This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land

I just got back from a short swim at our Peoria Hotel pool, the Jameson Inn.  I was the only one in the pool area, and enjoyed the water and the quiet.  I sat in the hot pot for a bit before coming back to the room, warming up and relaxing.  We were on the road again a little too long for my hip's comfort and I think all three of us (sister, dog, and myself) are happy to be out of the car.

Iowa is pretty.  And windy.  I thought Ames was picturesque.  It has a lovely old downtown that is about 2 long blocks with boutiques and restaurants and big shade trees.  We found the cornerstone of Mary Greeley Hospital where Carol was born and took her picture there.   It was an odd sensation, knowing that our parents most likely walked the downtown streets that we were driving.  Since I've never had much family association/connection to PLACE, it was an unusual feeling for me, again on this trip of history, to have a sense of those who have passed.  I kept thinking if I just squinted in the right way I might catch a glimpse of 60 years ago and see an Army sergeant with his new bride strolling down the sidewalk.  They would perhaps still be shy with one another -- he with a promising career in the Service, she pregnant with her first child, gloriously pleased to be making a family.  (My Aunt Ruthie once told me that Mother only ever wanted to have a family with children.  And because she was a juvenile type 1 diabetic, diagnosed at 11 years old and often ill, having children was a big question.)  This experience of seeing the places where my parents lived has made me ever more interested in someday going back to Germany to visit where I was born and to go to the areas we lived overseas.  It's been magical.

Some of the magic was broken this afternoon on our drive out of Ames, yet it was a good reminder to help me shake off any naivete I might have carried on my journey through America's breadbasket. You know -- the waving wheat that sure smells sweet kind of sentiment.  If I really want to see the whole world (and I do) I need to occasionally take off my rose colored glasses and look with honest eyes.  Here I am, driving along in my nostalgic haze in postcard=like Ames, and I come to a stop light.  In front of me is a man driving an old pick up truck.  He has bumper stickers and signs -- "One Big Ass Mistake America" (look at the first letters of each word) and "2012 - No more Re-Nig"  It took me a minute to catch the meanings of these phrases and then I could hardly believe it.  I actually took out my camera and snapped a picture so I could refer to it later.  Once I took it all in, I wanted to ram the pickup.  I paused a moment and decided instead to send this driver love.  It took a lot of effort on my part.  What I do know is that prejudice and bigotry come from fear.  My grandfather on my father's side was a racist, born and raised in rural southern Indiana.  As his granddaughter, I loved him, but I am sure that now, as an adult, I would not like him.  He was anxious and afraid until the day he died, more than 25 years ago.  These bumper stickers could be on cars in Richland, Washington or Portland, Oregon, or even San Francisco, California, so I know this kind of fear and ignorance is not exclusive to Iowa or the Midwest.  It makes me angry, and sad, and ever more determined to combat fear in positive ways.  I want to help my country continue to be a place for discourse and disagreement, big enough for many differing opinions, but I will not tolerate this kind of racial violence in my home or anywhere else I find it.

I spent the rest of the windy drive through Iowa from Ames to Peoria thinking about fear.  Carol has honored so beautifully my need for silence and quietude.  We haven't played music in the car or watched tv at night, choosing instead to read or rest.  Today I contemplated the contrasts between fear and love, between wind and calm, between being educated and being ignorant.  I didn't come up with any answers or deep insights; I just reaffirmed my commitment to working on my own pockets of fear and ignorance, storm and unrest, stupidity and carelessness.  One of my mantras since I learned the song in Jr. Girl Scouts has been "Peace Begins With Me".  As we traveled one day closer to my new home, I got a big opportunity to set my mind to Peace.   So be it.  Peace Be With Me.  Peace Be With You.

Back to the Future....

It's Wednesday morning, May 2, and we're in Ames, Iowa.  We will leave (after I finish writing) for Peoria, Illinois.  I've never been to Peoria, nor has Carol.  It's a little more than halfway from here to Indianapolis -- we are on the final stretch of our journey.  Carol was born in Ames almost 60 years ago.  At that time our parents were newly married; our Dad was a young sargeant, teaching ROTC at Iowa State University.  Carol was born at Mary Greely Hospital and we are going to drive by there and throw memorial kisses at the facility on our way out of town.

Our drive yesterday was surprisingly beautiful.  The Iowa farmland was not as expansive nor as flat as I had expected.  We went through miles and miles of rolling hills, some green, some brown with freshly tilled soil that had either been newly planted or was ready for seed.  The weather was sunny and warm, the roads between little towns had little traffic.  Carol foraged for food last nite as I rested and found a marvelous Chinese restaurant next to the University -- she brought home some delicious veggies and tofu for me and I set upon it like a hungry wolf.  It was delicious.  Who knew you could find yummy tofu and veggies in Ames, Iowa?  I'm grateful.


Yesterday morning, on our way out of Sioux Falls, we stopped at Augustana College, a place that all Swanson girls went to school.  Our uncle went into the Army, so he did not attend.  My Mother and my Aunt Margaret (the oldest) served as Dean of Women at different times.  The campus is beautiful -- it reminds me some of my own Alma Mater, Willamette University, in Salem, Oregon.  Old stone and newer brick buildings.  Tall trees, a quiet, contemplative atmosphere.  There was a residence hall on the corner with "Women's Hall, 1909" written above it in stone -- we suspect that our aunts and mother lived there at some point.  Again, the air was rife with history, and as Carol and I sat in the garden next to the Women's Hall and scattered some more of Aunt Ruthie's ashes, I imagined the spirits of our dearly departed all around us.  Whenever I see birds, I think of my Mother, and our pilgrimmage here has been filled with birds leading the way as they swooped by the car on the freeway, by birdsong in the morning, by hawk sightings as they circled above the fields, looking with their sharp eyes for mice and other critters.


I feel we have paid our respects and done our duty to and for our relatives.  We looked through the pages of time past, with one more nod at roots today by visiting Carol's birthplace.  Once we leave Ames, it's on to the future, the unknown.  Peoria will be new to us, as will Indianapolis.  It's up to us now to be in the present and to create our journey from scratch.  I look forward to the future.  I look forward with the strength of my ancestors cheering me on.  I look forward.

The Land of my Mother

It was an amazing day, April 30, 2012.  Carol and I got up in a relatively leisurely manner.  I had to get Sailor out in the morning, so he and I went for a walk around the area at about 7 am.  The circus is in town next door (@ the Sioux Falls arena) and Sailor was very excited by all the animal smells.  I’m pretty sure he’s never smelled elephant or tiger or camel before.  Nose in the air, he pranced around.  I was kind of sleepy on the walk and as I passed by a local business, instead of Hoy Trial Attorneys I read the sign as Hot Trial Attorneys.  What kind of town IS Sioux Falls, I wondered?

Anywho, late morning we headed north about 40 miles to Madison, SD to connect with our Aunt Mae who has lived in this area all her life.  Auntie Mae will be 92 on 12/12/12 and at 91 she’s a wonder.  She lives independently, still drives (!), has good sight and hearing, and seems to only use her cane for minor balance assistance.  I thoroughly enjoyed her company, her sense of humor, and the stories she told us about life in rural South Dakota in the 20’s, 30’s and beyond.  As I stated in my previous blog, there were three girl cousins all born in 1920 -- my mother, Evelyn Mae, the woman we call Auntie Mae, and another cousin Maudie (her actual name was Mary and I think she is one of the reasons I was named Mary).  They were very close as children and maintained a bond throughout their adult years.  These girl cousins were the daughters of sisters – Anne (my grandmother), Lena, and Emma (Auntie Mae’s mother) were all Erickson’s.  Anne became Swanson, Lena became Fitzgerald, Emma became Swindler.  Anne Erickson (Swanson) was born in Norway and immigrated with her Mom, Dad, and her sister Lena; Emma was born later in South Dakota.  My maternal great grandfather (the father of these three sisters) died when the girls were young and my maternal great grandmother farmed the South Dakota land with her three little girls.  She had help from the neighbors and eventually remarried, but can you imagine doing all the back breaking work of farming, caring for animals, and raising girl children on your own even for a short time?  In South Dakota?  Yowzer.  This is what I mean when I refer to the hearty stock of my ancestors.  Amazing. 

So Auntie Mae took us on a tour to see, with our own eyeballs, some of the family sites.  We saw the land that our great grandparent’s farmed, this land where a widow and her girls eeked out a living.  We were unsuccessful at finding the Swanson (our grandparent’s) family farm – the buildings are not likely still standing anyway.  The first three Swanson children (two aunts and my uncle) were born on the property in what was the original homesteaded house that became the chicken coop.  My Mother and the last baby (Aunt Ruthie) were also born at home, but in the actual “newer” house that had been built by then to shelter this family of 7.  Auntie Mae said today, several times, that it was a lovely house, built well and sturdily.  As the piece de resistance, we did locate, with Auntie Mae’s invaluable direction and advice, the cemetery where my grandparents are buried in Salem, South Dakota at the Salem Evangelical Lutheran Church.  We found their headstones amongst the other Swansons and Ericksons and Ericssons and Bjornsons and lots of other “…sons”, and had a tender moment of thanksgiving for these people who begat so we could be begat.  Our grandparents were older than the norm when they married, and started their family quite late.   Our parents were in their 30’s when they met and married, birthing me when almost 40.  My grandfather died the year I was born; my grandmother, five years later.  So where others have squeezed in an extra generation or two, I feel closely connected to these Scandinavian immigrants, even more so now that I’ve stood at their graves and witnessed their land, breathed their climate, seen their horizon. 

We scattered some of Aunt Ruthie’s ashes over her parent’s gravesite and Carol read again from our Mother’s old Lutheran Book of Prayer.  The air seemed thick with story and history while our 91 year old Auntie Mae (who is actually a cousin if you’re following the genealogy correctly) looked on.  The weather was comfortable and in the 70’s and the clouds were light and the sun, warm.  We hear there are severe thunderstorms predicted for tomorrow here, so we feel doubly blessed that we had a perfect day.

We took Auntie Mae back to Madison and stopped at the Second Street Café for coffee and a bite to eat.  Auntie Mae’s appetite is great and she would not let us pay for her food or ours.  I think she was really pleased with the outing and with our visit – I know I was.  Upon leaving, she gifted us with an old cuckoo clock that had been originally gifted to her Mother by our Mother who bought it when we were in Bavaria when our Dad was in the Army.  She also wanted us each to pick a tea/coffee cup and saucer from her collection “to remember her by”.  Carol picked a lovely blue flowered set and I picked one from the St. Louis World’s Fair, a fair that our grandparents attended.  Additionally she had a set of 9 rose colored goblets that belonged to our grandparents that she really wanted us to take and share – we left her one goblet and Carol and I will divvy up the other 8.  Such precious gifts given with such sweetness, kindness, and love.  So even tho I’ve just spent the last month letting go of all the miscellaneous things I didn’t need or want any more, now I have a few heirloom items that I didn’t even know were waiting for me. 

The landscape around Sioux Falls, in small towns like Montrose (where my grandparent’s farm was), Madison, Mitchell, and Salem is farmland and peppered with livestock.  Fields are now being prepared for crops.  The farms these days are huge, much larger than what the early immigrants homesteaded for their families.  Most of the towns, however, are still small, with only several hundred to several thousand inhabitants.  Aunt Mae has seen vast changes in her life time – improved roads, the shifts of farming from family to corporation, the transition from walking to horse to automobile.  I am struck this evening with how much I miss my Mother.  I wish I’d gotten to see this area with her, to hear her stories of her childhood.  I feel lucky to have gotten this afternoon with Aunt Mae, as she is the only survivor from this time and generation.  Her faculties are still so sharp -- her descriptions and the twinkle in her eye are imprinted in my memory. This is one of the most precious gifts a family can bestow -- the gift of story, of generational history, of awe at the passage of time.

I’m always looking for the lesson.  One of many from today is to cherish your roots.  I have no illusions that any of these relations were without dysfunction.  I don’t think this was a “simpler” or a purer time.  It was just different.  And I value, greatly, the contributions they made to their families, communities, neighbors.  I’m not sure I would have survived what they did.  I’m not sure I will live as long as my Aunt Mae (who, btw, attributes her long life and excellent health, in part, to eating a good breakfast every day, never having smoked, and not having been a drinker).  Maybe I wouldn’t have even liked these farmer folk, (nor perhaps they, me) but they are who stand behind me, who went before me.  Finally, for the first time and after over 50 years, I am here in this land of my Mother’s people, and I’m so glad I’ve come.  That I got to do this journey with my one and only sibling is grace beyond measure.

Another long drive....

..... all the way across South Dakota.  This morning we were in Rapid City, SD, which is in the southwestern part of the state and tonite we've pulled up to Sioux Falls, which is in the southeastern part of the state.  The Swanson family farm was in Montrose, which is about 20 miles outside of Sioux Falls.  When they sold the farm, our grandparents moved to Salem, SD, which is also about 20 or so miles away.  All the Swanson girls (4 of them) went to Augustana College, which is about 4 miles from our hotel.  Madison, SD is about 30 miles north of where we are now, and we will head there tomorrow morning to see our Aunt Mae, who is 91 years old and, from what we hear, doing quite well.  There were three cousins all born the same year -- our Mother, Aunt Maudie, and Aunt Mae.  They grew up together on neighboring farms and were quite close.  Now only Auntie Mae is left.  I'm really looking forward to seeing her and hoping that she can give us directions to and information about the farm.  If it's still standing, I'd love to see it.  The other thing on our docket for tomorrow is to take some of Aunt Ruthie's ashes to Augustana College where she was a minor-celebrity alumnus.

About an hour out of Rapid City we stopped in Wall, South Dakota at the famous Wall Drug store.  It's a big tourist destination, filled with every kind of souvenir, pharmacy item, and trinket you can imagine.  Free coffee for veterans and 5 cent coffee for the rest of us.  We found the "Big" things in Wall to take our pictures with -- a 12 foot tall jackalope and an 80 foot tall dinosaur.  Carol did manage to find a really nice black hills gold ring for herself and I got some trinkets for the grandboys.  We got gas and then were on our way.  There really isn't much to see on this drive -- the black hills are behind and the badlands are to the south.  Lots and lots of grassland is what lays in the middle of the state between west and east.

Carol drove several hours again today, giving me a chance to rest my eyes and get in a cat nap.  One thing we have noticed is that the rest stops in South Dakota are very nice and clean.  They also have large, nice grassy areas in which to exercise pets, so Sailor has had three happy ball catching sessions today.  He continues to be incredibly well-behaved and easy.  He did not like the elevator ride this evening tho.  He flattened himself against the floor and looked at me like "Mom, what's happening??? The floor's moving!"  I'm sure he'll get used to it soon enough as our condo in Indy is on the 7th floor.

The only other notable thing is that I FINALLY got a wonderful full plate of veggies.  The out-to- eat choices over the last days have been slim-pickins for good food for me, and I was beginning to feel greens starved.  We found a great Hotwire price on the Sheraton here next to the airport and I managed to get the restaurant to make me a big bowl of sauteed broccoli, green beans, squash, onion, and red bell peppers.  I looked beautiful and tasted delicious. 


Sailor has decided he likes hotel beds, so I will need to go now and skooch him over so I can rest my own weary head.  At 80 pounds, he's not easy to skooch.  Sweet dreams to us all.

 

Paha Sapa (Lakota Sioux for The Hills that are Black)

We got started later this morning than previous travel days and both Carol and I were grateful for the extra sleep time.  After a leisurely breakfast of the surprisingly yummy hot food at the HI Express, we headed out for Mt. Rushmore, which turned out to be only 2 miles from the hotel.  It was sunny for part of our time there and snowed sideways again for the remainder.  Funny climates here in the Spring.  Mt. Rushmore was fantastic -- the four Presidents look down from their rock perch over a valley filled with more rock and coniferous trees.  Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Jefferson were carved by dynamite and chisel during the time when my parents were babies.  We saw a film about the making of the monument, toured the visitor center, walked around a bit in the wind and cold, took some pictures, and sprinted back to the car to warm up.  I overheard a guide say that there are over 3 million visitors to Mt. Rushmore during the summer season.  I'm glad we are here early even tho many hotels and restaurants and shops are not even open yet.  May 1st, or for some, Mother's Day, marks the beginning of tourist season.

Sailor had his debut as an official Service Dog and he performed as if he'd been doing this his whole life.  We took him along for the day, and I put his vest on him when we entered the park.  No pets are allowed in the area, but no one challenged me or him as he calmly stayed by my side.  At one point I was wearing my sunglasses outside and it became apparent that people thought I was blind.  It was actually kind of funny and interesting.  People made comments about how beautiful Sailor is and how he was "working" so they shouldn't distract him.  Little kids, however, had no qualms about asking to pet him and he treated it all with aplomb.  I was extraordinarily proud of the Boy, and he seemed to thrive during his work day.

After Mt. Rushmore, we decided to drive a bit through Custer State Park.  Mt. Rushmore is in the Black Hills National Forest, and the state park next to it is where curvy roads with hairpin turns give opportunity for a slow meander through trees, over one lane bridges, and through one car tiny tunnels.  We went in search of buffalo and were not disappointed.  After about a 40 minute journey we came upon an open area where there were a dozen BIG bison grazing, one quite close to the road.  He was about the size of our SUV.  Magnificent.  I took pictures (from the car) while Carol looked a little green around the gills -- this beast was on her side of the car and I rolled the window down so I could get good shots.  She didn't scream or panic when he looked her in the eye -- his eye was about 10 times the size of her eye.  We rolled up the windows and rolled away slowly.  It's wild to imagine what it would be like to be in a thundering herd of these amazing creatures.

On our way out of the Black Hills (so named because the pine needles look black from a distance), we pulled over on a "closed" road near a small rock outcropping.  I got out my Native American Flute and played a bit.  Carol got out our Mother's old Lutheran Book for Prayer and read the prayer for After a Death -- "Amid our tears, O Lord, we praise Thee as Thou has received our loved one to Thyself for all eternity...." and then we scattered some of our dear Aunt Ruthie's ashes in her beloved Black Hills.  This was something she'd asked me to do for her many years before she died, and I was pleased I could fulfill today the promise I'd made.  Carol and I both deeply loved our Aunt Ruthie (our Mother's youngest sister and the last to die of the 5 siblings).  Our Scandinavian grandparents homesteaded a farm on the eastern side of the state (where we're headed tomorrow) and altho the Sioux Falls area was "home" for all the Swanson kids, our Aunt Ruth always spoke so lovingly about the Black Hills and the time she spent in Western South Dakota working or vacationing.  Aunt Ruth had been born in 1925, schooled as a nurse at Augustana College (a stop for us on Monday after we drive east), went on to get her Master's in Psychiatric Nursing at Rutgers, and then another Master's and her PhD at New York University where she was a professor for more than a decade.  She referred to herself as a small town farm girl who'd gone to the big city for adventure.  She modeled many a fine quality for me and I miss her still.  Today a part of her returned to the earth of the forest she loved.  Rest in peace, Lois Ruth Ardis Swanson.  Rest in peace.

After our busy day in the National and State parks, we found a place to get a bite to eat, walked around the (currently) sleepy town of Keystone a while, and came back to the hotel to relax and try to warm up.  It was 38 today and it is supposed to be 80 by Tuesday.  Even tho much of the day was peppered with snow or rain showers, I still managed to get some color -- my face is pink from the South Dakota sun.  I feel my ancestors close here, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my Mother.  Tomorrow we travel to ground zero, the place where Anne Erickson and Reynold August Swanson farmed and raised their family of five.  Each of these five raised children of their own, and now those children have had children and those children have had children.  With my grandparents gone and my parents having passed, it is now my sister and I who stand in line as the next generation to go.  This doesn't make me maudlin or sad -- it seems only to reinforce the truth of the passing of time and the way of Life.  It is my hope that it will be many years yet before someone will be scattering my ashes in a forest or near an ocean, and the truth about it is that it WILL happen.  Somehow, this evening, in this beautiful and sometimes stark and ancient feeling locale, I find comfort in this.

 

Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota

Traveled through three big states today.  Left Billings this morning at 9:30 and pulled up to our hotel in Keystone, South Dakota at 4:30 pm.  Dead tired.  Again.  We will stay put for two nights now in this Holiday Inn Express, and I'm sooo glad to not have to drive any long distance tomorrow.  My hip is screaming and I am stretching it, Sailor sleeps at our feet, Carol is busily at work on her computer (talking to the screen as she is wont to do).  Once we'd checked in (nice, spacious room btw) we went to a little restaurant down the street (Ruby House).  It continues to be a challenge to find the right kinds of lean (proteins) and greens (veggies) for my diet, but I settled on trout with a serving of broccoli and a green side salad.  Since I've learned a lot about cooking fish in the last year, I was a bit disappointed in the trout (too dry, too well done) but I was hungry and ate the whole thing.  Carol said her steak was tasty.  We both declined drinks and desserts and took the dog for a walk after dinner.  It was nice to be out and about on our feet and for it to be dry, altho cold.

It was raining hard when we left Billings and windy, windy, windy.  It rained during almost the entire drive, and when it wasn't raining, it was SNOWING.  Yes, snowing.  We stopped in a town in Wyoming called Gillette and I think, without exaggeration, we could say we were caught in a blizzard.  We got gas there and during the time I was filling the tank I got completely soaked by sideways blowing wet snow.  I have mostly short sleeved shirts, flip flops, and capris in my suitcase.  Luckily I brought my gore-tex rain jacket.  We hear its supposed to rain for the next few days, but at least the temps will be in the 50's.  The woman at the store in Wyoming said they can have all four seasons in one day.  I believe it. 

My mind was occupied most of the day with trying to drive safely in wild weather.  When I did muse on other things, I marveled at the hardiness of early settlers who crossed these high passes and windy plains in something much less comfortable than a Lexus SUV.  I wondered about what the people's lives are like in the small towns that sit along the freeway.  I sang "Home on the Range" silently in my head.  I thought about my friends and family, and sent them love.  My friend Pat and I are writing road warrior poetry by text.  She sends me a line and then I send her one.  This is from today --

Pat -- These wild mountain streams
Me -- Muddy, swift and cold
Pat -- Tenderly open my heart
Me -- And drown my sorrows.

Our plan is to sleep in tomorrow, see Mt. Rushmore, go poke around Rapid City, and scatter some of Aunt Ruthie's ashes in the Black Hills.  Maybe the plan will be fulfilled.  Maybe not.  This the desert taught me -- be open to change of plan.  And so I shall be.

Sweet dreams.

 

BIG SKY Montana

Holy Moly, Montana is BIG.  Drove all day from Missoula to Billings (350 + miles) under a big sky filled with every different kind of cloud imaginable.  It drizzled, it rained, the sun shone, the wind blew and blew.  I've discovered that when you're driving 80 miles an hour and catch a fierce side wind, it takes some strength to keep the car on the road.  Luckily there was little or no other traffic, so our travels were unimpeded.  Can say, however, that several hundred bugs lost their lives on our windshield and in retribution left their sticky guts all over the car.  Carol has become adept at washing them off during gas stops.  We also picked up another rock chip.  Good thing we didn't get the new windshield installed before the trip.

I loved the scenery today.  Big trees, full and raging rivers.  We must have bridged over a waterway called the Clark Fork a dozen times.  Cattle, sheep, horses.  Snow on the mountain tops.  We crossed the continental divide and climbed to an elevation of just over 6300 feet.  I wondered if we were gaining elevation even before I checked the garmin or saw signs -- at about 4,000 feet my head starts to feel as if my brain is getting sqoozed.  As I've aged I've become less and less tolerant of higher altitudes and a headache is usually my first symptom.  

Sailor has been a trooper.  I threw the ball for him this morning in the Montana rain. We both got soaked - one of us was happy.  We've had no trouble in hotels.  I've told them at check-in that I have a Service Dog with me and it's been no problem.  He's incredibly well-behaved and altho I can tell he's not thrilled with the long hours in the car, he's as sweet as ever.  Tonite he got some of my Costco canned salmon (thanks Michele for the great can opener) and some of Carol's pizza, so he's got lots to wag his tail about.  We've booked the last two nights on Hotwire and gotten great Wyndham hotels for bargain prices.  I just booked the next two nights in Keystone, South Dakota at a Holiday Inn Express that gets great reviews on Trip Advisor.  We've a long drive ahead of us tomorrow (approx 400 miles), so staying put for two nights once we get there sounds very attractive.  We will get to see Mt. Rushmore and scatter some of Aunt Ruthie's ashes in the Black Hills.  


Today I was tired.  Really, really tired.  I drove in the morning and into the afternoon -- Carol spelled me and took a driving shift for a couple of hours while I rested my eyes.  We stopped for gas just before Billings and now have been relaxing in the hotel room.  This hotel actually isn't a Wyndham any more, but was until recently.  It's called the Big Horn Resort, but it was listed at the Big Hron Resort on Hotwire.  Made me laugh and think of Icelandic, where the major road around Iceland is called the Hring road.  Water parks seem to be the attraction for Montana hotels, and Big Hron has a big indoor water park.  I'm too tired to slide, paddle, or tread water, so to avoid drowning I left my swimsuit in the car.  Is it only yesterday that we left Pasco?  


It was nice to skype Ingi this evening.  He even managed to get Miss Belle on camera, and it was soothing to me to see her.  I tried to get Sailor on camera too, but he was busy with his nap so all Ingi got to see was a sleeping dog.  Speaking of, it's time for me to take the Boy out for his last potty break and head to bed myself.  Did I mention how tired I am?  


See you in my dreams.....

Letting go....

Here's a little background for any gentle reader....  My husband Ingi and I moved from Portland, Oregon in 2009 to the Tricities area of Eastern Washington.  The move to a new job and a new locale was precipitated by the unhappy circumstance that the company for which Ingi had been working was being disassembled piece by piece.  An attractive offer arose from a group based in the Tricities, affording Ingi the opportunity to work on a project that he had hoped would both benefit his employer and give him some creative expression in the field of transportation.  For a number of reasons, this project has now morphed into something that looks different from the original concept, and something that is even still in process.  My brave hoosbondi has teamed with a colleague in Indianapolis, Indiana, and the two of them are marching forth with their good idea, their many contacts, their hopes, and their combined experience to give birth to this "start-up".  I am along for the ride.

The last 4 weeks have been intense.  I can't think of any other word that more accurately describes this time.  I have been on my feet from morning 'till evening -- organizing, cleaning, packing, hosting a garage sale, taking items to Good Will, etc.  For those of you who know me well, you are aware of my long term conflicted relationship with my "stuff".  I've gathered stuff, bought and collected stuff, inherited stuff, and, as I see now in retrospect, almost drowned myself in stuff.  As an Army brat, home was always where your STUFF was, as we moved almost yearly and home was never associated with geography, neighborhood, or any particular structure.  So I became accustomed to attaching to stuff.  I am pleased to say that this phase in my life is shifting to the lighter, and with the courage it takes to let go and with the help of good, generous friends, I have bid adieu to over half my stuff.  When we moved to the TriCities, it took two 22 ft trucks and multiple car and pick up truck loads to haul our stuff.  Last Saturday we filled (yes, to the brim) one single 28 foot freight trailer with all our worldly goods.  As I write this blog, our stuff is most probably on a train somewhere in the west, headed for delivery to Indianapolis on May first.  I hope the date is auspicious and refers to the joy akin to May day flowers and welcome baskets my Mother taught me to leave on neighbor's doors.  The other reference would be the drama of an emergent "Mayday!  Mayday!  Mayday!" call.  I hope that this adventure will be much more about flower power than 911 trauma.

Ingi has gone ahead to Indiana to continue setting up his office and create and grow the business.  Last Sunday after our trailer was loaded up, he flew from Pasco, Washington through Denver to Indianapolis with our calico cat, Belle, tucked into her cat carrier.  It was an epic journey for Bella, contained in a cage for 11 hours.  We are happy to report that she survived the experience and is now stretching her legs in the upstairs studio apartment at the home of Ingi's business partner and his wife.  Don't you think it's amazingly generous of them to temporarily house both my husband and our cat?  Soon Ingi will be able to move to our very own rented condo, but until then we are dependent, once again, on the sweetness of friends and family.  This recent time in my life has several themes -- one about letting go, another about learning to be the gracious beneficiary of extraordinary kindness and generosity.  I can't say that either lesson has come easily to me, but I can say that I see great benefit in both.

My beloved sister Carol has joined me on this drive.  She, and I, and my Golden Retriever Sailor are packed into the SUV.  I definitely have not conquered the minimalist life style to which I now aspire, so sadly have to report that there is still too much "stuff" in the car, but I think we will travel safely and well stocked -- we have food for humans and dog and medicine and clothes and computers and water and blankets and pillows and hope and laughter and good stories and bonhomie.  Today we left the TriCities and drove to Missoula, Montana.  It was around 350 miles, and took us about 6 hours, driving easily in great spring weather, stopping often at rest stops to exercise the dog and our own legs.  Carol flew in from San Francisco, so she was in four states today -- California, Washington, Idaho, and now Montana.  She snores lightly as I write, tired from an early morning and the day of travel.  We talked as sisters can, jumping from topics of our shared histories to current work situations, childhood antics and thoughts about the future.  She presented me with a treasure she had been keeping in a drawer -- our mother's high school graduation ring.  What a lovely gift.  So now on the forth finger of my right hand is a modest ring from Montrose (South Dakota) High School from 1938, EMS (Evelyn Mae Swanson).  She is with us. When I left this morning I was also gifted with a key chain with pictures of my heart mates Pat and Michele.  They are with us.  Carol's kids texted us, friends facebooked or called, Ingi checked in several times by phone, Bobi gave us a tiny dashboard flower vase filled with purple blooms to cheer our drive.  They are all with us.  And isn't this the way it is?  We are never really alone, but carry the good wishes and energies of our loved ones in our minds and hearts.  As I write in this Montana hotel, I am aware of how blessed and rich I feel.  


Reflection has settled me down.  It was not difficult to say good bye to the desert as I am not fond of the climate or the environment.  It is VERY wrenching to say good bye to the excellent tribe of women I found there -- a cohort of talented, beautiful, smart, and funny beings.  I sense the band of connection stretching even more between myself and my Portland friends and family, yet I know that this is an elastic band, and it WILL stretch but not break.  I practiced QiGong this morning before I left Richland and the jolt of physical energy that I am beginning to experience when I do QiGong created a disconcerting feeling as if my innerds were being whirred in a blender.  The sensation lasted a few hours, before and through dinner, subsiding gradually as I've stilled myself and written.  At first I thought my blood sugar had plummeted, but I tested it and it was fine.  This is energy, pure and complex in it's experience.  Any of you who have learned or are learning any form of martial art or body/energetic work know these sensations.  I am just beginning to feel and breathe into what it means to consciously move energy, and it is quite a surprise.  Yes, change is afoot.  Growth is happening, and my own development mirrors the spurts of the spring season.  Physical, emotional, relational, mental, and spiritual housecleaning and clearing has taken me by storm.  The lightening show that descended upon the TriCities in the days before I left feels now like omen, like a wild and naturally occurring phenomenon from which I can extrapolate meaning and value pertinent to my own human story.  I sat on my friend Pat's outdoor deck as lightening danced in the night sky, giving zaps of momentary illumination.  Small pellets of rain, low, faint thunder, strong electrical sky currents, jagged and frightening yet not frightening.  The storm blew through, leaving us tousled and whirled about.  I hear the message -- let go, let go, let go.  The wind will take it. Be not afraid.  Breathe. Go with the flow. Today I've let go some more, driven fast (75 mph is the speed limit through much of Montana), connected, disconnected, MOVED.   What do I leave behind?  What lies ahead?


So this blog is about this journey to Indiana, yet as you can see it's about so much more than just moving from one state to another, from one city to the next.  As with any journey, the path leads in both directions, past and future.  I hope to write nightly about my thoughts and experiences, using the evening hours to reflect and share.  If you care to, join me.  Comment.  Or not.  By writing, I feel I am taking you with me, my dear friends and family.  I think of you as I compose.  By reading, you participate in the experience, lending your time and energy to this adventure.  I hope I enjoy the ride.  I hope you do too.


I look forward to tomorrow's drive.  Big Sky country.  Our destination is Billings, another 300 plus miles day.


Be well.

Testing, one two three, testing

I'm attempting to set up a new blog site to chronicle my move from the West Coast to the Mid West. It's April 2012, and the adventure begins. Stay tuned for more postings as our departure grows nearer; hopefully I will be able to keep adding from the road.