In a few hours I board my last leg of this "around the country" train journey. I'm sitting in the Portland Amtrak Union Station (every train station in the country seems to be called Union Station!) waiting to board the Portland to Bellingham route. I'll begin this final blog now, tweak it during the six hour train ride (as has been my habit), then post it tomorrow.
No museums today. No library loafing or drawing, either. Just wandering this interesting city shopping, eating, and fighting melancholia.
Psychologists have described an interesting phenomenon about perception. They say "how" one perceives the final stages of any endeavor colors the whole endeavor. A good mariage that ends poorly is colored poorly, as if the whole marriage had been terrible, which often it is not. A bad ending of a movie colors the whole movie. And if the last days of an otherwise terrific vacation are troubled they color the whole vacation with negativity. I will do my best to combat this phenomenon.
One of the last trips Vicki and I did together was a train trip to Portland. I hadn't remembered this until I deboarded my train from Sacramento last night and recognized the Portland Union Station. Prowling the city yesterday and today, like Vicki and I did several years ago, was emotionally troublesome. I shuddered to recall the difficulty she had navagating escalators, tripping over curbs, and finding the relatively simple city bus system very confusing.
I also had happy memories today as I visited Powell's City of Books (another of our life long loves was frequenting used book stores), the mall where we clutched each other in fear as festive trapese artists dangled and danced suspended from ribbons 100 feet in the air, and as I walked past the most plush movie theater she and I ever attended (we saw a film about a child prodigy artist years ago while sitting in overstuffed recliners and one of us drank a beer).
One of the goals of this trip was to come to grips once and for all with bereavement, aloneness, and grief. It turns out this is a fool's errand. One does not grieve "once and for all." It's a permanent condition one learns to live with. I wandered the streets talking to Vicki under my breath (I have a new appreciation for people on city streets who mutter to themselves), expressing my lament, loss, and love. I have no clue if she hears me (I actually belive not), but doing so reinforces my determination to live the rest of my days honoring her memory, behaving in ways she'd approve of, and being the guy she always believed in.
So after 30 days away from home, 30 days of shift in my role as primary caregiver to her and to my mother, and after waking up for 30 days with no agenda, no schedule, and no goal other than to experience the country again as a semi homeless vagarant (this time with a credit card), I am ready to reenter the world of responsibilities, wage earning, and life in Whatcom county.
This may entail teaching kids art, working with the homeless, creating my own art/pictures, writing my own books/graphic novels, inventing the great American adjustable round chart (in every museum gift shop I visited I envisioned displays of puzzles, games, and brain teaser wheels I've invented), or any of a hundred other creative endeavors.
The value of this month of wilderness wandering likely will not be fully appreciated until I've settled back in to my routines. Until then here are some random observations.
1. Art therapy works. Viewing and creating art, so the experts tell us, rewires our synapses in ways that relieve pain. It does. It also fuels imagination. When I was into vegetable gardening during the Nixon administration I memorized this poem, "A kiss of the sun for pardon, the song of the birds for mirth. One's nearer God's heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth." Seeing so much cool art inspired this bit of doggerel, "Lock me in a room with pencils. Feed me through a hole in the door. Provide me with reams of paper and still I will ask you for more."
2. A rail pass may not be cost effective. To get full advantage of the "twelve segments in 30 days" package one must either spend all their time getting on and off trains (and not see much of any one place), or spend extended time in different places and not use up all 12 segments.
3. I'd kill for a green smoothie. After 30 days without a blender my body is done trying to acclimate itself to donuts, sugar, and animal products. I'm going to invent the tofu and kale only diet starting tomorrow.
4. I'm no fan of noisy people. I am astonished at how inconsiderate others are. I never again want to hear one sided phone conversations, chatty train travelors' innane jabberings, or people who think others enjoy being their audience. A pox on all noise polluters. I'm tempted to cheer like the bus passengers in What About Bob? when noisy passengers get off my train. If I get off first I'll dance a little victory dance.
5. I am transfixed by others' creativity. I'm partial to paintings and drawings but well written fiction, nonfiction, or screen plays, elaborate sculpture, masks, or sky scrapers, ingenuity at addressing problems like homelessness, existential angst, or shuttling thousands of commuters by car, taxi, bus, subway, train, plane, or elevator leave me in awe. Travel exposes one to many new and beautiful novelties.
6. There's a difference between aloneness and loneliness. I've been alone, with the exception of four hours with Edward the homeless guy, for weeks but experienced loneliness only sporadically. When the demon of loneliness hits (and according to my lonely clients loneliness is a tragedy of demonic proportions), my escape has been an active imagination (think Walter Mitty), sketchbook, bookstore, and connection with others by phone, text, or blog.
7. Things to bring next time. Handiwipes. I'm no germophobe but I am aware of how many foreign objects I touch in a day. Extension cord. I watched The West Wing reruns on my tablet each night and I'm astonished how inconveniently located the plug ins are in every place I stayed. On trains outlets are everywhere, thankfully.
8. Things not to bring next time. Books. I've been lugging around two books and haven't cracked them in weeks. The conductor of my first train in Florida gave me a spy thriller (Black List by Brad Thor) and that's what I've been working on all this time. I'm determined to get 'er done before Bellingham.
Time to board my last train for a while. See ya!
Post script. The so caled thriller Black List was terrible, confusing, and convoluted. The only thing thrilling about it was finishing it.
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