Part Three - Walking Freely

Route near Streetsboro, Ohio.

These purple trees were everywhere along the Interstates.

Yes, that's a beer in my hands.

Fairview Heights, Illinois' Joe's Crab Shack where I had crab cakes as in the photo above this one. Yummie!

Not only am I embarassed about having forgotten Illinois, but yesterday, while rechecking my hotel receipts to find the name of the town in Missouri where I stayed overnight, I found out that I had actually stayed at the Super 8 in Fairview Heights, Illinois on the third night of Crossing the U.S.A.

Freedom takes time to get used to. The kind of freedom that involves moving the body from one point to the other and this for seven days. Every minute was about a decision to do something for myself. It gave me a chance to consider being selfish having no other choices, like if someone was traveling with me, it would have been a whole different set up and experience. Maybe even better but different. I had to remind myself every minute that I was free to do and go anywhere I wanted. I liked the feeling so much that it became secondary where I went and what I did.

Enough about me though. Right before Oklahoma City, as the Interstate I-44 will slightly descend, I see it (the road) ahead take the shape of a heart. It divided itself into a heart and then became one again. I had just passed the sign which said "you are now passing through the heart of America" and maybe not in those words (did you think of recording or photographing this? no, how could I? I was in awe and I am not sure I saw what I saw. Do not confuse the word awe with saw.)

In Ohio, I went to a Native American museum at Fort Ancient. A deeply informative, multi-media presentation of Native American life from thousands of years ago to the recent past with trails going through their ancient city, archeological finds, recreated boats, paintings, ancient tools, etc. Would talking about how I felt when I came out of the museum be considered "she is talking about herself?" If you will forgive me, it made me sad.

In Weatherford, Oklahoma, the radio clock in my hotel room showed one hour, the television showed another and my cell phone another. OK, this was a motel and I was the only customer that night. But for $29 a night, the room was big, had a mini-frig, a microwave, a television, a shower and the television remote was given to you upon registration and payment.

"You mean people will steal the remote too?" I asked the very tired and non-smiling woman who came out of a room to greet me.

"They will steal anything!" came the tired answer.

"But if they steal this, what would they do with it without a television?"

"That's just it" she said and we silently became friends having agreed that you need a television set in order to use a remote. The woman was feeling better already. I could see it on her face. I was feeling better too having made my mark as an innocent intelligent. Now, as I am writing, I see it differently.

First, my question should have been "Why don't you keep the remote with the television?" Then I would have known instead of thinking like a paranoid traveler who thinks there are thiefs everywhere and that would be the only reason for the remote to be kept in the office. So I still don't know what made her smile.

Secondly, once they pay and they have the remote, what would keep them from stealing the tv set too?

Unless the thiefs are non-customers, i.e. "let's go and rob the Economy Inn" folks. Then, and only then this would make sense. Enlighten me.

The next morning, at the gas station, I asked the cashier clerk for the time and when she told me the time I asked "In Weatherford?" She said "In Oklahoma." I can't describe the look on her face when she said that and I can't describe the embarassment I felt. I punished myself by getting chicken strips and potatoes, at 10 o'clock in the morning, which were, thankfully, very tasty and deliciose and so finger licking good that I couldn't stop eating.

My first evening on the road, in Streetsboro, Ohio, the motel was across from a restaurant named Rockne's. This intrigued me because I used to date a Rockny in 1976 and I had not heard that name since. I walked freely towards the eatery after registration and smack came face to face with a picture of Rockne Knute in sports attire and a football in his hands. I figured the restaurant is named after him. On my way out I wanted to know what was his claim to fame. The receptionist didn't know, the waitress didn't know, a passing waiter was happy to let me know that he was the football coach of Notre Dame. "Was that before Jerry...uh...oh..." I was wondering if it was Parseghian or Tarkanian? There was no help from the waiter either so I asked him where Notre Dame was. In which town or state I wanted to know. My knowledge kept making me think of Las Vegas but hey, I could be wrong. The waiter didn't know where Notre Dame was.

I just did a search on Rockne and I find out as head coach of the University of Notre Dame in South Bend, Indiana from 1918 to 1930, he achieved an all-time winning percentage of 88.2%, the highest percentage in Football Bowl Subdivision (formerly known as Division I-A) history.

Coincidentally, the only person I know who is from Indiana, David Letterman, was just announced as coming up on Live with Regis and Kathy and that's the reason I have the television on at 10 a.m. today. I was on his show many years ago you know.

So, I'll talk to you in Part IV of Crossing the U.S.A.

Part Two - "Bless your heart"

Downtown Cincinnati

Sports Arena on my left

When I turned right the sign read "Welcome to Kentucky" but I don't have a picture. This was what I got. I'll take it.

After the unexpected shock of the Welcome to Kentucky sign, I continued south on I-71 which at that point was also I-75. Somehow, somewhere, probably while I was admiring the blue of the grass so green, and unbenounced to me, they must have become two because suddenly I realize I am driving on I-75. I regroup myself and start thinking back to see where I left I-71 but I can't come up with an explanation. I need gas too, so I take the next exit to find out what happened.

The gas station is on top of a hill overlooking more grassy hills and some houses. Beautiful. But where am I? I am in the United States of America I tell myself and go into the shop to pay for gas. A man in his early sixties is sitting behind the counter; a woman mid 30s who looks like she works there; and right next to me, another woman in her early 40s maybe. I don't know, I am trying to set up the scene. After giving the man the money, I ask him "how did I end up on I-75 when I was going on I-71?"

Before the man even had time to think about what I was saying, the woman next to me said "Bless your heart!" in such a way that tears welled up inside me. And of course I took this opportunity to let them know how far I had come which received another "Bless your heart!" Instead of saying "thank you", I said "I know, I know" smiling in disbelief that I have gone through four states in a day and a half. They told me how to get back on I-71, they gave me options when I inquired about motels in the area, they wanted me to stay in their town because I told them I don't want to drive at night. I thanked them profusely receiving their good wishes and blessings.

I went to the car, sat down and looked at the Atlas while in my head repeating "bless your heart, bless your heart, bless your heart" the way she said it. I relived it over and over it felt so good.

I now could see how far I had gone out of my way. I had been driving away, southeast, for about two hours. Which meant that to get to I-71, I had to continue south to Lexington, then west to Louisville via I-64. I didn't mind but I was emotional and hungry.

I drove to the next exit, where all the nice motels were supposed to be and came face to face with a Kentucky Fried Chicken place. I know, I know. I went in anyhow. You will forgive me but to each their own. I just wanted to be able to say that I had Kentucky Fried Chicken in Kentucky. I said it.

It was different than your usual Kentucky Fried Chicken place. It was a buffet setting and it was way more delicious. Or so it seemed to me. Especially the spinach which was the best boiled spinach I ever had.

The people eating their chickens were like you and me. Not like the woman at the gas station. She was different. Her very blue piercing eyes and her red cheeks reminded me of the folks up in the mountain villages of Lebanon. People who live close to nature. I wish I had asked her name cause I remembered her throughout my trip and what she said warmed my heart and opened my eyes to a people hetherto undiscovered.

I would meet a few more like her on my journey but she still stands the closest to me on that hilltop overlooking the Kentuckian afternoon.

Bless her heart.

Part One - Tire Pressure

Having done my duties as a sister, daughter, aunt, and cousin on Easter Sunday, I went home and tried to follow my cousin's advice to get eight hours of sleep before my drive to Arizona from New Jersey the next morning.

Sleep would not come. I was too excited and eager. I sat up and said out loud "I was trying to shove sleep down my throat." This was followed by a decision to start loading the car and leave when done.

Outside it was still dark and I heard my name called. It was my neighbor, Diane. "Have a safe trip" she said. I blew her a thank you kiss because I was afraid I would cry if I said anything. I didn't have time to cry.

At 7:03 a.m. Monday morning April 5, I drove out of the driveway, something I had done for eleven years. This was the last one.

I went to the gas station next door and checked my tires. The right side tires had shown some melancholy lately. I filled them with air by looking at healthier tires. Did I say I prayed before leaving the driveway?

The night before, a friend from California told me to have my tires checked before leaving because his tire blew once because of overpressure. I wish he hadn't told me that. I had no time to have them checked. I wanted to leave. And I left. I wish he hadn't, because I was incredibly worried that if I have put the wrong amount of air, the tires would blow up. And I saw signs on the road throughout my travels. Pieces of blown up tires all over the asphalt. Every couple of hours, I would see one and if I had forgotten to think about my tires for a couple of minutes, they came to remind me to stay worried. "Is this my tire acting up or is it the road?" was a constant until it would stop. It was the road most of the time.

I even looked for a tire specialist or tire store or an auto repair shop the next morning when I was in Streetsboro, Ohio. The guy I asked had approached me with a request for a dollar so he can buy bread. I told him to either tell me where I can find a tire store or check my tire pressure himself to earn his dollar. He said that I could buy a pressure gauge across the street. I said that I didn't need a gauge, I needed someone to check my tire pressure thinking a gauge was a complicated thing and needed extreme intellectual abilities and would be expensive. He said that if I had a gauge he would check it himself. I decided that was the end of it and gave him a dollar for wanting to help.

Again, I filled the tires with air by approximating them with tires that had diplomas and continued on. A nine hour drive going south in Ohio, passing through Cincinnati and smack right in the middle of it entering Kentucky (I am saying the Welcome to Kentucky sign is in downtown Cincinnati), visiting the Ohio River in Louisville (first picture above) and just west of Louisville finding a Motel 6.

It was green, so green, the next morning, the view from my window (second picture above). The grass spreading on rolling hills with a cluster of houses far away. Just like country. I was in the country. Halfway through Ohio, it had started looking like this. Kentucky was the greenest state. The grass is so green that it is almost blue. That's probably why they call it the Bluegrass State.

It had been 90 degrees the two previous days but this morning the sky was overcast and the air cooler. I drove to the gas station not far from Motel 6 which I had chosen because it was the one advertised in the Atlas of the U.S.A. and Canada that I had had and studied for ten years with something like this in mind. Why not? It was clean, comfortable, and it had a beautiful view. It was not a motel as we know in the east coast. It was a hotel masquerading as a motel.

At the gas station, I found out there is an auto repair shop in the back. I was thrilled. I drove to the back and as I was parking the car I noticed all the cars had Indiana license plates. I must be very close to Indiana I thought. A very kind young man helped me and used his own pressure gauge to check my tires' air pressure. While he was doing that I was concluding that it must not be very expensive to buy one. When I told him my problem, he calculated that it was a very small leak and checking them every time I buy gas would be enough to get me to my destination. I inquired about a place where I can buy a pressure gauge and I bought one.

Now not only am I pomping gas but I have a gauge. For a very long time I used to pronounce gauge as gowge. Now, I even have one. I was getting more excited by the day.

As I drove away I decided to stop at the first rest area to make phone calls, take my vitamins, etc. This tire business had me so worried that I had forgotten everything else.

At the rest area a huge sign said Welcome to Indiana, Crossroads of America (third picture above). This was the pinnacle of my excitements so far. I think I called someone and told them where I was. In fact I did that every time I was in a state, I called someone and told them. "I am in Oklahoma" was the best. Part of my excitement was due to the fact that I could for the first time take a picture of a welcome sign. The others so far appeared when I was driving.

I had slept in Indiana without knowing that I was sleeping in Indiana. I found this out when I was checking my hotel receipts a week later in Arizona. The Motel 6 was in Georgetown, Indiana. The town I bought my gauge from.

There you go, part one of Crossing the U.S.A.

Providence, April 17, 2010, URI Feinstein Center

I sang more than I talked, I talked more than I walked, I walked more than I danced on stage that day. Yet, one of the first things said to me later by audience members was that I had probably been dancing since I was two years old. To which I replied "probably" because I vaguely remembered that I indeed used to dance at that age. My maternal uncle Hrant used to teach me the samba, the tango, the rhumba and the pasodoble steps. We danced side by side up and down the little space that we had in the living room of my grandparents.

Then school happened. I had to learn other things.

When I first started singing in public, I was afraid to do and say anything in between songs but thank you. Gestures, walking, some movements but not exactly dancing came later.

Dancing, really, as I would at home when nobody is looking, that's how I must have danced.

That is very satisfying to know.

Bougainvillea

The morning after my arrival was Monday, April 12, 2010, and since then I have been picking beautiful bougainvillea plants and have put them in a vase on the kitchen table together with little yellow wildflowers.

The site of these beautiful bougainvilleas keeps transporting me to my childhood home which sat as the top of a T street, the vertical part of the T had bougainvillea plants on the gates of a garden overlooking the street.

One day, mom and I went picking some so I can take them to the teacher the next day.

I gave my flowers to the teacher and she put them in a vase on top of the cabinets where we put our lunch boxes and jackets. A few minutes later they were replaced by leftover flowers from a wedding the previous day. Flowers people paid money for because they needed care and nurturing to grow. It doesn't matter what kind they were. Pick one. So my flowers ended up in the garbage because nobody had paid any money for them. They grew around wildly without much care and came with their own leaves and stems. They didn't need arrangements to look beautiful.

My consolation was that no matter how sad they looked in the garbage, they still looked more beautiful than the ones in the vase.

Everytime my roommate here sees these flowers in the vase, she smiles and says "they are beautiful".

I have come a long way since kiddygarden.

Forward Motion

Let's see if I can write one paragraph without reaching for a cigarette. It is interesting that whenever I write, I also reach for the cigarette more often than when I am not writing. I have so much to deal with, to handle, to accept, not to accept, to throw away, to recognize, to keep on going.

To write? She asked perplexed. "It must be" came the answer and so it is.

Now that she made sure she was not committing a big crime by writing, as an introduction, she wondered if she had anything else to write about on this blog which has some wondering where she is.

I can start from there.

There being here, in a new state and of mind. Where am I? In the 70s, we heard the saying "remember, wherever you go, there you are?"

So what does it matter?

Լաւ էր - չէ՞

Ինչ լաւ էր, ինչ լաւ իմ լաւ
Ինչ տեսարան պարզուեցաւ
Երբ ես կեցայ հոն՝
Ուր ինծմէ առաջ
Ոչ ոք չէր կեցած
Եւ եթէ կեցած էր
Չէր տեսած այն ինչ ես տեսայ
Երբ այս առտու պատշգամից
Նայեցի:

From Tucumcari, New Mexico

American Indian Museum in Ohio, Indian Trading Posts in Oklahoma, Ohio River in Louisville, Kentucky, old Highway 66 and the biggest rocking chair in the world in Missouri, the biggest cross in the western hemisphere in Texas, the purple trees along Interstates 64, 44 and 40 to name a few landmarks.

I decided to stay here tonight instead of, for example, Amarillo, Texas or the more sophisticated Albuquerque, New Mexico.

It seems like the week went by so fast going through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Kentucky (where I had Kentucky Fried Chicken but don't laugh), Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas and now I am in New Mexico.

It has been an emotionally potent trip so far and I have enjoyed every mile with a smile on my face and the sun on my head. I have sat in the car for hours and I have just waited for the towns, cities and states to arrive. And they have so far been present to all the rendez-vous.

It will take more than one post for a detailed description of all that I saw, did, said and experienced. I have a bunch of pictures some of which are hard to believe but hey, I didn't do it.
It was there and I took it. I hope to post the pictures sometime next week.

I will be in Arizona probably Sunday. I am beginning the best part of the trip and I don't have to rush anymore...

If you want to look at a map, I am going west on I-40 all the way to Flagstaff, then head south to Phoenix.

So long.

On the Road Again

If all goes well, I will be driving to Arizona starting this coming Monday the 5th of April. I hasten to let you know because my web activities will be cut off tomorrow night and I won't have access to it on the road unless by some miracle I land in places where they have internet cafés.

All those lucky enough to have received my mobile number, please keep in touch. I will too.

Talk to you on the other side.

Happy Easter.