Shrouded Landscape

I took another drive down Indiana 37 all the way from Indianapolis to the Ohio River, at Tell City. It was later in the morning this time so the light began to broaden around Paoli, a little over half way there, allowing me to see some of the most remote scenery on the route, in the Hoosier National Forest. Much of what I saw was shrouded in mist.

I love the mist; it has so many forms. Sometimes it is localized, gathering in hollows, or rising off of a body of water, at others it is generalized across the landscape. It can be dense and a hazard to driving, or it can be light, just blurring the edges of things, or sometimes wispy, with tendrils slowly writhing amidst a dispersed haze. Yes, it moves, sometimes seeming almost alive. I like when it stratifies too, either separating into layers within the body of the fog itself, or rising as one leaving the air clear above and below it.

This morning the mist was heavily influenced by micro climactic conditions and all of these aspects were present at one time or another. In general it filled the hollows while the the hilltops were clear. One time, on a ridge above the town of English a vista opened revealing a rolling sea of fog with forested hilltop islands, like an archipelago. But that's too simple of a story because at another time I descended a steep winding road that went beneath the mist, which was then like a roof over the valley. I think that the only aspect of mist that I didn't see today was the way that it captures light because by the time that the sun actually rose I was in the clear.

It's kind of strange actually, now that I think about it, but when I got to Tell City there was barely a hint of mist. I was worried about time again and it being later I was plagued by all manner of delays that hadn't happened that earlier time through. With the morning traffic there were slowpokes, one going 10 mph below the speed limit and seemingly unconcerned that there was a looooooong line of cars behind him, there were school buses, and even an Amish horse and buggy, not to mention the fog itself.

I still got to the receiver a half an hour early, which is a half an hour before they open so I had a little time to kill. I was at their warehouse which is off of a little alley just the other side of the levy that protects the town. I moseyed around the edges of the property, looking into the woods and the cornfields. I stayed clear of the row of houses whose back yards lined the alley on the uphill side, other than to admire their laden vegetable gardens from afar. And I climbed onto the levy to survey the limited aspect of Tell City that that vantage allowed. Then I went back to the truck to do some paperwork.

I guess it was about ten till eight, their time, and I was anticipating that someone might arrive soon. I looked up from my task and was taken aback by a wall of fog massing above the levy and slowly creeping over it. The little hollow that I was in was already filling with mist. I climbed back onto the levy and the cityscape that I'd seen before was barely discernible; the low sun a pale disk. On my way back to my rig a pickup truck roared over the levy, out of the mist, and almost took me out (I exaggerate, but it was kind of like that). The workers had arrived, it was time to get to work.

I never noticed what happened to that fog. By the time the customer's stuff was unloaded the air was clear again. Traveling west along IN 66 toward my next stop there were massive puff-balls of cloud barely clearing the trees. I imagined the amoebic haze that had swarmed the levy was now one of those.

 

Lotus Festivities

Music; the universal language. Another Lotus Festival has come and gone and a great time was had by all; all who came anyway. It rained Saturday night which served to eliminate the crowds that have become common that second night of the event. It was a reasonable tradeoff. But no rain could dampen for me the wonder of all of that great music from all over the world. The contrast, too, of hopping from style to style is an experience all its own. We went once from ethereal Central Asian throat singing, accompanied by a string quartet and synthesizer, to Latin punk. OK, that was a little much, we didn't even stay for one song of the punk. But going from outside under a tent listening to Hungarian Gypsy music to a church to hear an acoustic duo performing songs from the Jewish and Christian traditions, to Ugandan Afro-pop at a nightclub worked rather well. I love Lotus. My heart is full.

 

Formation Flying

note: I recently discovered a setting on the controls here at blogger that would only allow registered users to comment on a post. I changed that setting so that anyone can now comment, so please feel free to do so. If anyone tried and was unable I apologize.

Nope, my laptop can't be fixed. They said the problem was in the motherboard. They said that they got the screen to light up once, but it was just a last gasp and now the computer itself won't even start anymore. Maybe they killed it, I don't know. They're going to put the hard disk into a cartridge so that I can get my info off of it and use it as a back up disk.

*                         *                         *

Damn, I almost ran off the road! It was in my car on the way home from work, not in my truck. Two staggered phalanxes of geese were flying low over the yellow fields of the Beanblossom Valley at a nearly parallel tangent  to the road. They were beautiful. The valley was beautiful; the still mostly green hills accented with the emerging yellows and reds of autumn. I drank the sight in. I got into trouble when, because I was traveling faster than they, I looked over my shoulder for one last glimpse. That's when I nearly ran off the road, which would have been better than veering into the oncoming traffic, at least.

Idyl thyme

You'd think I was psychic or something. From out of the blue, for no reason at all I thought, “I'm going to need a new computer soon.” Two days later I got up in the morning, put the coffee water on and turned on my laptop; the usual routine. I went about getting ready for work and came back to the computer to hit Enter, in lieu of a password, and the screen was dark. I knew that the machine was on because I could hear it, and all the little blue lights were lit up, whatever they signify. Looking really closely you could see the vague outlines of what was supposed to be there, only it wasn't.

I tried to navigate that ghost image to restart the computer but couldn't locate the mouse cursor (who remembers the keystrokes?), so I bore down on the power button to force a shut down. After waiting long enough to ensure that the disk had stopped spinning, a precaution learned from an earlier disaster, I restarted it and continued getting ready for work. Checking back the screen was still dark.

I spent the rest of the time that I'd normally sip my coffee and do correspondence trying to get the damn thing to work, and then some, without luck. It was the same when I got home at the end of the day; dammit. I unplugged all the wires from the laptop itself and rushed into town to PC Max hoping it would be a quick fix. It's been there for three days and they still haven't figured out what's wrong with it.

They were quite optimistic at the outset, “It's probably an inverter problem, about a $150.00 fix, with everything, ready tomorrow if we have the parts.”

“Let's hope so,” I said sheepishly, “I can't live without my computer.”

“Nobody can,” was the tech's reply.

Altering your everyday routine is a good thing to do occasionally. I was amazed at the hole that the lack of a computer created. I was left listless. I could have (should have) gone into the studio and worked. The Studio: still only half set up and without momentum; just a few sketches tossed about. Instead I turned on the TV. I never watch TV. I'm not really sure why I even pay for it. But I watched...TV (I saw a commercial for a big screen hi-def with the tag line “Life well spent”).

I know that it's only been three days but I went out and bought another computer. No, not to fill that hole, dammit. It's the end of the month and the bills are due. Being on the road for ten years I have come to rely on online bill pay and doing that at the library, in public, is not option. I tried and tried to reach my daughter. She could have paid my bills for me from her computer in Chicago, but I didn't get through. I could have gone to a friend's house, but that seemed awkward socially. Besides, like that “premonition” indicated, I need a new computer. My laptop was top of the line five years ago when I bought it, and is still more than adequate for my needs, other than the fact that its graphic capabilities aren't up to date with the latest games (hell, I haven't finished playing all the vintage games). But let's face it, it's five years old, has been bounced around in the back of a truck endlessly, drug through the subways of New York City and the Chicago Elevated, and generally abused in any number of ways.

I hope that it can be fixed. Not because of what's on the hard drive, I have that backed up remotely, but because it's a great machine and I always want to have a lap top. I'm off the road now and bought a desktop. If they can't fix ole' Bessy, then I'll be getting another laptop anyway, sometime.

Hotel California, revisited

 

I thought perhaps fall would have established its presence in the five days of my absence, but although there was a lot of yellow and brown in the patchwork of fields the forests were sill leafy and green; not that I’m complaining. I was also pleased by the fact that Indiana has more forested land than Illinois. That substantial increase started just east of the Wabash River, whose brown water wound away toward the horizon like the southwestern border of the state, though I was too far north for that to have actually been what I was seeing. Unfortunately, as we came in for our landing at Indianapolis International, I could once again clearly see the warehouse where I park my truck; where I will soon have to go back to work.

Santa Barbara, California; I can’t possibly do justice to the trip in this small space. I could give you a sense of the beauty of the place, perhaps, and outline the circumstances that took me there. I could say that I traveled with my 83 year old father, afflicted with Parkinson’s disease and mild dementia, to give some scope to the experience. Stories of caring for him might get a laugh, and some sympathy. I could say that I went to visit relatives who I haven’t seen in 25 years, some longer. But it would take a full memoir, or a novel to convey a sense of the significance it had for me.

The occasion was my second cousin, Dylan’s bar mitzvah. Lynda, my cousin, suggested that we get the older generation together, perhaps for the last time. She offered to fly my dad and I out to California and put us up in a hotel “right across the street from where the ceremony is going to be.” How could I refuse? I’d already used up all of my vacation time but was willing take a loss to see this happen; both for dad and for me. Fortunately my anniversary with the company occurred before my departure date and I was paid for my absence.

I’d mentioned to Lynda, in our messaging back and forth, that maybe I could cover the accommodations, so that they didn’t have to pay for everything. I never got a reply on that suggestion. Pulling into the circle drive in front of the hotel, amid lush tropical gardens overlooking the Pacific Ocean, I realized why. This place was obviously beyond my means. No, I should have offered to cover the air fare, not the accommodations. If there’s another, similar trip sometime in the future then that’s how it will be.

It was Lynda’s idea to bring us in early, on Thursday, while the bar mitzvah was on Saturday, so that dad could have time to relax into the situation and not be stressed. We were certainly comfortable, in our fireplace room overlooking the croquet lawn; and well cared for with someone from the hotel staff ready at our every beck and call. Walking the extensive grounds with their well maintained botanical gardens and strolling along the ocean provided entertainment for the soul. The big screen plasma TV in our room entertainment for the head, but that wasn’t used much. The food was consistently excellent; the service perhaps a little too good; they wouldn’t hear of me actually moving my own place setting over one seat by myself.

It was very relaxing, but there is a strong psychological component to Parkinson’s disease. I’ve learned never to go anywhere with my dad without the wheelchair. No matter how well he’s able to move when we start out as soon as he begins to worry that he might have an attack and freeze up, he surely will. We’d both been anxious to see the relatives. Friday night Aunt Claire got into town with her boyfriend Jack and their friend Lainey. Dad, though he’d been doing fine before dinner, was nailed with the worst attack that I’ve ever seen. He couldn’t get out of his wheelchair to sit in a regular seat, he couldn’t eat, in fact he couldn’t do anything other than mumble a reply when spoken directly to.

Fortunately that was the ice breaker and he didn’t freeze up like that again for the rest of the trip. It was also in that context that we discovered the healing power of the ocean. Sitting on the edge of the boardwalk in front of the hotel, listening to the surf, all anxiety was released into the salt air. Dad, who is a psychologist and sometimes used hypnotism on his clients, said, “I used to put people into a trance and tell them to imagine the waves coming into the shore…”

The service on Saturday was beautiful. It was held outside, at a facility connected with the hotel, overlooking the Pacific. Dylan performed spectacularly; far better than I did at my own bar mitzvah, long ago. But it was long. I was getting antsy myself, and could tell that Dad was uncomfortable. The shadow of the umbrella we’d sat beneath moved and he was left in direct sun for much of the program. Later, toward the close of the ceremony the evening fog began to roll in and it got chilly. Dad was a trooper though, and stuck it out to the end; after which the convenience of already being at the hotel was much appreciated.

After I got him cleaned up Dad wanted to lie down for awhile. He wasn’t sure that he’d be able to make it to the reception and told me to go back by myself. That wasn’t going to fly with me, not unless he could convince me that he really couldn’t do it. I used multiple arguments. “You’re right,” he’d say each time, and continue to lie there. Finally I said, “C’mon, Dad, just put in an appearance and then I’ll bring you back.”

“You’re right,” he said again and sat up. Hell, he had a great time! The party was geared toward the young people, Dylan and his friends. There wasn’t a band, just a DJ, and except for some old school soul it was mostly hip hop that was played; loudly. The cousins and I couldn’t take it and congregated outside; but not Dad, he wanted to stay right where he was. I think he was absorbing energy from the young people. He wasn’t moving, but he must have been dancing inside. We didn’t stay till the end, but we stayed pretty late, considering.

And I got acquainted with several of my cousins, and their spouses (what few pictures I have). It was too long ago, and I was too young then to say that I had ever really met them before. We met again on Sunday, at an informal brunch at Lynda’s house. I’d wanted to somehow reconnect with the family for years. The main purpose of the trip was as a gift to my dad, but it became the answer to that prayer of my own as well. Now the challenge will be to stay in touch and deepen these relationships, something I’m not very good at doing.

The trip was a success. Caring for my dad wasn’t as arduous as I’d imaged it would be, and although I was once the black sheep of the family, back when I was a mixed up kid, there were no lingering tensions along those lines. And gosh darn it I had a really good time. What I’d expected to be work, leaving me exhausted, turned out to be fulfilling and even relaxing. I can still imagine the waves coming into shore, and gain peace thereby, though the rest of it begins to fade, as if it were only a dream.

In fact it was such a success that there is another trip already planned! My Uncle Si can’t travel and couldn’t be at the bar mitzvah, and my Aunt Charlotte was absent as well. So sometime at the beginning of next year, January or February, we’re all going to Arizona, to Si and Virginia’s place. Cousin Ann has declared that she will get Charlotte there even if she has to drive her all the way from Northern California. The dead of winter will be a great time for me to get out of Indiana and I’ll get to see some of the family again. Hooray!

 

First Blush

"It sounds like it's raining," I mumbled to myself as I pulled the blanket under my chin and savored Sunday morning. The weather forecast had predicted sun, but rain somehow seemed right, even if it was Labor Day weekend. If it were raining, that is; I couldn't tell for sure from there in my room, with the window blocked out so that I can sleep while the sun shines.

It was raining, a steady downpour hissing on the leaves. I can't say exactly why it seemed right, except perhaps that it gave me a sense of being sheltered, snug in my warm dry home at the same time that it hinted of the immanent change of season.

The sun has now returned. Looking outside I see a hint of red at the tips of the dogwood leaves. Autumn has indeed begun. It'll happen quickly now. I recently had three loads that went north of Lansing, MI over the last two weeks. On the first trip there was just a touch of color; by the last there was quite a bit. Fall begins up north first and moves south while spring goes the opposite direction.

Sure enough, I wrote that over coffee yesterday morning. This morning, a paid holiday for me, looking out the same window I see the red becoming stronger, like a blush moving up the leaves from the tip, and a cluster of leaves already scarlet that were still mostly green yesterday. Everything else is still green, with just a sprinkling of yellow in the poplars and the sycamore in the front yard.

 

Lunar Cycles

The full moon rises opposite the setting sun; like clockwork. You can see the same relationship if you spin the hands of your watch; the full moon is at 6:00, the new (or nonexistent; three days in the tomb) is at noon. I've heard that the moon is slowly drawing away from the earth and that as it retreats the reciprocal gravitational loss slows the earth's rotation, ever so slightly. My question is whether or not the alteration that has taken place during the brief span of our existence here, since we've been keeping records, alters the Babylonian's calculations that first gave us our clock in any meaningful way; or if Stonehenge is less accurate now then when it was built, minus continental drift?

Extrapolating far, far forward I see fodder for disaster movies in what happens when the moon finally breaks free from Mama. Oh, but surely there won't be any people left on Earth to worry about it by then; the Sun will probably have grown to be a red giant and swallowed up both mother and daughter.

Me? I'm going to party like it's 2012.

 

re: bad day

I'm not sure if anybody read that last post, I know I had trouble getting through it as I just reviewed it. Hey, I liked the first paragraph; sorry 'bout the rest. Too bad, too, because I had a follow up. Instead I think I'll delete all but that intro. Bad days come with the territory.

I didn't exactly have an easy day today, but it was nice. A Southern Indiana load, all the way down SR 37 to Tell City, then over to Owensboro, KY and back up, through terrain that could be mistaken for Appalachia, and often is. I rarely disavow people of that perception.

I got going early because I'd never been that route before, and having just been late twice...has to do with the deleted item and its followup...I didn't want anything unexpected to strike me out. You can't just look at the miles and compute a travel time because it's two lane most of the way; through the "mountains."

37 seemed like it'd be a great road to drive a high performance sports car over; smooth, but windy as hell, and well banked. I enjoyed it with my tractor-trailer, actually, because for almost the entire trip there was nobody behind me wishing I didn't exist. If only I could have seen the scenery. The sun didn't begin to rise till I was almost to Interstate 64. Then beauty was revealed incrementally as the all shadow gave way to vague distances defined by mist, then given breadth, definition and color, revealing a wide landscape both wild and pastoral; picture post-card perfect.

I was glad that the light was broad by the time that I got to Tell City since I'd never been to this receiver before. I located the store and fortunately there was a place along the street to park. I was way early, almost an hour and a half, and everything was closed up. I took a walk through the interesting nineteenth century town and noticed that the clock on the courthouse was slow, and so was the digital one outside the insurance agency. When I checked back at the truck I realized that they're on central time in that region of the Ohio Valley. I was even earlier than "way early," so I grabbed my book and headed down to the "Freezer Cafe'" that I'd noticed was open. After the dinner and breakfast I'd had...oops, part of that other story...I figured a hearty meal would be about the best thing I could give myself.

There's more to tell, there's always more to tell, but I've got to get to bed. I'll suffice it to say that on the way back over US 231, then US 50, and finally back up IN 37 (etc.) it was beautiful too; a bit more industrial, what with the nuclear power plant, the city of Jasper and the gypsum mine; but "it's all good."