Over the Hump and Reaching for Home

Last week was miserable, namely because I drove around Michigan. But the week ended with a wonderful retreat to Minneapolis, where I spent the weekend at Jack and Ryan's apartment in Uptown. Friday night we enjoyed pizza and beers at Dulono's Pizza as some old folks played bluegrass. Saturday morning I woke up well before my pals and headed to Dunn Brothers Coffee to finish reading The Sun Also Rises. That night I headed to an "Ugly Sweater Party." I took no pictures, but my sweater was indeed ugly.

I guess the only fun pictures I have of my weekend are these pre-party shots of Jack and Ryan playing True Love Travels on a Gravel Road:


Right now I'm in Rochester where it's been snowing all day. The weather is about -5 degrees and I guess the schools are closing early. I should be out of here in about half-an-hour to drive on to Madison, WI. I'm not going crazy because I've survived Michigan, I've drank beer in Nashville, and I'm finally on the home-stretch to a three-week vacation in two more days. Things aren't so bad once one is over the hump and headed for home.

Another Weekend in Nashville...Parades, Dancing, and a Quiet Six Pack of Bush Light

In the past week I've crisscrossed the Eastern half of the U.S., starting in Richmond and ending up in Music City, where I decided to spend another weekend in another dumpy motel in the margins of town. The Knights Inn on Spring Avenue and N. 1st Street is not a place for enjoying Nashville. While there is some charm in rude front desk attendants and bed covers sprinkled with dog hair, the real enjoyment seems to come from a pack of Marlboro Reds and a six-pack of Bush Light.

The opened door leading to darkness was my room...

Friday night I put on my best shirt and called the cab driver I met earlier, Bobby, who said as he first dropped me off at the motel, "Day or night, you call and ten minutes later I'm here for you Mike." On the phone, Bobby explained in his thick Ethiopian accent that the police were everywhere and he didn't know what was going on but it would probably be two hours until he could come pick me up. I told him it was okay and I'd find another way to get Downtown. "I'm sorry Mike," he replied. The dispacher at Allied Cabs had a guy in my area, and in ten minutes we were headed to Tootsie's, joking about all the security being for Barack Obama. Eight blocks from Downtown, traffic on the sidewalk was moving faster than on the street so I had my driver drop me off.

A parade marched down Broadway Avenue to 2nd Street! That explained all the blocked off streets and pedestrians, strollers and collapseable chairs in tow. Below are images from the parade, that stretched back for what seemed like miles:


It was damned cold outside and I don't know how the participants marching down the street could stand it, let alone the onlookers on the sidewalk. I enjoyed about 15 minutes of the floats, baton twirlers and marching bands before I headed into The Stage to watch a group that sounded very much like Kenny Chesney charm the Wrangler cladded, cowboy hat wearing music lovers into a very Western heel-toe type of dance. It was nothing new and I decided to go back to my industrial palace to read a bit and go to bed.

I had a fine time in Nashville, but the novelty of the road has worn down to an old hat routine and I find more fun being alone in my room with a good book and some Gerry Mulligan than trying to find something new and different in a new and different town. I'm starting to feel like those moments are reserved for the energy of a familiar group of pals that you can get in some loud trouble with when you have the confidence to ask a cowgirl to dance. There's something about a being alone that cuts the fun factor in half...but that doesn't necessarly make the moment less worthy, as I found out in the morning when I didn't have a headache!

Now I'm stuck in the Washington-Dulles airport having missed my connection due to what the gate agent said was "a strong Westerly wind." It's been two hours since we landed and it'll be two hours until I depart, but I have a cup of coffee, two books, and the Sunday NY Times next to me, these things having become best friends for a Nickel-Plated Wayfarer like me. Tomorrow I think I'll do some laundry as the machine at the Knights Inn was out of order.

Thanksgiving Weekend

While I love holidays, commuting by plane is no fun when families storm airport security with keys in their pockets and liquids and gels that give TSA officials nightmares and high blood pressure. Tuesday night Andy picked me up from the airport, where I had flown in from Albany. I woke up at my leisure on Wednesday and enjoyed a couple of hours with the newspaper until Andy woke up and we shared a pot of coffee:


Thanksgiving day I double-booked turkey dinner and suffered very much heartburn for it. Adam and Kelsey were gracious hosts for my brother and I, having cooked a huge (cage free) turkey with all the trimmings (and a delicious piece of pecan pie with ice cream).

Andy and I ate as much as we could and enjoyed a couple of beers before we all sat on the couch and dozed in front of the television as a college football game couldn't capture our interest.

Andy and I enjoying beers with our turkey

After much time and digestion, my brother and I headed for Gabe's house, where his traditional Thanksgiving involves slaving over the kitchen all day for a late night meal. We started with the duck, then dove into the turkey, all the while munching on some amazing sweet potato dish with pecans on the top.

Thanksgiving weekend was a much needed vacation from all this travel. I was reminded how lucky I am to have friends and family in Seattle who are a part of redefining traditions like Thanksgiving. As I get older and loved ones disperse throughout the country, I've learned that home has become less of a place and more of an exchange of warmth and hospitality. Lucky to have so many friends.

Last night I flew to Richmond, VA from Seattle with a layover in stormy Chicago O'Hare, where my flight was one of the few that was on time. Now I'm sitting outside the conference room at the hotel where Christmas music drones on in the house speakers. I'm thinking about the next three weeks and how much holiday music I'll have to suffer through. And the worst part is when there is silence and I find myself whistling Jingle Bells.