Homeless no more

By the time we move this weekend, we will have been officially homeless since October 26th - about five months. Wow.

Two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, a front porch, and a yard for Future. Such luxury ... we're very excited.

officially home

Ironic it seemed when, after 13,000 miles, the car died 80 miles outside of Minneapolis. Saturday night, St. Patrick's Day, in Kellogg, MN - a very small town. Dark, cold, not a lot of people at the Kwik Trip gas station. But a very nice woman named June put us on the phone with a very nice man named Brennick who drove on over and looked at the car. Turns out he's a very good mechanic and his shop's just down the road. We walked over to the Town & Country Cafe and had some really nice pie while he fixed our car. An hour later we were back on the road and felt like we'd had the perfect Minnesota welcome home.

The next day we visited Bill, the most perfect uncle a dog could ever want, and picked up Future. We rode around looking for apartments with him in the back seat all day. What a happy reunion. He missed us, we could tell.

Actually, I think we've spent three days in a row now, riding around looking at apartments with Future in the back seat. If nothing falls apart, I think we're signing a lease on a perfect little place tomorrow. By the way, to all the fabulous friends out there who hosted us along the way, we'll have a guest room. Speaking of hosts, Annie, one of the nicest people on the whole planet, is hosting us again until we move.

Can I just say that the best part of traveling, and the best part of coming home, is being reminded just how many really damn nice people there are in this world?

Minneapolis, here we come

Tomorrow, Saturday, we hit the road for the very last leg of this journey. Minneapolis, I hope you are warmer than Chicago was today. But I'll take any temperature to be back home. Looking forward to seeing Future. Our dog, Future. And the future that is not a proper noun too. Was fun to step back and see a bigger world; a vague glimpse of the big picture and my little place in it. I feel humble, grateful, happy, hungry. Ready to leap forward with some slightly specific ideas about where to land next.

One of the first revelations of going on an adventure like this was that there's no reason to call this the last leg of the adventure. During this entire trip we clung comfortably to the motto, "We're still lost." As I said, humble. No reason to let go of that motto. And no reason to stop looking for the next detour, unexpected left turn, or enticing dirt road.

So no, it's not really the last leg, just the next one, and the first one pointed towards home in a while. As I said in a past blog, there are many places called home, but currently Minneapolis is a particular kind of home, and I'm clapping my hands and jumping up and down like a small girl at the thought of getting back to it.

Life is what you make of it. Family is the people you keep. Home is where you hang your hat. In this modern world we have the luxury of choosing it all. But once you make some choices - good, bad or otherwise - there you are. As stuck as if you'd been born there that way. The ruts start to stick, the grooves get ground. That can be paralyzing. It can also be tremendously comforting. Which, I suppose, is why you finally pick some eventually.

So Minneapolis, despite your freaking five freaking months of freaking winter and your people who don't really get sarcasm and your tedious inferiority complex and your small-town politics and your passive-aggressive sociopathic pride and all your blondes, I love you. Because you have the Bryant-Lake Bowl; and lots of lakes; and brilliant, talented, successful people who are perfectly comfortable at cocktail parties talking about heirloom tomatoes; and a mayor who has shaken every single resident's hand, twice; and Norwegian/Swedish/German values, whatever that means; and a premier modern arts institution with a gigantic, fantastically silly sculpture of a spoon with a cherry right out in front; and friendly, normal millionaires; and good schools; and mostly clean water; and Nigerians riding the bus with Mexicans riding the bus with African-Americans riding the bus with white suburbanites, and all of them being crabby in a really polite way; and those so-gay and so-beautiful Target lights over downtown; and people who cry every single time you mention Paul Wellstone; and bike trails right down the middle of Hennepin Avenue; and a thousand other things I occasionally roll my eyes over but most just love with all my heart.

Seriously, it's a big wide world with endless possibilities, but there's nothing better than seeing a bit of the big world to remind you that home is home. The other day, as we were driving Alan's niece, The Adorable Aliza, to the aquarium, she was reciting the entire script and score of "A Wizard of Oz" to us. Somewhere around the eighth repetition of "there's no place like home," I started clicking my heels.

Adorable Aliza and me in Chicago at the home of Alan's brother, Paul and sister in law, Amy. Chilling out after many adventures at the aquarium.

Many places called Home

Arrived in Chicago late last night to discover just a teeny bit of dirty, ice-crunchy snow on the ground in the shady corners of the north sides of things. I'm not sure which is wierder, that crunchy bits of snow make me feel at home or that Chicago itself, vicariously, through Alan, feels homey.

Hangin' around various sides of Chicago for a few days catching up with all of Alan's peeps. Then, finally, the very last leg of this trip back to Minneapolis. If I could have my perfect wish for coming home (as though I'm entitled to wish for anything after missing this year's blizzard-plastered Minnesota winter), it would be 50 degrees in Minneapolis, but it would snow big fluffy snowflakes one more time after we got there.

Standing on top of a pyramid. Phew, quite a climb.

The pyramids of Tikal towering over the jungle,

Carlos Castejon at his coffee and cardamom plantation in Copan Ruinas, Honduras.

One of the prettiest beaches in Honduras in a tiny Garifuna village called Triunfo de la Cruz.

Puerto Escondido. Surf competition in the background. Kids playing soccer in the middle. Hot surfer in the foreground.

OK, it doesn't look like much, but this place perched on a cliff over a completely empty stretch of the Pacific Mexican coast served the yummiest fish.

Me in a KFC in Mexico. Just couldn't take any more Mexican food.

Sorry, lame picture. The view from my friends'backyard in San Diego.

My Aunt Betty and Uncle Rod in Pahrump, NV. Two of the coolest people on the planet.

Long drive ahead. Time to update the photos. Grand Canyon is truly grand.

no place like home

I've been living in Minnesota for almost nine years now, and even after spending a few months trying to think of somewhere else we'd rather live, we plan to continue to call Minnesota home. And every time I go back to California, I get more convinced that everyone who lives here is a bit touched.

And yet, there is something singularly wonderful and comforting about my birthplace. It's none of the concrete, obvious things like the ocean which I can visit in lots of places, or the sunshine which there's really just a bit too much of, and it's certainly not the smog, the traffic, the sprawl, or the nearly psychotically car-centric urban design.

Lying in the most comfortable bed ever in the guest room at Rodney & Jon's place in San Diego one morning before I was completely awake, I realized it was the particular color of the morning sunlight and the particular smell of the air. I told Alan this and he says he feels the same way about the sunlight and air in Chicago. And you know there's probably nothing that Chicago's and SoCal's sunlight and air have in common. So I guess it's just something about it being the place you first saw how sunlight fills the room in the morning and smelled Spring drifting in a window. Like the smell of your Mom's soap. You know?

Anyway, we've made our way gradually north and inland, first to Glendora to enjoy a very nice afternoon with my Dad, and last night with Alan's aunt & uncle Enid & Marv. Having suuuch a nice time. You know, a person could just make a whole lovely life out of visiting wonderful people in interesting places. If only it came with a salary and 401K. Well it has other perks.

Today we visit Alan's old friend Stan, then tomorrow we head for Parump, Nevada to see my aunt and uncle Betty & Rod. From there, to the Grand Canyon. I've, embarrassingly, never seen it. Alan tells me it's really - no, really - grand. And everyone along the way has told me about the fabulous colors the sun makes as it rises over the canyon. I bet it's miraculous, but right now I'm still clinging a bit to the Southern Californian sunlight in my mind's eye.

yay for friends

Just spent four days lounging about in Tucson with Alan's playwright friend Toni Press-Coffman and her husband Glen Coffman. Soooo nice to drink clean water and eat fabulous food (Glen's a chef) and tell stories and speak English. Also got to catch up with Barbara Kingsley and Stephen D'Ambrose who are rehearsing "Molly's Delicous" there in Tucson. Strange enough to be speaking English, even more strange and fabulous to be talking to good Minnesota friends while still out on the road.

Last night we arrived in predictably gorgeous San Diego. My best friend, Rodney and his partner Jon live here. Lots of catching up to do since we see each other only every couple years. Last night we went to dinner at a new restaurant owned and run by a dear friend Jason, who has just gone from restaurant manager to restaurant owner this last December. So exciting! So grown up. Seems like just yesterday I was chasing Jason out of a gay bar yelling, "Jason, you forgot your sweater again!"

Today, a long walk around Balboa Park is on the agenda. Mmmm. Southern California. So nice. The sun is gentle here and the wine is so tasty, but nothing beats the warmth and flavor of conversation with old friends.

P.S. a bunch of photos coming soon, now that we're back in the states, the cell phone can send photos again.

Spring training, Tucson. Blue sky, green grass, warm sun, cold beer. Yeah, it's that good.