Allow me to introduce myself. I'm a middle aged American, who decided to get all of his midlife crises out of the way in one shot. My marriage failed, my money almost gone, my job lost. Faced with the choice of heading to stay with family or leaping out in the great unknown, I chose the later. And headed to Texas from the Northeast to look for work. I left home on September 1st. The first part of the trip was sort of a vacation, but now I am in Texas meeting with people and trying to move forward. Periodically, I would send these long Jack Kerouac wannabe posts back to friends and loved ones. Three chapters are done now, this is the first. I'm sure a lot of people out there are facing similar problems, this is one of the ways I cope.
Approve, disapprove of what I say...doesn't matter to me. But, somewhere to someone I hope these messy words give you insight or comfort because the American we all yearned for still exists, we just have to find it.
In Search of America in the Age of Obama
Ramblings from the Road - Robert K., Esq.
Chapter 1
Sept 1, 2012
As I set out to find work, a new life and a way to not just get by, but to thrive in this changed world I never expected to share my thoughts and feelings with an audience. But, I sense that doing so will hasten the healing that is necessary, but that will never fully be achieved.
The first minute of the rest of my life took place at 854 this morning. The car was finally loaded, my goodbyes said. While things were not packed as cleanly as they should have been it was at least somewhat passable. I sat in the driveway, Karen in front of me -- Tears streaming down her face, the dog staring up at me with love in her eyes and I didn't know what to do. Pull out of the driveway or get out. I stopped the car and got out and gave my wife one last hug. We clutched onto each other and in that brief moment, glimpses of what might have been rang through my mind. And then, it was done. I got back in the car and officially became homeless and unofficially became divorced.
The paperwork will come through in a few weeks, but my marriage was done. We met on April 4, 1988; started dating on May 9, 1988; got married on August 8, 1993; our daughter was born on September 11, 1996 and on September 1st we moved on.
I leave many good friends and neighbors behind and while I am not prone to prayer, I pray that they will be there for Karen because while my departure may ease some aspects of her life, it will not be easy. Despite the acrimony, I hope with all of my soul and being that she finds the happiness that she deserves, but I could not provide. I still love her, but sadly love cannot overcome all ills and it is for the best that she have a clean start. And I pray for Kate, that she survives the conflicts with her Mother that are surely coming now that she cannot project her temper and frustrations on me.
But, eventually I am sure they will also band together...without me.
Heading North, up into Pennsylvania's coal country. Huge rolling, tree covered hills with occasional blasted hills covered slag. The names of the towns echo the history of the area - Coal Creek, Frackville, Port Carbon, Ashland. The Honda loaded with the detritus of my life - clothing, vodka, a folding chair, a few decks of cards, grandpop Jack's watch, a laptop, the flamingo cube Katie gave me after a trip to Florida. And an mp3 player with 2501 songs, each of which I will hear as the long miles flow by.
An hour north of home, Nat King Cole starts crooning "Unforgettable" and I begin to cry. I am thrust back to the winter of 1996. Karen is just pregnant, Kate barely a glimmer in my eye, Nat singing on a cassette and we grab for each other, slow dancing in our living room, outside the snow slowing falling on a dark evening, thoughts of future happiness and the closeness of each other dominating our beings to the exclusion of anything and everything else. Gone. Done. But, never forgotten and always cherished. Heading for new adventures and a new life, but while the cord has been cut the cut is ragged. The tears stream freely down my face and I would give all that I had to start over from that night so long ago.
Around 1030, I pull into the town of Ashland a sad, decrepit town built on shut down coal mines. A town with no flat ground, just hills. But, I remember not so long ago chaperoning Kate's 4th grade class here to see the Pioneer Mine. An old mine owned by the Reading railroad that shut down during the depression and is now a museum site. No the place to go if you're claustrophobic.
And I smile. It is a nice memory.
The towns look like they belong in "Deer Hunter". The churches have Onion bulbs for steeples and each streetlight has an American flag draped from it. The Fire department is set up in the middle of main street collecting funds. Things may be tight, but I give $5 because it is the right thing to do and you can't undervalue good karma.
God Bless America.
Driving Route 61 through Centralia. I make a wrong turn, only I could get lost in a ghost town despite having GPS. The error quickly discovered I turn around. And once again up into the hills. As I pass the crest of one mount, I look to my right and the line of the mountains stretches for miles and all along the crest are huge windmills - 20 strong, all of them cranking hard. God's creativity is unparalleled, but sometime's man's revisions can really catch the eye.
In my current state of mind - where everything is emotionally charged passing from melancholy to excitement and back again - I'm finding in my emotional state it takes very little to throw me into memories and emotions; a song, a sight, a smell all catalysts for whimsy and pain.
Suddenly, I'm thrust into July, 1987 cruising the Colorado hills with my cousins Adam (20) and Nathan (13). Credence Clearwater Revival is belting out--
I see the bad moon arising. I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin'. I see bad times today.
Don't go around tonight, Well, it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise.
I hear hurricanes ablowing. I know the end is coming soon.
I fear rivers over flowing. I hear the voice of rage and ruin.
That summer, I had travelled out to Denver to visit my family there. Adam, fulfilling the big brother role admirably dedicated a large part of his life to making the teenage Nathan miserable. And it was so easy, as Nathan wanted to hang with the 20 somethings so very, very badly. We rolled across Colorado, music blaring on the cassette player. And every time (or just about every time Nathan would want to listen to his music we'd hold a vote, because Adam and I were all for Democracy provided we got exactly what we wanted, each and every time. Adam would shout out "Who wants to listen to Suzanne Vega?" & Nathan would raise his hand. Then I'd shout out "And who wants to listen to CCR?" and Adam and I would raise our hands. Each and every time in went CCR and soon the two of us would be serenading Nathan with enthusiastic and off key renditions of Bad Moon Rising. Sometimes, as a joke I'd vote with Nathan and within 30 seconds or five minutes Adam and I would hold a "recall" election and slap that same damned tape into the cassette player for another round of Cajun blues. Given everything he has experienced it is amazing Nathan has turned out to be such a decent person.
Rolling deeper into Pennsylvania, I turn the mp3 player off as it gets closer to noon. North of Bellefonte, I turn on the radio to hear the beginning of the Penn State game. Coach O'Brien leads the team onto the field to the sound of rousing cheers. May Jerry Sandusky burn in hellfire, but goddamn I do love Penn State. Poor JoePa, to go out reviled after doing so much good - but all of that has been forgotten in the scandal. There's something good about that team running on the field; something honest.
But, as the game progresses reality catches up to those of us who love our University and the recently diminished Lions lose to Ohio University, it is going to be a long 6-7 years until my alma mater can return to prominence, but those of us who are loyal will be there to welcome their return and will stand fast during the hard times that are coming.
Three o'clock now and just across the Ohio border should arrive in Cleveland Heights around 430. Have been listening to a German vampire movie in german (Wir Sin Die Nacht) for the past 90 minutes. I don't speak German. But, I've seen the movie enough I know Lena's sad tale of woe without subtitles. All I can say is, if you were squeamish about killing people and wanted a chance to fall in love with Tom you shouldn't have become a vampire. Duh. And what is with cryptic endings? When I see a movie, I don't want to have to speculate as to how it ended. Bob has spoken, now shall it be done.
Get to Cleveland Heights without too much difficulty. My phone GPS decides to get touchy during the last part of the trip, but I manage to find my way. Temma is working tonight, but Glenn & Solly are working the Concession Stand at Isabel's Soccer game. Isabel is a beautiful young woman, but Solly is 13 and spectacularly hot, when I see her I instantly see Temma circa 1978.
If I were Glenn I would be absolutely terrified.
We hang. We talk. You'd be hard pressed to find two people more different than Glenn and myself, but I've always liked him. He is sunny and friendly, with an easy laugh and a glint of humor in his eyes. We watch Izzy's game, an unexpectedly easy victory and head for the house. Once we're there we discover that Glenn and I share at least one common interest -- Vodka. We relax and talk. And during our conversation, I learn that occasionally Temma goes "Milli Vanilli" (is touchy) on a few topics, including when the family is low on groceries. Because Temma can't take vengeance on me, I pen a note for the fridge - thanking her for her invitation to come to Cleveland Heights, but wondering why her fridge is stocked like a North Korean grocery store? And also thanking her for the single Tortilla chip, Glenn & I shared.
A bit later, we head to their neighbors Steve & Betsy, Michigan alumni, to watch the Alabama/Michigan football game. Michigan loses in a rout and Jesus smiles. Too bad, it had to be Alabama inflicting the beating. Betsy falls asleep on the sofa during the game, and just to provide her support I also doze off. Nice people....for Michigan fans. Glenn & I head back to the house in the rain and indulge in some more Vodka, for medicinal purposes only and discuss music as we wait for Temma's call to be picked up. After work, Temma hangs for a little bit, laughing at the note on the fridge -- but we are all tired and it is time to sleep. For the first time in weeks, I sleep well -- looking forward to the second day of the rest of my life.
