Category Archives: road trip

stuff

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I have a lot of stuff.

Downsizing from a 2400 square foot house to an 800 sq foot one bedroom made me realize how much crap I’ve accumulated over the years. Lately, I’ve been thinking about selling or donating a chunk of my stuff. I have been feeling bogged down by it all, hampered and made heavy by this accumulation. I’ve been starting to feel like the junk lady from the movie, “Labyrinth”

I am can get okay with selling my beautiful Danish Modern sofa and desk, I can get rid of unused clothes, and sort through my boxes of random collected crap. But I’m having a difficult time with the idea of parting with my books. It’s amazing how much of my identity is wrapped up in this stuff. Especially my books.

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I suppose they have been with me the longest, so they are old, comfortable friends by now. Some of these books have traveled with me since I was in single-digit years, some I have read and re-read and re-re-re-read. I have a book that my 4th grade teacher gave me, “Where The Red Fern Grows”. I have read it every year since then (and I still cry at the end. Shhh, don’t tell anyone). I have books that my mom wrote and bound for me, a book my uncle illustrated and wrote for me, books of theater and philosophy and science fiction – all of which have had great impact on how I view and think about the world around me, my relationships with other people, and my core values.

How can I get rid of these treasures?

Some friends have suggested I just get them on a digital reader.
Not only would that be cost prohibitive – I’ve collected this small library over the past 30 plus years – but something is lost in the translation for me when I read a digital copy. I feel this loss moreso with companion books than I do with a new reading. I can’t imagine reading “Where The Red Fern Grows” on a computer. Page lifting and travel has worn the old book. My hand-me-down-first-edition Oz books have that certain ‘old book’ smell. I have half that collection, my cousin has the other half, so not only do I have the wonderful tactile sensation while I hold those old hardbound copies, but I have a connection with my dear cousin, and to our parents who gave us these books.

I am a person who doesn’t sit still for long. I move. I have lived in dozens of towns in my life. There is a thrill to encountering a new city, and discovering it’s secrets. Having a lot of ‘stuff’ doesn’t work well for a person who likes to travel and move. Being encumbered is difficult for someone who gets an antsy feeling in her bones and motorcycles on her mind.

This is a conundrum.
I’m still working on it.

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I feel the need to have a disclaimer about the disorder of my books. Usually I organize them according to genre, but I have yet to do that since the latest move. 🙂

 

wanderlust

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There is an affliction some of us have. It’s called wanderlust. It’s compulsive and powerful. Some of us learn how to work around it, but it’s still there causing insomnia and impulsive weekend road trips.

Those of us so afflicted see a desolate road or a dark highway and there is a pull in our chests to take that road wherever it winds. The feeling often starts with a musing of “where might I go if I could go anywhere?” Perhaps some time in the evenings is spent tracing routes on GoogleMaps. I used to have a road map of the United States hanging on the wall across from my bed. I would lie in my bed creating points from A to B to C to D to E, when I should have been getting my good nights sleep for work the next day.

Then there are days where tracing routes on a map isn’t enough and I have the tingling in my muscles that make me get up and GO.
Sometimes I have a companion for these jaunts.

and sometimes it’s just me.

I’ve had this feeling for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, my mom and I drove from southern Illinois to Berkeley, California and back more than a few times. For many years, my favorite sunrise was looking out past a field while standing in the parking lot of a Howard Johnsons somewhere in Oklahoma. I love that forever sky.

I’ve done that trip and many more. A lot of them alone, starting at age 17. Once I get past the first day of driving, I settle in to a comfortable rhythm. That is where I love to be – after the first day of settling in, and before the anticipation of immanent location arrival. That is when I leave my stressors behind and have no particular destination except for the next place to gas up, eat, or find lodging.

Thanksgiving

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My dad decided that going to visit his friends in Corvallis, Oregon for Thanksgiving would be a fun adventure.
We were to meet at his place in Oakland, California and then drive up that Thursday morning. He figured that traffic would be light and it would be a lovely ride.
My dad got ideas in his head like this and wouldn’t be dissuaded and it sounded like fun, so I went along with it.

I’m not sure why we didn’t prepare more.
With an 8.5 hour drive one way, it would have made sense to bring snacks.
Instead, we threw a couple of overnight bags together, tossed them in the car, and got on our way.

We started early, so that we would arrive before the 3pm Thanksgiving dinner.
Driving up the coast would have been a beautiful drive, but it also would have taken almost twice as long. Instead, we shot straight up I-5 through Redding, California and Ashland, Oregon. Somewhere around 10am we started to get hungry. After stopping at a couple of closed fast food restaurants, the hunger pangs really started in on our bellies.

Now, my dad suffered from the particular type of low-blood sugar that made him cranky. Very cranky. After an unsuccessful hour of searching for an open eatery, he was getting downright unpleasant.

The closures were confounding us. We felt like some terrible luck had befallen us.
And then, as if lightning had struck the car, at the same time we yelled out, “Because it’s Thanksgiving!” Our eyes connected and we burst out laughing.
Dad almost had to pull over the car he was laughing so hard.

Soon after this realization, we managed to find a gas station that had some candy bars and snacks, so we loaded up on those and headed on to Corvallis to a wonderful Thanksgiving feast and traditional football with some of my dad’s oldest and dearest friends.

I usually spent Thanksgiving with my mom’s side of the family.
This was one of the few Turkey Days that I remember spending with my dad.
It was wonderful.

Happy Thanksgiving, Pop.
I miss you.