Aesthetic Statement

I delivered a trailer full of carpet scraps to a recycling facility on the north side of Indy, directly across the road from where I used to park my car so that I could get back in the truck I'd previously parked there and vice versa, on and on for eight years or so, back when I was an over the road driver. I felt a visceral emotion.

Nostalgia?

No. I felt again that gnawing anxiety that was permanently lodged in my gut for the decade I spent driving long haul. Talk about a nightmare.

I'm a good traveller, I did it well. I had a home, I just chose to be gone, for money. My heart goes out to every refugee everywhere, whether chosen, and especially if not.

So I'm glad that I'm writing again, even if it is in these condensed little posts, sporadically. I was talking with another blogger recently and realized that one reason I don't write more often, or in longer posts is not that I was then, (in The Reluctant Trucker years) assuaging that gut knot; the pain, but that I spent uncounted hours on the boring interstates and used that time to compose. More often than not I now drive in the quickly changing environment of small highways, byways, or even lanes through the woods, on occasion. I don't have the luxury of composing blog posts in my mind anymore.

Pain is not necessary for art, but time is, unless you're driven. I was merely driving.

So, friends, I was driving across IN 157 north of Bloomfield again today. I don't know what combination of atmospheric properties and light caused the effect, but the farthest ridges were not blue with distance, but positively purple. I also reflected on the fact that it might have been a bad idea to recommend the route as yielding vistas on both sides of the road, even with the trees in full leaf. I realized that as a truck driver I sit a lot higher than most. I'm not sure what you'd see from a car window, or a bicycle.

Take everything I say with a grain of your preference.

Landfill Picnic

And it was a picnic compared to that "Epic Nightmare" of 12/23/2012. (The nightmare before Christmas? For more specifics of the nightmare please see the next post "Catching Up" of 1/19/2013 as well. ) I went back to the top of Vigo County to smell the fresh air. Only it was warm, and dry this time. Piece of cake. The view is spectacular which my cell phone camera cannot, of course adequately convey:

Landfill, that's all you need to know. All in a day's work.

So I've considered changing the name of this blog. I mean, where's the nightmare? Commuting to Indianapolis every day was a nightmare, truly, but all in all I'm happy with what I'm doing now. Still, "They're slinging missiles in the Mid East, they're slinging mud here in the States...(Chris Little)." Like Johnny Cash, I'll continue to wear black. We're Big Boat Buddhists.

Process note: The upper photo was not staged. I'd idly thought about getting a snapshot of the basket earlier but was working and didn't get the chance. I figured it would be gone when I got back, ploughed under by the heavy equipment that regularly shakes the compacted mass, but it was still there, only now filled with dirt and a soda bottle next to it. "Look Boo Boo, a Pikanik Basket!"

Jumped the Gun

Who knew that July would be so mild? I usually wait until I've spent a few restless nights before I install the air conditioner each year. I did it pro forma this year, expecting the worst. Once done it's not easily reversed. I can now no longer open my window to the night.

Yesterday morning I shuffled out of my bedroom to find the rest of the house cooler and sweeter than my climate controlled sleeping chamber. Last night I just left the thing off. I slept OK but the air was stuffy when I awoke. I could hear the birds though, which is a plus.

There's no point to this inanity, just to say that the weather is beautiful, I guess. Happy Independence Day!