Returning from There part iii

IT LIES . . . (Google Maps), telling me a trip from Arizona to central Wisconsin is 1800 miles and 26 hours by car. Truth is, it’s nearly 5 days Returning From There, moving from hot to cold and back to hot again.

It takes a certain kind of sisu to drive that shit, a resiliency that is best described in adjectives used by James Michener when speaking of the cactus in his novel Mexico: unforgiving, bitter, reluctant; a kind of take-no-prisoners nose for the highway center line that we cross over at our own peril.

But the learnings and leavings take us to places we know, and they are changing all the time. Talking about how places change, a dear friend said he thinks of places in two ways; one is the way most people think of a place as a collection of people that live there, including the buildings, natural landscape features, and the institutions or groups that exert influence on the local culture. But he also thinks of “place” as a time. Like the time we live in a place but are no longer there.

But the learnings and leavings of each place, the pairings and connections, the family and friends will also define a place. The places I think about up in the Midwest are now 6 days in the rearview mirror. And already, that place + time-is-a-fading.

In the places that help define us and feed us, much changes while a lot remains the same. Street carnivals haven’t changed a bit. Disgusting side shows – since the 1950s, along with the Interstate System, both in need of complete makeovers or burn downs.

And the small towns across the U.S.A. are looking pretty damn bad. There is no capital flowing through smallville’s main streets. So many boarded-up buildings, faded dreams, and busted-up sidewalks and streets. And the people walking these small towns with dilapidated shoes are just shuffling along, eating corn dogs at the carnivals and drinking beers in the dive bars. We are all looking bad. WTF happened to all of us and the country and the place?

I wonder where all the money has gone?

Oh nevermind, I know where.

Returning from There

I’m in the desert again, a place where the mighty saguro reminds me of resiliance along with ‘English bulldog determination,’ and ‘Bengal Tiger strength,’ reminders from others during my 26+2 yoga.

Saguros and bulldogs, Bengal Tigers and graves, remind me of a deep love for life even with all its ups and downs. And these things remind me that . . .

It’s good to be home.

It’s good to be happy.

It’s good to have A plus memories.

It’s good to be a grandfather and get a second chance at all the good things.

And it’s good to change the lyrics on songs, a little piece of crazy I’ve been doing for forever. “Don’t Worry, Be Happy . . . “

“If you’re feeling a little squirrley, it might be time to go to Hurley, but don’t worry, be happy.”