In Flight Entertainment

We are onboard our flight from Seattle, WA to Anchorage, AK…

“Why the change?” you interject. “Since when do you focus on the present, rather than the past?”

Since today.

Because, today we boarded a plane, and the game changed substantially. As of today:

-Tim no longer has to drive (this is where I admit, sheepishly, that Tim did 98.27% of the driving) and is able to nap as we travel.

-We will travel a much longer distance in a much shorter time, and will be sitting much closer than our, up until now, typical 9-inches apart (scandalous indeed!). In fact, right now, my elbow is languishing over Tim’s, touching the middle of his chest as I type, and though he is sleeping and doesn’t appear to mind, I have to wonder, do we really need to be packed on planes like sardines? I am sure “packin’ ‘em in” was an effective strategy on Viking war ships where x-number to a bench meant more power behind the oar, but honey (that means you, Mr. Airline Executive, sir), lets be honest – we ain’t rowing no where.

And, if you were wondering, yes, we did measure that 9-inch distance. We had a lot of long drives.

-We will no longer marinate ourselves in episodes of Murder She Wrote, This American Life, and The Splendid Table (or maybe we will?).

-This journey of ours is out of our direct control. For the past 48 states, it was up to us to make the decision to soldier on. If the weather were too bad – we would be the ones to call it (though, it never got bad, so we continued on). If we were too tired – we would be the ones to call it (though, we never felt the tug of exhaustion, so we continued on). If we realized it was complete lunacy to zigzag from state to state across the US, seeing the scenery change at 70 mph, and never getting to spend as much time in any place as we wanted – we would be the ones to call it (though, we never saw this as lunacy, but instead viewed it as a grand adventure, so we continued on). But right now, right here, in fact, we lose control. We lose control to the whim of the airlines, the pilots, and to every present Mother Nature, all of whom work in unguarded camaraderie. It is now up to them to help us make our (self-imposed) deadline.

So we honor this free-fall into the unknown, uncontrolled circumstances with thanks – thanks to you, dear reader. And thanks to the many, many people who will never read these words of appreciation, but whom we want to honor nevertheless.

We are humbled by your love, your humor, your insight and your support.

But, instead of typing a laundry list of names, we would like to offer a simple dedication. Please, please know we are picturing and counting each of your faces as we type:

To everyone we stayed with

To everyone we volunteered with

To everyone we met along the way

You made this journey what is was, what it is, and worth all the while

Thank you

Tales of the (yet to be named) Car

The car is struggling. He (for this car is very surely a “he”) is groaning and growling and having trouble getting out of bed. Each time we ask him to reverse, he baulks and then snaps at us, refusing to engage, then smoothes the sheets, rolls over and puts the pillow over his head. In fact, just before we left Bend, I had to get out and push him from his slumber, hands on hood and feet on curb, coaxing him out of his spot. He lazily rolled backward, and, having cleared all obstacles, Tim talked him into trying first gear, slowly warming him to the idea of second, before demanding third. After that, he, the car, has been going through the motions, but whining at every transition.

We are scared for him and of him.

I suspect that, once we deposit him in a garage in Seattle, where he will receive quick tune up while we are away, he will just collapse. That he will just slump sleepily, trying to keep his eyes open as we wander away, backpacks full to the brim with cold weather clothes for Alaska and hardly any clothes for Hawaii, and that he will try to cry out, to make us wait for him, because how could we ever be so cruel as to leave him, when it is he who, quite literally, got us where we are(?!?!)? But, alas, he will succumb to exhaustion before we exit the garage and begin his weeklong slumber.

The way back will be slow, buddy, I promise you that, full of downtime and, perhaps, multiple days free of driving. But, thank you – really, thank you. You have been our home, our office, our quite space, and our sanity. Because without you, we, quite literally, would not have made it this far.

Day 20 - Mississippi - CARA - Revisited

Two small, black, wiggly puppies, squirming, tumbling and tromping on one another, reaching up, up, up toward my out stretched hands that can only hold one, but want to hold both. And once I picked one up, I never wanted to put it down, could hardly bear the thought of ever letting him out of my sight. I intended to hold him close, sign the papers, and take him home.

That is the only real problem with volunteering at an animal shelter, I combat the urge to adopt, adopt, adopt, knowing full well I can’t take every animal, namely because the shelter wouldn’t let me. And that it, in fact, would not be healthy for me or the animals, and would most likely get me the attention of the local police (“Why officer, I disagree. It is completely normal to have 37 dogs…What’s that you say….Well, I know my apartment is a little small, but there is no need for your judgmental tone…”). But nevertheless, each face tugs at my heartstrings, playing my emotions like a skilled puppeteer, making me very willing to adopt the title of crazy dog/cat/chicken/potbellied pig lady and complete the stereotype with an ensemble consisting of a tattered and faded flowered house dress, light blue rollers coiled tightly under a netted cap, and a menthol smoked from a cheaply bejeweled cigarette holder. Maybe that is going to far, but you get the point. “Plus,” Tim pointed out, “Where would you put two puppies in this car?”

Anyhow, I wanted them. I knew it wasn’t rational, given we had thirty some-odd more states to explore, people’s houses to stay at, and organizations to visit. But, there are times even a fairly rational person sways to irrational ways of thinking. But, Tim, grounded as ever, said we couldn’t take the puppies, not because it would turn our trip from a challenging jaunt to a logistical nightmare, but because he had become extraordinarily attached to a rather large adult mutt. In return, I took pleasure in reminding him that his buddy of was twice the size of my puppies put together and would most certainly not fit in the car. So, there.

(Just to clear up any possible misunderstanding, we do not intend on bringing any more animals home - two is enough…for now. But it is so nice to dream).

CARA, located in Jackson, Mississippi (Hi Buchanan Family!), is a non profit "no-kill" animal rescue group that provides food, shelter & care for hundreds of abused, unwanted, & stray animals. A huge facility, separated into multiple areas featuring hundreds of pens, CARA houses the Mormon Tabernacle Choir of dogs – many members of different ages and backgrounds singing (or in this case barking) in one united voice. It is not unhappy barking, mind you, but “Look at me, I can bark louder than him” barking, or “Oh! That’s my friend going for a walk. Gotta say ‘HI’” barking or “Hmm, why is she barking? Must be something good! I better snap to it” barking, so rather than being unsettling, the atmosphere is quite lively, sort of like a huge college auditorium before a professor begins to speak. And settle they did, after being fed and exercising in the outside runs, which coincided with us commencing to work. The cats, on the other hand, were very quiet.

I am making sound as if we did nothing but play with dogs. Make no mistake, we did play with a lot of dogs (a distinct benefit of volunteering at a shelter), but we also painted. Painted at an animal shelter? Yes. If you remember, we also painted at Save the Bay in RI, which is not the primary function of that organization either. Yet, painting projects are helpful to many organizations, as it frees up the staff from having to paint (not that many organizations have their staff paint, but it has happened) or saves the organization from having to hire a painting crew (and, thereby, saving a few hundred or thousand dollars, depending on the project). And since we are volunteers, we thrive on being helpful, don’t we?

(Additionally, this is another tremendous thing about volunteerism (as if you thought I would cease to extol the virtues!) - you can support an organization without having direct interaction with with their cause or clients. Yes, to many this sounds bizarre or counter-intuitive to some, but to others, this sounds like heaven. You may support an animal shelter, but be deathly allergic to animals and, therefore, are unable to work with the "clients". So having an alternative activity that allows you to support the org, but have no direct contact with the source of your allergic reactions is a perfection.)

As stated some days before, I find painting meditative. For those who have just tuned in (and if you have - welcome, it’s lovely to meet you!), here’s a quick recap of my reasoning: I know painting is horribly boring to some, or righteously frustrating to others (and, Brother, I feel you, I really do. As some one who has a difficult time drawing in the lines – and not in that rebellious way people say when describing their insubordinate personalities, no, I legitimately have difficulty coloring between the lines – I miss spots and get paint in my hair, on my face and clothing), but, when painting, you can see where you have missed a patch and you can fix most of your mistakes easily, so long as they are caught in time (“Oh, how like life” I picture Tim saying, in a horrible French accent. It makes for a good mental image, especially if you add a beret and a pencil thin mustache). Painting gives you time to think. Plus there is that whole bit about covering over the old and making the space look new and clean.

Anyhow, we painted a tractor trailer rig that had been donated, and, that once given its freshening up, would act as the food and equipment storage facility. We also cleaned out the former equipment storage, hoisting unused crates off the tall shelves, hosing them down outside. We rummaged through boxes and bins, tossing unused items, cleaning, dusting, emptying and sorting. The aforementioned equipment was to be put into the aforementioned trailer (once the paint was dry), and the newly emptied, and also aforementioned, room would eventually be converted into a maternity ward/recovery room for dogs. And, though we didn’t commence building the ward that day, it still put a spring in my step to know that is where it was headed.

Before the end of the day, the handful of volunteers had exploded into a full blown community effort, with staff members calling in board members, and those board members calling in friends, who, in turn, brought their significant others. The event was, in fact, staffed by a DJ, who, besides livening up the party with heavy beats emanating from the large speaker he provided, took pictures of the dogs using a bed sheet clipped to a outside run as an expertly draped backdrop. And the barbeque – My God! The Barbeque! – what kind of Saturday activity is it without barbeque? We had the barbeque to end all barbeque, ribs, chicken and pulled pork, smoky and tender, proudly cooked by a staff member’s husband, the undisputed barbeque king.

To make a long story short (too late!) – in my very often-humbled opinion, it is HUGELY important to have fun, especially with volunteerism. It is important to inject treat into the toil (not that I would equate volunteerism with toil). Too often do I become extraordinarily wrapped up in the activity (my puritan work ethic, when switched on, has one setting – overdrive), feverishly working and worrying, trying to accomplish everything, because if we don’t finish every little task (whether it be on the list of things to get done or not), how on earth are any of us going to save the world? So much of volunteerism is not simply the activity at hand, but the community that is developed through the activity. Because, 9.99 times out of 10, the “to-do” list wraps ups quiet nicely before the day is through, leaving room for you to choose your treat: chats, barbeque sampling, and perhaps a quick dance, while holding a squirmy puppy in your arms, to a remixed Michael Jackson song.

Day 44 - Wyoming - I-Reach 2 Lifestyles

“Think of this as your signature, use your imagination.” Tim and I have carried around a canvas and had people we meet along the way sign that canvas, all inspired by a project we planned to do at our 44^th stop, I-Reach 2 in Casper, Wyoming. 50 square feet of canvas, all signed, cut into 40 even pieces and handed out to a number of participant artists, adults with disabilities or other lifestyle challenges, who colored over the canvas with translucent (watered down) paint. The end result is beautiful – each square decorated differently, using different colors, shapes, textures, and vision. Ate lunch with program participants and talked about movies and their recent Valentine’s day party before they left for an afternoon at the library and we headed to Montana.

Day 43 - Colorado - Groundwork Denver

Walked door-to-door, up steps and onto porches, knocking on doors. “Hi, I am volunteering for Groundwork Denver…”. Though Monday was President’s day, hardly anyone was home to listen to our speech. Knock, knock, knock. Count to thirty slooooowly. If the door opens, a) introduce yourself, b) ask if they would be interested in us swooping out their traditional front porch light bulb for an energy efficient, compact florescent bulb, c) ask if they would like information to help them reduce their junk mail, d) ask if they would like to sign up for a curbside tree, e) make sure to ask them to take a survey regarding their transportation habits. If the door doesn’t open, move to the next house. Canvassed 2 streets, got 6 surveys filled out, 4 light bulbs changes, and 2 junk mail packets accepted. In the longer drives, we have discovered food podcasts. Don’t ask, just look for and listen. Though, subsequently, I have discovered a passion for vanilla malts, born from listening to two food bloggers mix and drink them on air.

Day 19 - Louisana - Project Lazarus - Revisited

Tim wants me to write about resiliency. It makes sense, given we are to be discussing New Orleans. It would actually be a perfect topic, and to prove it I even wrote 2 almost complete vignettes (almost complete means over half written, but no editing, so almost complete is subject to opinion). But as I get to the (relative) end of each, I get frustrated and finger-tied, because I have no idea what I am trying to say and feel like I trying to cram our experience into pants that don’t quite fit (“But, resiliency is such a SEXY topic. C’mon, I know I can fit. Squuuuuuuueeze – SUCK IT IN! Oh, hell, I just broke the zipper).

Day 19 of our trip was spent in New Orleans, at Project Lazarus, an organization that provides services to people with AIDS who can no longer live independently, or whose family can no longer take care of them. The primary purpose of Project Lazarus is to provide continuity of care in a homelike environment. Men and women come to Project Lazarus in various stages of health, and care is individualized according to each person's needs. To date, more than 1000 men and women diagnosed with HIV/AIDS have called Lazarus their home, and many have died at Lazarus.

“Just go around every couple hours and knock on the doors. If you don’t get an answer, use your key and go in. Just make sure no one has expired.”

Expired.

I guess my face betrayed my thoughts because the woman stopped and patiently asked if I needed clarification…

Umm. Yeah. I do.

“Okay…(a pause sat down comfortably in the middle of my question, and invited my furrowed brow and her steady, unwavering stare to come join him for a moment)…what exactly do you do in the event someone has ‘expired’?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t want to sound snide; I was genuinely concerned about protocol, not to mention the “expired” person in question, as theoretical as they were at this point.

She, again patiently, explained what to do in the event someone has “expired”. I just asked Tim if he remembers exactly what she said, to which he told me he doesn’t always pay attention, figuring I will just tell him how to do something later…Thanks, buddy (and this I mean as snidely as possible) – I appreciate it. Glad to know we are in this together.

She went through the protocol, making the practice sound simple and clinically sterile, as the word protocol in fact sounds. And, as clean and straightforward and easy as she had made it sound, it didn’t stop me from pausing briefly before every door, counting the beats between my knocks and the inhabitants eventual reply, pinching the master key so hard it turned the knuckles in my first finger and thumb white. The key chain was massive, with what seemed like one hundred and one identical keys. What would happen if I dropped it, losing hold and sight of the master among the jumble of other keys? That would sure f-up the protocol.

But I never dropped the keys and everyone responded to every knock.

We were originally planning a “game day” for the residents, complete with bingo and dominos. But, on our day of service, the staff had the opportunity to attend a cultural sensitivity training, so Tim and I signed up to “staff” one of the resident houses. We made rounds every two or so hour, otherwise, we sat in the living room of the dorm style complex, alternately taking turns on our computer, catching up on work and sitting on the couch, watching TV.

Truthfully, I felt lazy.

Shouldn’t we be washing something? Weeding something? Cleaning? Organizing? I was uncomfortable with the idea of a volunteer opportunity that allowed me to read, watch TV, or devote my energy to something external to the project, namely, catching up on emails.

Really, all we had to do was pull our butts out of our seats every 2 hours (we went around every 1.5 hours, just for good measure) and knock on doors. What good were we really doing? I didn’t feel like I was helping anyone. Actually, it felt strangely reminiscent of a lazy weekend day, except, instead of feeling relaxed and enjoying the made for TV movies I was pantomime watching, I was immersed in self loathing that stemmed from my feeling like I was a waste of couch space.

“If it was anyone else, they would have all the residence down here engaged in a game. Everyone would be giggling and having a grand old time, soaking up the togetherness,” I thought. Tim and I have gone round and round on this issue. Tim and I are what you (or, actually, I) would call awkward in comparison to the people you (or, actually, I) would imagine going on this type of journey. We are not those exuberant personalities who immediately win you over with our winning smiles and effervescent laughter. Tim is on the whole pretty quiet (like a really tall church mouse) and only really says what he needs to, which gives what he does say of his own volition a certain weighty importance. I (depending on the situation) like to take cues from the people I interact with, meaning I tend to sit back and wait, cautiously observing for a while (otherwise, I have this really adorable habit of cramming my foot in my mouth up to my knee cap). Therefore, we are not the type to spontaneously arrange a game of charades, or to gain employment as social directors on a cruise ship for that matter. (Not that we have tried, mind you, to get jobs on cruise ships as social directors, but we wouldn’t be able to. It’s just not who we are.)

So there I sat, on the couch, steeping in my feelings of awkwardness and inadequacy as one of the residents strolled through the living room and into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of what looked like iced tea and walked back toward his room, but paused before passing into the hallway.

“Baby, can you do me a favor?” He said in a muted southern drawl. “Can you look in on me more often – maybe once and hour or twice an hour. See, I wasn’t doing so well earlier this week - I was in the hospital, actually. And I want to take a nap, but I am a little afraid. So, can you look in on me a bit more than normal? Thank you, Baby, I sure appreciate it.”

As he ambled back to his room, it struck me that a) I was being too narrow in my definition of “doing something” and b) that this was a place to live, not a place to die. Even though we weren’t really doing much besides making our rounds every so often, knocking on doors and waiting for answers, our mere presence enabled the residents to live how they wanted, to engage in activities they wanted to (like taking a nap), knowing all the while that there was a safety net, that someone would be coming to check on them regularly. And this let them live, and live with a little less fear.

The day passed without incident and with more interaction. After his nap, the aforementioned resident got some lunch in the kitchen and sat with us in the living room, shooting the breeze and giving us advice on things we HAD to see while in New Orleans. A few of the ladies passed through, making chitchat about the lovely weather (and the weather that day was lovely indeed! Bluest of the blue sky and temperatures hovering around 80 degrees! Oooweee!). One resident turned on some dance music in his room, and turned it up really loud, leaving his door open so that everyone on the first floor was invited to his dance party. Friends stopped by to say hello. There was much talk about the (then) upcoming Saints/Vikings game (WHO DAT!). Cigarette chats were had in the courtyard, sitting at one of the umbrella’d wrought iron tables. A short bitch session from a resident who was frustrated that someone kept eating all the food in the building fridge (“I mean, who does the FAT ASS think he is?” said loudly enough that others could hear). Residents signed in and out. Actually, the whole scene was fairly reminiscent of a college dorm.

Another volunteer joined us in the afternoon, bringing his book of US Volleyball Rules and Guidelines (he was a ref). As he settled down to review it, I immediately felt relief, because if he had spontaneously arranged a Yatzee tournament, I would have stabbed myself in the eye. Actually, I probably would have benefited from seeing someone organize something on the fly and getting people really excited about it – this would give us a model to work off in the future. But, all the same, I was happy that I was correct in my assumption that we were there just in case someone needed us, but not to get in the way of the residents and their living.

Tim and I left Project Lazarus, and walked around the French Quarter, taking pictures of architecture (hey, what can I say, I like pictures of doorways to houses I don’t live in), ripping into not one, but two bags of beignets, and starting to sweat because I had been told we were required to get café au lait with our beignets.

You know those resiliency pants? After a day spent with people who are honest about to themselves and realize they can’t do it alone, a bag of beignets, experiencing the NOLA spirit and the clamoring support for the Saints, a café au lait, people watching, and the perfunctory beer sipped while walking down Bourbon St (being able to enjoy an alcoholic libation outside is novel, to say the least, though I was a little disappointed when we got into the bar that said “More beers than you could ever imagine” on the sign. Apparently, I dream really, really big), those pants have actually stretched out a bit. I can get them on and buttoned. But, I can’t make them work with this outfit. I want to, because they are beautifully tailored and perfect for New Orleans. But I can’t figure out how to pair them appropriately and it would be a disservice, dear reader, to both you and me if I were to wear them prematurely, in a mismatched outfit. So I will pack them in our bag, carry them with us, and try them on again.

Day 42 - Utah - Wabi Sabi (at the Youth Garden Project)

(We didn't take a picture because Kirsten was driving an that would have required her to shift with alacrity while a trucker was riding her tail on a semi deserted road)

Drove into Moab in the coal black night and woke up to a view that paralyzed us in the window. Found the Youth Garden Project, the area housing the kitchen WabiSabi uses to cook their weekly community brunch (The Hand's Up Program), which runs during the leanest six weeks of the winter. Cooked eggs, biscuits and pork sausage gravy, banana pancakes, and turkey sausage with three other volunteers under the loft stairs. Took orders, dished food, and watched as the spectrum of community members drove, biked, and walked into the garden, some toting kids, others toting pets, but most sitting outside for some time during the meal, enjoying the sunshine. Driving away, felt so small next to the vastness of the landscape.

Day 41 - Nevada - Give me A Break, Inc,

Tim went on his first spin down the strip, his eyes the size of dinner plates in the bright lights at night. Speeding down the highway, sunroof and windows open, dry heat filling the car (well, heat compared to where we have been), our eyes peeled for the cell phone towers made to look like palm trees. Worked with Give me A Break, Inc. to clean up a veteran’s cemetery in Boulder City, outside Vegas. Connected with the past, working aisle – by – aisle, collecting pine cones, raking leaves and pine needles. On hands and knees, we cleaned the plaques inlaid in the grass, memorizing names, dates of birth and death, as we washed the metal faces and cleared away debris. Gave our thanks and appreciation, and enjoyed the desert sun. Saw the sunburns later.

Day 40 - California - Inland Temporary Homes

Day 40 – See that in the title! That’s right…only 10 days left, which seems absolutely absurd. You mean we won’t be doing this forever? We have only just begun!

Buried between an orange and grapefruit grove, Inland Temporary Homes offers families facing homelessness a positive environment, filled with possibility. Organized as a Disney “Give a Day, Get a Day”, 65 people joined us in a day of service, some washing walls, windows and floors, others cleaning the kitchen, raking the playground, and pruning the trees. Tim helped move families from their respective rooms in the shelter to the transitional housing facility. One man, on seeing his new digs commented happily that the place was “dope!”, as he helped move his family’s belongings from the van to a single-family home. I accompanied children and volunteer chaperones on a variety of fieldtrips – to a bird farm, to the park, and to a play gym, each new location producing a flurry of excitement. As the day closed, we were handed a care package from one of our first visits, Emmaus., and I damn near cried, both at the thoughtfulness of the gift, but also that similar organizations coast to coast were connecting, even if it was only to ask for an address to send a package.

Day 39 - Arizona - Second Chance Center for Animals

Arrived in Flagstaff at 2 am after sharing a meal with another traveling volunteer at Los Cuentas in Albequerque (just ask the waitress to surprise you, she makes good choices on your behalf). Switched organizations at the last moment due to a logistical issue – our former AZ organization suggested contacting Second Chance Center for Animals, our latter organization. A quick orientation and then straight to work, scooping waste from the indoor pens, while the dogs spent the day in outdoor runs, enjoying the sunshine and warmer temperature. Squeegeed the floor after it had been power washed, helped to clean and organize the storeroom, and did a few loads of doggie blanket laundry. Just before we left, we participated in “yes time”, during which every staff member and volunteer grabbed a handful of treats, went to every dog, asked them to put all four paws on the floor, and (if that request was complied with, and silently at that) reward that dog with a treat. “Yes! Good dog.”