Clouds overhead

It's finally raining in parts of Washington, and it may be my fault because I washed my car today. Someone had poured pop on my car in the hotel parking lot (another car got egged.) My poor auto needed to be washed anyway. The front end was covered with dead bugs that accumulated all the way from Peoria after it stopped raining there.

It was a productive day. After washing the car I went to Pet Smart to buy cat nail clippers since I left mine in Ohio. I traded in one of my Books on CD at Half price Books, and met my realtor at a property without getting lost. She had lined up four places or me to see. The first one emanated such a stench when she unlocked the door, she said, “We’re not going in there. It’s really hard to get rid of odors like that.”

The next two are larger, 2BR, but dingy and have old kitchen appliances. Since they’re at the top of my limit, I know I won't have enough cash reserves left to update them for a long time. The fourth condo is small, but completely renovated with good storage space. The biggest drawback is it’ on the second floor, so I don't relish carting twenty-five pounds of cat litter up those steps. It has tons of natural light and the kitchen is gorgeous.

The kitties are much happier not traveling even though they get annoyed when I crate them so the maid can clean the room. I don’t take full service every day, and today, since I was gone most of the day, I placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob. I try to get a window of time when the maid comes, but there’s a language barrier. The first day the Ethiopian maid spoke very little English, so I had to pantomime all I wanted was for her to vacuum, and give me new towels.

Yesterday, the Spanish speaking maid spoke slightly more English, but I had difficulty explaining why I needed a specific time. Elena, the desk clerk, gave me some words to say Tengo dos gatos y no quiero de solo pora mucho tiempo en joula, essentially saying I have two cats and I don't want to leave them in their crates too long. She seemed to understand the gist of what I said.

Tomorrow I get a relief from the hotel breakfast as I am joining Scott and Jena for breakfast..

You Can't Get There From Here

I need to remember this is an adventure while I keep getting lost. Last year when I house sat for three weeks in Seattle, I only got lost once, but here in the suburbs, I can barely find my way down the street. This evening I drove to the nearby Barnes & Noble, a place I had been to just yesterday, and somehow found myself first in Bothell, then in Mill Creek, both suburbs way southeast of Lynnwood, where I'm staying.

Using places like Taco Time, Walgreens and Jack in the Box as landmarks is useless in big cities. There are millions of them, and every strip center in the tri-county area has a Starbucks. My usual good sense of direction failed me, so I finally pulled off the road and resorted to my Google app to steer me back to Lynwood before I ended up back in Idaho.

What should have taken me five minutes took me nearly an hour. Partly because I was so far off course, but largely because it was afternoon rush hour. Cars everywhere. Yet drivers didn’t seem angry or stressed. Perhaps the nice sunny weather had something to do with that. Let’s see how they react in the rain.

Maybe I’m distracted. I think I’m still in shock by uprooting myself from Ohio. I keep expecting to randomly run into someone I know. It may be wishful thinking, but it’s not impossible. A few years ago my father and I were in the art museum in Chicago and I literally bumped into a woman I know in Zanesville.

I do know people here, though. I have met twice with Elizabeth’s and my mutual friend Cat, and Saturday I am meeting cousins for breakfast. And I’m not alone; my two boys are with me.

Tomorrow I begin looking at condos.

Off the Road

 After several Days of speeding my way across he country (with cats!) I took a three day respite at my cousin Bob’s farm near Yakima, Washington. Bob and his wife Cheryl are chill people, so the only “planned” activities were dinner out on my first night at a brewery in Sunnyside, Sunday breakfast in Yakima (more on that later,) and Bob giving me a tour of his acreage and the dairy for whom he supplies hay.

Bob, Cheryl and I spent most of our time catching up since we last visited and having great conversations. They have a guest house on their property, so my spoiled cats did not mix with heir three kitties. Henry and Pablo were confused Saturday morning and I didn’t pack them up for another road trip. They gradually relaxed and took advantage of he large windowsills and sunny windows in the guest quarters.

On Saturday Bob took me on a tour in the afternoon while Cheryl prepared a ham dinner. While driving we spotted one of many osprey nests with two osprey inside.  The dairy farm itself was rife with a variety of odors. The air around the farm as hot and dry with a tinge of smoke, partly from area fires, and party because Bob almost accidently burned down his barn a couple of weeks ago.

On July 4^th the three of us sat in Bob and Cheryl’s front yard and watched an array of fireworks heir neighbors set off. Cheryl remarked that fewer than half than usual in the area had fireworks because of the fire risk.

On Sunday, Bob, Cheryl and I headed to Yakima for breakfast at a combination auction house/restaurant. Several area restaurants had closed, so the already successful auction site devotes part its space to a full service restaurant. Cheryl said after they done they usually browse the furniture, but Bob needed to get back to the farm and swathe the alfalfa for hay. He let me ride with him inside the swathe machine for a few runs.

Later I cleaned out Henry’s crate since he had peed in it. After a scrubbing and drying in the sun, it was road ready. I packed some of my stuff and the kitties grew suspicious.

This three day visit was the perfect respite from the days of pounding the freeways, fighting rain, intense heat, mountainous terrain, hot sun, hazy conditions from fires across the west, and my own fatigue.  I knew if I put off leaving by a day I’d never leave.

Pablo tried to hide this morning. He knew by seeing me spray Feliway inside the crates (a substance to help calm cats) that we would be on the road again. Initially Henry didn't seem to mind traveling again, but he meowed non-stop for about an hour. When I stopped at a rest area Cheryl recommended near Ellensburg I saw why; Henry had pooped, but missed the box. He was a stinky mess, so I wiped him down with wet wipes. Once he was clean, I tried holding him with one hand while wiping out the crate, but he scratched the hell out of me. Maybe it was the freeway noise, or the breeze, so I pulled his blue blanket out of the car and rolled him inside it like a burrito so I could finish cleaning the carrier.

This is the first time Henry seemed annoyed by the trip. Otherwise he’s been a trouper. Poor kitty.

I had left the farm around 11, and hoped to be in Seattle by 3, but twenty miles outside the city traffic on I-90 stopped. We crawled for several miles before traffic unsnarled. It was 4:30 by the time I checked in. After hauling two loads of cats and crap to the room, I asked the front desk for restaurants within walking distance so I didn't have to drive any more. In fact I may never drive again. (At least not with cats.

The hotel is directly across from a Buca di Beppo where I enjoyed tomato basil soup, half of a margarita pizza (the other half will be a nice lunch tomorrow), and a glass of red wine. Now I am going to take a shower, unpack, and chillax. 

Pablo's Tale: Day Five of On the The Road

"Not this again," I think, as the crazy woman gripped me tightly and stuffs me into the zippered box like thing. Yeah, yeah, it has windows, but since I made the mistake of demonstrating how easily I can bang my head against the zippered side and escape, she faces that side toward the door, so if I bang against it, I'm only going to give myself a headache instead of freedom.

My traveling companion, an old coot the crazy lady calls Henry, starts vocally protests. "May as well save your breath, old man," I say. “We're not getting our freedom anytime soon. "

For the last several days, this is our routine: lady shunts us inside crates as she hauls our litter box, food, and her computer and clothes and stuffs this all in an already overstuffed car. She finally loads us in between precariously stacked bags and drives for what seems like days to us cats, but apparently is July around seven hours in people time. We spend our days lingering in the backseat while English accented people narrate books. We stop, occasionally and she checks our water dishes. I refuse to acknowledge her and turn my head when she asks how I’m doing, especially when she uses her mock English accent. Henry, though, vociferously offers his opinions on everything from the hot weather, the changing altitudes, and his views on gay marriage and universal health care.

When we are finally freed to walk around, voila! We're in a whole different room in a whole different city.  The crazy cat lady feeds us right away and disappears for awhile, apparently to let the mangy old striped cat and me to sniff our way into finding a spot. So far each placed we've stayed hasn't been bad. Until today.

It's the fifth day, and she has installed us into a very stinky pet designated room outside of Boise, Idaho. She sprayed some lavender, and sprinkled baby powder on the skanky carpet, but it doesn't mask that 1)someone may have been murdered here, 2) stored soiled clothes in here for six months, or 3)had some bowel infestation and didn't quite make it to the toilet . "Sorry, guys," she says, the place is booked solid ."

Other than the smell, the place itself is nice. The desk clerk was friendly, and secured the crazy cat lady some help shuttling us into the room. CCC assures us we will be able to park ourselves for a few days with some of her crazy relatives tomorrow. Meanwhile, she cracks the window and runs the fan full blast. Too bad she didn't book at the Motel 6 up the road. I hope we survive.

Like driving through Dangerous Postcards: Day 4 of On the Road

[ I’m too tired to load a picture.]

This morning I woke to a sunny, windy day. Most hotels offer free breakfasts, and most of them are tasteless and tepid. The breakfast at The Best Western Frontier in Cheyenne is an exception. The main entree was a western omelet, bacon and sausage, along with toast and other sides. The food manager, Chris, was efficient at keeping food stocked and making guests feel welcome. Other than the wonky remote on the TV in the room, I had a five star experience at this hotel.

My sunblock failed me yesterday so when I filled up the tank this morning I bought a hat. Today’s drive was largely pleasant. Cheyenne, Wyoming lies on the eastern end of a state filled with desolate beauty.  One of the Big sky states where you can see miles ahead on a clear day.

Yet there are reminders how under the beauty lies constant risk of brutal storms and road closures.

Little has changed since the last time I was here. On that trip, more than forty years ago, my mother and I took a bus trip from Portland, Oregon to visit friends in Greeley Colorado.

Throughout my drive today the winds gusted, kicking up dust in the construction zones. I can see why pioneers wanted to settle here because of the sharp landscape. It's an artist’s paradise with its varied textures and hues. My sister-in-law, the family paparazzo, would go into picture snapping overload here.

Driving across the open terrain, even at 80 mph, it feels like slow motion. Unlike the east, there are vast distances between exits, and many post signs saying no services. Also unlike the east the road are uncluttered by excess signage. In fact there is little warning on upcoming exits. Rest areas are far apart and few, and many were closed. The two where I stopped, though, had glorious views.

As beautiful as it is, I can't imagine living here. If I were a horsewoman, Wyoming would be ideal. But I'm a bookish nerd who craves a faster paced lifestyle.

The last hour is hardest any day of my trip because by then the cats and I are tired. They start whining, and I find myself counting miles. One thing that keeps me alert is pain. My right shoulder has been hurting, and I have this rubber, spiny thing that you can massage or pound on pressure points. It resembles something from the Middle Ages a knight might carry in battle. I place it between my shoulder and the seat and lean into it.  

We pulled into Ogden right around 5:15 amid rush hour, yet it I found the hotel effortlessly.  I walked across the parking lot and enjoyed a porch chop dinner with salad, potatoes, mixed veggies and a glass of wine, and my bill was only $17.74.  So far the room is also the cheapest on my route.  Cost of living must be low here, and I believe it was on AARP's list of places to retire on a budget, but I also don't see myself settling in Ogden Utah.

Tomorrow I set out for Caldwell, Idaho, right on the tip between Idaho, Oregon and Washington.

Are We There Yet, Mommy?

I woke up annoyed. Annoyed that I had gotten lost twice, and now had NO idea how to find I-80 west, annoyed that I had left my hoodie in the hotel in Peoria so I was chilly all night and slept badly, and annoyed by how crap I packed in my car. When I went out after breakfast to rearrange bags to make room for the kitties, I found a 75’ roll of aluminum foil. Why? Was I planning to build a McGyver bomb or retrieve messages from space? I gave the roll to the young woman at the front desk, who gave me excellent directions back to the freeway.

The cats were fairly compliant all day. This change of scenery and constant driving is stressful for all three of us. Plus all the crap I have to haul in and out of the hotel. It takes two trips with one of those luggage carts. One for them and their accessories, one for my stuff. They’ve both adapted pretty well. Pablo uses the box inside the hotel, but poor old Henry has a small one inside his crate, which occasionally he uses. A few times during the drive I noticed foul odors, but they were bovine. The expensive cat litter is working.

Today’s drive was smooth, even though my car noticed the higher elevation. Every time I had to slow down for construction it took a long time to get my RPMs back up to 75. In Wyoming the speed limit is 80.

Around lunch time I stopped at a Shell station in Kearney, Nebraska. I’ve never liked self- serve. I’m kind of like Cindy Sterling with lawnmowers at the gas pump. I find one which has an easy method and stick to it. The pump at this Shell station had instructions about as clear as mud, so I went inside to get help. The woman behind the counter was rude and condescending, and I thought, “I don't have to buy my gas here,” and I ended up glad hadn’t.

One exit away was a town called Odessa, and a sign advertised Shepp Brothers as having “the cleanest roadside restrooms in Nebraska.”  Their pumps were easy to work, and when I went inside to pay I entered a wonderland. Lucky for me my car is full or I would have gone on a shopping spree of scarves, clothes and purses. They also had groceries, so my lunch was two packets of cheese, a bag of Kettle chips and a banana. And the restroom was clean. I’ve traveled quite a bit but I’ve never seen a toilet that had a bidet function. One might expect such a toilet in a fancy French hotel but not a roadside establishment.

After getting lost in Lincoln, tonight’s dinner was in a Subway across the parking lot from my hotel in Cheyenne. I had a tuna salad sandwich on wheat with spinach and cucumbers. This hotel is right off the freeway, so setting out in the morning will be easy. I found another hoodie in my car to keep me warm in the AC. Right now Pablo is sleeping on it, but the room hasn't cooled off fully.

I have no idea what tie it is. My PC says 8:24, the room clock says 8:35 , and my phone tells me it’s 6:25.

And now time for my nightly glass of wine and select my next stop on the map.

Lost in Lincoln Nebraska

After a night of thundering rain, the kitties and I woke to sunshine in Peoria. Neither of them was happy to be placed in their respective carriers, but they resigned themselves to another long drive with few protestations.

It occurred to me as I drove how different this trip was since my last westward journey by car. At that time I drove an un-air-conditioned 1973 Chevy Nova without a radio. Young and stupid, I drove for twelve to sixteen hour stretches, with only a couple of overnight motel stops. When my brother and I crossed back to Ohio on that same trip, he and I took turns driving straight through with only fuel and meal stops. I recall we stopped for coffee somewhere in Canada in the middle of the night and I fell asleep at the table.

My comfort levels have changed, and so has technology in cars. Other than my car being cramped, the ride is more comfortable and the book on CD has kept me focused. I made a couple of water stops along the way and Henry was grateful. Pablo pouted and refused to drink on my presence. At a Phillips 66 during a fuel stop I ate a hot dog I bought. It's definitely hard to eat healthy fare on the road when you can’t sit down for a meal.

The Midwest is largely flat, but Iowa has a couple of distinguishing characteristics. Every few miles, I noticed windmills, looming like large white mechanical birds. The second oddity is the red colored freeway lanes heading west. The eastbound lanes have the normal gray hue, but for about thirty miles the west bound lanes are a terracotta red.

Other than in construction zones and within cities, most of the way the speed limit was 70 mph. When I crossed into Nebraska, the speed limit increased to 75, and even as I drove 77-79, cars flew past me. At one point a sheriff’s car tailgated me until I sped up to 83 to let him pass. His lights weren't flashing, so I wondered why he was in such a hurry. I was also relieved he didn't ticket me.

Overall I made good time until I hit Lincoln T rush journey, going the wrong way on I-180. I finally stopped at a muffler place, parked, and called the hotel. I was clear on the west side of town and I needed to be around fifty blocks east of there. This put me right in the downtown, and if it weren't for the cats, who were both crying by now, I would have stopped and checked out one of the cafes I spotted along the way. I found the hotel, but I have idea how I will find 80 West again in the morning.

It was much easier unloading the cats and my luggage. I may not be so lucky tomorrow, though. I turned on the 6 o clock news when I dropped cats and bags in the room and the prediction is more rain.

I tried to find Panera for dinner, but the desk clerk's directions were vague, so I ended up at a mall, eating lousy spaghetti and meatballs. I should have stopped at the nearby Olive garden, but I'm on a new city and wanted to try something new.

I couldn't find the street going back to my hotel until after I passed it, but I spotted a Barnes and Noble. I browsed for a bit, but did not want to add ONE more thing to my pigsty of a car, so I left empty handed. I headed back to the hotel, but that section of the road was one way. So how the hell was I supposed to find the place? Many of the streets in Lincoln have Names like O or R Street that intersect with numbered streets. I drove endlessly in circles until I found the hotel by accident. As Elizabeth says, lost is the new black, so I am tres stylish today.

Now enjoying my nightly glass of red and some pistachios and almonds I found in my purse.

Tomorrow, Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Traveling With Felines Is Not the Cat’s Meow.

.

Day one of On the Road (with cats.) I had hoped to be on the road at nine, but of course I didn't set out until nearly noon. I overestimated how much I could pack in a in a Honda Civic, especially with two cats. Their crates take up more than half the back seat, and everything I packed would not fit, so I had to make last minute decisions on what to leave a lot of cap behind. I wanted to be able to see out of the back. The cats were the last things I packed in the car. Neither was happy. My car looked like an episode of hoarders.

As soon as I backed out of the driveway, I noticed my phone needed to be charged, but my car charger was stuck under about 600 pounds of luggage. At least the weather cooperated. In Ohio, anyway. More on that later.

The boys were both chatty as we headed out of town. Just west of Gratiot, I noticed Pablo had wangled himself out of his carrier. He stopped meowing, but he kept moving, and just outside of Dayton he started crawling around near the steering wheel, so I pulled off and stopped at a Wendy's. I reinserted poor Pablo back in his crate and turned it so its front window faced the door. There are two side flaps without zippers so he had plenty of air and he could still glare at me.

It had been years since I'd eaten a fast food burger. The bun tasted yeasty like beer. I wished I’d had a beer right them. But I ordered Diet Coke (Cindy S will understand why I submitted to the chemicals. It was a Diet Coke moment.

Pablo stayed put, but he and Henry cried all the way to the Indiana border. As I passed under the Thanks for Visiting Ohio sign near Richmond, Indiana I got a little weepy myself. Even though I grew up moving across states and countries, I have spent most of my life in Ohio.

Even though my car was loaded to the gills, I didn't need to stop for gas until I reached Danville, Illinois. The cats had quieted down, but they both gave me looks of derision.

State by state the weather varied. Ohio was sunny and cool, Indiana cloudy, and Illinois varied from windy, light rain, occasional clearing, drenching rain, and just as I pulled up to my hotel in Peoria, there was a giant bolt of lightning and the sky opened up. If I had gone to the right hotel in the first place and not wasted twenty minutes I could have avoided the rain.

I also wasted about a half hour going the wrong way on 465 outside Indianapolis. Also, construction slowed me down, so the six and a half hour plan turned into more than eight hours of travel.

There were some high notes. For dinner, I ate a Mediterranean omelet at Perkins restaurant.I'm listening to a good book on CD: The Thirteenth Tale. The first book I tried listening to, a Michael Connelly, was boring, so I gave the CDs to the nice desk clerk and asked her to pass it on.

My car is way too loaded down, and I think of the scene in Wild where Cheryl Stayed loaded so much in her backpack she fell backward. If it stops raining, I might repack my car so the boys and I aren't suffocating. Tonight I threw way the socks, blouse and underwear I was wearing.

I have four more days like this ahead of me. I'm so glad I brought wine, and at least it's not snowing.

My Life in Boxes.

The past few weeks I’ve been pitching, sorting, donating, selling and packing my accumulation of possessions. The cross country move to Seattle commences this Sunday.

According to all those organizing freaks you see on TV, when assessing an object, you need to ask, “Do you love it? Do you use it?” If the answer is no, it goes. I’d like to say I could say that about ALL my books, but alas, I had to pare those down. I kept what I felt sentimental about (A Monet coffee table book my father gave me for Christmas a few years before he died, and my Jansen’s History of Art from my art school days,) books I couldn't replace in a million years (Living In Dacca, and some out of print books I scavenged from library weeding,) and of course many, many poetry books. Still, as much as it broke my heart, I pared down my many volumes of Pablo Neruda and Billy Collins to an essential few. I am hoping to replace some books once I get to Seattle where they still have brick and mortar bookstores. Contemporary fiction can also be replenished, though I did keep Kafka on the Shore and Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murkami.

Most of my DVDs and CDs joined books I sold to Half Price Books, and 90% of my journals saw the shredder. Rereading my entries from the 80’s and 90’s and early 00’s made me realize 1.) I’m not that interesting, and 2.) I sure whine a lot. I kept the diary I wrote in 6^th grade before we moved overseas where I listed what we ate for dinner. I also kept my 8^th grade diary where I had a crush on a different boy every week.

I donated my long underwear and winter pajamas to Goodwill. I will need flannel PJs this winter but I will buy new ones, and since the weather doesn't dip below zero there I can probably survive without long johns.

The couple who bought my house is newly married, and they said anything I wanted to leave they would find a use for. I’ve sold much of my furniture to friends, so in a way my stuff is now part of my extended family. The only furniture I am taking are two director’s chairs and a small folding brass table (my living room suite) and an inflatable bed (my bedroom suite.) I don't how large of a place I will have, so it’s easier to start with a clean slate.

When I set out this Sunday, I will be like a college kid leaving home for the first time, except this teenager is sixty years old, and bringing two cats. (The rest of what I am keeping will be shipped once I have an address.) Technically, I am not only unemployed (retired) I am also homeless. But luckily I’ve budgeted for living in an Extended Stay hotel until I either buy a condo or rent one. I do have family out in the Pacific Northwest I could stay with, but I having two cats will render me the houseguest from hell.

At lunch the other day a friend asked if I’m scared about the driving. “That’s a long ass way,” he said. “I’d be scared to death.” I’ve made several cross country drives before. Granted I was younger, and only once was alone. What concerns me more than the drive this time around is traveling with animals. Pablo is pretty chill and will likely sleep his way to Seattle, but Henry is the world’s most annoying cat on a good day. He will likely narrate the entire journey in whatever language he speaks.

Summer is hot, so whenever I stop to gas up the car, buy lunch, or pee, I need to keep my furry friends cool. Two years ago when I lost power for nine days during a heat wave, I had bought two battery operated fans, so when I am out of the car I will run the fans on the cats as I buy my lunch to go. I have a gallon of water to keep in the car, and each night I can replenish at hotels.

And how bad will my car smell if one of them uses the litter box on the road?

Those are small concerns. Giving up possessions and driving a long way will feel effortless compared to leaving behind the many wonderful people I’ve known and loved in my forty plus years in Ohio.

Facebook will help me stay in touch with people, and many friends have said they will visit me in Seattle, yet I know it’s not the same as being there. I grew up moving. Every three or four years my family packed up and moved to a new city, state, or country, so a cross country move is not new, but leaving people behind is never easy.

I’ll miss how the baristas at Starbucks sometimes have my drink ready before I pay, and how the counter people and cooks at Giacomos know my regular sandwich and soup choices. I’ll miss knowing the ebb and flow of this small city and where things are located without using a map.

Those of you closest to me know I will miss you the most.

A new adventure awaits, and over the next few weeks I plan to share installment of my journey through my blog.

Back to packing……

Happy Trails

It's Always Sunny and Warm For My Imaginary Friends

It was -8 this morning, with twenty five below wind chill factors. No, I don’t live in the Arctic; I live in southeastern Ohio.

The winter of 2015 has been endless for those of us east of Kansas: sub zero temperatures, blizzards every other day, and just plain cold. I've never been a fan of winter, but this frigid season hit an all time low, figuratively and literally. Occasionally in January and February our mercury dips to below zero, but rises back up to the normal twenties and thirties. Not this year. We've had weeks where the thermometer didn't rise above freezing, and many days in a row where the wind chill factor kept us in the single digits and lower.

Yesterday, as I sat in Starbucks bundled in three layers of clothes, two scarves wrapped around my neck and finger-less gloves on my hands I wrote my protagonist into April. The scene originally took place in October, but I couldn't bear walking into winter, so along with Michael, I smelled the edge of warmth in the air, saw the daffodils and crocus erupt from the earth, and anticipated his upcoming summer.

My strategy for not sinking into the abyss of the remaining weeks of tundra climate is to immerse my story inside spring and move with it through summer.

There s foot of snow piled around my house, but not inside my novel. For a few hours a day, as long as I don’t venture outside, I can forget I’m actually in Ohio.

Happy Writing, and stay warm.