Conclusion

Extra pictures:


















These are pictures that didn't make it into blogs but should have.

So, here we are, at home in Chicago. It's been almost a week since we came back. I would say the feeling is melancholic relief. I think I truly could have kept going (had I maybe been a trust fund kid and had bottomless pockets). Gabe on the other hand is very relieved to be home. We have immediately settled into our old ways albeit, jobless. Kind of. I've spent the better part of this week looking for jobs from the comfort of my own computer. I haven't actually gone anywere and applied. But I've been writing cover letters and resumes and emailed a handful of them. And thanks to the encouragement of many of you, I actually sat down and wrote a short story on Friday. When it's edited, I will post it for critique. I may actually start a new blog for the purpose of short stories.

I digress...

What we've decided is that, life on the road can be awesome, tiresome, invigorating, difficult, exciting, boring, educational, frustrating, and completely freeing. And expensive. We definitely spent more than we expected but not more than we budgeted. But, I found out, pleasantly enough, that homesickness doesn't happen if all that you love is with you. I had Gabe and Conrad and Baloo and my favorite pillow and I was great! If our apartment had burned to the ground (knock on wood) I would have been okay. Being in campsites or at peoples houses was nice and grounding and for the most part relaxing. But being on the road, driving endless miles was where it was at. That's where Gabe and I talked and laughed and hashed out ideas and held hands and told funny stories and listened to hours and hours of The Savage Lovecast and listened to hours and hours of music and tried to decipher the GPS maps. It was always with an anxiousness to get out on the road that we left each place. Moods instantly brightened once the city limits were behind us and it was at least three hours before the next destination. Everywhere we went had a different terrain and living style. Nothing got old and boring. Even West Texas had it's charm!
There are a lot of people whom we owe many thanks. Not in any order of importance: Willie, for letting us borrow his GPS - without it we would have had a much harder time getting around; Dad (Rory) for lending us one of his laptops so that we could keep in touch with the world while on the road; Bob and Linda for letting us and the dogs stay for 6 days; Linda specifically for taking me to the doctor because I got sick in Maine; Brian and his wife for feeding us; Dave and Tiff for letting us crash and have a dog party; Ben and Melissa for taking us out on the town and letting us play music in the basement; Mom (Janet) for making us meal after meal and providing the most comfortable bed; Mickey for being the most awesome 4 year old ever; Bren for providing some patience and perspective; Bridget and Dan for letting us camp in their front yard and taking us around K.C. Basically, we had a blast at wherever we stayed and if it weren't for all the gracious hosts, our trip wouldn't have been nearly as fun.

Here's some of the quotes that were stated along the trip, try to guess who said what:

"Cuz, you know I'm into vistas."
"Babe, I'm pretty sure this is wood." (refering to the rocky coast of Maine)
"Look, it's one of those goat-cow things!"
"Look at that bridge! No Wait! Don't look at that bridge! Just imagine it!"



Mickey being way too silly to go to bed...

With the giggles because of wine; showing off our lovely toes, blocking Dan's unlovely toes.

Travels home

Ah family… you can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them. Or is it, you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family. All of the above or something like that. I don’t want to go into too much into detail because I don’t want to be blamed for lambasting my own family. Lovely people, all of them really, but funny how the chemistries between us don’t always mesh, especially since we share the same blood.
I suppose I can speak for almost all of us when I say, “My family is dysfunctional”. I mean, what is Normal? And is it something that we want? Where would all the entertaining stories come from? And who but someone of your own family made you laugh until you peed or cried for the first time. The very few people who have made me laugh until I cried, I either share a parent with or I grew up with, whose parent scolded me as their own.

Mimi, my 93 year old Grandmother!

Isn't my Mom cute?
There are a few key players in my family story, but there are thousands of cast members. My immediate nucleus is the combination of two large Irish Catholic and Protestant, respectively, families. Each with their own self inflated Christmas customs and family traditions. Each has their own shocking discrepancies and comforting familiarities. And, oh, it gets exhausting sometimes trying to keep track of it all. Or more specifically, it’s exhausting to try to emotionally take it all in and accept.

So, from the Black Hills, Gabe and Baloo and Conrad and I wearily made our way to Sioux City Iowa. Some know it as Sewer City or Sux City or Suicide City. Whichever suits your level of discomfort. We stayed at my Dad’s house where he and Pat treated us to PBR’s and wine. They graciously gave my dogs’ free reign of the house and offered to keep them the whole time we were in Sioux City even if we were staying at my Mom’s house. The next afternoon, Dad (Rory, William, Mr. Kelly, Bill-if you’re clueless) made me his renowned spaghetti, ground beef a la carte for those of us who eat meat (which was everyone but me). It’s a little bizarre how much of my Dad’s spaghetti I can actually eat. It’s a little embarrassing and a little shameful. That evening we went to Mom’s house. Mom (Janet, Janny, Janetto, Ms. Kelly maiden name Lynn) and I drove in her brand new car to pick up Mickey. Mickey, full name Mackenzie, is my nephew – my brothers’ son. Mickey is a doll. But everyone talks about their small child relations as if they, specifically, were some religions’ gods’ gift to the world. I will do no different. He’s big for his age and will be tall like my brother. Bren’s a cool 6’4”. Big wide cheeks and sparkling blue eyes, delicately arching eyebrows like his mother Kaitlyn. He’ll be trouble in high school. He ran at me and jumped into my arms, called me Bridget and hugged tight. I struggled under his weight and the fact that his shoe had caught my skirt and was pulling it dangerously up, closer to my nethers than was comfortable. He and a group of some other of gods’ gifts showed me a Katydid they had found and were trying to feed some grass.

Gabriel, Mickey and Brendan playing video games in the man cave at my Dad's house.

My Dad being silly.
The stay at my Mom’s was interesting to say the least. Silly, poignant, annoying, fun, stressing, delicious, heartrending, exhausting, reaffirming. Brendan, my brother the grill master, made us some delicious steaks. Mom and I had tuna steaks. Mickey was naughty at dinner and cried when I scolded him. That night Mickey and I “camped” out in the camper. He was very good and listened as I read to him, only to interrupt to ask for a pickle. He laid out for me his plan of attack in case a monster came to show its ugly face. Surprisingly for me, Mickey slept the whole night and was cheery upon rising. Before we slept, I asked Mickey what he was going to dream about. He said he would dream about hot air balloons and how he would wave to his Daddy and Mommy and Papa and Gan’ma. He said that we should both dream about that. When we woke and were gathering our things to go back to Gan’mas’ house, he asked me if I dreamt about hot air balloons like we talked about and described for me what we dreamed together about. It’s one of those moments that makes family pretty awesome.

Dad and Pat had invited us for dinner with Bren and Mick one night and because of the guilt trip laid out by my Mom, we decided to stay another night. And with that extra night, dramedies ensued. Tragically comedic is the only way I can describe family dysfunction. In the moment, it is almost devastatingly awful. In ruefully looking back, it becomes either unfortunate or infuriating. And eventually, it becomes, if not funny, something that might be funny in a superbly scripted dark comedy. We should have just eaten our shrimp that night.

Mickey is actually the photographer here and for the pic of my cute Mom. Pretty good for a 4 year old.

Oh my. Oh my oh my oh my.

My first and only nephew. Man, is he cute.

Me, Mick and Bren. Family resemblance anyone?

That tree was planted in my my front yard when I was born.

A quick and merciful four hours got us to Kansas City, Missouri. We met Bridget and Dan at the best dog park I know of. They brought with them two of four dogs, Frank and Winston. Conrad and Baloo were in heaven and cavorting around their own stomping grounds. It was a butt-sniffing, ball-throwing, pack-running evening of dog bliss. (Shame on Chicago for not having a grassy 2-3 acre dog park in the middle of the city like Penn Valley Dog Park!)

At Bridget and Dan’s house, we shared some wine, gave our first real tour of the camper and crashed. The next day, we went sculpture and pedicure hunting. Gabe and Dan got some great shots of bronzy sculpture and after a long scouting, Bridge and I bagged some beautiful toes. That evening we had a late dinner of shrimps, creamy polenta, Coho salmon and grilled asparagus a la Dan. Shannon Payne and her friend Jason came over. We laughed over the old times. (Bridget, Jessica, Shannon and I all used to work at the Embassy Suites while in college. During those times, we participated in each others blow out parties, evictions and general rabble rousing.) It was great to see Shannon, who for your information, is doing quite well. And again, as in Louisville with Brandon, Ted and Sara, I’m kicking myself for not taking pictures! I had the camera out to get a picture of Shannon for the blog and in our good time, completely forgot! But it was a great time nonetheless. My only regret about Kansas City was Andrea being out of town, and not getting a chance to see Gigi. But alas, I have a phone and the will to visit again!

Bridget, the youngest sibling, easily the most accomplished.

Hanging out in the camper.

Conrad and Baloos' cousins: Charlotte, Frank, Winston, and Jake.

Wine makes us silly.

On the prowl.

Bridget and Dan's super cute house and jungle like garden.

And so, with Kansas City behind us and I-35 rolling out in front of us, we head home to Chicago. It’s with mixed emotions that we travel. It’s been a fast 5 weeks with so many stories and events that not even a blog authored by a jobless hack can keep up. It’ll be good to get home, but it would be just as good to keep on going.

Where the Buffalo roam...

"Hey! What, are you reading again, nerd?"
"Oh, what are you playing video games again, nerd?"
You can probably guess who said what. That was how we spent our afternoon yesterday at our campsite in the Black Hills. Gabe described the day like this: "AWESOOMME...!"
We arrived at our site the night before and set up camp. I cooked a rather awesome meal of stir fry with vermicelli noodles, frozen vegetables and peanuts. We met our campsite neighbors who partook with us their homemade strawberry margaritas. They had a two-stroke motored blender that was very road-worthy. Nice guys who offered to let Gabe ride one of their motorcycles and go on a trip with them. Gabe politely refused but it was a nice offer. Even though it was nice to relax and read and play video games,that's not the reason the day was awesome. It was awesome because we went and saw Crazy Horse and Mount Rushmore and buffaloes and mountain rams and wild turkeys and incredible vistas.


The Badlands on the Top; Crazy Horse on the Bottom.

Yesterday morning we drove out to Crazy Horse. Crazy Horse is HUGE. Indescribably huge. The face of Crazy Horse is finished and now they are working on the face of the horse he rides on. They will do the torso of C.H. and the neck of the horse last I guess. But what was interesting was the artist himself. The sculptor of Crazy Horse was an incredible artist who had been classically trained and naturally gifted. He did beautiful, pristine portraits of his friends and daughters in Carrara marble. He did gnarly, gestural but delicate portraits of sailors and horses carved in wood in only a handful of hours. Walking through the the Visitors Center we learned about the Crazy Horse monument. Walking through the sculpture studio and the room that displayed the antique furniture that used to be in his house, we learned about the artist. His first name was Korzcack and I can't spell or pronounce his last name. It begins with a Z. His wife Ruth, along with the help of his daughter Monique, run the estate and the Crazy Horse project. After a little inquiring, Monique herself actually came out to speak with Gabe. She came out hard, ready to tell the solicitor where to put his wares. But after some conversation, she realized that Gabe had no intention of selling anything and only expressed sincere interest in Korzcack's work and his style and his dream. They talked for awhile and discussed conservation methods and weather-wear and technique. He left with permission to write about Korzcack and Crazy Horse and was given the address of Monique and her mother for continued correspondence.

Look at the colors of the eroded dirt on these Badlands hills.

We left and drove to Mount Rushmore. We didn't go into the the Visitors Center there, but drove past it and around and up into Custer National State Park. The road was incredibly windy and ever upward moving. At points the road split into a single lane, parallel to the other single lane for the other direction. It was so narrow and tight, if felt like you had driven off the road, straight into the trees. We wound up and up through actual loop holes that the road made, across intricate, sturdy log bridges and through blasted stone tunnels. All of a sudden, we passed through one tunnel and were met with a clear, straight shot view of Mount Rushmore. The roads were so specifically and meticulously made as to offer that spectacular view. The trees were cut to frame Mount Rushmore for the many miles between the tunnel and the stone face. We stopped to take too many pictures but I'm afraid they don't represent the view in its entirety. Farther on, we were confronted the one of those breathtaking views, coupled with staggering heights upon precipices. As the truck rounded an upward bend, the trees fell away we saw past the mountains, to and past the farms, to where the Badlands fade away into a blur where land meets sky. Gabe said that he felt his heart jump into his throat at that sight. I agree, it was dizzying. But incredible! On the way back to the campsite we stopped at the grocer to get cheese, fruit, crackers and beer and made the rest of our day count in ways of relaxion (as our Polish friend says).
Hungry?

This morning we gathered up, said Au Revoir to our motorcycling, margarita friends and drove to Bedrock. The Bedrock of the Flintstones! I had gone there as a small child and I remembered it but I had no idea that it was in the Black Hills! We didn't pay to go into the actual Flintstones park with the little train car giving tours of Fred and Wilma's and Barney and Betty's places but we did snap a few shots in the telephone booth and in front of the Bronto Ribs stand. Inside the gift shop, I paid for two stickers with quarters, as my cash is dwindling.

We just passed into and through the Badlands National Park. If you've never been to the Badlands, you have to go there. It's incredible. This bizarre terrain of desolate, eroded volcano ash. The sedimentary lines in the jagged hills and crevices are bright red and copper and yellow and purple with grey tops. We saw a lone buffalo wander through the bottom. The land looks uninhabitable but there are tons of critters and birds that live in small animal caves that dot the hills. The erosion cuts rivulets in the hills that eventually become sharp gashes. It is amazing display of the power of wind and rain. There is nothing else like it. They call it the Badlands for a reason. Scary almost! If you got lost here you'd never get out!
So now, we're heading out onto I-90 East on the way to my home town of Sioux City Iowa.

Sleeping beauties...