far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Wednesday, June 06, 2007

[continued from previous entry]

After a while, it came to feel like sitting in coach on a transatlantic flight -- packed between other seated individuals, hours and hours passing, long periods of nothing really happening, punctuated by the arrival of food or drink. The differences: everyone nicely dressed, conversation getting progressively louder, no one falling asleep, every now and then someone got to their feet and proposed a sweet, rambling toast to the newlyweds. Who looked like they were having fun, something that made me smile every time I noticed it.

Now and then I got up to stretch legs, disappear into the loo or exchange a few words with someone. Just before the evening ended, I found myself in another room with my brother and nephew. Chatting about nothing of great import. My nephew noticed something in the corner by the fireplace, picked it up -- a long, strangely tapered length of polished wood with two metal loops eight or so inches from one end, suggesting a hand guard. Like nothing else any of us had ever seen before. Brother and nephew examined it, debating whether it might be a practice broadsword. Nephew noticed that the hilt seemed to be springloaded, so intensely that it could barely be moved. A mystery. The group consensus: a shrugging of shoulders, returning the thing to its resting spot.

The time: 10:30. Rain had begun falling outside, people began streaming through the room on the way out, saying good-bye. Nephew suddenly grabbed the wooden thing, checked it out more closely -- might be a prototype, he said, but not of a sword. Looked more like an old, old pogo stick. And damned if it didn't. An antique pogo stick.

Said good-byes, hugged a few bodies, kissed a few cheeks. Headed downstairs, couldn't find a functioning door, had to beg a staff member to guide me to a real exit. He did, other staff folks watching with amusement, until I finally found myself out in the rain and cool night air, pointy boots taking me along a damp walkway and into the street, through shallow puddles of rainwater toward the car.

Followed winding roads through intensifying rain, got onto the Thruway, began the trip north. There really is nothing like sharing a road with bigass semi's in a major rainstorm.

Visibility was nearly nonexistent, dealing with tractor/trailer backwash was wearing me down. Two exits along, I bailed to look for a motel, get a few hours sleep. As I followed the exit ramp up a slope, a coyote appeared from the brush to one side, trotted across the ramp ahead of me (fur sodden with rain), disappeared into the greenery on the other side.

I slowed and stopped at the toll booth, offered the ticket and a twenty to the woman there, a big, heavyset mama. She stared at the bill. "I don't have anything smaller," I apologized. The toll was not much, she would have had to come up with a wad of cash in exchange for the twenty. "Well," she said, waving me on, "just move along then and have a good night." "Huh?" said I, confused. "I just came on," she explained, "I can't change that bill." "Er," I er'ed, jamming a hand into a pants pocket in a search for nonexistent coins. "Don't you worry," she continued. "Have a good night. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year." I thanked her and pulled away, totally blinkered by the event.

Found a motel nearby, a big, bland, characterless one belonging to a motel chain. Got a room -- a bizarrely huge room, so outsized that it looked nearly empty, despite containing all the furnishings a normal motel room would feature. Something about its subtle odors, the noise from the air system, the cheap rubbery foam blanket on the bed, provoked a faint feeling of nausea. Or maybe it was just the long day, with its hours of driving.

Got under the covers, drifted off before I could kill the lights.

[concluded in entry of June 9]


Espaņa, te echo de menos.

rws 6:07 PM [+]
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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

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MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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