Cruising Down the Road

Too often travel, instead of broadening the mind, merely lengthens the
conversation.

Elizabeth Drew

Three hundred sixty-eight miles. 368 miles. Last week, after a plane ride to Denver, I had that many miles to drive to see middle son in his summer habitat. Sometimes, when I pause to ponder what I've planned for myself, I get a few extra thumps in my heartbeat. A 'what were you thinking?' thump.

I remind myself that often I drove 3000 miles, with three young boys in tow. (My husband flew in as he didn't have as much time off. Gave us more time with the grandparents and side trips.) But driving alone in the wilderness is something different for me. Adding to those tangled thoughts, if you recall, after the trip my husband and I took in the spring, I no longer want adventure. I want to rotiss, on a beach, with a book. For days.

Once I got behind the wheel and started driving, all those ridiculous thoughts went away.

But first, the night I arrived in Denver, I met with a gathered family for dinner at a favorite downtown restaurant.

I admired the lawn chairs in my brother's backyard. I want them.Come morning, I was on the road -- all the way to Lander, Wyoming and beyond. It had been some time since I'd been to Wyoming. In my earlier life, I'd never found Wyoming particularly pretty. (Of course, when I'd visited in times past, I hadn't yet been to West Texas.)

Travel at any age is certainly beneficial and eye opening, but just like re-reading a book read 20 or 30 years before, at 54 I hold a complete and different perspective.

On this adventure, I found wonder in the ever changing scenery. Around every curve the terrain reshaped from the size of the hill or mountain to the color of the soil, the plant life. I found it beautiful. Geology suddenly seemed a fascinating study.

A sight on the road was I, I'm certain. My right hand alternated between holding my little tape recorder to my lips and my camera out the window. (I lost my camera a few weeks ago and had to buy a new one. So you'll have to bear with me getting to know how to use it, one handed.)
I often went 15 minutes or more before a car came from the other direction. Later, listening to the tapes I made, I described the scenery as a different kind of no where. And then...


I came to a place on that empty highway where a car was stopped in front of me. I stopped, thinking they had a car problem or perhaps an animal on the road before them. But no, It was a stop light. Right out there in the middle of a different kind of no where. A stop light. A red stop light. I sat behind the car ahead for about ten minutes and all I could think of was the movie Blazing Saddles. You might recall the part where the bad guys came to a toll booth in the middle of the desert. The leader yelled out, "Someone go back to town and get a shitload of dimes."

Light turned green and after six hours of listening to NPR and singing loudly to old rock and roll on the radio, I drove into yet another new valley and there I found...

... my son.He had washed the sheets and cleaned the bathroom for mom's visit. Even did the dishes. As I sat on his front porch peering through the Aspen trees, it was most comforting to see him in his new habitat. (Side note for new readers - Jordan is working for the Nature Conservancy this summer on a 3000 acre ranch.)

I shared with Jord all my reading material and maps. He was so excited to be on a road trip with mom, once again.

Next day, we began our adventure. Didn't have a particular plan except a night scheduled in Yellowstone and one in Jackson Hole.
Jordan showed me Red Canyon Ranch, a 30000 acre ranch owned by the Nature Conservancy. A couple of his buddies work here.

Once again, the changing terrain fascinated me. I've been reading about hot springs in Wyoming and Montana for some time. The main character in my novel in progress has a rather sensuous encounter at a hot spring. I'd had difficulty picturing the scene in my head. No more.

The visit to the state park at Thermopolis satisfied that vision. We took in a 20 minute soak at the park's free pool. Very hot. Lots of people seeking a healing of their weary bones. Me included.

Our body aches healed in the warm waters, we drove on to Cody.
And our hotel.

Oh, wait.
This was our hotel.

While Jordan took a nap and enjoyed having WIFI and cable TV (not available in his cabin) I walked down the road to take in the Buffalo Bill Historical Center. Fascinating find - five museums in one. I was interested in the Plains Indian museum, but was most surprised to discover the western art museum showcasing the works of Charles Russell and Frederic Remington, among others.
The Yellowstone sections had displays explaining the geothermal activity as well as the varied wildlife. I took a few photos of the stuffed animals just in case we didn't see any real ones in Yellowstone.

That way we could say we saw wildlife even if we didn't.

Little did we know...

TO BE CONTINUED

Road Trip

The road to success is dotted with many tempting parking places.

Author Unknown

Some of you may recall these photos of my middle son, Jordan. He spent the summer before college graduation interning on a ranch in south Texas, hand raising baby deer. As you can see, life with these babies was rather intimate.

When he graduated from college with a biology degree - fisheries and wildlife emphasis, he found a job working for an exotic deer ranch (where people pay to come hunt the deer.) He was to care for the 170 fawns due in the summer.

As his mom, I secretly knew he would not like this business aspect of raising wildlife. Suffice to say, by the time any of the fawns born in the wild came into his care, they were only moments from death. Other than tagging the new fawns, he spent most of his time building fences.

I didn't say, "I told you so." I say those words to my husband every chance I get, but I try not to say them to my kids. After two months on the job, Jordan moved home and began an employment search in the fisheries and wildlife field - for something on the conservation level instead of killing for sport. (So much for empty nest - he overlapped youngest brother headed off to college.)

He signed on doing the same thing as me - substitute teaching. At night, he painted the local YMCA. The subbing part was most interesting for when our paths crossed at the same school, I got to see my son as an adult. Watch how he conducted himself. Watched how the young girls would raise their hand and say, "Oh, Mr. Anderson, I have a question." When he'd walk over to their desk, they'd say, "Oh, I get it now," in sweet voices I never heard on my watch.

On those few days when I was the teacher in the back of the room working with some of the special students, I could only chuckle to myself. I understood why he rarely had trouble like I did in the substitute teaching world. After all, much more fun to mess with an old lady than a young, good looking man. As for the boys, well, he's 6'3". Bring it on.

In February, Jordan flew to Montana to attend a convention of the Society for Range Management. Since he didn't have money to rent a car while there -- or stay in the hotel where the convention was held -- he had to walk a mile to attend the job fair and smooze for a job in a bad market. Have you ever been to Montana in February?


In late April, Jordan landed a job with the Nature Conservancy in Wyoming. He would work to redesign wetland areas and organize a fish restocking plan. Although only a four month job, my husband I encouraged him to take it. When you're 23 and everything you own fits in your paid off Honda Civic, go for it. (Again, overlapped little brother coming home from college. Empty nest is a joke around my house.)

He has loved it up there. He lives in a little cabin beside a creek. The deer, elk and other wildlife don't sit in his arms, but they most certainly welcome him in the morning.

What's for breakfast, Jord?


I haven't been to Wyoming since I moved out of Salt Lake City 23 years ago. Guess where I'm going? My husband can't travel yet, but I told Jordan on the phone the other day - wash the sheets and clean your bathroom. Your mama's coming to visit.

(Taking my computer so I can try to keep up with my novel. Still writing each day. Yay!)

Signed, Sealed, Delivered - I'm Going Swimming

Eighty percent of success is showing up.

Woody Allen

Friday - 1:39pm

In reference to my last post, so eloquently entitled Butt in Chair, please note that the photo presented here shows that particular chair pushed into its resting nook at the table. For you see, dear E.S. Carlson, I took on your challenge. I've written a new chapter in my novel in progress. (Six years in the making?) Look in your email inbox for you will find not only the next chapter, but an additional reworked 30 some previous pages leading up to it.

Alas, my heroine, dear Lily, is out of the wheat field in South Dakota and long past her panic attack. Still in South Dakota, but, oh, in such a different place.

This week I took a huge mess and pieced it back together. I spent Monday, Tuesday and half of Wednesday reacquainting myself with what I'd written over the past few years. Then I read all the journals of notes I'd taken, my character sketches and their long lists of conflicts. I reviewed some of my research and resource books.

I spent Wednesday reorganizing what I wanted to keep of the writing, throwing out some 20,000 words which held scenes that no longer will occur in my story, along with what I first thought would be the ending.

In the words of the most talented Anne Lamott in her book Bird by Bird - I'm 36,000 words into a very "shitty first draft." (If you haven't read Bird by Bird, I highly recommend it - even if you are not a writer.)

Even though I'm no longer certain where my protagonist Lily will end up, I do know it will be a most interesting ride. And I'm so glad to be back with her on that horse, er, Airstream trailer.

Even better, I know what I will write tomorrow. And the next day. My goal for the remainder of the summer, except for a couple of side trips, is to plow through all the way to the end so that I can spend next school year rewriting and rewriting and...

Thank you, ES, for the ultimatum and thank you to my blogging friends, new and old, for your support. Happy am I. I put much more pressure on myself when I'm alone, focused, challenged. Of course, things have certainly calmed down in my summer, which helps.

Cheers to my family who has left me to myself at the lake this week. (Hope you guys got the laundry done, watered my plants, went to the grocery store, fed the cat... yes, we have a cat.)

Dear Family,
Looking forward to seeing you this weekend.
Bring food and toilet paper.
Love, Mom and wife

Up to me to keep it going, but right now, I'm off to float for the rest of the day.

P.S. Can you believe it? I just sent ES that email and before I've finished this post she has already sent me her next set of pages. That woman is a slave driver. Chop, chop.

Butt in Chair

There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.

Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

Once upon a time I was a writer. Not one that made millions off a bestseller as that is such a fluke of nature, unless you're a star or cute politician. No, I was someone who made daily journal entries and did timed writings in a big blank book. I took classes on the craft of writing. I practiced. I joined a writing group. I wrote paragraphs. Essays. Short stories. I wrote a novel. Worked hard. Took it through many, many drafts.

I volunteered at the Writer's League of Texas. Worked on their Programs and Services committee. Ran the annual manuscript contest. Read 100's of first chapters from anxious writers, eager to to discover how their work might fare in an open venue. I studied query letters and wrote a good one which received great response. Sent my book out to 52 agents, 20 of whom replied with a standard rejection letter. The other 32 were kind enough to type a rejection letter addressed to me or in very special cases, a handwritten note telling me my book wasn't for them. I felt pretty good about my rejections.

In the meantime, I sent out my essays and short stories - won some contests, had a few published. Helped spearhead the publication of a book of women's stories and poetry and served as coeditor. In that process I learned along with several other women how to write a book proposal, get an ISBN number, beg authors for blurbs, and ask the lovely Liz Carpenter (may she rest in peace) for a foreword. The generosity of writers is most heartwarming.

When the book was finally in hand, we organized readings at book stores and literary organizations. Coffee shops. Sold books out of our trunks. Donated all the proceeds to NAMI - The National Alliance on Mental Illness. One of the authors in our book had succumbed to depression and we wanted to honor her memory by choosing a worthy charity.

All those aspects of the writing life filled my days when I wasn't being a full-time housewife, civic do gooder, and mother. Having learned tremendously from the rejections of my first novel, I took a few more in depth writing classes and began a second novel. One hundred pages in, I fearfully found work outside of the home due to business not going well in my husband's line of work. The recession sent me back into the workplace, with old, worthless or non-existent credentials. My writing dwindled to crying into the pages of my journal and an occasional timed writing. I edited/critiqued work for others and did some pro bono editing for a few publications. Other than that, my writing mind took on other junkets.

Come to today. My dear friend, ES Carlson, has issued an ultimatum. Emails me that she will no longer send me any of her work to critique unless I send her a new chapter from my novel in progress. A new chapter - due Friday. Bitch.


I just blew the dust off the pages I have. I'll let you know if I succeed.

Summer Slow Down

Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.

Sam Keen

The other day a friend of mine said, "Seems like summer is coming to an end."

No, I cried out. I'm thinking it just began. After the whirlwind of spring around my house, this past week felt like the first breath of summer's air.

I've spent the time reading, reading, and reading. Swept the floor, read a chapter. Watered the plants, read a chapter. Pulled all the pieces of my WIP novel out of its basket and organized it on the table, read a chapter.

Somewhere along the line, I've lost my camera and failed at a fresh squeezed vegetable/fruit diet with my youngest son. Hey, we made it through breakfast and lunch. But, last night, looking at the lovely green glass of goodness we'd prepared for dinner, we took little time deciding to pour it back in the pitcher. (Moms have to be supportive, you know.)


Anyway, here are some photos I took (before I lost my camera) of my bougainvilleas and some other moments from the summer.

Middle son trying out his new clothes for a new wildlife job in Wyoming.Prepping the crawdads.A summer feast.A crowd in the kitchen.
(Please note the placement of my granddog's head.)

New friends in our backyard.
Hope you're finding some lazy moments in your summer.

Can You Babysit Your Dad? I'm Going to Happy Hour

Pleasure is the bait of sin.
Plato

Let's face it. I can only be good for so long.

After four days in the hospital tending my husband after hip replacement surgery, followed by six days at home with only a grocery store and a BandAid run added to my 'oh, there is so a reason I wasn't a nurse' role, I decided to see a movie. Like in a movie theater movie. Called a couple of friends who had the day off.

True to my usual twisted menu of movie/TV watching, Bridesmaids (click to see the trailer) didn't disappoint. I can't tell you too much about it other than I'm glad none of my sons sat with me while I busted my gut laughing. The story was an old one, but the delivery and writing, very funny. Just what I needed.

After the movie, my friends and I sat in the lobby and talked of the day's errands ahead: Linda - grocery store, bank and Lisa had a return and a $5 coupon for something free at Kohl's burning a hole in her pocket. I, of course, had to return to the painkiller infused, over-achieving hip replacement recoverer, lovingly guarded by my 19-year-old son during my two hour escape.

I finally said, "Lets just go get a drink."

"It's 2:00," Lisa said.

"Close enough."

I called youngest son. "Can you babysit your dad a little longer? I have to go to Happy Hour."

Funny how life evolves.

Encouraged by the comic opera in the movie, I decided to forgo my usual glass of wine and ordered a Pomegranate Cosmopolitan. I'd never had one. I was thinking martini = a buzz. Should have ordered a shot of tequila. All I got was a martini glass filled with Kool-Aid and a too sweet toothache. But, gotta try everything once.

An hour later, resuscitated by a change of scenery and conversation with girlfriends, I paid off youngest son and went back to the old boy and his walker. Now, eight days later, if I could only educate him on carpal tunnel syndrome surgery required from thumbing the channel changer on the remote control EVERY 30 F------- SECONDS and the cost of replacing the window said remote will fly through when I get my hands on it, I promise I'll be really good.

What's On Your Summer Reading List?

Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.

P.J. O'Rourke

What's on your book list for summer? I'm compiling my pile and hope you'll share yours also. I'm also adding a few titles written by some friends of mine.

My Summer Stack:

The Moonflower Vine - Jetta Carleton
A Visit From the Goon Squad - Jennifer Egan
The Lake Shore Limited - Sue Miller
The Widows of Eastwick - John Updike
Beloved - Toni Morrison
Why New Orleans Matters - Tom Piazza
As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner
Divisadero - Micahel Ondaatje
The Whole World Over - Julia Glass
The Golden Notebook - Doris Lessing

(Not to mention that there are 30 more books on my To Be Read shelf and that I'll probably hit the library when nothing pops out at me on any given day.)

Here are a few I recommend written by some of my author friends.

If You Can't Stand the Heat - Robin Allen
A Cozy Mystery Culinary Romp

I, too, have suffered in the garden - Jennifer Hritz
Character driven delight

Circular Breathing - Meditations from a Musical Life - Ann McCutcheon
Essays from an incredible writing teacher
Tender Graces - Kathryn Magendie
Women's literary fiction

Click on the books to find their Amazon page. As you can see, I haven't quite mastered the proper download of the covers. Why is it that some days you can't remember what you've done in the past? Perhaps sometimes a good thing.

So, what's on your list for the summer?

Hip Hop

After two days in the hospital, I took a turn for the nurse.

W.C. Fields

I intended a post of summer reading choices. Slight delay. Spending my days at the local hospital - my husband had his hip replaced.

Thought I might get my house cleaned while he's in the hospital's care. Read a few books. Write a novel. Not happening. Seems these days patients need someone other than hospital staff to make certain they have what they need. (Nurses - forgive me. Obvious you are short staffed. Administrators?)

Meanwhile, remember the guy who doesn't sit well on vacation?

Any ideas on what to do with him for the next three weeks?

Eyes Opened Wide

For each new morning with its light,

For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

When I was 18, it never occurred to me I'd be old. That some day my skin might become mottled with tiny moles or that I'd have white hairs on my chin.

I drove in snow storms without fear, did worm turns with loose abandon as I skied down a steep mountain, and never gave much thought to the fragility of life.

Cut to present day. Remember the movie Apollo 13, when everyone waited over three minutes for that small space capsule to make it through the fiery re-entry into the earth's atmosphere? I liken it to a few weeks ago and the twenty minutes I sat with anxious abandon while a tornado engulfed Tuscaloosa, Alabama - my youngest son in its path.

My son had called a few moments before, to tell me a tornado was five minutes away from his university. Hide. That was all that went through my mind while I told him to get to a stairwell. I don't believe he thought like me as the excitement in his voice didn't reflect fear. The line went dead, the ugly bleat of an endless busy signal replacing his voice as I tried to get him back.

A quick turn to the Weather Channel provided a radar view of the hook of the storm, the announcers saying in quiet voices that the immense, powerful storm was at that moment overtaking the city of Tuscaloosa and the University of Alabama. They added, we can only pray for these people. Silence.

I prayed.

Twenty minutes later, my phone rang. Youngest son saying it took him a while to get through. That he saw the tornado out his window. "You saw it?" I cried. "You weren't hiding?"

"You have a chance to see that? Wouldn't you?" he said.

No, I thought. Not at my age. I would have my head between my legs, kissing my ass goodbye.

There lies the power of youth verses the knowledge (or cynicism) of age. Settled by the sound of his voice, I used my mother voice to instruct him not to go outside, that first reports indicated total disaster. Danger.

"Okay, mom."

Mothers of three sons know what that means. And in my youth, I would have done the same. To take that walk and see the downed trees, the broken windows. That's what my son saw before he walked over the next hill and saw this.

Just like that, the excitement of the storm replaced with the aimless wandering of those lost and still alive amid the devastation. With eyes wide open, the endless scenes now slammed into his mind like the tornado that invaded in his very own backyard.

Students able to get home were told to do so. Two nights later when my son came through the garage door after a twelve hour drive, I saw a youthful spirit dulled by the reality of the previous 48 hours. The invincibility of youth now tinged with vulnerability. The buzz of the rightafter muddied by the lack of power, food, water and lost faces.

He stared at the TV and computer screens that repeated the videos of the storm and its aftermath he'd not been privy to before. This bothered him even more. That even though he had been present, just two blocks from the fringe of the massive destruction, the "seeing" on the screen wrought an even wider opening of his eyes.

"Tell me what you're thinking," I asked a few days later.

"It won't be fixed by the time I graduate," he said.

No, some of it will never be fixed. And I think it might take some time for his thoughts to collect and settle.

There are many in Tuscaloosa, Joplin, Minnesota, Oklahoma, Massachusetts and throughout the US that are not as fortunate to have their son home safely. As the rebuilding, resettling, and the search for a new norm begins, please remember those that will never be fixed completely.

http://alabamapossible.org/2011/04/tornado-relief-how-you-can-help/

ttp://blog.salvationarmyusa.org/?p=6136

http://american.redcross.org/site/PageServer?pagename=ntld_southern_tornadoes

http://yourlife.usatoday.com/mind-soul/doing-good/kindness/post/2011/05/how-to-help-victims-of-the-missouri-tornado/171501/1