Tag: Travels

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in the Pittsburgh International Airport baggage area, awaiting our luggage’s arrival as though they’re rare precious animals. We’ve already taken the first needed steps after a long flight of relieving our bowels.

It’s weirdly quiet here; sounds echo in the tall, wide chamber. Other passengers sprinkle in , surrounding the system like an army laying siege to a fort. We’re all cold, with postures as though we’re huddling. Airport A/Cs are usually set low enough to preserve popsicles.

I recognize fellow travelers, such as the tall elderly man who wobbled slowly up the jetway, and the young Japanese woman in colorful fleece pants and jacket who appears as if she’s walking while asleep. Most people are silent as they wait, checking messges or reading emails on their phones; a few start talking on cell phones, giving all of us broad strokes about where they’re at, where they’re going, what’s next for them.

A harsh buzzer bellows. The red light on its single metal tube begins spinning. Mechanical grinding and groaning rises. The metallic system commences its hurried orbit around the central chute.

We watch and wait, watch and wait, arms crossed, sighing, coughing, as the belt goes around bereft of bags. Of course, it’s the end of a journey for the bags, too. Hundreds of yards away, they left the aircraft and are traveling the system. It’s supposed to go faster than the passengers, so the passengers don’t need to wait.

That has yet to happen at any airport I’ve ever used in the United States. At last comes the thump announcing the first bag. A red hard-sided piece slides down the chute with a hiss. We crane forward to see the lucky person who claims the first bag.

It isn’t me. My bag is black, I remind myself. My wife’s bag is brown leather. Sighing, I cross my arms and look forward to the next bag, watching as it bumps along, waiting for its person to show, feeling dismayed as more bags are claimed and the others trot away. Then, finally, a flush of triumph; our bags have cometh.

Bags claimed with grunts of exertion, we hustle on to the journey’s next stage: the rental car counter. There is some relief that all has gone well. I feel myself shedding travel anxiety. Every step has the potential to disrupt safe and succeful travel. Knock wood, it’s gone well for us.

We leave the baggage area tired but smiling, pressing back into the terminal against the flow of people coming down to find their bags. Good luck, I think to them.

Good luck.

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The Writing Moment

I’ve just returned from vacation. We went east, from Oregon to Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania (PIP to my brain’s shorthand) primarily for a wedding (the #3 nephew in terms of age) but also to visit family, like Mom. This took about ten days out of our usual existence. While traveling and there, I planned to write, but it didn’t work out. First, my body and mind weren’t in agreement that I should get up early. Nor was my wife (something about sleeping in while on vacation). I didn’t want to sneak out, didn’t want to abandon her on vacation while she was with me for my side of the family.

Our schedule in PIP was erratic. Some writing and editing was managed around snatches of escape. Like, on the return flight. Sometimes while at Mom’s home; a few times in the hotels.

But Mom has limited mobility these days. She’s mostly confined to her house with her partner, Frank. And everyone has a lot of that stuff called life happening to them, so my sisters and their offspring can’t visit her often, and Mom gets lonely. My presence with my wife alleviated that. Naturally, once I realized it was so, I had to live up to Mom’s hopes. Definitely opinionated, she slips into conversational ruts, especially when venting about the men of her life, past and present, politics, and the ongoing feud between several sisters.

The gist of the sisters’ feud is one felt omitted in the vacation planning. Years ago, littlest sis — we’ll call her L –and her hubby ventured to the Outer Banks on vacation and included Mom and Frank. I think that was so because they lived in the same house. The four enjoyed it so much, they went the next year, and the next. Second little sister — coded G — heard about it and invited herself, spouse, and her at-home daughter, A. They went again the next year; then G also took her other daughter — J — and J’s family. Like ants finding some good stuff and spreading the word, more family invited themselves and descended on the vacation. Planning, communications, and coordination was done to include everyone who invited themselves. That’s one key to the mess: all the subsequent people outside of the first four invited themselves.

Well, the other sister — S, the oldest of the three youngest — always claimed she and her husband weren’t invited or even told about it. This has been a continuing problem in the three younger sisters’ life: who invented or included who in what party-holiday-vacation planning and participation. Finger pointing and accusations are the standard weapons in this battle. Now it’s reached the point that G and S are not speaking to one another, which goes back to early 2022. What exacerbates the situation is that S has NEVER included anyone else in any of her vacation planning. She doesn’t tell anyone where she is going or when, and will frequently keep it a secret after the event. While L’s Outer Banks vacations began around thirteen or fourteen years ago — Mom can tell you exactly when — S’s secret vacations began in at least 1991. So, boom, G responds to S. J’accuse!

This is what I heard about in 2022 when I went back to help Mom recover from her extended COVID and heart issues. My wife wasn’t with me in 2022, so SHE needed to be brought up to date about the battle this year, at least in Mom’s opinion.

It’s part of my excuse for why I managed little writing and editing. Listening to the feud saga, not just from Mom’s POV because L, G, and S also talked to my wife and I about it, was good insight into family dynamics as well as character arcs. I mean, people arcs. Observing these disagreements and how they escalate and dictate stories and relationships is terrific for my writer side.

I did try. Mom has small house. Built in 1942 by the previous owners — Mom is the house’s second owner — the rooms are small. The kitchen abuts the living room area. The living room is where Mom sets up for the day. I set up on a breakfast bar which Mom installed in the kitchen. From there, I can see and hear what’s going on in the living room.

One of Mom’s habits should be inserted her. She’s sort of a news junkie. When she comes down and sets up her living camp, she turns the television on and tunes it to MSNBC. As her hearing has declined, she keeps it LOUD. Meanwhile, in the kitchen is a radio which is tuned to a local talk radio station. It’s on at the same time. Yes, the television and radio are on at the same time, in different rooms, even when nobody is in them. Just for fun, when Mom goes into the bathroom on that level, she’ll often turn on a radio in there, too.

And while all of these are on, she’s talking with guests and getting on her phone. It’s madness, and disruptive as a quake to me. So I’ll slip into the kitchen to get a little writing in, only to be hailed from the living room to clarify some point. Is the scene developing? It’s another point in the frustrating challenge to write while in PIP.

Now I’m back in my coffee shop, returned to my place behind my walls of routines. I think part of the issues with writing when away this time was that I’ve created this writing structure as part of my temporal order of memory and episodic memories. Going for a walk alone or being in a coffee shop has long been my methodology for inviting the muses in and triggering the writing process. I think now, minus that standard structure, the muses and writing neurons just take time off.

I missed writing while I was away from it. I had to tell myself, just breathe. This will pass. And it has. Now, I resume writing, picking up right where I detoured, entertaining myself in the world of my creation. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Ah, it feels so good, like a coffee addict getting their first swallow.

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The Best 3 Things of the Gold Beach Vacay

We went west to the Pacific Ocean, enjoying its presence from the shores of a little town called Gold Beach in southern Oregon (population: 2241). Highway 101 runs through it from California, serving as the main way in and out. We stayed there three nights and four days, making and taking terrific memories. Here are my top three worthies from bottom to top.

3. Jet Mail Boat to Agness. First, the boat doesn’t have propellers, which allows it to travel in water as shallow as twelve inches. Using three 6.2 liter Chevy marine engines to steer and propel it along, the boat delivers the mail to Agness six days a week during the summer. Besides the boat ride and the history of the USPS run from Gold Beach to Agness up the Lower Rogue River, we saw a bear eating blackberries, a few river otters swimming around, deer, Roosevelt elk, beavers, osprey and their nests and young, and a couple bald eagle nests. We were also told about the stunning 1964 flood. We were about fifty feet below a bridge. That flood crested three feet above that bridge deck. Like, mind blowing. Besides it, we learned about the now departed Lowry fishing camp. Clark Gable used to fish there, among many celebrities and politicians, but Cable always asked for our boat pilot’s grandfather as his fishing guide. So we had water, boating, nature, and history, along with a dinner at a lodge.

2. Chapter One – yes, it’s a coffee shop. I enjoy coffee shops, even have a passion for them. First, I like a good brew. Second, I look for the ambiance. Third, I consider the food offerings. Like my other favorites — the lamented Li Di Da in Half Moon Bay and the long departed original Beanery of Ashland — Chapter One offers these things. They almost displaced The Green Salmon as the best coffee house. The Green Salmon’s fabulous gluten free baked goods keeps the competition level, but Chapter One’s maple scone was OMG excellent. What keeps the Green Salmon (Yachats, OR) at number one is their gluten free vegan breakfast sandwiches. Oh, yeah.

  1. The Pacific Ocean. We had a beautiful stretch of little used public which was a few miles long. It was so little used, it felt private. Wonderful to breathe fresh ocean air, gaze out over the sun splashed waves, and hear the crash and roar. Walking the beach was done several times a day. Great place for contemplating existence and discarding worries. I left a lot there in the beach’s sand.

Just want to note that the numbering is another WP thing. It insisted on indenting #1, at the bottom of the list, identifying it as ‘list’ and indenting it. Why? Only WordPress knows for sure.

Naturally, to make this a complete WP experience, it dropped again while I wrote this. Couldn’t save the draft, couldn’t publish. Had to work around by copying it and pasting it to a doc and then creating a new post.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: 7 out of 10

Greetings from Ashlandia, where the parks are green and the mountains are brown.

It’s Thursday, August 3, 2023. We’re back in the personal dwelling called home. The floof boys are fine, although Papi is expressing his dismay that we dared to leave him for a few days. I miss my morning gaze off the back porch, looking west across the Pacific, and the rolling thunder and fresh smells associated with the water/land affair. Got a fix, at least, and the fix will last me a while.

67 F now in Ashlandia. The weather watchers have posted a high of 89-91 F for us. Blue skies and clear air rules the moment, so it’s not bad at all.

Catching up on the news. Following up on Oregon wildfires – yep, still burning, but no new ones down here. There is the Canadian-Washington fire to worry us. Hundreds of miles away, it doesn’t affect me personally (though it might say something about the air sometime); I just worry about what’s happening to the people, animals, lives, and existences up there.

Also following up on who died when we were limiting our news intake, just finding out about the worsening Niger situation, more deaths along the US border, and reading more deeply on the Obstruction Six indictments. The world goes on, you know?

The Neurons put the Stereophonics and their mellow song, “Maybe Tomorrow” from 2003, into the morning mental music stream (trademark miracle). Came about from remembering the line, “I want to swim in the ocean, I wanna take my time,” heard in my head yesterday as I took a last long gaze at the Pacific before turning the car inland.

Stay positive, and keep on keeping on, as they say. Coffee is up and so am I. Here’s the beats. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: upbeat

We’re leaving the coast today and the coast weather has turned gray in sadness. Yes, that’s really what I tell myself.

It’s Wednesday (right? Is that right?), August 2, 2023. Beautiful weather until this morning. This still isn’t bad, just cool at 56 F, and a marine layer clouds. We still have that awesome ocean sight, smell, and sound. It’ll still be in the mid sixties here. Meanwhile, we’ll arrive home at 91 F. Gotta say, I’m looking forward to seeing my floof boys. I miss the goof balls when I don’t have regular access to them.

We’ll head north to see more of the coast. When we drove here, we dropped down into northern California, passing through a redwood forest, which is a wonder of its own. Now we’ll just zip north on 101 to Bandon and cut across the coastal mountains via Winston and pick up I5 south for our final leg.

The Neurons are driving “Route 66” through the morning mental music stream (trademark lost). Came about from conversations about what route to take home, natch. A terrific song, there are multiple grand covers of this song about. I ended up channeling John Mayer’s version from a Pixar movie.

Alright, fire up the coffee machine and let’s get on with the show. Be safe, be safe, be pos. It’s an exciting life. Can be depressing, can be uplifting. What what you can with the moods.

Here’s the tune. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

A beautiful day has been born in Ashlandia, where the produce is local, except for the imports. We’ll call this Sunday, July 30, 2023. Skies of blue promise don’t know anything about smoke, and sunshine is spilling down. 56 F now, 89 F is the projected high, quite doable numbers.

A short post. I’m getting on the road to another city here shortly. So I’m eating coffee and drinking breakfast — oh, wait, other way — and then I’ll be in the bath for the standard three morning maneuvers which start with S. Then I’ll dress. That’s right, I’m naked and posting. No, not really. I’m in my night shorts. They were originally sold to me as jogging shorts but they work so well with a tee shirt, that it’s my chosen sleep gear. Today’s tee shirt features the Blues Brothers and was picked up in Chicago at Buddy Guy’s bar.

Since I’m going on the road again, my oh so imaginative Neurons have packed the morning mental music stream (trademark visualized) with Willy Nelson singing “On the Road Again”. You know that’s gotta be my theme music on this day.

All you on the road have safe travels. Whether on the road or not stay positive and be strong. Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel. Here’s the music. More coffee, anyone?

Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Sunshine beats down on snow-plated Ashlandia. Concerns about how this late snow and cold weather affects the growing season circulate among growers and friends. Everyone is reminded, this is just one corner of the growing season puzzle. Can’t worry about it now. Do as needed and press on.

It’s Tuesday, April 18, 2023. Sunrise was at 6:23 AM. 29 F last night, unseasonable for us. The snow is light and already burns off where the sun touched down earlier. Weather functionaries tell us it’ll rain today and the high will be about 50 F. So spring will show up for a bit. Sunset comes a few minutes before 8 PM.

Alexa told us yesterday that snow was going to happen during the night. We were surprised that she was right.

In other news, Nicolas Cage regrets eating cockroaches. Cats ask with puzzlement, “Why? They’re crunchy.”

Trips are being planned. Knowing this, the cats have subverted The Neurons and have them playing “Everytime You Go Away”. I had the Paul Young verson in my head but found this video from Farm Aid 1985 with John Hall singing it, backed by Billy Joel, Bonnie Raitt, and GE Smith. Has sentimental value for me, as I remember watching some of this concert on the telly.

Stay pos as you can. Coffee is being served and I shall partake. It’s my one weakness, along with fifty million other things. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

Some journeys take you exactly where you know you’re going. You know exactly what to expect when you arrive. Other journeys are just a stopover in the larger picture.

But some journeys are mystical. You don’t know if it’s the final stop or the start of a full new journey. All you can do is wonder.

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Another Dead Person Dream

Last night’s dream had a special guest, a stepfather who died years after Mom divorced him. He’s father to two of my sisters. An addicted gambler, he lived in a room in a church, given to him with a small stipend for being the church caretaker, in the years before his death, forced to go there after the factory where he worked on a baking assembly line was shut down.

I always felt sorry for him and said so to my half-sisters, his daughters. One snapped, “I love him but he was very stupid and made bad decisions. He never learned from anything that he did.”

Hearing her say that shocked me, although it had been my opinion of him. All that is background to the dream, along with the note that I’ve had about six dreams featuring dead people in 2023. This is George’s first appearance.

To the dream.

I was visiting Mom at her house. She and I and everyone present were decades younger than RL. George, the deceased stepfather, was there, planning to go on a trip. His presence surprised me; I knew he was dead and I knew that he and Mom were divorced, but there he was.

‘There’ was a half-finished house. I couldn’t fully grasp what was done, as it wasn’t consistent in the dream. George mostly emerged from the bathroom and was in the kitchen when I encountered him. One oddity about the unfinished house was that the yard outside of it was covered in white carpeting. Sometimes a part of the yard was set up as a room, carpet on the floor, trees around it.

My two little sisters, George’s daughters, were there, young teenagers. George didn’t like me and was showing it. I was making comments to Mom. When I did, George would correct me. He’s right, I would realize, astonished. I was wrong and he was right.

I poured myself a glass of red wine and drank it, repeating that two more times. When I checked the bottle, it was still full. I chortled to myself, I’m going to keep this bottle, and took it with me.

George emerged from the bathroom. I tried being polite with him, asking, where are you going? How long will you be away? He gave me mean looks, refusing to answer, walking up the stairs to the kitchen. which didn’t have any walls.

Going outside with my bottle of wine, I met my youngest sister by a table. A single glass was on top of the table. As I spoke with her about George’s surprising intelligence, I poured wine into the glass. I completely missed the glass! Red wine made a huge stain on the white carpet.

Horror struck me. Oh, my god, what was I going to do? My sister was anxious about it, too. We threw glances back at the house and warned one another, Mom better not find out.

I went back to the house. George was about to leave. I told him to have a good journey and to stay safe. He departed without replying.

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A Cat Dream

My wife and I were traveling in the gray Toyopet Publica which we had during our Okinawa residence back in the early 1980s. Two cats, Boo and Quinn (deceased in real life in the last two years) accompanied us. A whim took us on a visit to a ramshackle and primitive roadside tourist trap. Small cabins painted light blue with dark blue trim pressed in alongside a small store, tiny café with deck, and peeling white picnic tables and a zoo.  

Boo and Quinn were acting strange, pulling my attention to them. I was worried about where they were and what was going to happen to them. I kept mentioning this to my wife. Meanwhile, she was walking around, trying to see things.

I ended up going to the end of the main building. Bushes to the left over remnants of a cinder block wall pinched the path into a narrow passage at that point. As I checked on the cats, I heard noises. Turning, I discovered a large horned animal on the path back by the building. It seemed to be having a fit but moving our way. I grabbed my wife, who hadn’t noticed, and said, “Come on, we need to move.” Then I took her around to the café deck. I find us seats but many people were using the ramp beside us and kept bumping into me. Annoyed, I decided to move. A man beside me said, “Thank you to the man with the green hat on for moving.” I was wearing my green Tilly hat so I knew he meant me. I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic but went on.

Searching for my cats in different places, I encountered a wild little red cat throwing a fit. I realized that it was located where the other animal was having a fit and guessed there might be something wrong with the air there or something. The increased my concern for my cats. I sped up my search and found the two. Both were almost comatose. I took them back to the car and revived them, and then called to my wife to leave.

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