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.