yippee-i-o-ki-ay

Listen to God.

2011-11-28T10:28:00.007-05:00

The sun was hitting the ground where wet leaves, blown aside by passing cars, steamed and filled the air with the scent of Indian summer.  Oaky was moving at a steady pace away from the barn and across the railroad tracks.  We were on our way.  Probably without a final destination, just heading out.  Then I received a message, strong, clear and undeniable, ‘Hey Amy, everything is going to be all right, in fact, it’s going to be great”.  My entire body vibrated in harmonic delight. I glowed and smiled and then a voice in my head said, “Yah, you might have it made now… but you will suffer later”.  As instantly as the ecstasy took over, it disappeared.

What happened next is the miracle. The joy came right back. I, at fourteen years old, made the choice to believe that everything is great and will continue to be great. That ride, on that road, on that September day sums up what I now call “Oakyville”. The place where everything is love, everyone is love and everything is o.k., just the way it is.Now I am not saying I haven’t been detoured and waylaid in the forty years since that fabulous experience. But I’ve been getting back in the saddle and I keep heading out. That, I think, is what it means to be a warrior. And that’s the way I want to live my life.

Listening to the Great Mystery, and letting my bones hear what God has to say.

Middle Of Summer Damn IT

2011-08-22T10:10:00.006-04:00

A Summer Girl is what I am, through and through. Always was. The sure sign was a deep harrowing melancholy that hit me the minute my mom said... "school clothes shopping". Keep in mind I am so old that school clothes shopping meant, dresses and skirts in wool and hush puppy shoes in suede. Also old enough to know a woman who, as a child, wore underpants that she made out of old flour sacks. True.
So, when its the end of August and folks say, "Ah, the last days of summer", I feel somewhat annoyed. Like, hey, summer is not over until September is almost over, and September hasn't even started. Not only that, but, some of the best days of summer are not even summer, they are Indian Summer days. It was on one of these Indian Summer days that I had my talk with God. I was fourteen and life was split wide open in the most innocent and empowering of ways. More on that later.

Back to today. Today is the day after the end of the 50th Anniversary of the Philadelphia Folk Festival. I was there for two days of it. Image #1 at the top tells you what much of the weekend was like, image #3 tells you what the Yards tent looks like when they run out of beer, waaa.

Between the two is an image that speaks to a message I received this morning. Before I was awake, but after I wasn't sleeping anymore, I was having a conversation about the earth (seeds), the sky (feathers) and the water (shells)... the fire was eluding me. The fire wasn't clear, the fire was a mystery. And that's when my conversation turned more into a loud whisper in my ear. Hey! Don't push it sister, just accept the mystery and go with that. And that's when I realized I am pregnant. Now we know that pregnant can mean:
developing offspring within the body

but it can also mean:

weighty or significant; full of meaning: a conversation occasionally punctuated by pregnant pauses.
of great or potentially great import, implication, or moment: "It was a politically pregnant time in Poland"
having a profusion of ideas; creative or inventive.
producing results; fruitful: a pregnant decision.

And that is the pregnant that I am. And that is the situation I will accept. And with that I opened my eyes and sprung from my bed and started my day. Getting ready for those labor pains, making a nest and really in love.

Like the beech nut, I will open and something full of potential will be revealed and maybe it will grow, maybe it will not, but that isn't what my life is about. My life is about being a Summer Girl, and it is the middle of summer damn it! Let's enjoy.

Dreaming... as usual... big, wild and fun

2011-08-08T19:42:00.006-04:00

Say hello to Turtle. Turtle is an inspiration to my friend Denise Shardlow and me. Turtle is what we decided to call the Artisans Tour that we are working on in Cheltenham Township where we both live right now. Denise is a fabric designer, check out her work here.

If you, or someone you love, is an artist in Cheltenham Township, please visit our site www.TurtleArtTour.com
There you can read about what we are up to and how you can be a part of it.

Meanwhile, the Phillies lost. I don't have cable so I really wish that I could catch a win with the one game that's on regular tv each week. But still, it was fun to hang out here with Will, fans spinning, cicada's singing and the basic mid summer oppressiveness, that I would take any day over the "roll me up and let me sleep" chill of winter.

Talked with my friend Bet in Maine. Raining up there, but spirits are shining on. Bet has a fish fry, so if you are heading downeast, give her a visit. Nick called too, and we had a chance to catch up. Funny thing about my kids, they are real independent, damn good communicators and big hearted folks. All I ever wanted is for them to be true to themselves, and I think they are doing me proud... but all I can really ever have is the opportunity to be true to myself.

This here is a barn in Bucks County, and if I have my way, it's going to be the site of a fabulous horse therapy program called Quiet Road. Think about it, a place out in the country where you turn off your cell phone, sleep in, read, ride for hours, eat good food, get a massage and regroup. A true Holiday. Right here in Bucks County.
And if I have my way, friends Darla & Lou Pompilio will be in on the whole adventure with me. Actually, there will be many friends in on this adventure. So if you are interested, give me a holler.

Still on an adventure across the USA, just building up some steam.

Happy Trails,
Amy

Close to four hundred days later....

2011-08-07T16:41:00.006-04:00

Hey,
I just wanted to post something now... watching the Phillies and a little distracted, but thought I'd start up again. A short blog, with some images, might be enough to get me back in the blogsaddle again. So here are the images...

Here is one from last summer, on the beach in Oregon. Will went back to UMass and had a fabulous junior year. He moved off campus into an apartment with three friends. The highlight for me was when he called from Trader Joes and asked what he should fix for dinner that night. So far he had the ingredients for clam chowder. I said, throw together a salad and get some good bread and that would be perfect. A few hours later his facebook posting said, "Great dinner, clam chowder and lobsters." Why bother?

Nick, shown here on same Oregon beach, went with us as far as Calgary. We went by way of my Friends, Bill and Linda, who treated us royally in Kaslo British Columbia. I've known Bill since I was 14. He lived with a bunch of guys in a house they called "Easy Acres". I think Easy Acres was a title they gave a bunch of houses back then. All I can say is I felt really honored to be accepted into their world.

So Nick traveled to Calgary to spend some time with friends. I made a few there myself. Evonne and Robert insisted I take the guest bedroom, join them for breakfast, have dinner and celebrate Roberts birthday... oh... the kids must celebrate too! If you've ever wondered if 'the more the merrier' is true... talk with Evonne and Robert. They really know merrier.
So, that's it for now.... I am leaving you with a shot taken somewhere in southern Alberta. Will must have taken it as we headed home on a windy Monday morning. Open road and big sky ahead.

recollections and dull reminiscences

2010-06-23T11:05:00.005-04:00

When Will and I headed off in the shadowy early morning of June 11th, he plugged in his ipod and qued up Led Zeppelin’s Going to California. Mid day on the 21st we crossed the Nevada-California border just north of Lake Tahoe with the ipod stowed away and nothing but the sound of bird song and a Northern Pacific train rolling along side of us. Now I am not saying we didn’t do a fair share of mp3 musical accompaniment along the way, but I will say, it wasn’t as much as I had anticipated. The unexpected quiet was full of contemplation, inspiration, and exhaustipation.

I did not predict that driving over 3000 miles could keep me so engage, not with actual driving, but quiet meditation. What I thought about, I don’t know, but there was acceptance all over the place and connections happening mile after mile. This is to say, I felt protected and guided and supported. Not a bad way to feel and I think it was reflected in my joy at every stop for gas, coffee and … well, that’s about all I stopped for.

We drove through the lush woodlands of Pennsylvania, just under Lake Erie in Ohio, Indiana, Lake Michigan’s mist in Chicago, clouds sitting on Iowa’s young cornfields, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada and into California. Images, scents, and most of all, my fascination with the dreams and struggle of those that traveled these trails 150 years before me, kept my mind spinning. True, I have absolutely no idea what the dreams and struggles of those who traveled these trails 150 years before me were, but my imagination was sown by clouds, rocks and sage, and it’s fait accomplit. Living over fifty years taught me a few things, one of them: this inspiration will show up somewhere, somehow in my future work. Keep your ear on the rail for more on that.

Now for the exhaustipation… (made up word, obviously, but you get the drift). A previous blog described Will’s mind-boggling ability to drain me of all energy when he fell asleep. This continued without relief until I discovered Glaceau Vitamin Water. Starbuck’s couldn’t stop him, McDonalds Ice Coffee couldn’t impede him, a good night’s sleep was no match, but once I drank half a bottle of ‘Focus’, he was rendered ineffective. There are two reasons for this. First; as any mother can tell you, once one attempts to eat or drink anything your child will inevitably want some of it, which, in fact, is what happened and therefore Will was wide awake for at least two hours. Second; when he did fall asleep I found myself whistling Dixie down the road bright eyed and bushy tailed for several hours. I am hooked. From now on I have quit all food and am only drinking the suite of Glaceau vitamin waters for all my dietary needs. This will promptly start tomorrow afternoon. Tonight Nick, Will and I are dining on a seeded baguette, smoked gouda and fromager d’Affinois. Our second bottle of pinot noir is down two glasses and the sushi, kale salad, and pasta/bacon salad went down a few hours ago. Tomorrow morning we are planning on loading up the car and heading over to Little Prague to watch some of the USA – Algeria World Cup, while eating breakfast and enjoying the free glass/beer special. Right now we are camped out on the floor, watching Jeopardy, Nick’s apartment cleaned and ready for evacuation.

Nick lives/d in an apartment complex, not that different from one you would find in Pennsylvania. During one of the trips to the dumpster I stopped to ask Nick, Will and myself, “If you were blind folded in Pennsylvania and dropped here, would you be able to accurately determine the your location?”. We all agreed, no. That, of course, is a question I asked on the first day of summer. Come December there may be a different answer. But right now, we are sitting pretty, 80 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, birds singing, and Route 101 straight ahead.

This brings me, once again, to thoughts of Joel. Well, first, let me back up and say Happy Birthday to my dad Martin Grady Ragsdale II. He was born today in Chicago in 1922. I am not sure my dad ever came out to California, but something makes me think he did. Joel, on the other hand, did live out here, and not too far from where I am sitting right now. Joel and his best friend, Colette, lived at 22b Olive Street in Novato. Thirty-two and a half years ago he and Colette were heading up 101 to visit friends when, just above Santa Rosa, a drunk driver hit them. Strange but true, tomorrow morning, Nick, Will and I are picking up where Joel left us, Route 101, north of Santa Rosa.

Joel, in my recollection, was a tender soul, with just a bit of sadness fueled by his disappointment in the human condition. This could be an entirely false statement about my big brother, but I guess we will never know. Makes me think that perhaps all we ever leave behind could be recollections and dull reminiscences. That being said:
Joel was a climber of willow trees and a Boy Scout. He was 1964 International Harvesters, surprise homecomings and the Christmas when he decided to give away his most cherished belongings (the yellow ten-speed went to me). Joel was an artist and a poet. He was a traveler, whether he left his home or not. If you believe that we are bundles of energy bouncing around the Universe, you might believe that Joel’s energy is hanging out with us here in Davis, and might be joining us on the ride he never finished with Colette in 1977. If it becomes obvious that he is, I will share with you the signs.

There is so much to tell, from the gathering of friends and family at Ryan and Meredith’s blissful weekend wedding in Vail, the over night stay in a casino in Wendover, Nevada and the sad moose sighting on the shoulder of Route 80 in Park City, Utah. Please stay tuned because I will write all about it tomorrow. Suffice to say that rethinking careers, happy tears and cold beers will be duly addressed in my next entry. Have to run, the Coconut Bliss Vanilla Ice Cream is ready.

You have to have a big heart if home is where the heart is.

2010-06-16T09:09:00.010-04:00

You know you have the perfect person riding shot gun across the United States when you come over a crest in east Colorado, see the snow capped Rockies off in the distance and he says, "Do we have any Aaron Copland”? And on your ipod, you have ... Arron Copland. If you get a chance, take a listen, close your eyes and you can just about feel the dry hot air on your skin and smell the tumbleweed.

We left out of Kearney Nebraska a few hours following sun up yesterday. After being on route 80 for a hundred and fifty miles we topped off the tank in Ogallala and then ducked south along Route 61. I just wanted to see a few tiny Nebraska towns and we did. They sure are tiny and look as though they haven't changed much since 1950. While Will was working on finishing his book, I was thinking about how weird life is.

You can be born, live a life and be buried all in one little spot of the world and probably be just fine with it.  Then there are people like NickRa, my 27-year-old son, who has lived in Pennsylvania, Italy and California.  He rode his bike from Rome to Amsterdam, and took the long way, as well as driven across the United States.  After Denver, Will and I are picking up NickRa and delivering him to his sweetheart in Calgary.  I don’t know where I am going with this, just that it sure is interesting to me how for every human being there is, there is a different dream as to what makes a life a life.  And sometimes I look back on mine and think, “Whose idea was that”, “What made me think that would work” and my favorite, “Damn, I am lucky”.  Maybe it’s being 53; maybe it’s just 2000 miles in four days, maybe its passing houses that at one time protected a family, now sitting empty and forgotten.

Just about 2:00 we pulled up in front of Laura and Dave’s house in Washington Park Denver, also known as ‘My home in the Rockies’. Laura and I have been friends since 1992ish. We met during Little League, both having boys playing ball for the local teams. Laura has moved quite a few times in all these years, from Saratoga to Houston and now Denver and I’ve always been given the absolute compliment from her and Dave, “mi casa su casa”. Now I am not saying she doesn’t have this on a big poster at the front door and all her friends feel the same, but for me, it was an epiphany.

The day I walked into her home in Saratoga I was struck with the details to comfort and beauty, the new construction, the selection of bathroom reading material, the tiles Laura had just installed behind the kitchen sink. While I was running my hands along the shiny marble topped island with stainless bar sink and stunning stools all around, I felt a twinge of jealousy. I wondered why I couldn’t have this too, I felt like Laura had it all and I was stuck with a row house rental in Ambler (true), but then it happened. I heard ‘that’ voice again. This time it said, “Hey, this is your house, this is your house in Saratoga that Laura and Dave take care of for you”. My entire body reacted with joy. When I told Laura, she smiled as if she already knew that. With subsequent moves she would often fill me in on the house hunting by starting with, “Dave and I found your new house”. Cool. Truth is, Laura and Dave are just those kind of people, they have made their home in their hearts. Never empty, never alone. Which makes me the luckiest woman in the world for knowing them.

Gratitude Day

2010-06-14T20:28:00.007-04:00

Hello from Nebraska. Will and I left Chicago this morning, sometime around six. Here is Will in front of Roy's apartment. Of course, the fabulous 1995 Toyota Camry Wagon is sitting in front of Roy's apartment too. This car is amazing. I would like to thank Chris and Ralph from Diamond Auto for giving her the once over before I headed out. Diamond Auto has been taking good care of my car for many years now and I have to say, dealing with them is a joy. Seriously, a joy. It is with complete and total confidence that I am heading to California in my car.

If you are in need of a great mechanic in the Glenside area, give them a call 215.887.2345. You can also purchase a car from them at www.mydiamondauto.com

Another amazing Glenside merchant who helped me prepare for this trip is Maria Callas. Maria and her husband Chris own The Leather Case right on Easton Road, a few doors down from the Glenside Pub. You have to stop in and meet Maria. Meeting Maria is comparable to meeting Ingrid Bergman and Grace Kelly. Please stop in and make a posting after you do. The store is incredible as well... fine leather products at great prices.

When I decided I really was going to drive to Colorado I knew the first thing I had to have was a little leather bag to carry my keys, phone, credit cards and cash. That, of course, meant a visit to The Leather Case. It took two hours of trying out bags. All quality, all with necessary requirements, but only one stole my heart. Let's face it, a handbag acquisition is practically a romantic adventure. Now I am tripping across the country with my red clutch with a long strap. Fabulous. So, I am super appreciating my mechanics and my friend Maria, and my nephew Roy and Will who is really catching on to my rules of the road.

Rule Number 1, keep the car clean.

Now he gathers the trash and stores it all in an empty coffee cup or paper bag until our next stop. This makes up for his uncanny ability to fall asleep and stay asleep for massive amounts of time. Here he is konked out as we drive by the sign for Hastings Nebraska.

We made it to our hotel in Kearney by 4:00, would have been sooner but I forgot which hotel I had booked a room in. If you haven't tried www.priceline.com I highly recommend it. Especially if you have time to check out hotels in towns in the 'area' you are looking to book. Tomorrow we will be in Denver. Perhaps Larkspur for a Trunk Show and then the wedding in Vail. Which reminds me, I have to hit a few thrift shops soon to get something to wear to this wedding.
yikes.

Please feel free to leave comments on this blog. I look forward to hearing suggestions and recommendaitons while I travel west, north and home again.

Love, Amy

We had the blue line blues, until we walked into the Revolution

2010-06-13T10:12:00.009-04:00

This morning I headed out the door in search of coffee while the kids slept in. Logan Square is a great neighborhood. I asked a mom with two little boys for directions and it turns out she used to live between Doylestown and New Hope… my most favorite part of the world. Her directions led me to the Sunday morning farmers market with all things organic, sustainable, and homemade.

Refusing to go to Starbucks I found The New Wave and stood in line with 13 other people for my iced coffee to go. There were people on their laptops; moms with babies, funky dressed pierced students and a few folks reading the paper. Allyson, Tara, Laura and Geri Ann were there too, sitting around a steel top table knitting, sipping their coffee and clearly solving the problems of the world. Turns out, Allyson really is, one stitch at a time. Check out her site www.thesweatshopoflove.com and see what I mean.

I headed through the farmers market and past the Milshire Hotel (bedbug alert) and home. Ringing the doorbell did the trick in waking up the kids. This started a very slow ball rolling to get ready and out the door for downtown.

Since I am half Chicagoian, I am within legal political correctness to make this statement. Michigan Avenue is nothing but a gigantic outdoor mall. It’s like New Hope on steroids in chrome. Ew. A redeeming moment… we ran into Carolyn’s dance teacher and she broke into performance mode.

In Millennium Park we hit rain, by the time we made it to the Blues Festival who ever was singing “I Can’t Stand the Rain” was getting on my nerves. She was undercover and I was dripping wet. About face and onto the Blue Line. We headed back to the cozy apartment, picking up a jug o IPA at the Revolution Brewery on the way. We were just happy to be hanging out together.

  Tomorrow Will and I head out to central Nebraska.  This is fun.   

Route 80 and the astonishing strength siphon

2010-06-12T21:17:00.007-04:00

2:55am Five minutes before my alarm was set to go off, I woke up and looked out the window. There she sat, polished, vacuumed, newly tired and oil changed... ready for the ultimate adventure of her fifteen years. I slipped out of bed and headed down the stairs. The light was on in the living room and when I peeked in, there was Will, sitting on the couch with laptop in lap. He had never gone to bed, and he smiled up at me with youthful enthusiasm.

Quick showers, a press of coffee, and strategically placing the necessary supplies in the car took less than 30 minutes.  We packed the bags of clothes in the back, jewelry in the middle and most importantly, the food within arms length of the driver.  I had asked Will to be responsible for one thing, other than his personal effects; the water filter system.  Cruising down Route 80, right around Du Bois I realized we had no water filter system.

And right after that I was keenly aware that I was falling asleep. It didn’t take much to figure out why. Sitting next to me was my real life dementor. Will, in all his passed out glory, was zapping all my strength. There was no doubt that it was he. At first I did (with much disgust) the Atlanta Brave’s Tomahawk Chop, literally severing the ethereal cord by which he was draining my power. That worked for a few minutes but as his head flopped over in my direction, I knew I was a sitting duck. Quick, I reached back for my camera, fumbled a bit, and then shot him. The results were immediate, but not long lasting. I finally woke him up and asked him to crack open a hard boiled egg for me.

I will tell you that I recognized the energy sucking because it happened to me when I would visit my brother Joel. A drunk driver had hit Joel’s car when he was 24. There was injury to his brain and he was in a vegetative state for 16 years. He died the day before he turned 40.

There was a span of time I would visit him at the Veteran’s Hospital in Philadelphia. I intentionally went to sleep early the night before, so I could get up before classes to visit him. Then during the drive home, I was acutely aware of how utterly exhausted I was after a short 30 minute visit. Instead of going to my classes, I had no choice but to go home and go to bed, I was absolutely drained, unlike any fatigue I had ever felt before.
And that is how I was feeling this morning.

The good news is, chocolate is an effective first aid to mild cases of contact with dementors. Wouldn’t you know it, within arms reach of the driver was a bunch of chocolate covered almonds.

From Chicago, on an air mattress, with love, Amy.

When a girl makes a promise, sometimes a woman sees it through.

2010-06-10T20:28:00.002-04:00

Hey y'all! Well, I said I was going to do it.
So, I am doing it. Sort of like how I ended up kissing Richard Thompson in the stairwell of the McCarter Theater in 1995. I told Marylou that I was going to kiss him... and I did. Sure, she called me on it, but it was my lips that met his and I get to tell the story. That story is for another day and if your feel like I am taking too long to tell it, please feel free to remind me.

Today's story is a tale of adventure and exploration. The great song by Leo Kottke comes to mind as I prepare to pack the 1995 Toyota wagon. Do you remember Pamela Brown? Well sit back and enjoy the lyrics.

I'm the guy that didn't marry pretty Pamela Brown
Educated, well-intentioned good girl in our town
I wonder where I'd be today if she had loved me too
Probably be driving kids to school

I guess I owe it all to Pamela Brown
All of my good times - all my roamin' around
One of these days I might be in your town
And I guess I owe it all to Pamela Brown

Seen the lights of cities and been inside their doors
Sailed to foreign countries and walked upon their shores
I guess the guy she married was the best part of my luck
She dug him cause he drove a pick-up truck
I don't have to tell you just how beautiful she was
Everything it take to get a guy like me in love
Lord I hope she's happy cause she sure deserves to be
Especially for what she did for me

Clearly, I didn't fall in love with Pam, but I did make a promise to Bill. Bill Mellus was my friend back in the Easy Acres Days. I was a winsome fourteen year-old and Easy Acres was a rattlesnake house full of guys that toured in or ran from one or more of the following:

Vietnam
parents
various kinds of law
various kinds of women

Somehow I become the 'little sister' of Easy Acres, and I wear that badge proudly to this day. With that said, one could say I am more obligated, than promised, to make this cross country trip. Bill moved out west and got landed in BC a long time ago. It was about that time that I promised to visit. Fast forward thirty seven years and you have the "yippee-i-o-ki-ay holiday". Me as your faithful trail guide and Will as the pack horse (he doesn't know that yet and if history prevails, he'll never read this and figure it out). Will is my funny, smart and wise child. Twenty years old, twin to Sophie and younger brother to Drew (29) and Nick (27), Will has barbwire wit and the delivery like a pair of well worn boots. Comfy, but could hurt if velocity and direction are not in your favor.

So back to Pamela Brown and Bill Mellus. I promised Bill I would visit him in British Columbia and after patiently reminding me for almost four decades he is going to get that visit.

Will and I are heading out on Saturday June 12th, straight to Chicago were Roy Arsenault, Will's cousin and my sister's kid will put us up "for as long as we want". That's a mighty fine offer but I think we will be heading through Nebraska by Monday. Stick around, I'll let you know. Meanwhile...

I guess I owe it all to Bill Mellus
All of my good times - all my roamin' around
One of these days I might be in your town
And I guess I owe it all to Bill Mellus.

Well, come to think of it, I met Bill through Dallas.
Dallas was Jim Rogan's solid white Tennessee Walker. And that is most definitely a great story for another time.

Happy Trails,
Amy