Here to where?

Every day, there will be a moment when I look around and think,
"what am I doing in Indiana?"

Several times a week, I overhear California.
At the grocery store:
"My daughter is out in California."
"I would like to be there right now."

It was in the high 50s today. All the snow melted. By the time I left to run my errands, the sky was drab and overcast, and though it wasn't hot, it was humid and slightly uncomfortable. My good mood left like the sun.

California in winter

Since I spent the last holiday in Indiana, and all of summer, I went to California for the winter break. We drove through LA, through OC, and through the desert. We spent New Year's in Palm Springs, drinking champagne and revealing in having privacy at last. I was struck by California-- all I missed about it and all that made me want to leave. One thing that stood out for me was the desert itself, something I have missed the most.

Last spring, I showed my Indiana students an image by Gary Winogrand, taken in the southwest (not California, but similar landscape). I asked them to describe the image in detail. "There is a child, about two, only wearing a diaper..." would be a typical answer. When they got to the landscape, the descriptions became: "The landscape is barren, lifeless, " "nothing is alive," "there is a storm coming," "desolate," "isolated." And while these descriptions might all be true, they pained me.

I missed that landscape. The barren, lifeless, desolate, isolated landscape. But it is a dramatic landscape. The mountains cut out of the ground like teeth. The sand forms perfect topographical maps of the wind. Going to a place where you can see from horizon to horizon and the road is a straight line. It is tempting to shoot past it, ignore it, turn up the radio and the air conditioning to block it out. But there is a geological symphony outside that window! There is a hardy and hidden ecosystem of astounding age and dexterity! You have to plan to live in the desert. You can't just show up and expect your needs to be handed to you. The desert does not take Visa or Mastercard in exchange for water and shelter. You have to bring them.

Anyway, it was awesome.

New Year's Eve, we stopped at such a spot, on such a road. The land rolled with the washes of water from the infrequent rains. I aimed the camera to the sky, and four minutes later got this. Not long after that, we heard the pack of coyotes and rain back to the car, laughing and screaming into the night where only the stars could hear us.

Mountains

I don't mean to be a humbug but...

Xmas can bite me. No really. Hundreds of tv shows and holiday specials my whole life have been trying to tell us there is a "real" meaning of Xmas. But. I was almost run over twice walking up to a store. I am now waiting in a line that extends to the back of the store to pay. The woman behind me keeps touching my ass because she is standing too close. I can tell most of these folks are buying more than they can afford in a tanking economy. Remember when it was only about the food?

Sent from my iPhone

Rethinking

I know it is Wednesday at 11 o'clock in the morning. It is the one time the whole town knows, because they are testing the tornado warning siren. I never know what time it is by the sun. The sun rises after 7:30 and sets before 5:30. It is always partially dark when I am outside. Most days are bleak and overcast-- constant cloud cover. On Monday, the day looked so beautiful, I walked to work. I realized it was because it was sunny-- 36 degrees and sunny, so I walked. Today is cloudy and 50 degrees, and I could barely drive my car to work.

When I need a mental break, I look at sail boats online. This morning, I found a blog of a young couple who sailed a boat (one of the ones I am looking at) across the Pacific ocean. The photos are amazing. (I feel like I haven't seen anything amazing in a while.)

The most I can do right now is book my holiday flight to California. It looks similar to those pictures, though the water was never that blue, and it is very cold. I wonder if I will wear shorts there?

The perfect photo

When I was 18, I was a lifeguard. It was the summer time, and I was about to leave for college, to the great hippie-oasis of Northern California. I was gathering clothes for my new (used) wardrobe, and decided I would crochet myself a purple parka-wrap similar to ones I had seen in photos from my mom's youth, and period movies. During my breaks as a lifeguard, I worked on it. It took a couple weeks all together, and even now I can't believe I would lay it over my lap, like a blanket, in a California summer. The stitches were immaculate, the pattern consistent and reflected the constant tension I held on that yarn all summer.

For whatever reason, I never wore it in Santa Cruz or after. Because of how warm I made it, it makes the wearer about twice their normal size. I think that's why I never wore it. But I was so proud of its craftsmanship, I held onto it.

As I was cleaning out my house, preparing to sell it and move to Indiana, a neighbor would volunteer to take my extra things to a shelter she ran, where everything was given for free to the poor. When she saw the funny purple hat I bought at the Renaissance Fair, she told me about a sweet old woman who loved the color purple and who would love it so much. I was working on a performance project ("Yard Sale") at the time, so I asked for a picture of her in the hat. I never got one, but later she told me again about how much this woman loved the hat, and how she had recently been hit by a car. I suddenly remembered the wrap I had made ten years earlier and never worn. I sent it with her for this woman, and was glad someone would get use of its warmth.

Last month, I received a letter in the mail. In it was this photo. At first, I didn't recognize it. Who was this ancient woman? What is this strange pose she is holding? But the whole thing is such a strange, amazing photo. It seems so perfect, her gesture, the heart-shaped window bars, the tilt of her head, and this wild purple parka. I can't tell you how it made my day.

A little California(n) in Indiana

There was an earthquake this morning. I thought there weren't supposed to be those here. Not that I mind, or am worried. It is actually a little funny to google Indiana earthquakes and see the biggest ones here only brush past 5 points on the Richter Scale. Sure, some walls crack, some chimneys have (in the past) fallen down and pictures sometimes fall off the wall. Cracked walls? The plaster walls of the two houses I have liven in here are more cracked to begin with than my old house in California. Fallen chimneys? Many of the ones I have seen standing are crocked to begin with. Knocked pictures? May as well remind you they are there and should be switched out as the kids get older.

In short, I am unphased. Bring it on! I am hardened to the shakings of the earth by my hearty California upbringing.

I have found more wildflowers for you (click the pictures for texture). In high school we collected and cataloged them. I feel as though I need to do the same here to truly understand the place. These ones are yet unnamed, but I will pull out my old science neurons and try to find them out.

Blythe, California

Blythe is the end of the line in California. We were hoping to stop and take pictures of the river, but the sun was basically set as we crossed. Good bye California. At least, for now.

California Desert

We left later than I had hoped. It is amazing how many things need to be done before you can leave your home state behind. This image was taken on the way to the river over Thanksgiving weekend, on the full moon. There will be another full one this Saturday, the 22nd. Our first night in our new home in Indiana!

Leaving California

Today, J, two cats, and I loaded up the Matrix with the remainder of our possessions (the majority went on a moving truck last week) and headed out on our Great American Road Trip, on our adventure in moving.

I will be posting as we go, and including link locations and images. Click on the titles to see where each entry was written. Below is the approximate map of our trip.

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