The hotel of curiosity

So we settled into our hotel at Lake Placid and I was quite pleased, but it really doesn't take much after being folded and packed into the backseat of a pickup. They handed me a key, which on its own is amazing. What hotel still uses keys? I guess the kind that don't "get a lot of our kind 'round these parts." BUT best of all it was on a carabiner. Its that natural. In the same way I always know where my car keys are, and how that comforts me because it's locked on, this carabiner said "welcome home."

(So much so, I had to take a picture)

Then we started investigating our rooms. I've moved around quite a bit in my short life and from experience and habit, I tell you this is one of the greatest joys! Going into prospective shelters and picking out "your room." Trying to beat your little sister to the best room in the house. Opening up every door to see what magical worlds might exist on the other side. And DRAWERS! Open the drawers! Who knows what you might find! A severed hand! A diamond ring! Dust bunnies! It could be anything! I'm still not sure why we were doing this. There were four children above us in line for the throne and there were definitely never 7 separate rooms for all of us. Obviously the little ankle biter was going to be in MY room, and I wasn't going to have a choice in where we were setting up shop.

BUT this is a vacation. One where I paid, therefore I get my own room! WOOOOOHOOOOOO! Finally! So much room for activities! It's like a surprise behind that door. It could be the magical door in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Mr. Tumnus could be in there! And with a key on a carabiner, anything is possible!

At first look, you think to yourself, "Ah, what a quaint little mountain town, this Lake Placid is. Just the essentials."

And then you realized you paid over 100 dollars for this one night...

in the downtown RESORT of a former Olympics town...and the remote doesn't work.

...and you may or may not be missing furniture...


...or at least a picture or mirror...

However curious it seemed at first, it was not initially noticed by me. After my experiences sleeping in my car, at truck stops, or in a hammock out in the woods all summer, this seemed pretty posh. Until Debbie Downer (I mean my dad) walked in and started giggling. "What is this place?!"

"I dunno, there's enough room for my snowboard to sit. That's good."

Interior designer Dad came to scope out my room and was just in absolute awe. "Take a picture of the end tables!" he said. "Do you believe this! They don't match! None of it does! It's like this hotel went to a yard sale at a beach town and picked up what they could!"

It truly was all scrapped together. I hadn't noticed...

I did notice that the intention for this room was to get extensive reading done in our one or two night stay, but not the usual Bible, or on rare occasion, the Book of Latter Day Saints. "No no, we foresake religion for...Stephen King!"

I bet they have a 13th floor in this hotel too...

Of course, beyond the unique yard sale room of curiosity, where thankfully there was no mirror, I was cold to my bones. Adjusting the temperature is such a treat in a hotel, because its not your electric bill buddy! Heat it up until it's a sauna!

....BUT wait...

Two heaters? No wait, I think that one is broken...

...and wait, this one...

How do you turn it on?
Which way is hot?
What temperature is it at right now?
Is it working?

This here is the real curiosity...the Russian Roulette of keeping yourself warm. You may be freezing yourself out after dinner, or you may be cooking yourself like a turkey...who knows if it's even on. Good luck and Godspeed!

Time for a drink!

Spaving

In my rush I forgot to explain SPAVING. This is a word that my dad has created to describe my mothers shopping habits. She SPends tons of money on good deals in order to sAVE money. Somehow, however, the bill remains over my dad's allotted shopping expenditure goal....which is to say $0. SPAVING ladies and gentleman.

Trips with Dad

I am a blend of both of my parents for certain. And both of my parents have very STRONG personalities. You'd be certain about that if you knew my Daddy. Perhaps you're questioning that about my Momma, but they don't know what they started when they combined their own stubborn personalities together. She may be quieter, but she IS. Momma is uniquely and quietly STRONG in personality.

I am already digressing...

The point here is that it's a competition to have a relationship with your parents when there are six of you looking for some kind of attention and some kind of unique bond. After all, the genetics are limited. We all came from the same two people. There is only so much rearranging of the code you can do. We certainly can't all be the favorite. That's Matt. Matt is the favorite, he's always been the favorite. My mom can try to hide it all she wants, but ask her what Matt was like as a child and she'll just say "he was my HAPPY baby. Always smiling."

 Do you know what she called me?

 Plate head.

I was 10lbs 4oz. of pure birth canal joy. I ruined my chances of being the favorite before taking my first breath. She doesn't have that glint in her eye when she talks about me when I was a baby. I can't imagine why not, between the fact that I made her lactose intolerant, had ridiculous ear infections and cried constantly. Still have the scar tissue on my ear drums to prove I had tubes in my ears. I was a pudgy big-headed gem. She passed me off to my older sister who needed a doll to play with.

 (Mom, it's all dramatic effect, I knew you loved me the moment you stuffed me in the pile of kids to get chicken pox so I could get it over with :)

And Daddy loves his Mattie too. Sure he had to give him three cars to total in two years and track him down when he sneaked out to Marsh Creek to do God Knows What, but seriously Matt is carrying on the fish tank dream. They go to the fish store twice a month to check out all the exotic fish that Matt will eventually kill. They're keeping the word "**spaving" in existence. They play ball with their respective dogs in the yard. Its cute. 

I mean Mattie Matt is hard to not love. He's really a great guy. He's always looking out for you and forgives you really easily when you're being a brat. He makes everyone feel special like when he calls you Jacks Sprat. AND MAN he gives great hugs. I'm just saying, I understand.

I am, by no means, the bottom of the six. Mainly, because the rest of us are pretty tied up with all of the antics we've put our parents through. (Except Dan.  I'm pretty sure he's second in command on the rankings. State Champs. I've memorized the highlight film because my dad can't stop watching it.) So the last four of us scrap together what we can and make a competition of it. Mostly, though, we compete on who can mess it up worse. It's a fun game.

I do have one thing though. And that's traveling with Dad. No one else gets to weasel their way into more trips with Dad than I can. I've been able to sneak into Utah to visit Daddy more times than anyone else. I've sweet talked myself into "Dad and the boys" trips. (Alaska was fun guys, right?!) I've almost died following my dad into a crazy adventure more times than I care to recall, even from way back before I knew the rules of canoeing around barges in the Delaware river. If Daddy is Batman, I'm definitely Robin. I won't even mind sporting the tights and cape if it means we get to go somewhere or do something cool.

Since my dad retired, or as he calls it, made a career change; we've been taking about a trip a year. Last year we took our best friends out to the Grand Canyon and almost died for the billionth time. It was FANTASTIC! It was one of the reasons I decided I needed to experience more of my own country. This year, we took a weekend trip up to Lake Placid (and Old Forge), New York and played on snowmobiles. As in any trip one ever takes, it was filled with interesting places and experiences that perhaps will never be given any kind of justice in writing.

BUUUUTTTTT that won't stop me from trying! TO THE BATCAVE!

Before our trip even began, we lost a fellow traveler to the trials and tribulations of adult life that I so frequently try to avoid. Namely, responsibilities. Job responsibilities. Family responsibilities. Yuck.

And then there were three. Daddy, Rick, and I piled into the massive F-350 that's size is a juxtaposition to the seating capacity. As in all trucks, there are only really two seats. The two in the front. Sure sure, they put "seating" in the second row. It's about as luxurious as an old church pew after a long-winded Christmas homily from a deaf priest. So the long-legged older and wiser bulls sat stretching out like lions on the Savannah up front while I snuggled with six or seven bags with more corners than are logically allowable for cube shaped luggage. I had room for half of me. Let the 8 hour ride commence! Ever so often the old bulls would take it upon themselves to stretch their necks and turn to check the hand they could see stabbing through the piles upon piles of travelling necessities. There's still a pulse! Squeeze my hand if you need to breathe or go to the bathroom!

There is very little in the way of obstacles if it means I get to visit something new and different. I may have developed the beginnings of a hump on my back, but all for the glory of the road!

We arrived to magical Lake Placid around 4:30. It was like coming upon the North Pole. Sleepy with Sandman snowflakes sighing through the atmosphere, we came upon the luxurious downtown village hotel. By luxurious, of course, I mean it had a roof and rooms and free coffee. Poor Jerry, the desk clerk who undoubtedly was not ready for my Dad to come huffing in, did his best. You see, it's hard to park a farm truck anywhere but in a field or a superbly long driveway. Parking it in a "city" is just laughable. Then you add piles upon piles of snow and a tiny parking lot of about twenty spaces serving an entire downtown hotel. You get a very flustered and severe Daddy on your hands.

This is where the relationship of Rick and Dad starts to show. Rick volunteered to get out of the nice cozy truck and plunk down to the hotel to see about parking. Rick is always so generous with his expectations and considerate of what other people are feeling. Rick is the good cop. He politely rings the bell. Not too harsh, just enough to be noticed. Really just a tinkling to the ear. He kindly asks for Jerry's name first. (this is a proud habit of Rick's, he always recalls everyone's name) He asks about a recommendation for parking because we have a large truck and the parking lot appears to be full. Jerry points us in the direction of the municipal lot and Rick is happy and willing to report this back to Daddy.  ENTER BAD COP. He can't help it. Daddy has an impressive ability for thinking through logistics and an immense distaste for obstacles keeping him from naps. Not a good combination. Jerry gets "the look."

"The look" has famously made businessmen and employees break into instantaneous inexplicable sweat attacks. I've seen grown men on the verge of tears without exactly knowing why just because my dad gives them the stare down. I'm pretty sure my dad negotiated down a hot tub salesman with such intensity that the contract of sale included the man's resignation. I've witnessed car salesmen scurry out of their offices for backup because they couldn't concentrate on the math with my dad staring them down with "the look."

Jerry broke into a sweat and a stutter started to develop half way through the interrogation of said municipal parking lot where one would have to move their vehicle in the afternoons because it becomes a private lot. Wrong answer Jerry. Wrong answer.

Daddy never really yells. He speaks. slowly. deeply. glowering. It's absolutely terrifying. Jerry knows. He scurried away like all those car salesmen before him and tried to figure his way out of this predicament. I'm pretty sure he was trying to lift people's vehicles out of the snow and scoot them over so my dad could park his truck in the front row. Too bad he's no superman. That would have been nice.

Turns out the municipal parking lot wasn't so bad. Also turns out that we got front row parking at the hotel the next two days because Jerry just loves my dad that much (and apparently managed to dismiss the other cars in the lot for the next day). Also, Jerry seemed to have lost a few pounds by the following day. Something in how my dad threatened that he never would have ever come here if he knew about the parking situation in a downtown hotel really stuck with Jerry. I understand. It feels a lot like not being ready for the President of the United States. It's not really your fault, but all the same, disappointing the entire country can really affect you.

Rick and I cringed inside and acted nonchalant. I think I began whistling and strolling the tiny foyer, really inspecting the inside of my coffee cup; curious about how the free coffee could be so hot. No one likes seeing a man under duress. Especially not when it's because of your relative. Yet, the benefits of travelling with someone who can throw his weight around allows us to forget about the uncomfortable moments. And honestly Jerry, whats with not having parking for trucks in UPSTATE NEW YORK?! We loved Jerry for the rest of the weekend. He really was a super nice guy and we chatted with him every morning we were there. We certainly did leave him with an impression though.

TO BE CONTINUED...

I tripped and fell into a Disney Pixar movie!

I am in the mood for magic. Makes you wanna watch a Disney/Pixar movie. Which brings me to the time I drove right into one. Just imagine yourself, like good old Roger Rabbit. One moment you're just driving along, then slowly things start to contort and reform into animation...

It's a place, or rather, set of places along a long and lost road called Route 66. It's a magical land in the United States of America that will have you travelling back in time. So, off Hobbes and I went. And in the great words of Doc Brown:

"If my calculations are correct, when this baby hits 88 miles per hour... you're gonna see some serious shit."

I totally did. I went to the past, and Back to the Future, and into a mix of the two.

Hobbes is  no DeLorean with the awesomely 80s doors that rise up to the sound of Transformer hydraulics, but he did his job. And to be honest, we weren't hitting 88 miles per hour, because when you are on America's highway, you cruise. You stick your arm out the window and let the dust mix with the whipping tendrils of your hair. Hobbes bobbed and grooved to the oldies, because what else do you play on Route 66? I just let the sun bleach the world in front of us and you just can't drive through dusty old Arizona in this way without a true, broad, "everything is just peachy keen" smile on your face. I stopped in to a "middle of no where" mom and pop store, grabbed a six pack.... of root beer (duh!) and sat it in the seat next to me. Popped a top, and continued cruising and collecting freckles.

Also, driving thousands of miles with the windows down is not recommended for beauteous luscious hair. I don't care what you see on the Garnier Fructis commercials. THIS is reality on the road. BLEACHED KNOTTY, but happy. In fact, A LOT of times, it had to be at least 1/4 of a bottle of conditioner a night to get my hair smooth enough to run my fingers through it without getting bitten by Medusa hair snakes.

 I started off on one of the largest loops on Route 66. I was unaware, for this reason, that Route 66 doesn't exist in it's glory and natural form as it did years ago. There are large and small loops all across the country off of the evil highway 40, that any good Pixar movie watcher will know, destroyed the historic route.

If you don't believe me, read the museum sign. It took FIVE highways to replace this amazing piece of engineering. FIVE. The largest being Route 40.

The sad and wonderful part of the deterioration of Route 66 is that you get lost a lot, because if you don't pay ever so close attention to it, it disappears on you. And sometimes when you DO pay extra close attention to it, it disappears anyway. Moral of the story, I got lost A LOT and it was SO MUCH FUN! There was one point in the road that it literally deteriorated right in front of me. It was a road, then, BAM! Pot Hole, BAM! BAM! Then BAM! BAM BAM! It was pothole filled and crumbling! Slowly it crumbled to dirt, and then to no road at all. It disappeared before my very eyes! All that was left was a forest of bramble and abandoned shops and gas stations. If we all have to live through a zombie Apocalypse, I feel like this is how life will deteriorate. Slowly the modern age will just be overcome by nature and time and wash into memories.

Even after driving thousands of miles, when you drive on this amazing road, you could go all day in the middle of nowhere because the most amazing things happen, the most magical things happen on Route 66. You just can't help but wander around, pop into shops, museums, dinosaur attractions, truly American wonders. Then you let the sun go down on your day warm and satisfied, and THAT is a truly American wonder as well.

One of the most amazing things that happens on Route 66 is that things pop up in random places along the road. One moment you're in an old black and white movie with your hair blowing in the wind singing all the classics, the next moment your neck gets a bite from whiplash and you nearly drive off the road with your head out the window in the complete opposite direction because you're pretty sure you just saw "Mater" in someone's back yard! THAT WAS HIM! REALLY HIM! Oh My God! THAT MOVIE IS REAL!

They pop up EVERYWHERE! And you double take every time! You could be touring a natural dry cave in New Mexico, and then sneaking in between old junky cars is the firetruck that's afraid of everything!

And you start shouting random things like "Luigi! It's a FERR -Ahhhh Ree!!

I started playing, "What's that movie?!" with my family. I was texting them pictures of all the things that reminded me of CARS and I even took pictures of a Circle K to see who knew the movie Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. (Best Keanu Reeves movie I've ever seen, Pssshhhh Matrix).

I was free wheeling through some kind of "Roger Rabbit" effect. The cartoons were all coming to life! I imagined the Goofy short films where he's driving through the desert and has all of these Jekyll and Hyde moments with fellow highway travelers!

I may have needed to lay off the root beer, or drink more water. It may have been the heat of the day, but it was wonderful all the same! Traveling through time and space and reality!

I did actually do some research on the road. The movie, Cars, has a town called Radiator Springs and it does NOT in fact exist. You would have seen pictures of me there if it did. Radiator Springs is actually cooler than existence, however. It is like a compilation of places that DO exist all in one town to demonstrate the nostalgia and uniqueness of the time period. There was a website I followed that showed you where you could find specific parts of Radiator Springs out on the road:

http://route66news.com/2006/06/09/a-route-66-guide-to-the-cars-movie/

AND Route 66 isn't complete until you've visited a half a dozen road museums. The best part of these museums are the amazing people tucked into the back corners. I toured the museum in Arizona with a fragile old man clad in a weathered old brown pant and jacket complete with newsboy cap. He was in charge of collecting personal artifacts like letters and postcards for the museum. In the other one located in Oklahoma, there was an amazing lady in a bedazzled Obama t shirt who retired from teaching to man the refurbished malt shop. We chatted about teaching and she played me a song on the jukebox while I put my pin on the map on the wall. People from all over the world had marked where they were coming from, some almost across the world.

And then in the middle of nothing, Texas. Cadillac ranch. It is actually outside of Amarillo, but honestly that's just a lesser level of nothing.

Nothing says art like non sense graffiti in half submerged Cadillacs. It actually is pretty wonderful. Even as you see these images, it looks nothing like this anymore, because it's been painted over by more tourists.

It's funny, I passed this place twice. Once without even realizing it and a second time actively looking for it. And that's the thing about it. Things come up and emerge off the side of the road just like that. You have to pay attention. That's the magic.

Heartbreak

My heart is broken and I'm trying desperately not to think too much about it. I thought I'd write an entry and try to make the sad stuff funny, but it's really hard when it's really sad...

I've been lost for an entire year.

This is how I feel right now:

The worst part is people thinking I made a mistake. I didn't make a mistake. I took a chance. I love someone who doesn't love me back. I would do it all over again. I won't stop loving this person. You don't just stop loving someone. It IS time to realize that that's not good enough and that if you give yourself away without the same happening in return, eventually you lose yourself. And I am very lost.

I have traveled thousands and thousands of literal miles to reset myself, traversing the country, climbing mountains, scaling cliffs and it didn't work. I was happy for a brief moment because people wanted to know about my adventures. I felt connected to the whole wide world and it felt AMAZING! But that's just a temporary high. I came right back and fell right back into that shadow that used to be me.

I think it's interesting this idea of "finding oneself." Where do you go? How do you leave yourself? My intent wasn't to find myself, and it's still not. I definitely ran away. I ran FAR away. And honestly, it was fun. BUT it wasn't what I needed to do, it's what I WANTED to do. And I'm still myself, I've always been myself. In fact, sometimes I wish I could quit being quite SO myself. Have you ever heard your own laugh echo in your ears and just cringe? Yeah, that's me, ALL. THE. TIME. What is that cackle anyways?!

It's so hard to avoid all of these heartbreak hallmarks and cliche's. They're all bits and pieces of the truth, and yet, so far from it. "Words can not express the depth of my despair." Very Jane Austen. And speaking of my lady, I so wish for that rose colored world she's always making fun of.

I'm so tired of this world we live in. I'm tired of words being used like "hot" instead of "beautiful." I remember the last time someone said I was beautiful. It was forever long ago. People don't say that anymore. It must be too tender and intimate for the internet age. I would love to hear things like that again, soulful words. Words like lovely and beautiful. Looking at people inside and out, you CAN be beautiful, but who ever heard of being "hot" on the inside? Do you have a fever?! Maybe it's just the teacher in me, but I guess when it comes to the world, I want a deeper meaning. That goes for women too. Maybe we should be striving for those comments with the way we look and move and even eat. Maybe we SHOULD bake a pie here and again (from scratch) and trade in those tight pants and low cut shirts for a classy dress. Not for anyone in particular, but for dignity and respect.

When was the last time someone tried to hold your hand instead of grabbing some other part of your body? I think we're all taking the short cut and skipping the really important steps that just seem too small to be important.

My little sister will probably laugh. She'll probably roll her eyes, because I'm the one who always asks if she's "going steady" with someone. I guess I should stop watching those old "pictures" of the black and white knight in shining armor and get back to modern day. It sure is messy.

If love is all you need, maybe we shouldn't treat it with a passing fancy. I think it's perfectly acceptable to be dramatic about it, if it's the most important thing in your world.

I think I'm mostly depressed because the way I picture the way things should be are never going to match up with the way things actually are. Maybe someday I'll be less of a pushy brutish loud mouth and someone else will come up and kiss my hand and whisk me away! (Up a very tallish mountain with a rope and some shining climbing gear)

A different kind of adventure

Today is the start of a new adventure. Probably one of the more nerve-wracking ones. This is definitely new territory and unexpectedly scary. It's nothing like all the usual extreme sports and over zealous happy hours that turn into stupid "I dare you" sessions. 

I am having trouble wrapping my head around this. I'm moving. It's not like moving when I was little. It's not like when I bought my own house. It's somehow different. I'm moving into someone's life. 

I am actually at a loss for words to explain this sensation.

I guess I'll take my own teacher advice. When kids don't know what a word means, we start with the basics. 

Is this word a good thing or a bad thing?

Definitely a good thing.

What sort of pictures come to mind when you hear it?

Warm blankets

Laughing and horsing around

Scrambled eggs

Rock climbing

Hammock lounging

Fire

Being normal

Driving back roads

Porch sitting

So basically I'll be doing everything I normally do in a different location, but with someone. That's way better.

I just have to remember that I'm not just going off on a tangent on my own. I do that a lot. Remember there are other people here.

Time to get started.

Love Notes from Strangers

So I returned from Tahoe and thus the end was nigh. Irish Eric tried to convince me that I should just take a plane back to the wedding I had to go to and then come back for a while longer, and he made me hesitate for a few minutes before I realized how little I had in the savings account...

It was time to say good bye.

So I went to my bar. That's right MY bar. The one I stopped into a few times in Petaluma for "lunch." I'm a creature of habit. It can not be helped. Plus the bartender was this cool hippy guy. Hawaiian shirt every day, long silver hair and a weed smokers head bob. "Yeah Man." You know the guy. I'm sure you can picture him in your head.

I broke the news as gently as possible. "I'll get the usual Pliny the Elder, it's my last one in Petaluma."

"Awww maaaannnn where ya headed?"

"I'm riding off into the ....uh...sunRISE...I guess?"

Platonically speaking, I love so many people. Just the way they are themselves and they couldn't help it if they tried. I just can't help smiling about it. I have a lot of students that are bursting through their skin that way this year. It's so hard to be the mean teacher when it happens. I just get excited to know how people tick. Unfortunately, sometimes it gets confused with flirtation...

...Case in point, bartender hands over the pint and chats me up about all of his adventures and asks about mine. Then, a long haired surfer dude aged by the sun and the sea walks in and takes a seat leaving a chair between us. That didn't last long.

We were watching a rebroadcast of a soccer match. The teams escape me now, but it was definitely international. Surfer dude notices me watching and starts a conversation. Darn I love talking about soccer. So few people do it. It's such a treasure to find people who know anything about the sport! Here I go again! I wonder all about this guy because, honestly, what kind of American knows this much about the world's sport?! Weird Americans do...trust me, I'm one of them.

So that chair between us...it went missing. Found out SO much about this guy. I should have known he was a teacher, who else shows up at a bar midafternoon besides teachers and bums?! Found out he was a surfer, and like all Californians, quite the hippy outdoorsman. Just absolutely awesome conversation. Such an interesting person, who told me so much about so many interesting places. We shared teaching stories and I learned that there are so many different things between the east and the west coast and yet so many things are the same. The people are DEFINITELY my favorite part of the trip, and it was time to go on and meet other people from other places...

Told him if I ever came back to California he needed to teach me how to surf. Like a few people I have met on the road, I exchanged information so we could keep in touch. Bartender sent his love and paid my tab and I was off and away from my beloved Petaluma.

2 minutes out the door I started receiving some pretty interesting text messages:

I didn't count this long haired hippy into the flirting category, mainly because he was a little older than I feel would be within the approved range for me...Is that rude? I don't know, but I didn't even think of this conversation in these terms. Gets me into trouble sometimes. I won't even start to tell you about the time I accidentally went on a date with an old Asian guy...

( I don't remember what was "best of all," but I'm sad I cut it out. I'm just as curious as you are.)

I DO KNOW that I LOVE love notes. Who doesn't? This particular string of love notes had me going. It was sweet in a stalker-ish kind of "not desperate???? REALLY?!" way...

And then there are those people who I run into from time to time that try to send out a compliment and then CRASH AND BURN. Thanks for calling me peculiar...

It reminds me of the time this guy told me I must be a runner, "I can tell" he said, as I puffed up a little with pride until he said "Yeah, I can definitely tell. You have those tree-trunk legs."

WOMP WOMP!

"Thanks I guess?!?"

Love notes from strangers. You never know what will happen!