Back in the USSR

Dan’s unsurprised and welcoming face, 5:07 A.M. Cleveland. “Oh, it’s you,” he says nonchalantly as Moona and I show up at my dear friends’ door after a crazy all night drive across the mid-west. The final push to Ohio, and we leave Chicago at 10:30 P.M. after a late dinner. I stop and buy a cup of McDonald’s coffee, and a pack of Camel cigarettes, though I don’t smoke, to help sustain wakefulness in this last desperate leg inspired by Neal Cassady and Jack Kerouac’s crazy all-night rides. And make it we do, as the sun rises up to the East over Lake Erie. Pulled over for speeding and set free with a warning, (a test of my own autonomy and personal agency, as I remain calm in face of a fine) I promise to drive more slowly, and indeed uphold that agreement, driving 65 MPH for the last 300 miles. As the quote of the day, Jenny offers, “Laws are for those without ethics.” Laughing, joyfulness, and then my friends tuck Moona and me into their couches, and we all return to the land of dreams.

Our last tourist destination before Chicago has been The House on the Rock: an eccentric, spooky, and wonderful testament to creativity, materialism, genius and depravity. Oddly, upon viewing the carousel with almost 300 animals, and 20,000 lights, my hurting and sorrowing heart on the human front is uplifted. Beauty is found in many forms, and such a tribute to light, to play, and to delight is odd comforting medicine. I find surprise within at this perception. Humans, oh humans, we are so multi-faceted and unfathomable.

And so it’s several hours of sleep, and then amazing homemade breakfast: homefries o’love, scrambled free range eggs, and Amish bread with pear jam Jenny made last year. O and the coffee, nectar sweet. Upon waking, Jenny and Dan’s five-year-old son Sebastian greets Moona with both the ease of an old friend, and the familiarity of a known soul, and this is the vibe that pervades the day. I get to attend flow yoga with Jenny as my kick ass rock-n-roll yoga teacher. Sun salutations done to the Beatles and U2 are a little easier to take, even on four hours of sleep. And the pigeon pose with instructor adjustment just breaks it all down and cleans house. I’m so taken.

And thus the Eastward journey ends… as we reach Mom-Lady’s farm east of Cleveland. My mom is excited to see us, and takes good care, and the familiarity of this place is sweet, as are the laundry facilities. Respite, succor, love and family. So so so blessed. And wow, we did it, all by ourselves. What a lot of tears, miles, songs, phone conversations, heartbreak, pictures, grease and grilled cheese sandwiches, friends, hugs and kisses, goodbyes, gifts, new connections, deepened understandings, road demons, pee breaks and gas stops. What utter grace. What utter grace.

Always a Party in the 'Polis

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Up and at’em. Get ‘er Done. Moona wakes WAAAYYY too early this morning, dawn’s pearly light and all that. And Mindi’s leaving, and therefore so are we… breakfast at the Seward Collective, surly punk attitude, yummy omelet. Living in Cali, I’ve gotten used to hipster wait staff and remain nonplussed.

To the library, downtown Minneapolis main branch. Too early we are, but bandwidth is like water, and so plopped down on a bench with laptop open, we wait. And meet a couple of older Japanese folks, here for the Lion’s Convention. There is to be a parade, we understand, in between showing them pictures of our travels. Into the waiting arms of the children’s library which is rockin, complete with a street view of said parade. Which begins soon thereafter, and is still continuing when we leave two hours later. Thousands and thousands of Lion’s Club members, from all over the world, mixed up with a few marching bands. I stare at the band geeks the same way I stare at nuns… wondering what really possesses someone to make those choices. Curious, not judgmental, should you be wondering.

The most interesting of the floats is the uh, Top Hat Bellies, or the “Happy Whistlers” as they call themselves. Seeing is believing, and my words really couldn’t do justice to the utter bizarre nature of this human exhibit so you’ll just have to check out the picture. Moona is handed lots of give-aways… flags from different countries, pins, a koala bear clip-on. It’s fairly fascinating stuff, as parade’s go, just because it’s so weird.

Our loving car delivers us to the May Day Café, where we are to meet loved ones Byrd and River. And here we feel right at home, surrounded by dreadlocks and piercings and tattoos, and really good coffee and vibes. Seeing these friends is just joy. Shiny and yummy. And lunch is good too, and the hours pass quickly with fun conversation about gender and queerness and dance and love. It’s good to witness their love, and feel solid connection beneath our feet.

My travel decision of the day is to drive near Madison, sleep there, and then visit a couple of to-de (tourist destinations) nearby. Storm storm storm makes the driving hard, and while Moona dreams away the time and I use up cell minutes chatting, weariness does indeed overcome. It’s going to rain tonight anyway, and so the decision to get our first motel room of the trip is a good one… $50 for a sweet suite. My impression of Wisconsin is that it is CLEAN. At least our room is, as was the restaurant where we dined. I (almost)LOVE iceberg lettuce salads. During the meal I found my attention drifting to thoughts of succulent green beans, summer squash, ripe tomatoes, chard. Missing vegetables, lovingly cooked. The eating factor has been pretty surprising as we travel. We’re eating in diners frequently (no cook stove, remember?) and just watching what other people are consuming daily is intense. There’s not a lot of access to nutritional foods…

Too tired for more, and my double bed in this non-smoking room calls to me even more than Wi-Fi. Heading towards Chicago tomorrow, and points East.

Mindi-Appolis

Tee-pee, wakefulness, to-pee. And shower and swimming and packing. And bought a piece of pipestone as a gift, for who I don’t yet know. And then Pipestone latte (oh yeah) and breakfast. And the Pipestone County Museum, well worth the $3 admission. Here’s a little something and it goes like this: On the trail of glass-plate photographer David Rambow, Pipestone local and supposed Museum director. Ex-, as we later find, but that’s what takes us to the Museum, where Helen is more than helpful. She finds us David’s cell number, and hands me the phone. David is in transition to Iowa, but says “That’s exactly it, you got it,” when I say that what I see in his photos is an attempt to capture the lifetimes a subject has lived. I want him to photograph Moona and me, to mark this occasion, but alas, it is not to be at this time. But sucked into the museum we are, and here’s what Minnesota is proud of: Prince (Duh!) Kitty litter, tilt-a-whirl (which baffles chaos theorists to this day) rice cakes, water skis, and trains.

Helen also directs us to the Little Feather Indian Interpretive Center, where we meet Chuck and Gloria and spend some time communing with these magick folks. Gloria has set up an exhibit devoted to native women of all tribes, and has done so at the instruction of a vision, which also guides her to do the same work in Europe and Jerusalem. Indian dancer women, and doctor women, and earning a place of respect to sooth the gender divide. Powerful stuff. Before we leave she gives us a picture of angel wings to keep us safe on our journey. These connections are the kind that I’ve been seeking… just a open-hearted sharing of ideas, a curiosity about other lives, an unguarded appreciation for different experiences this time around. Helen tells me that recently a visitor to the museum has dissed this small-town life, but I find immeasurable value in it: in community, in daily connection and support, and of having a sense of place on this planet.

Away from the soul-sucking numbness of the highway, on country back roads, we continue eastward. I get why this part of the US is called the Heartland… it’s impossible to view these beautiful kept, aesthetically reassuring farms and not feel a sense of heart, a poignancy for this way of life that many of our families knew fairly recently. It’s still there, my friends, and though I love San Francisco and the type of community we enjoy there, this is also a very special and connected way to live. All of my interactions are tinged with a sweetness that stems from people caring for each other in ways that are necessary, healthy and sustainable. Many years ago, when I lived at Lothlorien, a fairy came through with the slogan “Keeping Each Other Alive.” This has a resonance that I long to create in my daily life.

We drive through Walnut Grove of Little House fame, and stop for an ice-cream. Again I see through Moona’s fresh clear eye as she inquires about the “water on the road that disappears when we drive up to it.” She’s talking about the optical illusion created by heat reflected on the pavement, and I’d years ago learned not to see it. I relearn today how to. And it’s magick… I invite you to try and find it. It’s quite beautiful, as road visions go. How often can we use the word “shimmering” in our daily experiences?

And then it’s city, and I have to remember two hands on the wheel, and can’t GPS, text and atlas while driving anymore. And it’s CELL RECEPTION, Hurray! And I’ve missed it. Arriving road-weary but joyous at Mindi’s, where Moona finally gets her screen time and is laugh-out-loud tickled at Kung Fu Panda. Thanks for the hard drive, Thibaut. Just in time. The lovely and bad-ass (!) Mindi cooks for us, and conversation with a friend is such road medicine. My favorite moment is hearing “gay married” used as a verb as in “My friend gay-married my other friend.” Love it. And sleep, no so much, but sometimes that’s fun too.

http://www.nps.gov/history/nr/travel/pipestone/

Surprising turns

Badlands National Park by day reminds me of Bryce Canyon in Utah, but on a smaller scale. Lovely and unfathomable, nonetheless. And hurray, there is a lodge serving breakfast on premises, so that takes care of that. Have I mentioned my absolute admiration for the bottomless cup of coffee? Said in seriousness, actually, as a comfort totem, or “nonny.”

It’s strange how the days are becoming less crystalline, and there is a bit of uncertainty about events and to which day they belong. The sense is of losing perspective in the face of so much space… when I realized I still have a thousand miles of eastward travel left today, it was overwhelming. So much space gives room for lots of things to come up! But, back to today which is finishing… while Moona drifts off in the teepee we’ve rented in the RV park (oh, yes, but it is indeed true and COMPLETELY worth it) just across from Pipestone National Monument, where we spent the best afternoon we’ve had in days.

So, mid-morning I realized that many of the folks I totally wanted to visit with in Minneapolis (our next stop-over) are not there at present. Driving while looking at the atlas, I considered abandoning that route. And felt again frustration with my lack of planning, and questioned my utter reliance on magick and flow. In spite of this, to the Corn Palace we awayed, and purchased $20 worth of Corn Palace souvenirs. Magic Pen book for Moona, Snow Dome for Orione, light-up rose quartz necklace for me. And then we beat it on down the line. Corn Palace was a little over the top, but no so bad comparatively. Back to the car.

And so Pipestone? One of the Minneapolis people I most want to see called, at the crucial moment on the highway just as the turn-off for Pipestone appeared. Seemed like a good place to visit and wait a day for Mindi to get home to Minnesota. Getting off I-90 was driving north along country roads that I know in my blood from growing up in the Midwest… farms, silos, thunderheads, rain shower, ozone. Familiar, lush, and not scorching on the eyes. The town of Pipestone is real old time, not re-olded. The monument is so well done… and so accessible, and very few visitors…and is still the only place pipestone is mined, and only by Native peoples. The teepee is cheap, comes with a pool, wifi, showers, helpful staff, and electricity to plug in. Did I mention it’s a teepee? Okay, and a few RV’s about, but people are so NICE here.

No agendas, and friendly and curious and this ain’t no San Francisco. Just Real. And when we started this journey, real was on the agenda fo sho. Eavesdropping at dinner “… and so I’ll just pay my health insurance bill until Obama comes up with something better…” And dinner was pizza and salad buffet (no tomatoes, cucumbers or peppers, yes to cheese and croutons) and for both of us it cost $11. That’s what I’m talking about… nothing overblown or fake real. And so today was about remembering that in spite of Wall Drug and Yellowstone and Winnebago and Starbucks there is still real real, here, somewhere.

Tomorrow we’ll visit one of the three places a non-native can acquire pipestone, and hopefully the Pipestone County Museum to seek out this photographer whose work we saw in town. It’d be cool if he’d take a picture of us. And then on to Minneapolis, where hip and city and cool abound.