet and play diffusion experiment. There are limits.

The next morning, as I left the hotel, the same woman checked me out and said “well, I hope things work out for you,” in a sort of pitying tone. Why this woman thought I needed pity, I am not sure. Well, I am, because I am sure she felt sorry for me as I was obviously moving 4000+ miles as a single mother with a car full of dogs. I know that it stems from the pervasive undercurrent of chauvinism that exists in the south, but it again reminded me that I should make sure that I don’t wear out my southern welcome, so to speak. I responded brightly to that comment, with “well, of course they will!” She gave me a bewildered look. I am sure she had no idea what to make of me.

At a coffee stand that morning, I was also told by the women who worked there, that “well, we just love your Sarah!” I thought she meant my friend Sarah, who had just made the journey with me, and was about to respond “well, of course, she’s awesome…,” but then I realized which Sarah they meant and forced my smile and my southern politeness that followed. “Oh, well, I’ll make sure to tell her about her fans in Kentucky when I see her next…”

The journey through West Virginia brought back plenty of good memories. I passed Hurricane, West Virginia (pronounced hurr-i-cun), where my friend Vickie grew up. I took a picture of the Hurricane exit in honor of her. And then, I also noticed, the appearance of the end-all-be-all of great breakfast places…YES….Tudor’s Biscuit World!!!! I have sweet, sweet memories of many breakfasts at Tudors before many, many New River and Gauley River whitewater rafting adventures. I even detoured the 5 minutes or so off the highway just to take a picture of the Tudor’s at Beckley, West Virginia. Now, at this point, there was some feeling of home coming back. And West Virginia, in stark contrast to so much of this journey, is NOTHING but topography. Steep river gorges and nothing anywhere that is at all flat. And absolutely non-existent cell phone coverage. So, some sense of space and freedom returns with that realization.

The Heartland

2009-03-01T20:43:00.000-08:00

The Midwest is the Land of the Kum and Go. The name, Kum and Go, aside from its blatant sexual innuendo, which we, of course, find amusing, strikes a nerve with both Sarah and I. Neither of us are fans of “cute” misspellings for names of places. I don’t know, I just don’t think that “kwik marts” or the like are cute. But, beyond the cute misspellings, is the fact that, in the Kum and Go, the smallest size soft drink comes (or kums) in a 32-oz “kup,” which is, by no means small, and seems symbolic of one of America’s main failings. But, once we entered Kum and Go country, the “kum” jokes and the “kum kup” jokes were a near constant point of conversation and joking, to the point of actually making ourselves feel fairly uncomfortable. I shall spare the readers the details on the results of the ensuing calculations. Needless to say, put a mathematician and an engineer with perverted senses of humor together on a road trip, and things can take a turn rather easily into areas which should never be tread. We were, by the end of the trip, rather disgusted that the remaining “theme” of the road trip seemed to center itself on the topic of the Kum and Go.

But, as for the cleaner things, Minnesota and Iowa’s landscapes are beautiful. They are full of beautiful idyllic snow-covered farms that resonate with the soul and seem to stand as the image of the reason this part of the country is known as the Heartland. From Iowa, we went on to travel through Illinois and Indiana. We said goodbye to Sarah at Indianapolis, where she caught a flight back to New York. It was sad to see her go. Friends who will make a journey such as this one are special beyond words.

There were two main highlights of Illinois. One is the visitor’s center at Random Town, Illinois, which in this case, is Galesburg, Illinois. We stopped for a bathroom at the Galesburg, Illinois Visitor’s Center, which is contains exhibits dedicated to two of our nation’s presidents: Lincoln and Reagan. But, this was the best stop ever for a bathroom, because at the visitor’s center, the woman there gave us free coffee, Galesburg Illinois tote bags, and crayons and a Galesburg Illinois coloring book for Owen. The woman working at the center was extremely friendly and chatty. And, I learned from her, that back in her day, growing up in the Adirondacks, that she grew up calling, what the lower-48ers call a “snowmobile,” a “snowmachine,” which gave some sense of history to the Alaskan’s use of the latter term. For this friendliness, we felt somewhat obligated to purchase $8.50-worth of Galesburg, Illinois souvenirs, which included 2 sunglass cases that were actually needed, a tile magnet for Owen because of course with the accumulation of a 4-yr old’s refrigerator artwork, one can never have too many magnets, some postcards of a fire and train museum, and a Ronald Reagan coloring book, for Sarah’s mother, who is, by the way, a democrat.

The second main highlight of Illinois is something of a tradition from several road trips over the years to various destinations that passed through the same stretches of highway. It is the rituals involved in passing the town of Normal, Illinois. It is absolutely essential, when passing by Normal, Illinois, to loudly proclaim such things as “Well, that’s as close as I’m ever going to get to that!” or “Good thing we didn’t try to stop, because they’d take one look at us and never let us in!” It is probably important to note, that I have never made a road trip with any companion who has ever considered themselves to be even remotely “normal.”

Indiana and Ohio were where I first became really, really aware of the changing density of vehicles. In these places, there was a constant, steady stream of cars. To an Alaskan, this constitutes “traffic” and made me suddenly aware of the vast spaces, solitude, and freedoms that I have resigned myself to giving up for the next few years. It is actually not a very good feeling. The changes happened gradually and really creeped themselves in, from the vast stretches of the Alaska Highway, where hours would pass without seeing another vehicle on the road, to the appearance of a vehicle on the order of minutes in North Dakota, to the constant streams of vehicles in the southern places. Ironically, it is hard to believe sometimes that I spent a few summers commuting to jobs on the New Jersey Turnpike to such fabulous and exciting destinations as Port Newark, The World Trade Center, and the gem of them all, the Howland Hook Marine Terminal of Staten Island. As I said, Irony is a constant theme in my life.

Iowa and Beyond

2009-02-25T06:15:00.000-08:00

We spent a night in Des Moines, Iowa, at Shirley's boyfriend, Shane's house. It is a nice house, and he is a good person. He hunts, fishes, gardens, and cans. Owen enjoyed chatting with him, as obviously, they share some common interests, since those are also some of Owen's favorite pasttimes. Shane sent us off with some venison jerky and a quart of his homemade, homegrown salsa. It makes me feel like home, and a little less sad about all the homecanned foods I had to leave behind in Alaska.

Iowa City is only a two hour drive from Des Moines, so we essentially had the next day off the road. Iowa City is an absolutely charming small city. Mike and his family live in the beautiful, historic section of town. Their house is gorgeous. Mike and his significant other, Cornelia, have two children, Amelia, who is Owen's age, and Kaehleb, who is 8 years old. Mike has remained in my memory for years, as one of the nicest people I have ever known, and a visit with him completely reconfirmed this memory. He has not changed from that memory and to add to it, Cornelia seems a perfect partner, as she is equally as nice. Owen and Amelia, both Montessori kids, were instant friends. It was a necessary, happy break for Owen, who is a very social kid, to have a friend to play with again. Their family story is one worth mentioning (and I hope that Mike will not mind my sharing it), because I felt like my heart was overwhelmed by the story of the resilience and strength of a family. Kaehleb, is Mike's sister's son, and is the youngest survivor of the September 11th attacks, during which time, Mike's sister worked at the Pentagon. He was 6 months old at that time. Mike and Cornelia took him in once they became settled in their home there. He said that it was a decision that the entire family supported. It is a good story, and I believe is a happy ending to a terrible tragedy. I am proud to know Mike and Cornelia, and I am proud of their decision, and I wish them all them all the best in this world. The sweetest moment of the trip was watching the three children snuggled together under blankets on the couch, Kaehleb in the middle reading a book to Amelia and Owen. They are all beautiful children.

Is any trip really great without a massive puking attack?

2009-02-22T21:03:00.001-08:00

Ironically, after eating what was probably the healthiest, actual dinner of the road trip so far, I spent all of last night vomiting it and any bit of liquid I tried to keep down back out. It is as if the Gods of the Road are controling my fate and dictating that it is completely, simply not right to eat several whole fresh vegetables and fruits while on the road. And so, they struck back at me for my disregard of the rules. And now, I've gone an entire day without coffee to add to the insult.

However, that said, we did finally manage to find the Fargo Celebrity Walk of Fame. It is as entirely disappointing and sad as one would imagine. First off, despite the city boasting the Walk of Fame as one of it's important visitor attractions, they do not actually invest the time or effort involved in keeping the famed walk free of snow and ice. And so, we spent our time uncovering the famous names that we could, but never did find the most celebrated Man of the City's handprints. Indeed, we were fairly convinced that Jesse Ventura's block was buried under several inches of ice. So, we took our pictures next to the ice block that we imagined overlayed dear Jesse's handprint on the sidewalk. I will note however, that I was happy to discover Stevie Ray Vaughan's handprint on the walk, and had my picture taken next to that one, as an true fan of the man.

So, aside from another vomiting on the side of the highway episode, the trip from Fargo to Des Moines, Iowa was rather uneventful. We are staying here in Des Moines tonight with my Aunt Shirley, and tomorrow, we will trek over to Iowa City to visit my friend Mike Fallon and his family. Anyone who knows Mike Fallon is extremely jealous right now, I am sure.

I am thoroughly happy to be in Iowa. Iowa has a feeling of home to me, despite the fact that I've never lived here. And despite the fact that I would never settle down here (or so I think, but I've learned enough in my life of irony to never really hold to statements of never). And that feeling seems to grow as time goes by. I suppose it is the family connection, because both of my parents were born and raised in this state: my mom in Cedar Falls and my dad on the family farm in Waverly. I love looking at the fields of corn in the summers. I love the way a summer ligthning storm can decorate the expansive wide open sky here. And I love the feeling of contentment that comes from seeing family. Iowa is good!

Borrowed Time

2009-02-21T18:32:00.000-08:00

I am feeling resentful of my lost hours. I feel 3 hours older, and will be 4 hours older by the end of this trip. Theoretically, I've been living the last eight or so years on borrowed time, as I was 4 hours younger for all those years. But, going in reverse seems harsh. Maybe because I'm just really, really tired today. But, when I make my way back to Alaska, I think I should stay for good, and keep my four less hours.

Fargo has been good. Yes, the accents are really funny. Sarah, a fifth generation New Yorker, is frustrated by the slow pace of life here, but I don't really notice...well, not too much anyway, but I'm horrible with time anyway. I've chatted with some nice people here today. And the alcohol is cheap. Really, really cheap, thanks to Happy Harry's Bottle Shop. The children's museum was nothing spectacular, but Owen made some "new friends" and was happy running loose for hours. Supposedly, there's a swimming pool and hot tub in this apartment complex that we're staying in...so, sometime tonight, I'll get myself into gear and search the SkyBox 18 for a suit. Tomorrow, we'll explore a little more of Fargo, most importantly the Celebrity Walk of Fame, that we didn't make it to yet today. Then, we'll hit the road for Destination Des Moines, where we'll be staying with my Aunt Shirley!

Border Crossings and North Dakota

2009-02-21T08:08:00.000-08:00

I am still in the northern plains. This is my first time traveling through these parts in the winter. I am impressed. Part of this stems simply from my love of the open road, knowing that something unexpected always lies ahead, and that no matter how well or not well a trip may be planned, something always goes differently than anticipated. The other part of this is that the extent of openness in the prairies is just phenomenal and the emptyness interspersed with an occasional farm gives a feeling of time standing still.

We started the day in Regina, Saskatchewan, drove to the border and then Sarah caught a ride with a fellow curler to the curling tournament in Fargo. We thought it better for her to ride with someone who could get her there on time, rather than trying to push the travel time with Owen and the dogs. It’s been wonderful having Sarah along, and especially helpful having the extra hands because I seriously don’t have enough hands for the four dependants that I am traveling with otherwise. As I say often, I am blessed in life with some amazing friends. However, still, it’s nice to experience a little “alone” time for half of a day. So, I guzzled coffee, cranked my tunes, sang along loudly, and found my own rhythm of the road for the day. But, this time, for the first time in my road trip experiences, my rhythm also included several rousing games of “I spy.”

I had intended, when I first started planning this trip, to title my description of my travels through North Dakota, “The Redemption of North Dakota.” But then, Michael wrote about the “Redemption of Houston,” and “stole” my imaginary title. Funny. But, I think it is appropriate anyway. I have been to Houston, and I definitely agree that it needs the redemption far more than North Dakota.

The winds blow constantly here, and after years of Fairbanks’ windless climate, it feels harsh. But, in the vast, empty stretches of road and in the warmth of the car, it brings something almost magical. The sun shines brightly, reflecting off the snow and adding to the brightness, in the clear blue skies, but the road is shrouded in the swirling mist of the constantly blown snow. It adds a mystical quality to the drive, the way it feels when taking a walk on a foggy day. Then, all hell breaks lose and the comforting feelings are swept away as soon as you open a door.

Each day of this trip, I am waiting in dread for the expected road-weary melt down of either the child or one or all of the dogs. So far, it hasn’t happened. Owen is a complete gem, happily entertaining himself for the most part in his own little world in the back of the car and the dogs seem content to just be warm and sleep in the back. I almost forget that they are there, except that Thunder occasionally feels the need to pop his head up and lurk over Owen. But, Owen seems to enjoy the bonding time, so all is good.

So, we made it to Fargo in time to “watch” some curling, or rather, for me at least, pass out in exhaustion on some seats at the curling club. Owen, when we got there, commented that, “Mommy, I thought that a curling club was a place where you go to get your hair curled, but it isn’t. I already have curly hair anyway, so I don’t need that.” Perceptive, isn’t he?

So, this morning, we are in Fargo, about to hit the town, in search of the following: a place for an oil change, the children’s museum, the dog park, Happy Harry’s Bottle Shop (a great name for a liquor store), and the Fargo Celebrity Walk of Fame. Fun for all!!!

2009-02-19T23:23:00.003-08:00

Day Number Whatever – because I’m in road trip mode and have lost track of time, or what limited concept I had of it to begin with anyway: Travels in Canada

Canadian grocery stores have fantastic names. There’s “The Real Canadian Superstore” of Whitehorse, the “Overwaitee” of Fort Nelson, and the “Extra Foods” of Dawson Creek. Overrwaitee is just a ridiculously wrong name for a grocery store. And as for Extra Foods – what the hell does that mean?! Do you need to buy more than you need? Or is it extra stuff that they had lying around that they want you to purchase even though you don’t need it?

We are driving mostly in Alberta today. I like Alberta. But, it is sort of an ironic beauty. Irony, of course, is a central theme in my life anyway, so I like it here. It’s logging/agricultural/oil/etc region. Basically, natural resources. And rather flat. And though we crack jokes at the flatness, such as sign that pointed off to the left of the highway marking “Saskatoon Mountain” where nothing more than a hill rose as far as I could tell, or the excitement at cresting the summit of “Hilltop Road,” these jokes are made with a bit of restraint. We know what comes next. Alberta’s flat land is nothing in comparison to that place that lies ahead.

Grand Prairie is a town that, if it could magically disappear somehow off the face of the planet, I would jump for joy of never having to go through it again. But, it is a hideous string of box stores, strip malls, traffic lights, and houses that all look identical. It needs to be escaped from as quickly as possible, but, given all the traffic lights, it is not possible to escape quickly enough. Poule Coup looks exactly like the type of town you would picture when you hear that name. The town of Hythe, proudly displays it’s two town slogans: (1) The town where wells flow and (2) The volunteer capital of Alberta. What people are volunteering for there, is beyond me. But, the town has a beautiful, old, blue grain elevator. The town of Beaverlodge boasts it’s main attraction proudly before you enter: “Giant Beaver Attraction.” We of course, took pictures, of both the sign and the giant beaver attraction.

Moose crossing road signs are not standardized from province to province in Canada, nor within a province. One type looks something like the silhouette of a dog with moose antlers. Another, we have dubbed “The Thanksgiving Moose” or “Barbie Moose.” He is very top-heavy and has ridiculously thin, nearly nonexistent legs that could not possibly support his massively disproportionate upper body. Owen will be incredibly sad to realize that he will no longer be living in moose country, which is a bit of a heartbreaker. They are, of course, along with rainbow trout, his favorite animals. Because both are “so beautiful” as well as “really yummy.” I sometimes wonder how I managed to give birth to such an angel.

Tonight we head to Calgary to visit with Jaspreet, who was my first and closest friend when I first moved to Fairbanks.

We just passed a sign that said “Important Intersection Ahead.” Whew…good to know. I don’t know what makes it important – historic event? Home of a government official? Parade? But they say it is, so there you go.

To get to Calgary, we have to go through Edmonton. Which is yet another place that I wouldn’t mind somehow wiping off the map. I’ll let you know how it goes. We may gry some farm roads around Edmonton just to not experience that hell again.

Notes From the Flat Lands of Canada:

Edmonton was successfully navigated by Sarah’s discovery of a bypass, just to spite Edmonton by not going through it, due to our shared feelings on the topic of Edmonton. I enjoyed seeing Jaspreet. She is a great person and a good friend, though our stays in Fairbanks only overlapped by a few months, now many years ago, I felt a little like time stands still when reuniting with friends. Calgary is a likeable city. Big, by my standards, with a population around 1 million, but it has nice views of mountains, so that alone puts a likeable quality into a city in my book.

We made a fabulous detour today to the Royal Tyrrell Museum. It is an amazing dinosaur museum located in the badlands of Alberta. Owen, of course, thoroughly enjoyed the museum, as did Sarah and I, because, well, let’s face it, who doesn’t love dinosaurs? We also enjoyed a great little nature hike where we got to enjoy some views of the badlands and finally stretch our legs again.

So, driving in eastern Alberta and Saskatchewan, I feel like I need to really speed. And I can’t possibly drive as fast as I feel I need to. I’m not sure if it is because I feel the need to escape the plains or if it just because I am mentally not well adjusted to the concept of how long it takes to reach a point on the horizon, given how far away the horizon is. And driving in the northern prairie puts one, as Sarah expressed it, in “prairie driving mode,” which can’t really be well explained if you have never done it. But it is something like a feeling that is similar to entering a time warp, where all thoughts, feelings, and a general sense of being become sucked into a black hole and are forever lost until the reappearance of topography. It reminds of a Landolfi story, where the real fear is that nothingness exists.

We just made a quick tour of the Village of Piapot. We were looking for a bathroom, and the name just sounded right. But, something felt a little too off. Perhaps if we had actually gone in to the local bar, we would have met some wonderful characters, but it is hard to find the gumption to chat it up with the locals when you have a car full of people and pets who need to pee.

And, on that topic, I have noticed that in this region, the number of Speedometer Check Sections of highway far outnumber, at a ratio of roughly 20 to 1, any form of rest stop or outhouse. In a place where there is no topography or sizeable vegetative forms and one must consume massive doses of coffee to keep awake, this seems a bit unfair. Unless the Canadians are trying to force people to stay awake through severe discomfort. It really seems like they could have saved a little money on the signs and surveying required for the excessive number of Speedometer Checks and put in an occasional outhouse. Really, I’m not asking for much, but it’s kind of hard to explain to passing vehicles that they just need to turn their heads for a moment. It reminds me of doing field work in Barrow, when I was trying to explain to my work companion, who was a Japanese scientist with relatively poor English language skills, “Could you just not look in this direction for a couple of minutes?”

Medicine Hat, by the way, I shall just mention, for the sake of record keeping, is yet another city that caused us to feel like we needed to run away screaming from. Apparently, the shining glory of Medicine Hat is that it is home to the World’s Largest Teepee. It is a metal frame replica of a teepee. I took a picture of it out the rear window as we were driving away from it. It seemed like the perfect setting for such a structure.

It just started snowing. We are in Saskatchewan. I am convinced that Saskatchewan does not want to redeem itself in my regards. (Although, despite all my complaining about it, I actually really do love driving through the plains. It is a good feeling.) And I’ll sign off, as we head off to a night in Regina at the home of one of Sarah’s friends’ parents. It should be nice.

Oh, and I should mention, that there was an embarassing debacle with the car, just outside of Marmie's Den, a restaurant in Hebert. The customers of the restaurant and the general community of Hebert, about half of whom must have been involved in our rescue, are amazingly nice people. Someday, I will go back there. But, at the very least, I intend to look up the address of the restaurant and send a nice thank you postcard from Virginia, addressed to the residents of the community of Hebert, Saskatchewan. Canadians are just ridiculously nice.

2009-02-18T00:09:00.001-08:00

The epic road trip story really begins in Fairbanks, Alaska, several days before the road trip began. It starts with the purchase of the SkyBox 18. The 18 means that it is 18 cubic feet in volume. I bought the SkyBox at Beaver Sports. Yes, I know, I hate Beaver Sports for many reasons, but time was limited and it is conveniently close to the university and I knew that they sold the SkyBox, because several of them are on display outside the front door.

So, at Beaver Sports, with Sarah, I was being helped by a saleman there. He showed me the list of SkyBox models and the prices for each. For each size category, there is a SkyBox and a SkyBox Pro. The difference, apparently, is $200 and a “fancy” silver finish. Sarah was particularly confused by this, and kept asking pointed questions, such as “Is the Pro more durable?,” “Wait, I must be missing something…is it more aerodynamics?” “It must have better features, right? Easier to open?...Better latches?...” To each of these questions, the salesman, who happened to understand the ironic humor in this situation, kept patiently responding, “Nope. Just the color.” So, now, anytime I see anyone driving down the road with a fancy silver SkyBox Pro, I will be laughing, because I will now know that they paid an extra $200 for the silver color.

So, the reason that I include this as a monumental event for the start of the road trip, is because I have had a life long dream of making a road trip in a station wagon with a cargo top (or hamburger box, as I called them when I was a kid). I don’t know why I have always felt like this would be the dreamiest way of traveling, but the impression was burned in my memory from childhood, perhaps on one of the long family road trips out west when I was young, I saw some other family in such a set up and was jealously looking out from the back of the 1971 mustard yellow Datsun or the 1973 blue-blue Audi sedan, fighting for space between the back seats with my older sister. So, now, with a SkyBox 18 on the top of my 1999 green Subaru Legacy Outback, I feel like a Kind of the Road…ready to hit the road in the ultimate, vehicle-of-my-drams, road-tripping vehicle. Owen, unlike my childhood dream, does NOT however, have all of the space in the world to play. Some dreams stay unfulfilled, I guess.

Day 1:

Sunday, February 15, started out later than planned, of course. For some reason, saying goodbye to my friends and home, packing, and getting myself together in general, took longer than expected. So, we started from Fairbanks at around 5:30 pm, and headed out for the highway. SkyBox full with winter clothes, camping and survival gear, for just in case, back seat full of toys and food, back of the station full of Spirit, Thunder, and Fire, and front seats full with me and Sarah. The drive, was a drive, and we pushed it late into the night to try to make up for lost time and also because there is really not much open on the Alcan Highway in winter. Well, it’s a long time between stops in summer sometimes anyway, but even less is open in winter.

We crossed the border rather uneventfully, though the maybe-slightly-older than high-school border official was not impressed by our jokes of irony. “Do you have anything to declare?” “Well, our clothes, camping gear, child, road snacks, the dogs.” “Do you have health certificates for the dogs?” “Why yes, I do!” (I proclaimed this very proudly, because the “Pet Passports” folders containing the dog’s certificates from the vet are just ridiculously cute.) “Do you have any firearms?” “No.” “Do you have any pets?” “…do you mean, other than the ones we just showed you the certificates for….?”

So, once in Canadia, our late night driving talks focused around defining the different types of snow and ice that exist on the road. There’s black ice, texturized black ice, snow pack, patchy snow pack, texturized snow pack, …we were up to about 18 categories and counting. I am, by the way, already planning to use this for my excuse for when I get pulled over for speeding in the lower 48. I will explain, “what, speed limit? But…the road is clear, I don’t get it…I thought I was driving at a safe speed.” Sarah drove between Delta and Tok, and successfully avoided hitting the token moose-nearly crossing the road just as the only other car that we’ve seen for hours is about drive past us going the other direction. She also successfully navigated the “Corridor of Death,” a stretch of highway with an uncanny number of upturned hooves. The drive was mostly uneventful, until the stretch after Tok…

At Tok, we switched drivers and it was my turn to drive again. Then, the road became frost heavy, slow, icy, and late. Owen started getting frost-heavy car-sick and vomiting. I drove with constant nervous glances back to see if he was going to be sick again. We had made some plans to stop at one “lodge” that clamed to be open year round, but wasn’t, and were forced to push on for several more hours to Kuane Lake, which WAS opened, but not at 3 am when we rolled in to town. But, at this hotel, after driving around and knocking on several doors of nearby residences, we found an unlocked door to a laundry room, and out of desperation, from being overly-tired and the vomiting child, we started blowing up an air mattress on the floor of the hotel’s laundry room. But, Sarah then went off to find a pee spot and on her way back, found a room with a tv on, and knocked. She did find a hotel employee, or rather, one vague, and rather scary employee who referred her to another door where she could wake up a sleeping, but helpful hotel employee. So, we nonchalantly whisked the air mattress away and slept for the very short night.

Day 2:
We saw elk along the road and had a little side-jaunt into Whitehorse (including a walk to Sarah’s favorite landmark of Whitehorse, the “skyscraper log cabin”), a little shopping trip for supplies at “The Real Canadian Super Store” (as opposed to the fake one?), where we bought snacks with labels in English and French Owen was rested and well, the sun was shining, it wasn’t too cold, and Owen continues to be thrilled at the idea of being in Canada. At one gas station in the Yukon, the store owner gave Owen a bag of chips, because “Canadians are just nice.” We found a decent, but overpriced, but most of all, open, hotel in Watson Lake and spent the night. All was good.

Day 3
The lesson of the day is that one should NOT leave a full, unopened can of diet Coke in the drink holder of the car overnight when the temperature dips down to 20 below (F, even though we’re in Canada). Sometime in the late afternoon, the last the mess thawed off the windshield and visibility was improved. With that and a lot of mopping with a roll of toilet paper “stolen” from the hotel room the night before.

Liard hot springs made a wonderful stopping point, despite the pain involved in getting into and out of the swim. But, yet another sunny day, Owen continues to be an absolute trooper, the dogs are happy, we saw lots of bison and beautiful scenery, and all is good in the world.

As a side note, Canadians tend to display some slightly weird road signs. For example, a “landfill” sign with an arrow pointing into a forested gully (it was actually down the road a little way). My favorite of the day, however, was a yellow diamond sign with a picture of a truck on a triangle. Nothing else. No indication of percent grade, no caution warnings, no “check your brakes,” no…nothing but a sign with a picture of a match-box truck on a triangular-shaped building block.

And I will now sign off and get ready for my next driving shift with my cold mug of coffee that wasn’t good even when it was fresh and a few handfuls of Wasabi almonds, purchased at the Freddie’s back in Fairbanks. This trip has been characterized by excessively strongly flavored foods: such as the dill and sour cream potato chips Sarah bought in Whitehorse that seem to have gotten the flavor of dill and sour cream with excessive vinegar and dill, the Wasabi almonds, and the candied ginger that kept me awake on the late night shift of Day 1 by a ginger flavor so strong that my eyes watered and my throat felt like it was on fire. You can always count on pure discomfort to keep you awake.

We had “dinner” in Fort Nelson at the Backstreet bar, restaurant, and liquor store. The food was good and it was one of the few non-chain restaurants in the town. The town that we almost missed in the course of a sentence, by the way. The restaurant is located, after turning around, before the ball park, according to directions given to us by a local. Of course, this means that you pass the turn, with this manner of giving directions. But, passing it allowed us to pull into the turn for the Fort Nelson Heritage Museum and dump station. Yes, they are both located off the same turn.

Dinner brought out one of life’s important lessons, which is that not all things improve with time. In this category of things are: my marriage and squirrel and dumplings stew. Trust me on this. They absolutely do not improve with time.

I also almost violated my most important rule of driving the Alcan today, which is: Always park your car in the direction you intend to be going. Lesson learned the hard way on my first trip. But, this time, I am, in fact, wiser, and caught myself mid-turn and did a nice 360 before stopping.

Today we also bought the most expensive gas, I hope, of the trip. Because we pulled into a gas station/store that was literally, just in the process of opening for the winter. The gas pump was not quite yet plowed and the man at the store offered to fill the tank for us. But, then, I found out that they were selling the gas at last summer’s prices. But, I figured it is more like a donation to some folks trying to make a go of keeping the store going through the winter than a rip off. Plus, we got to use the bathrooms in their home because the power wasn’t turned on at the public ones yet.