Part II: A Pictorial Chronology KS to CA: January 2009

Kansas

                         

Friendliness

Ever since I layed to rest my poor broken iPod, I’ve become more tuned into the whole greeting-strangers thing, during my daily walks. I mean, nature’s great, but did that guy return my “hello”? If I rated places based on greeting, 10 being the friendliest, most cities would fall into the 4-5 range. Asheville, NC gets a 10. It was not uncommon for people to stop their vehicles and ask if I needed a ride. Drivers would wave and usually other pedestrians would initiate the greeting, always with a smile. This isn’t a walking story, but once I was parked in my car, looking at the want ads for a Subaru in the local paper. And whaddya know, a Subaru pulled up right next to me (that’s not the unusual part; 80% of vehicles in Asheville are Subarus). The guy got out, glanced over at me and said, “Don’t get anything before ’99.” That was customary in Asheville, strangers striking up a conversation as if it was in the middle.

Stamford, CT was the most unfriendly, with folks commonly averting their eyes or turning their heads away to avoid a greeting. I suppose I can’t give them a “1” since no one ever attacked me. The 4-5 range includes Attleboro, MA; Greenbelt, MD; Wichita, KS; Rehoboth Beach, DE (off season); Garden City, KS; Albuquerque; Phoenix; San Diego; Los Altos, CA; Santa Rosa, CA (although the other day I was stopped at a red light with my NC plates, and a woman pulled up next to me and called out, “Welcome to California!”); Houston (although the entire staff at MD Anderson is exceptionally friendly, but do you have to have cancer to get some sugar in Houston?); Muncie, IN; Providence, RI; Elk Grove, CA; Bern, Switzerland (I won’t hold it against the guy who visibly distanced himself from me after I mistakenly, yet happily, greeted him with “Danke schön” instead of “Grüezi,” which means hello in Swiss-German).

Most folks don’t initiate a “hello” but most will return one, and will say the exact greeting I said to them. Like if I say “good evening” they’ll say “good evening.” I should try danke schön. Most won’t smile, even to return a smile, and sometimes they have a pained expression. Those folks can usually only manage a nod.  I exempt runners and bikers from greetings, since they’re concentrating. But pedestrians? C’mon. You’d think people with dogs or kids would be friendlier, but nope.  You’d also think people who are walking at a park would be friendlier. Nope. Initiating a greeting is nearly impossible when people won’t look at you, and folks with earphones might as well wear a sign saying “don’t even….”.

Yesterday I saw a beautiful 14 year old boy, running along the trail at a lovely park in Santa Rosa. He ran shirtless and I was captivated by his fit and healthy young body. His wavy, shoulder-length, light brown hair bounced with each stride, and I had the surreal experience that he moved in slow motion, with an aura of light around him. As we neared each other he looked right at me -through me - and with a magnificent smile, declared, “Hello!”

I changed my mind about getting another iPod.

Part I: A Pictorial Chronology of my Journey

late-November - late December 2008

Wichita, Kansas

This is me with one of my dearest friends, Joyce. The photo sums up my time in Wichita.

Lucia is on the left. I got her in Perpignon, France three years ago in a magicial moment at a flea market, for 1 euro. Lucia has traveled with me everywhere. She's my symbolic good luck charm. Joyce gave me Tommy, so Lucia wouldn't be lonely. 

Garden City, Kansas  

Holiday Season, late Dec. 2008 - early Jan. 2009 

This is Dot, my generous, former mother-n-law who opened up her home and fed everyone well. I also realized, if Dot can learn DVR, so can my mom.

                                                                             Jon making quiche

Christmas Quiche                                Sam the child magnet                                     

                

May, wife of Jon Craig, at the New 

Year's Eve meeting of the Garden City Beer Club. See Jon's list.

My first attempt at drawing.

Guess who.

 

One Step Closer to Jackson Browne

Some of you may be aware of my decades-long crush on Jackson Browne. Sure, sure I like his music (more so in the early years). And yeah, I love that he’s a passionate humanitarian with leftist politics, blah blah blah. But I’ve never gotten over my swooning, teenager-ish crush on him.  At various times in my life I'll catch up on what he’s up to, thank you, internet, and especially thank you You Tube. I loved when he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and have it recorded on a VCR tape. I don’t have a desire to meet him, just to marry him. I don’t think about him much these days, but my mood lifts when I unexpectedly hear one of his songs on the radio.

A few days ago I was driving with Ruthe and her aunt Diane. We met up in Guerneville, CA and Diane took us to the coast, to the spot where the Russian River feeds into the Pacific Ocean. The day was overcast and cottony dollops of fog sat atop the surrounding hills. Diane and I had just met, so at some point I asked about her background. Originally from the DC area, her family moved to Fullerton in Orange County, CA when she was a child. I asked her “Do you know Jackson Browne?” The most I was hoping to get from that question was impressing her with my knowledge that a famous celebrity hailed from her home town.  “How did you know? I went to high school with him and we were really good friends. I could tell you just about anything you wanted to know about him."  “Uh, how about his phone number, could we start there?”

Diane summed up her entire past friendship with “Jack” in a few sentences, then moved on to chatter about the ocean or the rocks or the river, or WHATEVER. I wasn’t listening to that crap!!!! As my heart raced and my excitement felt trapped inside her gigantic Honda Ridgeline, I patiently explained that I wanted a l-o-n-g, d-r-a-w-n-o-u-t, detailed, embellished account of her past with Jack. Thankfully, she was a good sport and I admired her non-show-offy style. 

I felt a little guilty for my inability to rise above that fixated, drooling, starstruck, Jackson Browne-induced, zombie-like state, rather than drinking in the grandeur of the craggy shoreline and, later, the awesome redwoods at Armstrong State Park.

Not too guilty.

[please forgive me for the following insiders-only funny anecdote]: I couldn’t wait to tell my mother the Jackson Browne story. She’s the only one who would truly appreciate it, since she knew me when I was a teen. She was duly astonished and loved the story. Later she called back and said that she knew an interesting fact about Jackson Browne, which I may not know; that he’d changed his name as a young man. His original name was Jack Brownstein.

Let It Go

I recently learned that my mother’s former landlord, Debra, robbed her of her security deposit. In early April we met with Debra for a "walkthrough." The only two flaws Debra found in this 2000 square foot house, were a shallow scratch on the black marble facing of the fireplace, and a discoloration on the dark green carpet, approx. 6 inches x 2 inches, located 3 feet from one of the living room walls.  The discoloration looked like it had been bleached, although neither Mom nor I knew where it came from. Other than those two things, the house was spotless (my sister Valerie cleaned it). The security deposit was $1150. Mom received a check for  $24.73. Neither defect would have prevented the sale or rental of the house. And we kinda suspect that Debra isn’t really going to fix those things.

I feel angry and also protective of my mother. However, we’d seen signs of Debra’s psychological decline since last December, thus we weren’t surprised. She came to the walkthrough full of piss and vinegar, and ended up shouting at my mother (she wanted to deduct the cost of last October's sewer repair from the deposit). Mom held her own, but got upset. It was such an ugly scene. I tried to make peace, shedding light on the cause of the misunderstanding, but Debra was having none of it. A few days later I suggested to Mom that we let Debra keep the money. But Mom wanted to see it through. To her credit, she’s not having a hard time letting this go, but I am.

I want to confront Debra, lecture her, shake her, show her how wrong she is, throw her pain right in her face, call her names, call her conscience on the carpet. But the thought of taking this to court deflates me.

I need to regard Debra in the same way I’d regard a person laying on the sidewalk, bleeding. Yes she robbed Mom, but that’s because she’s in such pain. We don’t have to be victims, just because Debra victimized us. And it’s only my limited human brain with its human thoughts which tells me that the story is over. This story isn’t over, even though many years may go by and it may not involve Debra. It’s not about the money. It’s about not holding anger and hatred. Debra holds anger and hatred and look what happened to her.

Am I a mentally-challenged-ist?

During my stay with Eric, in Elk Grove, CA, my walking route was twice around Elk Grove Park, which is about a half mile from his house. On my first pass I noticed a group of adults having a picnic. As I neared them I realized that, except for several attendants, they were all profoundly mentally challenged. This scene brought to mind a job I had in Minnesota in 1981 at a state hospital for the severely and profoundly mentally retarded. I mused on those memories and what a positive experience it had been in my young life. As I approached the group on my second pass I saw a guy who appeared to have separated himself from the group. He was at the far end of a small parking lot, about 100 feet from the rest. I looked ahead for an attendant, then back at the guy and realized that no one was aware of his absence, and they appeared to be preparing to leave. I decided to alert an attendant. As I approached the picnickers, I looked back and saw that the wayward charge was on his hands and knees in the parking lot. Yikes, I'd better pick up the pace! I approached a woman who I assumed to be an attendant. "Excuse me, but I think someone from your group has wandered away," I said, pointing to the guy in the parking lot. She looked over and nodded. "I noticed him too, but he's not with us." ..........???!!!! I mean, what are the odds??

p.s. I was relieved to see him getting into a car, that is, until I began wondering about the driver.

Recap

It’s hard to recap my journey up to this point, perhaps impossible. As a reader I would find it boring to go through even a brief synopsis of “then I did this,” “then I went here,” etc.  I imagine this is good practice in deconstructing my entrenched, left-brain, chronological, “way it should be” view of such things. For example, that it’s anathema to start in the middle. However, the truth for today is that starting the blog is its own beginning and those arbitrary rules were just draggin’ me down. However, if anyone wants to know the play-by-play of what I’ve been doing since November, just ask. Otherwise I’ll have to believe that you haven’t been losing sleep over not knowing.

Let the blog begin. Wherever it is.