*Indiana*
Mykaela settled into a nubby sofa in the hotel lobby promptly at 8:00, as they’d agreed the night before. Atsushi was nowhere to be seen. Just outside the front door, she finally found him smoking a cigarette and talking to a burly pony-tailed man. Atsushi was diminutive compared to the man, whose voice was raspy and deep. Mykaela didn’t know if she should interrupt the conversation, so she stood aside, hoping Atsushi would spot her. Finally, as he seemed oblivious, she moseyed over to them. The man was saying, “I don’t test positive, so I don’t know where she done got it. She said she must’ve had it when we got married two years ago, so how come I ain’t got it? She’s cheatin’ on me, I know. I just don’t know who the dirty bastard is.”
“Sometimes life is confusion,” said Atsushi, puffing on his cigarette. He seemed quite natural at smoking. Mykaela wondered why she didn’t know this about him.
She tugged at Atsushi’s elbow and whispered, “Sorry to interrupt, but we ought to get going.’
The burly man turned to her, “Would you cheat on your husband?”
“That’s quite an inappropriate question!”
He asked Atsushi, “Would you cheat on her?”
“My wife is in Japan,” Atsushi said. “This is my friend.”
“Friends, huh?” The man sneered and glared at Mykaela. “Where’s your husband, then?”
“We better get going, Atsushi,” she said, and headed abruptly back into the lobby. The man muttered something she chose not to hear.
After they loaded their suitcases, along with Mykaela’s numerous bags full of sketchpads, colored pencils and fabrics, into the car, they stopped at the McDonald’s drive-through, where Mykaela ordered a cheese and egg biscuit and Atsushi a maple and fruit oatmeal. Atsushi told her they had been discussing the man’s wife, who was in the hospital with pneumonia after doctors discovered she had AIDS.
Mykaela frowned. “That’s a sticky problem. Nonetheless, that was so damn rude of him to ask a question like that. You don’t have to answer him you know.”
“I want to understand him,” he said. “Everyone is human.”
“You have more faith in mankind than I do.” She could smell the smoke on his breath and in his hair and clothes. Yesterday, he had smelled pleasantly of soap and caramel coffee. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“Just while talking,” he said. “Don’t worry, I don’t smoke in your car.”
Mykaela pulled the Jeep onto I-70 and, as they settled into the drive, they passed black cows grazing on flat green pastures and later, bristly brown fields with silos and barns. This was farm country, home to corn, soybeans, wheat, and cattle.
Mykaela pointed out a sign for the Wilbur Wright Birthplace & Museum. “Wilbur Wright was one of the two brothers who built the world’s first successful airplane. The other one was Orville. You know of them?”
“I think so, but maybe I’m not familiar with the names.”
“I’ve been to Kill Devil Hills in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where they made their first controlled flight. You can go hang-gliding from the sand dunes at Jockey’s Ridge. I’ve never done it, but I always wanted to.”
“I don’t like heights,” said Atsushi. He was silent for a bit. “It might be nice to be famous.”
“For what?”
“I would be a doctor who discovers the cure for cancer instead of selling the technology for cure, but a doctor who sings and plays guitar too. Like William Carlos Williams, the poet doctor. What for you?”
“I’d love my art quilts to mimick nature, like Georgia O’Keefe’s paintings but with fabric. I want people to be awestruck when they see my work, to be inspired to honor the environment. Many of our Native American tribes believe nature and the land are sacred. I wish everyone believed that.”
“I could be a singing doctor and you could be a quilting environment activist,” said Atsushi.
Mykaela smiled. Actually, she didn’t really have much interest in being famous, although of course she’d love people to connect with her art at a heartfelt level. Mainly, she would like to get her husband to laugh again, and her daughter Lena to find the right medication and maybe a boyfriend who could give her some stability. She’d love it if Viktoria could shake her stalking ex-boyfriend Will, and if her mother would show even the slightest interest in Mykaela and her family. She wished her father weren’t ill. She would love to have a few close friends who could truly understand her.
A sign said, WELCOME TO KNIGHTSTOWN: HOME OF THE HOOSIERS. “Hoosiers are people who are born or live in Indiana. A lot of the sports teams are also Hoosiers,” Mykaela said.
“Hoosiers,” repeated Atsushi. “A strange name.”
“I don’t know if this is true, but I heard the name came from the frontier days. When people approached a house, they were afraid of being shot, so they’d call out to the homeowner. The owner would reply, ‘Who’s here?’ and it eventually slurred into ‘Who’sh ‘ere?’ I don’t know if it’s true though.”
“Who’sh ‘ere, Who’sh ‘ere,” Atsushi said several times, trying it on for size.
Huge trucks barreled past them on the highway. Whenever trucks came up too close behind her on the highway, she thought of the 1971 movie Duel, with Dennis Weaver. Although she was only two years old when the movie was made, she had seen it much later with Emre on TV. She had bitten her fingernails to bloody nubs while Weaver, driving his Plymouth Valiant over deserted California canyon roads, was harassed by the mostly invisible driver of a decrepit Peterbilt tanker truck.
“This road is a caravan of trucks,” said Atsushi.
“It’s one of the main east-west roads in America, so yes, lots of trucks.”
The I-70 corridor certainly catered to trucks. Signs spoke to careless drivers: BIG TRUCK ACCIDENT? CALL THE HAMMER. Eighteen-wheelers hunkered down in sprawling parking lots around rest areas. INDY TRUCK WASH promised clean big rigs. Double Fed-Ex trucks rumbled past them. Tractor-trailers squatted on the shoulders of exit ramps. Mykaela had never seen this in Virginia.
Gleaming silver grain silos dotted the landscape. The Mountain Goats sang, “The gray sky was vast and real cryptic above me / I wanted you / To love me like you used to do.”
When Mykaela heard words like these, she felt full of gloom. She’d like to see the future, to see if the rest of her life would be spent in utter loneliness with Emre, or if she could entice him, somehow, out of his debilitating depression. If only he would agree to psychotherapy or anti-depressants or hospitalization, but so far he’d refused. He didn’t want his mind messed up by drugs or shock therapy or whatever “experimental methods” doctors used on emotionally disturbed patients. She wondered if there were other solutions not evident to her. She tried to open her mind to the universe for possibilities, but no answers ever appeared to her. She didn’t believe in prayer that asked for specific things, like new cars or houses or healing for people she loved. She thought it was greedy to ask for specific outcomes, so she asked only for wisdom and strength to get through every day.
A billboard reared up ahead of them: HIGHSMITH GUNS – PISTOL RANGE – TOP GUNS INDOOR RANGE.
“Why do American people love guns?” Atsushi asked.
“Many of our immigrant ancestors escaped from oppressive governments. Now, generations later, the children of these immigrants still cling to the belief that citizens have a right to bear arms, to protect themselves from government overreach. But isn’t it likely that if the government became oppressive, even a man with a gun would be powerless against it? Anyway, it seems any crazy person can get a gun these days, and look what’s happening with the school shootings, church shootings, people getting knocked off at concerts. There’s no end to the insanity.”
“What kind of person kills innocent children?” Atsushi said. “I want justice for Jiro. I want his killer found. I have questions to ask him.”
“Of course we’ll go to the police in Grand Junction and try to find out what we can.”
They drove silently for a while, passing a billboard that read: After You Die You WILL Meet God.
“I wonder if Jiro met God,” Atsushi said, “I don’t have God. We are Buddhists and Jiro loved nature.”
“Why did Jiro go to Colorado Mesa University? Why didn’t he stay closer to home?”
Atsushi told her that Jiro loved plants and was pursuing a degree in Biological Sciences with a concentration in Ecology. He was attracted to CMU because of a three-week field course in Ecuador the university offered. He was excited about visiting the remote tropical habitats in South America, such as the lowland rainforest, the cloud forest, and the páramo, a high, treeless plateau. He was eager to learn about the natural histories of the organisms found in each area. He was especially enamored of grasses found at the high altitudes, especially tussock-grasses and bunch-grasses.
“Also, his girlfriend was going there to study winemaking, but at the last minute she broke up with him and decided to stay in Tokyo.”
“So, the girlfriend who deserted him could almost take the blame for his death,” said Mykaela.
“No, I don’t think it’s that way. I don’t want to blame and be angry. Jiro always loved tropic plants, always reading about them in books. He built a small greenhouse in our backyard and grew plants and grasses.”
“Did he ever get to Ecuador?”
“No, he was to go last fall.” He stared out the window as they drove in silence past Indianapolis, Monrovia, Terre Haute.
The Grateful Dead sang, “Friend of the Devil,” and Mykaela thought about Jiro’s killer, who was obviously a friend of the devil — an evil person who still had his freedom and his life while he’d stolen Jiro’s.
The land flattened out, but trees and bushes still clustered between fields, and the wind shimmied the car as it moved down the highway. The smells of hay and dust and grass permeated the car. Mykaela felt unease needling her skin, quickening her heartbeat.
They crossed Vermillion Creek. A quarry gaped under a hazy blue sky smudged with white clouds. Chuck Berry sang “No particular place to go… Riding along in my automobile,” and Mykaela felt that she and Atsushi were speeding along in this cocoon of an automobile into uncertain futures, wrapped in separate blankets of grief.
They crossed Big Walnut Creek and Honey Creek. Tom Cochrane sang, “Life is a highway.” Mykaela agreed; life was a highway with a lot of tacky road signs: billboards advertising adult stores, shooting ranges, liquor stores, fireworks, and detours to nostalgia, all diverting a person from the true road to serenity.
*Illinois*
They crossed into Illinois, the only blue state in a sea of red, and the first one since they’d left Virginia. Mykaela breathed a sigh of relief. Here were people she understood, people who weren’t nasty and hateful and all puffed up with white privilege.
Atsushi looked up the symbols: the flower was a violet, the bird a Northern cardinal, and the insect a Monarch butterfly.
“Tell me some other interesting things about it,” said Mykaela.
“There are two slogans: ‘Mile After Magnificent Mile’ and ‘Right Here. Right Now.’ And there’s a prairie grass: Big bluestem. I wonder if Jiro would have known it. I like to think he did.”
“Me too,” said Mykaela, and this time she reached over and touched his shoulder.
They sped by Whippoorwill Antiques and Effingham, and Mykaela couldn’t help but think driving on this highway was “effing monotonous.” Huge expanses of farmland opened up, bordered by sparse forests. The hills became more gradual, long straight slopes. The jeep slogged up and coasted down, as if on an endless slow-motion treadmill.
Another sign, glaring at them from the roadside: Where will you spend eternity? Jesus Christ has the answer.
Did he? she wondered. Mykaela had been brought up Catholic but now attended a Unitarian Church. They believed in the moral authority but not necessarily the divinity of Jesus. She believed herself to be moral but fallible, and she didn’t care for rigid dogma or beliefs that everyone must embrace only one religion to gain access to paradise. Hell, she didn’t even believe in paradise.
A series of signs boasted of THE WORLD’S LARGEST ROCKING CHAIR, THE WORLD’S LARGEST WIND CHIME, THE WORLD’S LARGEST MAILBOX. Mykaela looked all around near the exit to see if she could spot these “world’s largest” items, but she didn’t see anything on the flat horizon. They can’t be that large, she thought. She considered pulling off to look for them, but at the last minute sped by the exit. Too much distance to cover.
They passed Lost Creek Orchard, offering up apples, pears and peaches. Montrose, Teutopolis, giant drills, and hauling equipment with the largest tires she’d ever seen. Signs placed blame: MATTRESS STORES ARE GREEDY – LEARN THE TRUTH. Names blurred outside the windows: Pilot, Little Wabash River, St. Elmo. Cows clustered around dainty ponds on farms. BLUE SPRINGS CAFÉ promised foot-hi pies. Signs at construction zones threatened: “Hit a Worker – $10,000 fine – 14 years in jail.”
They passed two workers in the median strip trying to remove a deer carcass. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and Mykaela focused on the road, stomach turning. She knew she was lucky in many ways not to suffer like so many people in the world did, under horrible poverty, violence, endless war, starvation, slavery, mind-deadening jobs. She was lucky, so why did she often feel overwhelmed by her problems?
Mykaela thought how it was true that some cities and places have nothing to recommend them. The views from the road in Illinois were a disappointment. Maybe she’d find something interesting if she got off the interstate, but they didn’t have time for that. They needed to keep moving along.
She had to face it, as much as she appreciated Illinois for voting against Trump, it was a state with unimaginative place names, often names of people: Collinsville, Edwardsville, Maryville.
Can’t they do any better? Mykaela thought.
***********
The second half of this chapter will post on Wednesday, July 18. This will be the last chapter I’ll post on this blog. I’ll continue to work on the novel privately, in hopes of revising multiple times and eventually publishing (or self-publishing)!
For the first chapter of my road trip novel you can see the following two posts:
(on journey) chapter 1: on borrowed time {part 1}
chapter 1: on borrowed time {part 2}
**********************
“PROSE” INVITATION: I invite you to write a 2,000-word post on your own blog about a recently visited particular destination (not journeys in general). Concentrate on any intention you set for your prose. In this case, my intentions for my Four Corners trip included the following:
- “Bring a character to…” Invent characters and take them along on the journey, keeping a journal from the main character’s point of view. After the trip, write a novel or novella of the trip putting those characters into the tale (in the vein of Jim Harrison’s The English Major, and inspired by a creative writing assignment to keep a journal for a fictional character).
- Pick random titles from poems or short stories as titles for each chapter and let those titles inform the tale.
It doesn’t matter whether you write fiction or non-fiction for this invitation. You can either set your own writing intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: prose & poetry. (This page is a work in process.) You can also include photos, of course.
Include the link in the comments below by Monday, July 23 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, July 24, I’ll include your links in that post.
This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂
I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!
the ~ wander.essence ~ community
I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!
- Jo, of Restless Jo, wrote beautifully of her time with her friend Meg in Warsaw and time spent relaxing with her Polish family in the countryside.
- Mari, of Travels with My Camera, wrote a post about a visit to Daintree National Park – the Aborigine’s Dreamtime that Never Wakes – in Australia.
Thanks to all of you who wrote prosaic posts following intentions you set for yourself. 🙂
This half-chapter carried me along, for the same reasons as before – the hints at narrative complications; the strong sense of America; the specificity of the landscape: the very apt lyric lines that also move the story along; and your expansive knowledge of so many things.
(I think a local woman here might have realised Mykaela’s quilting ambition: there was a small exhibition of her fabric / woven / felted / embroidered landscapes and tree trunks that I absolutely loved. Maybe not quite quilting, but in the zone.)
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Thank you so much for reading and for your comments, Meg. I really appreciate it. I agonize so much over writing fiction; it’s amazing I get past page 1! But I love writing it too. It’s one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done. The agony and ecstasy! I’m glad you found good things about it; my husband read it with less than stellar enthusiasm and encouraged me to cut a lot, which I did. I also need more complications, or so he says, and I would tend to agree. Slowly, slowly. Only one more half chapter to post online, then I can go back to my regular process of writing 3 pages a day without editing and continually moving forward.
Your local woman’s textile landscapes sound wonderful! I love seeing that kind of exhibition. I used to be a quilter myself, but not landscapes. Mykaela will be doing landscapes herself as she goes along. Do you have any photos of those pieces?
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No, unfortunately. They were behind glass. I may go and hear the artists talk tomorrow, but it’s night and 25km away, and I don’t drive well at night.
As for narrative complications, I reckon you’ve hinted at heaps, and I like slowly, slowly.
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Thanks so much! It will be slowly, ever so slowly! 🙂
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This piece carries me with it better than the last one did, Cathy. I’m rolling along these endless roads with you, absorbing impressions and thoughts. There’s definitely a novel in here. I keep spotting bits that I think are ‘you’ but then, does anybody really know us? My version of me is a world away from my husband’s but who’s to say who’s right? And is the difference in political climate so very different as you cross the state line? I can’t get my head around politics today. It’s a nest of vipers. Was it always and we were just gullible? Anyway, I love your characters. I’m in there rooting for them. And for you, Cathy! Thanks so much for including my link. 🙂 🙂
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Thanks so much for reading and commenting, Jo. Those roads were really endless, so I felt this part dragged in tandem with that feeling of boredom. I need to do a lot of work here to keep something happening during the monotonous times! There are definitely parts of me in Mykaela, but there are many parts that aren’t me. I have to give her a lot of problems, and Atsushi too, to make them more interesting.
I think there is some difference in political climate as you cross state lines, especially in signs for adult bookstores and gun shops intermingled with Christian signs, but of course the character is more in tune with it as she’s very political. As for me personally, I used to not be political at all, but am becoming more so under our current government.
As for what makes us who we are, I’ve written a scheduled post about that very issue that will post on the 24th. It’s from my time in Korea when I was reading a book called The Black Book by Orhan Pamuk. It’s all about identity. 🙂
And of course I loved including your wonderful link. I enjoy the more personal posts so much. 🙂
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You have had some amazing experiences to draw on Cathy. I’ll look forward to that one xx
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What a satisfying read! I look forward to the next part. Not only was it enjoyable but I learned some facts from it, including the meaning of Hoosiers which I’d seen once or twice before in American novels. I should have Googled it but never got around to it, but it’s nice to now have an explanation. Plus your political sentiments appeal to me.
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Thanks so much, Mari. This is the second chapter (only part 1), so you came into the story already in progress. I won’t be posting much online, only the second half of chapter 2, but then I’ll write the rest on my own, privately, until the whole thing is done and revised numerous times. I need to do a lot of work on the characters! I learn a lot during the process too. I didn’t know about Hoosiers until I researched it! There’s a lot I don’t know and some I have to make up along the way. As for Mykaela’s political sentiments, they definitely reflect mine, but Mykaela isn’t me. 🙂
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The characters are taking on a life as I get to know them with their interactions and snippets of past life building into the story line. I’m amazed how you are finding the time to fit so much in.
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Thanks so much for reading, Pauline. It is so time consuming, at least for me, to write fiction. I’m glad I’m not posting any more online after the second half of this chapter. When I wrote my first novel, I kept writing forward, 3 pages a day, until the whole thing was finished, 480 pages later. Only then did I go back to revise. Here, since I was posting it on my blog, I revised so many times! The problem is that as the novel unwinds, things will change about the characters and the situation that I’ll have to go back and adjust later. That’s why it’s too hard to post a novel-in-progress. It was good to have a deadline to get me going though. Now that I have less than 2 months to the Camino, I’m trying to write posts for the time I’m gone, so it will be a struggle to keep up with my 3 pages/day! Plus I have to get my workouts in. There are only so many hours in a day, right? 🙂
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You have determination and perseverance to keep that schedule going plus everything else and yes there are only so many hours in a day. Oh my less than 2 months to Camino, that is racing by. Are you getting excited about it? Or nervous?
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I’m both excited and nervous, Pauline. I still have so much to do to prepare. Mostly physical preparation, but mental too!
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You’ll do it 👍
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I hope so! I’m off to walk now in the heat. Ugh!
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Don’t forget lots of water…
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Done! 🙂
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😊
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I am amazed you manage to do so much Cathy! I think you should have a blog break whilst you are off to Europe for the Camino. Don’t schedule posts as you still have to deal with comments, rather wait until you are home again. I shall leave the link to my prose piece here and come back to read this properly shortly – just going to watch some tennis for a while 🙂
https://smallbluegreenwords.wordpress.com/2018/07/10/impressions/
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I’m not sure what I’m going to do while on the Camino, Jude. I am planning to schedule posts, but we’ll see what I have time for. The problem is, I’d like to get as much of the Four Corners and Niagara Falls behind me as possible before embarking on the Camino, b/c I’m sure that will give me plenty to write about! Maybe I’ll figure out something to do about comments, either limit them or just invite people to share links right on the post. Hope you enjoy the tennis! Thanks for the link here too. 🙂
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OK. Back and a re-read. I liked this part. Although you say it is a boring journey you made so many observations that you have intertwined into this chapter. I don’t think any journey is entirely boring if it is a road not often travelled. Monotonous, maybe, but even then you have your music and your thoughts (Mykaela’s). I have forgotten how these two characters hooked up and they seem to have very little in common, but perhaps that’s the point. Different dynamics to explore as the story unfolds. I would like to know what Atsushi is thinking on the journey, so far it seems to be all Mykaela’s viewpoint, but perhaps that is deliberate. You are directing the characters after all. We are the observers. We shall miss this when you go ‘offline’.
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Thanks for reading and and for your feedback, Jude. I really appreciate it. I do agree that a journey isn’t quite as boring if it’s one not often taken. As for how the characters met, it’s in chapter 1, part 1. They do have little in common, but a chance meeting led to a connection for various reasons. I’ll explore that more as time goes on. As for Atsushi’s thoughts, I’ve made a decision to write the story in third person limited point of view. Limited means that the POV is limited to only one character. Which means that the narrator only knows what that character knows. Mykaela will only know exactly what others reveal to her or her own thoughts about things; as Atsushi is Japanese (a culture more reluctant to share of themselves), he will be slow to reveal himself. Those revelations may come in time, or some may never come (characters always have secrets). In my first novel, I wrote in third person multiple, where the story, moving forward in time, was told from the viewpoints of 4 different characters in alternating chapters. It was very difficult to write and probably isn’t recommended for first time writers. Maybe that, among other things, is why I couldn’t get it published. There is also third person omniscient where the narrator knows everything, in every character’s head. I find it really difficult to pull that off, and even successful authors have trouble doing it well. As a reader, I find it confusing. Anyway, that’s why no one will know what Atsushi is thinking unless he chooses to reveal it, or unless Mykaela observes some behavior in him, or hears about it from someone he knows. Anyway, you probably already know all this, but here’s a link I found about Point of View: http://www.thebeginningwriter.com/2012/03/look-at-different-types-of-point-of.html
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I didn’t know all this Cathy, Wow! I am even more impressed by your writing. How on earth do you have time to fit in other things?
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Thanks so much, Jude. I don’t work and don’t have much to do otherwise; it’s so incredibly boring in northern Virginia and it’s way too hot to go outside, although I have to push myself to get out to walk/train. Ugh. It’s already 82 and humid this morning, and will get close to 90 by the end of the day. I need to walk about 4 miles, not my idea of fun in this heat. I just wish I were already walking the Camino, but I hate the heat. I don’t like training in it, and I wouldn’t like walking in it. Hopefully it will be pleasant there in September-October!
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Phew! I wouldn’t want to be outdoors in that either. Actually quite pleasant today – cloudy and no wind, warm, but not hot. A good day for the garden chores!!
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It sounds perfect. Send some of that our way, please. We have weeks ahead of temps near 90. I really hate it so much!
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Maybe you should move to another state once Mike retires. Somewhere cooler?
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That would be my dream! I don’t have Mike convinced. For some reason that eludes me, he loves this area. 🙂
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Oh, well that IS a dilemma. Hope you can work it out!
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Somehow or another, I hope so too. 🙂
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[…] must have met Cathy over at Wander.essence? I’m adding this to her Prose challenge. It’s the last of my Polish adventures… for […]
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Back with Part 2, Cathy, and i had a bit of a read in the comments. Do you post on an iPad? I can foresee keeping up while on the Camino a real problem. You could close comments, I suppose. I do know what you mean about getting things written up before you start another adventure. I’m a bit in that phase at the minute too.
Anyway, here’s the link 🙂 🙂 https://restlessjo.me/2018/07/12/reminiscences-from-poland-2/
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I never write on an iPad, Jo, although I have one, but I don’t want to add either the weight, or the obligation to post, while on my Camino. I’ve pretty much decided I will post one photo a day on Instagram, and save the rest for when I return. I want to keep posting, and I’m thinking of some solutions. Of course that assumes, I will actually have time before August 31 to write all the posts I want to schedule while I’m gone! I have about 40 remaining to write and 49 days to do so. Even if I manage to write those 40, I still won’t be finished with the Four Corners!! But I would be almost finished with Niagara Falls!
Thanks so much for this link about your Polish trip and your loving Polish family, Jo. I can feel the love you have for them, and I can so readily picture myself in their midst. I’ve linked it to my next prose post of July 24, the one about identity.
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You set yourself some stern tests hon. I’m so hoping it all works out. Just keeping up with you is testing! Thanks for letting me share. You’re a sweetheart xx
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I hope it all works out too, Jo. But I’m determined, if nothing else, to be flexible. If I can’t write everything I want before leaving, so be it. If I can’t walk the whole way, I’ll take a bus. If my pack feels too heavy, I’ll send it ahead from time to time. I’m taking it slowly and trying to appreciate the whole process. Whatever will be will be! 🙂
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[…] (on journey) chapter 1: on borrowed time {part 1} chapter 1: on borrowed time {part 2} chapter 2: missouri as it seemed {part 1} […]
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