The Fly in the Ointment (Blog #570)

Leave a comment

This morning I woke up at four-thirty in order to come back home to Arkansas after spending the lion’s share of this last week in Tennessee on a travel writing trip. Holy crap, y’all–four-thirty is not my finest hour. It was all I could do to pour a cup of coffee and pour myself into the mini-van that took me and another journalist to the Nashville airport at five. Even with the addition of caffeine, I was moving with all the agility of a three-toed sloth as I navigated airport security then went in search of breakfast.

If I haven’t explained it before in writing (and I don’t think I have), travel writing is a job. The way it works is that a business–usually a local or state tourism department–contracts with a public relations (PR) firm in an effort to promote their product (in this case, a particular area of the state and its included businesses). Then the PR firm gathers journalists from around the region or country, flies them in, arranges their lodging, and busses them around to various and sundry restaurants, activities, and tourist attractions, many of which donate their food or service in exchange for exposure. The understanding, of course, is that the journalists will write an article for their respective publications based on their honest experience. To be clear, there’s absolutely no pressure from the client or the PR firm to include every business visited or activity completed in your story, nor is there any pressure to say or focus on something specific. Indeed, many travel writers ONLY write about beer and wine or outdoor adventures, and some ONLY write personality profiles (like, about a local craftsman or artist), although they experience MUCH MORE while on “press trips.”

Here’s a picture of our group from this last week (along with some of the trip organizers/sponsors), minus one journalist who left sooner than the rest of us. Our group included writers from Virginia, Texas, Kansas, California, Minnesota, Alabama, and Arkansas (me).

I say all this for context, since someone watching a travel writer’s social media posts could easily get the idea that it’s all fun and games (look at me on the lake!) and that there isn’t any work involved. But there is work involved–it’s up early every morning, and then it’s go-go-go. And whereas a short hike and a glass of wine with a reasonable meal sounds like a good day and absolutely nothing to bitch about, travel writing is all of that IN EXCESS. Yesterday we visited two state parks, a beer festival, and a privately leased lake. Two days before that we visited three wineries and one state park. At each stop, someone wants to share their story. So you have to pay attention. You have to remember names. You have to cultivate relationships. Even when you’re tired or your back hurts, you have to be pleasant. Then later, you have to sit down and sort through all your photos and notes, not to mention the six-inch pile of pamphlets, brochures, and business cards you’ve been handed throughout the week and miraculously managed to cram into your already overstuffed suitcase. Eventually you have to somehow make sense of the whole mess. Long after the good times are over and your memories have faded, you have to write a coherent story.

This is us working–taking pictures–at Standing Stone State Park.

Here’s a picture of the area we traversed this week, the Upper Cumberland in Tennessee. The Upper Cumberland is between Nashville and Knoxville. Every pink highlighter mark is somewhere at least part of our group went. Every circled city is somewhere I went personally. Reasonably, a person would visit one or two cities in a week. Maybe three. If I counted right, I visited thirteen. This is why my brain is currently mush.

All that being said, I’m not grousing; TRAVEL WRITING IS FUN. This last week I got to experience half a dozen state parks and many, many good meals that I never would have otherwise–essentially for free. The entire time, I only paid for one thing–a glass of wine (because alcohol, as a general rule, isn’t included with meals.) So that’s pretty fucking great–five days of lovely lodging, five days of being chauffeured around, and five days of adventures and excitement–all expenses paid. As they say, it’s nice work if you can get it.

So get this shit. After five days of the royal treatment, this morning at the Nashville airport I had to pay for my own breakfast. Like, my waitress brought ME the ticket and wouldn’t let me leave until I’d reached into my wallet and given her fourteen dollars and eighty-seven cents (plus tip). The nerve!

Harumph.

This was a serious reality check. A definite departure from Fantasy Land back into The World of Normal. As if that weren’t enough, on my first flight I ended up in THE MIDDLE SEAT (I HATE the middle seat) between TWO DUDES, one of whom was TWICE MY SIZE in height and girth and–I think, technically speaking–took up his entire seat and twenty-five percent of mine.

Just before the plane took off, I texted my friend Marla, “What did I do to make Jesus mad?”

Marla said Jesus was doing me a favor, easing me back into the life of living with my parents and watching Days of Our Lives.

Folded on top of myself and starting to break a sweat, I thought, This is the lord’s definition of easing?

Since this guy had the aisle seat, for two hours I tucked my elbows into my ribcage and leaned toward the window–into the other dude’s space. Now I’m pretty sure I have scoliosis. On top of that, this man (who did seem nice, by the way) FELL ASLEEP, which meant–because I’m a Southerner and didn’t want to disturb him–that I couldn’t ask him to stand up so I could use the bathroom. Which I really needed to do.

So I just held it.

This was ANOTHER reality check. Today’s proverbial fly in the ointment of this last week.

That Jesus–always looking out for me.

Now it’s 11:35 at night, and I’m home and settled in. All told, it took nine hours to make it back to Fort Smith. My Dad picked me up from the airport, and after we went out for Mexican food (I had to pay for that too!), I came home and took a three-hour nap. When I woke up, I unpacked and reorganized my things. This process took two hours, since I went straight from house sitting to this travel writing trip and therefore had multiple suitcases to sort through. Then I started laundry. I’m on my last load now. With any luck at all, I’ll be back in bed within thirty minutes, will sleep through the night, and will wake up tomorrow morning ready to face reality and whatever new adventures come my way.

Ugh. Even if I have to pay for them.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Of all the broken things in your life, you’re not one of them–and you never have been.

"

Richer (Blog #569)

1 Comment

Today in a nutshell–

1. Standing Stone State Park

This morning our travel writing group toured Standing Stone State Park. Honest to God, I have no idea where it was–somewhere in Tennessee, obviously. Today I learned that since Tuesday our group has visited ten cities in six or seven different counties. We’ve been all over God’s green earth, bussed around in mini-vans like soccer-playing, ballet-dancing children of suburbanites. It’s been amazing, of course, but also disorienting. Every hour I’ve ask, “Where the hell are we now?” Anyway–back to Standing Stone. It was built by the Works Progress Administration in the 1930s, and I learned today that the WPA was a lot like the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps), except the WPA employed older, married men, and the CCC did not.

2. Blues and Brews

Next we went to Blues and Brews Craft Beer Festival, an annual fundraiser for Cookeville’s PBS station. Y’all! They gave us VIP passes, which allowed us not only to listen to live blues music, but also to sample from eighty craft beers and eat all the tacos, nachos, and chicken wings we wanted. THIS WAS MY FAVORITE ACTIVITY THIS WEEK BY FAR, HANDS DOWN, AND WITHOUT A DOUBT (for sure). Seriously–free beer. What’s not to love? Marcus was one happy camper! And the best part? I worked the line with my friends Steve and Annie, and since Steve is HILARIOUS and Annie knows A LOT about beer, I was both entertained AND educated.

That’s Steve, Annie, and me in today’s featured photo.

Here’s a picture of Eric Matthews, my friends Tom and Jen, and me. Eric is a famous kayaker that several of our journalists met earlier this week and that I just met this afternoon. He gave me a pretzel. (Don’t be jealous.)

3. Edgar Evins State Park

After the Blues and Brews festival, we traveled to “yet another” state park–Edgar Evins. And here’s something fabulous–Edgar Evins is known for their lake–Center Hill Lake–which means we got to go out on a pontoon boat and toodle around the waters. Talk about a great way to relax after an afternoon of drinking! Plus, by this time the sun had come out (it was cloudy all morning), so the weather was just perfect.

Here’s a picture I took from the boat. I know, it’s ridiculous.

Here’s a picture of a sign I saw on the boat dock when we came back to land. It says, “Life doesn’t get any better than this!” When I first saw the sign I thought–You’re right, this is fabulous, and tomorrow I’ll be back in Fort Smith talking about Days of Our Lives with my parents; Lord, take me now!–I also thought, Well that’s not very optimistic.

I mean, who wants to believe, It’s all downhill from here?

4. Sunset Marina

Our final activity–both for today and for the trip–was dinner at Sunset Marina on Dale Hollow Lake, where Luke Bryan filmed his music video for “Sunrise, Sunburn, Sunset.” Ugh. It was so cool–the owner fed us dinner on a two-story house boat (that sleeps twelve and includes a hot tub on the roof of the second story), then we ate dessert and drank coffee while the boat (well, technically the driver) took us around the lake. Next to the beer thing, this was my other favorite activity, since it was so chill–we had a couple hours just to visit. There really is nothing like being around like-minded, creative people.

Here’s a picture of me and my friend Robin. We had the best conversation tonight. I’m SO thankful for her.

5. The hotel

After our farewell event, we were all dropped off at our respective hotels. Everyone flies out tomorrow. Anyway, when we got back, my friend Tom and I sat down to discuss swing dancing, writing, and life. Tom says “we went to different high schools together,” that we’re on the same conveyer belt (in other words, we have a lot in common), but he’s just farther down the line than I am. Again, what a delight to be around people who instantly accept you with open arms. From day one, Tom’s literally put his arm around my shoulders. “We’re brothers,” he says.

This is no small thing.

Now it’s 10:49, and as much as is possible, I’m already packed, since I have to be out of my room and ready to go at 5:00 in the morning. Yuck. But still, all I have to do is drag my ass to the car, let someone else do the driving, scoot through airport security, and make my way onto the plane. Well, two planes, but then I’ll be home. And whereas I’ll mostly like be worn to a frazzle and LOOK worse for the wear, I won’t be. Indeed, I’m already better for having been in Tennessee this week. I’m richer both in experiences and in relationships. My heart’s more open than it was before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

No emotion is ever truly buried.

"

In Stride (Blog #568)

Leave a comment

Today’s adventures in travel writing–

1. Grinder House Coffee

This morning officially started at 6:45, at which time I checked out of the cabin I’ve been staying in since arriving in Tennessee and met the other journalists and staff for breakfast at Grinder House Coffee in Crossville. What a delightful way to start the day. It was probably the coolest coffee shop I’ve ever been in, and both the staff and the food (I had a lemon zest waffle) were delightful.

Delightful, I say.

2. Cane Creek Falls

Our entire group spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon at Fall Creek Falls State Park, Tennessee’s most-visited state park and home to several waterfalls. Y’all, it was gorgeous–like something you’d see out of a movie–literally. The 1994 version of The Jungle Book was filmed at this park! Check out the below picture of Cane Creek Falls, the waterfall Mowgli jumps into in this scene of the movie. It’s 85 feet from the top of the falls to the bottom. (Apparently King Kong and The Pink Power Ranger–or at least their stunt doubles–have also jumped off this cliff.)

Here’s a picture of me and three other journalists–my friends David and Kay (they’re married) and Annie–at the top of Cane Creek Falls.

Here’s a picture of me and my friend Tom at Cane Creek Cascades, which is just above Cane Creek Falls. A cascade is a waterfall that descends in steps or intervals; a plunge waterfall–like Cane Creek Falls–is one that descends unimpeded.

Notice the swinging bridge above the cascades in the above photo. This bridge was also used in The Jungle Book, although the movie-makers covered it in vines and leaves for the film. Here’s a selfie I took just before walking across the bridge. (I ran back. Then I read the sign that said, “No running.” Thankfully, neither of the two rangers who were guiding our tour gave me a hard time. Phew. That was close. I’m such a law-breaker.)

3. Fall Creek Falls

Next we saw Fall Creek Falls–the state park’s namesake–first from above, then from below. And whereas you can’t tell from the below photograph, Fall Creek Falls is over twice the height of Cane Creek Falls. It’s 256 feet high, the largest plunge waterfall east of the Mississippi. Check it out. (There’s not a lot of water because it’s dam-controlled, and the dam is currently being repaired.) Notice the orange patina on the rocks. Basically, it’s rust, the result of naturally occurring iron oxide mixing with an abundance of water. One more thing about the picture, for scale–the thee non-orange rocks to the left of the pool of water are people. There are actually five people in the photo.

After seeing Fall Creek Falls, we ate a sack lunch then checked out two overlooks in the park. Here’s a picture from the second overlook of what our guide told me is one of the most photographed trees in Tennessee and maybe America. I said, “I had no idea I was standing RIGHT NEXT to a celebrity.”

4. Ozone Falls

Next we went to Ozone Falls, which is another plunge waterfall (in a different park) and 110 feet high. Again, we got to see it from above and from below. Well, we had the option to see it from below, since it was a bit of a strenuous hike to get down there. And whereas I ripped up part of my left boot while navigating rocks to see this feat of nature, it was more than worth it.

It’s just a boot.

5. Black Mountain

Our last outdoor stop today was Black Mountain. And whereas the other places we visited today were all over God’s creation, this one was back in Crossville, one of the two towns we’ve been back and forth between all week and the one in which (until tonight) I’ve been staying. Anyway, check out this spectacular view.

Here’s a picture from Black Mountain that includes me and one of the other journalists, my friend Jill.

6. Forte’s

For dinner tonight we ate in Crossville at Forte’s Restaurant, an Italian place. Y’all, it was the perfect thing–wonderful food and delightful company. This is a such a terrific group. We’ve shared stories and jokes all day long. We’ve laughed, laughed, laughed. At least I have.

7. One other thing

Despite it being a wonderful day, I’m exhausted on every level, since today was a lot of being in the sun, a lot hiking mountains and valleys, a lot of go-go-go. And one other thing–just before dinner I took a stroll around downtown by myself, and some guy in a truck drove by and yelled, “Queer!” And I don’t know, it was–uh–unsettling, since it was the first time in my entire life that’s happened. Strange, I know–so many gays have much worse experiences way before they turn 38. Anyway, that was it. It could have been better, it could have been worse. They kept driving, and I went back to the restaurant. Still, I’m not sure where to put the experience other than in the “shit happens” drawer.

After dinner we drove an hour to Cookeville, where I checked into The Towneplace Suites, and the front desk employee said, “Two double queens?” and my first thought was, Is it THAT fucking obvious?! And NO, asshole! If you MUST know, I’m a SINGLE QUEEN. But then I realized he was talking about the beds in my room and said, “That’ll be fine, thank you.”

Now it’s 11:13, and I have a headache. I keep staring at the beds because I’d rather be there than here. Isn’t that so often the case, not wanting to be where we are? We hear a good joke or have a good day and want it to last, last, last. But this isn’t life. Sooner or later someone or something almost always comes along to spoil the fun. This morning at breakfast my friend Tom said, “A tourist comes to see what they expect to see; a traveler comes to see what he sees.” For me, this is another way of saying that we’re happier when we accept whatever comes along, when we take all of life–the good and the bad, the mountains and the valleys–in stride.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

We can rewrite our stories if we want to.

"

The Griswolds, Pirate Sam, and Devil Bullshit Ale (#566)

Leave a comment

Holy crap. It’s 8:00 in the morning, and I’ve been awake since 5:30. How did I get myself into this?

I should back up.

Yesterday I arrived in Tennessee for a travel writing trip, and after lunch in Cookeville was deposited in Crossville at Cumberland Mountain State Park. Um–y’all–the cabin I’m staying in is straight out of the 1930s. Like, I bet it was been THE SHIT back in the day. (The Griswolds would have loved it.) As it is now–well–let’s just say it’s rustic. And big–it’s way big. I’ve got the whole place–cabin 24–all to myself. Which is a little lonely. But hey, I can run around naked.

Don’t worry, Mom, I shut the blinds.

This is one of those “bring your own” places. What I mean is that it has a coffee pot, but no coffee. (Bring your own.) Likewise, it has plates, dishes, and cooking equipment, but no food. (Bring your own.) This is fine, of course, but after I went to the bathroom yesterday and wanted to wash my hands, I realized there wasn’t any soap–or shampoo or conditioner. (UH–bring your own.) That being said, I DID find a small bottle of Palmolive, which worked for washing my hands, but I thought, I DON’T WANT TO SHOWER WITH THIS STUFF!

Call me stuck up, but we all have standards.

Thankfully, the group that’s organizing this trip picked up soap, shampoo, and conditioner for me and the rest of the journalists staying in the cabins. (We’re in Crossville; some other journalists are in hotels in Cookeville.) So all is well.

Cookeville, which is an hour away from Crossville, is where most of our activities are taking place this week. This means that for us cabin-dwellers, there’s a lot of driving (or rather, being driven) back and forth. This also means we have to be ready to hit the road at 6:00 most mornings, since breakfast starts at 7:00. And whereas I’m not in love with the early-bird thing, it’s going to work out. This morning when my alarm went off, I got dressed, shoved a chocolate-covered donut in my mouth, then simply poured myself into a minivan and let someone else (who got less sleep than I did) do the driving to breakfast. In other words, it may be a tired life, but it’s not a difficult one.

One of the positives to being in the car so much is that it gives me time to blog, so there’s always a silver lining. With such a packed schedule, I’m not sure I could make time for it otherwise without giving up valuable sleep hours.

Last night the Tennessee Tourism Department hosted a reception for us journalists. (I think there are 12 of us.) Y’all, they really went over the top–the reception was in a huge barn, and there were about a dozen local vendors to welcome us–a barbecue restaurant, a coffee shop, a distillery, a jewelry store, an outdoors store, a yoga retreat center–you name it. There was even a pirate–Pirate Sam–who works with a canoeing group on the Caney River. He’s their mascot. Talk about cool.

Here’s a picture of me and Pirate Sam discussing very serious pirate things. ARG. Buried treasure. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.

The craft beer people at the reception last night were with Calfkiller Brewing Company, and they told me they were recently voted the #3 worst-named beer brewing business in the US. (They’re actually named after a local river, not after animal-harming activities.) But I guess unique names is their thing. One of their beers is called Scorched Hooker, and another one, which I tried last night, is called Sergio’s Ol’ Evil Ass Devil Bullshit Ale. (Say that three times fast.) The company employees I spoke with said sometimes they just call it Sergio’s.

I wonder why.

Yesterday one of the other travel writers referred to Tennessee as The Swag State, meaning that the tourism department and businesses here are famous for giving away free shit to journalists. And boy was he right. Last night I walked away with half a dozen grab bags full of goodies (including the donut I ate this morning). When I got back to the cabin and sorted it all out, I found–among other things–hand sanitizer, a lint roller, coffee beans, a mug, a hand towel, three small travel bags, and several pieces of handmade jewelry.

And get this shit. Apparently Cookeville boasts a famous Crossfit athlete (Crossfit is, as one journalist said, “Where people workout and shit”), and he and his extremely-large-muscled friends were at last night’s event. Seriously, I’ve never seen so many bulges in all my life. Or felt so gaunt. One guy’s boobs were so big, I swear you could have balanced a dinner plate full of fried chicken on them. At least a saucer and a tea cup. (Imagine that–a tea cup on a d-cup.) When we first saw him, one of my friends said, “You know that t-shirt he’s wearing is a small.” No kidding! It was SO TIGHT. Anyway, the Crossfit swag bag included a postcard of the famous dude showing off his ripped abs and bare chest.

Oh-la-la.

[Note: I stopped blogging here for a while and picked it back up after lunch.]

This morning after an early breakfast at a coffee shop in Cookeville, another journalist and I, along with one of the trip organizers and a state park employee, went kayaking on Byrd Lake, which is part of the Cumberland Mountain State Park here in Crossville. And whereas I’d anticipated it being cold and miserable, it was truly delightful. Just the perfect, relaxing thing on a cool, sunny day.

Check this picture out. I love how the water reflects the trees and sky.

While kayaking, I learned that Cumberland Mountain State Park and Byrd Lake were built during the years following The Depression by the Civilian Conservation Corps, a government program created by Franklin D. Roosevelt as part of The New Deal in order to both provide for America’s single, unmarried men (and their immediate families) and conserve and expand the nation’s natural resources and parks. In fact, our last stop while kayaking was the local dam and bridge, which is the largest masonry project built by the CCC during its entire history.

After kayaking, we went to lunch. Now we’re on a break (back at my retro-fabulous cabin), which is good–I can finish this blog. Shortly, the same group that went kayaking and I will go for a hike, then tonight we’ll meet everyone else for dinner. So far, I’m having wonderful time. Everyone I’m meeting is super southern sweet, even those who aren’t from “around these parts.” In terms of food, I’m moderating more than I did the last time I went on a travel writing trip by drinking less beer, watching my portions, and not eating every damn dessert in sight. Plus, I’m doing the hiking thing. So that’s something–having caloric boundaries and exercising.

Woowho.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

We always have more support than we realize.

"

This Is Where I Came From (Blog #381)

Leave a comment

Currently I’m in Hot Springs, Arkansas, back in my home state after almost a full week in Tennessee. Y’all, I’m sorry, but sometimes I give my home state a lot of shit. Maybe not out loud, but I think, Life could be better somewhere else. But coming across the state line today along with two other writers and a member of the public relations group that brought us all together as travel writers, I felt a sense of pride. I thought, This is my home. I’m not saying I’m going to live here forever, but I am saying I realized that I know and love this place. This is where I came from. This is the land of my family. It’s beautiful.

Backing up, I slept in this morning, which was nice, and the four of us left Jackson, Tennessee, around noon-thirty. Basically we spent the day traveling. We hit some traffic, stopped in Little Rock for Gus’s Fried Chicken, and rolled into Hot Springs around six. They have us split up, but I’m staying at a new hotel on Central Avenue (the main drag in Hot Springs) called The Waters. I believe it used to be a hotel in the 1940s and reopened about 14 months ago. Y’all, it’s gorgeous, the perfect blend of old meets new. I walked in the room and thought, This is frickin’ fantastic. What a good life.

I seriously was like a little kid–checking out all the drawers, the sliding barn door to the bathroom, the view of Central Avenue. And then–and then–I saw a gift basket. I’m sure now that it was left by the local travel bureau or tourism department specifically for me (and the other writers in their respective rooms), but at first I thought it was full of hotel items for sale. Am I supposed to open this? I thought. (I finally decided I was supposed to open it.) Y’all, there was all kinds of swag–candy, chocolate, bath salts, skin conditioner, soap, and even handcrafted olive oil. Talk about being spoiled. Later I told my dad about all the free gifts and wonderful food this week, and he said, “Don’t expect that kind of treatment when you come home.”

Thanks, Dad.

After checking into the hotel, I met the rest of the crew for dinner, which–I don’t mind saying–was delicious. It was as good as any meal I’ve had all week, even though it wasn’t on our official schedule (which doesn’t start until tomorrow evening when all the other travel writers arrive.) That being said, I had a little issue at dinner, a small, um, encounter. (I still can’t decide whether or not I handled it well.) Here’s what happened–I ordered a beer (on draft), and the waitress brought me a different kind without saying anything. When I noticed the switch, a conversation ensued, and she said that they were out of what I ordered, but that was she brought me was similar. This was said without apology or further explanation. Admittedly, I got passive aggressive and sarcastic. I said, “Thanks for asking me.”

Snarky, I know.

A person’s internal experience is valid.

In response, the waitress said that she could comp the beer or get me something else. I said, “Let me have a moment to try it and process things, then I’ll decide.” Well, when she walked away, I said, “That was awkward.” And I know it was. Even now, I think about the way my colleagues responded, and it was slightly stressful. But it did get better. First, I actually liked the beer. (Drink half of any beer on an empty stomach, and you’ll probably like it too.) Second, the waitress came back and apologized. By that point, I was clear about how to handle it. Calmly I said, “I wish you would have asked me before making any substitutions. That should have been my choice, not yours.” And whereas it was still awkward, at least I spoke my truth. This is the “big win” for me–a year or two ago I would have “been nice,” worried about people pleasing more than expressing my dissatisfaction, said everything was “just fine.” But after all these years of therapy, I believe a person’s internal experience is valid. Not that you have to flip over tables and refuse to pay for services rendered when things don’t go your way, but as a customer and as a human being, it’s okay to say, “This bothers me.”

Even if it’s awkward for someone else.

After dinner, it was back to everything being wonderful. My friends dropped me off at the hotel, and I went next door to The Ohio Club, the oldest (longest running) bar in the state or Arkansas, apparently. (It’s named the Ohio Club because Northerners–carpet baggers–came to the south after the Civil War and named businesses after their home state.) Y’all, it had a stunning backbar (2,000 pounds), live blues music, and–most importantly–a great waitress, Tina. I sat for a couple hours, drank more beer, had some fried mushrooms. (No self-control.) While this went on, Tina told me about the bar (there are bullet holes in the original tin ceiling, and the roulette table on the wall was found in a hidden passage from prohibition days), as well Hot Springs (the city was home to the gangster that The Great Gatsby was based on, a guy named Owney Madden, who had a long affair with Mae West, who used to work in The Ohio Club).

Crazy, right?

Now it’s twelve-thirty in the morning, and I’m back in my gorgeous room, within reaching distance of the gift-bag chocolate. It’s already halfway gone. Since we don’t have plans until tomorrow evening, I don’t have to set an alarm for the morning. I can’t tell you how much this excites me. Also, it excites me to see my progress. At one point I would have been nervous on a trip like this, unsure of how to handle myself, thinking I needed to act a certain way in order to fit in or make someone else happy. And whereas I plan to continue to be professional and do my job, now I’m clear–I’m going to be me, I’m going to live and speak my truth, as much as I’m able. This is what coming home really is for me, being comfortable in my skin wherever I am, whatever the situation. Again, I’m coming to love this place, this beautiful self, this land that has been patiently waiting for me to come back to it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Just because your face is nice to look at doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart that’s capable of being broken. These things happen to humans, and there isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

"

Stuffed (with Gratitude) (Blog #380)

Leave a comment

Y’all. Stick a fork in me, I’m done. Today was our group’s last day in Jackson (Western Tennessee), and all we did was eat, eat, and eat some more. I currently feel like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man–all squishy. My skin is going nuts; it’s red and inflamed. It’s like all the sugar and alcohol from this week are looking for an escape route out of my liver. More likely, my liver is fed up with my recent behavior and has handed over its clean-up duties to my skin, like, Here–you take care of this muscadine wine and fried apple pie. I should probably help out the team and stop eating so much.

Once I get home to Arkansas, The Detox is on.

Now let’s talk about how I got myself into this dietary mess. This morning started with a trip to the local farmers market, which sounds healthy enough, but the Amish were there with their God Bless-ed Pastries. Then there was a food truck called Cock-A-Doodle Dough that was full of gigantic donuts. I didn’t actually buy any of these sugar-laden delights, but others did and offered to share them. In an effort to be gracious–and only in an effort to be gracious–I hesitantly accepted their offer and somehow managed to choke down several gooey bites that were each roughly the size of a baseball.

Ack. It was terrible. The things I do to be gracious.

Here’s a picture of what I’ll be choking down next week.

After the farmers market, we visited an area downtown called The Local. Y’all, it’s the coolest thing. The city got a grant to build tiny rentable spaces for small businesses that are just getting started and need affordable rent.  I checked out all the shops, and one lady made candles and bath bombs, and one guy had a wonderful vintage clothing store called The Lost Reserve. I was this close to buying an original E.T. (the movie) t-shirt from him, but it a size small and–well–donuts. Another girl had a store cuter than all of Pinterest combined, and there was a shirt that said, “I wish I were full of tacos instead of emotions.” Amen, sister. Amen.

And I basically am.

After The Local, we went to an old Carnegie Library, which is now a rock and roll museum largely dedicated to Carl Perkins. If you don’t know, Carl Perkins was the singer who wrote “Blue Suede Shoes,” made famous by Elvis Presley, and he was born right here in Jackson. And whereas the folks at Graceland told me that Elvis never owned a pair of blue suede shoes, Carl Perkins apparently owned a pair of blue suede boots, since they were in his collection of things that I saw today. Here’s another fun fact I learned at the museum–the first Hard Rock Cafe was opened in Jackson. It’s closed now, but the guy who opened it is from here, although now he’s apparently a spiritual disciple of Sai Baba, an Indian guru. (Sai Baba is technically no longer alive, but I guess it doesn’t matter when you’re following someone who claims to be an eternal deity.)

For lunch we ate at an old railway hotel (a hotel by a railway) called The Chandelier. It was crazy good–I had fried green tomatoes, fried chicken with black-eyed peas on top of mashed potatoes, and–for dessert–chocolate creme brûlée. I practically had to roll myself out the front door. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I recently invested in stretchy jeans. Talk about one of man’s best inventions. Seriously, whoever came up with those things should get a Nobel Peace Prize. I can only imagine they’ve made A LOT of people like me extremely happy.

After lunch our group split up, but I went with several folks to Century Farms, a local winery. Y’all, I lost count, but I think I sampled thirteen wines (along with a bunch of cheese, fruit, and chocolate). One of wines was elderberry, which I requested because I’d been told at the farmers market that it was “medicinal,” great for fighting off colds and flus. So yeah, I was drinking, but basically it was like a prescription. Anyway, along with the tasting, we also got to learn about the wine-making process, which I found fascinating. I’ll spare you most of the details, but here’s a picture of the fermentation process where yeast eats sugar and converts it to alcohol, letting off CO2–bubbles–as a byproduct.

Our next stop was–uh–more drinking, this time at a local distillery, Samuel T. Bryant. There we sampled what amounted to whiskey, scotch, tequila, and a few different types of moonshine. (You can’t technically call it scotch or tequila unless it comes from Scotland or Mexico.) Again, we got to learn about how the liquor was made, but the complicated details kind of made my head spin (or maybe that was the alcohol). Actually, the owner said that hangovers are usually caused by bottom-shelf alcohol, meaning that they haven’t been distilled or purified as well (into ethanol) and thus have more toxins (methanol). However, the most interesting thing I learned today was that prohibition had little to do with morality. Rather, it was all about money. See, America used to be full of farmers, and farm equipment could run on alcohol. So rather than pay for oil and gasoline, farmers made their own fuel in the form of moonshine. Well, this didn’t go over well with the oil company owners. Enter prohibition, which stayed around just long enough for farming equipment to be re-engineered to run on only oil and gas and not alcohol. At that point, the ban on alcohol was lifted.

Or at least that’s what the guy today said. I just Googled it, and there are plenty of people who disagree. (Welcome to America.)

The last stop today was a long one, the Casey Jones Museum, which is part of a “village” or shopping center that includes several historical buildings and one gigantic restaurant, Brook Shaw’s Old Country Store. But back to the museum. Casey Jones was a railroad engineer at the end of the 1800s and had a reputation for always being on time. Well, one ill-fated night, in an effort to be punctual, ole Casey was speeding, barreling down the tracks at 75 to 100 miles per hour. Unfortunately, another train was stalled on the tracks just miles from Casey’s intended destination. You can imagine what happened next–physics. In other words, there was a big crash. (Let this be a lesson to all you people who refuse to be late wherever you go.) Anyway, since Casey saw the crash coming, he was able to slow down the train and save nearly everyone on board–except himself. (He stayed on the train to pull the brakes.) Later, when people started writing songs about Casey’s brave act, he quickly became a national hero and folk legend.

Y’all, the museum really was cool. Casey’s actual house is on-site, as well as the pocket watch he had on him when he died. Plus, there was a lot of train memorabilia, and as someone who grew up loving trains, I was in heaven.

After the museum, we checked out some of the other historic buildings, then we wrapped the whole trip up with an “all you can enjoy” country-cooking buffet. And just like the rest of the week, my self-control was nowhere to be found. After fried chicken and macaroni and cheese (and a salad!), I had blackberry cobbler, peach cobbler, half an apple fried pie, and two-thirds of a chocolate milkshake.

Halfway through the milkshake, my insulin put in its two-weeks notice.

Now it’s two-and-a-half hours later (11:30 PM), and I’m still experiencing the consequences of my bad choices. BUT–I’ve had a glorious–absolutely wonderful–time this week on my first travel-writing tour. I’ve eaten a ton of fabulous food, seen some amazing places, and met some even better people. (Pictured at the top of the blog are two of them–Jill and Paul). So I have no regrets–only gratitude. Plus, I get to sleep in tomorrow before driving (technically riding) to Hot Springs, Arkansas, and doing it all over again. What is there NOT to be grateful for?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Healing is never a straight line.

"

Carbohydrates and Bald Eagles (Blog #379)

Leave a comment

Y’all, today was another great day. Well, except for the fact that I had to wake up at six-fifteen. In the morning. But really–and I wouldn’t want this information to get around–I can actually function at early hours. Who knew? The sunrise doesn’t kill me. Like, I didn’t turn to stone, melt, or anything. I just dragged my luggage downstairs, hopped in a car, and off we went–out of Memphis and into the heart of Western Tennessee. (This press tour is all over the map.) Our first stop, about an hour outside of Memphis, was Brownsville, the home of the Delta Heritage Center and Tina Turner Museum. (Tina was born nearby.) It was great. Again, this is such a cool gig–they had donuts and coffee waiting for us.

I’m getting so fat.

Leaving Brownsville, we drove another hour or so to Union City, home to Discovery Park of America, basically a hands-on science museum for kids, but so much more. There’s a collection of arrow heads and old cars, a Japanese garden, and even an earthquake simulator. The park was started by the founder of Kirkland’s, the home goods store. (He was born in Union City and donated a hundred million dollars to the museum in order to give back to his community.) After eating lunch at the museum, we only had an hour or so to look around, but it really was a treat. A new friend of mine took the above photo of me with the Buddha, and later we both went down the world’s second-fastest slide, which was cleverly disguised as a giant metal man. (See the picture below. You enter just below his neck on the third floor and exit out his left leg on the second.)

Whoosh!

When we left Discovery Park, we went to Reelfoot Lake–uh–somewhere not too far away from Union City. (I wasn’t driving.) Reelfoot used to be only swamplands, but turned into a fourteen-thousand-acre lake about two hundred years ago after a series of earthquakes changed the topography of the land and the flow of the Mississippi River. Anyway, we spent the rest of the afternoon there, riding around on a pontoon boat, checking out the cypress trees and various birds. Notice in the picture below that the cypress tress spread out at the bottom and even grow their roots ABOVE the water in order to survive in such wet conditions.

We even got to see a few bald eagles, which the park rangers had in captivity because they were injured. Here’s a picture of one. Notice that it only has one foot. (That’s how they found it.) Another fun fact–bald eagles have a pretty wimpy, squeaky-toy-like screech. Not scary at all. For this reason, many movies that feature bald eagles dub over the cry of a red-tailed hawk, since it’s much more bitchin’ and intimidating.

For dinner we drove into Jackson, Tennessee, and ate at Rock N Dough Pizza and Brewery. It was awesome–cool atmosphere, a great staff. But OMG, I had so many carbs–salad, bread sticks, pizza, some donut thing for dessert, and beer. (I’ve got to get a grip.) Still, it was FRICKIN’ delicious. Plus, I DID have the flu for three weeks, so I figure this is all about balance. I can afford to indulge for a week.

Now we’re all settled into our respective hotel rooms (in Jackson), and I for one am ready to pass out. This trip is amazing, but it’s go-go-go, and tomorrow will be another full day. In other words, Daddy needs to wrap this up and get a solid-night’s rest. But seriously–it’s ten at night and I’m getting ready to go to bed? What has happened to me? (The sunrise–that’s what has happened to me.) Okay, I’m off to brush my teeth. May all your best memories involve carbohydrates and bald eagles.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

We’re all made of the same stuff.

"

Moving Small Universes (Blog #62)

Leave a comment

This morning I woke up on the couch with Bonnie on the other end jumping up and down like a five-year-old saying, “It’s food truck day! It’s food truck day!”

So–of course–I got up and got dressed.

There’s a park in Nashville with a full-scale replica of the Parthenon. Random, I know, but it’s been around for over a hundred years. I don’t know if this part is seasonal or not, but they have a small fleet of food trucks at the park on Wednesdays. And really, that was all we had planned today. That was the only reason I got out of bed.

Here’s a picture of me on the way to the food trucks. Bonnie took it and said it belonged on Hot Dudes Reading on Instagram. Food trucks and compliments–now there’s a way to start a day!

Here’s the Parthenon. My dad told me that he saw it when he was younger, which is weird for me to think about. (So I won’t.)

By the time we got to the food trucks, I was so hungry that I didn’t take any pictures, so use your imagination for that part. (I had a grilled cheese with barbecue chicken.) We went for a walk afterwards. Here’s a picture of Bonnie sitting in a tree along the way.

Lest you get all excited and wish that you could have tried it, Bonnie said she was sitting in ants. (Ouch.) Todd said, “Aren’t you glad they weren’t fire ants?” (Double ouch.)

This was just before we left. And yes, it was as beautiful as it looks.

When we got back to the apartment, we all took naps, and when we woke up, Bonnie and I ate apples and peanut butter and had a conversation that started with, “Todd’s playing video games tonight. What do you want to do?” and ended with religion and spirituality.

I saw a post on Pinterest today, a quote by Alexandria Hotmer that said, “If we would just take a moment to look around, we would find that the universe in constant communication with us.” I can’t tell how much I love this idea, the notion that the universe is conscious, alive, and intelligent. The older I get, the more I think and believe that life is particularly interested in each of us, moving small universes in order to get our attention. So I told Bonnie that I was personally always looking for signs.

About seven-thirty this evening, Bonnie said there was a Train concert in town tonight. I said, “Oh, when does it start?”

“Thirty minutes ago.”

Then Bonnie added that there was an unrelated post on her Facebook page that said, “Life’s short. Buy the concert tickets.” Well, how much more of a sign do you need? So we bought the tickets. Even better, we landed some great seats at a great price.

On the way to the show, I kept thinking that I hated missing the opening acts–Natasha Bedingfield and O.A.R. I mean, I’m that guy who will just about pee on himself at a movie theater because he doesn’t want to miss a thing. But what do you do? It was either show up late or not show up at all.

When we got there, O.A.R. was finishing their set, and even after Train started, it took me a while to get settled and get present. I kept thinking about what happened before I got there. But then everyone stood up, and Pat Monahan started singing “Calling All Angels.” Even now, if you put a gun to my head and asked me to list all my favorite songs, that one wouldn’t make the list. But for some reason, when the music started, I closed my eyes as if I were praying. The first verse started, “I need a sign to let me know you’re here.” All I can say is that it felt like the universe itself had moved to get my attention. And when Bonnie put her hand on my shoulder, I started crying.

Honestly, I can’t tell you exactly what it was all about, but I know that I’ve shoved down a lot of crying over the years, so I’m grateful for anything that helps bring up the tears. Plus just this afternoon I was saying that I like to look for signs, and that’s exactly what the first verse was about. The second first started, “I need to know that things are gonna look up,” and if that’s not a prayer, I don’t know what is. So by the time the chorus said, “I won’t give up if you won’t give up,” it really felt like God and the universe were answering.

I guess some people would say that I was talking to myself–that God didn’t have anything to do with it. But when all the stars align to bring you to a place at just the right moment, and in that place there’s hope, and in that moment there’s healing–well–just what do you think God is?

The rest of the concert was beautiful. I cried again during “Bruises,” which is a song that I love but until tonight has never caused me to cry. I guess there’s something powerful about live music, speakers that force you to feel, drums that practically beat your heart for you, and friends that touch your shoulder right when the singer says, “Please don’t change a thing, whatever you do.”

When the concert was over, Bonnie and I walked up and down Broadway, and we both bought lapis rings made by a local artist. (I adore lapis.) When I got my ring, I was still thinking about the concert. Pat sang “Marry Me,” and a couple got engaged on stage. Of course, I don’t have anyone right now, but sometimes I have dreams at night about getting married, which I understand can represent the marriage of the self, the joining together of all your fragmented parts. So tonight I put the ring on my marriage finger because I’m promising myself that I’m going to put myself back together. Even when no one else is here for me, I’ll be here for me.

Here’s a picture of Bonnie’s ring. You’ll have to stop staring at the burgers in order to see it.

My ring pretty much looks the same as Bonnie’s. Since we didn’t take a picture of it, here’s this instead.

Really, I shouldn’t have eaten the whole burger. Or all of the fries. But I did. And since I’m not a quitter, I ate a brownie and ice cream dessert that came in a glass bigger than my head. It wasn’t a pretty scene, but it sure was tasty.

Here’s a picture of Bonnie and me with our awesome waitress, Jenna. Jenna moved to Nashville in February and recently got a tattoo of her girlfriend’s name below her breast, by her lungs because “she’s the air that I breathe.” Stories like this one make me wish that I talked to strangers more often.

After dinner, after midnight, we walked around downtown for over an hour, basically so I could pay for my food transgressions and ask forgiveness for everything I’ve ever thought about people who wear pants with elastic waistbands. As we walked, I thought about how glad I was that I let life take me to the concert tonight, that I didn’t insist on staying home because we couldn’t be there for the whole thing. Clearly, we didn’t need to be. Personally, I’d show up late again just to be there for that one song, just to be in the moment, to let go ever so slightly.

As Bonnie said, “It was like church.”

There’s a story about a young avatar, an enlightened child, to whom the town elders in an effort to trick him said, “We’ll give you an orange if you can tell us where God is.” But the boy knew the truth. He said, “I’ll give you two oranges if you can tell me where God is not.” So more and more, I believe that divinity is all around me, hiding behind a drum’s beat or a song’s lyric sung at just the right moment. And I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend’s hand, and the very air we breathe.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

"