Road Trip- Part Two

Compared to the drive from home to Louisville, the ride to Asheville should easier. And by easier, I mean shorter. If it weren't for the fact that I was by myself, I might even go out on a limb and say it would be fun. Leaving Louisville in an empty van, both in terms of possessions and people, made it lonely, depressing and deathly quiet. The cloudy morning didn't help. But at least the traffic was light, so that was something... I guess.

The rain let up slowly as I made my way east- eventually melting away to sunshine as I got to North Carolina ("Naturally", I think Mom would say). Wisps of clouds hung below the mountaintops and the low angle of the sun cast sharp shadows on the opposing mountain faces. It's been twenty-five years since I was last here. Back then, I was moving stuff with Mom from my aunt's house to bring home to Mom's. My Aunt Ellie was moving to a retirement community and that's where I was headed now.

Driving through the mountains was beautiful and felt like it hadn't been that long since I was here last. The mountains remind me a little of home. The difference is they're much taller here. When you look at the hills at home, you see sky in the distance. Here, you see a couple of more rows of taller and taller mountains.

I remembered the winding, steep inclines of the highway and the domed tunnels that snake under the mountains. What caught me off guard is how much more pronounced my fear of heights has gotten over the years. Looking at the mountains in the distance is one thing. Looking over the edge of the road and not seeing anything is something else. Every time I came to a bridge or drove next to a ravine, I broke out in a sweat, clutched the steering wheel and tried to concentrate only on the road ahead and not be sucked into the scenery beside and below me.

Me trying to snap a photo and not careen off the mountainside.

I had forgotten about my ears popping with the change in altitude. I hadn't forgotten about the smell. There's a certain smell along the thickly wooded portions of the countryside, and I remember it clearly from my youth. What is it from? I had always thought it was due to the the mills in the area. But I'm assuming that the mills have left here, like they have most other places. Is it something to do with the damp forests or the kudzu that blankets the hills? Whatever the reason, it instantly takes me back to my grandmother's yard in Biltmore years and years ago.

I decided to get off an exit earlier than I had to, so I could see the area in Biltmore where my grandmother's house used to be. I knew the area had changed, but I still wanted to take a look- mostly for the relationships the home had to other landmarks in the area.

The Biltmore Dairy was as close to Nona's house as I remember it to be, though it is no longer the Biltmore Dairy. Rather, it is just one more of the homogenous restaurants that you can find anywhere else in the country. A little further down on the right was the church Mom and Dad got married in. And then back to the left a little further still, is the gate to the Biltmore House & Gardens. Nona's house used to be over on the left, closer to the church than the gate. The woods behind the stores that are squeezed into where the house used to be, still look familiar, and a part of me wishes I could explore them to maybe find a brick from the old barbecue pit or some gravel from the driveway. But it's better that I don't. It's better to think that they're in there somewhere, sitting unnoticed as a silent monument to what the area once was.

I drove across the bridge that goes over the train yard. These were the tracks we rode into town on many, many years ago. This was the bridge we had to stop on on one of our many excursions during that same era. A storm had moved in and the hail that came with it was so blinding, my grandmother had to pull over and we waited it out. I couldn't imagine doing something like that now, since it is now a major throughway.

I took a last look before turning around and getting back on the highway to go to Ellie's.

Friday Night Video

Let's watch some Mr. Bean tonight. It's been a little while since I've watched any of these. For several years Sam and I watched these shows over and over again. He loved them. I did too (and still do).

I think a big reason that Sam liked them so much is due to the fact that while Sam's a good visual learner, language is a struggle for him. With Mr. Bean, it doesn't matter.  If you haven't had the pleasure of watching one before, watch now and you'll see what I mean.

This one lasts just over twenty-five minutes.

A Brief Comment

Is there anything crunchier than oriental rice snacks? I don't think so! Except maybe some of that dried corn you feed the hungry animals at the zoo... but I'm talking human food.

I apologize if I have addressed this controversy previously.

Road Trip- Part One

Rachael and I left for Louisville early Saturday morning in the fully packed van; a van packed so tight I couldn't find room to slide Helaina into any of the non-existent gaps between the luggage and furniture. After a brief hiccup (the local coffee vendor wasn't open yet so we detoured through Northampton), we were off. Our goal was to make it to the south side of Columbus, Ohio by the end of the day without killing ourselves. I figured this to be about an eleven hour drive.

The first leg of the trip took us through New York state, out towards Buffalo, where we eventually veered left and followed the edge of Lake Erie. Traffic was heavy with cars apparently going to Niagara Falls and Canada. Signs above the highway announced wait times at various border crossings of anywhere from one to three hours. Luckily, we diverted from this crowd and headed south, briefly  through the vineyard covered hills of upper Pennsylvania and onto Ohio.

Ohio was filled with highway construction and farmland. Just about the entire first hour was spent riding on a torn up road surrounded by fields punctuated with billboards. There seemed to be a strange and growing mixture of liqueur warehouses and "adult" superstores being advertised in huge signs, scattered throughout the crops. I can only figure that it must get pretty boring out there and this offered what passes for recreation.

Even more strange was that while the landscape was filling with more and more of those signs, the radio filled with more and more stations playing sermons and christian music. It was as if there was a battle going on between two extremely opposing sides- and both sides seemed to be losing.

At one point, we passed a huge billboard standing between the edge of the highway and the end of a farm field. It declared in large, all capital letters: "HELL IS REAL". Just to get the point across (in case it was too subtle), the "H" was in red. At first glance, it seemed like it was a pretty bold statement, but as I drove on, it only raised questions. What was the point of this? Who put this up and how do they know this to be true? Was this a warning, or a cry for help? Is this a reference to this part of Ohio, to their marriage, or what? I'm still baffled.

As dinnertime approached, we were fried. We were about a mile away from the hotel, but first, we made a quick pit stop to a Radio Shack where Rachael picked up a new phone charger and then we bought some supposedly "Mexican" food to take to the hotel.

The hotel was everything I expected and less. It started with the receptionist, who was apparently more fried than we were, and it continued on to our lovely one and one half star accommodations . We had asked for a "no smoking" room and I guess in the strictest sense, that's what were got- seeing as how neither Rachael or I were smoking. The room, however, smelled of stale cigarette smoke- but I suppose it could have been from leaching through the wafer thin walls. I went to turn on the air conditioner, figuring a little circulation would help, and I suppose it would have, if  the air conditioner didn't smell like musty old socks.

Rachael and I attempted to eat what we could of our "Mexican" food before finally depositing it in the trash at the top of the stair landing. Later, we watched an old movie before giving up and trying to go to sleep in our beds that were thankfully free of bedbugs or hairs from previous guests.  During the night, I gave up and turned on the air conditioner in a vain attempt to drown out the noise of the steady stream of traffic coming from the highway mere yards from our window.

In the morning, we were off again. It would be about a three hour ride to Louisville from our hotel and time passed quickly, at least in comparison to the night before. Along the way, we made one more pit stop, just after entering Kentucky, at a highway restaurant/gas station/ small arms vendor. Rachael used the bathroom while I checked out the souvenirs- things like postcards and shot glasses and straw cowboy hats. I tried not to wince at the canned country music that blared in the background or make eye contact with anyone.

The rest of the ride to Louisville went smoothly and we found the apartment building without any problems. The landlord, a polite gentleman Rachael had been dealing with, was there to greet us and give us the ins and outs on moving in. The van emptied pretty quickly, partly owing to the fact that we weren't organizing anything after we brought it in. This was Rachael's territory and she would deal with it over the coming days and weeks. For now, it was enough to get it all inside.

The afternoon and evening was spent getting groceries and hunting in vain for a headboard that ultimately proved unnecessary. We got some dinner and toured a few streets in Louisville, particularly the area and building where Rachael will be spending most of the coming year. Before long, we headed back to her apartment, accompanied by heavy rain and lightning. I would be leaving in the morning.

The rest of the night was spent doing the kind of things you do when you are trying to keep your mind off of other things- that is to say, it was spent doing things of no consequence. I went to bed early while Rachael got caught up with her roommate.

Morning, as I expected, came too quickly. I got dressed and grabbed my bag and Rachael walked me downstairs to where the van was parked. We hugged and said our goodbyes. I got in the van and she opened the garage door for me. We said our last goodbyes and I love yous and I pulled out into the lingering rain as the garage door closed behind me.

Driving in the now empty van, I struggled to focus on the ride ahead of me instead of the crushing sense of loss that came to me in greater and greater waves. It was going to be another long ride.

Friday Night Video

Here's a short clip dedicated to the coming road trip...

Moving Day

Tomorrow, I'll be bringing Rachael to Kentucky where she will be living for the next nine months or so. Rachael was born in march of 1989 and we moved into our house the following September. We bought our house from an elderly couple whose daughter had convinced them to move closer to her in Florida. I know the couple had owned the house for quite some time. How long though, I'm not quite sure. I don't know, for instance, whether their daughter had grown up in this house or if they had moved in when she was a young girl. Did she walk to the local schools from here? I'm sure some amount of Christmases and birthdays were celebrated here, that is assuming they celebrated those kinds of things. I don't know how attached they were to the place and I don't know how hard it was for them to leave. For some people, a house is just a house.

When you come in the back door of our house, you immediately come into an enclosed back porch. For many years, this porch functioned as a playroom for our tiny kids. Now, it's a combination pantry and storage room, where the overflow of food and junk and memories are stacked in heaps and piles, leaving only a narrow path leading from the back door to the doorway of the kitchen.

As you stand in the door to the kitchen, you can look straight ahead, through the kitchen, into our front entry. To the immediate left off the kitchen is a doorway to the dining room. Further ahead, off the left of the front entry, is a doorway to the living room. The dining room and living room are open to each other, so the effect is one big loop around our tiny first floor. No matter where you are on the first floor, you can pretty much hear everything. Everything is open. Everything is connected.

Anyway, years ago, when the girls were toddlers, when I would get home from work, the back porch door would swing open as I pulled into the driveway. As I got out of the car, the two girls would be there, all smiles. Helaina would be squealing, sometimes clapping along, "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!" Behind her, Rachael, barely able to walk, would be doing her best to try and jump up and down- her knees would bounce and her head would throw back, but her feet never left the ground.

When they were even younger, I would make it all the way inside to the back door of the kitchen. From out of sight, coming from the loop through the living room, I would hear a klump...shump...... klump....shump. This was the sound Rachael made as she crawled along the loop on the hardwood floor. One of Rachael's legs was a little weaker than the other and it tended to drag a little as she made her way along.

When I would open the kitchen door, I would hear the klump...shump.....   klump...shump, coming from the other room. Seconds later, Rachael's head would appear in the distance, at the living room entry doorway- inches from the floor and all cheeks. As she stopped for a second and turned to see me, her face would explode in a big umbrella smile and her head would go down like a charging bull as she made a beeline for me- KlumpShumpKlumpShumpKlumpShump. I would whisk her up and kiss her on her cheek, carrying this tiny doll as I gave her sister a hug.

Sometimes I still stop at the kitchen doorway and I still hear, or at least, feel those sounds from long ago. And I've often wondered what it was like for the previous owner when he left this house for the last time.

Did he stop and take one last look through this doorway, into a house filled with boxes- or worse, into a house that was now empty? Did he take a second or two and look back, and listen to any memories that still echoed in the walls? Was it hard for him to say goodbye, or was this house just a house?

Summer Picnic

Saturday was our annual family get together. I'm not sure why, but figuring out who is bringing what gets more complicated every year. Maybe it is because communication is too easy. Years ago it took a lot of effort to to coordinate with other people. It took phone calls and letters. It took effort. Someone had to be in charge to be the central hub of information.

Now, everyone is in charge. Emails fly in all directions and the result is no one knows what's going on. Below is my response to the other family members for the over twenty emails that preceded it:

"So, just to sum this up:
Mom's not going to bring deviled eggs, but Tina might- though she may or may not come. Either way, Karen would be glad to bring some potato salad... and Kaisa.
Kaisa may or may not bring her boyfriend
Steve and Denise will probably bring a fruit salad and some drinks, but not coffee.
Sandy wants to know if anyone wants coffee, because she'll bring some. She can also bring some water, if people would just say "Yes". Maybe some chips and munchies too?????
I'll do the usual hot dogs, hamburgers and buns. And I'll also bring the ketchup, mustard and relish, maybe onions too. And Laura can do a salad, but hopefully not a fruit salad because Steve and Denise might be bringing one.
Laura says "yes" to the water, and thinks coffee is "nice", while I think coffee is "fine", so it looks like the coffee is finally a "go"- as long as there's regular and decaf. And if Sandy's going to bring some coffee anyway, Steve may have some, but as ice coffee. Karen doesn't want any coffee regardless.
Mom's got tons of chips, so Sandy doesn't need to bring the chips she was planning on, but I guess the munchies would still be OK, even though Mom has some too.
I guess Mom also has some mustard and Steve's going to pick up some ketchup, so I'll leave mine at home, but still plan on bringing some relish (Although Laura now says she will bring one too, so we will either have two or none). I may still bring some onions.
Mom's got the salsa covered.
Mom's also going to bring paper goods, which hopefully includes cups for the drinks (other than for the coffee, which we're assuming Sandy's still bringing and will include cups). But we may need the other cups for the water that Sandy is also bringing... and the drinks Steve and Denise might be bringing.
Steve's also going to bring a pop-up, but hopefully someone else can bring extra misquote repellent, which I can bring, if I remember.

(Late Update: Laura's salad is out. Some kind of noodle slaw is in. And a cake. Steve and Denise are going to bring a leaf salad. Not sure what this does to the fruit salad.)

I think that covers it."

 This generated another seven more emails in response.

Friday Night Video

Hey, how do they do those cool voices on Sponge Bob?, you ask. "Are they real? Are they machines?  Please... tell us!"

Don't beg. You don't look good when you beg.

If for no other reason than to make you stop your pathetic display, I present the following in order to shut you up.



Don't thank me. I did it for me... and maybe Sam.

Today's Non-Announcement

Jake texted me at 11:45 last night. It said, "I GOT IT".

I saw the message at around 2:30 in the morning on one of my rare trips downstairs to get something to drink. It took me a minute to figure out what he meant, and I'm not at liberty to say why, but I couldn't be happier for him.

Congratulations! Nobody deserves it more than you.

Friday Night Video

I have no particular attachment to the following video. It just seemed like a good choice with these past days (weeks?) of ninty plus degree temperatures. As I write this, it's 11:30 and the night has cooled down to a little over eighty degrees.

I'm sure they'll be a day when I will be wishing for the warmth, but that's a long ways away.

All of this aside, it is a pretty neat video.

Stopping the Flo

I've noticed that the only time Sam consistently mutes the TV is when a Progressive Insurance commercial comes on. I'm not sure why this is and I don't want to ask him. I'm afraid he'll stop doing it.