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June 25, 2016

The draw of people

Sitting at a desk, working day after day, this road trip has been a daydream for the past five years. It is the culmination of high hopes and escapist fantasies, an ambitious attempt to reconnect with my sons after a year and a half of absentee parenting… it is all of this and it is tiring. And I am finding that our friends and family are the best antidote to road weariness.

Sitting at a desk, views, vistas and monuments draw me, a museum sounds like a valuable opportunity to broaden my boys’ awareness and a national park within shooting distance seems like an offer we can’t refuse, but in the driver’s seat, in the choice between a familiar face and a motel, the familiar face has been winning every time. Twice now, we have abandoned our set plans to join friends sooner. And I really can’t say enough in favor of the quality of friends that I have in my life – from Carlos, who I’ve known for quite some time now – longer than either of us care to admit, to Sam, a former co-worker who was kind enough to meet the boys and I for lunch in Oklahoma City and who introduced us to The Best Tacos, to my cousin and his wife in Enid, OK – they welcomed our extended stay and made us feel at home, to Bryan in Austin, another former co-worker who is so much more… 

And the trip isn’t half over. We still have so many lives to intersect along the way. There are the small interactions as well, and, thanks to the boys, I’m often in the audience for those. Spencer has taken to interviewing shopkeepers and waitresses about their products and food, he’ll wax poetic about the value of small businesses and the innovation and quality that he finds there. Tyler stops to help younger kids, holds doors, meets people’s eyes and wins them over with his smiles.

And in between the stops, we’re becoming increasingly familiar with Roman Mars of 99% Invisible, a podcast we hadn’t listened to before the trip commenced and now, Richard Feynman, as we make our way through the audiobook, “Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman.” We finished Douglas Adams’ “Life, the Universe and Everything” yesterday, to mixed reviews. The random, absurdity of Adams’ style may have thrown the boys a bit, but Feynman’s adventures have captivated them.

And that hoped for reconnection with my sons has been easier to find than I had hoped. I suppose it was never lost; they have known that I wasn’t avoiding them, but had been trying to make ends meet. There has been less academic investment than I had hoped, for them and me. (I had dreamed of studying for my LSAT and practicing math facts, reading and writing with the boys. Oh well.) But there have been sunsets and stories and adventures. There will be memories that last for ages and friendships deepened and valued. That seems good enough for now. That seems like a win. 

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June 20, 2016

Looking back

I was a runaway child. I ran away from home initially at sixteen years of age. Few characteristics distinguish me to this same degree. It colors who I bond with, who my friends are, what friendship and family mean to me, what home means to me, my goals and how I want to get there. I am not this way because I was a runaway child, but I was a runaway child because of the factors that brought me to that point and the fact that I was an unrepentant runaway means that much of the defiance that I felt at sixteen still resonates in me – somewhere. 
Don’t get me wrong. I was angry and hurt at sixteen in ways that no longer apply. I no longer feel the same degree of anguish and melodrama. But I still feel in a way that I half expected to have been dulled by age. I’m still driven by relationships and connection. I still swim in my emotions and feel that they are exceptionally significant.

And in many ways, the upcoming move to Pennsylvania is the kind of move that I’ve always hoped for. There have been moments when I’ve drooled over the idea of moving abroad, but I am rooted in the United States to an embarrassing degree. I want to travel the globe, but, especially with my dreams of becoming an attorney, I truly doubt that I will ever reside overseas.
But a move to the East Coast? That has felt predestined. Then why has it come at this particular moment?

I don’t know about all of the various sayings that get tossed around: The heart wants what the heart wants. Everything works out for the best. Love conquers all. Well, actually, I do have opinions about all of the above. I don’t really believe in any of them. I think that we often mistake our heads, habits, hobbies and hormones for our hearts. I think that “Everything works out for the best” is the sort of comment that (please forgive) upper middle class Americans can generally get away with saying because they are statistically in a position to believe such things, but my experience leans in a rather different direction, (I say while acknowledging the multitude of ways in which I am ridiculously fortunate and probably as likely to be as safe in such assumptions as my fellow Americans. And love, when it happens, can fall prey to all sorts of things. It isn’t nearly as hearty as we like to think it is. It scares the shit out of most of us – even sometimes in the platonic form, it can still make us feel vulnerable and insecure in all sorts of unexpected ways.

And it is with this mindset that I am facing down both this upcoming move, current travel and the probable effects of these ventures on my current relationship. A relationship that I wasn’t expecting – knowing that I was going to be leaving town, I had dated, but had avoided any serious entanglements… and then we started seeing each other as friends. And now I have someone miles and miles away who I don’t want to be away from at all.

And yet, I am no longer a Marin County resident and my future isn’t there. Bryn Mawr has granted me admission this Fall as a McBride Scholar. It’s a phenomenal opportunity and one that I won’t squander; in a different, but similar way, this summer’s travel plans with my boys are precious and not to be wasted.

We have made it to Kansas ahead of schedule. The boys and I decided unanimously last night to proceed with the road trip, but to cut out the fat and return to California a week or two earlier than originally planned. I miss him and I, frankly, feel rather silly galavanting cross-country when I’m missing him so much.

So, time to break out the drawing board again.

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June 18, 2016

Feeling fortunate

We woke up on Thursday morning refreshed – a full night’s sleep for all of us. We stopped by the little store in Hite, UT and were pleasantly surprised to find it well-stocked and clean. After grabbing coffee, water, and milk for the boys’ cereal, we asked for directions to Mesa Verde and were on our way.

We made one quick double-back to grab a snapshot of the bridge over the Colorado River, but then pushed on with all of us commenting on the colors of the rock formations. I think that my most consistent exercise during this trip (so far) have been my frequent photographic forays. I’ll pull the car over and hop out, and then find myself scrambling to the top or bottom of the nearest hill or ledge to get a clear shot or to frame the picture better. This is quite often followed up by an impulse to make a quick jaunt over the next hill as well…
On our way back to civilization, I noticed the sign for Natural Bridges National Monument and held my breath. Utah was one of the hardest legs of the journey for me to plan because I wanted to see it all – Natural Bridges, Arches, Mt. Zion, the Petrified Forest… so much incredible beauty here. So, noticing that one of them was right on our path felt fortuitous, to say the least. With a brief pause for adolescent approval, or at least manageable static, we veered left and headed down the two-lane road to the visitors center.

On another occasion, I may find time to hike to the top of Kachina Bridge, but at this time, I’m grateful to have been in eyeshot. We rounded the loop at Natural Bridges and we’re back on the road, headed to Cortez, Colorado and Mesa Verde National Park in about an hour. I had worried about not buying our tour tickets in advance for Mesa Verde, but, as it turns out, their $4 tours are not available online. We toured Balcony House and the Cliff Palace and both were remarkable, although the boys would certainly confirm that the Balcony House tour was more fun. I was astonished to find that we were entrusted with climbing up wooden ladders, crawling through a tunnel on our hands and knees and walking around kivas and ledges without five feet of caution tape or foam padding insulating the ruins or us. As a result, it was more exciting, memorable and engaging. 

The night ended with us taking advantage of the free wifi to catch up on correspondence, the coin laundry and writing our first postcards of the trip. There are fewer photos today because we used the Olympus at the national parks. 

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June 17, 2016

Utah

Yesterday we made it to Utah – driving to the Bonneville Salt Flas, through Salt Lake City and finally, spending the night on Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake. 

There were balmy, buffeting winds on the island and the day wrapped up with the boys spreading out their blanket to catch the wind, chasing after their banana peels and cracker boxes, before we decided against trying to set up our tent in the gale. We snuggled up in the car and bedded down for the night.

We woke up to jackrabbits and bison on the beach. A quick tour of the island introduced us to more bison, pronghorn antelope, lizards and a multitude of grasshoppers, one of whom tried to gnaw on my hand after Spencer introduced the two of us. Spencer sprang along the path, delighted by the grasshoppers and retuned to the car intent on photographing every animal in sight.

The following five hour drive took us through the mountains, to mesas and plateaus of varying shades – initially forested with forests, but then brick red, sage grey, then sandy white and back to terra cotta. The boys started out engaged by another set of Planet Money podcasts and a few chapters from Douglas Adams’ “Life, the Universe and Everything,” but that amusement had dwindled four hours later, by which time the eldest had been asleep for an hour and my youngest has taken to jabbering manically about his boredom.

Tonight we have reservations at Hite Campground on the northern side of Lake Powell in the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. The approach was dramatic as the road carved through canyons and Hite Overlook felt akin to the view at the Grand Canyon, only without the crowds. One couple sat at beside their RV, watching us peer over the edge with trepidation. Our campground was desolate. We had the entire place to ourselves, with the exception of one bush bunny who hopped away as I approached. 

Tonight’s dinner was less than a four course meal. There were leftover grapes and crackers from earlier snacking and a burrito that met with no one’s approval, but none of us were terribly hungry, so we worked on our blogs and I cracked open John Stuart Mill’s “On Liberty” for the umteenth time. At dusk, the bats came out and swooped overhead, scooping up their evening meal.


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June 15, 2016

Underway…

And mildly unprepared. I have camped before, or, more correctly, I have been taken camping before. Boyfriends and husbands have allowed me to tag along on camping trips. I’ve shown up with outfits and a good attitude, but I’ve never been responsible for the planning or packing of a camping trip before… and it shows.
We were cold last night. We had consolidated the first two days of driving into one day, which meant that, after wrapping up the last details at our former home, we stopped for a quick lunch lakeside in South Lake Tahoe before pushing through to Elko, Nevada. About thirty miles south of Elko, Thomas Canyon Campground is nestled in the Humbolt-Tolyabe National Forest. We pulled in at 9:52 p.m. and set up our tent for the first time by flashlight. The sleeping pads didn’t make it into the car and we all got fairly cold overnight. 
But we woke up to bird songs and rushing water. The aspen leaves are spinning on the trees overhead and I can’t wait to see the surrounding area. This isn’t the Nevada that I’ve seen before. As the light faded last night, my desire to make out the landscape heightened. Mountains emerged and the trees became denser.
But even Western Nevada held beauty that I don’t remember appreciating before. Our journey has been accompanied by Radiolab, This American Life and 99% Invisible, so far. Spencer is fascinated by shrimp. (If you want to understand why: http://www.radiolab.org/story/bigger-bacon/)

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June 14, 2016

On the cusp…

Forty is tapping me on the shoulder. My father liked to quip, “It’s a gift,” every time someone asked him how he figured things out or showed up at the right moment, or sometimes when he made an embarrassing mistake. This comment was occasionally accompanied by a bow – feigning a stately posture, he would mime the doffing of a hat.

My father passed away in February. In many ways, he mostly left in October, when his mind left our shared reality for darker ruminations. To a lesser degree, he had been fading from view for the last three years or so, since the chemotherapy took hold and his heart began to fail and congest.
My father surely would have looked upon me gravely for this upcoming venture. Though he abandoned the Midwest after graduating from Purdue, he believed strongly that there was an approved path for respectable adults to follow. I have yet to follow it with any regularity, but I know what it is supposed to be and I know when I’ve strayed from it. My mother is ill. Not just ill. Struggling with cancer herself – pancreatic. My father would have wanted me by her side, as I was with him. And I have found more moments to be there – for his sake, and hers, and mine, than I thought I would, but my future is beckoning and it isn’t here.

We have been planning this summer’s road trip for five years now, ever since I withdrew from UC Berkeley in my second semester as a transfer student. To shirk the shackles of Bay Area expenses for the duration of the summer before I returned to college and travel cross-country with my sons. And it begins. Tomorrow.

It wasn’t “supposed” to be like this. My father was “supposed” to be healthy and well and sitting at the ready to proofread papers. My partner/husband was “supposed” to be coming with the boys and I. More recently, my boss and dear, dear friend, Mark Lesley, was “supposed” to be here to hug me tight, kiss me on the cheek and wish me the very best of luck, but I attended his memorial service the weekend before last. My mother always seemed destined to outlast us all with her tenacity, but even her stamina seems in doubt. And still, perhaps the sourest hope in all of life’s sorrows is our damn resilience. We recover – life goes on! So it does.

And so, we are going. My sons and I. And we are lucky to be laden with the love, hopes and affection of friends. We are leaving California tomorrow and I am entirely unsure whether we will ever reside here again. I have loved so much of this incredible state and so many of the beautiful people who I know here, but this new chapter is leading us somewhere new and I am about to learn many, many things – not only in the classroom, but along the way. Dad always said it was a good day if you learned something. Well, Dad, I think there are good days ahead then.

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