Tourism and Traveling

I have gone traveling with my tourist sister twice now. And loved it.

It sounds, and is probably going to sound as if I consider "tourist"ing to be a bad thing. Let me make it clear that I do NOT. It's one way of doing the traveling thing. It's also an effective way to get an overview of a community or an area, and it gives one a common ground with the people one encounters, whether as a fellow traveller or as a sympathiser with those who Must Endure. If the visitor is a repeaat guest, the familiarity helps both sides of the bargain.

However, once  the initial visit has been made, my personal choice would be to go a little slower, wander more and tourist less, see the sights without sight seeing, and just -- travel. Travel through or travel around, whichever seems most appropriate for the place and time.

Yes, I am a meanderer.
My sister is a get 'er done type. She wants to see and do it all, and to the best of her ability she will make repeated trips to do exactly that.
Everything.
And there's always some new attraction being added or created in tourist towns.

And after she has done enough, whatever that is to her, she SHARES it. With everyone she can.
With me.

Having been there with her, and done all that, I now want to go back.
Go back at my own pace.

We went to Niagara Falls, straight up the interstate. zoom, zoom -- at times chug-chug, depending on traffic -- and there we were. Went home the same way. Drove by Cleveland; only had glimpses of Lake Erie. I was disappointed at that, but not heartbroken. I agree whole-heartedly with avoiding cities while driving.

Now, I would like to do that trip again.
But, forget the expressway. I'll meander up 62, drive through rural Pennsylvania. Especially this time of year, with the fall colors coming on, and the rain keeping the air freshened.
I would stop and eat at the small town diners.
I would shop at the small town craft stores.
I would look,look, look, and I would listen.

As for the Smoky Mountains, I definitely want to explore more than Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge.
I want to go to Greenbriar.
I want to walk the trails and for me a two hour hike in would probably take about five hours. And then I'd take six to get back out!

One of the hikes I'd like to take is in the Gatlinburg area, I want to go to the grotto. I want to get out at multiple places along the roaring fork trail. Get out and wander and absorb the special air and nature combo that makes the smoke of the smoky mountains. If you haven't been there -- haven't let the great outdoors caress your skin and kiss your cheeks -- then you don't know -- can't know -- the feeling it gives.

At the same time I wouldn't mind going other places with her, letting her lead the way. Make the introduction, perhaps.

I sometimes think of presenting her with a list of places I'd like to go but that seems awfully demanding and presumptuous. Good thing my budget isn't allowing me to behave like that. I wouldn't like it.

Traveling is something we can share.
We may have different styles when it gets down to basics, but we have interests in the same places, many of the same things (sights and sounds).

After all these years, it's good to share.
And be shared with.

Mashed Potatoes -- A Different Look

Okay, this was inspired by looking at the list on this blog. Currently a Mashed Potatoes entry is the tenth most read selection.

Once, in my writing group, we were doing a writing exercise, and the theme was mashed potatoes. It was amazing how many different takes we came up with! Who knew mashed potatoes was such a diverse subject?

There were recipes.
There were descriptions.
There was nutritional information. (I think. It was a long time ago.)
There were memories.
There was wishful thinking.

And--

There was dancing.

Yes, dancing.

To one of our members, mashed potatoes were not food nor family.
Mashed potatoes were not facts and feelings. (maybe some of the latter.)

The Mashed Potato was a dance.
A joy.
A cherishment.
A love.

I try to remember this different outlook on the mashed potato when I am writing. Others may refer to it as Thinking Outside the Box.

I think of it as doing the mashed potato while others are cooking and eating.

There is more than one kind of nourishment provided by Mashed Potato.

More on Moving On

Or maybe I should say moron moving on.
Except that I'm not, really. Not moving on, that is. I'm trying to, but having little success.

As I mentioned before, this trailer is falling apart. I've thought about calling ~ someone ~ to have it condemned, but I dont really see that as ending in anything good for me. (Not to mention they'd probably have to condemn the whole blasted trailer park. I sure don't want to put that many families out of their homes.

I'd just like to exchange mine for a better one.

Oh well, at the time I got this, I was happy with walls, roof, electric, and a toilet. Got all that, so it was, for a while, an answer to prayers.

That time has passed now.

I've thought of becoming a snowbird. Drive down to Florida during the nastiest cold, sleeping om beaches and such. But at the end of the day, I kind of like having a place to go home to.

I've thought about chucking everything and living in my car, going where weather and inspiration and inclination might take me. I even eyeball measured sizes for totes to go in the trunk of my car for my clothes. My 'stuff' could go into storage; its not all that costly. That is, what I can't give away to others in need.

Most places -- cities, counties, towns -- have low rent motels that will offer reduced rates for monthly. Usually no references, security deposits, etc. I'd be kind of afraid to live in those circumstances far from home, though.

I've sort of looked at a lot of places. Semi looked into them. And there are so many places I haven't gone to but wish I could.

My beloved Pacific Northwest is way way out of my budget. I may yet manage to visit the area some day, but it seems unlikely it would ever be for anything permanent. I'd like the chance to find out, but every day that passes, every week that elapses, every month torn from the calendar makes that a little more remote.

So, I keep circling ads in the local papers. I make phone calls that are never returned. I check Facebook marketplace and craigslist.
While doing this I hope and pray I don't fall into, in, or out of my bath tub.
I hope I don't trip over anything that's fallen on the floor.
I hope my electric stays on, I hope I can stretch my groceries, I hope mynext residence isn't a nursing home, because I have finally completely lost my mind.

I hope.
I look.
I try.

and every useless, wasted day, I die a little more in spirit and wish my body had as much sense.

Time -- to Move On

My (rented) trailer is falling apart.
My furniture is falling apart.
My finances are falling apart.

Yes, my life is falling apart.

I don't know why.
I don't know how.
The how is kind of fuzzy, all wrapped in mystery and enigma.

But my life is falling apart.

Death seems a stalker.
Granted, I was not close to some of these people, but I knew they were there; that they were an added value in this crazy spiderweb of life, love, and relatives.

I won't mention names, because those who were close(r) may prefer privacy to mourn or even resent (perhaps rightfully)  my claim of a loss.
A dear friend before the end of the year.
Various acquaintances, because I and my peers are getting older.

Until summer hit and the family became involved.
An uncle on my dad's side.
A brother in law on my side.
A friend's beautiful young daughter. My heart breaks for this whole loving, living, and now broken family.
Another 16 year old in another car accident, driving her grandparents.  My heart breaks for them.
Another of my husband's brothers. There's one left.
Whoops, not anymore. They are all together now, these brothers. It's a strange place for them to be.
It's still so very strange, at times, that Rex just isn't.
And now they all just aren't.

Aren't in the other room.
Aren't down the hall.
Aren't down the street.
Are not just a phone call away.
Or a phone call to mutual kin.

Anyway, my life is falling apart in so many ways.
That means something needs to be changed, and the only things I can change are my own circumstances.

So, it is time to move on, however physically and financially impossible that seems to be.

I have already been added to waiting lists of 10, 6, 5, and 2 years.
I have left my name and number on many answering machines. (Only to have my phone go out of service due to the financial mishaps)
I circle ads in the papers and call.

And wait here and wait for Death's next strike at my already stricken heart.