uncivilization

Leaving Maine...Summer still

I headed out to Illinois for a very long trip, medical tests for a daughter I was greatly concerned for, all is well.  Traveling through New Hampshire to check on the son who literally fell off the trail down a ridge, broke some toes, got back on and then fell again in the Wildcats; not to terribly far from ending his long hike.  He'll have to wait until next year and tackle it again.  All in all, my young man hiked hundreds of miles and I am quite proud of him. Hikers and I mean the majority of them, are truly decent and good people.  They look out for one another, feed one another, keep each other dry in the rain and laughing in the storms.  There's a bearded, hairy bunch of humanitarians out there and by gosh, I'm awful thankful my kid had the gumption to go out amongst them and live like that.

I drove through New Jersey and Conneticut on a GPS snafu- never again, no sir not even on a million dollar bet.  How anyone can do that, day in, day out is beyond me- traffic and intolerance.  Seemed like such disregard for one another and even themselves, passing blindly-   I know that there are many individuals among them, good people.  But I can tell you, I only met a few- one genuinely kind construction worker trying to get me around traffic through country directions.  Another really funny yet serious guy at a gas station who saw my pick ax in my door as I was exiting the truck.
"Don't let them see you with that!"
"Who?!"
"The cameras."
I looked around, didn't see any of those...
"It's illegal to defend yourself in New Jersey."
"Get out of here!"
"I'm serious, don't get caught with that thing- they could arrest you."

I am back to uncivilization and thanking my lucky stars.  Between being civilized and treating other people like they just don't matter,treating children like they are to be disrespected in the most sad and ugly ways, no thank you. I'd just as soon be uncivilized and take my chances with a Black Bear and her cub, four feet of snow and storms that raise the rain right up through the rafters.  I'd rather be able to see the stars at night and not be considered weird because I mention "did anyone notice the harvest moon, isn't it lovely?" at a lonely old rest area in the middle of the night.  People have just stared at me, like I'm from some other planet- all because I dare smile at them or say hello.  It's a grave concern when folks look at you like your Jack The Ripper just because you wished them well, they're more open to rudeness and dishonesty- apparently, they do trust that kind of behavior.

Autumn invades Maine

So, yeah- I'm going to keep on writing this blog because I do have something to say and it's usually pretty decent.  There's not enough decency among us, maybe somebody will catch a drift of their own thoughts built up in mine and go up from there.
 Life is good.  Sometimes maybe only in seconds, and sometimes those seconds aren't even consecutive- but the sun came up this morning and I waited on it.  Lovely. It only lasted a few seconds, but man oh man it restored a goodness in me.
There's clouds out there right now waiting for me to notice them.  There's fat yellow butterball hens cleaning up some of the remnants in the garden, I like to hear them talk.  And they treat their little ones well I notice, so I'll make sure to keep their water up and their grain bin full so they'll keep that good business up.
And I'll keep here, a good word.  For you.  Hope it helps.
Take care-

Made To Shine

In the heavens among clouds, stars are being born,

Nearby in a neighboring land, children are being lost. 

Deep in the darkest corners of space, suns become bound together.

And in sad cities, childhood itself becomes lost.

 by Yosl Kurland from Prayer For Bosnia copyright 1995

They were arguing, the two young men blocking my path to the escalators.  It was not apparent at first, that they were even friends.

"Excuse me...."

"OH, sorry lady, sorry..."

They immediately moved aside as I began my upward climb with a very heavy green case, a half empty water bottle fixing to fall out of a way too cumbersome bag filled with camera, books and a lighter than I started with, wallet.   The escalator rose with me, the young men and several other nondescript travelers.  It was late.  I should have gotten into the Boston station from Chicago by 9:30 PM, instead- eleven.  Great.  I missed my connection and no more buses or trains would be leaving out towards Portland Maine until the early AM.  This is where the young men and their argument came into play.  They had a ticket they needed to sell, as Portland was not where they intended to go together.  One guy was heading in the opposite direction of his buddy and due to circumstances- they decided it best for the broken hearted one- not to be left alone.  

The ticket seller would not adjust the ticket, refund the money or listen whatsoever to the two young men.  I had nothing more to go on, so I opted not to buy their ticket- matter of fact, it was time I estimated- to just sit and gather my self and the information at hand before I decided to buy any ticket anywhere.

The broken hearted guy was tearful.  But he was very tough so it was exceptionally hard on him to cry or not cry- no emotional in bursts or outbursts no sirree- be tough.  Be a man.  Learn from your friend that you just met at the station- "Your sister won't be here to collect you, man....  I don't know how to tell you this...I'm so sorry.  Your baby died."

That was the argument early on, in front of the escalators, remember?  The heart breaker was giving a message that the heart broken could not, would not bear.   Apparently he had just come out of rehab after several months.  Seems he had a choice back then- jail or get your self dried up.  He chose the latter, but before he left- he hugged his new infant son, made promises to him that his own father never kept in all of his life and went away to get better.   He came home to Boston.  To a new life.  To a cold new beginning.  

I learned that his mother was homeless, raised him mainly homeless, she was a heroine addict or whatever she could get and yet, he loved her and respected her.  

She had no choice.  The father early on made a waste out of her and the son just hung on as the Dad eventually took his own life after inflicting much pain and homelessness on his little follower family.

Yeah...this is a sad story.  Trouble is, it's true.  The heart broken guy, only 17.  The heart breaker friend, a bit older and loyal as anyone I suppose, the heart broken guy had ever known.  

"I don't care about the ticket, you need to go back to Portland."

"No man...I'm not leaving you now.  My sister said she'll come tomorrow to help us.  I'm staying..."

"Why?  What's the point?  I don't want to live.  Why would I want to live now?  I'd jump in that harbor but it's so fucking cold, and I've been cold all my fucking life and I just don't want to end cold..."  And he sobbed then.  He broke.  And I was there.  And all I could do was not break too.

"I'm so sorry, take my hand..."

"What the fuck lady, get away from me...leave me alone, God dammit!"

"Please, accept my hand, I don't know what to do for you...hold it.  Take it, tell me..."

His friend intervened and that is how we sat with him, in between us- just like that.

So- that's the story of how I spent the last night of my journey home.  In a Boston bus station.  Holding a young guys hand.  For several hours.  That's all I could do and it was all the warmth I guess, he could take.  But he let me.  His friend sat on the other side of him, in silence- sometimes he'd look at me and I'd look at him and we knew between the two of us was heaven and hell battling it out in a young- too too young soul.

Did I mention this heart broken guy was beautiful as I had ever seen?  Raw, yes.  Broken, oh my God...  Capable of moving past the instant sorrow on top of the life ladened with it?  I tell you, I just don't know.  I may never know. He held my hand and I held his and that's just about all any of us can do I suppose, in a bus station, in Boston where the marble floors are made to shine but people, homeless, hopeless people- shine just as much with a whole lot less care and attention.

I should have given that young man my number.  I should have said- "Call me, let me know how your life is going...I want to know."

But instead, I left him with this-

"I don't know what to say, I'm sorry.  You don't deserve it.  Listen to your friend, he cares for you.  Don't be alone..."

"What should I do?  What do I do, tell me...."

"The next right thing,"  I said, " And then the next right thing after that."

As vague as that statement was, I could not say to him in all honesty- I don't know.  He may have been hopeless for much and most and maybe all of his life...but, I am not.  And someone I remembered, once said that to me...it didn't seem at the time a loving thing to hear, or even navigational for that matter- but in times of great despair, the truth is all that one can hear- even in simple terms as "the next right thing."  Basic instinct tells us, for survival sake- what the next right thing is that keeps us alive and moving out of harm's way.  That young man was not open to any blatant fairy tale or triumphant message from me or anyone- but he did hear that low down honest one.  He did. 

The next right thing then for me, was to write this story and tell his side.  So maybe, just maybe some day- someone might read it and remember that being indifferent, blind to suffering while we rail against traffic lights and Charlie Sheen's behavior- is not the next right thing.  It's not even close.

  From where I sit, under my stable roof and blue sky above with a fire burning not eight feet away warming me almost too much to the point of being uncomfortable...well, I truly don't know what that is, uncomfortable.  I know hope and beauty and see no reason beyond this moment to ever cry about anything, but instead be oh so grateful that I did not end up in that middle seat.

His name is Steven- he could use our prayers.

Thank you.  Take care-

*I met  Yosl/Joe Kurland on the train from Boston to Chicago...he sang for me in the great shiny hall of Union Station and taught me a bit of Yiddish and stories that perhaps made me more open to that young man in the Boston station.

He reminded me of a saying I had come upon years back-

“It is not your obligation to complete the work [of perfecting the world], but neither are you free to desist [from doing all you can do]…”.

Yosl Kurland

slow down-take it easy

Good morning.

I recently returned from visiting Illinois for a couple of weeks.  My friends and family joyously treated and greeted me with love, it was so good to see that all were well, including Grandma.  My daughters put up with me and I in return for their hospitality- cooked and cleaned and tried to make sure they were fed some of the good meals they love.  Within a couple of days though, it became apparent to me that their lives were best led by them, their nutritional needs were no longer any of my business and their casa was my casa as long as I respected their authority.  My oh my, how the tables have turned.  My Mathew was genuinely happy to have me around, visiting and talking as we have never done before.  I try to follow his personal philosophy, but the young man is a bit deeper than I can follow at times.  Our conversations were rich and I grew happier inside each time we were together, thinking how interesting his concepts- he really gave me food for thought and I long for and love those talks.   I tried to put myself in the younger sects shoes and realized honestly, I did not have that much going on upstairs at their age.   But from where I sit now, after years of experience and misadventures, I could teach them a thing or two- though it is their own drum they hear now, and the beat is foreign to me.  Generation gap indeed.  (Their jokes are not funny to me, the movies they find fascinating leave me scratching my head and yawning.  And the music..."It's not that I'm old, your music really does suck."   My favorite bumper sticker, long past it's sticky prime- wish I could find another and paste it for all the world to see.) ***with the exception of Bon Iver, I must say there is something about the music that gets under your skin and seeps even deeper...I like it, I like it.
Traveling from Maine to Illinois takes a bit of caffeine, good tunes and a willingness to put up with certain states with their certain drivers and wonder if the genes of conscientiousness and consideration were perhaps left in a corner behind a door by the creator.   In all the times I've traveled through Massachusetts,   I have yet to meet  many* who smile easily.  And when it comes to traffic pile ups and getting over or moving aside so another car can fit in- in my own personal experiences, I can't help but wonder if that smile might surface if only your car would crash and burn, bringing a dark joy to the seemingly joyless.   *I will say, one lovely toll booth operator towards the end of my Mass Pike experience  came out of his shack, smiling and talking all the while- and replaced my gas cap as I must have half hazardously twisted it on at the previous gas stop.   He must have thought I was a mute, all I could do was stare at him with great wonder, finally offering-"I do not mean to offend, but you are very kind.  I don't find that much in these parts."  He laughed and said people say that all the time, matter of fact- he said he was the only one good egg for hundreds of miles.  Then he called me sweetie and wished me well.  Angels among us folks, angels among us.
Truck drivers are the travel agents from heaven.  Need a new route?  Wonder what's up ahead worth getting off the main drag to see?  Ask a truck driver.  Not only will they tell you, they'll make you get your Atlas out while they scratch your dog's ears, help you flip to the right page and hold the page down in wind gusts while tracing with their fingers the most beautiful of drives.  And the restaurants they prescribe are always spot on.  And on top of all of that- should they see you trapped behind slow drivers in fast lanes, they'll set a pick and let you pass.   Truck drivers, good eggs.

One last traveling remark...route 20, Chautauqua County Western New York.  Go.  Truck driver recommended & true wonder approved.  A beautiful reprieve from the turnpike, a blood pressure decrease r, an anxiety elixir, wine country and farms galore, unforgettable landscapes, slow lane, waitresses that call you "hon", ooohhhh I love that!

(I considered letting this blog go to wherever blogs go  after their long run...but, I'm gonna hang in there.  My thoughts tend to be a bit on the loner- looking through the big picture- wondering inside of wonder- life in the slow down- take it easy lane.  If I can but somehow compile that into interesting enough stuff, not to entertain but to inform, not to say this is how one should live, but to say truly- this is how I get by.  I for one do not like to be told how to think, how to live and I do not aim to steer you dear reader, onto a road that was not meant for anyone to travel but me.  I will continue to encourage all to be kinder than necessary, to seek to understand and by all means- seek out the friends and strangers among you that have not only their best interests at heart, but everyone's- for the sake of a common good.  I will continue to sing the praises of sustainable living, local eating, and a  back roads philosophy  If you can stand more of that kind of perspective,  please come and visit- you're always welcome.)

Take care-

We're not all like that...

There but for the grace of God, go I.

I noticed the man as I was driving into town to pick up my supper. I was lazy, I suppose- I had plenty of fresh vegetables at home to prepare a quick meal, but I was hungry for Mexican- precisely, Nachos Al Carbon. ( I believe that's what they're called.) He was standing under the overpass on business 55, also known as a little jaunt of Route 66. He looked a bit disheveled, loaded down by a backpack, a suitcase on wheels and a duffel bag. He had a dirty old ball cap almost pulled down further than his ears would allow. He had stopped and was looking around as I passed on the other opposite lanes, me heading South, he North. As I passed and looked perhaps a bit to intensely at him, his eyes met mine- he seemed to know I was thinking about him, observing him.

For a moment, my heart went out to this stranger- he was talking to no one in particular to my sight, though I suppose to him his constant invisible companion was a friend or a mentor. Either way- the few steps he would take were followed by a pause, a shifting of baggage and then a conversation with the air. So my concern for him stayed in my head and heart, encased by the safety of my truck cab and I went on with my business of acquiring supper down the road. Of course when I got to the restaurant, giving them a full ten more minutes than they said of the twenty minutes that would be needed to prepare my order-my takeout wasn't ready. I sat and read a local paper, waiting wondering about the man wandering along the road side. I wondered where he was going and how long before the state troopers would scoop him up after finding him walking and talking in his unusual way to the invisible nothing striding along side him.

With my supper secured I headed back home, again wondering if I would see the man- had he made it to the interstate yet? Surely he had, unless his lengthy conversations lasted longer than his actual steps. As I neared my turn off on Wolf Creek Road, I spied the man just then loping across the graveled road way. I deliberately slowed, my heart and head fighting- here was my chance to reach out to my fellow man, give him a lift ( not literally) by perhaps a little kindness in the way of a smile and acknowledgement with a wave. (But my head said "he's crazy- and sister we know crazy, ain't no reasoning with 'em!" So, I kept to the road.) I needed to turn right, he needed to go straight across the road and just then, a jeep came from the east, slowing to stop before entering business 55. The poor wayward man looked for a moment- perplexed. The Jeep posed the problem of his getting across the roadway faster than the he had counted on. He did look up at the driver, with a kind of apologetic gaze, sheepishly he trudged on, purposely giving the duffel bag and suitcase a needed boost, he was hurrying. I was relieved, still some sanity there, enough to act accordingly anyway. I pulled in, the Jeep driver looking mighty P.O'd, as if he had been waiting longer than time allowed. The driver looked at me as if dumbstruck- "Can you believe this guy, this trash?!" And the next thing I know, he burned out of there- spraying the poor man with rocks and gravel and dust. There was absolutely no need in that, none. The homeless man just stood there. I stopped then, just before crossing the tracks. I looked out the window as the dust settled, so wanting to say something, anything to make up for the inhumane treatment my traveling friend had just suffered. Again, his eyes met mine and in the briefest second he conveyed to me a wordless why.
Brother, I just don't know. I mouthed, "I'm so sorry, we're not all like that." I couldn't even smile or wave. I wanted so then to jump out and prove to him that we are in fact, not all like that. That his freedom, his safety, his very being was as precious as any one's, that he mattered. But even the pick ax in my door, hidden by a concave compartment- wasn't enough security to allow me to do something as reckless as picking up a hitchhiker who appeared to be a bit on the schizophrenic side.

All I could do was pray, maybe asking a bit of forgiveness for my powerless feeling. My safety and security were fortified by my remaining in the vehicle of my choice. The homeless man's choice? To be showered by rocks, to wonder why, to wander on...

Sometimes in this world, things happen and I do feel so powerless but I find by doing the best that I can do right here right now, being kind and not only tolerant but accepting of any and all lives, even the ones that are filthy, dirty, beyond my understanding as to the whys of those lives- I find at least some comfort in knowing that we can inhabit this big wide world together. Somehow, we go along to get along- don't we? But right there in my midst, a wrong doing occurred, the strong oppressed the weak, made unsafe an other's journey. Why? The guy in the jeep was at least my age. The man walking, hard to tell- I'd say 40ish. But the point is this, he was doing nothing wrong...he was just on his way. What makes some folks among us so intolerant? We're not all like that...

I hope on that man's journey, someone braver than I can make that very clear to him. Take care-

drop cloths

Good morning. I have been away with the family- to Maine for Thanksgiving. Beautiful as always, not as cold as it is here and the lobster's were mighty fine. Every time I go, I am on a see food diet- which consists of seafood and chocolate. There are too many wonderful shops with far too many chocolate makers, like pushers- the smells coming from those shops seem to say, "Here kid, try this...go ahead it won't hurt you, there's more where this came from." I am hooked, a chocolate junkie- jonesin' for the Peruvian lady's urchins made with homemade caramel, dark chocolate and walnuts.
We arrived home to a mess, still- in the remodeling project going on here. Drop cloths cover all the furniture and plaster dust covers all the drop cloths...and the computer, and the cups and saucers, silverware...everything!!! And there's this little annoying varmint named Etta who seemingly loves chaos, her puppy printed plaster dusted paw marks are everywhere.
To top it all off, I hurt my shoulder. I have been winged by bustling through airports with luggage swung over my shoulder, to many close calls of getting to the proper gate on time, and someone pulling on one of my bags attached to my shoulder, and bam...out of the socket the shoulder is meant to be snugly fixed into. Nothing major, but just enough to be a lefty for a few days. And this typing isn't working out for me either, so...I'll end and perhaps in a few days I'll be back with some adventurous tale. Like the lady I met on the plane from Maine...kindred spirits I think. Anyway- have a good one, be well.
Take care-