Somewhere in the Middle

Unloaded my car yesterday. All by myself. It took three of us a couple of hours to pack it, six days and eleven states ago. Took me the better part of the day to unpack. Lots of hauling of lots of boxes of stuff and bags of clothes and armfuls of art up two full flights of stairs from the garage and into my new room. I'm still astounded at how much I was able to fit in that car!

Casey in California’s home is beautiful. Quiet. Comfortable. And I have a real kitchen again! I’ve cooked a proper breakfast (Julia Child’s scrambled eggs with tomato and kale thrown in) two mornings in a row. On a gas stove! Heaven. But even with my hearty protein/fat breakfast, I’m feeling a little run down today. Achy and headachy. Generally blech. It got me to thinking about that middle-aged part of my blog equation. When exactly is someone middle aged? My sister was middle aged at 23, my brother at 27. They just didn’t know it. Even my Dad, who lived what people would call a long and happy life, was middle aged at 38. 38! Is there some magic number? Is it when you feel middle aged? I don’t feel middle aged. I feel like a kid most of time. I guess that’s good. It’s probably what allowed me to pick up my life, and move it to California.  I’d rather feel like a badass most of the time, though. I might have been middle aged ten years ago, or yesterday, or tomorrow, or next year. Okay, probably not next year. But just like my miserable Missouri mood was completely within my power to change, so is this idea, this concept of middle age. Whatever that is. I don’t feel middle aged. Except for when I’ve spent the bulk of a day moving all my crap from one spot to another.

In the midst of this, Casey in California brought me a little bottle of essential oils to rub on my neck and an ice pack. I can hear you now, laughing out loud, saying something like "ha!" she is old, with a winky face. Maybe. But she's feeling better already too :)

"Middle of the Road"

Welcome to California

I’m pretty sure that's what the sign on the highway said as I drove across the state line from Arizona. It was six o'clockish p.m. and the sun glare was so intense that sign could have said just about anything and I wouldn't have known the difference. The first thing that happens when you cross into California, well other than the overwhelming relief and joy of making it across the entire country all alone without so much as a single flat tire, or a single random terrible who knows what that could have so easily been your fate (severe thunderstorms notwithstanding), is the agricultural inspection check point. Californians pass straight through with a wave. Out-of-towners like me have to stop for a little chat. "You actually coming all the way from Maryland?” was my greeting from the adorable state government employee who was an absolute ringer for -- wait for it -- Lloyd Dobler!!! "I am, yes," I said with a big smile. "How was your trip," Lloyd asked me. "Really good, thanks. So happy to finally be here". "Well, we're happy to have you," Lloyd said, with a big smile on his face. Then he asked me all the standard are you transporting any plants, pets, chemicals, blah, blah, blah questions. To be honest, I didn't hear a word he said. Just like the sun glare and welcome sign, Lloyd Dobler just told me he was happy to have me in California!

I really hope I didn't transport any stowaway stinkbugs.

You'd think the next thing that happens would pale in comparison, right? Nope:

I got to enjoy this most beautiful sunset for an entire hour. That's what happens when you're driving in the direction of the setting sun. Thank you Universe. Thank you for the most wonderful welcome.

Drive Friendly

I seriously thought that I would spend all this time alone in my car thinking big thoughts. You know, figuring out all sorts of things that seemingly need to be figured out. So far, not so much. But today, I found myself thinking about how grateful I am to have the time to think about how grateful I am. Then I started making a list in my head of everything I was grateful for at that moment. And then I remembered the voice recorder on my iPhone that I never remember to use:

windshield wipers
a small appetite
a healthy bladder
technology
wide open Texas skies that look like a Magritte painting
good music
cruise control
people who I love who love me right back
zen road signs

Why does your own voice sound so unlike you, to you? I think I'll give that some big thought time tomorrow. "Drive Friendly", y'all.

The Devil's in the Details

The scales were tipping heavily towards the middle-aged side of the equation this morning. Poor badass was taking a real beating. Stormageddon had continued all through the night, so I was severely sleep deprived and super cranky. So many little annoyances started piling on top of one another: much too early housekeeping, a breakfast I couldn't eat, more bad weather, road construction, heavy traffic, missing an exit which left me lost in a city I was trying to avoid driving through at all, and then there was Missouri. Five hours of sad, depressing, dirty Missouri. Calm friend said, "They seriously need to wash that state in hot water". Understatement. That state needs a Silkwood shower. Sorry Missouri, not a fan. My mood was sour to say the least when I checked in with calm friend to let someone know I had actually survived stormageddon and was back on the road. His suggestion: only drive enough to get through miserable Missouri and then find yourself a 4-star hotel with a hot tub and call it a day. My friends are SO smart! One of the keys to lifelong happiness is having really smart friends who are kind enough to share their wisdom with you. You can write that down if you want, it's worth remembering.

While pumping gas at the Kum & Go (I'm not making that up, stay classy Joplin, Missouri) I decided to make a serious attitude adjustment. My five-hour Missouri pity party was going to end right then and there. Little did I know Oklahoma was just a couple of miles down the road. Which reminds me, Oklahoma! What a beauty. Rolling pastures filled with lazy cows, dappled with extraordinary sunlight. It's a damn Gilpin painting. Well, it would be if he actually painted. I opened the windows, cranked the tunes, "Starz In Their Eyes" - Just Jack, drove a little too fast, and actually danced, in my car.

Another key to lifelong happiness is to have a friend who works in the hotel business. Write that down too. Just after my attitude epiphany back in Joplin, I put calm friend's hotel idea into motion and sent my friend, Smelly, who works for one of those big hotel chains in that sweet little country above us a Facebook message, and she found and booked me one slamming hotel room in Oklahoma City, of all places. It's big, and fancy, and lush, and I had a soak in the hot tub, and a swim, and drip-dried under the moonlight, had a real meal (the first in three days), and a lovely glass of red wine.

As I type this, it's thunder storming again. The lights in my hotel room are actually flickering. I don't even care. Badass is off the ropes.
 

Holy Hail Storm, Batman!

This is not the post I had in mind for tonight but OH EM GEE! There I was, sailing along, happy as a clam, making great time and progress, well into my 5th state of the day and only about an hour away from the 6th, blissfully unaware of the impending doom, quite literally, right around the next corner. I had pulled off the highway to get some so-so sunset shots and was meandering back onto it when I made a sharp right turn and within seconds the sky was black. Huge, swirling, tornadoey clouds, lightning everywhere - the kind that lights up the whole sky and the cartoon bolt variety - and I do mean everywhere, in all directions, completely surrounding me. Well, me and everyone else unlucky enough to be on Interstate 64 in Nowheresville, Illinois. The weird thing was, it wasn't actually raining. Yet. Was sort of thinking maybe it was one of those freaky electrical storms (do they actually exist?), but even without the rain, it was scary enough to call it a night. Spied a Holiday Inn on the other side of the highway, but the exit was closed. Dumb construction. Twenty minutes down the road, the skies opened up and, well calling it rain is really not going to do it justice. Even sheets of rain isn't enough. I'm going to go with walls. Walls of rain. Solid walls. And hail. Hail, the size of black walnuts maybe, and just as heavy. A mile later, which at about 3 miles an hour took what seemed like a lifetime (or as long as it took to drive through West Virginia), was the next exit. I and every other vehicle heading west on that highway got off on that one little exit ramp. There was only one motel, and when I say it was sketchy, think of the worst 80's slasher movie you can...got it? Yeah, it was worse than that. I pulled into the parking lot anyway just so I could pry my white-knuckled and cramping fingers from the steering wheel, called a friend, and about as calmly as I could said, I. AM. FREAKING. OUT! Luckily and unlike me, he actually remained calm, got online, checked the radar looking for an exit strategy, there wasn't one. I was smack dab in the middle of a 50-mile radius stormageddon. Yay me! Plan B, wait it out for a bit, see if the rain slows enough to drive, and then HIGH TAIL it to the nearest less-sketchy hotel! Because apparently, here in the middle of the country, these end of the world storms are kind of common and when they blow in, people just pull off the roads and fill up the hotels like it's prom night or something. So, that's what I did - iPhone, Orbitz, GPS, and my calm friend got me to a NotquitetheBest Western, ten miles back east on that damn Interstate 64. Passed an overturned semi that was headed west, just shy of the exit I and the rest of the world had taken. Had to have been right behind me. That side of the highway was now closed.

I was trying to get to St. Louis, Missouri tonight. When I told calm friend that he said, "St. Louis, are you kidding me?!? That's a really rough town. I almost stopped there once but made a u-turn and got back on the highway and kept going. And, I was coming from New Orleans! You'll be much safer where you are, and so will your car." I called by bff, Karen, when I finally got to the NotquitetheBest Western. Told her the whole story, including the St. Louis being rough part and she said, "Huh, maybe the stormageddon was actually a good thing. Kept you from spending the night in St. Louis".

Huh. Maybe it did. And was. Kentucky was beautiful! Did I mention that? Really beautiful. Had my iPod on shuffle all day and this song came on when I was driving through Louisville, Rolling Stones "Wild Horses".

No kidding.

Begin the Beguine, yo.

You might be wondering what a Cole Porter standard and I and this adventure I've embarked on have in common. Well, the song was once described as "a maverick, an unprecedented experiment". Yeah, neither this adventure or me are either of those things really. But, we both "depart drastically from the conventional form". At least that's what people tell me. Depending on who you talk to, quitting your perfectly good job in a struggling economy and moving 3000 miles away from your family and friends is either "badass" or "idiotic". Hey, I'm nothing if not optimistic, so I'm going with badass!

Four weeks ago, I sent my friend, Casey in California, who just happened to be in need of a roommate, a check for three months rent. Three weeks ago, I quit my job. Two weeks ago, I sold a whole bunch of my stuff. Last week, I started packing what was left. Today, I crammed (almost) everything I own into my car and started driving towards the setting sun. Yep, definitely optimistic.