Arkansas is a place you can forget about for months (or even years) and then a whole bunch of references to Arkansas can pop up in an afternoon. For example, in discussing weird laws you might note that it is illegal to keep an alligator in your bath tub in Arkansas, but it is perfectly legal to gather road kill and eat it. As most Southerners note when you receive an invitation with an RSVP it stands for – Roasted Squirrel Very Possible. There are also a bundle of musical references when it comes to Arkansas. Just think about the great fiddle song Arkansas Traveler or, more relevantly, Kris Allen, the American Idol’s 8th season winner who is from Conway. Then, of course, there is Johnny “The Man in Black” Cash who was born in Kingsland, and Billy Bob Thornton from Hot Springs. Who knew?
Our Arkansas adventure began when we woke up in Sulphur Springs, Texas in the Highcrest RV Park. Our only agenda item was to make it to Hot Springs, Arkansas that day before the National Park closed at 4 PM. Not a far drive. We had some time. We were cruising along Route 30, crossed over the boarder into Arkansas and then there was the exit marked “Hope”. Say it with me, “I still believe in a place called Hope.” (WJC, 1992 Democratic National Convention, NYC)
We were just passing through Arkansas. We didn’t mean to have a religious experience. But I suppose most people who have religious experience never really plan them. “Hello God? I would like to book a transformative experience next Tuesday at 2:30 pm.” But since The Holy Bible is the Official State Book of Arkansas, should I be surprised?
William Jefferson Clinton put the state on the map and, as we told our kids, if Clinton hadn’t won the election, Evan and I might never have been married. And if we had never married, well…they just might want to put down their books and iPods and pay attention as we made our own personal Billgrimage.
Similar to Bill Clinton, Evan and I have our own assorted past. We first met courtesy of the Dukakis/Bentsen Presidential Campaign in 1988 (we came in second) but it was the Clinton Inaugural that cinched the deal. Don’t most couples think of their relationships in terms of Presidential Administrations and campaign cycles? Try it. Every four years take a look at your relationship, give things a shake down, re-elect the good parts, re-place the ugly and re-build on a stronger foundation. Getting married in 1995, our marriage has been our own personal bridge to the 21st Century.
I had nothing to do with the Clinton/Gore1992 winning campaign. November of 1992 I listened to the election results on a radio in a tea shop on Freak Street in Kathmandu, Nepal. Evan, however, was there. Evan had been volunteer extraordinaire for the campaign spending weekends doing wild things organizing rallies and parts of the famous bus trips and spending the final week in Little Rock helping coordinate election day operations for their boiler room.
Given his fabulous organizational and tactical skills once the campaign was over, he was asked by the Presidential Inaugural Committee to head up the Opening Ceremonies at the Lincoln Memorial. Evan took a 3 month sabbatical from his job at McKinsey and Company in NYC to move to DC for the wild ride. In January 1993 Evan hired me, freshly back from Nepal, to head up the 3000 volunteers. Talk about having Hope.
Fast forward to 2010, on I-30 in the Big Pig. We get off in Hope, AR. We find Clinton’s boyhood home. I am behind the wheel and I over-shoot the house. I slam on the breaks, Divine intervention. The traffic stops. I pull a U Turn in the midst of traffic -- hopeful I could do a three point turn in the midst of honking cars. I held up traffic for a good 5 minutes as I slowly drive by the boyhood home of the 42nd President of the United States while Evan snaps pictures. We sigh. It is a fine house -- compared to our RV it is a mansion!
We continue down the street and stop at the Super1Foods in Hope for milk and fresh produce. A bit of Manna from Hope. Evan does the shopping and the boys and I take a walk. Wow. Not a lot of hope in Hope. This is a sad town and the boys and I inadvertently found the saddest part. Walking behind the grocery store we cross over the train tracks, past the abandoned houses and into a neighborhood that looks so forgotten even the residents don’t know where they are. After 20 minutes we make our way back to the RV feeling more hopeless then hopeful.
Back on the road, we make it to Hot Springs for the night and on the next day (Sunday) we head over to Little Rock to the William J Clinton Presidential Library and Museum. Over the past 7 months we have been to Abraham Lincoln’s home and museum in Springfield, IL, Dwight Eisenhower’s boyhood home and museum in Abilene Kansas, and Lyndon Johnson’s home in Johnson City, Texas. All those places were about history. The Clinton Library was about our own memories, some shared, some separate.
There were photos of the fireworks display that Evan signed the contract with the Gucci Brothers for, video clips from the concert Evan organized, the daily schedule from July 12, 1994 when Evan and I were part of the advance team at the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, T-shirts just like the three I have in our storage facility from AmeriCorps.
Our own Billgrimage reminded me of the incredible Hope we had in 1992 and the excitement I felt for our country. It helped to reenergize me and remind me how one person can make a difference. Yes, the 1990’s was full of naïveté and decadence but there was energy and tingles too. I think about tomorrow (I still don’t want to stop) and where our shared nation is headed and I want to be a part of it and to help raise the standard of expectations – starting with myself. I am hearing Michael Jackson singing Man in the Mirror. I am pledging myself anew.
I am an FOB, and I am proud. That is why I yell, so very loud. Alright.
Friday, 26 February 2010
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Small Pleasures
When you don’t have much space, everything is small. Even your pleasures.
This adventure has taught me to notice things again. When you live your life fast and have too much, you forget to see. Or maybe you don’t have the time to see.
I still remember the very first pedicure I got when I was 34 years old and very pregnant and couldn’t see my feet, let alone touch them. That pedicure was heaven. Every pedicure since has been a let down because it wasn’t as needed.
Some of the small pleasures I have let myself indulge in on the trip are:
Enjoying the lavender shampoo I bought in Hawaii. I bought the conditioner too. It felt decadent. It reminds me of Corringham Road in London and teaching Simon how to pull off the flowers, rub then between your hands and smell. Heaven. Finding the lavender farm where I bought the shampoo was unexpected and beautiful on the hills of Haleakula on the island of Maui.
Taking an extra couple of minutes in the shower at the Elvis Presley Boulevard RV Park shower room to sit in the plastic green chair and use a pumice stone.
Not waking the kids for 5 minutes so I can sit at the table and write a little bit with a cup of coffee. Coffee – it is all about the ritual. Even on the road. We have a fancy espresso maker. It feels decadent to live in an RV with a $300 coffee maker.
Closing the door to the bathroom.
Walking slowly.
Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror – really looking.
Tucking in my 8 year old baby even though he doesn’t need it. Singing him songs even though he doesn’t ask for them anymore.
Sorting through my small jewelry zipper bag of earrings and necklaces I brought with us and remembering the stories of where they all came from.
Making phone calls to friends.
Lying in the back of the RV and being joined by Josh and having him comment on my aging face, Evan, the world, what he wants to be and how exciting it is to be 12 years old and to have the whole world in front of you.
Sorting emails by name and thinking about my friends and how lucky I am.
Re-reading emails I wrote ten years ago. Laughing at my problems that today are barely memories.
Perspective.
This adventure has taught me to notice things again. When you live your life fast and have too much, you forget to see. Or maybe you don’t have the time to see.
I still remember the very first pedicure I got when I was 34 years old and very pregnant and couldn’t see my feet, let alone touch them. That pedicure was heaven. Every pedicure since has been a let down because it wasn’t as needed.
Some of the small pleasures I have let myself indulge in on the trip are:
Enjoying the lavender shampoo I bought in Hawaii. I bought the conditioner too. It felt decadent. It reminds me of Corringham Road in London and teaching Simon how to pull off the flowers, rub then between your hands and smell. Heaven. Finding the lavender farm where I bought the shampoo was unexpected and beautiful on the hills of Haleakula on the island of Maui.
Taking an extra couple of minutes in the shower at the Elvis Presley Boulevard RV Park shower room to sit in the plastic green chair and use a pumice stone.
Not waking the kids for 5 minutes so I can sit at the table and write a little bit with a cup of coffee. Coffee – it is all about the ritual. Even on the road. We have a fancy espresso maker. It feels decadent to live in an RV with a $300 coffee maker.
Closing the door to the bathroom.
Walking slowly.
Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror – really looking.
Tucking in my 8 year old baby even though he doesn’t need it. Singing him songs even though he doesn’t ask for them anymore.
Sorting through my small jewelry zipper bag of earrings and necklaces I brought with us and remembering the stories of where they all came from.
Making phone calls to friends.
Lying in the back of the RV and being joined by Josh and having him comment on my aging face, Evan, the world, what he wants to be and how exciting it is to be 12 years old and to have the whole world in front of you.
Sorting emails by name and thinking about my friends and how lucky I am.
Re-reading emails I wrote ten years ago. Laughing at my problems that today are barely memories.
Perspective.
Pieces of the Puzzle
Simon had a dream the other night about a puzzle. Each of us was a different piece of the puzzle. 5 pieces in total. The RV had a piece as well. In his dream the puzzle was breaking apart. Simon’s interpretation was that we are all together now but when we finally land in a proper house we will all break apart because we will get too busy in our own individual lives to be together.
Josh thought it meant that it was the RV trip itself that is breaking us apart because we are together too much, don’t have our own lives, and are driving each other nuts.
When Evan and I discussed it later – out of ear shot of Simon - Evan saw the dream as a fear Simon has of reintegrating into society and that Simon sees we have become closer as a family and likes us all be near him and available.
I thought it meant he had eaten too close to bedtime.
The dream was a catalyst for a bigger conversation about the trip and if it has brought us closer together or further apart.
The trip has taught us how to play together, trust each other and how to disagree.
It has taught us that families are made up of individuals and individuals will disagree. But we are a family and we aren’t going any where so we need to learn how to disagree in a way that isn’t hurtful or disrespectful.
It has taught us that we are a family that loves to play board games, have parties, read books, watch the Walton’s, swim at water parks, likes stupid jokes, love and respect our national parks, support our public libraries, visit friends and family, turn the water off when we brush your teeth, and play Farkle.
We are a family that doesn’t like puzzles.
Josh thought it meant that it was the RV trip itself that is breaking us apart because we are together too much, don’t have our own lives, and are driving each other nuts.
When Evan and I discussed it later – out of ear shot of Simon - Evan saw the dream as a fear Simon has of reintegrating into society and that Simon sees we have become closer as a family and likes us all be near him and available.
I thought it meant he had eaten too close to bedtime.
The dream was a catalyst for a bigger conversation about the trip and if it has brought us closer together or further apart.
The trip has taught us how to play together, trust each other and how to disagree.
It has taught us that families are made up of individuals and individuals will disagree. But we are a family and we aren’t going any where so we need to learn how to disagree in a way that isn’t hurtful or disrespectful.
It has taught us that we are a family that loves to play board games, have parties, read books, watch the Walton’s, swim at water parks, likes stupid jokes, love and respect our national parks, support our public libraries, visit friends and family, turn the water off when we brush your teeth, and play Farkle.
We are a family that doesn’t like puzzles.
Friday, 5 February 2010
RV'ers in Paradise
We made it to Hawaii. I know the locals spell it Hawai’i but I find it a bit embarrassing spelling it that way, let alone pronouncing it with a V for the W and a hiccup at the end. Like Americans who speak with fake British accents in London, do they think they are getting away with it? Here is a secret: Brits find Dick Van Dyke’s British accent in Mary Poppins a complete laugh. Posers.
Back in September, when I was freaking out about the ominous trip in front of us, I never really thought we would make it to Hawaii. I thought I would be committed long before then. But here we are, RV’ers in paradise. (Please sing this to the tune of Jimmy Buffet’s, “Cheese Burger in Paradise/Heaven on earth with an onion slice…” but substitute “heaven on earth with a room that’s nice” for the onion bit since I neither like onions nor the size of our RV bedroom)
The Big Pig is taking a vacation in Tempe, AZ parked in the lot of the Days Inn. While I thought there might be a magic button (a la Ms. Frizzle of The Magic School Bus fame) that would transform the Winnebago Itasca Impulse into a flying contraption – or at least a 29 foot raft – the secret button turned out to be a cross-over switch you push in case you run down the engine battery and need to jump it off the house battery. (Note: I actually know what that means)
So here we are in Punalu’u – actually Nehelu’u - on the Big Island of Hawaii. this truly is a paradise. And as if it needs underlining - Simon found a coconut and we spent a good four hours as a family figuring out how to open it up. Kudos to Josh who finally smashed the bugger with a well placed lava rock. A lava rock. Doesn't everyone have one hanging around on their lanai?
What I am wearing: My favorite Laura Ashley summer nightgown with the blue and green flowers my Mom got me a few years ago. 100% soft brushed cotton. Modestly (but not particularly stylishly) covered up with a light weight pink bathrobe I picked up in Holland this past spring. I have worn the bathrobe only three times in the past seven months. I finally feel justified that I brought it because I am wearing it. And my Wal*Mart (God forbid I don’t mention Wal*Mart in a blog) reading glasses.
Where I am sitting: On our lanai. You know you are in an exotic locale when people use the word lanai like it was a normal word. If you call your patio a lanai I think you get a better resale value, or the moniker of pretentious. But it is ok to call a lanai a lanai when you are close to the equator.
We have a 1 bedroom condo on a golf course right next to the only black sand beach on the island of Hawaii. There is a little framed tile hanging on the outside of the lanai next to the sliding glass door that reads, “Mahalo for removing your slippers”. Mahalo is the Hawaiian word for thank you. Slippers are the accepted word for flip flops. Flip flops are the Shoe Wear Formerly Known as Thongs. But now Thongs have an entirely new meaning.
People say the word “Mahalo” a lot to tourists in Waikiki on the Island of Oahu where 80% of the population lives, and most of the tourists visit. I think they are trying to make you feel like you are in the know because you are using a non-English word. They are letting you in on a secret.
But I have noticed now that we are on the Island of Hawaii that nobody but white people use the word.
What I am drinking: Vanilla macadamia nut coffee out of a coffee cup with the picture of a hibiscus on it.
What I am looking at: Coconut trees, palm trees, bougainvilleas shaped into bushes that separate our little yard from the gold course. The Pacific Ocean is beyond that and the sun keeps popping out from behind the clouds as I type.
What I hear: So many trilling birds that I don’t know the name of. Red capped sparrows, bright yellow/green parakeets, small mourning doves. And the crashing of the waves.
Where are the boys: Asleep.
What I am thinking: Why the hell can’t I relax? Why can’t I be one of those people who smiles when they talk and is content to savor the smell of the coffee and the warmth of the sun on her face. Sun on my face! Oh God! I haven’t put on sunscreen yet. Skin cancer here I come.
Simon has a cold. Should we really go snorkeling when he has a cold? Kayak out to Captain Cook’s Monument – a mile long kayak? Sun stroke. Sharks. Mean waves. We will flip over and be trapped underneath and drown.
I stayed up until 1 AM finishing the book Day after Night by Anita Diamant, the author of The Red Tent. Yes, another WWII historical fiction book about women and their plights that I tend to be drawn towards. Then I tossed and turned for another hour wondering why is it I am so drawn to books about WWII. Is it because I married a Jew and I want to feel closer to the tribe? Because I have had such an incredible life and I feel guilty that anyone should have such luck and this is the least I can do?
Now I am back to the Do It Yourself Lobotomy Kit idea. If I just had a small lobotomy I could turn off the constant chatter…oh never mind. I am in Hawai’i. Embrace it already. It is a beautiful day. The four of us are together and we are healthy and our biggest decision is do we teach school for a couple of hours before or after we go kayaking.
If I ever have a tile made to hang up on my lanai I want it to read: “It is better to have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.”
Mahalo for reading this.
Here I am blogging from the lanai:
Back in September, when I was freaking out about the ominous trip in front of us, I never really thought we would make it to Hawaii. I thought I would be committed long before then. But here we are, RV’ers in paradise. (Please sing this to the tune of Jimmy Buffet’s, “Cheese Burger in Paradise/Heaven on earth with an onion slice…” but substitute “heaven on earth with a room that’s nice” for the onion bit since I neither like onions nor the size of our RV bedroom)
The Big Pig is taking a vacation in Tempe, AZ parked in the lot of the Days Inn. While I thought there might be a magic button (a la Ms. Frizzle of The Magic School Bus fame) that would transform the Winnebago Itasca Impulse into a flying contraption – or at least a 29 foot raft – the secret button turned out to be a cross-over switch you push in case you run down the engine battery and need to jump it off the house battery. (Note: I actually know what that means)
So here we are in Punalu’u – actually Nehelu’u - on the Big Island of Hawaii. this truly is a paradise. And as if it needs underlining - Simon found a coconut and we spent a good four hours as a family figuring out how to open it up. Kudos to Josh who finally smashed the bugger with a well placed lava rock. A lava rock. Doesn't everyone have one hanging around on their lanai?
What I am wearing: My favorite Laura Ashley summer nightgown with the blue and green flowers my Mom got me a few years ago. 100% soft brushed cotton. Modestly (but not particularly stylishly) covered up with a light weight pink bathrobe I picked up in Holland this past spring. I have worn the bathrobe only three times in the past seven months. I finally feel justified that I brought it because I am wearing it. And my Wal*Mart (God forbid I don’t mention Wal*Mart in a blog) reading glasses.
Where I am sitting: On our lanai. You know you are in an exotic locale when people use the word lanai like it was a normal word. If you call your patio a lanai I think you get a better resale value, or the moniker of pretentious. But it is ok to call a lanai a lanai when you are close to the equator.
We have a 1 bedroom condo on a golf course right next to the only black sand beach on the island of Hawaii. There is a little framed tile hanging on the outside of the lanai next to the sliding glass door that reads, “Mahalo for removing your slippers”. Mahalo is the Hawaiian word for thank you. Slippers are the accepted word for flip flops. Flip flops are the Shoe Wear Formerly Known as Thongs. But now Thongs have an entirely new meaning.
People say the word “Mahalo” a lot to tourists in Waikiki on the Island of Oahu where 80% of the population lives, and most of the tourists visit. I think they are trying to make you feel like you are in the know because you are using a non-English word. They are letting you in on a secret.
But I have noticed now that we are on the Island of Hawaii that nobody but white people use the word.
What I am drinking: Vanilla macadamia nut coffee out of a coffee cup with the picture of a hibiscus on it.
What I am looking at: Coconut trees, palm trees, bougainvilleas shaped into bushes that separate our little yard from the gold course. The Pacific Ocean is beyond that and the sun keeps popping out from behind the clouds as I type.
What I hear: So many trilling birds that I don’t know the name of. Red capped sparrows, bright yellow/green parakeets, small mourning doves. And the crashing of the waves.
Where are the boys: Asleep.
What I am thinking: Why the hell can’t I relax? Why can’t I be one of those people who smiles when they talk and is content to savor the smell of the coffee and the warmth of the sun on her face. Sun on my face! Oh God! I haven’t put on sunscreen yet. Skin cancer here I come.
Simon has a cold. Should we really go snorkeling when he has a cold? Kayak out to Captain Cook’s Monument – a mile long kayak? Sun stroke. Sharks. Mean waves. We will flip over and be trapped underneath and drown.
I stayed up until 1 AM finishing the book Day after Night by Anita Diamant, the author of The Red Tent. Yes, another WWII historical fiction book about women and their plights that I tend to be drawn towards. Then I tossed and turned for another hour wondering why is it I am so drawn to books about WWII. Is it because I married a Jew and I want to feel closer to the tribe? Because I have had such an incredible life and I feel guilty that anyone should have such luck and this is the least I can do?
Now I am back to the Do It Yourself Lobotomy Kit idea. If I just had a small lobotomy I could turn off the constant chatter…oh never mind. I am in Hawai’i. Embrace it already. It is a beautiful day. The four of us are together and we are healthy and our biggest decision is do we teach school for a couple of hours before or after we go kayaking.
If I ever have a tile made to hang up on my lanai I want it to read: “It is better to have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.”
Mahalo for reading this.
Here I am blogging from the lanai:
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