Sketching a Twisty Path on the Globe

Even though I found myself nostalgic for last year’s Sitka celebration with my patients saran-wrapped in ponchos throwing candy into mud puddles, this year’s 4^thcelebration was definitely All-American.  I began by mustering my greatest patriotic spirit and having a group of my little old ladies make flag-inspired sugar cookies.  However, I may have selected my decorator unwisely as she admitted to being legally blind and squirted icing all over the counter, her hands, the tray–everywhere but on the cookies.   Later last night I headed downtown as recommended for the annual “Mayor’s 4^th of July Celebration” on the Arkansas River:

• Hundreds of free fans fluttering, more to shoo away flies than keep cool
• Mr. Cabbagehead and the Screaming Radishes—jazzy produce
• Plates heaped with burgers, hot dogs….  A man stopped me to ask for help opening a mayonnaise packet since his fingers were too slippery from the first 7
• Grasshoppers tapping on shoulders
• Local orchestra playing Stars and Stripes Forever while all little people involuntarily and uncontrollably began bouncing and rolling in the grass

The fireworks display surprised everyone who had strategically positioned their chairs facing the river by shooting off far behind the park, likely shoved off course by the pushy Arkansas River.  It was a glittery and sparkly show, but lacked what cues most people to go home—a grand finale.  Finally after a period of dark and silence, a Radish, the mayor or some other perceptive soul grabbed the mic to say, “Um, What a Great Display!  Thanks for Coming!” and everyone obligingly packed up.  Once I got home, I found the lost finale:  the culmination of a week-long pyromaniac festival on my street. (Maybe a lawless perk of straddling the border in this area cleverly called “Arklahoma”)  

Whatever bun-filled meals filled your belly, flames fed your eyes, and music tapped your toes, hope you had a Happy 4^thof July!     

“Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it.”  Mark Twain

They say it takes losing something to realize what you’ve lost, to appreciate it.  Well, I am thrilled that after the scare of not getting a license, not having this job, I get to keep Ft. Smith.  In the beginning, it was “that 8 weeks in Arkansas I just have to put up with,” just a situation to close my eyes and stomp through as quickly as possible.  Well, after thinking last week that I wouldn’t have a job this summer, no money to save, no way to pay mortgages, no way to have moving costs for New Zealand, Ft. Smith is suddenly the lottery. 

The flies, smells, noises, heat, humidity, and lack of Thai food are really all tolerable now.  There’s always that great coffee shop by the park (frozen mochas! free wireless!), the shady running trail with a gate that graciously eats the guilt of not running longer, oh, and the cheapest gas in 3 states.  Maybe thanks to the Arkansas-born founder, there’s a Wal-mart on nearly every street, and these enthusiastic locals are so patriotic they’ve been shooting off fireworks every night for the past 4 days.  What’s not to love??

Did I mention I’ll have new dumpsters soon? 

Maybe as my lesson, from now on, when I’m in what seems like a boring, difficult, time- and soul-sucking situation, I’ll just imagine that it too is the lottery.   

“Here’s something to think about: How come you never see a headline like ‘Psychic Wins Lottery‘?” Jay Leno quotes

I’ve crossed many borders since I moved out of Alaska.  Many required a passport, long plane rides, learning key phrases in a new language.  A couple days ago I crossed another one and got that same familiar feeling of excitement.  The land, it looked different, with denser trees and rolling hills.  People, they sounded different, accents mushing words like Playdoh.  I could feel myself getting jittery and got excited when the visitor center thunked down a stack of maps and guides.  Then…..reality hit.  It is only Arkansas after all.

I think this is life’s little practical joke in a way since I had decided that my next, and last, travel assignment would be somewhere really cool.  Instead, I find myself in an unfurnished apartment, sleeping on a camping mat with a blow-up raft as my living room couch (it does have a headrest and cup holder though).  The manager spoke to me like I was not a “usual renter” and assured me that they would work really hard to get that smell out of my bathroom.  He also added that they would be getting new trash dumpsters real soon, “nice shiny ones….we are making improvements!” 

Although my first night on the floor was plagued with fears of cockroaches running over me, I’ve settled into this idea of “extended camping” and consider it my chance of having a toddler’s-eye view on the world (or at least my apartment) for a while.  I’ve also adopted a “pet plant” that I picked up for $3 at Wal-mart and possessively carry between rooms.  Somehow it makes me believe that wherever IT is, the air is clean.  Wherever IT is, I am camping in nature rather than in a dumpy apartment. 

In Joplin, I discovered an underlying goal of finding relaxation, health, and exploration through reading.  Here, my goals are strictly shallow:  I WANT MONEY!  Unfortunately, as I don’t have a license to work in this state yet, I’m spending rather than banking.  I’ve even had disturbingly alluring daydreams of getting a job at the nearby Chocktaw Casino where I spy on gamblers while I work and by the end of the summer throw down my own cards to the reward of tens of thousands of dollars.  OR, I imagine sitting here on the floor of this apartment with my pet plant inventing things that I can publish and sell. 

I think I should just pray for the license.    

I have to either giggle, or cry, when I realize that I am now 35 years old.  Living in an apartment with faulty plumbing, using crates for a desk, crossing my fingers that I will have money coming in soon to pay my mortgage.  For the house I’ve never seen.  And can’t get rid of.  But, The Power of Now , my awareness of now, both tell me the same thing:  RIGHT NOW, I AM COMPLETELY OK.  Better than that.  I am good.  The air outside is a bear hug of heat, but I am cool and comfortable.  I don’t know a single person in this strange little town, but I have friends that call me and make me laugh.  I don’t know when I’ll be getting my next paycheck, but I have money in my wallet to buy a coffee in the morning and a pantry full of Trader Joe’s snacks from my dad.  AND, not a single cockroach has jeered at me from those cracks under the wall. 

Ft. Smith—you get 8 weeks and my undivided attention and sense of humor. 

I just completed my final trip from St. Louis to Joplin, part of the usual migration of 18 wheelers and antique cars on the 270 miles along Highway 44.  I realized that at a loss for deeper things to think about, I’ve spent a lot of time on these drives staring at, analyzing, and even photographing, billboards.  They read like a running comic strip about American life.    

The most recurring theme of these billboards is the battle between porn and preachers.  Every 10-20 miles is an ad for an Adult theater, arcade, or bookstore.  Nearly always there’s a perfectly placed counter:  “U Got Jesus?”  Well, “Pornography Destroys” so “Visit the church of your choice this week.”  Similarly you have to weigh your morals whether you are going to pet “exotic animals” at the Animal Paradise or go shoot them at the Stone Creek Hunting Ranch, go shopping at “Ruby’s Guns” or the “Precious Moments warehouse.”    You also have your choice of services from vasectomy reversals; experts at the “Bra, swimsuit and Masectomy Center”; or one-day dentures (something I’ve discovered is used by an alarming number of people who haven’t gone gray yet).  There’s also a giant shopping area with an alluring sign–“Stop Shop and Save”—that you might think is for used cars.  Instead you can browse the aisles of “value homes—single or doublewide” and hopefully sign up for your tornado insurance at the same time.  I’ve also discovered that while I thought fireworks were primarily shot on July 4th and New Year’s, apparently there is enough year-round need to have GIANT Fireworks Supermarkets at least every 25 miles.  Is this how all those folks have lost their teeth?!

There also seems to be a strong message that tradition means don’t throw anything away and resist that fresh coat of paint.  “Ma and Paw’s Stuff n Things” has learned to capitalize on this by sporting unique yard art of rusting everythings and “Hill Billy Hot Rods” has taken it to the level of cars and trucks that haven’t hummed for years.  But, there’s something almost reassuring in all this.  That much of the US really isn’t changing and exploding with highrises and road rage, that there are still quite a few country-fried corners that change about as quickly as a cow chews.   My time here moved just a hair more rapidly.  At the end of this week I head to search for my lost social life in New Orleans, Florida, and finally New Zealand.  Look forward to seeing some of you along the way!!

As soon as I think “Oh, maybe I won’t write in the blog anymore,” something else sucks me in, someone asks about it, or, maybe I just get bored.  This time though I feel inspired by a recent email from a good friend about traveling and travelers—more specifically how a lot of them make his eyes roll.  And so, since this was supposed to be a traveling blog anyway (until I became more sedentary by doing “traveling therapy”–how ironic) I guess it’s a topic worth typing.  

My friend has reminded me that just because you smugly call yourself “a traveler,” you haven’t necessarily collected ace attributes like patches for your backpack.   You are not necessarily more open-minded about people and the world if you are judgmental about those people who don’t have the means or desire to spend their freetime in the same way.  And you may not be primed to appreciate the simple things in life and the world, if you can’t see them in your own neighborhood. 

It’s an easy trap to fall into.  You take a few trips.  You buy some fast food in another country with terribly pronounced numbers and pointing.  You flinch when seeing someone pee on the street, you sigh in sympathy when you see someone sleeping on the street.  Everything seems strange, and wonderful, and unique and, and….cultured….just because you are in another country.  And it IS strange, and wonderful and unique…because you are the outsider.  But, those people, those customs, that architecture is as commonplace to the locals as what you say when someone sneezes.   

The more I travel the more certain I am about one conspicuous fact:  take away clothes and food, language, customs, and shape of your nose or eyes, and people are indeed people the world over.  Some junkies, like me, crave traveling to note the similarities and differences while gorging on the world’s sensory smorgasbord.  Other people don’t need to.  They intuitively realize this fact, get their sensory kicks at home, and learn about the world in other ways.  They also are good at recognizing the value of what is immediately around them. My friend is one of these.   

I actually have a lot of respect for these folks that DON’T travel.  That DON’T thumb through guidebooks and obsess about which website gets the better airfares.  Those that have never even left their small town for the next small town, and yet, STILL have so much love for everyone around them.  Have discovered how to live with peace and joy.  Have discovered how to decipher what’s important, what’s not.   Those are my goals.  I hope to learn more of that through traveling, but I shouldn’t have to travel in order to.  It’s all right here.  It’s there in the person on the elevator with me at the hospital.  It’s in bed 404-A as much as it is in Guatemala, Guilin, Interlaken, or the ashram. 

A couple weekends ago I went home.  My sister had been housing a stack of my boxes in her basement for years but now had hopes of replacing them with a basketball hoop and air hockey for the boys.  I needed to sort and hopefully condense in hopes of fitting a new crowd into my already-full storage unit.  In the end I decided that incinerating Barbis and fortune-tellers after this long would be a crime against childhood and kept it all.  In going through boxes though I found a surprising, yet completely clear message:

DON’T EVER MAKE ANOTHER NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION. 

Seriously, it is now evident to me that essentially I have never really changed that much.  I found report cards from the 2^nd grade on hinting that “listening and following directions,” and “making good use of my time,” were things that I didn’t exactly excel at.  And I think I’m going to change that now?!?  I also found this letter, a rough draft for the one sent to my upcoming English teacher.  In it I discovered that I am much more like I was at 16 than I would ever have admitted before (hopefully at least with a little more common sense and a lot less hairspray).

August 20, 1990

Dear Mrs. Rodgers,

Hello from yet another student who in just a couple weeks will be sitting in, learning from, and possibly struggling through your AP English class.  You will probably be one of the few teachers to correctly pronounce my last name from the start as you have already taught my brother and sister.  Both also informed me that, although scarcely their easiest, your class prepared them for college more than any other.  And, being the Senior that I finally am, college is something that I’m trying to think about, although which college and what major are far from decided.

            You asked that we describe our interests and hobbies, and I had to think about this.  If interests are how you spend most of your time, between working at Shoney’s and babysitting, that would mean that counting back change and changing diapers are things that appeal to me.  So I reconsidered.  Instead I decided that playing tennis, taking trips, and trying new things are what I actually enjoy.  I hope to someday visit everywhere and try everything at least once.  A bit unrealistic and a little ridiculous, trips to Australia, Alaska, and China along with attempts at skiing, sky-diving, and hang-gliding are all things I want to do.  College, family, job—I’m clueless to these, but at least I have my future recreation planned!

            When it comes to school, my interests are a bit different.  Some of my favorite classes have been typing, art, and the Special Education class in which I was an assistant and will be again this year.  I am a basically good student although by habit I don’t study enough and procrastinate everything.  English has usually been one of my better classes although I consistently frustrate myself by putting off writing assignments until the latest possible time—a habit probably apparent by the borderline arrival of this letter.  I don’t really have any specific likes or dislikes about teaching practices except that an open-minded teacher rather than one moved by rules usually keeps my attention and motivation much longer.

Now that you know some about me, I am looking forward to meeting you….

Well, luckily I didn’t discard those things I thought of as “unrealistic” and “ridiculous,” although I’ve definitely procrastinated hang-gliding too long.  And truthfully, many would argue that I still am doing a better job planning my recreation than “job and family.”  : )  It also makes it interesting when I look at some of my 90+ year old patients and realize that they are just wrinkled versions of  a clumsy kid at 8, a good speller at 10, an insecure or beauty-buffed 12 year old, or a teen who loves to tell raunchy jokes….      

A few weeks ago my youngest nephew spontaneously started making a list:  “The little joys of life” including such unarguable things as “petting a friendly dog.”  Soon after I left for what I considered to be a “non-adventure”—3 months in Joplin Missouri to feed my piggy bank’s growling belly.  As I got closer, I saw a bulletin board with a giant rodent of some kind (chipmunk?  beaver?) arms thrown wide, proclaiming:  “Fun is just one hour away in Joplin, Missouri!!”  I laughed and thought maybe I’d been looking at this traveling assignment the wrong way.  Maybe it WOULD be fun!  The chipmunk promises! 

Hah.  First week I could have shot that chipmunk.  Maybe he or his rodent buddies were the ones that left sprinklings of poop all over the kitchen counter of the house where I was renting a room.  Maybe HIS idea of fun is plunking coins in a casino, cruising the tattoo parlors on Main Street, or loading up the cart with potato chip specials at the Walmart Supercenter.   

Well, another week past, a beautiful new apartment with WHITE tub walls and WHITE refrigerator and I began to see everything else as a little less moldy too.  So, I’ve brushed off my attitude and decided to make my own little list of joys.  This one:  The Joys of Joplin, or The Things that Will Keep Me Sane Here.

1.      Trips to St. Louis.  I have actually never lived this close to home.  Now I get to experience what it WOULD have been like to be a college student in Missouri—dirty laundry in, frozen goods and fresh-baked cookies coming out.  Time to just “hang out” rather than dash to storage and pack and unpack for a trip.

2.      A library card.  I haven’t had one for 17 years and am rediscovering the magic of dusty books, old movies, and obscure CD’s.

3.      Zumba.  I am aware what it says when your exercise class is your social highlight of the week, but it is.  Somehow, on that basketball court with Latin dance music booming I can feel like I’m shaking my tail somewhere else far away.  Columbia maybe.  Until I notice that all the women next to me are pale and wearing 7 layers of make-up to their workout. 

4.      Dollar stores.  NOT $1.99 stores, not even $1.79 stores, but the true classics—everything for a buck.  In fact, they even have a pre-recorded message cycling overhead to remind you that, indeed, “everything IS a dollar.”   For $1 you can buy everything from undies to a Malawa guidebook.  It’s not Sitka’s “White E,” but it certainly has a charm of its own.  And now I have a bath pillow for my new white tub.   

5.      A caseload full of Bettys, Butch’s, Buddy’s, and Goldie’s.  These are some of the toughest old folks I’ve ever met.  They cuss and spit and have photos of their bulls up in their room.  Not only that, but I’ve discovered that a week in a hospital bed can’t deflate a beehive hairdo.  I do love these people.

6.      Time, time and more time to do each and every one of those “creative” projects that never before made the freetime cut.  Now I can spend 3 months writing, drawing, painting, strumming, and stringing.  They may even have me crocheting doilies by the end of it. 

7.      Skype.  My “fully furnished executive suite” has two large-screen televisions…but no phone.  “Because ever’body has a cell phone!” the landlord exclaimed and I couldn’t argue with him.  Everyone but me.  So I’ve discovered the joys (and warbly, word-cutting frustrations) of talking for free on the computer. 

….and I’m sure that with a few more weeks I can progress my list to 10.  It’s good to keep up the suspense for excitement to come. That muddy creek in Joplin’s “scenic” Conservation Center was also a good reminder that although I may feel  like I’m moving through time like that catatonic turtle, I’ll eventually be carried away to a greener bank.   ; ) 

I’ve become so inconsistent and lazy about writing that the subject is history before I’ve begun.  It leaves me only to record fuzzy summaries, constants, and what’s on the calendar (although I’m learning the lesson that plans are but a crayon-sketched blueprint for what really happens).   

The fuzzy summaries:
–Another great trip with Kristin come and gone in a blur of giggles and shutter clicks. 

–Another reunion with Daniel, its blur colored with a rainbow of green hair, blue hair, flowers and feathers.  (Visible proof in our Jambalaya Music Festival photos).    

–Unfortunately both reunions had certain end dates as we scattered for beginning the new year with seemingly all-important tasks:  money, accommodation, jobs, moving, planning, sorting, solving.  Luckily, I am certain that both adventure stories are “to be continued….” 

The constants:
I can no longer call this odd lifestyle of mine “exceptional” as it’s become too “normal.”  Another year come and gone in a gala of countries, flights, financial stresses, and forever foggy futures.  A year begun and ended in India, begun and ended in New Zealand, begun and ended with plans to be a resident there.   I guess I am fueled by the constants of new and old friendships, family time and fun.  And there’s at least one constant in my location—sitting and swinging my legs over THE REST OF MY LIFE.  It’s not a seat reserved for New Year’s, but I warm my buns on it daily.  I am so completely proud and excited for my friends and parents who recently bravely exited “THE COMFORT ZONE” to enter the more risky, less predictable BEYOND—baristas, babies, relocating to the past, relocating to exciting futures, new countries, bold plans….  

The calendar:
I couldn’t have guessed a few months ago that instead of settling into New Zealand right now I’d be making arrangements for a move to Joplin, Missouri.   Like I said, I surrender the job of making plans!  I haven’t however given up on the hope of making it back to Kiwiland for a more authentic stretch, but just have some “adult responsibilities” (cough) to take care of.  [If you call dealing with an unseen, valueless house in Arizona something “adult.”] 

As I now fully realize my only shared power in effecting my plans, there’s a bit of fear looking over this edge.  However, I chant ad nauseam, “the unknown is good.”   I will also chant, “Thank God for the constants that make me so happy.”   🙂 

Milford Track—”The justifiably famous Milford Track is a 53.5km walk often described as one of the finest in the world.” It is also described as one of the wettest in the world with brochures and guide books dampening your expectations with warning of rain and flooding and reminders to pack layers of raingear and plastic bags. What they didn’t prepare us for was four days of brilliant blue skies and sunshine. The scenery truly was just as spectacular as they’d stated and without need for imagination to look past clouds, fog or downpours. Strange that the only times I got wet during the trek were walking behind an enormously powerful waterfall, getting sprayed on the front of the departure boat, and sitting on my waterbottle.

Our sock drawer of fellow trampers included Kiwi families, young couples, old couples, and the token “mountain man” (who carries the lightest pack, eats the lightest food, and immediately began his next 4-day trek as soon as this one ended). And then there’s Kristin and I—aka “those Alaska girls”—usually the last to leave the huts in the morning, the ones bent over taking pictures of plants, and the only ones seen to pull potato chips and fresh vegetables out of their over-stuffed packs for dinner while everyone else ate out of rehydrated pouches. Other less-welcome mates on the trail included the clouds of sandflies that waited for us at each hut. Mosquitoes may pierce with pins, and black flies buzz and bother, but there is no other critter I believe who can so effectively chew chew chew away your deet-flavored skin and sanity until you are reduced to a manic serial killer. Luckily they sleep. Luckily hanging out in crowds distributes their bites. Luckily they don’t taste so bad with peanut butter and jelly. : )

Current stop:  After a flurry of buses and bookings and muscling our packs, we made it to Queenstown and then immediately to Glenorchy to take in some more mountain scenery (oh yawn) and to let horses carry our weight for a while.  Oddly the horses seemed to take on some of our own trail traits–constant snacking (mine managed a mouthful in the middle of cantering) and tripping over rocks.  

Since we’ve arrived here, we’ve also heard mumblings about this thing they call “Christmas.”  Not sure exactly what it is except it changed our travel plans on the 25th and seems the source of “orphan parties” around town.  ; )  Actually, Kristin and I are struggling to find Christmas in the odd weather, daylight, and absence of all those people and tastes that make us coo in nostalgia.  I hope though that all of you aren’t having to search as hard and that the things that make you coo are right within your grasp.  🙂 

Like an escaped prisoner, I skip across green hills and beaches, chocolate smudges on my lips, daring to bare my shoulders and shins. ; ) Truly a dramatic, welcome change from my month of grueling “self-improvement,” being back in New Zealand is a nice pocket of gifted time before I feel obliged to turn bootcamp lessons into goals. (I wouldn’t want to steal the effect of New Year’s Resolutions by starting them too early!) SO, now’s the time to sleep in late even when I’ve had enough rest, to eat food just because it takes good, to let my body slump into backrests, to read a novel that doesn’t contain a trace of Sanskrit.

I’m also loving the change from being mostly alone in a crowd of a couple hundred people to having the company of a best friend in a crowd of…well, a couple thousand sheep. Kristin was indeed waiting for me in Auckland. After shifting things into storage, out of storage (the common theme of the past year), we headed immediately to the South Island, specifically the area around Dunedin. Our first rainy day here we took a wildlife bus tour that fulfilled its sales pitch: we really DID see Royal Albatross (giant seabirds) soaring up cliff faces, a pack of fur seals and pups, sea lions loafing on a beach, and (the real treat), penguins walking in from the ocean after a day of fishing. [Kristin took some great pictures that I’ll upload soon.] No, these aren’t the giant Emperor penguins of Antarctica, but these smaller “yellow-eyed” penguins are still incredibly comical and cute as they shoot in from the waves like submarines and then hop and waddle their way up rocks and sand to their homes in the grass.

The next day we rented a car to drive to the Catlins. Although this somehow sounds like a snobby adventure (like going to the “Hamptons”) it really just means hitting the coastline south of Dunedin with all its picturesque lookout points, bays, and beaches. Although the waves weren’t agreeable to give Kristin her birthday surf, they did bring in playful creatures to watch. We watched a sea lion chase a group of swimmers onto the beach, dolphins swim circles around swimmers and surfers, and a sea lion ride a wave into the beach. While checking out the “Petrified Forest” another penguin also shot out of the water and casually waddled his way past us.

Today, although a much wetter version of the Catlins that sunburned us yesterday, was a peaceful day to drive back to Dunedin, with leisurely sidetrips for a big breakfast in a little town, a manual- and left-side driving experience for Kristin, and the discovery of a hidden beach perfect for warming ourselves with pumpkin soup on a campstove.  Although I’m sure there could be and have been more exciting ways for Kristin to spend her birthday, there is still joy in small discoveries and no one is better equipped to appreciate them than her.  : )   “Sweet As,” Kristin, you’re “good as gold” (to borrow Kiwi-speak).