The Princess and the Pea

I'd like to pretend I'm the kind of person for whom bliss is a primitive, secluded campsite with all my food hoisted into a tree to avoid the bears, but the truth is I am in heaven here at the KOA with a pool and free wireless internet! Here I am sitting at my picnic table in the cool mountain breeze, feeling like you are right here with me!
Mom called yesterday and ended our conversation by saying that cousin TR wanted to be sure I had been reminded about bears. Gwyneth then said it wasn't so much the bears as the mountain lions that worried her. So my drive through the majestic landscape of Wyoming was tinged with the nagging fear that I might become a meal for wildlife in my sleep tonight. I was just about to dig into my grandmother's emergency motel fund when I spotted the sign, and I knew that in my heart I am more of a kamper than a camper!
I think my neighbors are German; efficient tent assembly, tidy classic clothing and stern faces. Plus the woman seemed to be mailing an airmail letter.
Yesterday I drank delicious mint iced tea all day and when Gwyneth and AnnaMaria were passed out, I lay there in the dark, eyes wide with lingering caffeine and mind a-buzz with anti-bear strategies. So as many exciting opportunities as there are here at the KOA, I think it's Dairy Queen and early bed for me tonight! Oo! Maybe not! I just heard there's free ice cream at the camp store!

I'm not in Kansas anymore!

Kansas has a less than flattering reputation among those I've talked to, but I found it charming!
I have been coveting the Birkenstocks that are now made for those with high arches and boast "aggressive arch support". My feet have been longing to be supported aggressively, but after so long without it, doubt the existence of such a champion. So we decided that as long as we were passing through, we should stop in Lawrence Kansas the home of the Footprints shoe store and mail-order catalogue to see this miracle for ourselves. I found the place knowing only that it was in Lawrence and on Massachusetts. As I entered town I remembered that Rochelle Hockney, a family friend had gone to college there and said it was a fun little town. And fun it was! Downtown was full of chic shopping, quaint architecture, and friendly, wholesome faces! Footprints did not in fact have the right size, but we tried a size bigger and the arch support was blissful, so they are ordering the right size and will mail them to me, wherever I may be when they arrive, for free!
I did some browsing, got a birthday present for Gwyneth and a cold drink and got back on I70.
I miscalculated the distance to my destination again, but didn't mind as it had bee rainy most of the day and I would have had to wait to set up the tent anyway. I arrived at Cedar Bluff State Park to find it was in the middle of nowhere and sparsely populated! At first I was nervous about the remote location, as my aunt and grandmother had been regaling me with stories of unsuspecting campers mowed down by crazed pick-up truck drivers in the night. But as John Steinbeck says, there is little reality in the danger of solitude, and I put pessimism behind me and pitched my tent on a waterfront lot!

It was hot and dry and I left the rain cover off the tent, but sweltered through the night in my arctic sleeping bag, having been too tired to get out of the tent one last time to get a sheet from the car.
I awoke the next morning un-mutilated and got on the road without taking a second swim in the goose-poop lined reservoir. By mid afternoon I was in Fort Collins, Colorado at the home of my kindred spirit and sister across lifetimes, Gwyneth. We went with her sisters for a swim in the river, followed by ice cream and a stroll around downtown. I was last here 6 months ago and before that it had been 3 years since I'd seen Gwyneth, but she and in fact her whole family are the kind of people that one slips into easy-going, everyday interaction with, no matter how much time has passed.
I will be here for a few days, eating copiously, laughing and drinking gallons of water to help combat the effects of mile-high elevation.

Author's note: This post has been minimally proof read as I am eager to get back to my hosts, and this computer is set up so that you can only see about a square inch of text at a time; v. laborious!

'Cross The Wide Missouri

I left Philadelphia around 8 am on July 24th and was seen off by sticky, senseless Philly traffic! Good riddance to that!
The morning was beautiful for driving; clear with a snappy breeze. Don't ask me why, but I love the tunnels on the PA turnpike! I ate my packed lunch on a triangle of grass at a rest stop. There is so much of Pennsylvania that seems like another state to me!
I crossed into Ohio just before 3 and landed at my destination, Buck Creek State Park on the other side of Columbus, around 6. My campsite couldn't have been more perfect (I took a picture of it, but my battery was low and something went afoul. I haven't quite gotten the hang of that little bugger!). I took a swim in the lake, and as I floated on my back and gazed up at the crisp, bright clouds over head and the sinking sun I felt lucky and free and blissful! Later, swinging on the swingset by the wash house after brushing my teeth, I thought "This is where I live and this is what I do!" It is hard to avoid living in the moment on this journey and who would want to!
I took another swim in the morning and set out late at 10am. I was feeling very optimistic about my drive until I entered Illinois, which I had forgotten about and which put over 2 hours of driving ahead of me that I had not expected. Luckily I had also forgotten that I crossed a time zone line, so I was back on track for a more timely arrival. Blasted by the wind from my open windows (in an effort to save gas), and scorched by the unrelenting heat of the prairie sun, I passed over the Mississippi, and then the Missouri rivers, which I marked inwardly as an event. I was, however, a little disappointed that there were not fireworks or at least a big sign saying "Welcome to the Rest of the Country!"
I arrived at my Auntie Anne's house (no she did not invent the pretzel) in the university town of Columbia, Missouri, after a little confusion over local directions, sweaty and ravenous! Neither she nor my grandmother, who welcomed me at the door, seem to have aged a day since I was born. Dinner was ready to go on the table, a delicious rice and chicken concoction with Parmesan cheese and a bean salad, tiny dinner rolls, coffee and frozen yogurt with a few enormous fresh raspberries for dessert. Just the sort of menu you'd expect to find in a home magazine!
It was a joy to sleep on a real bed and I awoke refreshed at 7:30 to take a walk around the neighborhood. I met the garbage man as I sat in the driveway, which is so clean you could eat off of it, and laced up my sneakers. We had a leisurely morning (me and my aunt, not me and the garbage man), then ran some errands and went out to lunch. Afterwards we went to check out a new antique market which so depressed my grandmother that she needed to take a nap (it was quite forlorn). She has just emerged from the bedroom and the smell of brownies is wafting from the oven! I must go make sure they're fit to eat!

You're lucky for shizzy...

I have a huge girl crush on Tristan Prettyman right now! Tonight I went to see her at World Cafe Live and I can confirm that she is, in fact, the bomb! I got my ticket weeks ago, but failed to notice that if you want a good table, you have to reserve ahead. I called today and they gave me a place, but since it was late and I was by myself (everyone I usually try to drag to concerts is out of town), they put me at the bar. I had delicious duck quesadillas with sour cream and salsa verde and pineapple juice with vanilla vodka. I didn't feel odd at all being by myself, I felt adventurous and slightly classy!
The opener was Ronnie Day. He had a nice voice but the poor boy needs a good therapist! His entire set chronicled his love affair with a girl named Jamie who left him for another man. People talked right through the set and while I felt for him, I couldn't really blame them.
When Trizzy came on, nobody seemed to notice; had they never seen her before? I actually started the clapping. She played stuff from Twentythree, some new stuff, and a Patsy Cline cover. She had great between-song banter! She looked like she'd just stopped in to play on her way home from the beach in a visor, tank top, frayed jean skirt and sandals. Her set seemed really short, but it was kind of nice that way. Sometimes you're lovin' a concert, but your hands are tired of clapping and you just can't stop yawning.
After a gratifying final encore of Love, Love, Love, I settled my tab (I don't think I've ever had my own tab before) and went to the merch table and got a shirt that I am going to wear for a week! I was standing in line to meet Tristan when I realized I had nothing for her to sign and had even left my camera at home! I was on the verge of having her sign my arm when, in an act of uncharacteristic extroversion, I asked the girl in front of me if she would take a picture for me and email it. Wooohooo! I was wobbly in the knees in the presence of Prettyman greatness and I always feel like what the hell can you say to an artist after a show that fifty people before you haven't already said, so I thanked her, she signed my ticket stub and my new friend Kelly Christine took the shot (neither of us looking our best, but hell, its Trizzy and me with our arms around eachother)!
On the way to my car I decided I need to become my own rock star. I have this pattern of idolizing artists and then becoming frustrated that they aren't actually my friends. Being my own rock star doesn't necessarily mean performing (although the first thing I'm doing when I settle in California is finding me some people to make music with!), but being awesome and appreciating my own awesomeness. And hey, I'm about to go on tour and live out of my car...very rock star! I think I'll make t-shirts!

Shall We Dance?

Dancing is about the only way I take pleasure in physical exertion. I took dance lessons all through childhood. As a teenager, no day was more exciting than the day of a school dance (though this was more about the boy-girl social interaction than the sweet moves). In college I let loose and got crazy on the dance floor. As an adult, being not really the clubbing type, I rarely get the opportunity to let the music take over my body.
A friend introduced me to contra dancing a couple of years ago. In some areas its very popular with young granola types, but here in Philadelphia, it draws some of the oddest people you'll ever meet with a median age of about 45. Despite the freaky crowd, it is wicked fun in my opinion; full of twirling and spinning and unashamed enjoyment! I took Shay and three of my 13-year-old former students this week and we had a blast. The regular dancers are always thrilled to share their enthusiasm with newcomers and everybody had a word of advice or encouragement for my girls. They are all excited to go back. One smiling and extremely sweaty fellow told me I must keep up the dancing and gave me leads on where to dance in California.
If I am feeling self conscious and thinking that there is a right and a wrong way to live, then dancing the night away with sweat-drenched, elderly folks is probably on the don't list. But when I'm just living and being me, I can't ask for more than a room filled with live music and unadulterated joy!

Space

Friday was what I have taken to calling my last day of work ever (more of a state of mind than an actual plan). On Saturday I moved all the furniture out of my apartment, except the folding table and chairs and it is so light and airy in here now! I am all free time and space! On the horizon looms the fact that I have to say all my goodbyes in less than 2 weeks and then decide which essentials make the cut and get stuffed into my car. Ew, and I have to get some costly car repairs taken care of, but I'm trying not to think about that. I have never known less about where I'm going or been more calm about getting there! Some call this living in flow, letting the current of life lead you to the experiences you have laid out for yourself as your destiny. I am so through with swimming up stream, although I'm sure there will be moments when I get disoriented and try it again!

The Birchrunville Parade

When I was a little girl, some friends of my parents started a 4th of July parade in our tiny town. There were no marching bands or government officials, just homemade floats and neighborhood folks, dressed up and walking through "downtown", which is actually just an intersection. This intersection is now home to the Birchrunville Cafe, which used to be a general store and still houses the post office, and an antique store, which at the time of the first parade was the home of it's initiators. My sister and cousins and I would decorate our bikes or dress up the dog for the event; one year we rollerskated!
In an area that was soon to be gobbled up by suburban sprawl, here was something wholesome and home-grown. Trouble is that that's how suburbs happen! Everybody wants the romance of small town life, yet with access to city excitement and without giving up any conveniences. There are a lot more people living in that area now than there where 25 years ago and everybody comes to the parade. I think it was even written up in the Philadelphia Inquirer several years ago. It's not the crowds that are ruining the parade, it's the suburban lack of originality. A few people still come out in their antique cars. A handful of kids still ride bikes and the local horseback riding instructor still makes a showing, but the majority of the "floats" are pick-ups full of tipsy men, women and children (well maybe not the young children) armed with all manner of water artillery. The adults seem to be regressing as they hose down the onlookers, and the children are dressed in aggressive pursuit of the maturity their parents seem to be fleeing.
As I become my own person, I have to revisit lots of holiday traditions. Is the thing that you did every year as a child still helping you pay homage to the return of the day, or is it making you lament the passing of time? Who knows where I'll be next year on the 4th, but it seems like for the Birchrunville parade, it's time to take a stand or get out of the way!

Creative Juices (that sounds gross)

I just spent the past three hours playing the guitar, which I haven't picked up in months! My typing is the finger version of a limp. The tips of the index, middle and ring fingers of my left hand are bright red. You see, I discovered that the chords to pretty much any song ever written are available on the internet and when you don't know a chord, you can look that up too! I decided not to fret (ha ha) about the fact that my own songs are lame at this point; don't you learn an art by copying the masters? I will keep writing anyway, in case there is something of value hidden in there somewhere. My goal is to find myself singing and playing around a campfire sometime in the near future. I had almost decided that the guitar didn't need to come on my trip, but now it's gonna ride shotgun!
Given my renewed love for the guitar and the fact that my only other ambitions at the moment are to paint and write, I think I should research California artist colonies!