More Pics From My Travel Album

Here I am about to leave Western Spirit Ranch in Parker, Colorado. There's nothing like me, myself and I in my Miata. My car loves the open road. And folks on the road love us. People passing by always smile at me in this little red car. I think it's spiritual. My car just stirs people's hearts, I can tell.
This is part of the The Capitol Reef Inn & Cafe in Torrey, Utah. It's an amazing stone structure. I'd like it to be my house! I just stopped for a moment but from their website, "The Capital Reef Inn Cafe is a special treat--fresh, natural and local foods deliciously cooked to your satisfaction. Healthy meals--lots of fresh vegetables, local fresh trout, brown rice, whole-wheat rolls, no additives, no preservatives, low in fat and sugar. Open 7am-9pm for breakfast, lunch and dinner." I'd say I'm stopping in for a meal next time for sure.

Travel Photos

Remember years ago bringing home 'film' from vacation trips. I even can recall the anxiety of going out to buy film before leaving on a trip. How many rolls to buy? How many could I afford? What if I ran out? Do you remember rationing your photos - only 12 or 24 pictures on a roll? Do I really need to take this picture; can I save the film in case; what if a better photo op comes along and I'm out of film? In 1972, the Pocket Instamatic, with film cartridges, came into our marketplace, just in time for me to begin my world travels. This easy loading camera was a real miracle then!
110 film cartridges were all the rage. I don't remember how much one cartridge cost, do you? But I clearly remember how easy it was to take this camera and its film on trips. It was a new day, an incredible invention, and all of a sudden people could take more pictures than ever before. No more heavy cameras that were unwieldy and hard to manipulate especially if you had to load film. For my generation, this was akin to everyone running around today with cell phones that take pictures.

The difference though was the wait. Finishing the roll. Taking it to Walgreens. Filling out film envelopes. Or mailing the roll off to get developed. The anticipation when your pictures were in. The anxious fun of it all. Getting the 6" x 8" envelope in the mail. The decision to open it then or just hold it. Yes, just hold the envelope for awhile to enjoy the glory of what was inside. The thrill of lifting each photo, one at a time, saying to a friend or nosy family member, "Don't jump ahead. I get to see them first!" And, even the sadness of blurry pics or a ruined roll. Browned out pictures, like a thumb had been over the camera lens. Lost vacation. Oh, the ruin. Even the drama of ruined photos was memory making.

Clearly, ours was a generation of delayed satisfaction. Maybe that's how we learned patience and the art of waiting and the joy of arrival. Perhaps that's why we, or at least I, wasn't as great at imparting these skill sets to my daughters. They've never been told not to make a phone call because, "It's long distance." Between beepers, car phones, and PDA's, they weren't ever really far from me. I remember the codes we had for my beeper. 911 meant, 'Mom, call, it's important.' 911911 meant, 'Mom, CALL NOW!' For them, getting a car was part of growing up, in some ways more for Mom's convenience than theirs, it was just another life step, not a dream come true. Same with so many things. Health care. We always had insurance and going to a doctor at the first sign of any illness was rote. Go in. Get fixed. Move on.

Now, I look at the world they are adulting into and as angry as I am that we haven't solved many USA challenges, perhaps I'm more upset with me, myself, just I. Have I taught them the right life skills? Prepared them to handle tough things? Given them backbone and assertiveness and drive and the passion to get it done!

Maybe we should never have given into digital photos....what do you think?


Marcia's advice for today: Nothing in life is instamatic.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: For My Family by The Devil Makes Three

Entering California

I'm a traveler. I travel. Have forever and a day. There's an actual moment for me on a plane where I make a conscious decision to change my watch. It's a part of the excitement of leaving and arriving. Change your watch too soon and it kills the fun anxiety of getting somewhere.

In Utah, I thought about changing my watch. But I didn't. Wasn't ready. Didn't want Utah to be the place that a new time zone became mine. Not in Las Vegas or Primm. Just not the location where I would move the hands on my watch on my wrist. My life wasn't going to change in Nevada. Even winning at the slots wasn't enough to effect the change I'm readying myself to meet and embrace.

Years ago, driving across the desert, after Nevada, before California, ranch guy and I picked up a young man walking alone in the heat. He wore a white shirt, black pants, and he held a bible. Just walking through the desert to a town where he worked in a restaurant. Ranch guy had to help him. He couldn't take this young man walking alone in the hot desert.

David sat in the back seat and told us how much he appreciated the ride. Said, "No, not a lot to do out here." Told us he reads the Psalms as he walks.

I was reminded of David as I entered California. Time to reset time. I poked the buttons on my radio and launched Pacific time into my life. I'm here. I'm back. I have no idea where I'm going to live, what I'll be doing. But for this 'lady alone,' this 50+ woman, traveling light and living large, I'm anticipating life. Psalm 108 says, "Through God we shall do valiantly."

So valiantly, my watch set back to the time of Pacific coast sun rise and sunset, I am here, and anticipating my life. Gosh, thank God, that I can still pickup, drive across country, change my life, and throw caution to my guardian angels. All of you!


Marcia's advice for today:
If you need encouragement, go to the psalms. There's one for every occasion.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Round Here by Counting Crows.

Not so Prim in Primm, Nevada

Although it was warm in Zion, like eighty degrees, it was pleasant with a little breeze rustling through all that red rock. Trees here and there. Curved roads that, with my top down, made me feel like I was flying along. Then, I entered Nevada, where the temperature soared and my rag top was up again, saving me from the beating sun if that was possible. My little car couldn't take it when we hit 120-degrees. The car temp gauge shot up, and I got scared. Ranch guy had warned me, "driving across to Las Vegas into the sun is not fun that time of the day... NOTHING between Mesquite and North Las Vegas." And right there, south of Mesquite, car got mega hot, a/c just quit, and I looked around to see ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

My psychic guardian angels called one by one. First ranch guy, "Turn everything off. Your car is fine. It's responding to the conditions. The only thing you'll hit is the Moapa reservation - look for the fireworks sign. But you should see the temperature gauge start dropping right away."

It did.

Daughters called next. Oldest said, "Turn off the a/c. Open your window. I have a theory on this," (a theory, of course, from my anthropologist). Her theory: "We shouldn't have air conditioning."

Sister called as I turned off at Moapa (ranch guy was right again). Checked my fluids but everything was okay. Feeling like I should do something, I bought a $20 bottle of coolant and refilled an inch's worth in the car. No room in the Miata for the gallon so I gave it to a lady in an old station wagon that was held together with duck tape. She said, "Wow. I don't need it now but I will."

I kept the a/c off and zipped past Las Vegas giving up on driving as I hit Primm, Nevada. If you don't know Primm, it's a great stop 44 miles past the Strip. Casinos, a super outlet mall, and get this, my hotel room at Terrible's Primm Valley Resorts (yep, that's the name) was $18.00 - king bed and all. For that, I could afford some time at the slots.

I'm not a gambler but my Mom and Dad were big fans of Vegas. Over the years, I'd meet them there and one or the other would sit me at a slot machine and explain the gig to me. I didn't really listen or care. It was more fun to see my Mom say, "Jim, Jim, come here." Then my Dad would rush over to my Mom playing Video poker. He'd hold her hand while she played the next round. They'd say a prayer and wait to see if she won. If not, Dad would say, "Don't worry, Shirl. Next time." Then he'd add, "I'm out of money. Can I have a twenty?" (Mom was in charge of the cash in Vegas.)

I walked around all the slots at Terrible's looking for my Mom's favorite. It's one where Elvis lights up on top, sings, and plays a song when you win. But I couldn't find it. I picked a quarter machine and then, like I was channeling my parents, all their tutorials came back to me.

"Always play progressive." I don't even know what that means but I started to understand at this slot machine. "If it lets you place 3 bets a play, or 5 bets a play, do them all." That was my Dad talking. So I did it. "If someone near you has been playing awhile without winning and they leave, take that machine." A sour looking lady left a few seats down from me. I moved over quick.

Then my progressive bets started paying off. Fifty bucks down. Won twenty back. Played on. And then, "Bingo!" I won $180.00 big dollars. First time ever for me. I could feel Mom and Dad's pride as they whooshed back up into the clouds. Mom was whispering in the wind to me, "Quit while you're ahead."

Three bucks on a piece of pizza. I headed up to my $18.00 room. It wasn't a great room. But all in all. Not a bad end to the day. Zion to Moapa to Primm. Tomorrow I'd be back in California. But for now, I was sleeping in Primm. Oh, there goes Mom and Dad to the big casino in the clouds.

Marcia's thought for today: You never really travel alone.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Hope There's Someone by Antony & The Johnson's. (Take a moment and listen to this stirring music. Antony's voice is beautifully haunting.)

I failed to mention Behunin!

By the way, along Route 24, before Zion, you hit a bunch of curves in the road. Not a lot to do except think as you swallow in the vast untouched space that is Utah where you can still find quiet and lots of sky and occasionally a place like this Behunin Cabin.

According to the Utah government website, "A family of ten lived here. Braided rugs covered the dirt floor. Ends of dress materials became curtains. There was a fireplace to cook in, and a water supply near the floor. The family probably ate outside. In 1882, Elijah Cutler Behunin and his family built this cabin, and stayed a brief time until the rising river washed out their crops. Behunin was one of the first settlers in the area. Father, mother, and two smallest children slept in the cabin - Jane's post bed almost filled one side of the room. By widening a dugout in the cliff the older boys had a place to sleep. The girls made a bed in an old wagon box."

I promise you there's nothing else around. No other cabins. Nothing but rock and sky. How they raised crops, I do wonder. Take a look at this family.
No McDonald's or CVS or school or Direct TV. Nada. Nothing. In 1882. Only 127 years ago. Gosh, can you imagine life 127 years from now?


Marcia's advice for today:
Imagine eating outdoors because you have to.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: The Fox in the Snow by Belle & Sebastian.

For True Believers - ZION

Here's the thing. At least for me. Maybe for you. We are way too much a goal oriented society. All through our lives we are led into setting our sites on something. Achieve it. Give a cheer. Move on. Set the next goal. Achieve it. Move on.

Think about it.

We don't go to school. Not really. What we do is start heading to a bunch of finish lines. We finish kindergarten. Hurrah! We speed through 1st 2nd 3rd grade with our eyes on middle school. Do you have kids? I remember mine. Middle school was like getting through a half marathon. Hurrah again! Like clipping a nail. Off. Done. Gone. Move on!

High school. Senior year. Graduation. Hurrah hurrah. Hurry hurry hurry. Hurrah. Jobs. Marriage. Kids. WHEN ARE WE GOING TO STOP?

Have you ever seen in movies, like cowboy movies, where they ride through a dusty old town, and they pass a few 'codgers' sitting on the stoop who raise an eyebrow as the cowboys ride on. When was the last time you just 'codged,' the last time you sat on a porch and stared at life with no thought of multi-tasking?

You get it, don't you? For me, when I'm long distance driving, the Interstate, the big 'I' takes over. Suddenly, time is of the essence, even though all along it was to be a comfortable pace through our glorious country. I blame the INTERSTATE system. Look at a map. You can take 2, 3, 4 interstates and get from any point A to any point B. Not much along the way. But the goal is as clear as can be. Gosh, kind of ridiculous, isn't it?

So, don't give into 'I' thinking. Get off the big 'I' like I70 and go somewhere you'll never be near again.

Just past Green River, Utah, on I-70 (gas up at the West end of Green River!), take Hwy 24 South to Hanksville. If you're hungry, stop at the Red Rock Restaurant right on Hwy 24. Ask for Sonja. She's not sweet, not happy. But so much a cranky good waitress. She turned to me and said, "You just get finished cleaning and here come some more."

In walked a bunch of midlife crisis bikers asking for a table for ten! It rolled right off Sonja who said, "Right there," pointing to a table, "It's ready for you." I think she'd had it with the legions of bikers who'd been passing me on the road, with their bandanas and Harley trailers, and amp'd up accelerator noises.

I liked that. Her having had it with everything, in a town about one block long, at the Red Rock Restaurant, with nothing else at all going on.

From Hanksville, just past Loa turn left (West again) on Hwy 62 which comes to a junction with Hwy 89, going South. At Mt. Carmel Junction - finally - turn right onto Hwy 9 and head West again through Zion National Park. It's $25.00 dollars to take the road through the park but it's $25.00 of heaven. I asked Lila at the park entrance booth, "How's business this summer?" She said, "It's really busy. Lot's of people who would normally be on cruises or in Hawaii are here."

I said, "Well, that's good."

Lila said, "It's good. But it's like they don't know what they're doing here."

Hmmm. Here's what I'll tell you. Zion means, 'heaven as the final gathering place of true believers.' Drive through this park even if you don't know what you're doing here. It's a miracle of rock. Plenty of places to photo stop. Look at this tunnel. And much more that's worth slowing down to see.

Marcia's advice for today:
Even for just an afternoon, be a true believer.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: David Byrne's Dirty Old Town

Green River, Utah

There's a truck stop little town 52.3 miles west of Moab. To be honest, you've got to go north on I190/UT-128 until you can get onto I70 West but all told, it's an hour away. Green River. Not a lot there. But in Moab prices are more than double, and you're not even looking at the red rock Priest and Nuns. Try www.rodewayinn.com - (435) 564-3421. It's clean, quiet, and has the West Winds Restaurant alongside. I had a grilled cheese on whole wheat (yep, whole wheat), with fries and pickles. You know, after all that driving, just sitting on my bed eating a grilled cheese was kind of comforting. Feet up. No shifting gears in my 6-speed Miata. Me, Jeopardy, a glass of nice Sauvingnon Blanc (oh, I had that in my trunk), and all was right in my world.

Marcia's advice today: On the road, BYOW.

I can't help it. My 'listen to' song for today: Woke Up This Morning by A3

Get to Moab! To Moab, to Moab to Moab (like Beyonce singing, To the left, to the left, to the left)!

Castle Rock in Moab, UT known as 'Priest and Nuns'

I had never heard of Moab, Utah but my ranch guy knew every incredible diner, night stop, and geographical wonder along the way to California. Something about the name 'Moab' was more than enticing. I couldn't get it out of my mind. To Moab, to Moab wound itself into my thoughts as I drove. Then as I talked to friends and family others said, "Oh, Moab, you've got to see it." My friend Katie from Louisville now from Chicago said, "Moab! It's incredible. I was there with my father." How is it that I'd never heard of Moab yet it caused people to gasp and said, "You must," and "It's unbelievable!"

If you have reason to be driving west on I70, you might, like me, think there would be no reason to turn off it. There's nothing along the way that teases you into suspecting the grandeur of Moab. I was watching for the turnoff onto South US-191/UT-128 and thought I'd missed it. Just passing exit 181 I saw out of the corner of my eye 'Moab' and an arrow. But it wasn't Crescent Junction and it wasn't US-191 but when you are driving for miles, without any much signage, no billboards saying IHop or Stuckeys, the question of turning around gets creepy.

Thank you to the USA and to each state for incredible rest stops. Every 50 or 100 miles or so, there are rest stops. It's a guiding light when you are out driving across the plains of our country. When there are no billboards, no turnoffs, nothing at all, knowing that you'd seen a sign a few miles back that said a rest stop was 38 miles ahead is like knowing there's a god. Things go through my mind like, "Even if something happened now, there's a rest stop coming." And, "There will be a soda machine at the rest stop if you're really thirsty." I banter back and forth with myself whether or not I really need to use the restroom. But all in all, it's a peaceful discourse all because, I'm here, in the USA, and there's always a rest top up the road.

About 8 miles before you reach Crescent Junction, there's a Utah Rest stop with a manned Info Counter. Do you believe that? Truly, in the middle of all the nothingness, there was a lovely man at a counter waiting for me! I said, "I think I missed the turn for Moab. I saw it on a sign last exit."

"Oh no, you didn't," he smiled, "It's just up ahead at Crescent Junction. Then you take 128 south, drive 31 miles, and you'll see Moab." Then he added, "You wouldn't want to have taken that route. It's two lanes, nothing more, right on the edge. Curves. A big curve near Moab. You miss it, you drive right over into the Colorado River. I wouldn't recommend it."

Well, you don't have to hit me in the head with a stone. (Get it, stone, Moab, all kinds of red rock:)

I took 128 south. It's 31 miles of nothing. Some brush and more nothing. Scary, like you wouldn't want to run out of gas or stop for a picnic lunch. My guess would be snakes out there. But the enticing image of Moab was keeping me going. And I got there. Entering Moab you cross the Colorado River (of course) and drive straight into the cutest little Moab of a town. Filled with rock stores and galleries and a great bookstore - don't miss it - http://www.backofbeyondbooks.com/ that invites you to meander and read and enjoy the experience of books. But where in the world was the real Moab? The Moab I was lusting for?

Turned my little Miata around, stopped at the visitors center (don't you just hope there are visitors centers along the way to heaven), where a lovely lady pulled out a map and showed me the way to the Priest and Nuns at Castle Rock. She kind of scratched the path onto the map. No ink in that pen. Hey Hilton or Marriott, how about sending some pens to the Moab Visitors Center?!

So, head back towards the river, and just before it, right before you cross that river, stop. Turn right and enter the real Moab. To Moab, to Moab. Surrounded by Sears Tower tall red rock, on both sides of the narrow road, little pull off areas, where I sat and swallowed in all that Moab is. Yes, I found the Priest and Nuns, but I kind of think it should be renamed, 'Town Hall,' but be that as it may, this is an exquisite place. There's nowhere to stay along 128, in the midst of all that rock. No hotels, or diners. Which seems appropriate. But I didn't want to stay in town. If I'm in Moab, I want to wake up in the midst of the red rock along the Colorado River. I'm not a camper (as you've figured out, I'm sure) but there are places to put up a tent and drink it in all night. When I return to Moab, that's what I'll do. You might want to, too.
Marcia's thought for today:
To Moab. To Moab. As sung by Beyonce, "To the left, to the left."

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Irreplaceable by Beyonce.

Visiting the Future You Didn't Get

Bah, bah, bah……like, blah, blah, blah……or blog, blog, blog.

My destination after Lincoln was to make it to Parker, CO, outside of Denver, to visit Ed and Deb at their ranch. It meant I would have to drive like heck across Nebraska which goes on and on and then just continues without much momentum. One road. One direction. Good high speed limit.

I arrived at Deb & Ed's Western Spirit Ranch just in time for dinner. Take a look: http://wsrllc.com/

I must say, it was everything I expected and more. So, here I'll share a secret with you. At one time, I thought I would live on a ranch with Ed someday. This was back in the hey-day of telecommunications. He was an engineer in San Diego and I was in MarComm. A dynamic west coast, near the Pacific Ocean, couple. But after 9/11, so much went awry. Telecomms was nose diving, and the many perks of engineering in San Diego were changing. Ed kept talking about going to Colorado and I kinda many possibly thought about it,,,,,but truly,,,,,I mean, do you know me? I don't get to shop at Saks that often, but Saks Fifth Off is a favorite of mine! As destiny would have it, Ed did head to the Rockies and I stayed in San Diego, and life played itself out.

You know that feeling when you 'let life play out' and you are left wondering what would have happened if you'd exerted yourself, your soul and spirit, your energy into making_something_happen. Then other things happen and life moves a little too fast and things fall into their slots, and you want to say, "Hey, wait, I wasn't ready for that to be set in stone." But it is. Ed got a job there. Met a lady who loved to ranch. Who was in telecomms and raised llamas! Alpacas, too! I mean go figure? How does that happen? Deb. Lovely Deb. With her own RAM 2500 truck. A smart lady, with llamas and lambs, and a RAM truck. And get this? Are you ready? She rides horses as well. Oh, just throw me to the slaughter.

Now you may be thinking, what is Marcia doing going to visit the ranch?

But if you know me, you know I really don't ever let go of a friendship. People may come, then go for awhile, I might flit in and out, but even if I don't have a mate, my friends are my mates for life.

I spent two days following everyone around on the ranch. Watched them pickup bales of hay for the animals. Walked into the barn as Ed called out to about 50 alpacas, "Hey, how are my ladies?" All 50 of them walked forward in their corral, big black eyes, resting on us humans, and I must say, these ladies are stellar beautiful.

There's the guard llama (that's a guy). My picture does no justice to this guy at all. Imagine that he has dreadlocks trailing down him, a coat of henna red brown

long hair. Like major cool. And a blond lady alpaca - isn't she a lovely lovely soul?

But you're wondering, what was that like for you, Marcia? On the ranch? On Ed and Deb's ranch? Cute animals, yes, but reality, please.

Well, the truth is I had a wonderful time. Some moments of wanderlust. Thoughts of what if, what if, what if. But, bottom line, Deb and Ed are perfect. An incredible home on the range couple of people who love what they do, who give to the land and to animals with their generous spirits, and who will leave this world a much better place for having cared for Western Spirit Ranch. And as for me, well, I did fall in love while I was there. At long last, the dog of my dreams, Wes. Who decided to be my guy, my guard, my angel. Wes followed me anywhere I went. Sat at my side while I read. While I watched day turn to evening to night. Finally, a dog that I could relate to. Those of you who know me, know that I'm not much of an animal person. (Not much, you say!) But I've always thought that if there was a dog that would get my heart, it would be a Border Collie. Wes proved this true for me.

Maybe, I don't live on a ranch. But I've got friends on the range. A dog named Wes who loves me. (He was 'that into me,' I could tell). And I had the gift of seeing with my own eyes what might never have been. How many of us are so blessed....I am.

Marcia's advice for today:

Going west is easier if you get to visit with Wes.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Stay by Sugarland.

Leaving Lincoln, a passing fancy?

The things one sees along the road. When I drove down the service road to the hotel in Lincoln the night before, I passed a store that said Dr. John's Novelties. I thought, "That's kind of nice." In the morning I saw the rest of the sign which also said, "...and Lingerie." Here I'm thinking it's some kind of five and dime. Well, sort of.

Marcia's thought for today:

Nothing like memories of root beer floats, penny candy, and lingerie?

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Be Be Your Love by Rachael Yamagata

Iowa...Nebraska...Discovering Lincoln, NE (Chicago's little sister?)

Leaving Illinois and heading west should be heralded by music and chimes and archangels singing as the sun rises to midday. But that doesn't happen. There's not a lot along the way. I stopped in Dixon, IL. Reagan's birthplace. It made me wonder who, what kind of people, would be stopping to see the home Regan grew up in. There weren't crowds but some people were there. Mostly with McCain/Palin bumper stickers on their cars.

I didn't really hang out but headed into town and found a super Mexican Restaurant. Two brothers and real Mex food. I highly recommend the chicken tacos but think they could work on their red salsa. I bet later in the day, with a Corona and some chips, it's probably a good spot from which to sit and watch Dixon. For me, Reagan vs. Salamander - easy pick! Here's their sign:

I hit the road west and must tell you, there's not a lot of compelling distraction after Dixon. Thought I'd end up in Iowa but kept going. Thought I'd end up in Omaha but kept going. Kind of tired when I got to Lincoln, NE. It was late but I did a quick drive through the downtown. Very CHICAGO! I'm wondering if maybe Lincoln and Chicago are sister cities. Anybody know? Even restaurants with Chicago in their name. Looked tres north side!

It wasn't fancy but I spent the night at the EconoLodge run by Victor and Suni Patel. Clean place, nice people, and only $49.00. Great deal. Suni seemed pretty serious when I checked in. No smile. But in the morning, I said to her, "Gosh, whoever does the sheets - they are super. Like the nicest sheets ever!" Then she lit up like a smiley face. Glad I could make her morning. So, if you need a good 'value for money' place, go to 1140 W Cornhusker Hwy and check out the sheets. Here's Suni smiling:

Thanks, Suni!

Marcia advice today: Go ahead, make someone's day.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Sister Nebraska by Tarkio.

First Stop means leaving the Last Stop

I'd been away from Chicago for about 30 years when I moved back a couple dozen months ago. It all made sense then. New job. My dad, a widower, in Chicago alone. A year later Dad died, and not long after, I lost the job. The twists and turns of fate? Who knows?

I got to be at my Dad's bedside when he passed into the big casino in the sky. I guess those quiet moments as he died was his gift to me. Most of the time, Dad just growled at me. Not hugely mean. More like he was saying, "Without your Mom, life just sucks." Kind of like martinis for him. In a restaurant, he'd always order a martini, "With an olive and a twist!" Heaven forbid if the guy or lady waiting on us asked, "Gin or vodka?" That would just about ruin the evening. He'd raise his blue eyes up at them and say, "Martinis are made with gin." That was his way of growling.

Watching him die was maybe the most peaceful time I had with him that whole year.

No more, "I said an olive and a twist!" No more, when I cooked something for him, "Almost as good as your Mom's." And the worst of all, no more raised eyebrows and that look that told me he thought I was surely half-cocked. In death, he just went. His eyes weren't open. He was barely breathing. Thank you, God! I couldn't have taken anymore of the lackluster sadness that had come into his staring blue then almost gray eyes. His eyes were closed. Never opened. No last words. Nothing. I didn't know what to do. I whisper sang, Morning Has Broken, which people think Cat Stevens wrote but really it's a very old hymn. Don't know why I sang that. But I did. And Dad died. Like that. As I sang Morning Has Broken.

My Dad spent much of his childhood in a little place called Pistakee Lake in Illinois. We still have a small fishing cottage there. It's not truly on the way to California but it's my first stop. Out of the sounds and stirrings of the big city to spending my first night of this journey at the cottage. When I walked into the kitchen the floor was covered in water. Something wrong with the water heater. Something is always wrong at the cottage. It's a given.

I ignored the water for the night. Drank New Zealand wine, ate cheese, an apple and, as a bath was probably not a good idea, fell off into the deep sleep of saying goodbye to Dad yet again. When I woke up this morning, I could watch the world over the lake awaken. The sun takes over. Without turning my head, I can lazy eye the change of day. There's a tree by the lake. It's my weather meter. If the tree is still, the lake will be calm. I love this tree. It's my Thika tree, like the flame trees of Kenya. From the vantage point I have, head settled on a pillow, no need to move, watching the sun up, and my tree, I could be anywhere. Here, there, or in Kenya. It's a superb feeling.

Morning has broken. It's 0630. I'm going to cleanup the water. Call the brothers about the latest something that is wrong at the cottage. Put on some Cat Stevens.

"Mine is the sunlight. Mine is the morning."

Say bye to Pistakee. To Dad one more time. Here's a pic of Dad BMD. That's 'before Mom died.'

Time to go.

Marcia's advice today: Stop and say goodbye.

Bye Dad. Bye Dad. Bye Dad. Loved you.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Keep Me In Your Heart by Warren Zevon

Leaving the Emerald City of Chicago!

Yesterday was a massive heart attack of emotions, stressors, and some smiles. If you haven't lived in a 60-story building in downtown Chicago, you may not have ever envisioned how the hell someone moves in and out of these places. First, one has to book the dock in the building. Getting on the schedule is akin to getting the best airfare on a Friday, booking within a week, to go from L.A. to NYC. You only get three hours of dock time. I've been in a couple of buildings. It's always the same. Three hours. Like the God of Docks has decreed that all people can move in three hours. Go figure.

My dock time was 12-3PM. At 130PM, I was on the phone for the third time with the Corrigan Movers, where an incredibly patient Chrystal said, "I don't see why you're worried. It's not a big move. They'll be fine." By 145PM, I was not fine. Chrystal was on the phone again, 'talking me down.' (You need to understand that at 3PM, the next person would be standing at the dock telling ME to get out of their God given time slot.)

A few minutes later three biker type guys showed up. Mike, Jaime, and Jeremy. Not only big, strong and looking like they could save the world,,,,,but also, soft spoken, kind and reassuring. "Hi, I'm Mike," said biker guy number one (who looked like a twin brother to a friend of mine named Mike who rides a Harley). He reached out and shook, or rather took, my hand, and I felt like I was going to prom! "Don't worry. Sorry we're late. I told the guys to get off Ohio (that's a main drag in downtown CHI). The traffic. Oh, god, the traffic. But don't worry."

I started to say something about not knowing how to pack up a glass table and Mike just took over with,"We've got it. Don't worry. We've got everything."

And that was that. From high stress to no stress. From, OMG, I'm out of packing tape to Mike, Jaime, and Jeremy who kind of walked above the ground, like ANGEL MOVERS, like Harley guys with wings, they swooped in and out. In 30-minutes, we were more than halfway done. I learned that like me, Jeremy and Jaime both lost their jobs a few months back. One is really in construction but doing this for now. Mike told me how they are doing back to back moves with no 'travel time' in between. No wonder they weren't here at noon. All three wanted to go with me to CA, I think. I asked Jeremy if he was an ex-Marine. He asked why. I said, "You and the guys, you're like super hero types. You look like the Special Forces." He was quiet. Sticking tags on the boxes. He looked up. "I used to be a boxer."

Of course.

We all used to be something else. Think about it. If we hadn't made dramatic changes in our lives, they were made for us. I went from crazy lady on the phone with Chrystal to, "Wow, look at these Zen movers."

Just then, I was sitting in the window seat taking my last look at all of the Emerald City. The Chicago River down below. A yellow water taxi zipping by. The historic river tour cruise going the other direction. The Tribune Building. Wrigley's clock. That Trump tower that has trumped the others around it. Beautiful but no character. Not like the old Morton Salt building that still has a bronze plaque with the umbrella girl on it. And Morton helped pay for Chicago's Art Institute, too. Wacker Drive winding below me. The Michigan Avenue bridge crossing the river. So much to say bye for now to.

I wanted to go down to the dock and give Mike a big hug. But things were moving fast. Dock time had run out. The guys were angel moving my mattress out and saying goodbye to me. Two gone. Only Jeremy still in my place. He said he hoped he'd get to CA someday. Handed me a bunch of paperwork. Before he left he said, "Don't worry. We'll take care of your stuff."

That's all we really want, isn't it. Someone to take care of our stuff. While we figure out other stuff.

At last, I started my drive west. I know the environment shouldn't match the moment when one is writing. Like dark nights of the soul shouldn't always be paired with dark storms outside. But the Emerald City was in my rear view mirror smiling a goodbye to me. And the sun was setting to the west, turning all red and golden. My stuff was in good hands. My life was in mine.

Moving on.

Marcia's advice for moving day:

Take a valium. Give it up. Give it over. It will get moved.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Chicago by Sufjan Stevens. Also listen to, Come on! Feel the Illinoise! Sufjan Stevens is incredible, outstanding, amazing!

The Power of What If?

You know that tired old quote that today is the first day of the rest of your blah blah blah.  It's simply NOT true.  We spend day after day blodding along (that's plodding outside the blogosphere).  To work. Blodding home.  Blodding to stores, restaurants, blodding to read books.  Blodding around looking for that pearl, that moment of riotous revelation, that second in time where we can say, "Today the rest of my life changes."  It's not a fork in the road.  Or a new diet or taking a class.  It's throwing caution out the window, making a stand while moving in a new direction, it's g with g (going with God), saying, "Okay, life, I'm jumping off, I know you will catch me, I'm giving in to faith and belief in the power of what if."  So, what if?  What if?  Today is the day I begin my, "What if!"

Marcia's advice today:  If you bother to smile, bother to mean it.