Mainly Maine

Matilda + rig, as seen thru the periscope at the Naval Submarine Force Museum in Groton CT

Speeding east from Michigan, which I last blogged about, we made two quick and lovely stops in PA with friends and neighbors, spent a month at a family-style campground in CT while Michael did a Sol LeWitt job at Yale, and then wandered up into Vermont for a week of family downtime.  We badly needed it after spending 4 weeks cozied up to mostly cliquish neighbors who were "seasonals" and all knew each other, and whose kitchen sinks and flickering TVs we could easily see.  We're slowly learning how to choose campgrounds, and going with the smaller family-run ones that have few seasonal spots seems to be the way to go. 

We reluctantly packed up our VT hideaway, which was the nicest campground to date, and started towards friends and work in Bangor Maine on the back roads.  We've come to realize that small towns aren't as scary as we thought in a 55' long rig, that Matilda really can pull us over the mountains (Eastern ones at least), and that there are ways of finding places to park that open up more meal possibilities.  I've come to hate the travel plazas on the highway, aside from the fact that parking is easy.  The food just sucks, and it didn't help that at the last one we stopped at, I came into the dining area after Michael and the boys were already seated and eating on the far side of the room, and Michael chose to holler at the top of his lungs "BETHANY! WE'RE OVER HERE!" and then smirk as every single eye in the place watched me waltz/slink across the room to where they sat.  Yup.

So we took two days on the back roads to get from SW Vermont to Bangor, including truly boondocking for the first time at a trailhead parking lot right on the NH/ME border.  We finally got a second battery hooked up, and now have enough power for a night or two.  After poking around roadside stands, playing on the banks of the Kennebec River, and watching Fynn for signs of concussion as he landed hard after falling 8 feet out of a pine tree (thank God for Arnica!) ... we arrived at the Drown's place on a Saturday afternoon, their open arms a very welcome sight.  

We know Tim and Karen from waaay back, before they were married, and though we hadn't seen each other for about a dozen years, it was like nothing had changed.  We immediately felt right at home.  It's really a funny thing though, this staying in people's driveways business.  We're guests, but we don't sleep in the house.  We're working on projects a lot of the time, so we tend to stay a bit longer than the typical guest anyhow and are in/out of the house constantly, while our hosts are going about their work and usual commitments.  It doesn't take too many days for the "company face", if there is one, to fade.  We seem to become a part of the landscape, learning how much socializing is desired, and when to stay in the camper and do our own stuff.  The balance is different at every stop.  

It takes a certain vulnerability to let us in, trust that we'll all get along, work out the best boundaries for each family, and leave before we start to get too tiresome.  It's been a huge learning curve but it's getting a bit easier I think to read the signs.  We're finding that we can't really commit in advance to arrival dates, as it puts way too big of a crimp in the feeling that we need to stay as long as it takes to be done, whatever Done is.  Whether it's finishing a project, a conversation, an outing, or simply the feeling crystalizing that it's time to Go.  It's a product of being wayfarers, but something that I didn't really understand before we started out.  

I'm struggling to find the words to describe it, but this life feels a lot like boating to me.  Nothing is ever fixed, there's always a bit of a rocking motion even if you're anchored, and progress is hard to see but there's no doubt that we're moving towards something.  I'm finding my sea legs, perhaps?  I'm seeing though that the more at home I feel somewhere, the more I get a bit antsy/wistful and feel like I need to move on before I lose my nerve.  I'm a homebody.  Yes, the camper itself is completely and entirely home, and I love it.  It's just big enough, cozy enough, and nicely portable ... and I always have my own bed!  But there is a goal at the end of all this, which involves community of some sort, and when I find a particularly delicious bit of fellowship somewhere, or a super homey home, it makes me a bit hungry to have more consistent access to things like that.  To build our own stuff, not just things for other people.

That time is coming, but it can't come until this trip is done.  And when that will be is just as vague as how long we're staying at our current stop.  (We're in Shadyside MD, by the way, in case you're wondering).  We'll know it's over when it feels like time to stop, and I trust God to make it clear to both of us.  In the meantime, we're learning more than I ever thought possible, in both heart-knowledge and building/fixing/creating skills.  People keep letting us do all kinds of fun projects, trusting us to get it done even when we don't have a portfolio that shows any real experience in that particular arena.  It kinda surprises me every time, but it's a lovely trust to have.  

Have I mentioned lately how much we truly love working together?  It's keeps getting sweeter, and just plain feels really really good when we get to.   I don't know if it has anything to do with people trusting us to get stuff done, but there's something about combining our skills and thought processes that gives us a joint confidence that's almost started to erode our ability to work separately.  Feels like a somewhat dangerous comment, but it's true.  When you get in the habit of trading responsibilities back and forth, trusting the other person to fill in your gaps, it becomes a lot more like swing dancing, and a lot less like YMCA.  The possibilities increase, as do the risks.  I wouldn't have it any other way.    

So ... back to Tim and Karen's driveway, where we ended up parked for 2 weeks.  They're both teachers now, having made a career switch nearly a decade ago when Tim was diagnosed with MS.  They have a big rambling old house that's full of charm and character and love.  Their 5th (and last) child left for college right before we arrived, but the house isn't empty as they have 3 high school exchange students living with them, two from China and one from Vietnam.  The dinner table was lively and lingering, the flow of the house harmonious, and we all completely relaxed.  

We painted a couple of rooms, landscaped, roofed, organized, porch fixed, went to church, walked Fritz, and went sight seeing.  Acadia National Park wasn't too far away, so we visited Sand Beach, Schoodic point, and Bar Harbor (once frustratingly as Google doesn't know how to get to Sand Beach), and once deliberately so we could go whale watching.  We stuffed ourselves with lobster, played ping pong, saw sperm whales, climbed rocks, played with dead jellyfish, watched piles of Star Wars, made new friends, ate real chinese food, and were loved on in countless visible and invisible ways.  

We seriously toyed with the idea of heading to NS/NFLD from Maine, but weather and finances dictated a turn south, so after we reluctantly left Tim and Karen waving in their driveway, we wandered southwest to Turner where we'd booked a week at Martin's Creek Campground for down time.  It jumped into the "best campground so far" slot on the first morning (after parking in the dark, never fun!) when Fynn and the cats and I skidded down the bank behind our site and perched on a fallen tree that spanned the creek ... only to have a great blue heron land 10' away on the end of the branch we were sitting on, stare at an utterly oblivious Edmund for a minute or two, and then launch himself off again in search of a more likely breakfast!  It was truly idyllic ... Michael managed to get a painting done, we found a local cider brewery (yum!), watched a mink plonk it's way up and down the creek bank while we were out canoeing, and soaked up sun and solitude.  It felt like we'd finished the unwinding we started in VT, and was truly healthy for us all.

Next up was Mike and Ruth Anne's place, in Brunswick Maine.  Ruth Anne and I are birds of a feather for sure, and though we'd only met in person the week before (when she came up to our campground for an afternoon) it was a delight to spend a whole week together, catching up on thoughts and experiences and life ... it felt like picking up right we we left off, even though most of our communicating had been via the web and phone up until then.  We share a past in that we both grew up in the same church group, and that gave us a tremendous amount in common.  Adding to the delight was the fact that our husbands spoke the same language, and got along famously.  

While we didn't do too much to their rental house other than a bit of winterizing, we did do a lot of hiking ... and Ruth Anne is a champion hiker!  Their son Bradley was only 7 months old, but no stranger to taking a 5 mile tromp through woods or salt marshes or over boulders, strapped to his mama.  While there was a wee bit of initial grumbling by my two boys, they were soon won over by the views, the trees, the remote beaches, and the rocks to run over or build with, depending on the size.  Fynn especially caught the bug, and asked to go again and again.  It made me wonder why we don't voluntarily hike, but we never really have, at least as a family.  Ruth Anne's enthusiasm kindled a real spark though, and the exercise was great for us all.  Maine really wormed it's way into our hearts. 

It came time to move on however, and we pulled out of our (front yard this time!) spot and got back on the road.  Temps had dropped yet again, and we were really feeling the pressure to get further south. We were heading to Massachusetts and family and friends in the vicinity of Boston next, but wanted a night to ourselves in between.  I'd reserved a spot at a nearly-deserted campground that was open for a couple more weeks, and just before we got there Matilda started making funny noises.  Increasingly funny noises.  We hit a rest area, pried her hood open, and started poking around.  Dressed up more than usual from going to church with Ruth Anne that morning, and both too short to see much in the engine without climbing half into it, we provided some amusement to the truckers we were parked next to.  Eventually suspecting the vacuum pump, we called a mechanic friend for confirmation (thanks Tim!) and limped on to the campground and a late supper.

Our one night turned into I think four, as we found a very taciturn man in a local shop who agreed to put it in, but said the part was over $400 and would take 3 days to get there.  After Amazon Prime came to the rescue with a $90 part, he agreed to put it in.  I'm not sure more than 50 words were exchanged in the entire process, including bringing the part for inspection, dropping the truck off, and picking it up.  Ayuh.  

Michael suggested a hike on the day we were waiting for the part to show up, and plotted a 2.5 mile course to a local beach.  (We didn't dare drive the truck any more than absolutely necessary.)  I packed apples and nuts and some water in a backpack, and we took off.  The sun was intermittent, and once we got off the main highway the roads were pretty.  Michael ducked off the road into an unmarked side path to go pee at one point, and came back with "You guys better come take a look at this!"

"This" was the stuff of fairy tales.  Mossy carpet for a path, ferns, dappled sunlight, and leprechauns lurking in the trees.  We took it, despite not knowing where it ended up or how much it would add to the hike.  We wound through a forest of huge old trees, a salt marsh, an apple orchard gone wild, and ended up on a crashing rock-lined beach, the same one we'd intended to get to via the road.  We left before we wanted to, as the snacks were running out, the path home was long, and the sun was setting and temps dropping.  We stopped long enough to fill the backpack with wild apples, got entirely fed up with eating said apples, and managed to get home just before dark.  An awesome day.  

The next day we had to pick up the truck, but it also happened to be our 15th anniversary.  We left the boys in the camper for a couple hours while we wandered through a huge old/rare book store that was in a converted home and super well organized, and then sat at the counter at a local restaurant for a cup of excellent chowdah.  Short but perfect.  

This trip is so full of delight and growth and pain and humor and connection and overwhelm that I have no real way to describe it.  There's a faint rhythm to it, but no real marking of days.  There are needs, there are jobs, there are realizations, there are breakdowns.  Pain seen, but not fixed.  Hearts hurting, bandaids shared.  Conversations that rip me open, others that pour in the oil and wine.   Days of physical labor and exhaustion that feel like the best workout ever, and I can't wait to wake up and do it again.  It feels like I'm truly living in a way I never have, choosing every morning what Can We Do today, and then reaching for it, together.  Sometimes actually getting it, often not.  There IS joy in the journey.  I'll take it, messy bits and all.  

Onward. 

wrenching the heart loose

I’ve tried to start this post countless times, and feel like a dog turning around trying to find the perfect position before settling down for a nap.  Haven’t found it, so just need to wade in …

Since Michael’s last post, we’ve spent 5-ish weeks in the Chicago area working for several families while staying with my parents, 2 nights camping near the Indiana Dunes, a week at Gary and Peggy’s place in Holland Michigan (building a fountain/waterfall feature in one of their gardens), one night at a rest area, one brief but glorious night in our old stomping grounds in Lackawaxen PA with friends, 2 hours in a parking lot catching up with adored old friends we hadn’t seen in over 10 years, and the last 5 days settling into our 3-week digs at a campground in Clinton CT, while Michael works in New Haven doing a Sol LeWitt install.   Whew.  That’s the framework … now to try and fill in a few of the holes!

Chicago was my home for 23 years, and it’s more familiar to me than almost anywhere.  Faces, streets, names, the exact speed at which you can turn left onto 2nd Avenue, where mom keeps her measuring cups, and the back of Helen Maurer’s head on Sunday morning … all pretty much unchanged.  Some folks still steady as a rock, and some wearing at the edges, as you’d expect.  We moved away 14 years ago, and despite the quick visits here and there, I didn’t feel much of the more subtle changes going on.  Until this trip.  Five weeks is long enough to be less guest, and more resident.  Less hurry, more soaking up the minutes and feeling like they didn’t need to be squeezed quite as tightly. 

Except the longer we were there, the more I felt like they did.  The more I realized what needed to be done, and how big the changes were … both what had happened quietly over time, and what was cropping up on the horizon.  The thing is, (so very sorry Dad but I’m about to ruin your ability to share this post with Mom), my mom has Alzheimers*.   She’s had the visible signs for several years now, and things are progressing pretty much as expected.  And what is now, and what’s expected, sucks in many many ways.  She’s still independent and drives to familiar places, but that window will close before too terribly long, and her sense of time is irreconcilably twisted.  She’s lost many of the abilities that have defined her character for most of her life … like being able to run an ever-changing house full of guests, feed crowds on a moment’s notice, finish the crossword puzzle for you when you get stuck, and remember to send dozens of birthday cards every month.

The tide is eating away the definition of who she’s always been, and her edges are getting soft.  The guilt is gone, her worry (about everything except time) is gone, and her epic sense of responsibility is eroded down to a nubbin.  It makes me bawl, and I want to build her back up.  Now.  Put her back together, find the pieces and stitch them into something familiar.  Push up against the beautiful castle that’s always been my Mom, and I can’t.  I have to take her hand, hold her heart, and listen for what she’s saying in between the lines.  Which I can still (now at least) see in her eyes some of the time.  

There is beauty there, achingly lovely beauty, in seeing her happy, mostly content, and depending entirely on Dad and God.  Her pleasures are simple … Reminisce magazines, going to meeting, being with Dad, watching her loved ones interact and chiming in sometimes, food in general (and more specifically yogurt before bed), and feeling useful.  She is still my Mom.  But she’s fading.  It’s a maddening thing to feel, and while Dad is accepting it completely, and slowly trading roles with her, it’s a heartbreaking dance to watch. 

So I spent a lot of time cleaning cupboards, organizing the garage and shed, making lists and calls and suggestions for the future, and furthering the work that some others had already started.  This was all woven into the things that Dad had asked to be done, but made it hard to be fully focused on the named projects, when the needs and soon-to-be-needs became so apparent.  I did what was foremost in my mind and heart most of the time, and that sometimes left Michael and the boys waiting patiently because I decided that the rest of the garage just HAD to be sorted before we left for Home Depot. 

Which brings me to a side note … we appear to be collecting loyalty cards at an almost alarming rate.  Might as well sign up if we’re going to be in and out of the local grocery/drugstore/building supply place repeatedly, and the default choices change often.  I’m also becoming rather opinionated as to who’s got the smartest layout, most knowledgeable staff, and best selection … I’ll take a True Value or Ace Hardware any day over the bigger places, if I have a problem to solve and don’t happen to need stone or lumber or pond forms.  And the fact that we all equally love going in such places is a huge bonus … just look at all the possibilities!  Power tools, new kinds of spack, funny odd little tubes and connectors, carts to ride, shelves to climb, aisles to run in, camper gadgets to check out, and Weapons of all sorts!  This is becoming a rabbit hole more than a side note …

So we built some things in Chicago, fixed some things, organized stuff, and cut down a lot of trees, and hauled a lot of things.  My folks had some landscaping to do … leftover dirt from a sewer pipe fix last year that needed moving, grass to plant, rampant groundcover to tame, mulch to spread, and an “oh there’s a pond next to the foundation!” moment after some heavy rain that resulted in some back-breaking work.  After several days of rain, we took the first dryish day and went to a building site that was offering free clay fill, and slipped and slid our way around a massive mound of clay trying to “shovel” it into the back of the truck.  Hah!  Nothing like doing the dig and twist/heave/grunt that launches what’s on your shovel far enough to land it in the back of the truck (while attempting not to slide backwards down the mound), and have every last bit of the load stay firmly attached to the shovel.  Pitchforks helped a bit, and Michael’s crazy determination basically finished the job. 

Have I mentioned how much we’re enjoying working together?  I was asked a few days ago what the best part about this trip was for me, and the first thing that popped into my head was working with Michael.  There’s something utterly delightful about working shoulder to shoulder, taking turns doing the what-do-you-need-next dance, and tackling rafter angle problems with Google (me) and analog methods (Michael) and arriving simultaneously at the same answer.  Building stuff is lovely.  Problem solving is actually fun when it’s done together.  It gets a little hairy when the boys join in, but honestly their ideas are very helpful in most cases, and sometimes downright brilliant.  Their work habits are slowly improving too, and their abilities.  Douglas has shot up in the last few months, and (shhh) appears to have just nudged past Michael in height.  He’s all leg and angles and falling hair, but has enough oomph now to truly make a difference in the hard stuff … as long as I keep him fed.  Which is more challenging that it looks, as his favorite foods are all carb based, but I’m learning to read both boys’ moods as if they have their blood sugar level tattooed on their foreheads, and so find myself buying snacks constantly. 

After the bulk of the stuff at my folks was taken care of, we moved on to Jon and Kara’s place, though we kept the camper parked in my parents’ side yard.  Jon had a summer to-do-list that included some fun stuff for me on it (outlet and fixture swaps and some rearranging of wires), a bit of yard work, and some caulking and vent work … nothing too major.  The boys came along, and were more reluctant to assist than usual as their place is a kid/teen paradise when it comes to games, toys, and entertainment options.  A lot of my work was in the basement rec room/bar area, and I had more trouble than usual keeping them at the ready.  Douglas managed to be a big help in getting the wires rearranged though, drawing me a most lovely diagram to keep it all straight. 

We stayed over one night after getting their work done, and had the most delightful and decadent Saturday morning I can remember in a very long time.  Grilled breakfast (yes those piles of bacon arejust as big as they look!) and enough laughter and conversation to take my mind completely off the pain of things at my folks for a bit, and pour in some healing salve.  Complete and utter delight, and hard to leave.  Oh, and did I mention Jon is Tina’s sister, of the Ken and Tina chapter?  Yup, we go just as far back with them too.   Deep roots, a lot of water, and a lot of laughs.  Thanks you two!

The last main project in the area was the biggest one … building a cupola, complete with bell and weather vane, on John and Olive Kaiser’s garage … but that will have to be its own post I think.  It was hot, fun, a lovely learning curve, and interspersed with therapeutic bouts of chain sawing down a pile of junk trees and clearing out overgrown brush.  Though I’ve known John and Olive almost my whole life, spending a week in and out of their home (and on their roof) I learned to appreciate them both a lot more.  Several of their kids have spent countless hours in my home and heart over the last 20 years, but in all my interactions I’d never spent much time with their parents.  It was a treat.

There’s something about being folded into other people’s households that’s starting to be a very interesting part of this trip.  We’re working for folks, but we’re kind of guests too, but not entirely … there’s no defining it neatly.   We’ve started to call the work we’re doing Busking, as in the play-your-guitar and open-the-case-at-your-feet scenario.  We ask that supplies be covered (if possible) and beyond that, there are no expectations of payment.  No fees, no hourly rates, no bills.  We do it because we love to, and if we’re paid something more than the supplies cost, that’s lovely, and if we’re not, that’s equally lovely.  Expectations seem to be a killer in many arenas, and this is one of them.  What we do expect is to work hard, finish projects well, and enjoy most of the process.  We expect to have some meals together, get to know you better, and find out what makes you tick.  We expect to get filthy, learn a heck of a lot, and probably take a little longer than we originally estimated.  (We both suck at estimating, period.)  I’m learning to expect problems to crop up, boys to need breaks, and us all to need downtime between cities. 

Speaking of breaks, we did have a few lovely ones while in Chicago.  We took the boys to the Bristol Renaissance Faire for Fynn’s birthday, where he rather obsessively hunted for weapons to buy … he’s working on a post about it so I’ll leave the details to him!  We also were invited to several delicious barbecues, loaned (and given!) stacks of books for Douglas to devour (thanks Sue!), taken to awesome fireworks, found kindred spirits for our boys to hang out with, haunted Starbucks, were treated to dinner by Mom and Dad many times, shipped the boys off with the lovely Su for a day, and to my brother’s family for couple other days (thanks Rene!).  I also snuck away for a couple evenings with friends, catching up after way too long, but picking up right where we left off. 

We ended up staying an extra day longer than our (already revised) plan, and took the boys to the Museum of Science and Industry, which delighted me just as much as it did 30 years ago when I first went.  Michael spent a crazy long time in one of the stairwells, where a little exhibit of working gears (that likely was already there 30 years ago) gave him a bunch of ideas for his birdwing project.

Every evening we could stay home was spent curled up on the couch in my parent’s living room, reminiscing over popsicles and yogurt, and staying up past everyone’s bedtime to the point that one night Mom and I ended up in giggle fits over the retelling of some trip debacle that happened in Bolivia when I was a kid, involving well-filled airsick bags and crabby customs officials … the memories are golden, and the sharing of them at this point even sweeter.  I’ll suck the marrow out of every evening that I can, and even when I’m not there physically, a part of my heart is still parked in that living room, waiting for the turn of a page, the delight of a comment or shared glance, and the chance to say “Goodnight Mom, I love you.”

* ps … please respect that if you know my Mom personally, at Dad’s request she’s never been told her diagnosis, and he wishes it to remain that way. 

Keren & Bobby

When we first arrived at Keren and Bobby’s, I expected to only be in their home for a few weeks, and thought I knew them both pretty well.  My relationship to Keren goes waaaay back, and Bobby’s as easygoing as they come, so that despite the fact that I only met him about 6 years ago, it feels Iike I’ve known him forever.   As our visit progressed, I was proved very wrong on all counts.

When you move into someone’s home for something longer than a week, it takes a tremendous amount of graciousness on their part, and a lot of compromise on both sides.  When you have two active boys, (and your hosts are not parents themselves) it adds a whole other level of compromise and blending of ways.  Looking back, I can’t imagine a better testing ground for what it’s like to invade someone’s space for a period of time, and coming out the other side actually loving each other more, rather than less.  I think we got spoiled this time around.

Keren’s an idea factory, amongst other things.  She’s creative, energetic, organized, and a tireless worker.  She has big ideas, and knows how to nudge/inspire/motivate/corral a group into participating in an event, having a marvelous time in the process.  She’s got chutzpa, heart, a very very underrated opinion of herself, and determination in spades.  She’s gold, through and through.  I knew her persona as larger than life, and had a good glimpse of her heart before this, but living in her home for 5+ months showed me sides of her personality that I’d never really understood well before.  We talked over many trips to Starbucks, and many late night porch sessions, and I got to know the woman underneath the red-headed yellow swallowtail butterfly that most of the world gets to meet.  It was an honor.

Bobby, gracious, fun-loving, heart-of-gold Bobby … would give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it … and basically did just that for us.  When we arrived, we slid into the driveway with our camper, a small fridge full of half-empty condiment jars, some warm leftovers, and a couple hundred bucks in our bank account.  Not exactly the means to support ourselves, provide our share of food, and contribute to household expenses in general.  Bobby wasn’t fazed at all, at least on the surface.  He opened his home, his heart, and his own strained-to-the-max bank account, because this is what you do for family.  For someone in need.  You take care of folks.

I know it was really hard on him because we arrived at a time when the new house was under gradual as-money-allows renovation, and we brought a tornado of projects and paper and mess otherwise known as Fynn.  For someone formerly known as a gracious host-with-the-most, bare floors and patched walls were really hard for him to ignore.  He felt like he couldn’t give us what he wanted to, treating us to local events and restaurants and a richly-stocked fridge.   Their situation just wasn’t there at that point in time.  So we wallowed a bit, together.  Took stock of what we had, and what we could do with it.  Made cool dining room floors out of porch paint and stencils and leftover primer.  Threw parties with what we had.   Held contests using makeup and fabric scraps.  Built woodboxes out of scavenged lumber.  Talked a lot.  Played a lot of board games.  Made family dinner an event, every single night, even when 5 nights of the week were some form of chicken.  Evolved the may-I-please-be-excused thing into a whole ritual of trivia questions and answers and eventually, sign language conversations. 

We also railed a bit, bemoaned, struggled, and fought the circumstances we were in.  Felt oppressed.  Wondered why the jobs weren’t paying much (for any of us), and why we were in this leaky boat, together.  We learned to talk through it.  Pray about it.  Confront it head-on, rather than sideways.  We all got a rather forced look at what it was like to live together, work together, communicate effectively together, and, yes, parent a bit together.  My boys learned more manners at the hand of Keren and Bobby than I thought possible.  Lovingly, firmly, and consistently.  We grew into a functional unit that knew when and how to work together, and when to separate for a time when we needed space.   We learned how much our emotions affected each other, and it gave me some new tools for labeling and confronting those pesky elephants. 

So back to Bobby … for someone way out of his usual comfort zone, and in a rather distressingly difficulty phase of his life … he came through amazingly well.   With a few realizations of his own, I think.  He learned to turn a blind eye to chaos, to take space when he needed, and to give till it truly hurt.  And never ever once begrudged it.   No measuring stick was hauled out, to determine what they might have been able to afford were we not living there.   No calculations or regrets.   Just love, piles of love, and a flood of it following us down the street when we pulled away.  From both of them.  Tears, big hearts, and big dreams … intertwined in a way I never thought possible.  Knowing what I know now, I have every expectation that the next time we spend time together, the roots will go deeper, and the hearts even tighter.  It’s a friendship that’s not found its limits, nor do I ever expect it to.  It’s just a very beautiful thing, which keeps growing the more it’s worked on. 

(xoxoxo you two)

B

loosening the Knox

the days are getting bittersweet, and my stomach is spending most of its time in slight turmoil.  yup, it’s the leaving thing.  happens every time, and every single time i’m caught by surprise.  the roots are deeper, the connections are stronger than i ever planned on.  as if relationships can be planned, hah!  they're a treat, a gift, a lovely beautiful messy thing that makes every day richer and every leaving harder.  i wouldn't have it any other way.  

we've been on this trip for 154 days, and 152 of them have been spent here in knoxville.  never ever thought it would be this long, but my initial thought of 2-3 weeks looks utterly laughable from my current vantage point.  expectations ... the death of me, of many relationships, of mindfulness, of joy in the moment.  (i know there's a flip side to all that, just not going there right now)  

i think it's fair to expect joy and love and happiness on this trip, as long as i also expect pain and growth and delays and arguments and meltdowns and detours, and the occasional real drama.  they come intertwined, sometimes within the same split second.  that deep breath where you're steadying your mind because your heart just exploded and you're not sure where the pieces are.  epiphanies, he-just-died calls, births, i do's, breakups, you name it ... any single moment in which you know everything just shifted, irrevocably, in one direction or another.  

i love those moments.  yes, all of them.  the moments (days, months, even years) that follow?  often they're the worst.  but in those single fleeting bits of time, every single one of them, i feel incredibly painfully amazingly alive.  my heart just took a hit, good or bad, and i KNOW it's there and working and oh so very present.  

this doesn't mean i look for those things, or revel in them if they're sad, but i do measure time by them.  measure life, measure it's depth and breadth and reality and meaning, and find that no matter what the experience, it leaves its mark, its touchstone, and i value every one of them.  they're part of who i am.  my collection, whether harvested deliberately, or tossed in without my choice.  mine.

i had no idea before knoxville that my heart had holes shaped like Marie, Sam, Carpenter, and Auzlo.  like Starbucks every week.  like loving Keren even more like a sister than i already did. like watching for Timmo and Natalie walking Piper and Rider every night (and hoping they'd stop).  like Mikey passing away in Bobby's arms and my arms not being long enough to hug them both at once, or ease the pain of losing his crazy furry companion of 15 years.  of a comfortable answer to the unnammed question "could you live near and work side-by-side with Keren and Bobby at some point in the future?" (that's a yes ...)

there are tracks worn in my heart also, from endless circlings and wanderings and designings and communicatings back and forth and back and forth ... how exactly do we hope to fund this trip?  (and how are we going to pay the debts we accidentally dragged along with us?)  assuming that the work wherever/however/for-whomever-we-can thing was the heart of it all (whether they could pay or or not), but likely too limiting if we expected it to fund the whole shebang.  wanting a bit of steady income, enough to cover our fixed expenses at least, to make it possible to take on jobs wherever, rather than feeling like we had to stick to paying ones.  

so the merry-go-round began ... newsletter subscriptions!  family-drawing-based art lessons, by e-book and youtube!  youtube-only "artLOOSE" videos, documenting all kinds of creative projects and asking for patronage/donations from viewers!

the tracks became messy, convoluted, and daunting.  and very very distracting.  every single idea fun on some level, or even many levels, but very time consuming on a monthly basis, even once we got them up and running.  things that would pull our hearts in so many directions, at least for now, that we couldn't see our way clear to do what was right in front of us.  floors that need painting here, decks that need shored up, stuff that needs organized and trimmed and chopped down.  FUN things!  

and michael and i were holed up writing business plans, trying to learn video editing, struggling with words and assumptions and guesses as to who and how to ask for what, and then guiltily emerging from the think-tank to involve the boys by trying to create logos as a family, or something equally strained or awkward.  trying too hard, all of it.  not to be confused with working, or the willingness to work, but trying too hard to figure out exactly who our audience is, and what we'll have time to do on the road, and how it will all fit in and around the projects that we're doing for other folks.  

the other morning those tracks all became very visible to me, in one big ugly pile, and i felt the weight of them all at once.  this was all just backwards.  GO.  DO.  STUFF.  NOW.  and the way will become a bit clearer.  we'll get vaguely in the swing of things, we'll find out how much we can really work creativity in and around what we do, and discover how much time we can spend working before we need to go away and look at nature and monuments and sunsets for a bit.  take time alone, to recharge.  i strongly suspect that somewhere down the road, a spinoff project or idea that we can sell on the side will surface, and we'll jump on it then.  not try to imagine (from keren and bobby's porch) what IT is, and what folks want, and promise to serve it up on a fancy platter once a month.  from a dicey laptop, via public wifi, using video and audio from an android phone.  not impossible at all, but not smooth sailing either.  

i felt a big sigh of relief in my heart after that realization, and the healing of something that had been dividing me.  and also a renewed level of queasiness in the "trust and faith" department, as to how the finances will work out.  as to the likelihood that we'll be asking directly for help sometimes, from humanity at large.  for donations for our living expenses, or for supplies for projects ... which i should have done already because we're leaving several things undone here, because the money isn't available right now for deck lumber and flooring and stuff like that.  

that said, there's great fun to be had in doing things with free/minimal supplies (cool dining room floor, yes?!)  but it often requires a lot more time, thought, and planning than it would if the materials were available.  it does inspire creativity though!  i'd dearly love to get to a point where we had a separate Supplies Fund that could be tapped into when we find a need, and have the time and resources, but no money for the materials.  we've talked a lot about putting out a call for sponsorship when we find a project that needs it, but the timing is an issue.  not wanting to run a kickstarter campaign for something that needs to start tomorrow, or preferably today.  (the wheels are turning fast, and you might be hearing more on that in the next day or two ... and thoughts welcome!)

i might as well say too that we're currently about 700 short on what we need to get out of here next week, to cover tax and registration on the trailer and a couple smaller bills.  hoping this weekend's jaunt to Market Square will net Michael more than last weekend's portrait drawing session, which should help somewhat. (he's working on a blog post all about drawing in the square, btw)

as i wrap this up, Fynn is off spending his last hour or two with his new BFF, who leaves tomorrow early, and won't be back until after we pull out next week.  he is going to need some tlc for the next few days i think, as well as access to my phone more often than in the past.  i have some goodbyes to say too, which i don't want to.  i never expected the richness of the connections we've made here, and have to say it's a very awesome pile of gifts to come from our very first stop, and truly worth every minute we've spent here.  it helps give me courage to step out and move on again, and to hope that we're leaving behind a bit of ourselves in return for what we've gained.  

onward. 

Chalk Softly

Things take time here in Knoxville, so I wasn’t surprised it took Event Services four days to call me back.  Lorraine, with whom I spoke, seemed somewhat taken aback when I answered.  This, upon reflection, was because the voice mail I had left was in my best southern drawl, very unlike the one speaking with her.  She told me no, I could not sell my portraits in Market Square downtown, but I could draw for donations, in which case I would be considered a “busker” and would not need a permit.  Buskers are welcome anywhere there is not an Event so long as foot traffic is unimpeded.  “It’s strange,” she said “we don’t have ANY portrait artists.”

“Maybe,” I suggested, “Artists don’t like to give their work away for free.”  This was not MY feeling, however, I was stoked.  The police, who directed me to Event Services, had led me to believe I wouldn’t be able to draw at all.  Drawing for donations is something I love.  It relieves the pressure of meeting expectations and places the value judgment of your artwork in the hands of your subject and their conscience.  You never know what you’re going to get, but what you get is always genuine.  And getting anything sure beats nothing.

The next day we packed a lunch, piled in the truck, and headed downtown for the Chalk Walk at Market Square.  We had been to a Chalk Walk in Raleigh, NC about a year ago and loved it.  This would be a great way to scope the ropes for setting up while enjoying a gorgeous day out looking at art. 

The sky was blue.  The dogwoods were blooming.  We had enough diesel to get there and back.  The shoestrings we ate for breakfast were sitting well.  We found the free parking garage and just as we were getting out of the truck, Bethany says “OH NO!”  She’s staring at her phone.

“What is it!?” the boys and I say in unison.

“They’re trying to take the storage fee out of the wrong bank account; the SAME ONE that bounced it four days ago!”  This was Bad News.  Bethany puts so much time and care into juggling our four accounts that something going wrong is nearly unimaginable.  Going wrong twice is a show-stopper.  It was that stomach-dropping horror when a deer leaps out and you can’t stop the car.  Time slowed down.  I tried to breathe in the green spring air, but it was sallow and thick with despair. Chalk Walk would be the funeral procession of our happiness.

Bethany was seething hot angry tears, staring at her phone and stamping her foot some fifteen feet away.  Douglas and I stared at each other wide-eyed and frozen until Fynn, blithely unaware that the world was ending, began asking trivial questions.  “What’s that pipe for?  How tall do you think most High Top vehicles are?  We’re a High Top, right, because we parked in the High Top parking?”

We both turned to Fynn.  “Fynn, no.  This isn’t a good time to-“   THUMP!  Bethany was beside us again slapping the truck.  Matilda took it.

“There’s NOTHING we can do!  I BEGGED and got the fee waived LAST time.  They’re not going to wave it AGAIN!  I don’t even know WHY PayPal took it out of this account.  I RESET the defaults!  There’s NO STINKING WAY we can afford this!”

From some remote place, I heard my voice saying “I think we need to call the banks Right Now and see if there’s ANYthing to be done.  We’ll never enjoy this day unless we do.”

“Yeah. OK.” Bethany said, knowing she would be the one making the call, “But first we find a bench and we eat.”  We headed out of the garage in silence.  We made it half a block.

“Hey, Mom?”

“What, Fynn.”  Steel and Ice.

“Why does that sign say-“

“Fynn.”  I interrupted, “Don’t talk to Mom right now.  Walk with me."  We trudged uphill toward Market Square, the bright sunlight dimly penetrating our dark cloud.  I strode ahead, forcing Fynn to trot, as I quietly answered his continuous stream of questions.  I saw grass between buildings ahead.

“Why are we crossing the street?”

“Because there will be benches.” I pointed.  And there were.  We sat.  We prayed.  Bethany called PayPal.  We ate.  Bethany called Citibank.  I kept the boys occupied.  The grassy area was a nice little spot lined with benches, trees, and a few sculptures.  It just happened to be the one my sister had told me would be perfect for drawing portraits in.  Through the trees we could see people milling about the Chalk Walk.  After half an hour, Bethany resurfaced, triumphant.

“I didn’t realize that PayPal has a separate account for debits which is how storage is paid and that comes straight out of Citibank not 360 or TVA and the guy at Citi waived the fee but said this was the last time as long as we get the money in there by Tuesday which gives us three days but of course PayPal may have already taken out a fee and storage will likely slap us with a bounced check fee which means we’ll need to find 40 more from SOMEwhere to put in but for now the disaster won’t snowball, thank you God!”

Yes.  And thank you Bethany.  The sun was out.

Years ago, when we would hit hard times in Brooklyn, I would tell Bethany that she was overreacting.  These were merely circumstances.  Anger wasn’t going to fix anything.  This did a lot of good.  Like gasoline to fire.  The smoldering cloud of gloom would last for days, weeks, even months, and I would do anything to get away.  Hide.  I wasn’t going to let my Don’t-Worry-be-Happy get sucked into that vortex, so I would go to my studio or crawl in a bottle leaving her alone with the anger and despair.  It took me far too long to realize these were her Feelings, not enemies, and she needed me there feeling her feel her Feelings.  Not cringing or judging or attacking, just being there.

It’s hard.  It’s suffocating.  But, man, has it changed things.  I’ve learned that her anger was not because I’d saddled her with the financial responsibility but because the financial situation had gotten out of her control and there was nothing she could do about it.  “Ohhh…” you say, nodding sagely, “she’s got Control Issues …”  Shut Up.  She’s damn good at what she does and she already knows what her issues are.  I’ve also learned that what I thought was despair over our circumstances was despair that I would be remote and Absent.  Again.  That’s heart-rending.  But now I’m getting an inkling of where this could go.  The cords I’m not severing from my heart to hers go both ways, and the commitment I thought I was lacking from Bethany is now pouring into my heart through those same cords.  So, if she’s angry, I’m going to be there for every terrifying minute of it.

The Chalk Walk was a lot of chalk drawings, the more of which you looked at, the more you wanted to do one yourself.  At least that’s how Fynn and I were affected.  I really liked the shark one. 

This lady won last year …

This one was done by a grade-schooler ...

This girl did beautiful work. I don't know if she ever finished.

Beer on the moon!  This one looked even better once the sky was black, and full of stars.

Halfway through, Fynn pointed out the free-for-all section in the central plaza.  Lots of kids were drawing.  He began asking to go and draw about every three minutes.  “Let’s just look at everything first, and then we’ll see,” Bethany or I would respond.  As we were hot and the crowds were wearing down our patience, we moved through the second half faster and faster.

A table on the edge of the free-for-all area was selling t-shirts and boxes of chalk.  They also had a box of leftover chalks from those who had finished their drawings.  It wasn’t clear if these were for sale or free for the using, so we sent Fynn to ask, figuring he had the best chance of charming free ones from the lady.  Fynn returned with three chalks; white, lavender, and yellow.  “Dad, are you coming?”  Of course I was.

Douglas and Bethany chose to relax in the shade while Fynn and I found a spot he could draw.  “Dad, are you drawing?”  He asked hopefully.

“Well, are these all the colors you could get?”  Yellow, white, and lavender is a very limited palette, especially drawing with chalk.

“No, there’s a whole bunch in the box.”  Bless him.  He was only being polite, taking three.

“I’ll be back,” I said, and went and picked out one of every color I could find. 

We had fun.

View fullsize

View fullsize

Right before we left, the UT physics club had set up a table of things they had drug out of the lab and were doing demonstrations and soliciting donations.  What a bunch of geeks!  Douglas fell right to talking with them as if he wasn’t introverted at all, and Fynn nearly dove head first into the bowl of liquid nitrogen. They geeked hard for 15 minutes and even made donations from their own wallets as we left.  I looked around.  Tomorrow I would come back and I would work for donations.

Douglas pointed out in the truck that Fynn’s knife was the most potentially violent drawing in the whole Chalk Walk.  “At least there wasn’t blood on it,” I said, “Though the drawing of Galactus showed him destroying the earth.”

“Even that,” Bethany said, “didn’t evoke the same kind of danger.  There was a gentleness to everything there.”

“Yeah.” I said.  “It crossed my mind to have him draw some chopped carrots."

Wings in Spring and Springy Wings

I hate to admit it, but we’re stuck.  I’m reminded of my graduation ceremony.  We had a fairly large high school and could afford to rent a flock of doves to be released as the symbol of the graduate’s flight into the Real World.  The time came when we all sat, diplomas in hand, and the string was pulled.  The cover slid off the cage and the flock burst up into the sky in a glorious cloud, circling once over our heads as if to include us in their new-found freedom.  The band struck up a triumphant tune and the cloud winged a bee-line to the end of the football field and roosted in the boughs of a large maple tree.

And after our caps were cast, our classmates clasped, the tubas entombed, and our robes removed, we walked to our cars looking back at those birds, like Poe’s raven, tenaciously grasping their branches of maple, unmoving.

Our current circumstances place us firmly in the roosting class.  We’ve come to the end of our funds before achieving complete mobility.  Our numerous trickle-income schemes take time to produce, and our local employment search has, to date, yielded leads but no fruit.  Our Hosts, though ever so kind, have been in a similar boat since before we arrived.  There are four main obstacles to getting out alive.  The first is registering and paying taxes on the camper, the next is repairs for Matilda (a new alternator and shock bushings), the third is buying food to eat and fourth is gas to go.  There are a lot of other bills and needs but those 4 things will get us to the next paying job.  And so I am casting the net further afield. 

We have somewhat to offer from a distance.  I will draw black and white portraits from photos for $25 a person, oil pastel portraits (color) for $75 a person, and painted portraits for $300 a person (you know Mother’s Day IS coming soon).  Bethany is awesome at making websites and editing stuff.  Any other commissions or ideas are very welcome. 

The spring peepers are just emerging here in Tennessee as winter’s last hurrah echoes in the hills.  We may be immobile but our spirits soar like kites in this warm March wind.  Douglas turned 13 and had a flying dream last night.  The crocuses and chives are pushing up and I’ve reached 50 rotary pushups in the morning.  Fynn and I are practicing the boogie-woogie on guitar + cello and he’s found a neighborhood homeschooling friend 13 hours younger than him. 

Our family exercises are improving and I swear Bethany is looking younger.  Douglas’s venus fly trap is sprouting flowers and his upper lip is sprouting black velvet.  We’re finding ways to work on Keren and Bobby’s house with what resources are available and I’m very pleased to discover a hair dryer and patience removes the decals from the camper.  Those trickle-income schemes I mentioned are growing into something tangible, maybe something even practical.  How do you feel about online Art Lessons geared around the Family Drawing model? Well, they’re coming!

All our dreams are intact and undiminished, the culmination of which is … What?  No, we're not going to stop with just a mountainside cob village!  There must be BIRDWINGS!  Human Powered, 35-foot, High Tension, Flapping Birdwings!   Of course, we’ll need a mountainside to take off from and as they say – “It takes a village to raise a child … on BIRDWINGS!”

“Sure,” you say, “That’s a nice juvenile fantasy, but it’s been tried and proven impossible.  Man does not possess the muscle strength nor the lightness of bone structure to sustain flight with wings.  Why, his pectoral muscles alone would need to be the size of car tires and even then he’d do no better than a turkey.”

“Yes,“  I answer, “but consider this: what size of -”

“Also,” you interrupt, “Leonardo DaVinci tried it with leg power and it still wasn’t enough.  And if he couldn’t do it, do you really think you’re going to be able to?”

“Well, actually, my design incorporates the use of –“

“Plus,”  you continue, “Science has come such a long way since DaVinci that surely SOMEbody would have found a way by now.”

I am silent now, biting my tongue, which tastes bitter.  I stare awhile at your implacable cat-that-ate-the-canary smile then open my mouth …

“Actually,” you say, ”I saw this YouTube video where a Dutch guy made a pair of wings with flapping motors controlled by Nintendo Wii paddles that amplified his arm movements.  He had one video of him flying with it, but a lot of experts said the whole thing was a hoax.”

“Aaaaaaaargh!!” I say.

“What?” you ask.

“Those wings, even if they ARE real, are NOT human powered, they’re human controlled!  Flapping wings HAVE to be mechanical, NOT motorized!”

“Why?”

“Because everyone says it’s impossible!”  I seem to be shouting a lot.

“But …” you seem genuinely puzzled, “It IS impossible.”

“Not if” I have my head in my hands, “You make the wings large enough to render the person’s weight negligible or even complementary to a balanced system of tension. “ I say quietly.

“How big would that be?”

“About 35 feet, is my guess.”

“How on Earth,”  you demand,  ”are you going to Flap wings that big?!”

“That’s where the tension comes in,”` I brighten, “In my design, force is only applied at the top of the stroke and the bottom of the stroke and tension does the rest of the work.  Imagine holding a 3-foot tightly coiled spring horizontally by the center.”

“OK,” You are imagining.

“OK. When you move your arm up and down, what happens?”

“The spring bends and my skin gets pinched in the coils.”

“Ok, ok.  Imagine it’s a thin 8-foot dowel of wood.  What happens?”

“Hmm …” you muse.  “The ends begin bouncing up and down.”

“Exactly!”  I’m getting excited now, “And if you keep a steady rhythm you only have to move an increment at the top and bottom of the stroke and the bouncing ends flap harder and harder.  The tension of the bent stick stores the energy expended and uses it in the opposite stroke!”

“My imaginary stick just snapped in half,” you lament.

“Very Funny” I say dryly.  “Now watch this video on YouTube to see what I’m doing with this principle.  I’ve not gotten far, but it’s a good start.”

“Ok,” you say, and you do.

“This,” I say when you return, “Is my dream hatching!”

“You’re going to need feathers,” you reply…

Of Elephants and Snails: Exercising Patience

When we first got to Keren and Bobby’s we found a book on the coffee table called The Fountain of Youth.  It describes 5 exercises which if practiced daily lead to looking younger and feeling great.  It’s filled with stories of ancient monks dancing up mountains carrying gigantic burdens, and as the exercises seemed rather simple, I suggested we incorporate them into our morning routine.  This has been good.  As a family we’ve never exercised together and it’s become a very wholesome part of the morning.  I haven’t noticed anyone looking any younger yet, but then, it’s only been a little more than 2 months.

Heart #1

Heart #2

Heart #3

Heart #4

We’ve also been doing a drawing exercise which I’m hoping will yield some t-shirt designs as we perfect the process.  We each start with a piece of paper and a common theme.  A timer is set and we draw the theme’s object.  When the timer goes off we pass the paper, reset the timer and draw the ground (or perhaps neighboring bodies if the object is floating in space.)  Again we pass and draw the atmosphere (sky, clouds, nebulas etc.)  On the last pass we color and voila! we have four drawings!  We’ve learned quickly to outlaw military equipment, lasers, and explosions.  My favorite theme so far was drawing each other with the last pass being a self portrait.  I’d love to get your opinion on these!

map #1

Map #2

Portraits #1

Portraits #2

Sun #1

Sun #2

We’ve started putting designs on a t-shirt website called REDBUBBLE.  This site is awesome.  I’ve had an account with CafePress for years and never made it public because of its labor-intensive unmanageability.  REDBUBBLE is a comparative dream to operate.  You absolutely HAVE to check out the vinyl stickers!

Selling t-shirts has been a pet-idea of ours from the get-go.  A way to generate income while on the road that does not require continuous production.  This is perhaps the materializing tail of one of the nebulous elephants Bethany alluded to in a previous post.  This elephant is composed of half-formed art-based money-making schemes.  Each, if implemented, might bring in a trickle of income but nothing substantial enough to sustain us until heartLOOSE gains more momentum.  The other elephant wants to ditch the pie-in-the-sky dreams and find a local job. 

Suffice to say, these elephants are not eager to hear each other’s opinions and spend most of their time back to back in the living room pretending the other doesn’t exist.  They won’t even join in our morning exercises!

Thankfully, the more we exercise, the less their sighs and harrumphs disturb us.  Soon we will be dancing up mountains with them on our shoulders, whether they like it or not!  If it seems like we’re moving at a snail’s pace, rest assured that it’s a diesel powered turbo snail.