A Very Good Weekend

My birthday weekend (when you turn 60 you get a whole weekend) has turned out to be — I’m having trouble finding the exact word. “Special” has an implication of something engineered to be perfect for one’s birthday. This was more like serendipity in action.

We arrived in Kansas City Friday night after eating dinner in St. Joseph up the road, and we arrived at the 21c Hotel, one of my favorite spots. It’s an artsy hotel, which appeals to my writer self, and part of the reason I do Kansas City trips is inspiration.

On Saturday, we started the day with breakfast at City Diner, which is truly a diner:

It has the settled-in look of a real diner, with hot sauce for your eggs and a menu of breakfast and burgers and fries.

From there, we spent some time at Broadway Cafe, so I could write and figure out a printing problem with a brochure I want to hand out for the book fair at the end of September. Broadway Cafe is a space for writing, and their coffee is perfect. I drank a depth charge (coffee with a shot of espresso) for the first time, and it was stout!

My husband and I were going to see Spirited Away at 3 at the Screenland Armour, so when we were done with coffee and writing, we noted that we would not have enough time to get lunch at Choga (way over in Overland Park when we were in mid-KC) so I suggested Blue Nile, an Ethiopian restaurant. Not only did that time out perfectly, it got us close to our destination of North KC for the movie. It was also tasty food.

Spirited Away is a classic Miyazaki film, artistic and fanciful. It’s a children’s movie, which hasn’t stopped any adults from watching it. I’m a Miyazaki fan, so it was a good choice for my birthday weekend.

After that, we went to pick up my birthday present, which was an orange Sailor 1911 fountain pen which we got at discount barely used. I collect fountain pens, so I was happy with the present and happier with the price.

We were too full from lunch to eat a full dinner at Waldo Thai, so we decided to have appetizer and dessert at the Savoy, a restaurant in the 21c. Oh, my goodness! Imaginative and tasty food! They treated me special for my birthday and put us in the private, round room. They also discounted us our desserts.

Today we’re winding down and sitting at Broadway Cafe again while I write this. A lesson learned — go with the flow, as the results are better that way.

Hurtling Headlong into the Heartland

I slept relatively well; I slept in late in my top bunk. I love sleeping in trains; the rocking of the train is soothing even when it sends me careening into the safety webbing. Waking up is a delicate process; using the toilet requires the other person steps out for a moment and pulling the beds back up requires some acrobatics.

As the train pulls out of Erie, Pennsylvania, I try to capture what I see, but things flash past me too quickly to capture it all. Warehouses tagged with spray paint, often artistically. Ailanthus, which can grow anywhere, lining the tracks. Old retired engines in a train graveyard. And then the country, where grapevines grow in endless rows and evening primrose lines the tracks.

The trip goes as fast as it needs to; we have another three and a half hours before we get to our destination. The rocking of the train lulls me into a trance. No worries; sometimes I just have to do nothing.

Bonus: Can anyone identify what song the title of this post comes from?

Not home quite yet

Two hours into my drive, I needed to stop because I got too sleepy to drive safe. So I’m about to leave the Holiday Inn at the edge of Columbia for the rest of the ride home.

I have documents to edit (kill the ellipses!) when I get home, a small business plan to make (with help from our local small business council), a marketing plan to make, 30 pages to shoot to Marisa Corvisieri, hope DAW can let me know what they thought of my manuscript (probably a rejection) …

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I need coffee.

I’m still at the conference; I will be presenting my poster on “Do Euphemisms Influence Car Buying?” (The answer is No) this morning and maybe get to the zoo this afternoon.

I’m getting everything done except my writing/editing but that’s to be expected. Not enough brain cells for the writing.

But at least I’m getting this out today.

Day 41 Reflection: Travel

I don’t do tourism well.

Sightseeing overloads me with buildings, paintings, terrain with no context. A whirlwind of “I have to see the Mona Lisa” and “You haven’t visited here until you’ve seen the mountains.” I see things without understanding their context, and I drift along from thing to thing.

When I travel, I want to engage with my destination. I want to learn, to make sense. I want to experience the destination with all my senses and make sense of it in my mind.

I want my tour guide to take me to the mountains and point out the flora there, explaining to me what plants make good tea and honey. I want them to show me the restaurants where the locals eat so I can get a feel for their lives, to set me up in an artsy coffeehouse so I can observe people. Tour guides aren’t equipped to do that, so I have to do it myself. Travel becomes a research project, but that’s okay.

My biggest preparation as a traveler, however, is internal. I prepare myself for the cultural differences and adopt humility, because I am the outsider and will make mistakes. I open myself up to gratitude for the experience.

Travel without gratitude, in my opinion, is hardly worth the time spent.

Even when not writing, I write…

I’m on the road, visiting my father in Wisconsin, and I haven’t taken out my computer since I set out on this trip. This is not to say that I haven’t been writing.

Writing happens all the time. I listen to the news and wonder what implications the EC’ s step away from Trump will have on Europe — Poland, Germany, Russia.

While I sit and the coffeehouse in Watertown, three bespectacled teens set up easels with art projects against the wall of the coffeehouse, debating whether to take the protective plastic with the glowering clouds. A sliver of sun peeks out, further muddling the questions. Two plump yoga moms walk in for a coffee date. One carries her daughter, who wears hot pink rubber boots with her rompers.

Some people take photographs; I tell stories like my dad and his family and my mom and her family. I listen to my dad’s stories and realize that they will show up in a future story.

The stories — all stories — are important. May I learn yours?