Better than the best cup of coffee

Pictured above: Joanna and me and the world's smallest park in Portland. (It's in the background, right between us...the little tree...see it?) This post is about Seattle, but I liked this photo. We didn't even call each other to coordinate wardrobes...we're that close =).

Oct. 26, 2008

Ah, Seattle.
Land of rain and coffee and free-thinkers.
A land instantly recognized by its Space Needle skyline.
And, most importantly, the land where Joanna lives.
Joanna was one of my roommates in college and is now one of my best friends. In April, I went to see Seattle and Joanna. This trip, I was in Seattle to see only my friend, whom I miss more than I’d ever be able to say out loud. (Not because I don’t want to, but because I tend to stumble over spoken words.)
Joanna knows I’m keeping a blog about my travels. And, she said, she can’t wait to see what I write about Seattle. Little does she know I’m writing about her…muwahaha. (Sorry, it’s Halloween, and I had to throw in at least one evil laugh.)
Seattle is a great city. I highly recommend visiting. Pay the money for the Space Needle. It’s worth it. Take a cruise. They’re fun. Drink coffee. It’s good.
Okay, enough about Seattle. Let’s talk about friendship.
Mine and Joanna’s friendship was not instant. It was not even fast. I would say, in fact, it was forced…at the beginning anyway. We were roommates; we had to get along.
I thought Joanna was loud when I first met her. She probably thought I was boring. But we got over our differences. And I’m glad we did.
We have worked through life’s joys (men; career changes; friend’s weddings and kids) and trials (men; career changes; friend’s weddings and kids) in countless late-night (or should I say early morning) discussions. In college, these were face-to-face in the blue kitchen of the Kearney House. Now these conversations are over the phone, but they are just as rich.
Joanna has taught me the beauty of vulnerability. I struggle with pride, and thus with showing the ugly parts of myself and my life that come with being human.
But, Joanna reminds me, there is sweet release in letting go of that pride. Doing so breaks down the walls and allows each person to love the other in spite of, and because of, their idiosyncrasies. And, knowing someone’s struggles and insecurities makes their good parts all the more beautiful. (Snot and tears smothering the receiver of a cell phone can be beautiful because, after the deluge, there is that quavering breath acknowledging it’s all going to be okay because God is good.)
Joanna has also taught me the importance of silliness and laughter. I don’t think our times together ever lack laughter. That is sweet. It beats rain and coffee and the Space Needle skyline any day. And yes, I did say coffee.

Lights...camera...giant centipedes...action

From top to bottom, photos are:

1) Me and some giant centipedes that will soon be used in the film my brother is currently shooting. Check it out at www.pilgrimproductions.blogspot.com.

2) Justin, Andy, Solomon and Robert shooting a centipede scene.

3) Justin, in hoody sweatshirt, and Andy prepare to shoot.

Oct. 25, 2008

WHERE I AM: In Portland, Oregon. I am staying with some wonderful people who are friends of a friend from Bozeman. I'm still playing catch-up with this here blog...this post will be about Kalispell, Montana. I hope to write about Portland before I leave for Sacramento. What can I say? I can't keep up with myself.

WHAT I DID TODAY: Leecia, the lady Joanna and I stayed with, took us on a tour of Portland. We stopped to smell the roses at the rose garden, had some outstanding tea at a local tea house in Sellwood, explored the various neighborhoods around town, ate chocolate, drank coffee, etc. It was great. Yesterday, Joanna and I explored downtown Portland -- the highlights being Powell's City of Books, Voodoo Donuts and the world's smallest park.

WHAT I'M DRINKING: Nothing. But did I mention I had some great tea today? It was Kali Cha Oolong from India.

WHERE I'M GOING TOMORROW: Cannon Beach on the coast of Oregon, famous for Haystack Rock. I am very excited. Seeing the coast of Oregon has been a dream of mine for nearly 20 years. Wow.

I am a 27-year-old grandma.

I mean, not really...well, let me explain.

My brother is my pride and joy. Sometimes I don't realize this until people ask about my family. And then, well, I'm sure they are sorry they did.

"My brother makes movies," I begin.

"Oh, that's interesting," they say. "Anything I would know?"

"Well, no. But he did sell one a couple years ago. To Lionsgate. Have you heard of them?"

Most people have, or they think so anyway.

"Well, they're pretty big. Anyway, it's called Dead Noon, and it's kind of a western horror with some comedy and spiritual undertones...There's a Web site, if you want to check it out."

They nod politely.

I tell them about the budget and how Andy writes, shoots, directs, edits, everything.

They start to look at their watch.

I tell them about how he first picked up a movie camera when he was, like, 12 years old.

They start to look around for an escape route.

I tell them about how much he encourages me because he is one of the few people I know who has the guts to pursue his dream with all his energy.

They squirm.

I tell them about his amazing wife who supports his movie-making dream.

They look nervously at my hands, probably wondering if I'm about to pull out a wallet full of yellowed photographs. ("This is Andy in seventh grade with his first movie camera. This is Andy on the tennis team in high school. Oh, here's a baby photo. And this is his wedding day...").

I begin to realize I've rambled too much.

I take a breath and smile a big, dorky smile.

I apologize for gushing. But I'm not really that sorry. I mean, have I told you about the time Andy saved me from a bully on the school bus when we were kids? And do you know anyone who actually makes movies? Well, Andy does. And he's darn good at it. Did I tell you about the one...

* Yeah. I like my brother. I got to hang out with him and his actors and crew on Saturday on the set of his latest movie, a family film based on "Pilgrim's Progress." That's what the photos are from. Check out his blog at http://www.pilgrimproductions.blogspot.com/.

Pictures in Pittsburgh

From top to bottom, photos are:

1) Mary, a missionary to Africa, Audrey and Dale, and me. I stayed with Dale and Audrey in Pittsburgh. I was deeply blessed by their hospitality and their love for Christ and His work around the world.

2) Chicken salad...with French fries. Apparently people in Pittsburgh put fries inside or on top of darn near everything.

3) My prayer at Trinity Church in downtown Pittsburgh.

4) The Monongahela Incline. Super steep. Super fun.

5) Pittsburgh has more than 800 bridges. Wow. It's a beautiful city.

Photos in Philly

From top to bottom, photos are:

1) Denise, me and Amy at Pat's King of Steaks in south Philly. Mmmm, steak and cheese whiz. The proper way to order a cheesesteak with cheese whiz, no onions: "Whiz, wit-out."

2) The Liberty Bell. It's still cracked.

3) They say Philadelphia is the City of Brotherly Love.

4) Denise and Amy, the girls with whom I stayed, took me to Wawa upon my arrival. A super-glorified Seven Eleven, Wawa stores have everything a person could ever want. Like this uber coffee bar. I am convinced we need Wawas in Wyoming.

The Entertainer

Oct. 20, 2008

WHERE I AM: In Seattle with my good friend Joanna! But I'm writing about Philadelphia. You'll have to pardon me. I haven't had access to internet for days...Montana's too wild and western for that technology stuff...

WHAT I DID TODAY: Woke up. Ate cereal and yogurt and granola. Joanna and I planned our route to Portland, Oregon. She is traveling with me on this portion of my journey. It will be nice to have company.

WHAT I'M DRINKING: Coffee from Q Cafe, the coffee shop run by Joanna's church in Seattle.

WHERE I'M GOING TOMORROW: Joanna and I will be in Portland, Oregon, exploring Powell's City of Books, eating Voodoo Donuts, smelling the roses.

She's there every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, unkempt hair and toothy smile in sharp contrast to the Mozart, Brahms and Schubert singing from her fingers.

But the hair fit right in with "The Entertainer."

Sophia sways side to side as she plays, seemingly lost in her own music. The people enjoying lunch in Philadelphia's Reading Terminal Market sway too. Many walk by and drop a dime or a dollar into her tip jar.

I walk over to ask if I can take her picture. I want to capture this moment, I say.

She smiles up at me: "Hello, dear. Who's your favorite composer?"

"Umm, Mozart?"

Sophia leans over and fingers through a black bag of sheet music.

"Mozart...Mozart...ah, the 'Turkish March.' Do you know that one?"

She doesn't wait for an answer. She just starts to play, and sway and smile.

I snap my photo and place a tip in her jar. I'm about to walk away when Sophia stops me.

"Obama, dear. Are you going to vote for Obama?"

I'm not sure, I explain. I'm still weighing the issues, I've really struggled with this election...my voice trails off.

"Should I?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sophia speaks of the war in Iraq, the greed for oil, the corruption.

She pleads with me. Obama is the only one who can help the people in her neighborhood, she says, the people who sleep outside, the people who are cold...her voice trails off.

She turns to her piano and begins to play.

**Disclaimer: I am not telling people how to vote. I have been amazed, however, at how many times politics and the election have come up in conversation, often unprovoked. It is heavy on the minds of the American people.

Listening to the pages turn

WHERE I AM: On the train from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh. I have an entire seat to myself...ahhh, sweet rest.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Went to a museum and saw an exhibit on Morris Sendak, author of "Where the Wild Things Are." The museum was close to where my friend worked, and she was my ride to the train station at noon.
WHAT I'M DRINKING: Amtrak coffee. Again.
WHERE I'M GOING TOMORROW: I am exploring Pittsburgh...a city I know nearly nothing about. I am staying with a couple from a local Christian and Missionary Alliance Church who I can't wait to meet. They sound great!

Oct. 21, 2008

The question is common on this trip: Do I get lonely?
Yes.
There is something inherently lonely about watching the world glide by from the window of a passing train, hearing only muffled sounds of wheel on rail, of conversation, of someone turning the pages of a book.
It is lonely to see something you've never seen before and have no one with whom to share the excitement.
Interacting with strangers can be lonely since both parties know there is no history, and likely no future, of knowing each other.
Then again, it is possible to be lonely in the company of friends or husband or wife. My friends who are moms speak of their rush of words when their husband returns home after work -- and their bitterness when he is too tired to listen.
Maybe loneliness is inherent in being human. The presence of people, even when the connection is intimate, does not drive it away. The hardest heart of the most solitary man is not immune. And even saints of the faith -- Mother Theresa, Hudson Taylor, the apostle Paul -- spoke of crushing loneliness.
Yes, I get lonely. But that does not mean I am alone.

Amens, hallelujahs all around. Amens, hallelujahs inside me.

Oct. 19, 2008

A black mom with her two children, one walking
the other in her arms,
looks like she knows Brooklyn.

Do you know where the Brooklyn Tabernacle is? we ask.

Why yes. She's going there.
We fall into stride.
She tries to go every week, but she lives in Staten Island,
nearly an hour away,
and the kids, well, it's hard.
But she tries. She misses it when she can't.

Four white men in business suits approach.

Do you know where Brooklyn Tabernacle is? they ask.

Why yes. We're going there.
They fall into stride.

Through the foyer, into the
sanctuary.
It is the most beautiful sea I've ever seen: black, brown, suits, jeans,
young, old,
white smiles,
about eight white faces...two of them mine and Jake's.

There is not an empty seat in God's house today.

The choir stands.
The choir sways.
The people clap.
The people sing.

Amens, hallelujahs all around. Amens, hallelujahs
inside me.

I do not know why they put a roof on this place
because it must be blown off every week.

Pastor Cymbala, the man behind the book that brought me here,
speaks on John 5: the healing of the lame man at Bethesda,
the man who didn't know who Christ was
and who was healed anyway.
It was then the Pharisees first plotted to kill Jesus.
It was then religion started to destroy everything Christ stands for.

Not here, though. Christ stands
here.

I stand here,
part of the most beautiful sea I've ever seen.

I stand
hugging the women behind me.

I stand hugging
the woman next to me, her round cheek smushing mine,
her swaying body swaying mine,
her amens and hallelujahs
whispered in my ear.

--I attended worship at the Brooklyn Tabernacle in New York on Oct. 19. I wanted to go there because I read about it in Jim Cymbala's book, "Fresh Wind, Fresh Fire," which describes how the church went from dying to vibrant when God's people began to pray. They set up a prayer room and prayed all day, during Sunday services and often into the night. The prayer room exists to this day and is filled with people who pray from 7 in the morning until 10 at night every day of the week. Pastor Cymbala, in his announcements, called it the most important service of the church.

Saying Cheese in the Big Apple

Oct. 18, 2008

WHERE I AM: The ING Direct coffee shop in Philadelphia. Yeah, the bank. Great tea; only one dollar. They're really into saving people money.

WHAT I DID TODAY: I explored Philadelphia...but I'll write about that later. This post is about New York.

WHAT I'M DRINKING: Hibiscus C herbal tea. Two bags in one cup means great flavor.

WHERE I'M GOING TOMORROW: Pittsburgh. Go Steelers.

I'm still digesting New York. My tour guide, friend and former co-worker Jake Morgan, was so thorough in showing me the sights I don't even know where to begin. So, for now, I'll let some photos speak for themselves.

Central Park

Me and Jake

Times Square

Rockefeller Center

Sept. 11 memorial in Staten Island

New York Stock Exchange

Me, Warhol, soup

Modern art in the Museum of Modern Art

Me outside of the MuMA

Lady Liberty

Oct. 18, 2008

I rode the Staten Island ferry today in New York.
It passed the Statue of Liberty. She gleamed in the sunlight, a pure reminder of this country’s gift of freedom.
I cried.

Nothing new under the sun

Oct. 17, 2008

As I ride the ‘T’ in Boston this morning, I realize that as different as the areas of this country are, we have many things in common.
People are sleepy in the morning.
We all desire relationship.
Breaking up hurts. Bad.
I watched a new friend here break up last night. I sat with her and her friends as she ate ice cream, joked about finding the nearest bridge, cried and questioned why. I watched as she resolutely acknowledged she would have to move on.
It reminded me so much of one of my own break-ups: a close, magical, darn-near-perfect romance that ended for no apparent reason. Sometimes things just happen. I don’t know if they are orchestrated by God. And I’m not sure it matters.
I guess there is nothing new under the sun.

Thank goodness for Google

Oct. 16, 2008

WHERE I AM: Robyn and Rosana's apartment in Boston.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Had breakfast at Magnolia's in Burlington, Vermont. Supposedly it is the first certified "green" cafe in the nation. It was good...but really pricey. Any other day I would have been upset by the price. Today? It's my birthday. Splurges are allowed, right? After breakfast, I drove from Burlington to Concord, New Hampshire, to Boston. I realize I may be a little sleep deprived right now, but the colors once again made me cry. Who am I to be able to see such magnificence? Who am I to walk among God's creation?
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Water. I think I’m dehydrated. Too much coffee.
WHERE I'M GOING TOMORROW: New York, New York. The Big Apple.

All I can say today is thank goodness for Google Maps. And people who can read them…and help me get un-lost.
Let me explain.
I rented a car in Boston, my first ever, mentioned in previous blog entries as the Toyota Yaris that takes me far-ish. Driving in Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont was no problem. I was even doing pretty well in Boston, a city notorious for being confusing, intimidating and all-around mean to drivers weaned into the world of wheels in the wide open spaces of the West. Like me.
But then there was a truck. A really big truck. Right behind me. In a skinny tunnel. Its headlights filled my rearview mirror, glowing, menacing, like the eyes of a tiger zoned on its prey.
I gripped the wheel, pursed my lips and coaxed the gas pedal.
My exit!
A glance at the mirror!
What the…?!
Yes, I cursed. I missed my exit. That’s what happens to people who curse.
I was lost. My gas tank was nearly empty. My car was due back in 20 minutes – with a full tank.
Panic.
Tears.
Half dials to 911 – and home.
I called Jill. No answer. It was the middle of the work day. I tried Robyn. Then Amy. I had only met Amy once, at midnight the night I arrived in Boston. She answered.
I called out street names as I passed. I dodged pedestrians, got sucked into one-ways and whipped around rotaries. I had the easy job. Amy somehow tracked my insane path on Google Maps and guided me out.
Tears.
Fist pumps into the air.
Car returned at 3:59 p.m. Empty. You can’t win them all.
Thanks, Amy. I owe you one.

Beauty painting beauty

Debbie and Dawn, from left to right, paint the beautiful foliage. These women taught me about fighting to spend time with my friends and loved ones.

Oct. 14, 2008

They were just two friends out painting the fall foliage together. Dawn and Debbie, from New Hampshire and Colorado, set up easels near the river. They squirted paint onto their palettes. They gazed at the yellows and reds and greens and oranges before them and touched brush to paper to capture the kaleidoscope of color.

They were searching for beauty. But when I walked up to say hello, I wanted to tell them they already had it. These two women in their early 50s were more stunning than their golden backdrop. Gray hair tucked into painter’s caps, aprons tied and smiles wide, they were obviously enjoying the scenery and each other’s company. I admired their simplicity and their fight to maintain it by spending a day painting together.

I want to be like that. I don’t want life to sweep me away in a rush of to-dos and selfish ambition. I want to be a good friend, a good daughter and a good sister. I hope someday to be a good wife, selfless and loving and striving always to show my husband God's love. And I want to always have time for the people who grace my life with theirs.

Greater and greater, less and less

Oct. 14, 2008

WHERE I AM: Burlington, Vermont. I am staying with the music director of North Avenue Alliance church. Her name is Kara Krikorian. As we got to know each other over dinner tonight, I felt like I already knew her, like we were old college buddies. It was encouraging to me to feel such a connection.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Drove from Portland, Maine to Burlington, Vermont. I followed Route 302 through Maine then took Highway 112, also called the Kancamagus Highway, through New Hampshire. A drive that should have taken four hours took nearly seven because I stopped so many times to get out and walk among all the colors.
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Coffee. I think I will have to order some schnazzy drink soon so this is more exciting. A martini, shaken not stirred, perhaps? Or a grande hazelnut latte, skinny, half-calf with whip? I am at Muddy Waters Coffee House, which, supposedly, was recently rated one of the top five coffee shops in the nation by USA Today…or some great honor like that. I can see why. Wooden floors, hand-hewn wood beams, groovy music, microbrews on tap, full of hip twentysomethings working to solve the world’s problems.
WHERE I’M GOING TOMORROW: I am exploring Burlington. And drinking lots of coffee because there is a coffee shop (or two or three) on every block. Heavenly.

In his Chronicles of Narnia book, “The Last Battle,” C.S. Lewis describes heaven as going “further up and further in,” as a land so magnificent it takes your breath away – and then only gets better. As I drove through quaint Maine towns and over the White Mountains on the Kancamagus Highway today, Lewis’ words came to me. As I went further up and further in, I became more aware of God’s astounding beauty, and less aware of myself as I got lost in it.

An ancient stone church framed by trees just blushing red would catch my eye – and often my camera. Miles ahead, the reds would become deeper, the oranges more complex. Then, just miles further into the White Mountains, purple leaves would splash onto the scene and upstage yellow leaves just beginning to expire and flutter down into the rocky river below. My four hour drive became seven. It could have easily been ten.

At dinner tonight, Kara and I talked about prayer. She said she’s been learning the importance of adoration in prayer. Not thanksgiving, though that is also important. Adoration. That exaltation of God for who he is, not just what he does. It is a part of prayer that takes you so far outside yourself it is impossible to worry or judge or pity circumstances that are likely to teach you something if you let them. We all need that. My wandering in the wilds of New England, and my conversation with Kara, reminds me of John 3:30: He (God) must become greater and greater, and I must become less and less.

Holy blazing colors Batman!

It's late. I'm tired. I have an early train tomorrow. I have lots of thoughts from my time in New Hampshire and Vermont...but you're all going to have to wait. Here's a glimpse at what I saw on the Kancamagus Highway, though...

My Toyota Yaris takes me far-ish

Photos from top to bottom are: 1) Me and my rented Toyota Yaris. It takes me far-ish. 2) The Portland Head Lighthouse. 3) A reminder that the sea is not friendly. 4) Fall color, the ocean, nice. 5) Me, Reuben, Sophia and Fausto. Reuben is my friend John's cousin.

WHERE I AM: Just about to leave my B&B in Maine to drive through the White Mountains of New Hampshire and the Green Mountains of Vermont.

WHAT I DID TODAY: It's 7 in the morning. I haven't done much. Yesterday, however, I did a lot of exploring. I drove my little rental Toyota Yaris to the Portland Head Lighthouse, the oldest in Maine. Once there, I walked the trails and sat on that rocky shore. I shivered in the crisp breeze and breathed that salty air. I loved every minute on the coast. I sang worship songs and prayed and cried at being so lucky to experience God's vast beauty.

WHAT I'M DRINKING: I will soon be drinking coffee...

WHERE I'M GOING TOMORROW: I'll be in Burlington, Vermont. It's in the northwest corner on Lake Champlain.

Prayer is a privelege. That is the thought that occured to me most as I sat on the rocky shore of Maine near the Portland Head Light. Watching the ocean crash white and frothy and mean against those black rocks made me feel so small.

Behind me the hillsides blazed orange and red and yellow. Below me the ocean pulsed. I shivered in its cold mist. Then there, in all that commotion, God sat next to me and we talked. I was reminded of some words I read recently in the Old Testament. They went something like this: What other nation is so great as to have their god near to them the way God is near to us when we pray?

Harvard and a little history

Before I wax philosophical about Maine, I wanted to share a few thoughts about my time in Boston.

On Oct. 10, I visited Harvard University in Cambridge. Students played football in the yard and read books on the steps of the Widener Library. If I had been in journalist mode, I would have found out which books and talked literature or science with them, but alas, I was in gawking mode. So I too sat on the steps of the library and read a book: "The Great Shark Hunt" by Hunter S. Thompson. That made me feel smart and edgy. (Thanks, Andy, for giving me such a great book to read on my long hours on the train.)

After soaking in the smartness at Harvard, I soaked in the history at Christ Church and its old burying ground. Designed in 1759 by the colonies' first well-known architect, Peter Harrison, the church was operating during the Revolution. On New Year's Eve 1775, Mrs. George Washington requested a special service be held. She and president George attended, sitting in the front pew on the left-hand side of the sanctuary. I sat there too.

The next day, Oct. 11, I bummed around Boston. Some photos are included below in a previous entry.

I visited Boston Public Library, which is so grand it houses art exhibits along with its book collection. My favorite was one by photographer Yousuf Karsh. It was black-and-white photos of literary greats like John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemmingway and Albert Einstein. People viewing the exhibit were quiet, seemingly in respect of such great thinkers.

I then visited the Hall of Ideas, a fountain that spews quotes as well as water via LCD projections, in the First Church of Christ, Scientist. The sanctuary of that church, founded by Mary Baker Eddy, I believe, seats 3,000 people. That's a lot of brainwashing.

I got high...fifty-two stories high, to be exact. From the top of the Prudential Skytower, I could see all of Boston. My favorite sight was the white sail boats drifting in the harbor far below.

I ended my tour walking the Freedom Trail. I looked into the Old South Meeting House, otherwise known as the birthplace of the Revolution. After one particularly rousing meeting here, colonists went and held the Boston Tea Party.

The neatest thing I saw had nothing to do with history. After looking at stained-glass pictures of Christ in New Old South Church, I saw the love of Christ in action outside on the street. A young man eating a sandwich walked past an old homeless man begging for help. Without a second of hesitation or an air of look-at-me-doing-a-good-deed pride, the young man wrapped up his half-eaten sandwich and gave it to the homeless man. The gift was not big, but the way in which it was given was so real.

On a side note, I think Boston wins the prize for most crowded subway train I've ever seen...and smelled...and been pressed against sticky people in. Woo hoo.

Bumming around Boston

Oct. 12, 2008

WHERE I AM: At a Bed and Breakfast in Portland, Maine.

WHAT I DID TODAY: Rented my first rental car and drove it from Boston to Portland, Maine, up Route 1A and Route 1. Ate dinner at a groovy little joint called The Dogfish Bar and Grill.

WHAT I'M DRINKING: Nothing. Just getting ready for bed.

WHERE I'M GOING TOMORROW: The coast!

Well, sometimes writers don't have much to say. I believe the term is "Writer's Block." So, readers, tonight I leave you with some photos of my day exploring Boston. From top to bottom we have 1) Me thinking deep thoughts in the grandest public library I've ever seen 2) The reflecting pool of the First Church of Christ, Scientist, as seen from the Prudential Tower Skywalk 3) Paul Revere's final resting place in the Old Burying Ground 4) Boston going to bed 5) A man resting in peace 6) The Boston Police getting ready for action 7) Trinity Church reflected in the Hancock Tower.

A field of fire

Oct. 9, 2008

WHERE I AM: On Lakeshore Limited train no. 48 coming into Buffalo, New York. I’m across the way from two ladies…one is from California, the other from Colorado.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Rode the rails. Woke up to the sunrise in Erie, Pennsylvania. It was a peachy pink that lit up the stalks of corn and the tree farms just beginning to burst red, orange, yellow. Had breakfast with a volcano expert named Bob Brown. We talked all about Yellowstone and how it’s due to blow any day now.
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Amtrak coffee. My second cup even though it cost a whopping $1.75. My Dad said I shouldn’t be afraid to splurge on the things that will make my day special…I think this counts.
WHERE I’M GOING TOMORROW: I’ll be in Boston, exploring the harbor and Harvard campus, drinking coffee, writing, observing the world.

The sun is just up.
I haven’t watched the sun rise in a long time. That is my loss.
This morning it lights up a pine tree farm. The field looks like a zebra -- rows of shadow, rows of squatty treetops lit by the new sun, shadow, sun, shadow, sun. The next farm is deciduous trees. All red and orange, it looks like a field of fire.

A seatmate named Stan

Oct. 8, 2008

WHERE I AM: Nebraska. Riding California Zephyr train no. 6.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Rode the rails. Met lots of neat people, including a man named James who is a retired Associated Press photographer. We talked newspapers, travels, baseball. He shoots photos of spring training and freelances them each year to make money to travel.
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Water.
WHERE I’M GOING TOMORROW: Through Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York and Massachusetts.

It is 7 in the morning. I am watching the world wake up from the window of my train in Lincoln, Nebraska. The corn stalks are spent. Dried husks, slightly translucent, ripple gold in the sunlight like God is throwing a blanket over the world.

My seatmate is a 78-year-old man named Stanley Garland. He’s got a good story:

It took 20 minutes, but he did it. He’d been on the train for two days. All he wanted was to lie down.
First Stanley Garland, 78, rolled onto his side, facing the window. Then he slid onto his knees and rested that way for several minutes. He looked like a man in prayer. Maybe he was.
Next Garland slid his feet under the seat in front of me and lowered his head onto the edge of his seat. He was stuck. There was no going back now.
Shuffle, shuffle, wiggle, wiggle. He curled his legs and eventually got his head and shoulders jammed under his seat.
“I did it,” he said, muffled by the seat above his head. “I did it.”

Garland is a widower. Six years now, he’s been alone. But the twelve years he had with his second wife were worth chasing her to Yugoslavia.
He asked Veronica to marry him when she was in America on a 6-month visa. She said no. If he wanted her, he’d have to find her across the ocean.
“I don’t think she thought I would actually come,” he said.
They dated across the ocean. He brought her back to America and taught her English. Then he brought her kids over, and their kids, 10 in all.
She learned how to play Bingo and how to keep her winnings rather than gamble them away again. Once she won $2,500 and told the owner of the Bingo hall, in her broken accent, there was no way the hall would get that money back, Garland said. She used it to buy two visas and two plane tickets to bring her daughters to her side.
Garland and Veronica continued to date. He cared for her kids.
Then one day, with little pomp and lots of practicality, Garland took Veronica’s hand. “If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it now.”
He pulled a ring from his pocket, slipped it on her finger and led her to the courthouse. They were married that day, and loved each other to the end.

ReMUNeration

Oct. 7

WHERE I AM: Union Station in Denver. The adventure is about to begin. A man is singing. His voice echoes around the hall and seems to quiet the crowd of people anxiously awaiting a train two hours late.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Packed my bags. Got the song “I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll come back again” stuck in my head. But I changed the words: “I’m leaving on a big train…”
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Lots of water, which may be a mistake come midnight tonight on the train.
WHERE I’M GOING TOMORROW: Through Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois. I’ll hit Chicago in time to see the skyline at night.

I couldn’t give him what he needed. My identification? No. My tickets? No. A little sass? No. Amtrak ticket agent Harold McDowell wanted $20.
Um, no, I said.
Why not? he asked.
Um, because.
We bantered. Then McDowell found out I was writing a blog.
“Tell your blog people to send me $20,” he said.
No, wait, I should phrase it intelligently, make him credible: “Say, ‘Harold is slightly destitute and may be in need of a little remuneration.’ Yeah, use that word, remuneration. That sounds good.”
He accented it to bring out the money sound: ReMUNeration.
So, Harold McDowell, here you are. You asked for it.
Everybody, Amtrak agent Harold McDowell, in Denver, is slightly destitute and may be in need of a little ReMUNeration. Twenty dollar bills only, please.

I'm off!

Hello all,

Just a quick, quick note to say I am off! My train leaves in about 8 hours, give or take.

Pray for me. I'll be praying for you all, too.

Hannah

Some call me a hobo

It looks like I got my hobo leanings early in life. That's Mick the Dad, Cindy the Mom, Andy the brother and me...the little squirt in the flannel shirt.

Another year for Halloween, my family and I went as the Three Blind Mice and the Farmer's Wife. Good times.

WHERE I AM: In my folks’ basement. In my old room.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Went to my folks’ church and reconnected with some old friends I hadn’t seen in a while. Took a nap. Finished moving into my folks’ basement. (Thank you, Mom and Dad, for taking me back. It won’t be for long…hopefully.) Had an awesome dinner of bratwurst, sauerkraut, scalloped potatoes, salad, garlic bread and pumpkin pie. Yummy!
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Right now, surprisingly, nothing.
WHERE I’M GOING TOMORROW: Just finalizing everything for my departure. Packing, making calls, re-packing, checking the list…again.

I am a journalist. I like questions, and I like those questions to have answers. Preferably, I like those answers to be witty, quotable and clean.
Who: Some call me a brave girl. I remind them the line between bravery and stupidity is thin. I am just a girl – granted, one who loves adventure. Lately, I’ve been called a hobo.
What: I am riding the rails into the great unknown. Or something like that. I bought a 30-day unlimited Amtrak pass, and I’m going to see where it takes me.
When: I leave in two days.
Where: Denver, Boston, the coast of Maine, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, Philadelphia, my Grampa’s stomping grounds, Pittsburgh, West Virginia, Chicago, Kalispell, Seattle, Portland and the Oregon coast, Sacramento, San Francisco, Yosemite, home.
Why: That’s the tough one. The quick answer is because I can. I’ve got the money, the time, the freedom.
The real answer is a lot more complicated.
Some have asked me if I’m running away from something. Yes, that’s possible.
Some wonder if I’m searching for my soul. No, but I am searching for what fires my soul.
Some think I am looking for love. Aren’t we all? I only hope I look for God first. I only hope I give love before demanding it in return.
This journey is not really my own. It is God’s. He called me to it months ago, and I am simply following. I don’t know where, exactly, I’m going, or whom I will meet or how it will all come together. I just know I’m supposed to go.
That makes the answer to the “why” question messy. But I’m okay with that. As my pastor told me just days ago, God’s missions don’t require explanations.
I hope you’re all okay with that.
It keeps it exciting anyway. And I, for one, can’t wait to see where this hobo goes.