Home at last
Mark K June 25th, 2008
3000 miles, 6 days, 5 budget motels, 1 breakdown, countless bad meals, and my dog still knows me!
The Grand Canyon
Mark K June 24th, 2008
After driving north all day from Tucson and Phoenix, pine trees start to appear and you realize that you’ve climbed to 7000 feet by the time you reach Flagstaff. For the first time on our trip, the temperature was pleasant and we continued on to the Grand Canyon, trying to get there before the sun went down. When we reached the viewing area, we stood with tourists from throughout the world - Germany, Denmark, Italy, England, and Japan. Like us, they were all speaking in hushed tones which reflected the awe and respect that we all felt for the miraculous sight in front of us. Some of us walked gingerly down to the viewing areas perched on the edge of the cliff, clinging to the railing on the side away from the edge. You couldn’t see too much by looking to the west, where the canyon was completely in shadow, but if you looked upstream, the colors were spectacular. Directly below us, there was a glimpse of the trail leading to a tiny sliver of the river that was visible from our vantage point. Someday, I hope to return and hike that trail.
One of my goals for this trip had been to help Joe and Eric stop and appreciate the beauty and variety of our vast country. When we agreed to make the trip together, I had suggested, for starters, that we stop and see New Orleans and the Grand Canyon. Judging by their reactions, I don’t think that any of us will ever forget this trip.
Desert Surplus
Mark K June 23rd, 2008
We visited this army surplus store in Tucson while we were waiting for our car to be repaired. The owner had a selection of ammunition used by the military in Iraq and was explaining to a customer what kind of carnage each one could cause. He told a story about how Katie Courac had interviewed a U.S. Marine sniper in Iraq and had asked him what he felt when he shot and killed an enemy soldier with a high-powered weapon. “A slight recoil,” the Marine answered. The store owner seemed to enjoy this response, and had an article about the story taped to his cash register.
Broken down in Tucson
Mark K June 23rd, 2008
Remember that thing about “Cali or Bust” a few days ago? Well, the fuel pump busted and we’re stuck in Tucson overnight. The temperature is about 105, but Will and Mark at Will’s Auto Repair are taking good care of us - gave us a ride to the mall to watch a movie and then later to a motel. Fortunately, everything has air conditioning and we were back on the road by noon the next day.
I guess even cars need to pause for a purpose every now and then!
Junction, Texas
Mark K June 22nd, 2008
It took all day to cross Texas, from Austin to El Paso. Somewhere out in the middle, we came upon this sign. It wasn’t until I uploaded it that I noticed the word “old” in the middle of the bottom line. West Texas gets pretty dry and monotonous, but there is some really interesting country in the middle of the state - lots more hills and trees than I would expect. We also passed through Johnson City - a very interesting looking old-timey place near where LBJ used to have his ranch. I still remember them talking about him spending time at the “Texas Whitehouse” and had imagined that it was a dusty God-forsaken place. It’s actually beautiful country, and I could see why the president would want to get out of Washington and spend some time there.
Austin, Texas - BBQ and live music
Mark K June 21st, 2008
Another city that I had never visited, but was very curious to see. They say that Austin is the place to visit for live music, especially for a different flavor of country music than what you might find in Nashville. On the Saturday night when I visited, 6th Street was blocked off to traffic and you could sample all kinds of music as you strolled down the street, much like on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, but not quite as crazy - almost, though.
We did another kind of sampling at the Salt Lick barbecue a half-hour out of town. After wolfing down their combo plate of brisket, pork ribs, and sausage, they actually ask you if you’d like a refill and then bring you another heaping plate. We could barely find room for the pecan pie!
It seems that my fellow wanderer, Matt (from Where the Hell is Matt) was in town at just about the same time.
New Orleans - The sounds of Bourbon Street
Mark K June 20th, 2008
This was my first visit to New Orleans and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, post-Katrina. We entered the city by crossing Lake Pontchartrain on a long causeway next to a bridge being built to replace the one that was destroyed during Katrina. When we reached the city, we could see homes that were damaged and destroyed during the hurricane and there was a general “down and out” feel to the neighborhood that we crossed while trying to find the French Quarter. There were a number of homeless people and boarded up buildings. I imagined that this neighborhood was not too prosperous prior to Katrina, but that it was in really bad shape now.
Then when we entered the French Quarter, everything changed. There was little or no evidence of Katrina and the quarter had a European feel with the narrow cobbled streets, ancient buildings and wrought iron balconies. We had dinner at a restaurant in the old French Market and sampled jambalaya, red beans and rice and a gumbo. We then had beignets for dessert at the Cafe du Mond down the street.
Bourbon street that night (it was a Friday) was insane. As you walked down the street, you could hear four or five different kinds of live music coming from the clubs and bars, people were standing on balconies throwing beaded necklaces to the crowd, there were street performers, strip clubs, you name it. It’s hard to imagine just how much more crazy it might be during Mardi Gras.
The audio clip gives a sampling of the sounds of Bourbon Street, starting with some street performers who are (jokingly, I hope) threatening to rob the crowd if they don’t contribute when the hat is passed and ending with the band and dancer pictured above.
Cali or bust!
Mark K June 19th, 2008
My son turns 17 today. For his birthday, my wife and I flew him out to Florida to spend a week with his friend Eric and then to road trip across the US back to California. They asked me if I’d like to join them and I jumped at the chance. I knew that they would probably want to drive incredible distances each day and then crash at a motel next to the Interstate, so I thought that if I came with them, I could maybe persuade them to slow down a bit and see the country. I had my own selfish motives as well - I had never driven across the South and I wanted to visited places like New Orleans, that I had heard and read so much about. My other motivation was to spend some time with my son, taking a trip that we would always remember, knowing that in a year a two he’ll be moving away from our home and starting a life (more or less) independent of his parents.
We leave central Florida at 4:30 in the morning and head for New Orleans.
Italian Street Painting Festival
Mark K June 17th, 2008
Pause for Purpose Podcast #2 - "Italian Street Painting Festival" [3:00m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download
The 15th Annual Italian Street Painting Festival was held in San Rafael, California this past weekend. It’s a yearly fundraiser to raise money for Youth in Arts, which provides art education opportunities for local students. I took these pictures on Saturday when many of the painting were still unfinished, with the eerie feeling of faces beginning to emerge from the depths of the blacktop. I recorded a short podcast (about 3 minutes long) featuring an interview with a visitor from southern California and a local art teacher who brought students to paint squares. The music in the background is from a fantastic teen a cappella group called “Til Dawn“.
Creating a character from overheard conversations
Mark K June 7th, 2008
We were recently visiting a California beach town and I went downtown for my morning coffee. I was observing some of the local characters - my daughter calls this “eavesdropping” and I got curious about them in a “writerly” sort of a way. Later on, I wrote this monologue, imagining how one of the characters might tell the story.
Hi, my name’s Kip and I live here at the beach. You might have heard me referred to by different names – Crazy Kip, Ripped Kip, Flipped Kip – I know there are a lot more, but it doesn’t really bother me. Sometimes, though, I can tell that people are talking about me when I come down the street. Like this morning, I was walking by Mr. Toad’s where I was going to get my morning coffee, but I forgot they open later on Sundays. There was a bunch of Hispanic guys waiting out front – they had just finished cleaning the Sunset Grill and were waiting on the sidewalk for rides, I guess. I could hear them talking as I got close, something about “caer”. Mario was asking the group a question. I know I was doing my lopsided walk and I think he was asking them if they thought I was going to fall over. “Do you think he’s going to fall?” “I bet he’s going to fall.”
Mario’s a good guy, so I didn’t really mind but he made me a little paranoid. I wonder if he knows I was walking the trestle this morning. Was that what he was talking about? Then he asked me if I was working this morning. “Trabajar? Vas a trabajar?” I know he was just teasing, though – he knows better than that.
I kept following the Esplanade until San Jose and turned left and then turned left again on Capitola. I went that way because that’s the way I lean and because I had to unwind – I had come the opposite direction a littler earlier. I figured I’d stop and see Cathy at the Koffee Kup since that was my other favorite place to have coffee.
When I got there Sue was sitting with the Sunday paper, working her way through the pile like she always does, so I had a seat next to her. Both of them said hi and Cathy immediately started making my coffee the way I like it – she steams the milk – whole milk of course – while the espresso drips into one of those little bitty pitchers. She gets the foam real thick –thick enough to float an espresso cup on top of it – believe me I’ve tried. Then she pours the espresso into a tall glass like the kind they serve lattes in. She carefully pours the foam on top – very carefully, so there isn’t too much mixing between the coffee and milk. She takes a long spoon – she knows I’m watching her every move – and she pokes it through the foam until it’s almost reaching the bottom of the foam layer. Very, very slowly – this is the crucial part – she mixes and swirls in a clockwise direction, letting a little of the foam blend with the coffee. After about a minute you have three basic layers – coffee on the bottom, blended coffee and foam in the middle, and a head of foam on the top. Then she gets another cup – a mug like the kind they use in old-fashioned diners – and she surgically removes the virgin foam from the top, carefully transferring it one spoonful at a time to the mug, being careful not to pop too many bubbles – which, by the way, should always be the tiniest of foamy bubbles to begin with.
“Your Kipochino is ready,” she says, walking toward my table with a smile as I let my breath out and smile back. She puts both the glass and the cup in front of me and I wrap my hands around the glass, feeling that it’s almost too hot to hold. “About a 9 out of 10,” I tell her and she smiles again and says, “Some day, maybe I’ll get a perfect 10.”
Sue doesn’t even look up from the paper – she’s seen all of this quite a few times before. She just keeps turning pages – not really reading the paper, more like looking at the paper. She never misses a page – just keeps turning and turning. She can talk the whole time because she’s not really reading anything. I swear she’s the loudest silent reader I’ve ever heard – swish…swish…swish… I count the pages as she turns them, three at a time. Then real quietly, on the bottom of the table, I drum an answer. Swish…swish…swish — tap, tap, tap. I have to tap quickly, before she turns the next page. Swish…swish…swish — tap, tap, tap. On the funny pages now. Swish…swish. Oh, no, she’s stopping to talk with Cathy after only two. She lets go of the page. Only two! I reach over and turn the page for her. Swish….Tap, tap, tap!
“Kip, what are you up to?”
“Nothing!
She goes back to talking to Cathy. I stare at Cathy and drink my Kipochino. I take a sip of the mixed part, then add one spoonful of the white foam and let it “get used to the neighborhood”, let gravity help it to join the blended part, before I take another sip. I’m thinking maybe I should have had a decaf because of the trestle thing and all, but try to just settle down and listen to Cathy. Sue has been asking her if she’s seen much of Jo Jo lately.
Cathy explains that they’ve had a bit of a falling out. I’m gazing at Cathy because I think that she’s real pretty. She says that Jo Jo’s still mad because of the Christmas decoration thing. I’m thinking of how Cathy never wears any makeup but when she smiles, it’s like she all of a sudden put some lipstick on. Cathy’s talking about how she was in charge of Christmas decorations for the village and that Jo Jo’s still mad that she didn’t hire him to be the Santa Claus. She’s not smiling now because she feels a little guilty and she frowns when she says the next thing and she has a little of the biker chick look when she does this. She says that Jo Jo isn’t the most reliable guy and she didn’t want him showing up on the 26th when he wouldn’t be helping at all with the pre-Christmas sales. I wonder how Jo Jo feels about being the number two Santa Claus in Capitola and I hope Cathy will talk about something more cheery so I can see another smile.
Now Sue is asking me what I’m going to do this afternoon. Am I going to go down to the beach and look at the girls? Maybe she noticed the way I was looking at Cathy. I tell her no that I don’t go to the beach very much, that I’m going to be taking a nap. She says, “Oh?” in a curious sort of way, swishing away at her pages the whole time. “Why are you so tired this morning?” If Cathy had asked that question, I would have just died, because I would have known just what she was implying – but she would have a way of doing it that would make me feel good like, “You old devil, Kip, we know what you’re up to and I’m a little jealous about it!”
But that’s not the way Sue asked. The way Sue asked, I wondered if she knew about me and the trestle. I’m thinking they were both sitting here an hour ago, judging by how much of the pile Sue had swished through already – and heard the 7:30 freight go through town. Did she know, did Cathy know, did the whole town know I was up there?
Did they know that it wasn’t about jumping, it wasn’t about falling? Did they notice that my watch wasn’t on my wrist, but in my pocket? That I didn’t know exactly what time it was when I started across the bridge every day? That I knew that it was seven-ish and that I knew there wasn’t a lot of extra room if I cut it too close? Did they know how scared it made me, how crazy it made me, how alive it made me feel? Did they know that today was only the second time I cut it too close and had to lay down and squeeze so close next to the nothing of a railing, staring through the cracks to the river below, making myself as small as I could, screaming as the train roared past and shook the bridge so that it seemed like it would fall down any minute? Could they hear the screams from here or the crazy laughter as it finally passed me by?
“Didn’t sleep that well,” I say, taking another sip, adding a dollop of foam.
Swish, swish ………… swish
Tap, tap, tap.
