thefutureisred

What Can Happen In A Thousand Days?

As of today, I've been writing this blog for exactly 1000 days. One. Thousand. Days. I know that's not very long if you compare to all the days I've been alive or days of the recorded universe. Still, it measures the distance between here and there. What was and what is.

Yesterday, I found some old forgotten photos from a cell phone I no longer have and sent to an e-mail address I no longer use. They were taken right before we left New York, just before my thousand days of blogging began.

We had just finished the long and tedious process of selling our apartment and divesting of all the things we didn't need. These were the days just before the beginning, when we were mired down with saying goodbye and had no idea what lay ahead of us.

This is my cat Paloma. Lila is giving her a last goodbye kiss at the vet's office.

I found Paloma at the ASPCA on 5th Avenue on the Upper East Side when she was three months old. She lived with me through college, my first apartment in NYC. Marriage. A move to Brooklyn. Pregnancy. Newborn. Paloma patiently bore the wrath of toddlers running rampant through the apartment, grabbing her tail. She was sick once in her life and that once was complete renal failure. The vet suspected all the excitement of packing and an inadvertant change in food were too much for her aging body.

I remember this particular day even more clearly, because 7am the morning this photo was taken, we received a call to say that during the night Noah's grandmother, Grandma Ruth had passed away.  Noah took Lila home right afterward, and I stayed while Paloma was put to sleep.

Then I took a long walk listening to Sufjan Stevens before going home to pack our suitcases and fly to Atlanta for Grandma Ruth's memorial service.

This next photo I took while waiting for the 2/3 train to arrive at Borough Hall in Brooklyn.

I was on my way to my very first Couchsurfing meeting. It was one of the last times I ever took the subway, and I felt that as a landmark as acutely as the nervousness I felt about going to some random bar on the Lower East Side to meet a group of strangers from Couchsurfing.

I met a couple from Iowa, now living and acting in New York City, although they traveled pretty extensively for work as well. I met a 22 year old guy who had just been living in Prague. And a cool woman named Jennifer who had just been to her first Burning Man.

Noah, Lila and I were living in a rented apartment, where I didn't feel comfortable inviting strangers since it wasn't really our place. (Now, I wouldn't care) The owners of that place sent their friends around with regularity to check up on us and make sure we weren't ruining their things or doing things we weren't supposed to do. It was an uncomfortable situation.

This third photo comes from a goodbye brunch we had with all the families we knew from the neighborhood. It was at Pacifico restaurant early one Sunday morning. Too early for all the non-childed folk of the neighborhood to even consider being awake on a weekend. So we had the place to ourselves.

The kids sat lined up at the bar watching cartoons on the TV while the most awesome bartender ever served them drinks and snacks. Apparently, he used to be a nanny, so he was fabulous with the kids. Pacifico, itself, got a bit punchy though. Something about worrying they'd lose their liquor license because of minors seated at the bar (I mean. Really?).

There's something funny about old photos, especially when you haven't seen or thought about them in a long time. They carry with them a shock of emotion, bringing back the past to life for just a brief moment. And like a smell or strain of music, evaporates quickly as you incorporate the past into the now.

But for just a brief time, I again feel the cold February wind as I wandered the streets of Brooklyn between the vet's office and our house. Or that amusement bubbling from the bit of my belly as I saw all our three year olds on bar stools ordering another juice. Or how amazing was that first bite of salmon taco?

What I can't quite grasp is who I was then.

It's only been 1000 days, and yet those days of travel have changed everything.  I am no longer the person I was then. They way I think, the manner in which I relate to other people, all different. Saying hello to strangers or goodbye to old friends have become part of my daily landscape. 

I look at this photo taken by Ali. We celebrated Lila's first four birthdays with famous John's pizza on Bleeker followed by a walk to Magnolia Bakery. Then to the park where we played on the jungle gyms and ate banana pudding with Nilla wafers. 

And while I know just what I was thinking by the look in my eyes, I no longer understand why I was thinking it.

So tell me, where were you 1000 days ago? What were you eating? Or wearing? Who were you then and how has your life moved?

What will the next 1000 days bring?

What's In the Traveler's Handbag?

I've never been the neat handbag type.

Business cards, old receipts, things Lila hands to me, things I want to keep but don't know what to do with them, they all eventually end up at the bottom or in the numerous pockets of my bag. Some things are useful. Others, junk. And some are mementos, things I don't really need, but can't bring myself to throw away. Yet.

Before every major trip, though, I clean and organize. I like to think of it as a testament to the need to move on.

This time, my bag --  which triples as handbag, computer bag and carry on -- has been through a lot. It began with us in Salta beginning of July. We made our way through Cordoba, Neuquen and skiing San Martin de los Andes. Then Atlanta, Burning Man, where my bag arrived to find itself smack in the middle of a dust storm, and finally two overnight drives from Atlanta to NYC and back.

What did I find?

Zipties

These little things are endlessly useful for Burning Man. From attaching tarp to poles for a shade structure, to securing your tent, connecting a cup handle to utility belt, bondage classes and excellent for tying, securing or binding just about anything. Very handy.

Now that I'm no longer at Burning Man, I still use them in dozens of situations. Bracelets for Lila, collars for her stuffed kitty -- which honestly, is so tight, it seems to border on bondage as well. Quick suitcase fixes, holding computer cables and so much more.

Half Eaten String Cheese, Still In Wrapper

I'm not proud. I guess it ended up here somewhere between Harrisburg and Roanoke, but this isn't the first time I've found food remains festering here.

Balloons

I carry these just about everywhere, always. Not so much for Burning Man, because I figured a burst balloon will likely end up in pieces all over the playa, but as a toy. Blow one up and Lila is occupied for hours. They're also great when playing with a group of kids, because their floaty, bouncy ways ensure that all children playing have a chance at the ball.

Bike Cover In Ziplock

Another prop from Burning Man. I got mine at Black Rock Bicycles, where we rented our bikes. The owner's wife makes them. Mine is purple on top with a many colored tie-dyed edge. It's still filthy from dust storms, and there's an inch of playa dust at the bottom of the bag which oddly makes me wax nostalgic. How quickly a girl forgets how corrosive such dust can be.

Two Pairs Of Underwear.

One Lila's. One mine. Both clean. Because you never know when you'll need them.

Yes, those are my Top Five. Three of which, I'll continue to keep in my bag. Can you guess which ones?

The others, I'm sure, will somehow find their way back, along with incense, a bike lock, jeweled heart and butterfly stickers, candles, ski lift ticket, a few rocks, seeds, leaves from various trees and a pack of two inch nails.

I go through this every time we pack.  It's the constant winnowing of what is important enough to carry along, what must be thrown out and what must be left behind. This process is enormous, overwhelming the first time you do it. Over time, though, it gets easier, and eventually, you find you just won't feel right unless you've lightened your load. After all, do you really want to carry a sleeping bag cover and hammer along for the ride?

This time, I'll admit, has been much harder than in the past. I don't want to leave Atlanta, although I do want to return to our adventure in Salta. Here, we have family, contacts, connections. There, we have a new project, a summer of camping in some of the most beautiful terrain on the planet, and plenty I have yet to uncover.

Photo courtesy of Valerie Renee's Flickrstream

True Story: Not Just A Metaphor

Sitting in Miami airport. This section hasn't been remodeled yet and thus it reminds me of 1980 when I traveled back and forth to South Africa with my parents. A big messy sprawl of people with no sense or organization. The television behind me fights with the gate announcements and people talking. And getting here from our arrival gate wound us through a maze of walkways, escalators, doorways and trains that would make the deathstar proud.

But now we're here and our flight is about to board. Lila is exploring the seats, floor and her drawings with he magnifying glass, a present from my parents and a great compact travel activity. I didn't really want to leave. I'm tired of traveling, moving, resettling. For me, staying in one place, doing the same things and knowing my way around is more interesting these days. It made closing the door at our rented place in Atlanta difficult. Moreso than any closed door before.

Right before we left, a cardinal flew into the house. My first thought? "Bye." but of course, we used a towel to capture it as the poor thing fluttered and squawked at windows, getting caught in the blinds. We took it to the door, lifted our hands to the air and opened the towel. It was beautiful watching its red feathers disappear into the orange autumn leaves and blue sky. 

Sometimes This Traveling Is A Bore, When It's Not Driving You Nuts

I was just in NYC. I didn't like it much. Two days there, and I find myself slipping back into the same habits as before. I stop saying hello to people, never smile at anyone. I keep to myself.

 

How did I not notice this when we lived here?

 

We carried some of this New York as we drove south for what may well be the last time. It might not; it might. The first day was hellish. Imagine this. Noah and I in the front bickering for at least three of the seven hour drive our first day. Did I say bickering? No, fighting. Straight out, no purpose fighting. We brought back past grievances and hurled accusations. There was shouting, crying and long stretches of silence following statements like “Whatever.” Or “This conversation is over.” And begin again.

 

I considered jumping out of the car and just running. Where? To what? No idea. I just wanted to get away from just sitting there with all that negative energy (yes).

 

This, thankfully, was infinitely better than our first drive to Atlanta after the first time we left NY.

Amazing how things have changed and yet the same patterns are always there. Traveling is exciting at the beginning. Everything is always new. Now, after almost two years, constant change has become our norm.

 

I've learned a lot since we left NY. Learned how to adapt to whatever situation arises. Learned to let go of the things we can’t carry with us. And I feel like I’ve moved closer toward the type of person I’d ultimately like to be.

 

Clearly, we humans like our patterns. In NY, I took the same roads to the subway each day, most times forgetting myself and suddenly finding myself ast my destination. While the streets were the same, when pressed, I couldn’t have told you which actual route I took. Did I go up Henry? Or Clinton? I didn’t remember.

Now I can't remember which road we took each of the six times we've driven this route (3 times round trip).  

 

They say children need boundaries, stability and routine in order to feel secure. When Lila tantrums because we want her to go to bed or buy her a new doll, and we refuse to budge because of the tantrum, she seems happier when we hold true to those edges. A new toy won’t make her happier, but knowing she is safe within defined borders does. The tantrums are horrible and often occur when stuck in traffic on a highway somewhere. I’m talking screaming unintelligibly at the top of her lungs, kicking the back of my seat, heartwrenching cries too. But after, after things all calm down, Lila will then repeat happily, “I was screaming so I couldn’t have chocolate.”

 

She understands.

 

I think we say that children need boundaries, though, because we so desperately need them ourselves. We just don’t have someone forming them, often arbitrarily, for us.

 

I suspect that once again it is all about finding balance. Routine is comfortable and necessary, but it can also become too binding. Complete freedom is wonderful too albeit extremely rare.

So back to the car driving down Interstate 81 -- or is it 81, 84, 85 or 95?. We're in one place but moving. We fought all day one, but day two the cloud lifted and we calmed down, figured things out.

 

Because when all is said and done, what else are we going to do but work it out?

The Inevitable Lightness of Dark (Or Some Such Nonsense)

It's the paradox of the move that does it. We're in one place but moving. Lila and I are baking cookies tomorrow for her teachers. Noah's picking up a package at DHL. It's our first day of dogsitting Cosby (who seems rather irate these days, although I'm mostly sure he wasn't offended by my last post.)

Everything slows down the week before we move. We don't go out as much. Don't see as much, and we don't seem to get as much done. Yet the days slip and slide forward so fast I don't know Monday from Friday. I suppose it's something like turning a corner. You're slowing down, slowing down, but really speeding up at the same time.

Does this make any sense at all?

I didn't make it to yoga and the abortion protest this week bc we went to Toronto again to see family. This coming weekend will be my last chance. I haven't started Lila's Halloween costume. We didn't go to Maid of the Mist or Cave of the Winds.

Between now and Monday morning, I plan to go through all our stuff, pick something up from DHL, launder and iron the cloth for Lila's costume, make cookies for Lila's teachers, give a donation to a couple charities around here, do laundry, mail some stuff back to Atlanta because it won't all fit in the car and plan the trip down to Atlanta. Also, go to four yoga classes so I can use up the rest of my ten-class pass (unless someone else wants it. If so, let me know. I'd be happy to ask Darcy if she'll transfer it to someone else), take pictures of the protesters. I have a list of questions in my head for them. Should probably write them down but whenever I try, I forget them.

Blah blah blah. Have you noticed that between moves I list all the things to do, to go, to be?

I've noticed. It's tedious as hell, but it's what in my head now. It's my process, so now those of you who have asked how we do this, this is it. To do lists and you just don't think about it too much more. You really can't think too much about it, because if you do, it's becomes more difficult to reach the ends of those lists.

Have I mentioned preparing Lila to go. We've already started the goodbyes, returned our library books, barbequed with the in-laws one last time. We go through our clothes and decide what to pack. Begin to talk about what we'll do next week, the week after, where we're going, who we'll see.

All this before Monday morning, when we start the decent from Move to Road Trip to Month in Atlanta to Deal with Last Details of Argentina to ARGENTINA.

It is evitable. A ball rolling down hill, and yet I still feel like I'm on the steep uphill of the next leg the journey.