shifting gears

I really need to push the pause button on this travelblog soon now that we're home...and push play at a later date. But first, a few thoughts about the trip. It all started with virtually the whole planet telling us not to go to Mexico. Well, we went anyway...Swine Flu be damned. After many emails, phone calls and comforting words from friends on the ground, we headed south and proceeded to have an amazing summer. Best summer ever. Granted, it was weird that we were the only people driving thru customs on the way down, and if you had filmed us from way up in the sky you would have seen a little red speck of a car zipping along all alone, pushing south on the cuota towards Patzcuaro. Maybe you would've heard a dog barking madly as we drove out of toll booths, but maybe you wouldn't have...being so far up in the sky and all. Our dogs were always relaxed when I "rolled" the window down to hand attendants 15 or 150 pesos, but as soon as we drove away Nemo would go ballistic. I finally figured out that he must've thought the attendant was running away as we drove on. Who knows. We discovered Nemo hated men in hats, especially men in hats on bicycles, and horses were the devil's work. So they suffered the fullness of his wrath.

Our summer was BUSY, full of artmaking, good food, reconnecting with old friends and making lots of new ones, experiencing small and large cultural events, gardening like crazy, painting the house and fixin' what needed fixin'. My head is so full of stories, memories, and future pics that I have spent the past two days pulling weeds and not saying much. Blissfully exhausted, continuing to prepare for the upcoming semester. Definitely not going down to the farmer's market with a pocket full of cash.

Almost exactly one year ago Becky and I returned home after an exciting summer south of the border. Returned home early because a commercial gig demanded our attention. I thought to myself: "Well, atleast tomatoes and peaches are still in season." After unpacking and doing some laundry we went to the ATM and withdrew $60, then drove down to Nashville's Farmer's Market. Blinded by heirloom tomatoes and white peaches, I was blocked by an old woman with a walker. She wasn't smiling and she wasn't shopping, and she was in my way. Then someone bumped into me. For some reason I said "Excuse me" and turned around to see a small red-headed woman, not smiling, then turned my attention back to the wild display of wonderfulness. Drunk on blueberry lemonade, and loaded down with Cherokee Purples, Japanese Blacks, and Abe Lincolns, I walked over to pay but couldn't find my wallet. My first thought was, hmm. Then I thought I must've left it in my car. Weird. Went back to the car, looked inside and around and on the ground, puzzled. Then I thought of that little red-headed girl; I felt flushed, then pissed, then I started running through the market looking for her. Arrrgh! No luck. No, no, no! This hasn't happened. I drove all the way to Mexico, spent the entire summer in FULL markets surrounded by hundreds, driving all over the country in search of adventure and weird pottery and back again, safely. Back to Nashville only to get ripped off in my own hometown. NOOO! Yes. Went home with no tomatoes. Becky was wise enough to shut our credit cards down immediately, but still, the hassle of getting a new driver's license and all. Uggh. What a pain.

Later that evening, still not believing what had transpired but strangely amused by the irony of it all, we prepared to have dinner at a friend's house. Running late, we were stepping out the door when I heard the phone ring. Should I answer or not; we were already late. I answered the phone then heard a country voice ask: "IstherahDahngthr?!" I said, "What?" "Ids ther ah dang brawthereha?...Ifou nd hidz walletintha Famur'sMakat today." I said, "YEAH, I'm Dang Brawner; who is this?" "My name'sOllie Stanntonn and I'm a truck driver and I'm live in Millusville at Exit 108; turn right near the fireworks stand, past the Doller General and the trailer park; my wife's paralyzed and we're having dinner downstairs; turn left into the agongnaogaog Bnvln vn lsv...I'm a truck driver, leaving tomorrow; if you want your wallet, you better get up here tonight." "WO!!!!...BACK UP a minute; let me find a pencil; which exit?!" Next thing I know I'm dropping Becky off at Jane's and headed to Millersville relieved that I won't have to renew my driver's license. (And as I'm driving along, my mind starts to wander.) And I start thinking about the events of the day and my conversation with the trucker. He kept saying, "My wife's paralyzed." He said, "My daughter's been visiting, and I'm leaving for Knoxville in the morning." He said: "I found your wallet but there tweren't no money in it; someone beat me to it." About that time I started thinking about Pulp Fiction and men in boxes jumping out at me." I started thinking no one knew where I was headed and about Ollie Stanton and his paralyzed wife downstairs eating me for dinner. I started thinking there was no way in hell I was going into that house.

I turned left into a surprisingly nice, new apartment complex, past a swimming pool full of laughing Mexican kids. I parked my car and saw who I guessed was my hero. Toothless, unsmiling, he handed me my wallet. "I'm having dinner with my wife downstairs; did I mention she's paralyzed? We're having fried pies for dessert." I said: "Thank you for calling about my wallet. I really appreciate this." Then he repeated: "Well, there tweren't no money in it; someone beat me to it." Stupidly trying to lighten an unusually unfriendly moment, I said: "This sure is a nice place. Nice pool, too." And he said: "If I want to swim; I go somewhere clean; I go to the river." Chilled to the bone but desperate, I said: "So you like pie and you're a truck driver; do you ever travel thru Arkansas?" "Yeah." "You really ought to try the DeValls Bluff Pie Shop near Brinkley." He said, "I go to WalMart each week and buy six fried pies: two peach, two cherry and two apple. This week they were out of apple so I bought four peach. My wife, she's paralyzed, is downstairs having a peach one right now." I said: "Thanks again", shook his hand, and got the heck out of there.

Oh yeah, it was a family thing. And the experience was absolutely worth sixty bucks.

don't text while driving

Write longhand but keep your eyes on the road.

the road home: day 5

The last leg of our journey was fueled by ice cream from Sheridan's Yellow Jacket Drive-In, and fried catfish and tomato pickles from Gene's in Brinkley. I missed the DeValls Bluff exit to the Pie Shop this trip but decided to keep going. Made it home in 8 hours surrounded by pine trees, past funny little cabins with vertical logs, and hours of flatness, over the Mississippi, the crazy bends and curves thru Memphis, and deeper into green, green Tennessee, home. It's been unseasonably cool this summer with a nice bit of rain so everything is really lush. We made it home around 6pm to a locked house and no house key. Luckily, our dear neighbor Melanie left one door unlocked, so we unpacked and hopped inside. The dogs found their backyard overpopulated with chipmunks, but they'll soon make the necessary correction. Feels good to be home.

the road home: day 4

From Tyler, Texas to Texarkana to Camden and Locust Bayou, we saw lots of "melons ahead" signs. Mostly from Hope, but we bought a tasty sweet seedless one from Harmony Grove (where Becky went to grade school). Across Cypress Creek, thru pine thickets, past flattened armadillos and foam deer targets guarding metal towers, thru Ouachita County (where Becky was born) and big trucks carrying long pine logs near Poison Springs. We enjoyed our visit with Becky's family, and a pork chop dinner with Devine, Texas pork tamales, fresh peas, yellow squash, cornbread, and Chicago beer. Afterwards, we fished Doyle Jrs' new pond, and Conner (our 4 yr old nephew) caught a catfish with stinkbait. Guinness went for a swim while Nemo visited Jason's howling Walker Hound. Some photos were taken, and I never could find JT's false teeth, presumed hiding within his Lazy Boy. I spent some time walking with Nemo in their deceased neighbor Floyd's deserted shop, looking for relics. He was a nice old man whose company I really enjoyed when I was in Locust. I never saw him wearing anything but overalls; he always asked me about my life, and he loved his Brittany Spaniels—Tuffy and Detective. He would tell me: "There aren't any quail around here any more, but I enjoy taking the dogs out anyways...they like to run." I enjoyed visiting with Floyd. He seemed to me a talented man (a carpenter) who had raised a family he was proud of, knew how to prepare a fine garden, and really enjoyed life. It's sad to see his garden overgrown and unattended, and his house for sale. His shop looks odd with a john boat leaning against it.

the road home: day 3

When traveling thru Mexico, two things are ubiquitous: Pemex stations and Catholic churches. We visit both regularly, drawn to one out of necessity, attracted to the other because of architectural beauty and curiosity. On the road, green Pemex signs are comforting. Gas prices aren't posted because the stations are government-owned and the only game in town (so why bother), but prices are cheap compared to the U.S. and nice women and men pump gas for you. Feels very old-fashioned. It's customary to tip so I always give attendants 50 pesos or so. In small towns and large, Catholic churches are, more often than not, the tallest buildings. Proof of what is most revered and necessary I suppose, and possibly, to some, a constant reminder of the country's rich, volatile history. I always take my hat off when entering and leave an offering, trying to resist the temptation to take photos. I'm always moved by the motions of the faithful. We left Laredo at the ungodly hour of 11am guided by "a satellite-based navigation system made up of a network of 24 satellites placed into orbit by the U.S. Department of Defense," that apparently has no interest in south Texas. Not that we had to rely on Ms. Garmin but it I spent the next 10 hrs following her guidance and imagining her engulfed in flames or tossed into rivers. The same rivers she repeatedly suggested I turn my car "sharply right" into. But all is forgiven.

With Mexico fresh on my mind, long after crossing the border, I was reminded of all the choices available to us in the United States, religious and otherwise. Wow, and so many logos compared to Mexico, where thousands of mom & pop businesses sport handpainted signs featuring carburetors, sofas, and teeth. So many gas stations, so many churches...gravitating to the cheapest with the most appealing brand identity, and impressed by the modest architecture and signage promoting seemingly endless varieties of faith-based religions.

Made it to Tyler, Texas and saw some stuff along the way, including: Frio County Line, Leaving Dilley City Limits, "Don't pick up hitchhikers," Big Foot/Yancy exit, fish-stickered pickup trucks, the Devine Taqueria, Splashtown Drive, San Antonio, Austin, "Hand Scraped Hardwood," Snake Farm, Guadalupe Turnaround, Buda, "Buy 1 Get 11 Free Firecrackers," Waco Drive, Friendly Genie Car Wash, (thought I saw a former student driving a blue VW), and onwards towards Hubbard, Texas, Mt. Calm, and a bicycle covered with plastic cemetery flowers decorating someone's private pond. Corsicana Chip Plant, Hwy 155, and Texas 309 to Tyler. Didn't make it as far as we'd hoped, because of traffic, but we slept well.

the road home: day 2

Left Querétaro, Querétaro at the ungodly hour of 10am then drove thru beautiful high valleys and semi-arid regions surrounded by spectacular mountains, past sellers of snakeskin powders and medicinal honey. I love the zones before, during and just after San Luis Potosi and Matehuala. So many lean-to structures advertising tuna (the fruit of the Nepal cactus), frescas (strawberries), strings of ajo (garlic), and dried rattlesnake skins. Millions of Joshua trees! Dozens and dozens of funky little tiendas (shops), restaurantes, bars and simple petrol "stations" with plastic jugs of gas featuring brightly painted numbers. Scored a couple of clay fetishes at one, both sporting twisted wire crosses, and one...a tiny felt dress. We made it to the border at Columbia around 9pm inspired by all we had seen. The crossing took about ten minutes. The guards peeked into our car with a flashlight and only asked if we were carrying fruit. I confessed to a few limes from our garden but they weren't impressed. The dogs didn't even bark, unlike last summer when they acted like a couple of ferocious beasts when the guard's dog sniffed our wheel wells. We drove a "short distance" beyond Laredo then returned to the proper exit. Crashed at a La Quinta Inn where we celebrated our return to the U.S. by brushing our teeth with tap water.

the road home: day 1

Headed north sleepy last Friday at the ungodly hour of 5pm. Said goodbye to our beautiful garden and dirty little street, then made it as far as Querétaro, Querétaro before pooping out. The dogs were very excited to get back on the road, but it's always a challenge to find places that accept pets. Generally speaking, a "don't ask don't tell" policy is honored by the finest, most super funky motels, and some are actually quite nice before we arrive. Just past the Jurica exit we stayed at the former Azteca Motel. Now it's called La Juriquilla Inn. Super nice proprietor, but the room was noisy because the place is right on the highway. Not that I'm complaining; we were grateful for the room. Took the dogs for a big walk around the property when Nemo was suddenly pulled to the ground as if by a powerful dog magnet. BAM! He went down so fast I hardly knew what happened. It was dark, but before he fell I saw a sinister, roundish shadow. Then he proceeded to do his best snail darter routine and shot across the ground on his back in all directions so fast I could only see whitish streaks surrounding me. I was laughing out loud until I smelled something that reminded me of my childhood. Something my grandmother called "cow hick." I didn't realize how bad it was until we walked back into our room and I spent the next hour scraping and scrubbing hick off our little cattle dog and his nasty harness. Before the scrubbin', I had never seen Nemo so happy.