Go West Young People

I bought On The Road By Jack Kerouac, for a friend last night. Instead of actually giving it to her, I began to read it because it is the original scroll version, unedited and uncut. More authentic. We own 2 other copies of this book, but this one is different...so, maybe she will get it and maybe not. Haven't decided. Anyway, one of the first and most telling passages of run on sentences in the book, describes his problem of forever planning the trek out West and yet never getting around to going on the trip.

Christo, my husband, has always been afforded the opportunity of wonderful family trips all over this country and even into Canada. Riding wild horses, fly fishing in icy rivers, hiking incredible forests, biking over barren landscapes, you get the picture. And Yet, he and his buddy Kip, planned the Great VW Bus Adventure, and never got to go.

Call me the Yoko Ono of their teenage years, but somehow I weaseled my way into the plan and pushed the best friend out.

He bought that 1970 VW Bus, at age 15 (and with his own money), for the purpose of escaping into the great wide open; just two guys, 100 pounds of rice and a lot of Holden Caulfield angst. The boys planned and tinkered, and dreamt and struggled through the rigmarole of high school drama. And then, like a sudden snow in September, I came into view. The bag of rice and I were at war for a spot on that bus. I would not be missing the bus...the rice had to go and just like that, I was co-captain of the trip. Kip moved to the back of the bus and eventually he was altogether out.

Poor Kip. Somehow lost in the shuffle of our teenage romance, he moved on. Don't feel too bad for him though. He did go north and jumped on a different kind of bus. The kind that has educational classes through the logging fields. He became an intense activist and still is one of the most environmentally conscious people I know. He married a beautiful woman who is brilliant and witty and surely made for him. And of course, he went West and happens to live on the opposite of the country now in Bellingham, Washington. So, he actually gets the last laugh, you see. While he is experiencing the thrill of having lived the dream, we are still planning ours.

While we are still trying to get a bus ready, (it is in pieces in our garage) we know our day will come. We are no longer at liberty to pack 100 pounds of food, because now we must pack 100 pounds of kids. And yet, we love this crazy life and we long for our crazy trip and all of the unexpected surprises. Perhaps our trip out West will be to visit Kip and Brooke and we shall laugh as we eat their wonderful vegan victuals served over rice.

If You're Listening

Angel of Grief by *FeX*

We were all downstairs and getting ready to start the homeschooling thing. And just like any homeschooling mother, I decide to crank up the Ipod and rock out to Jimmy Eat World to get the day off to a great beginning.

I was going to take out the trash but...."if you're listen-ing, whoa..oo..oo..oo..oo" forces me to drop the bag and start the "spinning free" and full on crazy dancing with the kids all staring. Lily yells out at the top of her lungs, "Mother- it's a magical song that makes you drop everything because you just have to dance to it!" I know this and she knows this and that is why we have such a great relationship.

But all of this blissful, calorie burning, spirit rocking elation stopped abruptly as the next song began.

"May angels lead you in" is a beautiful song, and before Wendy died I could listen to it and just sing along. But Wendy did die and someone put the lyrics on her my space page and voila, the song now is about losing Wendy and I weep for a lost friend. My dear Wendy died at 26 years old after battling cancer for only a year and a half. At her memorial service there were some strange elements that I could not figure out. When Wendy and I were close friends, she loved God and music and great books. At her funeral there were a lot of quotes from great books, but not much music and no mention of God. There were a lot of Angels and Fairies.

I had lost touch with my dear friend for few years and when I came back into her life, she was already dying. I tend to believe that she still deeply loved God and knew Him better than I do because she had tasted mortality in a concrete way. But I am not sure about all the angels and fairies and what that meant to her.

What is it about memorial services that make you wonder who the person really was? What is it about music that could have you rocking out at full speed one minute and weeping in a corner and contemplating the meaning of life the next? Lily is absolutely right. The songs are magical and they make you drop everything because you just have to__________!

A Long Lost Friend

photo: vintage by cagedbirdy

Sometimes you meet someone and you know that you are kindred spirits. There is just some connection that goes beyond the basic, "I like Pearl Jam." "Me too! OMG!"

I have been blessed to have many people throughout my life that I had the chance to recognize this connection with. One such friend however, has been long ago lost from my communication reach. She is probably one of the most free-spirited people I have ever known and so it makes sense that she has left my radar.

God had put us literally in each other's backyard. Our parents' houses were connected by a large span of grass that became a perfect meet-up place for two teenage girls who could not yet drive.

We both loved to read and write. We both have red hair. Eat entire cans of black olives. Anne of Green Gables marathons. Listening to music by candlelight and the list goes on. The quirky thing that took a little warming up to find out was that we both coveted long white nightgowns. Maybe we thought we were Jo March. Perhaps we wanted to connect to the bygone years when the white nightgown was the only acceptable night clothing around. When we had sleepovers we took out our long white nightgowns and pranced around the backyard in the middle of the night. I don't think anyone suspected.

I still own an entire drawer filled with beautiful white nightgowns. My mother even brought one back from Germany for me. She found it at an antique flea market. It is actually old and thus authentic! Most teenagers I knew at the time, wore long t- shirts with baggy thin pajama pants to bed. They even wore semi-sexy camisoles with boy underwear /shorts. But not us- "Clary Mama" and I donned the nightgowns with innocent glee. We lit candles and played pretty music and talked about interesting things and read poetry aloud. Sometimes our own and sometimes not. But we both have husbands now and I wear random things to bed.

I just noticed while typing this that I am wearing a white nightgown. It was given to me by my dad and stepmother a few years back. It is from April Cornell and is just beautiful. I love it because it makes me remember and I am in a remembering mood.

Hopefully somewhere out there, my long lost red headed friend is remembering too and will send out her radar. Perhaps we shall meet again, dressed like Victorian ghosts at midnight in the backyard someday.