My grandmother--Grandmother Shirley, the coal miner's wife, the stubborn Midwestern spitfire, the fixer of mashed potatoes and conquerer of crossword puzzles, a woman who loves Wild Turkey and Lifetime movies and her family, the woman who raised her only child to be my incredible father--is coming to the end of her life.
That tough old bird was diagnosed with lung cancer and given six months to live. That was five years ago. The cancer hasn't put too much of a crimp on her style, but she does hate the oxygen she's had to wear for the last few months. She just stopped mowing her own acre+ yard recently.
After her first round of chemo in years yesterday, she passed out in the passenger seat on the way home. Her blood CO2 levels are far beyond what would be fatal for most people. They revived her quickly and now she's awake and alert, joking with us over the phone. But her CO2 levels aren't budging. She says she's ready to go and the time is near. The doctors don't disagree. She says she isn't afraid to die, just afraid to suffer.
Daddy's on his way up right now. Mama and I are taking things minute-to-minute, trying to decide what on earth to do, given that I am supposed to leave for Boston in less than 48 hours. When it rains, it 500-year floods.
at my cousin Matthew's wedding in 2008. from left, my cousin Jeannie, Grandmother Shirley, my mother. my father is above.
I'm not a pray-er but I am a believer in positive vibes. Send your warm thoughts up to Northern Missouri right now to my Daddy and my Grandmother Shirley and our whole family as we celebrate the hell out of a life lived well.
Discussion Question:
If death is a part of life, why is it so hard to let the people we love go?
Nick and I made it out of town around noon Monday, headed due west on I-40. I love how quickly the familiar Tennessee Valley gives way to hills and then mountains. For whatever reason I spent half the ride in a truly venomous mood, irritated with Nick and with the dog's incessantly digging toenails. Luckily, a first screening of Eminem's fantastic new album did much to rescue me from my aimless ire, as did a stop in Knoxville to inhale Zaxby's in the parking lot and talk endless shit about how totally unappealing Knoxville is.
Towards Asheville, the mountains began to rise impossibly out of the ground straight up for the sky, like the trees were rooted in each other's branches.
me and Boudreaux
Nick and Boudreaux
What if Boudreaux was the same size as us?
We reached our roadside motel around dinner time and lazily spent the evening eating Italian takeout and indulging in cable TV. I have to admit that the motel is delightful. Our room faced the backyard, which featured grills and picnic tables and a horseshoe pit and a pool and two massive poles that stretched up and up to hold a huge Exxon sign that bathed the yard in a soft blue light at night. Boudreaux in particular loved the motel's resident bunnies, which scampered across the grounds silently throughout the night.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but that does not look like an Exxon.
I hope you brought your own horseshoes.
Boudreaux says: Can't talk now, mom; there are bunnies.
Since we were due at Edisto Beach early afternoon, we got up early Tuesday to hit the road. Before Nick got up, I walked down to the breakfast buffet. Feeling virtuous, I passed over the pastries in favor of a big bowl of oatmeal and a few apples stashed in my purse for the road. Then I poured myself a bowl of Froot Loops and inhaled it standing up, since everyone knows it doesn't count if you're standing up.
Nick should have had more Froot Loops.
We drove southeast on 26 out of North Carolina and straight through South Carolina. The mountains rolled and rolled into hills and finally level coastal ground. We stopped for half a peck of peaches at a farm stand. The peaches are gorgeous, like jewels. While standing in the shade outside with Boudreaux, I am 90% sure I was solicited for sex. What kind of prostitute wears wicking clothes and brings her dog along? Apparently they do things a little differently in South Carolina.
We also stopped at a Piggly Wiggly for some groceries. All the signs inside were hand drawn with considerable panache. When I complimented the manager and told him it had been ages since I'd been in a store with handmade signs, he smiled and asked, "What do you mean?"
I found a pink Silly Band in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot that is shaped like god knows. Of course, I added it to my collection. Facebook blew up with suggestions, and though many were hilarious, none really convinced me.
A parrot? George Jetson's hair?
After that, it was a long flat empty drive to Edisto Beach State Park.
NEXT TIME: Setting up camp
Discussion Question:
wtf is that Silly Band??
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This is part four in my series about my August of Camping and Tramping.
I can't believe our August of Camping and Tramping is already over! We got back to Nashville yesterday, and Nick and I are both recovering and being spoiled at our parents' houses for a few days before we LEAVE FOR BOSTON SUNDAY!
How about some trip stats?
Miles traveled: 4,004 Days traveling: 26 Hours driving: 72+ Route: Atlanta, GA to Franklin, TN to Edisto Beach, SC to Franklin, TN to Jefferson National Forest, VA to Shaker Village, KY to Charleston, WV to Shenandoah National Forest, VA to Hatteras, NC to Emerald Isle, NC to Wilmington, NC to Conway, SC to Atlanta, GA to Franklin TN
This balls-out crazy trip surpasses our former record-breaking trips: Atlanta to NYC to Atlanta (1760 miles/30 hours) and Austin to Nashville to Chicago [to Berlin via plane] to Nashville to Austin (2682 miles/44 hours, not counting the plane trip to Berlin). We love to drive but even we have to admit that this was a little nuts. But my LORD was it fun!
As you can imagine, I have a lot of posting to do about our adventures! I'll be getting stuff up one post at a time over the next few weeks. Now that I've learned to use Blogger's handy-dandy blog-scheduling tool, with any luck I'll have blogs posting even after we leave for Boston Sunday. Have I mentioned that I'm moving to Boston on Sunday? I digress. If you want a little ~sneak peek~ of our adventures, check out my flickr for lots of pictures.
Stay tuned for all kinds of assorted fun.
Discussion Question:
What is the longest road trip you've ever taken?
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This is part three in my series about my August of Camping and Tramping.
"The Atlantic is not my Gulf, that much is true. She's choppier and grittier and colder, less inviting--just, I suppose, as she should be. But she's my ocean now."
I was splashing around knee-deep in the water at Edisto Beach when I composed these lines rather dreamily, dragging my fingers through the surf and squinting in the low sun. I got to But she's my ocean now at exactly the moment a three-foot wave overtook me from behind, knocked me off my feet, and swept my glasses from my face.
I grasped after them wildly as the wave pushed me, limbs akimbo, into shore and then sucked me back out again. I caught nothing but fleeting handfuls of churning water and sand.
they were my favorite pair.
I paid enough attention in grad school to understand the symbolism. No one knew about seeing and not seeing like the ancient Greek tragedians. And no one likes to talk at excruciating lengths about the tensions between seeing and not seeing more than classicists.
Remember Tiresias? The prophet from Oedipus the King and Antigone and Seven Against Thebes and lots of other incredible stories?
Sporting a sexy hipster beard on a Lucanian Red-figured calyx-krater c. 380 B.C
The whole thing with Tiresias was that he was blind, but he was a prophet, a seer. He couldn't see but he could see. Get it? Get it??
Get it???
Tiresias is emblematic of a recurring issue in Greek tragedy: is seeing knowing? Is not seeing not knowing?
As I groped half-blind and sopping for the shore, all I could think of was Tiresias. I knew this had to mean something, my new ocean blinding me. Maybe now I can see?
The only other time I've ever lost my glasses in the sea, they came right back to me, washed up at low tide and rescued by an alert lifeguard. I guess that's why I'm not too worried--they'll come back to me one way or another. And anyway, I had the foresight to bring a spare pair with me this time.
You got me this time, Atlantic. But I hope one day we can be friends.
Discussion Question:
When is seeing knowing? When is not seeing knowing?
* * * * *
This is part two in my series about my August of Camping and Tramping.
Bangin new music video from Biscuits and Gravy, ie my best friend Emily and her friend Steve.
As many of you know, Nick and Boudreaux and I are celebrating our transition from the Dirty South to Yankeeland by taking a big aimless camping trip this month. Since I know you've all been losing sleep wondering where we were going to go first, I have decided to end your tossing and turning.
Tomorrow morning we're leaving for Asheville, NC, where we will spend one lazy night before making our way to Edisto Beach State Park in South Carolina. We'll be camping for three nights in a tent in a secluded spot in a live oak forest about 1.5 miles from the beach. How did we choose this particular locale? It's the closest place on the Atlantic where we can camp with our dog.
X marks the area we'll be camping in.
We have big nothing planned while we're there. The week will consist of
grilled peaches
sunrises over the beach Edisto Beach State Park
farm-stand produce
meeting other camping hoboes Edisto Beach State Park
shish kebabs for every meal
and most importantly
dog butt in the sand artist rendering of Boudreaux
Wish us luck as we embark on the first 600 miles!
it's gonna be just like this, except with less snuggies and children
Discussion Question:
Where do you want to see Nick and Katie go on their month of Camping and Tramping?
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This is part one in my series about my August of Camping and Tramping.
The last few days have seen the unique torture of moving every item you own out of your house, complete with Nick somehow bending space and time to fit our entire 1000 sq ft apartment into the tiniest U-Haul I've ever seen:
IT DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A MOM'S ATTIC!!!
AND with our subsequent semiserious leg injuries from running into the trailer hitch with all our might:
like this but solid metal with more sharp edges
And in the midst of the please-let-this-be-over-soon madness, I got an email from Kevin Wildes SJ PhD, the president of my beloved alma mater Loyola University New Orleans, reminding me that today is the feast of St. Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the Society of Jesus and patron saint of the university.
Father Wildes' email contains an excellent summary of Iggie's life that you might enjoy.
Ignatius was born in 1491 as a member of the Basque noble family. He was a courtier and military officer who eventually was wounded in battle. While recovering from his wounds, Ignatius had a deep, personal experience of God's love for him and all creation. Over time he developed an ever deepening awareness that creation was filled with God's presence and that God labored for all members of creation. Because of this experience, Ignatius believed it was possible to "find God in all things." For Ignatius, even the smallest things could lead him to unity with God and he lived his life to give witness to the God of love.
Ignatius and his early companions quickly found themselves at home in universities. Ignatius and the Jesuits thought that universities, which celebrate human accomplishment in the arts, sciences, and the professions, are places where God can be encountered. Ignatius also understood that ideas were not only things to be studied for their own sake but, he believed, our ideas affect who we become as people. Ideas affect the lives we lead, and in this way, they shape the world.
St. Ignatius has inspired and touched me ever since my Ignatian Spirituality class in college with Father Fagin. Iggie's life and legacy fascinates me, and I feel a very special connection with Ignatian spirituality that transcends religion. The tenets of self-awareness, effective love, discernment, and even of finding God in all things speak to me as an atheist and work for me completely in my worldview, so long as I think of "God" as another way of saying "the energy that connects everything," which, let's face it, it basically is.
handsome fellow, huh?
I feel like my years at Loyola really educated me as a whole person--which is one of the hallmarks of Jesuit education--but it wasn't just the 10000 Classics classes I was able to savor. What I learned in that Ignatian Spirituality class alone was worth all four years of tuition. Know yourself. Show your love through your deeds. Wait to make a decision until a feeling of peace moves through you. And most importantly, look for that energy that connects everything everywhere. Have gratitude for it always.
Happy feast of St. Ignatius Loyola! Wish us luck as we travel to Nashville today!
Discussion Question:
Have you ever connected with a religious figure or text or whatever outside of your religious beliefs?
To say that things are kind of crazy right now is the understatement of the century. July has seen my bittersweet last day of work at Peachtree Publishers; a wild visit from my beloved Davina; a trip to Missouri to visit my grandmother, great uncle, and wonderful cousins; an incredible experience in North Carolina at Transformus, my first burn, which included serving breakfast to hundreds of people in the woods AND having my car, the Spruce Goose, get stuck in a muddy ditch and only barely survive the subsequent 5 tows out; AND teaching a crazy week-long all-day critical writing class for 14 middle schoolers at Margaret Mitchell House that involved taking a major field trip EVERY DAY.
I am exhausted.
And guess what! The U-Haul arrives tomorrow afternoon!
Remember how we're moving to Boston? Well, now we are actually starting the moving part. We're packing up our stuff, driving it to Nashville Saturday morning, putting it in storage, and taking the month of August off for our Summer of Camping and Tramping, wherein Nick and I make no plans and do whatever we feel like and drive all around and go camping. I cannot wait.
Sadly, there are a whole lot of boxes to be packed and loaded and unloaded before our carefree August begins. Le sigh.
Moving has always made me a little emo. Hence the Modest Mouse. I realized tonight that I always end up doing the same thing when I move: listening to "Gravity Rides Everything" and writing about how much I hate to move. So I have unearthed some of my emo scribblings about the trials of moving over the last decade or so for your enjoyment.
MAY 2003: Moving out of my dorm room (and temporarily to Davina's house) and into my first apartment TRAUMA: My suitemate "broke up" with me--i.e. told me she didn't want to be friends anymore.
MAY 14, 2003--the room is emptying itself gradually. boxes have been lugged endlessly and we've almost purged ourselves of this year. and in a very real way. in the cleaning of the suite, one of my suitemates decided that our friendship belongs out in the dumpster behind new res* with the discarded magazines and ill-fitting jeans, things too heavy or not worth moving to a new place...
moving out last year found me in the same place - sitting in my empty dorm room, listening to modest mouse** and crying quietly to myself at the prospect of time in franklin. taking on new things is easy for me - it's giving them up that sucks. this has been a really marvelous year for me despite all the infinite drama.
this morning, i was staring at a pile of clothes that didn't fit me anymore. i could not bear to get rid of them despite the fact that i would never wear them again. ashley said to me, "katie, you never throw ANYTHING away." this statement has rung true for me all day.
*new res = New Residential Hall, now Carrollton Hall, my dorm at Loyola. No one thought New Rez was a weird name for a dorm and we were all sad when it got a real name. **bonus! according to livejournal, I was listening to "Gravity Rides Everything" as I wrote this entry.
MAY 15, 2003--My sophomore year of college has been drained to the dregs. Last night was a true-blue disaster*...I sat in my spot on Steph’s stripped bed and looked around that room for the last time. I couldn’t help but stare hard at the wake left by four girls who can’t wait to move away from one another...I just wonder how I’ll feel when I read this in a year or two.**
*I still think true-blue disaster is a great turn of phrase. To my dismay, it appears 132 other times on the internet so I can't claim it. **according to livejournal, I was listening to "Trailer Trash" by Modest Mouse when I wrote this entry.
MAY 2006: Moving out of my apartment in Texas after my first year of grad school TRAUMA: Facing the end of the hardest year of my life and reckoning with the idea that I had to go back the next fall
Not very much has changed. Three years ago at around this time, I was having a smoke and ljing about my awful move out of New Res. Now I'm having a smoke and ljing about my awful move out of Villa Solano. I hate moving. Particularly moving out. Moving in is kind of fun, actually. I just want to be FINISHED - have all this shit moved out of here and get in the car and just RUN - run away from Austin and this life that has treated me so strangely....
Steve's been very retrospective about this year, and I am all whateva whateva. I don't think I am ready to digest this year yet - I just need to get out of here and clear my head and rest for a while....Too much thinking for tonight. Time to sleep for about twelve seconds before the packing resumes.
JULY 2008: Moving from Texas to Atlanta TRAUMA: Moving across the country.
I'm sitting looking around my apartment half-packed and there's trash everywhere and stuff all over the floor. I have to get all of this packed up and ready to drive out of town on Saturday morning. I'm leaving for Atlanta and it's really starting to set in. It's so weird to be leaving Austin even though I knew all along that this was a temporary engagement and that I was only gonna be in Austin for a little while which is really bizarre. Nick and I use to say to each other almost every day oh my God we live in Texas and it was so weird and now we're like oh my God we're leaving Texas this is so weird.... I should stop rambling but I just seem like I need to record this feeling. This sort of like half-packed, unsettled, weird feeling, having said my goodbyes but not yet being out of town.*
*If this reads a little funny, it's because this is transcribed from a livejournal voice post, where I did spoken blogs.
* * *
Soooooo...I'm sitting here looking around my half-packed apartment and feeling kind of emo and weird. Not very much has changed. In the same place as always, listening to Modest Mouse and trying to digest the upheaval. I'm ready to just be packed and finished so I can just run away from Atlanta and this life here that has treated me so strangely. I'll miss my dear friends, especially my Lanier, but four 500+ mile moves have taught me that we'll see each other again and keep in touch. I'm not throwing them out with the truckload of stuff I'm taking to Goodwill. I collect friends like owls everywhere I go. I'm hearing Ashley's voice in my head: Katie, you never throw anything away. In a way, was it a compliment?
I just wonder how I'll feel when I read this in a year or two.
Too much thinking for tonight. Time to sleep for about twelve seconds before the packing resumes.
Discussion Question: Not really a question, just a topic. Discuss how much moving sucksss
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