“Two men looked out from prison bars, one saw the mud, the other saw stars”
~ Dale Carnegie
It turned out that my move to a grassier spot at Marshall Lake was a good, if not perfect choice. It was nice to step out on grass in the mornings. The monsoons were minimal the early part of the week. Although it clouded up and cot dark almost every afternoon, and the thunder sometimes shook the van, there was little rainfall. Most days there was either heavy rain for 2 minutes, or light rain for a bit longer. The sun usually reappeared before setting—long enough to dry out the ground and make an evening walk possible.
The usual rowdy weekenders showed up Friday through Sunday afternoon, but the rest of the week was peaceful and quiet. Flagstaff is a strange place. I’ve not figured it out yet, but it is home (or a prime vacation spot) for a variety of people I’d prefer not to be around. On Saturday nights, I can hear the “woo girls” down the road, totally inebriated and shouting “Woo” at the top of their lungs. I’m sure their male counterparts are equally drunk, but they are quiet, knowing they are only a beer or two away from getting what they came for this weekend. Sub-compact cars speed up and down the gravel road, stirring up dust and putting anyone walking on the road (and there are many) at risk. I’ve come to realize they are not looking for a camping spot. They are often 4 or 5 to a car, have no room to possibly be bringing a tent, cooler and other accoutrements necessary for even an overnight stay. I’ve been told this is a drug dealing area. Perhaps they are coming for meth? Or maybe it’s just a cruising area? They are tearing up and down the gravel road to see and be seen? I haven’t figured it out. They are clearly not part of my tribe, and I try to take my friend Charlie’s advice. He had a condo at Rehoboth Beach, DE. His advice for holiday weekends at the beach was to treat them like a hurricane warning: Stock up on supplies, lock yourself inside, batten down the hatches, and wait for it to pass. I tend to do just that on weekends in Flagstaff.
Nowadays, I set up camp in a more permanent way than I used to. My table and chair and cacti are under a tree, and Cosmo and I can sit outside when it’s not raining and enjoy the cool breeze. My solar panels are out; with only half days of sun, I re-direct them often to make sure they are bringing in optimal electricity. I open the doors and windows to allow for ideal air flow on the hot, sunny mornings. For the most part, life is very easy.
Tuesday was my “Heavy Chore” day. I got up early, packed all my stuff and tied everything down in the van. We drove first to Planet Fitness where I took a long hot shower, washed and conditioned my hair and beard and scrubbed my feet until they looked once again, like they belonged to a human.
I don’t expect you to see it, but it feels SO good to have clean, soft hair. (I’ll spare you the photo of my clean feet.)
From there I headed to the SuperMat Laundry on old Route 66 and did the most dreaded of all chores: three loads of laundry. I always dread it, but it is never quite as bad as I anticipated. I put my laundry in the machines and went next door to Burger King and treated myself to an Impossible Whopper as a reward for getting this chore out of the way. Halfway through eating it, I went back in and moved all the clothes to the dryer. By the time I was done eating, my clothes were ready to be folded and put away.
Next, I headed to get gas (I try to keep a mostly full tank just in case of any emergency) and then on to Walmart where I got stocked up for the next 10 days. My final stop was to get water and propane, and when I pulled in, there were lots of puddles. It had clearly rained hard on my side of the mountain. Cade, my young, home-schooled buddy came out and topped off my propane. I always enjoy talking with him. I’m assuming he is still high school age, but he is smart and very social.
When I got back to Marshall Lake, the roads were muddy. I tried to pull into the spot I’d left that morning and slipped as I tried to go up the hill. My van slid sideways down the steep road. I backed up and tried again. Same thing. I pulled a little bit down the road to the next “entrance” into the grassy meadow and made it up on the second try. I thought for sure once I hit the grassy area I’d be fine, but I found my wheels were still spinning at times even though I had the van in first gear. I got level and got out to set up my solar. I couldn’t believe my tires were caked with the mud/clay.
My neighbor, Troyer came over. He’s an ex-Mormon and he now lives in his Toyota Forerunner. He pretty much keeps to himself, so we’d only spoken once. He heard me slipping and sliding and came to tell me he has 4WD and a tow rope and if I ever get stuck. He said he would be happy to pull me out. Always good to know. We talked for an hour or so before I went in to get dinner and a short nap. I wandered over again around 6 o’clock or so, and we talked until it got dark. I invited him for breakfast, and he gladly accepted. I’ve found that people who live in their cars often think of a “Home cooked meal” the same way I think about a long, hot shower. It’s a luxury. So when he came over on Wednesday morning I made him fried eggs, hash browns and toast. He thanked me several times and I was so glad I could feed him with minimal effort on my part. We sat outside and talked for awhile after breakfast until he headed to Lake Mary to go fishing.
On Friday, Troyer was heading into town and offered to take my garbage for me. That was a nice gesture. He asked if I liked cheese pizza and offered to get us one for dinner. I told him I had the makings for margaritas and if he brought the pizza, I had a blender. He came home around 5:00 and I made margaritas and we sat outside and ate pizza and happy hour. It was fun.
The weekenders started coming in after dark, skidding on the muddy roads, and basically tearing everything up. I won’t miss that when I leave Flagstaff in the fall.
Lessons From The Road: I had a tumultuous week last week: Mostly uneventful on the outside, but lots of turmoil within. If I’m honest, it started with the failed attempt to take out the orange felon. My first thought after hearing about it was “Damn. Probably the only chance to be rid of the pussy-grabbing, document stealing, racist, misogynist menace, and you missed.” OK. I’m not proud of that thought, but I have to own it if I’m going to get past it. I’m not a fan of violence. I’ve been a vegetarian for 52 years because I am not willing to participate in the death of a chicken. And yet…
My “news fast” was only partially successful. I stopped watching the talking heads who, without much more insight than I have, spend hours a day predicting what might happen in the next phase of this great American experiment. But I got suckered in by headlines sent to my phone via the NY Times, or Google, or many other sources that I’ve never heard of. I could feel the anger welling up inside me. Why is the ex-president wearing a maxi-pad on his ear? To prove what a brave victim he is? Why is Biden (or at least his close family and friends) not aware of his cognitive decline? I made the mistake of reading comments one day on Facebook, and I was reminded once again why I stay off social media. The majority of people who make posts are hateful and stupid and they drag me quickly down to their level. The inner turmoil spread. A man down the hill from me built a fire even though signage everywhere in the forest warns of a stage 3 fire alert, banning all flames including charcoal grills and wood fires or any open flame that cannot be turned off by a switch or knob. There is extreme fire danger and it’s only been two years since some other moron burned down thousands of acres of the Coconino National Forest. I was livid and made more so by the fact that I felt helpless to do anything about it. Could I go down and explain the danger he was causing? Doubtful. He couldn’t have missed the signs. He just decided they didn’t apply to him. And would it help in any way to risk my safety to pick a fight with him? Not likely. My anger at stupid people festered.
So I closed my laptop, and put on my favorite song mix. I took a deep breath and let it out. I soon was dancing outside my van, singing (if you know my voice, “singing” is a stretch) and letting the anger fall away.
In the morning, my friend Ginny texted me, wishing me happy day-after-the-full-moon. Ginny has often been my lifeline. She is a consummate optimist. She said to me she was convinced all the turmoil of the past weeks was a good sign. Things were in motion. Out of chaos comes order. It always does. It’s the way of the universe. I believe this. I always have, even though I allow the chaos to get the better of me at times. Ginny brought me back to my center, to my internal belief system. It was as if a huge burden had been lifted. Within minutes One Drive sent me an e-mail showing “On This Day” and there were photos from my phone that were taken on this day one year ago, two years ago, and even up to 10 years ago. All were beautiful places I’d been, or loving friends I’ve had in my life. It was like hitting the reset button. I could either focus on stupid, evil people, or I could focus on all the amazing things I have in my life. I could choose to see mud or stars. Thanks Ginny. I chose stars.