Finding a Place to Sleep

Sometimes I go on these little journeys into the past, remembering the way things used to be done. I am literally so accustomed to the Google search process and so trusting that all will be well when the correct facts are presented to me in the search results, that I have to sit and think a bit about “before the internet.”

 

Back in the day – as they say – when you were on a road trip and you were thinking, hmm, where am I going to sleep tonight? You really couldn’t just open up your cell phone there on the seat next to you and while driving, which you shouldn’t do, tell Siri to find you a hotel room “near me.”  You couldn’t stop for a bit at the side of the road and do a Google search for “Cheyenne Wyoming lodging.”

 

There was a dial phone (ONE PHONE) at home, and it had a cord, so when you spoke with someone on the phone, you stood/sat by the phone.  You probably did not do anything else but TALK ON THE PHONE, unless the phone was near the kitchen and you could watch a pot on the stove or adventurously take a pan of brownies out of the oven.  You made very few LONG DISTANCE CALLS, and if you did, it was on Sunday night or after 11 pm, and you tried to KEEP IT SHORT.

 

DETOUR: I remember talking on the phone with my father in the summer of 1961, while he served some Peace Corps time over in Nigeria. I was in Milwaukee.  It was a once-in-a-blue-moon thing, to talk on the phone with someone who was on another continent.  I can still remember how far away he sounded. I was ten. 

Back to the hotel search. 

Planning a road trip was simple. You got out your PAPER MAPS and plotted out your drive (Milwaukee to North Miami Beach via US Hwy 41, for example). 

It got more exciting a few years later when you could call up AAA (wasn’t everyone a member? I thought so) and they would create a TRIPTIK for you, which was a fascinating accumulation of facts, mileage, locations of rest stops, and hotel/motel ratings.  (Somehow, there was a big difference between hotels and motels.  MOTELS were less fancy.)  The Triptik would COME IN THE MAIL before the trip began, so you could start to get to know the ROUTE. 

Anyway back to the Miami trip.  I suppose there were people who made a plan – OK, we’re going to travel 250 miles the first day, so that puts us about Illinois/Indiana? How about Terre Haute, Indiana (you would not write IN for Indiana, because that did not exist yet).  We could make PHONE RESERVATIONS before we leave Milwaukee, which would be great because we’d know exactly where we were going to be at the end of that first long day.

 

We could plan the whole trip that way before leaving, let’s see at the end of Day Two…..Nashville, Tennessee! And Day Three….Marietta, Georgia! And on and on.  Because with three kids, ages 8, 6, and 4, 250 miles a day is about right.

 

OR….we could just start looking for a hotel at about 4 pm or so in Nashville, Marietta, and so on.  So you watch for hotel names on the billboards – HOWARD JOHNSON, 26 miles! Or the COME-ON-INN just outside of Marietta.  And dad drives on up to the hotel and goes in to check and see if they have a room for the night for the five of us.  They might.  Or it might be tournament time in town and there’s no rooms!  Now what?  Sometimes, the desk clerk at the Howard Johnson would be nice enough to tell you about a couple other hotels/motels in the area, and maybe even call one of them and see if they have a room.  But sometimes dad would just drive around, find a PHONE BOOTH, check out the motel listings in the YELLOW PAGES, and call a couple. 

We’re in the car, whining and fidgeting. Mom is smoking a CIGARETTE.  IN THE CAR.

We always found a place to sleep.  It just involved a little more LEGWORK!

 

(I just remember how fabulous it felt when we finally got to OUR ROOM.

 

No TV.  No dial phone (if you wanted to place a call, you CALLED THE OPERATOR).  Sometimes an AM RADIO.  The overall effect was muted colors, maybe beige and gray? Odd pictures on the wall.  Heavy curtains.  

Our little tree fort.  Our cave for the night.  Special!)

DEATH! GRIEF! WHY???!!!

Before the internet, way long time ago, when someone famous or celebrated died, you read about it in the paper, sometimes it was on the evening news, or perhaps as a breaking news segment on the radio. You were maybe by yourself, or perhaps sitting with a member or two of your family.  Maybe – as when Elvis died – you might be, like I was then, driving in your car, with the car radio on.  You were all by yourself.  You did not have a phone to use to call somebody.

  

I remember when John Lennon was killed.  I have absolutely no memory of talking to anybody other than the man I was living with at the time, and he was younger, and not as affected of course as I was.  Quite some time later, a friend of mine who lived in New York City, told me he was so surprised I didn’t call him when John died.  But I just don’t recall that I even felt I needed to do that.

I do remember that it was kind of the beginning of MTV and CNN, the very beginning of “24 hour news.”  So I think there was a little more constant input, but nothing like these days.

 

There was never any crawl or three or four stories going on at the same time, not until much later, maybe even after 9/11.  The constant reminder that something big is happening – that I think started during the Iran hostage crisis, when we had to hear the latest every single night the entire 444 days of it.  Even for Vietnam, it was the half hour of nightly news…..and then it was the newspaper, or, more socially:  a teach-in or a rally.

 

My dad remembered after FDR’s death, when the train brought his body back from Georgia, and everyone lined the railroad tracks (I think this happened with Bobby Kennedy too).  So there was a social aspect of course to the grief, but it seems like it was connected to an activity, to a viewing, to a respectful witnessing.

 

Everybody remembers where they were when they heard JFK was killed, and I absolutely remember where I was when I heard Martin Luther King Jr was killed – because I was driving in Washington DC, going to pick my dad up from work at the Peace Corps building near the White House.  It felt like a social, a shared, experience.  However – it was not forced on us from outside – it was our shared experience.  We shared it.  With each other.

The instantaneous volcanic eruption of feelings and feedback, when I think about it, is really very obscene.  It’s overwhelming, ongoing, an onslaught, a violent social event, a terrible sharing – unasked for, unrequested, unwanted even – it’s awful.

 

First you hear the news.  Oh how awful, how could this happen, I’m so shocked.  Then, bit by bit, the narrative changes.  Critical comments about the deceased, critical comments about the grief and the mourners.  False news about how it happened, why it happened, could it happen to you??? 

 Then…..who’s next?  Who is the next person who is going to die and MAKE US SAD?  How can we memorialize them?   

And if, like myself, you haven’t exactly been obsessing about the recently-deceased person while they were still alive – for example, if the last time you thought about George Michael was when you accidentally listened to his version of Last Christmas instead of the one you usually listen to on Pandora…or the last time you thought about Carrie Fisher was probably when a passing movie review mentioned  Princess Leia, or I (again, inadvertently) caught a part of an interview she did about that movie…yes, I remember – she had her dog with her.  Whew.  Glad I can say I had her on my mind at least once in the last year…..

And the analysis, the continual analyzing of the event.  Why did it happen the way it did? What can we learn about our own possible demise? How can we avoid dying the same way?  Who can be blamed? The doctor? The spouse? The celebrity? The paparazzi?  You kind of can’t even just die anymore, it has to be a big choreographed event. 

And the comments following the postings.  The permission to be obnoxious and divisive.  The absolute expectation that a smart remark must be followed by yet more smart remarks, culminating in a nasty summary remark, again followed by the posting of the latest meme with yet more snark.  Somehow the general nastiness of civil discourse these days is just so much more degrading to all of us when it is in response to loss. 

I can’t say I’ve not participated in any of the above. 

But: Silence.  That’s what I yearn for when I’m grieving.  Remembering.  Looking through pictures.  A little bit of (possibly classy, possibly silly) humor.  Actually feeling emotion.  Touching base with one or two friends, and sharing our thoughts.  Sending a card or a donation in memory of the person.  In a year, acknowledging anniversary feelings. 

Just a thought.

As Promised

Making the most of the morning

Eager to find a comfortable position

Do I stay on the bed or get down on the cushion?

It takes no time at all

To settle in and breathe deeply

And before I know it, before I can plan it, before I can schedule it

Time slows

In

Out

Namaste

THINGS I DO WHILE MEDITATING

Following the crystal bowls

Planning

Remembering

Trying to hear my mother’s (my father’s) voice

Strategizing

Thinking about thinking

Meta-thinking

Thinking about what meta-thinking is

Breathing

Thinking about creating a word poem: 

M

E

D

I

T

A

T

I

O

N

Thinking about my children

Locating feeling in my body

Noticing

Noticing anxiety

Noticing fear

Noticing memory

Following my breath

Wondering how long it’s been

Congratulating myself for doing this for so long

Writing this blog post

Getting excited thinking about writing this blog post

Relaxing

Counting each breath

Putting my hand over my located-anxiety reiki-style

Remembering my mother having a reiki session before she died

Thinking about my upcoming trip

Thinking about my carry on

Thinking about what to wear on the plane.

And now......

Please note: no anger, hostility, rage, self-blame, self-loathing, sarcasm, mocking went into the meditating or the writing of this blog post.  

Curioser and Curioser

I love the meditation suggestion to be curious and interested, even friendly, toward our emotional states, this in contrast to being reactive and judgmental when we experience difficult emotion.

Perhaps this is because at this relatively late stage of my life I am getting clearer about what it actually means to be a friend and to be befriended.

I think in the past despite my almost constant dramatic narrative, I really did not communicate much.  Pontificate.  Dismiss things out of hand.  Try to figure out how I can win.  Yeah it’s amazing I had any friends at all. 

Possibly I was just so darned genuine and authentic as I pontificated, that a friend would naturally see that that was the real me.  And I guess it was.

However, there is nothing like cancer, marital discord, loss of a parent – in other words, there is nothing like life to pummel you to the floor and just make you sit there for awhile, making yourself and other people miserable….until you just give up and do the darn meditation and yoga, and turn inward and experience your self.  

And to learn to be friendly while you do it. 

Curiosity implies that you are aware that there is more to know and learn, and interest means you are open to what it is.  Friendliness is non-threatening and encouraging, a witness rather than a director.  The whole process requires humility and vulnerability, qualities that terrified me as I pontificated, see above.  

You progress down the path toward an open heart, a heart that is present for you and for your world. You can’t have an open heart and true compassion if you are terrified and defensive all the time. 

Memo to self: an open heart is what it’s all about.  See this lovely poem from Rumi......

MOOC

Taking a MOOC (massive open on-line course) about William Wordsworth, ending up being fascinated by his sister Dorothy and her journals. 

Dorothy:

Thursday 15th. It was a threatening misty morning—but mild. We set off after dinner from Eusemere. Mrs Clarkson went a short way with us but turned back. The wind was furious and we thought we must have returned. We first rested in the large Boat-house, then under a furze Bush opposite Mr Clarkson's. Saw the plough going in the field. The wind seized our breath the Lake was rough. There was a Boat by itself floating in the middle of the Bay below Water Millock. We rested again in the Water Millock Lane. The hawthorns are black and green, the birches here and there greenish but there is yet more of purple to be seen on the Twigs. We got over into a field to avoid some cows—people working, a few primroses by the roadside, woodsorrel flower, the anemone, scentless violets, strawberries, and that starry yellow flower which Mrs C. calls pile wort. When we were in the woods beyond Gowbarrow park we saw a few daffodils close to the water side. We fancied that the lake had floated the seeds ashore and that the little colony had so sprung up. But as we went along there were more and yet more and at last under the boughs of the trees, we saw that there was a long belt of them along the shore, about the breadth of a country turnpike road. I never saw daffodils so beautiful they grew among the mossy stones about and about them, some rested their heads upon these stones as on a pillow for weariness and the rest tossed and reeled and danced and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon them over the lake, they looked so gay ever glancing ever changing. This wind blew directly over the lake to them. There was here and there a little knot and a few stragglers a few yards higher up but they were so few as not to disturb the simplicity and unity and life of that one busy highway. We rested again and again. The Bays were stormy, and we heard the waves at different distances and in the middle of the water like the sea. Rain came on—we were wet when we reached Luffs but we called in. Luckily all was chearless and gloomy so we faced the storm—we must have been wet if we had waited—put on dry clothes at Dobson's. I was very kindly treated by a young woman, the Landlady looked sour but it is her way. She gave us a goodish supper. Excellent ham and potatoes. We paid 7/ when we came away. William was sitting by a bright fire when I came downstairs. He soon made his way to the Library piled up in a corner of the window. He brought out a volume of Enfield's Speaker, another miscellany, and an odd volume of Congreve's plays. We had a glass of warm rum and water. We enjoyed ourselves and wished for Mary. It rained and blew when we went to bed. N.B. Deer in Gowbarrow park like skeletons.

Me:

Journal entry October 6
Woke late (5:30) but able to be driving out of the city by 6:30. Stopped for gas (more expensive in Wisconsin), got coffee and croissant. Tried but failed to get much Pandora via aux cable. Frustrating. Spent the six and a half hours on the road scanning radio and stopping for good songs. "Come On Eileen" being a particularly good road song for some reason. Stopped only once more for a rest stop and a stretch. One episode of road rage when a large truck rode my bumper at 70 mph. Fortunately he exited before it could escalate. Weather was perfect and a little morning mist was nice. Came upon Madison and thought about Iowa City and got confused. What town/state am I in? Nodded toward Milwaukee and Morrie and my childhood. Once in Illinois realized I would need a lot more cash for tolls. Found hotel with no trouble and in my small, plain, but quite adequate room by 1:30 pm. 

---

RCHS HYPERTEXT READER

Things I Cannot Leave Behind...Just Yet

I've got a 56-quart tub filled with my date books going back to the mid-90's.

Yes I did just say that I have almost 20 years of appointment books.

I have done enormous amounts of downsizing for my upcoming move from Washington to Minnesota.  Really.  But every time I look at the date book tub, I quail and shake.

Well, not really....but....I have not, up until today, been able to toss any of it.

So today I said, OK, you are going to actually look at these things and if it feels right -- throw something away.  And I did get rid of a few items (more than I thought I would at the outset).

Looking through the family/personal/church/work schedule from 2002, or 1995, or 2008 is an overwhelming memory movie, trips, and school plays, and band appearances, and graduations, and church meetings, and book groups, and every once in awhile a date with the husband...on and on...

Now I was tired and depressed throughout several (many?) of those years.  And I did spend alot of time vegging out, as I recall, and not doing what I was supposed to do, ie cook dinner.  I was exhausted and overwhelmed, and didn't ask for help.  I was angry and then felt ashamed alot of the time.  And yet -- there were some creative and fun things that happened.  And the kids experienced the worlds of art, drama, church, foreign and domestic travel, politics.

The appointment books chronicle all of that.  The counseling appointments as well as the women's group meetings and retreats.  Chemo appointments.  The weekend away every year with my best friend, and the camping weekend together that our families took each year.  The day my youngest got baptized. Trips to the vet.  Funerals, weddings, birthdays.

I experienced it once, and wrote it down.  Now I look at it all, and re-experience it from afar, and try to shake my nasty feelings of inadequacy and give myself credit for the effort and (sometimes) the successes.

I cannot quite figure out why I can't just toss it all and be done with it, but at this point, that's the way it is.


Until the next time I sit with it all and can part with a few more memories.